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floralcyanide · 6 months ago

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⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

1960s ᴜs ᴘʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀɴᴅɪᴅᴀᴛᴇ!ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜs sɴᴏᴡ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝��𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑥 (ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝘰𝑛𝑠): 𝑖𝑛𝘵𝘰 𝘵ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘

౨ৎ 18+ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴏɴʟʏ !

⊹ summary: the years following you and Coriolanus’ wedding.

⊹ pairing: young!coriolanus snow / fem!reader

⊹ warnings: major character death, mentions of death, mentions of illness, assassination, violence, rioting, mentions of pregnancy, grief

⊹ word count: 1264

⊹ author’s note: I PROMISE I WROTE THIS BEFORE THE EVENTS OF YESTERDAY LOL. (the assassination attempt against trump) I noticed the other day it had been longer than I had thought that I had updated this fic. and I've only just gotten around to feeling like writing. but it's coincidental, I swear; this has been in the plot document for this fic for a while. I hope everyone enjoys this update and I'm sorry in advance lol

౨ৎ divider credit: @cafekitsune

౨ৎ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ | sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ | sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

౨ৎ this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

❝Let us not emphasize all on which we differ but all we have in common. Let us consider not what we fear separately but what we share together.❞ ― John F. Kennedy

✲ Being Coriolanus’ wife meant meeting a lot of people very quickly, including none other than Martin Luther King Jr. He and the Kennedys have worked closely together during Jack’s presidency, and since Coriolanus was leading the polls, the man decided it was time to meet the striking blonde politician to discuss some things.

✲ You and MLK Jr.’s wife, Coretta, chat at the dinner the Kings had set up while the two men wander off to talk privately. She asks you if you have thought about having children as of yet, and you sigh with a knowing smile, “We’ve been thinking about it.”

✲ It’s been a thing for the media and just about everyone to ask when you and Coriolanus were having kids. You felt pressure, but Coriolanus assured you that you could wait until you were ready.

✲ The day after your dinner with the Kings, the names of the women who are the face of the Women’s Revolution are splattered across news outlets everywhere due to their march in Washington. Katniss Everdeen and Lucy Gray Baird Lead America’s Women!

✲ Coriolanus is bombarded with questions everywhere he’s seen. But he says to wait until the debate for any further comments about the matter. You worry about the escalation of the movement but decide to keep to yourself about it. Even though you’re nearly finished with your higher education, you’re still a woman, so your opinion doesn’t matter much politically at the moment.

✲ The debate comes and goes, with Coriolanus still leading the polls. It seems this election is secured for him so far. However, some of the major events happening right now are bothering him, so he decides to pay Jack a visit in the White House, you tagging along, of course. Coriolanus asks him how he managed to make decisions during the Bay of Pigs invasion and during the Cuban Missile Crisis.

✲ “There are going to be difficult times, Coriolanus. But don’t let it scare you. In fact, let it inspire you to work harder to make a change.”

✲ Coriolanus is more sure of himself after that. November comes around, and to no one’s surprise, Coriolanus wins the 1964 Election by a large margin, with Sejanus Plinth as his Vice President.

✲ The first year is hard, but it is for every president. You eventually finish your research on Jack and present your work, earning your hard-earned diploma. You are now a doctor in political science. Everyone is extremely proud, including your fellow Americans. They beg the question of what you’re to do with your accomplishments if women don’t have the same opportunities as men. To which you answer, “We shall figure that out soon.” You are certain Coriolanus will go through with his promises.

✲ 1966 comes around the corner almost menacingly. Tensions are high- riots break out in the streets over economic trouble, and women are growing tired of the poor treatment of their employers. Bobby and MLK Jr. seem to fuel the fire when they speak out against the violence in the streets, saying there’s a better way to get the point across.

✲ Jack falls ill and ends up in the hospital in late February. Coriolanus puts meetings and speeches on hold, clearing the entire week out of duties to visit Jack. You are by his side as he watches his best friend suffer. The family comes back together to take care of Jack. You try your best to console Jackie as she’s beside herself with worry.

✲ “I don’t think he’s going to pull out of this one, darling,” Jackie frowns, “He isn’t young and isn’t able to bounce back like he used to. I’m afraid this is it.” You assure Jackie her husband will be fine, but you aren’t so sure. The pneumonia doesn’t seem to be resolving itself.

✲ A week after Jack is admitted to the hospital, he dies. Coriolanus and Bobby are on one side of his bed, Jackie and the kids on the other as Jack takes his last breath. You hold yourself together as long as possible until you and Coriolanus eventually return to the White House. When you settle in your room for privacy, you lose it. You burst into tears as you picked up and tossed anything readily available next to you across the room.

✲ Coriolanus pulls you into his arms, trying to calm you to the best of his ability. Both of you cry together over losing a friend. A friend who happened to bring the two of you together in life and love.

✲ More tragedy strikes the family. Bobby holds a convention to speak out in favor of women’s rights, but only under one condition- that the rioting stops. This angers many, causing a fight to break out and eventually, shots are fired. One was aimed directly at Bobby’s head. He doesn’t survive.

✲ You knew Bobby’s wife, Ethel, very well, and you and Jackie are there for her in her time of need. The Kennedy family is in shambles at this point. Everyone seems to think that the women from the movement are responsible for assassinating Bobby, but no one has proof. It isn’t until August that someone is held responsible.

✲ Martin Luther King Jr. Shot in Memphis is across every headline around the world. Yet another significant figure is brought down. Yet another friend is murdered. Yet another wife is to be consoled by other women who have been in her shoes, losing a husband suddenly. You aren’t sure what to think anymore.

✲ The radical members of the Women’s Revolution refuse to take sole responsibility for the assassinations, but some are arrested for conspiracy anyway. Many suspect Katniss Everdeen or Lucy Gray Baird as the masterminds of the plots.

✲ With the darkness of the world growing as each day passes, you don’t realize you’ve missed your period. When you do, you figure it’s from the stress of losing dear friends. But Coriolanus urges you to go to the doctor anyway.

✲ In December 1966, you find out you are pregnant. You decide, no matter the gender, their name is to be Kennedy, after your dear friends you’ve lost.

✲ The First Lady being pregnant is a beacon of hope for the nation in its darkest hour. Everyone waits patiently for you to start showing and to find out what gender the baby is.

✲ Coriolanus decides to be bold and requests to do a motorcade through D.C. to lift the spirits of the people. The Secret Service is weary but obliged to Coriolanus’ wishes.

✲ When in the motorcade, you clutch Coriolanus’ hand nervously. “Go on, sweetheart,” Coriolanus mumbles in your ear, “Wave to the people. They love it, they love you.” You stare at your husband for a moment in absolute awe as he basks in the glow of attention from the crowd. He effortlessly smiles, his eyes twinkling in unbridled pride- a rare emotion you see from him. Sure, he has his moments of pride, but not like this. The last time he looked this happy was the day he married you.

✲ It’s been hard for Coriolanus, you’ve noticed. Juggling the presidency while losing those close to him. But you think today has helped more than you possibly could have, especially since you’ve been grieving, too.

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mrsmidnight15 · 2 years ago

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Cod MWii x (gn)Reader Sfw & Nsfw headcanons

Characters: Valeria Garza, Cap. Jonathan Price

this is a bit short cause im still getting back into writing, ill hopefully be writing longer stuff soon🎉( @sleepiexx @sheeluvsme you two are entirely to blame for this😭)

all nsfw will be at the very bottom together!

🩷valeria🩷

Because of her line of work it can be hard trying to find fun things to do together out and about without risking being seen unless you're out of the country or dressed up but Valeria has no problem coming up with things to do with you inside or in enclosed outdoor areas.

She's a smart woman and her gears don't stop turning off work. If you can play chess be prepared for total warfare, she will wipe your ass clean off the board regardless of your skill and can go for as many rounds as you're willing. However if that isn't your thing there's still plenty of other logic, mystery and puzzle games to play together.

Loves dancing, if her favorite song comes on she's immediately on you, pulling you to the floor and teaching you the steps if you don't know. If you're physically unable to then she will put on a show, completely mopping the floor. If she's feeling cheeky or you're especially shy she will start dirty dancing to try and fluster you.

💕john💕

Whenever John gets home on leave he always dedicates the first couple days to relaxing with you, he always feels horrible having to spend so much time away from you and it's his own sorta way for making up all the lost time.

turns into a total cuddlebug, and if you aren't cuddling he's still finding someway to stay close or in physical contact with you. Rests his head on your lap if you're preoccupied with an electronic or book, playful kicks and footsie under the table while you're both eating dinner.

LOVES taking baths with you, thinks it's the perfect time for you guys to just unwind and take care of each other. goes feral when you wash his hair and scratch his scalp, if you want to rile him up all you need to do is give a couple light pulls. Tries to make you laugh by building up shapes on his head with the bubbles. insists on drying you off himself when you both get out.

NSFW

Valeria

DOMMY MOMMY

although i don't think she has a mommy kink the dommy part still stands

she loves the feeling of being in control of your pleasure, taking and giving it as she pleases

Likes restraints, not only for the power it gives you but she also enjoys knowing that feel safe enough to be so vulnerable and exposed just for her

A bit possessive, loves having you repeat her name while you're seeing stars. Asking you who you belong to, making you swear no one else will ever see or feel you like this even though she already knows the answers

one of her top kinks is for sure overstimulation. Gets off on how far gone you get, solely reliant on her to keep you grounded and well. absolutely loses it in a good way when you first start squirming, simply using her weight to keep you pressed down and pliant

Will not stop until you're writhing and begging her, mocks your whines and pleas for mercy while cranking up the vibrator pressed to your sweet spots. she's really good at reading you though and always knows when to stop before it starts to become uncomfortable or needing of safeword

John

he tends to prefer domming most of the time, just enjoys having you let go for him and have fun and gets off on it too

Won't be opposed however if you ever feel like taking the reigns, he's pretty cool with most things and trying stuff out as long as your happy

manhandling kink for the win, goes both ways depending on if you or him is the bigger one

If he is, which he's quite used to being, he loves taking you up against a wall. likes having you a bit closed in, forces you to focus only on him. enjoys having your full attention to himself

If you are, he likes positions where you're on top or over him. likes being able to have a good view of you while still pressed together and the pressure of your weight is very calming to him as well

Sucker for dirty talk, likes when you do it too but if you're too shy or don't have the capacity for it he'll gladly talk the whole way through. About how good you look, how perfect you feel around/inside him. when he's close to cumming he voice gets growly and low, whispering sweet things in your ear as you both come undone

#cod #cod x reader #cod headcanons #cod mwii #mw2 x reader #valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #valeria x reader #jonathan price #john price #Jonathan price x reader #john price x reader #captain price

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muuurder · 5 months ago

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your finest gaara headcanons my good regent

*breathes* I have so many anon thank you for asking. I’ll put more under cut to spare people from a long post lol.

