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cirtusmistress · 4 months

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Hurricane

Authors Note: I wrote this about two years ago and posted it to AO3, and never cross-posted it to Tumblr. But given I want to get back into writing, I may as well start by posting what I got! So enjoy my first fic, two years late.

Ship ~ Brahms Heelshire x GN Reader

Tags ~ Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader is Competent, Storm prep, Brahms is Scared of Storms, Touch-Starved Brahms Heelshire, Reader Replaces Greta Evans, Minor Injuries, Doll Brahms Heelshire, One Shot, Gender-Neutral Pronouns

AO3 Crosspost

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“A storm? Like, a thunderstorm? Or is it worse?” You asked. You’d been working for the Heelshire’s for around two months now. And though they’d left you with very detailed instructions on how to care for their beloved son, they had never brought up things such as house care. Honestly, you hadn’t planned on staying this long. Not into Autumn.

“A full on hurricane.” Malcolm answered, setting the last of the grocery bags down. He continued, “The worst one we’ve had in years apparently. They’re predicting outages and downed trees. I can help you secure the windows and doors if you’d like?” He offered. A sweet gesture. An olive branch of friendship. But you knew better than to take it.

During your short time at the Heelshire estate, and caring for Brahms, you’d learned a great many things. The most crucial being that whenever someone stayed around too long and stole your attention away from the doll you cared for, there was hell to pay. In one instance you found the dining room in complete disarray after simply inviting Malcolm in for tea, during a rare social moment for you. The worst case was when a friend of yours stopped by. They were a globetrotter, and seeing as you already had residence found it simpler to just stay with you. A mistake. One night was enough to send Brahms into the worst tantrum you’d ever seen. Multiple rooms destroyed, a window had been broken, and he had stolen your friend's passport. Your friendship didn’t last long after that. After all, who was to believe that a doll could cause so much harm?

“Thank you, Malcolm, but I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with a few storms in my life, I��ll manage.” You replied. Malcolm studied you for a moment. Likely trying to read you, sniff out any signs of dishonesty. But, there were none. Just that warm smile that could melt anyone's heart. He gave a sigh of defeat and nodded.

“If you say so. Just give me a call if you need anything. I’ll come check on you when the hurricane passes.” With that he gave you a wave and headed back to his truck. You muttered a soft thanks, finally returning to your chores.

Brahms sat in the kitchen where he’d been waiting. Like he was listening to your conversation. You’d grown used to this odd job of yours. Caring for a doll as if it were human. Though you’d always figured there was more to this situation then most believed. You’d heard of people using dolls to cope with loss, the concept wasn’t lost on you. But for a couple well into their later years? And there were just.. Too many small things. Even in the rules. Playing music loud, reading in a loud clear voice, leaving food in the freezer. Food which you knew was going missing.

But the biggest tell was an accident. It had been about a month into the job. You’d actually begun to believe Brahms was a child's spirit trapped in the doll. What with him moving around on his own, and leaving you little offerings, and once saying your goddamn name when he was upset. But then, just by accident as you were putting Brahms to bed, you hit your foot against the wall. It had hurt so badly you thought you’d broken a toe. But what stood out in your mind even now was the sound the wall made. It didn’t make the thud you knew from stubbing your toe time and time again in youth. The wall sounded hollow. There had been an echo. Now you knew some older houses had hollow walls. Normally the cavities between the two layers were used for insulation. But that echo.. That wasn’t a normal hollow wall.

After that you’d started paying closer attention to the house and Brahms as you went about your day. Watching and listening. Countless nights where you’d lay in bed and just listen. You’d hear shuffling, the rare footstep like someone had stumbled. Once you swore you heard breathing. You noticed how many rooms had large paintings or cabinets, your size or larger. For a while you thought you were going mad. There was no way in hell that an elderly couple had been keeping their son in the walls for twenty years. But then you learned of the Heelshire’s deaths. Suicides. So many things pointing to something you didn’t quite know how to feel about. On one hand, you were now basically the sole guardian of a doll who was actually a stand-in for the hypothetical twenty-eight year old man in the walls. On the other, Brahms was now completely alone after twenty years of isolation. Alone, save for you. Sweet, kind, loving you who treated a porcelain doll like a real boy. Who read to him every night and tucked him in with a kiss. You couldn’t just leave him. No matter what Brahms was.

“We’re in for a storm, Brahms. I guess that means we’re having a slumber party downstairs tonight.” You cortled, putting the last of the groceries away. You took note of how little perishables Malcolm had dropped off. Thinking ahead. You wouldn’t be able to cook for however long the power was gone, if it did go that was.

You turned back to the doll, scooping him up and taking him with you. You figured the downstairs office would be the safest place. The windows were relatively small and were less likely to break. It would do for your purposes. You sat Brahms in the corner and got to work moving the desk out of the way. You’d have to lay down blankets and things to sleep on. You doubted the old fashioned Heelshire’s were going to have something like an air mattress.