*cracks knuckles*

-starting us off right here: I flip between Gaara’s gender but honestly I maintain the idea he has tboy swag and most of Suna was too afraid to question it for years and now it’s just the norm. Not to mention his general physique and medical neglect aided in pushing off puberty.

-gaara still has erratic mood swings post chin in exams even when he’s getting better and learning. That boy faced traumatic events from a young age and then was neglected and hunted for sport on top of total isolation. That shit doesn’t go away just because a blonde boy punches you with the power of friendship ok.

-that being said I will maintain the idea his siblings Lee and Naruto are the only ones he feels he can relax a bit with.

-also I do not see people making him weird enough. Cause affectionately as someone who like also experienced isolation, trauma and neglect. You end up having weird interests and like just a r e the weird kid. And I mean yes he is the weird kid, but like…… make him weirder you know lol.

- he loves gardening he talks to his plants. He also likes animals, and is fiercly protective of small kids. That amplifies as he gets older and temari has kids of her own.

-I also think he is a funny guy but his humor is super dry or a little dark. But he will catch you off guard and say some of the most out of pocket shit I swear.

-I am a medaru is gaara’s biological kid truther. I’ll maintain the idea medaru was not planned. Lee absolutely stayed in Suna for a longer period of time and Lee subjected Gaara to routine and healthy habits and the stars aligned and medaru happened.

-honestly ever since I read the brunch fic (I linked it I love it please.) I love the idea of modern au gaara incorporating his mother’s ashes into his garden. It’s sweet.

-I also love the idea that the face tattoo fades as time goes on. Like he stops carving out the wound as a reminder and it fades with time which is a lovely show of his character change.

-I also like everyone else believe he and Lee begin corresponding through letters. Particularly I think the letters begun either after gaara’s death, where Lee wrote to him. Or perhaps Gaara begun them because he was growing and changing and felt guilty about Lee and reached out (at Naruto’s suggestion.)

-following the last point, I can never decide if when gaara died in shippuden if I headcanon Lee realized he was inlove with him and had feelings then the moment he thought he lost gaara.

-both Lee and gaara are gossip mongers I do not care. Gaara finds out so much shit and caught the gossip gene from his brother. He is nosy.

-I also think gaara is still a menace. A little shit even. He thinks it’s funny to fuck with people just a little bit.

-that being said I think he doesn’t do it often unless you work with him or he’s really close and you know he would never hurt you now.

- adding onto that, I will also say I headcanon that in his attempt to become more palatable for his people and suppress his mood swings and correct his behavior, he gets taken advantage of more often and gaara just lets it happen more sometimes because he’s afraid of slipping back into the old image. Especially once he feels connected to his people again. Gaara despite past transgressions chooses to be kind and gentle. He always was a kind gentle child. I think that shows a lot more as an adult and that shit takes so much strength.

-I am a rasa hater so. You know. Fuck rasa, he abused all his kids post the death of their mother.

-I also love the idea gaara has super human senses from shukaku. He can see better at night, detect and smell things better. That being said he isn’t immune to illness, he has gotten sick because his health is absolute dookie okay. He doesn’t sleep his immune system is shit.

-he had the fattest crush on Naruto I do not care lol.

-he doesn’t exactly hate sasuke. But he very much dislikes him because he mistreats Naruto.

-gaara is a crier. Like when he isn’t compartmentalizing and disassociating to cope with his mood swings and trauma, he is a leaky faucet.

-also convinced the whole chunin arc was a really fucked up way of him going friend? Because literally the only way he ever learned to socialize is through violence. The whole thing with him showing up at sasuke’s training was he tried to be friend cause he said “oh you’re fucked up too huh? Wanna fight about it?”

-gaara has the earth sign stank face when he doesn’t like something.

-gives solid advice

-modern au headcanons (might be courtesy of the moss cough cough) he would get into therapy and want to become a therapist lol, he gives solid advice. Also the incident with Lee will always be either he hits him with a car or my personal favorite (potentially for a fic I am brewing) he beat that fucker with a lead pipe when Lee tried to be a Good Samaritan and got involved :)

-also love the idea of gaara had substance abuse issues to cope in modern aus.

-oh and I love when shukaku is brought in as a fucking small crusty white dog with bad manners and barks too much. I may be biased because I have a white crusty small dog who barks too much and has an attitude that rivals god himself.

-gaara hilariously doesn’t actually like fighting especially as an adult. He by nature is nervous and it just sets his ass on edge.

-last thing I’ll say, he is a bratty bottom. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

#I just really love him okay #and I relate to him a little too much #I have way more headcanons #thank you for asking anon!#quinn speaks #anon ask #anonymous #gaara of the desert #gaara of the sand #sabaku no gaara #gaara #gaara x rock lee #naruto gaara #naruto anime #naruto shippuuden #naruto #naruto headcanons #gaara headcanons

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joels-darlin · 9 days ago

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Flashbacks

Pairings: post-outbreak!Joel Miller x reader

Warnings: death, angst, hurt, sadness, mentions of blood, severe injuries, mentions of anxiety, mentions of panic attacks, nightmares, flashbacks, traumatic memories.

Summary: Flashback: An involuntary recurrent memory in which the individual has a sudden but powerful re-experiencing of a past event.

Joel’s body might be present but his mind never is, especially after the loss of his everything.

Word count: 1752

Author Note: Well I am back and yes it's with another sad one - sorry. This fic was quite the ride. What started out as a post-golf reader POV fic suddenly got turned on its head. One day my brain decided to go: “But what if the tables were turned and it was Joel on the other end”, then this was born.

Also, I have never done this before but if anyone wants an insight to what I listen to whist writing these types of fics see below, might make an angst playlist soon.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Playlist: If Today Was Your Last Day - Nickelback Savin’ Me - Nickelback Through the Ghost - Shinedown If You Only Knew - Shinedown In The Stars - Benson Boone Life Goes On - Ed Sheeran (ft. Luke Combs) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thankyou all <3 Read on AO3!

The heat of the sun on Joel’s skin awoke him from a deep slumber, peeking it’s way into the room through that gap in the curtains. The one he had been meaning to fix for months. Groaning at the intrusion he shifted. Untangling his body from the sheets of what is now just his bed, sitting upright, a sharp tweaking sensation in his lower back crying out at the sudden movement. The night shift on Patrol was torture but as much as Joel hated doing it, it was the only way to avoid the nightmares that flooded his brain when he slept.

Taking a moment to compose he breathed in, sharpness of the icy January air biting at his nostrils, pushing slowly back out through his mouth, This is what his routine consisted of now, practicing the breathing exercises learnt from a book scavenged whilst out on Patrol. Mornings were not always like this. Joel let his mind wander back briefly to a just a few mere months ago. ~

The warm heat of the summer enveloped the room as you lay in a tangle of limbs under the sheets, head in spot that was most comfortable; the crook of Joel’s neck. Joel felt you lean in slightly pressing your cheek against the warm and soft skin there, you were clearly having a moment to take everything in. These were the moments you both enjoyed the most. Catching him off guard it was the softness of your lips on this skin peppering light kisses on any areas you could reach. He loved this. The actions making his whole body vibrate with a deep chuckle, moving his hands to caress over your skin with feather light touches. There was no other feeling in the world that could match it, the feeling of being happy and loved. Something he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. This was home for the next few hours. The two of you completely spent, losing count of how many times and the various ways he had made you come undone in the small hours of the morning. ~

Joel regrets swapping patrol shifts with you that day, all because he had come down with the flu and needed some extra rest - he was old now these illnesses took longer to recover from. But he swears everyday that he can still feel it on his skin; the faint touches of your last kiss, the tickle of your breath against his ear. Unknowing that would be the last ‘I love you’ to leave your soft lips. The sound of your voice was always like music to his ears.

But from the minute his eyes close and he succumbs to the darkness the film reel starts; like his own personal cinema. The nightmares more bad compared to good, it’s not very often he gets to relive the happy memories shared with you. One particular memory has been kicking around in his dreams for the last few days. ~

Joel was confused when he woke, taking a minute to survey the surroundings. He was still in bed, the migraine now gone but the flu-ish like symptoms still knocking around; leaving his chest heavy and his nose still clogged like a few hours ago. Except this time there was an extra symptom, a swirling pit in his stomach. Straightaway he knew this wasn’t nausea related to his current condition, it was different, something felt very wrong. He had suffered with anxiety before after he lost Sarah. This felt…similar. The booming sound of banging on his front door stopped the thoughts in their tracks, the glass of the windows in his bedroom vibrating slightly at the force. Whoever was at the door wanted his attention and now. He was still dressed in his grey plaid pyjamas bottoms and worn nightshirt as he jumped out of bed, forgoing his slippers and heading barefoot downstairs to the commotion. Joel recognised the voice on the other side; his brother Tommy.

What was he doing back from patrol so early?

“JOEL…” Tommy’s voice bellowed through the thickness of the wooden door “…open this door NOW”

His hand made contact with the cool metal of the handle, yanking it open with force, nearly knocking himself over the in the process. Only to be greeted by his stricken, pale looking younger brother over the other side of the threshold.

It was quiet for a few moments; like both brothers had no idea what to say. Eyes locked on each other, sounds of the birds chirping in the distance and Tommy’s heavy breathing - he had clearly run here.

“Joel…its….” ”Spit it out Tommy”

What he wasn’t prepared for was the whisper of your name leaving his brothers lips, heart leaping out of his chest at the sound.

The sight that greeted him in the Medical Centre was one that will live in him forever; deeply woven into every fibre of his being. Your lifeless body on the metal table. Clothes torn to shreds, any patches of skin peeking through littered with a mixture of deep purple bruises. He left the worst til last - your face. Once beautiful and so full of life; now unrecognisable. They had beaten you to death. A mixture of anger and sadness bubbling up in his chest and all he could do was drop to his knees and sob, your cold, swollen hand intertwined with his. He wasn’t there to protect you.

Joel doesn’t remember leaving that room. He just knows he didn’t want to. But all he remembers is waking up in in bed the next day. Eyes landing on the empty space on the other side; all the memories coming flooding back in a instant, like a knife to the heart. ~

The house is eerily quiet, creaking of Joel’s bare feet against the old wood echoing off the cracked walls with each step as he heads down the stairs.

Jackson was a place he now considered home, nothing like the home back in Austin, but you made it home for him. It’s the place you had met and started planning a life together - even with the circumstances. From the moment he laid eyes on you across the commune there was something special about you. Any room you entered you brought the sunshine with you - your smile and positivity bouncing off every surface like a beam of light. Except now that he had lost you the four walls of home now felt dark and vacant.

Coffee was something you had both shared a love for. Often scavenging peculiar trinkets or necessities whilst out on patrol that you could trade at the market for the best coffee beans Jackson offered. On the off days from patrol Joel would often wake to the aroma of freshly ground beans wafting through the house. In the kitchen a fresh pot of filtered coffee on the side waiting, his mug neatly placed next to it. An that’s where he was headed right now, straight to what you used to refer to as the ‘the coffee shop’ - it was a running joke between you both.

Except this morning he opened the cupboard to find your favourite mug staring right back at him; he doesn’t remember leaving it there. It was the one he had scavenged whilst out doing one of the trails with Tommy. The early days, when the two of you had not long admitted feelings for each other after months of yearning and pining. He knew your birthday was coming up and wanted a special gift. Then he found the mug, buried at the back of one of the cupboards of a random cabin they had discovered just south of the checkpoint. Joel knew the moment he laid eyes on it that you would love it. The white porcelain mug, chipped and scratched in places but well loved, two giraffes embezzled on the front. Your favourite animal. It stayed in his house, taking place right next to his owl mug. Which not long after became your home also.

Joel was leaning against the counter, coffee mug in hand, his eyes glancing briefly over to the small circular table & chairs in the centre of the room. The memories of those mornings together coming flooding back. ~

These were the moments Joel cherished the most; when it was just the two of you.

Summer mornings spent at the kitchen table sat across from each other, windows wide open, enjoying the light breeze flowing into the room. Watching as you lift the mug of steaming hot coffee to your lips, parting them slightly to take the first sip of ‘nectar’ - you had always called coffee that, for as long as Joel can remember. He can never help the small smile spreading across his lips, something that just happens when with you. A feeble attempt at trying to cover it up by taking a sip from his own mug. It was too late you had caught him, flashing a toothy grin from across the table. God he loved you.

Then the cold Winter months came, opting for the comfort of the couch over the table. Joel remembers being frozen to the bone, eager to shower and slip into the warmth of bed. But as he crossed the threshold the sight that greeted him was one he couldn’t ignore. There you were perched on the claimed side of the couch; coffee mug in one hand, book in the other. Clearly engaged in whatever was on the page - knowing your terrible taste in books probably some soppy romance again. No words needed to be exchanged, just a small smile at each other as he slipped into the seat next to you. Forgoing the choice of coffee after a long patrol nightshift. He was happy here just being in your presence. Like his own personal brand of caffeine. ~

A chirping of birds in the garden brings Joel back to the present. Lifting his free hand to rub his temples, a frustrated sigh leaving his lips. Sometimes the memories are so vivid he swears you are still here.

Draining the last of his coffee and turning to throw the cup in the sink with a loud clang - making a mental note to deal with that later. Joel grabbed his backpack off the hook, heading out the front door in search of Tommy - he would have some useless job for him to do. Today he needed distractions, the storm was incoming and fast. It was only a matter of time.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #joel the last of us #joel miller fic

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skazoo · 11 months ago

Text

slow and blue and endless.

↳ kim taehyung x f!reader

someone stared at you through the window. you had always felt safe in your own home, shutting out the scary, real world. but a window is just glass, and glass… oh it breaks so, so easily.

length. 1.7k

genre. angst, yandere

warnings/tags. language, obsessive behavior, implied stalking, yandere themes, mind break, emotional manipulation, love bombing(?), mention of mental illnesses, physical violence, kinda gruesome allusion to murder, dark themes overall, minors advised to dni.

networks. none for this.

notes. [THIS IS A REPOST BC TUMBLR TAGS WON'T WORK AND I ALMOST CRIED<;3]

GAH these photos are so 80s serial killer making a creepy videotape that's gonna get edited in a true crime documentary coded...... i know you're seeing my vision, i KNOW it.... anywayyyyyy this is kinda not proofread, and i wrote it while i was supposed to be studying for my exams a while back!! because when am i inspired if not when i shouldn't be?? i hope you like it and i swear something is almost ready for me to publish please wait a little longer (for my engenes and atiny besties)

⚠️ it goes without saying that i in no way condone any obsessive/stalking/creepy/violent behavior and despite this being "x reader" i'm not in any way romanticizing anything i'm writing. also this, as you all know, is fiction and names are merely a narrating mean. ⚠️

i'm desperate for feedback and i love comments with your opinion!

(cross-posted on ao3 only)

navigation

in a way you’ve always loved him. he knows. you don’t even have to say it out loud for him to be happy.

but sometimes it feels like you take him for granted. sometimes you make him really, really angry and that, he can’t let pass. and it's not for his sake but for yours. always everything for you. he has to make you understand that there are things you can’t do if you want to stay safe from the outside world. safe from him, sometimes.

running away is one of those ugly, wretched things you know well he hates, and he slams you against the wall and drags you back through the front door into the house by your hair, he bashes your head on the kitchen counter, near the fire of the stove he’s been preparing lunch with to make you understand a concept you're apparently too dumb to grasp.

“what the fuck did i tell you about running, uh?” seething with undiluted rage .

“i just wanted to go outside, tae. i swear!”

“i said what the fuck did i tell you about running!? do you understand how much it would hurt me to see you go?!” his voice booms inside the walls of your head, an endless echo that makes bitter tears gather at the back of your eyes and spill over.

your face is burning. tongues of fire lick at your cheeks, a scorching caress that reminds you of taehyung's. his palm always leaves a brand behind, reminding him and yourself that he’s there.

your hands scramble for his in a miserable attempt to lessen his hold. “i’m sorry, tae! so sorry, please! please!”

his closed fist in your hair pushes your head closer to the heat. “i’ll fucking kill you if i have to, you know that right–” it’s not a question, merely a promise, but you nod anyway, frantically, desperately– “they’ll never stop finding your body, baby. do you understand?” he screams and shakes you with his hands tight in your hair when you only cry in response.

“i said,” leaning in, mouth brushing over your ear. chills go down your back as his voice turns sickeningly mellow as if he’s whispering sweet nothings instead of threats, “do you understand?”

“yes! yes! god, yes i understand! tae, i’m so sorry! it’s all my fault! it’s all my fault!”

your mindless babbles seem to humor him and he moves your head at a safer distance. “and why is that?”

“ ‘twas my fault! i put myself in danger if i run. tae, please! i’m so sorry!”

and you cry and cry and cry until you have nothing to give. until there’s only emptiness in your head that’s resting on his shoulder. until his shushes really feel reassuring. until he sits you down at the table to eat the lunch he prepared, the one that was so close to killing you. you nibble on it, too weak to really even taste the flavors.

he breaks the empty silence between you with a question. you startle at the sound of his voice and force your heavy eyes to focus on him.

“aren't you curious? about why i chose you?”

“no.”

he scrunches his eyebrows and regards you with a slightly displeased look that has you shrinking back on your chair.

“but i want to tell you…” he whines.

you don’t say anything about his antics. despite him behaving like a child you’re terrified of what his reaction would be if you actually treated him like one, so you press your lips together and wait.

“i like people that like me.” and it’s so simple how he says it. obvious, even.

“but why do you think i like you?” quietly, meekly.

he seems to like the question, his boxy smile one full of teeth that in other circumstances you would have found endearing. now it only makes him look like a predator, an animal, drool dribbling down his fangs, jaw ready to snap close around your neck if —and ultimately, when— you say or do the wrong thing.

“oh, i was so happy, Y/N,” he coos, your name curling in his mouth with ease, as if you’re always been around each other, as if it belongs there, “that when i chose you, you came with me.”

your mouth gapes open at the absurdity of it all. you wonder if he really thinks that you wanted all of this, that you wanted to be taken from your home. you’d ask your old psychology professor if you’d be correct to label him as a narcissist of sorts. a man with too much power, and free time, and loneliness to exhaust all on himself that he had to go around looking for a scapegoat for his secret misery.

“i didn’t– i didn’t come to you, taehyung. i didn’t have a choice.”

“so you were almost forced to come?”

“no,” it comes out more as a question than an answer and you lower your head in search of a way to rationalize the conversation at hand, “i was completely forced–”

“that’s what you tell yourself,” he retorts before you can even finish your sentence.

“it’s what i know is true,” you spit somewhat offended by his insinuation.

his smile is a sick thing when you raise your head from the food on your plate —cold and uninviting. the smell alone makes you want to throw up.

“are you sure?”

your anger leaves space for an unnerving sense of confusion. “what does that– what?”

your frown deepens as you watch him play around with his lunch. you follow his hands pushing back his glasses on his nose. the sick look of complacency that dances on his face seems to speak words that make the hairs at the back of your neck raise in dreadful anticipation. i know something about you that you don’t, his eyes say, and that alone is enough to make you want to scream.

he knows nothing!, you’d be shouting to the usually calm neighborhood, i haven’t told him anything about myself. he can’t know anything! he knows nothing! he knows nothing! you’d holler to the kids walking home from school hand in hand with their mothers who’d be looking at you with contempt, unaware of who lives among them. a wolf in sheep's clothing that could easily make you look like a psychopath.

you’d do it, you swear to yourself that you’d do it all if it weren’t for the fact that you’ve got the inkling fear that you’ve truly gone mad. the doubt that crawls on your back and makes its way in your ears, slithering then, with much glee into your delusional brain.

how long have you been in this house? his house or the one you bought together once you finished college? did you meet him on a slow rainy day outside a coffee shop or did you catch him staring at you from the window before he broke in and took you from your bed, leaving behind torn sheets and a broken frame with a picture of your friends? does your mind deceive you? are you sane? is he?

it feels like you've had this exact same conversation with him an infinite number of times, always stuck in a loop of unease and sadness that you really can’t explain. loving looks sent your way melt into scary grimaces sometimes and all you can feel is guilt because that’s tae. your tae. the man you chose, the man that chose you.

you realize your vacant eyes are crying when you feel a thumb swipe your cheek with a gentleness that makes your stomach churn in disgust and again a voice tells you that there’s something wrong with you.

“baby, are you alright?”

the way you look at him does nothing to the sick warmth brewing in his stomach. your shiny little doe eyes peeking up at him from under wet lashes, asking for forgiveness that taehyung would never deny you. nose red from the frustration of being lost in your own mind and mouth parted as if to ask him to show you the way, the truth that you seem to have lost.

he stands up and rounds the table to you for you to bury your head in his chest. sobs shake your tired form.