You spent a good hour doing basic storm prep. Dragging some old blankets and comforters out of wardrobes and laying them down on the floor. Filling up buckets and the tubs with water. Getting crossword puzzles and cards. By the time that was all done, it had begun to rain outside. The calm before the storm you supposed. The last thing on your storm checklist was lanterns. This was an old house, you were certain that the Heelshire’s would have oil lamps somewhere. Naturally the first place you wanted to check was the attic.. But you knew better. After all, if your theory was right you didn’t want to scare the poor man by invading his space. So you settled on checking the cellar first.

Only issue was, you really couldn’t bring Brahms. You knew he was never meant to be alone but taking a fragile doll into a dark cellar was too risky. He’d have to stay upstairs. You were hoping he wouldn’t be too upset.

“Brahms, I’m headed to the cellar. I’ll be quick, I promise.” You hummed. With that, you headed down alone. You had been right, it was dark and musty and damp. You started to wonder if there was mold down here. You flicked on the old dingy light which surprisingly still worked. You began digging through the clutter. Old things like furniture, clothes never worn since the sixties, even some art pieces. It was like a time capsule. You didn’t have time to walk through history though, you needed to find anything that could give light without the use of electricity. Lower and lower you went through the piles, until finally you found something. A pair of old oil lamps and a small can of oil to go with it. You muttered a soft thanks, pulling them out from beneath wicker chairs. But what was behind them gave you pause.

The bricks were singed. Dark burn marks that showed age. Your eyes followed the marks. The furniture in here had covered them, but now they were exposed after your rummaging. They flowed over the bricks going upwards. They almost looked beautiful. But that beauty hid a tragedy that plagued this home. You knew why they’d been hidden with so much clutter.

Your thoughts were interrupted when something crashed behind you, making you scream and jump. When you turned you saw one of the mirrored vanities stored away had been smashed. The mirror shards now littered the floor. And on the steps sat the Brahms doll, staring you down. It took you a moment to catch your breath, realizing your error. Brahms didn’t want you uncovering his painful memories. And he’d made sure you knew that. Gathering yourself, you pushed the lamps aside and began to put all that you’d moved back into its place. Covering those painful memories back up, letting them remain hidden and forgotten. Once finished you picked the lamps and the can up and approached Brahms. Kneeling to his height you gave an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry Brahms,” you spoke with such a genuine tone of sincerity, “I shouldn’t have snooped around. But look! I found the lamps we’ll need!” You held up the lamps, jostling them a little so they clinked together. Of course the doll remained frozen. But just faintly, almost missable under the sound of rain pouring down, you heard panting. Like someone coming down from a rage.

“I’ll clean up the shards, then we’ll head back upstairs, okay?” You’d started speaking to Brahms out loud more after you’d learned about the walls. Feeding your own delusions some would say. You held your word, starting to pick up the larger shards and resting them on top of the vanity. The smaller ones you just brushed away with some loose fabric you found. You didn’t really plan on coming back down here anyways, not after that outburst.

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You always found time moves slower when there was a storm. The day seemed to drag on as the storm became worse and worse. The wind had picked up and those raindrops just kept getting larger. It was loud, even on the bottom floor. You had settled on just simple sandwiches for dinner, making sure to put a ‘spare’ in the freezer. And after that you’d just settled in to do a crossword. It was.. Probably the first time in weeks where you felt safe. There was something about the dim lighting and blankets that just felt right. Secure. Warm. Brahms sat under the covers and you’d even given him a crossword book of his own. Slightly cruel, knowing he couldn’t move with you there with him. But at least you’d been talking to him. Funny, you always struggled talking with real people. But this doll turned you into a chatterbox. Maybe it was the simple fact no one was attempting to speak over you. Like someone was actually listening.

Your tranquility was disrupted by a large gust of wind, followed by a crash that made the manor shake. And what sounded like a scream. It had come from upstairs. Something inside you just knew. That crash was in the attic. You were running upstairs before you even had time to think. Up the stairs, and finding the attic ladder down. You were unsure if it had come undone itself or if someone had moved it. That didn’t matter as you climbed up. It was your first time in the attic but you didn’t get a chance to explore. A branch had flown off a tree and crashed through the wall, opening it up to the elements. You could only act, no time for clear thoughts. You grabbed a nearby blanket and started to desperately try to cover the hole, but another gale blew you back. There was nothing you could do to patch it right now, not unless you wanted to risk injury or worse, death.

Your rattled mind returned to the scream you had heard. Or at least you thought you had heard. Looking around you didn’t see a body but there was a bed up here. A tv, a sink.. Someone was living here. You didn’t have time to celebrate your theory being proven. Where was Brahms? Your eyes flitted around, finally landing back on the ladder. Somehow you had missed the very clear bloody handprint on it during your panic. But if Brahms was bleeding.. Oh God, how badly was he injured? Quickly you descended the steps, trying to find any sign of him. You were too panicked to even fear this man who was hiding from you for so long. All you knew somewhere in this house he was hurt and bleeding.

“Brahms?” You called, starting to check every room. Could he have climbed back into the walls? Fearing you discovering him? You checked everything on the top floor and worked down, calling his name in a more desperate tone with each exclamation. But finally you found him. Turning the corner back into the downstairs study. There he sat, in place of the doll. It wasn’t what you expected to see. The mask was shocking at first glance. You were momentarily stun locked. He was bigger than you anticipated, even sitting down. Finally you snapped out of it when he looked at you, and held out his bleeding hand. It had a sizable gash across the palm.

“It hurts,” He spoke in a child-like voice. The voice you’d heard months ago. His head drooped a touch as he spoke, “Can you fix it?” He asked. Finally, after another beat, you nodded. Your mouth felt dry. Too dry to speak. In the kitchen you found the first aid, and took it back with you. He hadn’t moved from his place on the makeshift bed. You knelt beside him, and carefully took his hand in yours. Up close you could see the burn scars that ran along his entire right side. Suddenly his outburst in the cellar made much more sense.. Carefully you applied some rubbing alcohol to the cut. That made Brahms whimper and pull his hand back. The look in his eyes behind that mask was murderous.

“I’m sorry, Brahms, but I have to.. To clean it.” You choke out. Your mouth is still far too dry. You hold your hand out for his again, giving him those warm eyes again. He would trust you wouldn’t he? After all, you had been the one to care for him all this time. He looked at your hand, then back to your face. For a moment Brahms almost seemed entranced by your eyes before conceding and resting his hand back in yours.

“Good boy..” You said, starting to clean the wound. He made a noise akin to that of a moan at your praise. You supposed you were the first person to touch him or give him praise in years. He was likely touch starved. Once the cut was clean, you grabbed the bandages and began to wrap his hand. He kept watching you. His breath was heavy behind that mask.

Finally you were done, and you let his hand go. Brahms examined your work, how carefully you’d wrapped him, and the cute little bow you’d tied it off with. As he studied his hand, you studied him. Despite the childish voice he put on, he was very much an adult. You could see his beard poking out from beneath the porcelain. He was actually rather handsome, you’d admit. The rain picked up again, and the lights began flickering. Brahms jumped and quickly moved closer to you. Before you knew it his head was hiding in your lap. Apparently he was afraid of the storm. Made sense, it had attacked him after all. Carefully you began to stroke his hair in an attempt to soothe him.

“We’ll be okay. Just a little wind and rain, that’s all. Maybe we can play cards? Or I can tell you a story?” You offered. Just trying to find anything to distract him from the weather outside damaging his home. Slowly he nodded, not lifting his head from your waist. Actually his grip seemed to grow tighter. You could feel him inhaling a little too deeply, and his hands started to squeeze your thighs as he held tight. You felt bad thinking how unsurprised that made you. But he had lived in the walls for twenty years.. And you were likely the first person he’d had stick around.

You settled back on to the makeshift mattress, Brahms never letting you go. He shuffled up a bit, so his face was resting against your chest. You kept stroking his hair, picking your brain for a story to tell. Something romantic as you had a wild feeling that was right up his alley. You recounted the story of Pride and Prejudice, not skipping any details of the classic story. Brahms seemed all too enthralled by the tale. He even began to kick his feet in the air when you recounted the climax between Elizabeth and the beloved Mr.Darcy. Just before you could finish though, the lights finally gave out. Brahms tensed up against you and again hugged you tight against him. You let out a wheeze. You needed to get the lamps but he seemed content just smothering you until the lights came back themselves. Finally you managed to sit up as he continued to cling like a baby koala.

“Brahms, sweetheart, I need to light the lamps.” You manage to get out. But that seems to make his grip tighter. He shakes his head, face pulling your shirt back and forth.

“No. No lamps. I don’t want any fire in the house.” He whimpered. Your heart broke a little. That night seemed to have never left Brahms.. You stroked his back soothingly before trailing your hands to cup his cheeks.

“Brahms, we need light. It’ll be okay, I can work an oil lamp-” You were cut off as Brahms slammed you back down against the floor. Even with the cushioning it knocked the air from your lungs. Your hands fell from his face beside yourself as his own gripped your shoulders.

“No fire in the house. Never again.” His voice was no longer that high falsetto. Instead it was deep, aggressive. He sounded his age. You gasped for air, before nodding. Tears had pricked your eyes. You felt a twinge of guilt as you questioned whether or not he’d hurt you.

Finally you found your voice again, “Okay Brahms. No lamps, I promise. Do you want another story?” You asked in a feeble attempt to calm him back down. Lucky for you it seemed to work. Brahms grip on your shoulders loosened, and he returned his head to your chest. He nodded and urged you on to tell your story.

A shaky sigh escaped you. You thanked your lucky stars that you could calm him so easily. As you began telling another story, the rain and wind outside crashed into the manor. You knew Brahms would never harm you. Not you. Not his caretaker. But you began to wonder. How long would this storm last? Suddenly, in the dark, the room no longer felt secure.

#brahms heelshire x reader #horror x reader #slasher x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #sfw fanfic #comfort #minor injuries #canon typical violence #tw violence #one shot

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justagalwhowrites · 10 months

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Yearling - Ch. 24: Return

You're found in the snow. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-23 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Allusion to past SA, result of canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only

Length: 5.4k

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Joel!”

He was so singularly focused on getting to the stable he didn’t even see Maria trekking through the snow toward him. He barely heard her.

“Joel!”

He didn’t stop or go to meet her. He just went inside. Ares was gone, he’d been here last night, you’d taken him it had to have been you.