“shh, it’s okay, baby. i swear everything it’s okay. it happens to forget.”

“i’m sorry, tae,” you plead through broken breaths. “i’m so sorry, please.”

he shushes you. lips plant themselves in the crown of your head, a hand rubs at your back soothingly.

later, in the late evening, you lie in your bed. a bed. the sheets smell of him and the air you breathe does not feel like the one you're used to, but you’re calm. you think you are. maybe.

soft snores sound from behind you and you attempt to turn your head to make sure it’s him.

“tae?” you let out a whisper. not one that expects itself to be heard.

“yeah?” voice hoarse from sleep.

“nothing.”

he buries his nose in the hair at the nape of your neck, inhaling the shampoo he bought for you. “what?”

“just wanted to make sure you were still here.”

“i’m always here, baby.”

you hum.

minutes pass slowly, like molasses, as if the hand of the seconds inside the alarm on your nightstand is fighting an invisible force, a wall of rubber that threatens to bounce time back. you think he’s fallen back asleep. breath slowing, chest heaving, lulling you to slumber.

you close your eyes. “tae?”

he doesn’t answer. a car alarm sounds from outside the closed curtains, its prolonged blaring bringing a certain agitation in your otherwise silent night. a breath of summer wind leaves bumps on your skin in its wake. you sigh and his arms tighten around your torso. an unconscious gesture, soft, loving.

“i dream of you–” you let your words sink into the air, into the boiling water you carry around in your lungs that doesn’t let you breathe properly, and you shiver again but not from the chill bite of the wind “–and it’s slow, and blue, and endless.”

behind you, taehyung’s mouth stretches into a smile.

in a way, you’ve always loved him. he’s certain of it now as he was before. and even if you didn’t, he will always make sure to make it a reality, one way or the other. wether you want it or not.

taglist: @taevestr @fa1ryjoons @vcutvante

#taehyung x reader #bts x reader #taehyung angst #bts angst #bts imagines #taehyung imagine

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remindingpersephone · 9 months ago

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Here we go again

Hi gang. I'm back on my Chris-Get's-Healthy kick, again. I know I've talked about this and asked for your help in the past. I am once again attempting to quit sugar and work out more.

If you have offered me advice in the past and are tired of my requests, yet again, for advice and ideas, I understand. I get it. Believe me, no one is more tired of my bullshit and my inability to stick to a regimen and make the healthy choices than I am.

This last time I was derailed by my mom's illness and death. I just did not have the mental space or physical energy to commit to disciplined nutritional choices and consistent work outs while taking care of her. But the reasons don't really matter because there were excuses before this one, and on and on. I have been starting and giving up on, healthy living routines since I was 18 years old. Let's do the math, that's 30 years!

A little background: I am not a yo-yo dieter. I very slowly put on weight starting with my first desk job at 20 and never dropped it. The weight has never bothered me. I am a confident woman who has never needed to fit into a six 6. I am also single by choice and nothing in the last 30 years has given me a reason to change my mind about this.

This situation now is that I'm looking hard at 50 and the little aches and pains: the trick knee, the occasional sciatica, the feet that get a little too sore too soon, are, I feel, all red flags signaling that hitting snooze on my health is no longer an option.

I truly believe that fitness and nutritional eating are not only the key to staying fit and active, but I think if I just commit and get through those first few tough months, I would actually like it.

Lately I've been drinking my Dr. Pepper and eating my high-calorie cheesy pasta and lots of sourdough bread (all my favorites), but they just haven't been as satisfying as they once were. [Sidebar: I realize some of this could be residual depression and grief making life just not as wonderful as it once was. That will take time.]

Mostly, I'm just tired of giving the "I have got to get my health in order" thoughts the mental real estate in my brain. I need to deal with it so I can move on from it. So it is not such big part of my daily thoughts.

My long-winded and self-indulgent post here is just to ask once again - and I swear for the last time - what do you all find works for you as far as fitness and nutrition goes? My fitness goals are:

to get stronger and improve flexibility and mobility while protecting the joints and ligaments

staving off osteoporosis

alleviating some peri-menopause symptoms

My nutrition goals are:

to kick the sugar addiction once and for all and change my palate so I don't crave sweet things so much

prevent diabetes/heart disease, etc. before they start

improving gut health

I welcome all comments and advice, and that includes the tough-love "girl, you have got to get your shit together!"

#fitness and nutrition #here we fucking go again

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porcelainphone · 6 months ago

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Shame upon your name

(Louis having a nightmare after recent events)

To the peeps who wanted to be tagged: @myluckymoon @kijimha @s-kyuu-uire @onionhaseyo-elysia @laughingspiderstaringfromthewall @juggling-sanity-and-illness @fedya-the-rat-god

Their eyes. Their judgemental eyes stare at me as I stand before the court and admit my sins. With my right hand forced into position as I swear to tell to the whole truth even though their gazes bring me to shame. How humiliating this is. Is this what my final moments are going to be before death sweeps me away?

The priest is waiting, and so is the king. They don't have all day, but I can't force myself out the words I need to say. It's like if I try to yell or tell the truth my voice goes quiet, as if a witch has stolen my voice. The gazes grow more intense the longer the king waits. Yet even if I try, I can't speak.

I start to sweat. Come on Louis. Speak your testimony. Tell them what you witnessed. They'll probably understand. Why can't you talk Louis?

Come on, Louis, we don't have all day. You might die from this. Come on, Louis. Hurry up they're growing impatient.

I open my mouth but nothing comes out of it.

Louis now would be the best time to say something. Hurry. Louis speak now. The gazes are getting worse. Louis why are you silent?

Talk Louis! Talk! Louis talk now!

Yet nothing still came out of my mouth as the king grew impatient and came near. He grew ten times bigger, towering over me as I trembled before him. His cold eyes staring staring straight through my soul. If the moment was to cry now I would have as he pointed a finger at me.

"No apology will fix this, you blasphemous unloyal traitor! Shame upon your name and your family's name for going against your nation, your comrades, and even her majesty. You stood there pathetically. Nothing you do will be useful to make up for what you have done." He bellow before me.

I never knew words like that could be stronger than an arrow. It hurt. Was I that much of a disgrace to those whom I swore my loyalty to?

No this can't be right. I pledge my entire life, my whole existence into serving this kingdom. I became a knight for this nation. Yet I failed. I failed everyone. This can't be right. Where did it all go wrong?!

"Off with your head." The king announced. My eyes widen and I panicked. No, I don't want to die like this. I'm not ready to die!

In a moment of panic I ran. I tried running away from the court. But the air was thick and my legs were heavy. It was like a invisible force was trying to push me back and preventing me from running away as fast as I can.

I push and push through, trying to head into the forest before my foot slipped. Soon before I knew it, I was tumbling down a dark hole. Landing in a dark area that I do not know of. That's when the eerie music of string instrument started to fill the void. It was horrid and ear bleeding.

I almost felt like throwing up as I witnessed by eyes up upon ahead of me in this void. Fields of bodies of fallen men, slaughtered children, and beheaded innocents. Is this where everyone comes here to die? Did I do this? No none of this can't be right.

Make it stop. Make it stop now. Please. God show mercy upon me please.

Someone, just anyone please save me. I don't want to be here. I don't want things to end here.

A sharp pain hits the back of my wings and I crumbled to the floor in pain. A invisible attack one that I cannot see, as other sharp pain hits the second wing and blood fountains out. I yell in pain. Make it stop please.

It's like needles and knives attack me from all directions as I get pushed and stumbled around. Is this what true Hell is like? Is this my punishment?

I lay motionless on the ground, tired from all the pain. I don't think I can go on anymore. After everything, everything just hurts, making it unbearable to move. Someone's just end it now.....

Please, I don't want to live suffering like this. What is there to live for is I'm deemed as a traitor? What is there to live for if I attack others unjustified? Is there any point of this life if I'm the one causing problems?

What a pathetic knight I am. I'm starting to think this position wasn't for me.

A sword poked the back of my neck. It felt like my own sword. There was maniacal laughter behind me. At least I can die knowing the one man I pushed away can get his revenge.

The sword raised up, ready to make the final blow.

I guess there is shame upon my name after all.

[End of nightmare]

#bsd #bsd oc #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs oc #sir louis #bsd royalty au #royalty au

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slapjacq · 7 months ago

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I am ill. Not okay. I’ve cried and thrown a tissue box at the wall. Then proceeded to scream at said wall for twenty minutes. Yes I am melodramatic, no I don’t care. I am still in therapy for a reason. Nevertheless, this episode was bonkers, off the wall batshit insane. Like genuinely so good that it almost adds to the tragedy of it all.

Here are my immediate and unfiltered thoughts from my post episode freak out that I have to put somewhere because if I don’t, I will, in fact, explode.

Warning: spoilers up the wazoo, a lot of profanity

First and foremost: Daniel, old Maniel, I can count on you to always keep it a buck, and for that I thank you.

Armand you piece of fucking shit I swear on everything that is holy, you are no longer babygirl, you bitch ass hoe, go stick that fucking doe eyed face up someone else ass you stupid fucking piece of shit. “i cOULD nOt pReVEnt iT” FUCK YOU MEAN YOU COULDNT PREVENT IT YOURE 500 YEARS OLD, YOU SOLD THEM OUT TO BEGIN WITH. YOU STOP TIME, CAN CONTROL BODIES, PLANT IDEAS INTO PEOPLE HEADS, READ PEOPLES MINDS AND THE BITTY BABY VAMPIRE ARMAND COULDNT DO ANYTHIGN ABOUT IT? SUCK MY DICK AND KISS ME MERRY GO TRH THAG SHIT ELSEWHERE (shout out Assad for really giving his all with the whole puppy dog eyes this entire episode 10/10 would fall for them if not the circumstances). I can’t believe I actually was defending this dude a few episodes ago, I literally can’t defend anything else from here moving forward.

Claudia and Madeline deserve to watch these assholes burn and the fact they died such painful deaths should warrant the gods to set the sky alight with constellations of their love. They were allowed NOTHING but a small taste of happiness before it was shredded away from them. No one is EVER gonna villainize them, not to me, not ever. Roxanne absolutely was incredible, and Delainey, in the coming future, better up there as an A-list actor because she has been that astoundingly good. (That goes for everyone here honestly, but Delainey and Roxanne really deserve their flowers here).

Santiago has a special place in hell. I simply cannot wait to watch him die. Decapitation is too kind for him, put him through pain and fury before sending him to hell. Ben Daniels you son of a bitch you played the villain so well. I damn near jumped through the screen when he began to read Claudia’s diaries with a shitty NOLA accent, I have never been so livid in my life.

The rest of Theatre: “All of you motherfuckers, fuck you, die slow.” -Tupac Shakur

Louis GET UP LEAVE YOUR WIFE DUDE YOU KNOW ITS BULLSHIT and honestly I’m not even going to rag on him this episode because the poor man has gone through too much. Jacob was absolutely brilliant in all of this, and honestly I literally will never stop talking about the performances in this show. Regardless, the upcoming rage is justified and I when get to watch him massacre these assholes, I will cackle with the same glee a schoolboy has after he disintegrates ants with a magnifying glass.

And finally Lestat. He rose on the third day and served cunt and made me ball like the mommy issues toting bitch I am. Sam, my man, you knocked it out of the fucking ballpark. Magnificent. Lestat, fucking bastard. You messy bitch. When you get out of whatever the Theatre is doing to you big man, I better see you read Armand to filth. I better see the same from the other. They both deserve to be dragged to hell and back.

Also Daniel Hart is a genius, just really fills your soul with dread this entire episode, I mean the score was filthy, vivid, and hauntingly gorgeous. The violins at the beginning were nasty work and had me fully hypnotized for the entire 50 minutes.

SFX is killing it, everytime, making it all believable and absolutely the worst someone could imagine it to be. I full body contorted at the sight of the sliced ankles.

Shoutout costume department also did its thing. Santiago’s costume was top tier camp. And Lestat’s suit was absolutely everything. Gender envy 11/10.

I could sit here all day and go on about how all the cast and crew did a fucking fantastic job. Like you can really tell they put their heart and soul into this episode.

I mean dear god I’m going to be in shambles for the next two years this episode was insane.

#no I am in shambles #I feel like I just got thrown into the fucking rat box #when I catch you rolin James #I am out for blood #for legal reasons this is a joke #iwtv #iwtv s2 #amc iwtv #interview with the vampire #iwtv spoilers #iwtv season 2

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look-a-yandere-fandom-blog · 9 months ago

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I would like something (hcs or else, whatever you can make out of it/feel like writing) for Dr. Stockill and a darling who is not eating.

Eiter because they decided to hunger strike as a form of protesting against him (totally terrible idea but not every darling is the sharpest tool in the shed heheh...) or because they are sick and that makes it hard for them/takes away apetite.

Hunger Pains | Headcanons

Dr. Stockill / Gender Neutral Reader

Fandom: The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls.

No Spoilers.

_________________________________

Ambiguous yan - can be read as platonic or romantic.

_________________________________

Content Warning: Hunger strikes, disordered eating, illness, brief mention of force feeding, brief mentions of animal/human death.

(If there’s anything else I need to add to these warnings, please let me know.)

Tysm for the ask anon! <3 I hope that this lives up to your request/expectations!!

_________________________________

- It doesn’t take Stockill long to notice they’ve stopped eating.

- In the months, maybe years, that Stockill has known them, they have never displayed an avoidance of food to this degree.

- Despite his detachment, disgust, and apathy to almost everything around him, he is an observant man. Especially when it comes to his darling.

- Within a few days, the interrogations start.

- He begins questioning his darling; and the longer he goes without an answer, the more insistent he becomes...

- "Don't lie to me, I know something is wrong with you."

- Once he finally manages to get an explanation out of them, he's bewildered.

- This odd behaviour is out of spite? Some silly protest against him?

- Stockill believes that he treats his darling rather well, at least in comparison to the other inmates he oversees.

- His darling is given decent food and drink; dressed in clothes that keep out the asylum's chilling cold; and is kept close to the doctor whenever possible.

- Stockill even allows them to rest in the safety of his room, in his own bed (which is often unused due to his frequent neglect of sleep).

- And yet, they still fight him?

- They would prefer the bleak darkness of the asylum's wards, accompanied by nothing but filthy rats and those wretched whores, over staying with him?

- Even going so far as to starve themselves, just to prove a point?

- His darling begins to deteriorate... day by day. Their movements becoming slower, their thoughts foggier, their gaze more distant. All despite his attempts to reason with them.

- As he tries to rationalise it, his confusion gives way to anger.

- Convinced that his darling's behaviour must have been instigated by another, threats soon follow.

- "I swear, if you do not stop this idiotic demonstration... I will find whichever inmate placed the idea in your head, and I will make her suffer!"

- From here, there's only two ways that it can end:

- In one, his darling ceases their little hunger strike, giving into the doctor's demands. Whereupon things will return to how they were, and Stockill will limit their contact with others even more as a precaution.

- In the other ending, his darling continues. Until Stockill does something...

- Drastic.

- But, he would rather not resort to something as vile as force feeding, or harming their companions to threaten them into relenting...

- So, it would be wise for his darling to stop. After all, they don't want to have their friends' blood on their hands... do they?

_________________________________

- Alternatively, if his darling’s lack of appetite is a result of sickness or some other affliction, he’s more…

- Well, he's not exactly sympathetic, but perhaps more understanding.

- Now, this is a problem for him to solve, a condition to be alleviated.

- He quickly sets himself to work: to find a cure for whatever is ailing them.

- There's a sudden influx of dead rats (and eventually dead patients) scattered throughout his laboratory, all in his attempt to cure this illness.

- But, with the limitations of victorian medicine, there's a good chance that Stockill's ventures will remain fruitless.

- If the illness becomes long-term, or is in fact some incurable/chronic condition, then Stockill will continue to seek for ways to lessen it.

- All the while, he will focus on keeping his darling healthy; maybe even neglecting his plague research until he is confident that their condition is stable.

- They won't be leaving Stockill's room for a long while... As he will insist they remain bedbound to avoid the affliction worsening.

- He would try to encourage his darling's appetite with more pleasant food than the asylum typically provides.

- "I recall you mentioning this dish. Something you enjoyed before you were sent... here."

- The costs for which are taken from the asylum's funds... but that is of no matter to him. His darling takes upmost priority.

- "Also, don't attempt to smuggle some to the other patients again. Yes, yes, I saw that. You are not nearly as sly as you think you are."

- He's almost considerate in this state.

- It's eerie.

- Incredibly eerie.

- But, all things considered, it's far from the worst situation his darling could be in.

- And as they fall asleep, curled up in Stockill's bed, the doctor watching them with a hawk-like gaze...

- They see the ever so faint, ever so unnatural, twist of his lips.

- A smile.

- "I will see you tomorrow, my dear..."

_________________________________

#dr. stockill #yandere #yandere blog #tw yandere #the asylum for wayward victorian girls #yandere x reader #tafwvg #montmorency stockill #yandere doctor #dr stockill #yandere dr stockill #male yandere #anon ask

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po11yannaswife · 7 months ago

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𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑇𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 ✧₊⁺

𖹭 𝑃𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑥𝐹𝑒𝑚!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𖹭 ;

𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝐼 ; 𝑐𝑖𝑟𝑐𝑎 1921-1922

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑇𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑒/𝑆𝐴, 𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑒, 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑎, 𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑟-𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠, 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ, ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑃𝑇𝑆𝐷.

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 , 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

The presence of her allure has left me helplessly and painfully in love with Polly Gray, I cannot bear to keep it inside me any longer as the woman has made comfort in living in my mind. I’ve never felt this mental since the war. War was where other people were hurt and my hands were bloodied from caring and saving them. Now I’m the one who’s hurt, and I don’t know how to care for myself with this absurd situation, in love with my best friend’s aunt. I hope for this love to pass on, pray even. But, if I pray, God would frown upon me for such a feeling, so for now, I shall only hope.

I should only hope that Thomas doesn’t suspect a thing either, I feel like he’d shoot me in the head or send me away. He’d want his beloved aunt with a man who could protect her, right? I have to collect myself from this madness.

Yours truly.

You sighed as you dropped your pen onto the beaten desk, your hand clasped over your mouth. The words kept repeating in your head, and with every repetition of the situation, the worse it had seemed. You felt sick to your stomach at the feeling of feeling this way towards the woman, confusion and anxieties filling your filled enough head at the thoughts.

Finally deciding to snap your journal shut, you stuffed it under your stiff pillow and rubbed your eyes, blowing out the candles and shutting the golden light off. You got into bed, your only desire in that moment was to warm up under the blankets. Even with the twists and turns, the quick panic that settled in your chest every time you heard a sound that was either outside or imaginary, you fell asleep. All to do it once more the next day.

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

I don’t understand why Polly’s birthday is the best of my worries currently. Sabini has gotten much more violent, beating Thomas to shit, and no one can understand how much suspicion I have with Campbell. His lads saved him from being killed, which I appreciate wholeheartedly, but I know he wants something. I can see it and I’m scared for the Peaky Blinders safety.

And Ada, beautiful Ada, almost taken by a group of Sabini’s men. Gloom has dawned over me that we are all in danger, I guess it’s what you sign up for when you join a gang in Birmingham. Fortunately, our men got to her in time, only god knows what would have happened to her if they didn’t. It makes me ill. I don’t want a mere thought of what would have happened to her. I especially want her safe, she has a baby, and no baby deserves to grow up without its parents. He doesn’t have a father already, bless Freddie’s soul. Hopefully, Thomas gives her a safer place to keep her and her child in good hands.

I’m currently living in a..place, you can call it. Definitely not a home. It has one bedroom, no lavatory, one small den, a kitchenette, and a hall that goes to the front door. It’s better than having no home, and I am eternally grateful I am here instead of France slaving away as a housewife.

On other topics, I cannot explain how nervous I am to give her the gift I have made for Polly. It has taken me hour after hour but I have finally finished it. A blanket with navy and a darker shade of red patches that I’ve made sure are not itchy for good measure. I hope she likes it, she doesn’t like her birthday much though, and I’m not family so it may seem strange, but I swear it’s just to share my appreciation for her. I love the woman, well, in a friendly manner, and this blanket is to show her how much comfort she has given me in the past with just her words. It feels good to give back. Though Polly is a hard woman, what if she laughs in my face with the soft gift? I am getting too ahead of myself now. Time will only tell what tends to happen. She’s turning 38, but hell, she looks absolutely beautiful. Oh, Tommy got her a whole fucking house.

Yours truly.

After adding the last period, you glanced back at the handmade blanket, as said. The colours made you smile softly to yourself, hoping to god she would like it genuinely. It was disgusting how much you pricked yourself making the damn blanket, but it was worth it for Polly. You’d do anything for her.

You closed your journal for the night, putting it under your pillow and turning all the lights off. You closed your newly bought drapes and got into bed, thinking of what Polly would think of the gift. You couldn’t tell if this was excitement, or nervousness. Nonetheless, it was on your mind until you drifted into another slumber.

But this was fully just a friendship between two women, right?