He cursed himself for not staying outside your door. He should have known that you would leave now, that the pain he’d caused you wouldn’t have stopped you. He should have fucking stayed, should have fucking held onto you even as you tried to shove him away.

“Joel,” Maria ran into the stable, closing the snow outside.

“Not the time, Maria,” he said, going to get a saddle from the tack room.

She ignored him and she stalked over to him, thrusting the bundle she was carrying into his arms. He frowned. It took him a second to realize it was the coat you’d claimed as your own, the one that had been his once. The knife that felt like had been in his stomach since you pushed him away twisted.

“I don’t know what the fuck happened,” she said. “But she’s gone and…”

“When did you see her?” He looked up from the coat, ignoring the pinch at the back of his throat. “Did she say where she was goin’?”

“A few hours ago,” she shook her head. “I should have come to find you sooner but… She seemed so upset, I didn’t think sending you out after her right away was the best thing.”

“Did she say where she was goin’?” He asked again, even though he knew the answer. He knew.

“Going after the raiders,” she said. “I don’t know that she’ll find them but…”

“I’ll find her,” Joel cut her off. “I’m bringing her back, not comin’ back without her.”

Joel took Sergeant and started off. You’d left a few hours ahead of him but the tracks you made on Ares were deep enough that they were still visible even through the fresh snowfall, a steady groove in the powder that covered the earth.

It was miserable, the wind biting and harsh, and Joel found himself worried about you. You’d left the coat. He hoped you’d taken another one, that you were warm at least. He wanted to be able to push his horse faster but the snow was too deep. You were a better rider than him, you and Ares had a unique bond after the extra work he’d required to fully train him. You knew how far you could push him better than Joel did any of the horses. You’d be able to ride harder and faster for longer than he could.

But when the storm eased in the early hours of the morning after the sun rose, Joel found himself missing it. The howl of the wind and the pressure of the air had been a distraction. Something to focus on besides you, besides the way you looked at him, besides what you must think of him now. Something besides the danger you were in that he hadn’t been there to protect you from.

Joel kept riding through the day, even though he could feel his horse growing exhausted. He almost felt guilty for not caring. If he couldn’t get to you in time, couldn’t bring you home, what did it matter?

But, hours after it grew dark, he knew he would need to stop soon. He’d been riding for too long, if he wasn’t careful Sergeant would just collapse under the strain and then he’d never find you.

He was just considering finding a place to rest for a few hours when he saw it, an unusual shape breaking up the moonlight reflecting off the fallen snow. He frowned and then the darkest part of the shape moved, a long neck and large head lifting from near the ground.

“Fuck,” Joel jumped off his horse and almost tripped, trying to move through the snow faster than was really safe. He fell to his knees next to you and Ares huffed and nudged Joel’s shoulder. You were covered in blood, your skin so much lighter than he’d ever seen it, your body terrifyingly still. But there was just the lightest fog in front of your lips, the only sign he had that you were still breathing.

“It’s OK Baby,” he said softly, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I’ve got you, you’re OK. Gonna get you out of here, get you all warmed up, it’s OK.”

He lifted you as delicately into his body, a small, pained noise slipping from you as he did. Your eyes stayed closed. He just held you against him for a moment, clutching you close, trying to figure out what to do.

It didn’t seem like he could make it to Jackson like this with you. You were too fragile, you’d at the very least need to get warmed up first, something to stabilize you. But if all this blood was yours, you needed a doctor. Joel couldn’t help you through something this bad on his own, you needed someone who knew what they were doing.

Ares shifted in the snow, moving his large body so his neck was wrapped around your back and his head went over Joel’s shoulder. He was scared, too.

“OK Sweetheart,” Joel whispered. “Gonna get you somewhere warm, then we’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out.”

He strapped your pack to Sergeant and set you as delicately as he could on Ares before urging the animal to his feet. Your horse moved gingerly, somehow aware that you were precious cargo and that you needed his protection. Joel patted his neck and Ares huffed at him.

“I care about her, too,” he said. “We’ll take care of her.”

Joel tied Sergeant’s reins to Ares’ saddle horn and then mounted up behind you, pulling you back against him. He tucked the front of his coat around you as far as he could reach, the back of your coat cold and wet, before heading off in the direction Joel thought the nearby town was in.

He was relieved when he was right, stopping at the first house he saw on the outskirts of town that had a chimney. He tied the horses to the front porch and carried your limp body inside, thankful for the little groan you made when he moved you. Pain meant you were alive. He’d take that.

The house he was in had clearly been raided at some point, furniture overturned, cabinet doors open and hanging off the hinges. But that made them easier to break off and he piled up what he could find quickly in the fireplace before checking to make sure the flue was open. The fire caught quickly and Joel moved the horses into the garage before coming back to check on you.

With some light and warmth, he was able to figure things out. You’d been stabbed in the shoulder, the wound vicious and jagged. Your clothes were wet with snow and blood and your body was so limp and lifeless that Joel kept checking your pulse or placing his palm on your chest to feel it rise and fall with your breaths.

He pulled blankets and sleeping bags out of the packs, making sure they were dry before setting them near the fire to warm up. He held his hands near the flames for a moment and looked down at you with a sigh.