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

So, Polly’s 38th birthday went...adequate. That’s the word.

I was ordered to clean the house and set it up for Polly early on so that they could give her the gift, which was exhausting but worth it. I fucking despise dusting, I know now. As they gathered, I felt somewhat ill at ease, contemplating isolating myself within the confinement of one of the rooms, waiting for the opportunity of a moment when private discussions would divert their attention. Being no kin to them, I presumed my presence unnecessary, no surprise to my confusion and wary demeanour upon Tommy's unexpected calling to the living room. When I came in, I noticed how confused and baffled Polly had seemed, while Arthur, Finn, and John were smiling like idiots. The sight made me smile. I cannot figure out why, but even Polly’s most mundane actions make me feel intimidated, as if I’m in the presence of royalty.

The only thing keeping me in that room was Thomas glancing at me and giving me the “stay right fucking there” look. I didn’t dare to move an inch, the thought of ruining the rare moment deemed unappealing.

When she looked at me I faintly smiled, which I now berate myself for. No clue why. I gave her the blanket after her and Tommy spoke and I tried my best to do it in private, not wanting to seem all strange. Her reaction was a little..delayed. That concerns me and has left such paranoia in my chest as if it’s smoke from a fire, but instead of coughing, my heart is going like fucking mad men. The only reassurances I have currently are the smile she gave me and the gentle embrace. I would stay in that hug for eternity if I could. Her smile is angelic and I would make a hundred more of those blankets if I could see that smile just for a second.

Yet, the joy I find in her company is tainted by the antics of Arthur and John, which has made me feel even more wary of her feelings.

I also have a feeling I’m going to be a part of this expedition to find her children somehow.

God help me.

Yours truly.

Another journaling of your feelings was finished, slamming the book shut afterwards and groaning into your hands. You just wanted to shoot yourself at this point, the humiliation of going practically red in front of her made you want to jump out your window. You paced your room for a bit, biting your nails and groaning over and over and cursing yourself for your actions only hours earlier.

What if she was calling her friends and making fun of you? Or stuffing the blanket in her new closet? Or giving it to someone as a hand-me-down? Your worries overwhelmed your head, tears actually starting to form. You couldn’t sleep, so you decided to do the best and most safest option.

Sit outside and smoke a cigarette. Your choice would have been going to the Garrison, but it was being remodelled, understandably. You needed a drink, anything, and the only drink you had was some milk which you bloody hated. So you were going to your almost empty pack of cigarettes, reminding yourself to get more tomorrow and calling it a night.

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

It has been awhile, but my assumption of me being involved in finding Polly’s kids is correct. Well, kid. The realisation has overcome Polly of her one daughter being dead. It has drained me that she knows that her son is alive and she cannot see him because he isn't of legal age. I heard what had happened through Thomas, and beforehand, I’ve given the contacts to Michael with the fight of his adoptive mother in the country.. I hate doing this, but as I’ve said before, I’ll do anything for Polly.

Meanwhile, she has resorted to being impulsive and ignoring Thomas. I shouldn’t be as stressed as I am over this, logically I know that. This isn’t my business. I cannot help my emotions towards the situation, I also feel like, christ, I feel a lot of things, don’t I? As I was saying, I feel like I have no place in this cause I’ve never been a mother. I took care of my siblings and have a maternal instinct, yes, but I’ve never had a child of my own blood. This is Polly’s kid and I could never imagine how distraught she is of learning one is dead in Australia and the other she is restrained from seeing.

On the bright side, the Garrison is opening soon. Tonight, actually. I can’t deny that I’m excited to see how it has changed. I’ve been here for two years and the old design was boring, and I refuse to tell them that the blow up may have been a blessing. I mean, who wants to go to the most known pub in Birmingham and sit in a dusty old one?

I hope this all resolves and that Polly sees her son. I’m always hoping for something, like a glutton for hope. I’m sinful enough these days.

Yours truly.

A sudden knock at your door made you jump, turning around to look at your window. You waited to see if there was another knock, which there was, and you sighed to yourself. Chester Campbell had been causing a riot across town, chaos causing you to be more paranoid than ever. You grabbed a blade that sat on your desk and crept down the hall, placing your hand on the doorknob and turned it, cracking it open with hesitation. The chain was still in place, so god forbid if it was someone to hurt you, they’d have some trouble first.

“Let me in.” Thomas ordered. You furrowed your brows, but did as he said, sliding the chain off and opening the door for him. “Remember how we spoke of that fucking Jew?”

You closed the door, humming, “Alfie Solomons? Yiddishers?” You questioned for confirmation, “And, let’s probably not call them a ‘fucking Jew’.”

“Yes, Solomons. I met that fucker today, gave me a bloody hard time when I gave him our proposal.” Thomas took out a cigarette, ready to light it. You opened your mouth to speak, wincing a bit. He glanced at you, puzzled.

“It’s a small place..the smoke will linger. It’s okay, though, you can smoke.” You politely stated, sitting down in a wooden chair. “Don’t go looking for alcohol either, I have none.”

“What the fuck do you have?” His words were muffled from the cigarette, lighting it up and handing one to you, putting the flame to the end of it once it was between your own lips. “We run a fuckin’ pub, and you’re out of bloody alcohol?”

“The pub is being remodelled, Tommy. And I’m not pestering you for a bloody drink.” Taking a drag from the cigarette, you sighed again. “If you want me to have a stock of whiskey, you’ll have to be ever so kind and give it to me. I’m not taking it from the pub without your permission.”

“Permission?” Thomas scoffed, leaning against the wall. “Y/n, you lost the need for permission when you were officially called to family meetings. You’re one of fucking us, not some prostitute. So when it reopens, take some.”

The gesture was kind for Thomas, you smiled slightly. “I appreciate the reassurance.” You tapped your cigarette on an ashtray, squinting your eyes a little as you thought. “Are you doing alright? Need me to clean or bandage anything up? Any new pain?”

He peered up at you, then to the side. “No. Just the pain of Polly being fucking stubborn.”

“Do you think she’s coming to the opening tonight?” You questioned, fiddling with your fingers. “Not that I..am concerned-”

“Possibly.” He replied, studying you. “She’ll probably come and get drunk.”

“I don’t blame her..I mean, I couldn’t imagine hearing that my daughter is dead and I can’t see my son without smoking a pack or getting drunk.” He rolled his eyes at your reply, which you quickly defended yourself. “I’m not disagreeing with you, Tom. She needs to wait.”

“Are you coming to the opening?” The room was silent as you thought, a little uneasy now. You wanted to see it, you wanted a break from everything. Campbell, Sabini, Michael, just everyone. But, you also didn’t want any sort of trouble tonight.

Nonetheless, you nodded.

“I’ll come to support.”

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟕𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

I have never been in such a chaotic situation until now. Michael, wonderfully came to Polly the morning after the opening, which probably wasn’t the best time. Or the greatest impression.

Now, I think I mentioned how I gave Michael the info, but I didn’t give Polly the info that I did give Michael it and see him. I knew the bastard would say something when he saw me. The furious tension Polly had created in the room when Michael recognised me sent a shiver down my spine, I couldn’t look her in the eye. I was too afraid, still am. I’m mortified. We’re speaking soon and this is the first time I do not want to speak to her. All I’ve done is what Thomas says, but I know it was wrong to keep the secret of me seeing her son before her. I wanted to keep her safe by not getting into any sort of danger with the coppers. Now I question if it was worth it? I hope I live. It is rare for me to pray, always resorting to hoping and wishing, but once I hear the sound of a knock on my door, I’m praying, desperate for any civil deliverance. In hindsight, I should’ve taken some Tokyo before this to calm my nerves.

Yours truly.

The way your head turned when you heard the knock was as if you were in a horror movie and knew the killer was behind you. You stared at the journal for a few seconds, closing your eyes when you heard a second batch of louder knocks.

You put the book away and stood up, slowly walking towards your probable demise. You couldn’t lie that you procrastinated not answering and just never going outside ever again, that wasn’t logical sadly. You mumbled a prayer under your breath and turned the doorknob, sliding the chain off and opening the door. You couldn’t look the woman in the eye, clearing your throat and just moving away from the door for her to come in.

She closed the door behind her and gazed down at you while you guiltily stood in the doorway of the den. Your nails scratched at the outside of your hand, leaving irritated lines of pure apprehension. You could feel your heart pounding against your chest, afraid of what she may do or say. Would she kick you out of the family? Shoot you? Tell you to never go near her again? Or her son?

“It’s utterly obvious when you’re guilty and nervous.” Polly flatly stated her observation, to what you looked up at. You took a step back when she took a step towards you, making her scoff. “I’m not going to hurt you, you silly girl.”

The nickname made you slightly blush, only nodding your head and mumbling an apology. You turned to go into the small room, tensely sitting down. She sat down across from you, looking you up and down. “Michael further explained what you did.” She began immediately, not in the mood to waste time. “I want to compare stories. So, go on.”

A shaky huff fell from your lips, feeling like you murdered someone or kidnapped a child. “Thomas led me into this. I had no malicious intent whatsoever, let me say that. I helped him find the documents, which brought him to take me to the country to give the information to Michael, as he thought it’d be less intimidating for a woman to give it instead of a man. I simply introduced myself and my intentions, handed him the card, took the tongue lashings from the hideous mother, and went on my merry way. Polly, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you in danger. I know if I would’ve told you, now do not take any offence, you’d probably pry the address out of me with how insistent you are. And if you went there, with your insisting, you would’ve gotten arrested. I do not want you in those vile places. All I desired was for you to get your boy back. That’s all my intentions were. I simply didn’t tell you for your sake.”

Incapable to meet her daggering gaze, you stared uncomfortably into your hands, anxiously waiting for her response. The fear lingered and it left you utterly mortified, her silence only increasing it. She observed your every movement, studying your body language and the look in your eyes. She contemplated for another few moments, sighing.

An alarming shift of the aura in the room occurred as her clenched fist inadvertently revealed a sharp blade, causing your eyes to widen in apprehension. Swiftly recovering, she composedly placed the weapon on the table before folding her now-empty hands together. The tense atmosphere surrounding you seemed to intensify as she watched the fear in your eyes intensify, your body involuntarily becoming more rigid, and your nails fiercely scratching at your hands in a display of discomfort.

“I find no need for the use of the blade,” Polly spoke sternly to get your attention back on her. “Liars need consequences. And you aren’t. I also do not think I’d even have the heart to hurt you.” Polly took both of your hands to halt your scratching, sighing before saying, “Thank you for helping find my son.”