“M’sorry about this,” he said, unzipping your coat, a sickening tightness in his stomach. “But I can’t get you warm in wet clothes, Baby, I gotta take all this off…”

He tried to look at you as little as he could as he undressed you. In a way, it was almost helpful that you were bloody and limp. It made it easy to see your skin and not think about how much he wanted you. Even if you weren’t hurt, it would have been wrong to look at you that way, wrong because you didn’t want it.

You’re just like them.

Once you were undressed, he wrapped you in the blankets and set you near the fire before he found an old pot in the kitchen. He went outside and filled it with snow before bringing it inside and setting it over the fire, melting it and warming the water. He cleaned you as best he could and bandaged your shoulder before tending to the horses and hoping that you’d feel warm when he came back inside. But you were still cold, your breaths still shallow, your limbs still limp, your head still lolling lifelessly to the side.

“No, no, come on, Baby,” his hands ranged over you, trying to see if there was something that he missed. “You can’t die on me out here, not like this, come on…”

He stripped off his coat and shirt and cast them aside before lying beside you, turning you so your front was pressed against his, your skin cold and clammy on his. He pulled a blanket over the two of you and held you close and hoped that you’d forgive him for this, too. Christ, he needed you to forgive him for all of it.

He held you until morning and the sun was high and the fire was low, your breath warm and wet and steady against his chest. You were warmer now, your body curving into his instead of listless and empty. But you weren’t waking up.

“Hey,” he said quietly, pulling a hand out from below the blankets to smooth your hair back. “C’mon, Baby. Time to wake up. Need to get you back to Jackson. Come on now.”

You didn’t move, your eyelids didn’t even flutter.

“OK,” he said, more to himself than to you after trying to rouse you for a few minutes. “Let’s see if we can’t get some water in you, see if that helps.”

Joel built the fire back up and went outside for more snow, checking on the horses again while it melted over the flames. He dressed you in his shirt and sat you up, delicately tipping your head back and trickling the water into your mouth. You instinctively swallowed it, at least. A good sign. Or so he thought, anyway. He didn’t really know.

He ate what he felt like he could keep down, stomach in too tight of a knot for it to be much at all. He wished he knew what the fuck to do. Was it safe to move you yet? Was it better to stay here with you until your strength was up or better to bring you to Jackson himself and get you to the doctor?

It didn’t help, knowing that you wouldn’t want him with you if you were conscious. It made him question everything. Just a few days ago, back when you trusted him, he could have done this. He would have known that you’d understand, that you’d feel some sense of comfort because he was there for this at all.

Now, it seemed like everything he did hurt you. You’d left Jackson alone because of him, had broken down because of him. He was trying to help you, protect you, but knew you wouldn’t want his hands on you, wouldn’t trust him to make these choices for you.

He just didn’t have another option.

“Tomorrow,” he said as he looked out the window. It was already after noon. Even if you were healthy and able to ride at your normal pace, there was no way you’d be back to town before night fell and there wasn’t much between here and there. There was no guarantee he’d find a place to hole up for the night. “Ride back tomorrow.”

You were still pale and washed out. He gave you more water and arranged you in front of the fire again, pained little groans coming from you as he did.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart,” he said quietly, curling around you again. You unconsciously pressed yourself against him, your face in his chest, and breathed deep. “Sorry I keep… I just keep hurtin’ you and I’m not trying to I just… I never wanted to hurt you. Never.”

He just held you and let his mind drift. He tried not think about what would happen if he’d chosen wrong. How he’d find a way to live with that failure, too. Instead, he thought of you whole and happy and safe back in Jackson. Playing guitar on his front porch, bouncing William on your leg in the mess hall, cracking a joke with his brother on patrol, teaching Ellie about riding at the stables. He wondered if he could crawl inside a memory like that if he tried hard enough. He’d shoved memories of Sarah away so quickly and fully as soon as she was gone, he hadn’t even tried then. He knew better now.

Even if he couldn’t really live inside a moment like that, he wondered if he could surround himself in it enough that everything else fell away. In the end, did it really matter? If he drove himself mad with longing but he was so mad that he had what he wanted, did it make a difference?

He wasn’t sure.

“Joel.”

Your voice was so soft that, for a moment, he thought he imagined it. But your hand moved to his side, fingers sinking into his skin.

“Joel…”

He heard you that time. He pulled back from you enough to see your face. Your eyes were still closed, your face drawn into a tight grimace. But you still seemed out of it.

“You’re OK,” he said gently, brushing your hair back. But he realized, when his hand touched your forehead, that you were warm. More than warm, you were hot to the touch. He hadn’t noticed it in your body, writing off the heat as a result of the two of you wrapped up together near a fire. But your head hadn’t been under blankets or against him and you were burning up. “Fuck, hang on Baby…”

“Hurts,” you mumbled, eyes still closed but you tried weakly to pull yourself back against him.

“What hurts?” He asked, trying to keep his voice calm. What if he’d missed something? What if you were dying here, in his arms, because he’d failed? What if he’d have to hold your body, too? “Can you tell me what hurts?”

You just groaned a little and tried to burrow closer to him.

“Hey,” he delicately pulled you back again, the pained look on your face sharper. “Need you to tell me what hurts, OK?” Your frown deepened. He sighed and brushed his thumb over your shoulder, making you whimper. “That what hurts?”

You just nodded and he pulled the arm that you’d been using as a pillow out from below you earning him another little groan as he nudged you delicately onto your back. He carefully unwound the bandage on your shoulder until the wound was exposed and winced at the sight of it. The skin around it was angry and inflamed, the injury itself swollen and oozing.

“Fuck,” he swore, glancing up at the window. It was dark. Moving you like this, in a place he didn’t know when he couldn’t see shit, wasn’t safe. “Alright… In the morning. Just… just keep hanging in there, we’re headin’ back in the morning…”

“Don’t leave me,” you opened your eyes, squinting against the firelight, and reached the hand from your uninjured side out for him. He took it, squeezed it. “Please…”

“Not…” his voice cracked a little. “Not leaving you. Never leaving you.”

You nodded ever so slightly and went limp again, leaving him clutching your wrist like a talisman, counting the rhythm of your pulse. It was steady.

Joel didn’t sleep. He kept almost obsessive watch over you, over the rise and fall of your chest, over the temperature of your skin, over the pained expressions that came and went from your features. You didn’t open your eyes again.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he roused the horses and got packed to go, the sun not yet rising on the edge of the sky. He counted himself lucky that you were such a horsewoman that you instinctively latched onto a saddle horn when you were put on a horse, even when you were unconscious. He got on Ares behind you and you gave a pained moan when he tugged you gently back against his body, but you turned your head to bury your face in his neck all the same.

“Just gotta make it to Jackson,” he said, more for himself than for you. “That’s all. Just make it to Jackson, Baby, please make it to Jackson…”

He pushed the horses. He could hear you in his head, lecturing him about it, about how he wasn’t listening to what they were telling him but he was having a hard time caring. He could see the gates of Jackson when Ares’ legs gave out, collapsing to the earth. Joel clutched onto you as the two of you fell into the snow, the horse’s heavy breaths almost deafening against the eerie silence of the snow. It took Joel a moment to even hear that your breaths were coming sharp and harsh, your body tense, face drawn.

“Shit,” Joel swore. “Come on, Baby, we’re almost back, almost made it, you’re so close, you’re gonna be OK…”

He was trying to pull you from the snow and get you up to carry you inside, his heart beating so hard he could feel it against his ribs, when a hand appeared on his back.

“Joel,” Tommy said, his brother’s eyes ranging over him as he pulled him back from you. “It’s OK. We’ve got her, you got her here, it’s OK. It’s gonna be OK.”

***

Three weeks later

“I really don’t know that I’m ready for this,” Olivia frowned as you guided one of the fillies, Splendor, into the pen. She tossed her head and raised her feet high, impatient and eager.

“Can’t just be me who knows how to break horses,” you said. “Besides, nothing too dangerous yet, just pressure and release exercises. It’s going to be easier with her than it was with the ferals, she’s been around people her whole life. Just need to get her comfortable with touch, pressure…”

“Right,” Olivia nodded. “I remember the steps, I think.”

“Good,” you said. “Can’t just assume I’m always gonna be here, you’ve gotta know this, too.”

You stepped back and watched Olivia start to work with Splendor, catching sight of Ellie in the doorway to the stable. You gave her a smile but she just glared at you.

You frowned for a moment.

“You alright for now?” You asked Olivia. She just nodded, not taking her eyes off the horse. “Holler if you need, I’ll be right back…”

You shoved your hands in the pockets of your new coat - one that actually fit you - and made your way over to Ellie, who was still glaring at you.

“What’s up, Kid?” You asked.

“You’re leaving,” she said. She didn’t say it like a question.

She was right.

You sighed.

“Ellie…”

“I can’t believe…” She shook her head. “You know what? Fuck you.”

She stomped off, sketch pad tucked under her arm.

“Ellie!” You called after her. She ignored you. You looked back into the pen for a moment, Olivia looking like she had things with Splendor under control just fine, before jogging to catch up with her. “Ellie…”

“Fuck you,” she said again, not stopping or slowing down.

“Kid,” you said, trying to keep your voice gentle. “Things are…”

She stopped in Joel’s yard, turning to face you, her eyes narrowed.

“If we really don’t mean anything to you, just say that,” she snapped.

“No,” you shook your head. “No, Ellie, of course you mean something to me, you mean…”

“Got a fucking funny way of showing it!” She was almost yelling now. “Were you even gonna tell me? Or were you just going to take off in the middle of the night again and act like we wouldn’t fucking notice?”

That stung. You hadn’t meant to make Ellie feel abandoned when you’d left before, when you’d gone to look for… You just hadn’t been able to think about anything else enough to do something like stop and tell her. Things had been tense between the two of you since you got home. You’d thought it had just been because things had fractured between you and Joel but it seemed like there was more to it than that.

“Of course I was going to tell you,” you said gently. “You mean the world to me and…”

“Yeah,” she scoffed. “Apparently not enough for you to stay.”

You sighed.