Tears burned at your eyes, squeezing her hands. You tried to smile weakly and she embraced you gently, her rage disappearing only to be replaced by more respect for you. “I apologise for being so-”

“No need, Polly. I understand.” You quickly cut her off, still breathing a little hard. “You're a mother. And that’s all the explanation I need from you..just, please don’t slit my throat.”

She glanced at the blade and put it back in her purse, “I don’t like liars in this family. You saw what that Grace did. So let this be a friendly warning, sweetheart.” Her tone was condescending at the end and you gulped, understanding her reasoning and whatnot. “I wouldn’t expect to have to do this again.”

She stood up, walking towards the door before pausing as she opened it, looking over at you. “Be a good girl and learn to offer some whiskey when you have a guest. It’s polite.” She gave you one last glance before exiting your home, leaving you red, wide eyed, and slightly humiliated.

After you collected yourself, you whispered, “I really need to get that whiskey.”

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

God, where do I start?

Sabini has come through with his threats, and I must confess, I am afraid. A kid, a sweet lad that I had only a brief acquaintance with is now dead because of him. Throat slit in a dreary jail cell, makes me nauseous at the thought. He seemed very naive and somewhat innocent when I met him. I don’t know why Thomas allowed him to participate in this gang, especially when we have a couple of lads seeking our downfall. Bless the kid’s soul.

Unfortunately, a sense of dread has blocked my mind from any sort of joy anymore. Arthur has been held at gunpoint, may I say deservingly, by a mourning mother. He fucking killed a kid in a wrestling match. Arthur is like a dog, if you get him going, angry enough, he will have not one single limit. His only goal is to scare his prey, and he fucking scared this one to the afterlife.

Chester Campbell is starting more racket with us, coppers, fucking everyone. His insatiable appetite extends beyond mere illicit pursuits, for he indulges in the most disgraceful and shameful vices with every available prostitute and vulnerable woman. It sickens me to the core to possess such knowledge of his guilty indulgences. Hell, could you imagine being so desperate to get your cock sucked and take advantage of women that every town you go to for legal terms, you fuck every prostitute? What profession is this? If he ever says fuck the Peaky Blinders, I’m running.

Now, Polly. She has taken over my mind at this point. I don’t know what to do, I’m guilty of feeling love towards another woman and I cannot figure out a strategy to get myself out of this torturing infatuation. Why can’t I be attracted to a man? In a world where every woman seems to be attracted to Thomas, I’m attracted to his aunt. I attempt to persuade myself that this affection is merely friendly, but the effort is becoming increasingly laborious. Being queer here is digging your own grave, and I’m not ready for that. I’m 22.

I shall just confine my love for her on these pages, never to say them aloud.

Yours truly.

“Why can’t I just be attracted to men?” You whined into your hands desperately, pondering how you got yourself into this situation. Polly was killing you softly without knowing it. Even when you felt threatened by her, the embrace she gave made you feel secure and alright, like she would never hurt you unlike other people in the past. The scent of her perfume lingered as a memory which you desperately wanted to retrieve, yet you didn’t know how to be that close with her. You were friends, good friends, you couldn’t ruin this.

You finally just quit your pity and turned off the light, putting another layer on top of you due to the chill in the air. You slipped into bed before falling asleep rather quickly, hugging yourself as a reminder of possible comfort.

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟑𝐫𝐝, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

I need a heavy drug.

I have at once been burdened with Michael being the accountant below me, which automatically makes me need to teach him some things. Thomas should be doing this, and now I have to make sure he does nothing wrong.

It was his birthday a day ago, I didn’t attend because I have more work to get done, I did hear that he had some fun. Lucky him. Polly is still uneasy with him working for us since she doesn’t want him exposed to the violence and inappropriate behaviour we set..if only she fucking knew. Arthur gets a little mouthy when drunk, let’s just say that.

Speaking of, the three Shelby men have probably caused more conflict between Sabini and the Peaky Blinders. Quite possibly me as well, I’m guilty of being there. The Eden club, run under Darby Sabini, is pretty much destroyed. It was a sight that could set your blood cold and the amount of men that were trying to grind against me triggered impulsive desires to take a shattered piece of glass and slit my wrists until I bled out just to end the harassment. It was quite satisfying to watch Arthur beat the fuck out of two of the men who did so. I’m probably going to stay out of London for a while unless I’m visiting Ada.

As always, I wish for things to get better. It’d probably start with Sabini and Campbell being assassinated, in which I’d celebrate. Is that impolite?

Yours truly.

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟑𝟎𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

My life has now taken a woeful turn. Everyone’s lives.

Michael hasn’t understood the consequences of actions, I presume. Chester Campbell has him in a cell, due to him burning down a pub. Arthur has also been arrested after being invited to Camden Town for Alfie Solomons invite of Passover. I don’t know the fully story, all I know is that he did something or Solomons is one fucking cunt. I know it all has to connect to Campbell. I knew it from the very start.

Polly isn’t doing too dandy. She's transformed into someone more severe, her words cutting like a knife, and her demeanour has taken a sharp and unapologetically harsh turn. I can grasp the reasons behind her behaviour, but it doesn't make it any easier to witness. She's determined to take Michael away permanently once he's released from prison, but deep down, I find it difficult to believe such a drastic outcome is promised.

Furthermore, she's stirred up a troubling conflict with Esme, simply because she's not family by blood. The tension in the room became unbearable, and I desired to slip away unnoticed just to catch my breath. However, Polly's hand clasped my wrist tightly, forcing me to her side as if she was afraid to let go.

In the midst of this turmoil, I find comfort in expressing my thoughts through writing, knowing that this is my sole outlet to vent my emotions before joining Polly in the attempt to bail Michael out faster than Thomas can. I'm torn, for I'm reluctant to proceed with this endeavour, but my loyalty and vulnerability to Polly is victorious. After all, anything for bloody Polly, eh?

Yours truly.

You put the pen down and stood up, putting your coat over your shoulders and a pair of heels before running down the hallway to meet Polly. You needed a breather, a break. The morning was overwhelming enough, and for what was to happen next was unknown. She understood, giving you half an hour of preparation, which you were grateful for.

She glanced at you before nodding her head, extending her arm. You stepped down the concrete steps that led to your door, awkwardly wrapping your arm around hers. “So, what’s the plan for this?”

She stayed silent for a few seconds. “You’re just my support, my second pair of eyes. Witness,” She stated, looking over at you to see if you were understanding, and you certainly were. “I’ll do anything to get Michael out. You understand to not interfere with anything, correct?”

The question made you puzzled, making you swallow hard. “Um, yeah. Polly, uh, you know I won’t let him hurt you though, right? This is-”

“I know who this is, Y/n.” Polly sterned, walking a bit faster now. “Thank you for wanting to protect me, but I’m an adult. I can take care of myself and my own fucking decisions.”

“Okay.” You simply replied in a soft murmur, instinctively tightening your grip on her arm as the unsettling thought of harm befalling her crossed your mind. She noticed, of course. The woman noticed everything.

Once you both stood in front of the building, she stopped you both. She leaned in, whispering quietly, “Whatever happens in here, stays between us.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, savouring the peace before she dragged you along again, the coppers already knowing what she was here for. They lead you both to Chester’s office, and you felt your heart pound, your ears already ringing, the air around you tense, full of misery in a way. It was sucking the life out of you.

“P-Polly, I really don’t have a good feeling.” You admitted in a hush tone, the fear in your eyes betraying the tough demeanour you desperately tried to be. She took a quick look at you momentarily, using her free hand to gently move stray hair from your face.

"Neither do I, love. Let's get this over with, yeah? You’re the bravest girl I know, you’ll be okay." Her words were tender, and the touch of her hand felt like a comforting embrace. But as the copper knocked on the door, announcing both yours and Polly's arrival, the warmth of that embrace faded, and you braced yourself for what laid ahead of you both.

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝐧𝐝, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

I can’t look at myself. I cannot bear to see such a failure. A weak, useless girl. I can’t handle it. I don’t know what to think, or say, or do.

I can’t speak. My voice is gone from screaming like a lunatic, quoting from the coppers. I can’t comprehend what has happened, what happened to Polly, knowing I was a wall away, I was right there. I could’ve stopped him somehow. I could’ve sacrificed myself. I could’ve protected her better if I wasn’t such a fucking coward. I knew when he started to mock her, belittle her. I heard the rest through the walls. My fingertips are raw, voice gone, throat is fucking gone. And so is everything I was before.

I hate myself when I see Polly. I can’t help myself but cry, I don’t know why. I wasn’t the victim, I just heard it. God, I feel like such a coward for crying while even writing this. Polly doesn’t seem fazed and I wish I can be like that. Why can the victim be so strong and seem alright and I’m here sobbing?

I wanted her to be okay. I wanted to protect her. When they let me out after she was finished, I didn’t want to look at her out of guilt. But she saw me and gave me her touch, and I swear, when I saw Chester in his doorway, with that smug smirk of satisfaction, I met something in me. Pure rage from the depths of hell. I want to murder him. I want to cut his cock off and shove it down his throat, making him silent like he is to Polly. I want to burn him alive. I want to do everything and anything that causes pain to him.

I want him fucking dead. I want him deceased, I say this with every ounce and inch and fucking soul of my being, unapologetically. I want him to feel the burden of being murdered without dying. Then dying. He is a murderer of purity, security, any sort of worth a woman has. Yet, he longs without consequences.

I realised how much this has affected me, as selfish and victimising it sounds. I’ve wanted to take a gun to my head and kill the guilt by killing me. The guilt he tended to make for me. He took advantage of Polly’s vulnerability, knowing how guilty I’d feel, replacing how he should feel the guilt.

All I yearn for is for Polly to be safe, and I cannot seem to do that simple task.

I will go by her words, but they’ll never fade the guilt and hatred I have for myself because of this. Michael can go die in a ditch as well for being humiliated by his mother for sacrificing herself.

Yours truly, I guess.

You stared at your ceiling after taking hours to write. Your eyes were in pain from how much you sobbed, not allowing Polly to see you like this. You were back in your home as she let you know she was okay enough, pushing you out practically. The moment you walked into your house, you collapsed.

That night as you changed, seeing the harsh bruises of the coppers as they dragged you away, the grins haunting you, Polly’s eyes widening at your horrific screams, Campbell smirking.

“No! Please! No!” Screaming as loud as you could, only getting more vicious as the coppers dug their hands into your shoulders, their free ones groping you in the process. “Don’t you dare! Don’t touch her! Polly! No, no, no!”

“No, no, no, please.” You strained, whimpering, hugging yourself and closing your eyes. Tears fell down your cheeks, beginning to feel as if you were back there, being thrown into a cell. The cold air sends you into spasms, your fingers pulsing at the memorial feeling of scratching against the concrete wall. “Stop. Stop it.”