“That doesn’t have anything to do with it…”

“The fuck it doesn’t!” She snapped. “What, you think I have just… a ton of friends or something? You think I have shit like parents and family? Because I don’t. Until Joel, everyone I ever cared about either left me or died and now you’re doing it to and just fuck you, Bambi.”

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. You wanted to reach for her but you were worried that would do more harm than good. “I really am and it doesn’t have anything to do with you and…”

“You know, I never had a mom,” she cut you off, shaking her head, not looking directly at you. “Even when I was really little, like a baby and shit. I went straight to the fucking orphanage. And maybe it’s dumb since I’m an adult now but I thought…”

“Baby Girl,” Joel’s voice appeared behind you, making you jump, the fear of it almost drowning out the ache in you as you thought about Ellie growing up alone. “Why don’t you go inside?”

“She’s leaving, Joel,” she snapped. “Just gonna fucking leave us here like we’re nothing and…”

“Inside,” he said again, voice gentle.

“Joel.”

“Please, Kiddo,” he said.

She glared at you again before stomping off to the house, slamming the screen door behind her. You turned slowly to face Joel, your heart pounding as you did.

He looked the same. Almost the same. His eyes were different, tinged with sadness and regret, and he looked exhausted. Like he hadn’t slept well in a long time.

You hadn’t seen him since you’d woken up at the clinic weeks earlier.

It was disorienting. You didn’t remember how you’d gotten there, what had happened after you set down Lacy. All you knew is that you hadn’t found your daughter and that your whole reality seemed to contract to a fine, painful point after that.

“There you are,” Dr. Palmer smiled at you as you came to. “Welcome back to the land of the living! You were out for about two days after you got back, came down with a nasty infection after a stab wound to the shoulder…”

“How…” your throat was oddly scratchy.

“Joel got you back,” she said kindly. “He’s been waiting for you to wake up…”

Your heart picked up. Joel. Your Joel. The one who told you he was a raider once, that he was just like the men who had hurt you, who had taken you from your child, who said they’d killed her. Joel, the person you’d come to trust more than anyone else, the man you loved more than anything and he was like them.

“Honey?” The doctor said. You jumped a little and looked at her. “Want to see him? He’s been awful worried about you.”

You thought for a moment. Did you want to see him? You weren’t sure you could handle it, looking at him and thinking of those men, their hands on you, the way they hurt you.

But could you not see him? He was the only one here with answers.

“Can I?” You asked, fingers tightening in your blankets.

“Course,” she smiled. “He’s been here since he brought you back, he just came and got me when it looked like you were waking up. He insisted on waiting out there. I’ll get him…”

You tried to keep yourself from panicking, gathering the blankets around yourself as she brought in Joel.

He looked tired then, too. His hands were in his pockets and he clothes were dirty and he was watching you, cautiously, as the doctor went over something that you couldn’t actually hear.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she smiled again and closed the door behind her.

You instinctively shrank back from Joel and a pained look flitted across his face before he tightened his jaw.

“I’m stayin’ over here,” he said, indicating the other half of the room. “Don’t… don’t be afraid of me. Please. I’m not gonna touch you, OK?”

You watched him for a moment, not sure if you trusted him.

But he was Joel.

“OK.”

He lowered himself slowly onto the bed across from you, his eyes never leaving yours as he moved. The two of you were quiet for a moment, so quiet you wondered if he could hear how much your heart was pounding.

“Glad to see that you’re awake,” he said eventually. “Been worried…”

“You brought me back,” you said more than asked.

He answered anyway.

“I did.”

“Shouldn’t have done that.”

He watched you for a second.

“You would have died,” he said quietly.

You squared your jaw.

“Good,” you said. “Better that way.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Bambi…”

“You were right,” your voice was thick. “You were right, she’s gone, she…”

“Did you find her?” He asked softly. You just shook your head. You could feel the tears on your cheeks but couldn’t make yourself wipe them away. “Then I wasn’t right. Not yet. And I’m sorry I said it, I was just… I was so scared of losing you. I was so afraid and I just… I’m not right yet. So tell me about her.”

“What?” You managed.

“Your daughter,” he said. His eyes looked wet, too. “Tell me about her.”

You watched him for a moment. Even after everything Joel had told you, everything you knew he was, all you could think about was every time you’d wanted to tell him about her. When he’d told you about Sarah, when you were teaching Ellie how to ride, when you held William for the first time. Everything you’d forced deep into yourself for fear of it shattering you if you even thought it let alone spoke it out loud.

“Her name is Savannah,” you said quietly. “But I call her Savvy. I didn’t pick her full name, her birth mom did. She gave her to me when she was nine months old. She would be 14 now but she’ll be 15 on July 20…”

Once you started talking about her, you couldn’t stop, the words falling from you before you could even think about it. You told him how she took to the life the two of you led like a fish to water, she was such a natural at trapping and riding. You told him how she liked to read to her horse, how her hair curled in a different direction at her temples, how your dogs liked her better than you.

You only stopped once you were too tired to go on, body and mind too fragile to keep delving into this dangerous ground. Joel’s hands were clenched tightly on his lap but his eyes were sad and gentle.