“Don’t hurt her! Ugh!” The two men voices filled your ears, calling you crazy and mad, throwing you into the cold and gloomy cell with little light. You crawled back, “Tell him I will sacrifice myself for her! Please! Tell him! Polly doesn’t deserve this! No!” You begged and you pleaded, watching them as they laughed at you like you were some sort of entertainment. You couldn’t breathe, your limbs trembled, your sobs of desperation making it hard for you to form full sentences and only spurring the two men on.

"Stop, stop, stop," you whispered desperately, attempting to wrench yourself away from the abyss of torment that engulfed your mind. Struggling to break free from the grip of haunting memories, you yearned for respite from the mental anguish.

Suddenly, a loud knock resounded at your door, jolting you back to reality in an instant. The unexpected sound shattered the tormenting reverie, causing you to snap back to the present, only to find yourself gripped once again by fear and apprehension.

Reluctant and hesitant, you hesitated to open the door down the hall. Fully aware of your dishevelled appearance, evidence of recent tears on your face, you tried to ignore the persistent knocks, hoping to escape any unwelcome intrusion. Your hand instinctively rose to cover your mouth upon hearing Polly's voice, her words cutting through your emotions.

"I know you're in there, Y/n," she called out, her voice carrying a mix of concern and determination, leaving you torn between facing her and keeping your despair hidden from view. “Let me in.”

A shuddering breath fell from your lips, retrieving a robe to cover yourself up with. You walked down the hall, wiping tears off your face to try and make it not so obvious you were bawling.

You opened the door after unlocking it, face to face with Polly. She seemed exhausted, basket in her hand, her hair pulled back. Her eyes fluttered when she saw you as you waved and pointed to your throat. You could speak, just barely and it hurt like hell. Her eyes fell to the bruises that were visible on your collarbone, her hand reaching out to inspect the wound.

As she let herself in, she pointed down the hall and asked, “Your bedroom down there?” You simply nodded. She took your hand and led you down the hall, welcoming herself into your golden lit room and sat you down on your bed. She sat beside you, continuing her inspection in which you couldn’t comprehend why she even cared. Her cold fingers grazed over it before meeting your eyes, nodding at your shoulder, “May I?”

With a tentative nod, you granted her the consent she sought. Gently, she lowered the satin robe to reveal more of your shoulders, and as she did, you couldn't help but inhale sharply, the sight of your wounds making you wince. Her touch brushed against a particularly sensitive cut, causing you to flinch away instinctively, murmuring an apology for the involuntary reaction.

"Please, don't apologise," she whispered, pulling the robe back up and smoothing it down with care. Lifting your head, her hands cupped your jawline, locking eyes with you in a moment of profound intimacy. "I'm sorry I put you through all this," she said, her voice filled with genuine remorse.

Despite the pain and tears welling in your eyes, you mustered the strength to speak, though your voice was faint and weak. "Not... not your fault," you managed to say. "I'm sorry for not protecting you better."

Her heart ached at your words, and she tenderly kissed your forehead before enveloping you in her arms, mindful of your injuries. Without hesitation, you clung to her tightly, finding solace in the embrace, just as you had done two nights prior. Her fingers attempted to run through your hair, but the tangles proved too stubborn. She gently pulled away, standing up to fetch a hairbrush from your vanity, where she noticed your journal resting.

You noticed it as well, panic settling into your chest as you made haste to snatch the journal from your desk and snapped it shut. Luckily, the page it was on wasn’t spilling your love for her, but it was telling how guilty you were.

She sighed as she sat back down, taking some of your hair and brushing it out. “I should be taking care of you, Polly.” You rasped, rubbing your neck in circles. She paused for a moment, before continuing to brush your hair, slower this time.

“Sweetheart, you have. I may have been drunk, but you took care of me. No one has ever held me the way you have, bathed me as humiliating as it is like you did. You went through the force of knowing it was happening, yet you still put me before you. Now, it’s my turn.” She explained, gently getting every tangle and knot out.

“You don’t hate me, right?”

The weak voice you had as you asked the heart wenching words made her stop, letting herself take a deep breath.

“I could never hate you, Y/n.”

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

Polly and I have been recovering from the recent events that have happened, and I will say, I am better than I was a week or two ago. Still in a light form of shock and grief with terrible paranoia, but I’m okay.

It is early morning as I write this, and today's plans for everyone are the definition of risky. The Peaky Blinders, Thomas, and the Gypsies are uniting to seize control of Darby Sabini's race track, a venture that sways on the cliff of peril. My heart is heavy with concern for their safety, knowing all too well the unforgiving nature of both Sabini and the relentless coppers. I find myself anxiously hoping that Thomas has arranged a cunning distraction or perhaps struck a deal with Moss to avert any interference, lest the consequences be dire. For if their moves are exposed, they may all find themselves awakening in a place far from here, taken by our foes. The stakes are high, and I can only pray that their courage and wit prevail in this risky endeavour.

On the other hand with less importance, a bit more of a quarter percentage of the business has been given to Alfie Solomons in Camden Town, which in my opinion, may be a foolish action. I’ve met Alfie, a nice guy, but I don’t know if we can trust him. Well, nice isn’t the best word, he’s something, alright?

For me, Polly and I are bound on a fateful errand, and the anticipation has kept me restless, robbing me of sleep. Together, we've carefully devised a plan, a method to exact the vengeance he so rightfully deserves. I dare not delve into the particulars, as the utmost secrecy is essential to safeguard our intentions.

His actions have left us with no alternative; his existence must be brought to an end. Our hearts are set on ensuring justice prevails, even if it requires crossing dark and dangerous morals. With every fibre of my being, I hope and pray that our endeavour proves successful, delivering the retribution he has earned.

Our circle of trust is small, limited to Polly, Thomas, and myself, as we keep the knowledge of our intent deeply concealed. I prefer it this way, shrouding our actions in secrecy until our mission reaches its conclusion. It is Thomas who set this course of action in motion, and I am grateful to him for it. He has paved the way for Polly to carry out this decisive act, and for that, I am deeply appreciative.

I wish no one dies today except Campbell and anyone who wishes upon the Peaky Blinders downfall.

Yours truly.

“What will happen if this doesn’t go to plan, Polly? What if-”

“Will you please close your mouth and sit quietly?”

It had been hours later and you were in the car with Polly, not being able to stop moving or rambling on the possibilities of what may happen, while Polly seemed stable. You were her support, once more. The unknown of what may happen in the next hours scared you shitless, not feeling this sort of fear since the war.

“I’m sorry..” You breathed out, loosening the neck of your blouse a bit. “I’m just-”

“Scared? Y/n, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You turned your head to look at her as she drove, “What about you, Polly? I’m mostly anxious over you, I admit. What if he-” Her gloved finger pressed over your lips, shushing you. “Sorry.” You muffled against the finger and she swiftly took it away, stopping in front of the bar.

The woman turned to you one last time, “You go in the booth next to his. When you hear the gunshot, walk out.” Her voice was full of authority, not moving her glance from your eyes once.

“Yes ma’am.” You blurted out, watching as she made sure her gun was loaded before putting it into her purse. You got out when she did, beginning to scratch at your arms and hands again, but this time, it started to get so hard that beads of blood began to form, not coming to your attention, though.

The two of you strided into the bar, afraid but knowing this needed to be done. You instantly made sight with the phone booths, seeing the fedora that looked all too familiar. Though, to your unfortunate luck, all the booths seemed to be filled. You looked at Polly who was already looking at you, subtly pointing to a table that was near the booth Campbell was in.

With apprehension clawing at your heart, you discreetly parted ways with her, maintaining a facade of normalcy as you took a seat and pretended to watch her walk towards the booth. As his eyes met Polly's, you knew he also caught a glimpse of you, and in that moment, you locked gazes, sensing it would be the last time he'd ever see you.

The door sealed shut after his greeting, and you couldn't help but turn away, fixating on the table, your heart pounding so vehemently that it sent sharp pains through your chest. The fear of him causing harm to Polly, the strategy falling apart, weighed heavily on your mind, manifesting in the form of feral scratches that marred your poor hands, which bled relentlessly.

In that tense moment, the only sound you craved was the gunshot, signalling the successful execution of your plan. You scanned your surroundings, desperate to ensure no coppers were lurking nearby, and to your relief, you spotted none. Unable to hear their conversation, you waited with bated breath, until the creak of the door opening was followed by a guttural, choked sound. It brought a sense of grim satisfaction.

Time seemed to slow, as if the world paused to witness the unfolding events. The deluge of emotions overwhelmed you. your heart aching, your head feeling light, your ears ringing loudly, and your thoughts in disarray, overtaken by panic.

Then, a gunshot pierced the air, and you could hardly believe your ears. Slowly, you turned around, praying that Polly would emerge unharmed. In that moment, all other noises appeared muffled, and the dizzying sensation persisted.

As the scene unfolded before your eyes, you clung to the hope that it would be Polly who emerged from the booth. The background voices sounded distant, drowned out by the intensity of the moment.

As Polly finally exited the booth, you rose from your seat, nonchalantly straightening your dress, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the bloodstain on her attire. It was impossible to overlook, yet she seemed to be oblivious to it, her gaze fixated elsewhere, her eyes betraying a mélange of emotions, sorrow, shock, and a keen sense of relief.

You didn't exchange a word or even a fleeting glance; instead, you simply fell in step behind her, a shared understanding passing between you. The surge of emotions inside mirrored her own relief and hope, knowing that he was likely no more. In that moment, you both moved forward, united by the weight of those complex sentiments.

Now, your only worry was Thomas.

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟑𝐫𝐝, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

Chester Campbell is deemed dead, and we are no suspects. I haven’t felt so relieved in years. The plan was executed on correct terms, and we have been rewarded with the sense of safety, security, and not as threatened any longer. Especially Polly.

Thomas..he..was almost killed, but luck had sided with him. From then on, we have gotten the announcement of Grace and him together once again, and how Grace is pregnant. I cannot imagine a little Thomas Shelby. I hope Grace has some good blood in her to outweigh the cold.

Christmas is soon, and even if it isn’t very celebrated here, I’ve gotten the best present of all. Karma and Polly. She has chosen to invite me to her home during the two festive days, and I’ve never been more honoured and relieved I won’t be spending the holidays alone in this tiny space I call home.

This new year, I hope for it to be much more peaceful, much more..smooth. This year has been a wreck, and we have ended it with a sense of closure that I couldn’t ever be more thankful for.

Yours Truly.

#helen mccrory #peaky blinders #polly gray #polly gray x reader

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