“Sounds like she’s smart,” he said after you were quiet for a moment. “Skilled. She could be out there. She could. You gotta keep going, Bambi. You can’t give up. I know… I know what it feels like but you can’t.”

You looked away from him, a hollow ache in your chest. Part of you wanted so badly to just collapse against him, to feel his arms go around you and hold you together.

But the rest of you was all but screaming at you to run. He was like them, you couldn’t trust him, he’d lied to you, made you trust him, made you love him.

“Why did you do it?” You asked, looking back at him. He frowned, confused. You kept going. “Why did you lie to me? Make me think I could trust you? Make me fall for you? Was that… was that part of it for you? Did you like that you could make me feel something for you now when I wouldn’t have before? Or was it just so you could fuck me and make me ask for it instead of taking it?”

“No,” he said softly. He looked pained, his eyes wet. “No, it was never that, I… I ain’t proud of what I did then. I did it to keep me n’Tommy alive but that’s not an excuse. But I never - never - touched a woman who didn’t want me to. Even then. I’d never do that. I… I wasn’t tryin’ to lie to you, Sweetheart, you have to know that. Please, Baby. Please. Trust me.”

It was taking everything you had in you to not run from him, not try to force him to leave.

“I don’t know that I can.”

You hadn’t seen him since that day. The day you went home from the clinic, you gathered up everything Joel had ever given you - every shirt, the carving, the guitar, the violin - and left it on his porch. The instruments were back on your porch only a few hours later. It didn’t matter. It’s not like you were going to play anything. You spent the next week hardly moving from your bed, the pain of losing your daughter heavy and sharp inside you.

You’d spent so much time avoiding him, not wanting to try to survive looking at him, not when your mind had traded the faces of the men who wouldn’t touch you with Mitchum with Joel’s in your sleep. Men who thought they were better somehow because they didn’t partake, they just watched you beg and plead and left you to die there.

“She right?” Joel asked softly. He looked like he was in pain. It seemed like the only times you saw him anymore he was in pain. “You leaving?”

“I can’t stay here,” you said. “I can’t stay where you are, it’s…”

“I’ll go,” he said quickly. “I’ll be the one to leave, please don’t go, please. It’s not safe out there and it’s… it’s my fault, I’ll go. Just give me a few days and…”

“Not going to let you leave your daughter, Joel,” you said quietly. “Your whole family is here, you can’t go. I’ll go.”

“No,” he said, voice firm now. “You’ll get yourself killed out there…”

“Not like I’ve got much to live for.”

“Find somethin’,” he cut you off. “You’ve got Ellie…”

“She needs you a whole lot more than she needs me,” you replied.

“Do it for Savvy,” he ignored you.

“Joel…”

“We can search for her,” he kept going. But he had your full attention now. “Been talkin’ to Maria… I know you don’t want anything to do with me right now but I’ll keep you safe, help you look. They can let us go for a week or two, once it gets more into spring and we know the snow is done. We can take whatever supplies we need, we can search. Really search. Please. Stay, stay for her. I’ll keep away from you until then, won’t even have to look at me, promise you won’t. Just… just please. Please don’t go. Please.”

You watched him for a moment. You’d never really had a chance to search for Savvy, not when you didn’t have raiders on your tail. You weren’t sure if you believed that she was alive. But you couldn’t bring yourself to consider the alternative, either.

“You’ll help me look for her?” You asked.

“Yes,” he said quickly, nodding. “We’ll look. Please. Stay for her.”

Your stomach knotted and your chest got tight just being near him. How were you supposed to survive a search with him?

But you had to try. For Savvy, you’d try anything.

“OK,” you said. “I’ll stay.”

Next Chapter

A/N: Yup, that's right. Joel and Bambi are going to go looking for Savvy.

GUESS WE'LL JUST HAVE TO SEE HOW THAT GOES!

Thank you so much for reading, everyone!! It means so much to me that you're here. I know this is a tough arc but I think it's a necessary one for these characters and I think a lot is going to come from it.

Thank you thank you thank you! Love you all!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust@ilovepedro@h-annahayy@starstruckmusiciansartghost@beccerjune@mumma-moonchild@netonetoneto@mellymbee@purplelye@n7cje@flugazi@evyiione@randomhoex@aliengirl99@orcasoul@reds-ramblings@pedropascalsbbg@fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel@jenispunk@panda-pascal@sarap-77@flugazi@your-slutty-gf@daniegraceg@partyofone3413@cumberpegg@noisynightmarepoetry.@fifia-writes@grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #yearling #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc

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anothermansjeans · 1 year

Text

Read Your Mind

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

a/n: hello babes! i had originally posted this on patreon but wanted to share it with tumblr as well (ik i said it’d take like 2 weeks but here she is)! i’ll be writing the smut scenes to this fic and those will be patreon exclusives so if you wanna become a member it’s in my bio :)

wc: 1.1k

cw: implied sex, dry humping mention ?? i think that’s it!

inspiration: read your mind by sabrina carpenter

To say Y/N was frustrated would be an understatement. The constant mixed signals she has received from Aaron would make whiplash seem less painful, and she wasn’t being over dramatic.

When she first developed what was once a small crush— and is now almost what she thought was love— for her boss, she wouldn’t have ever thought he’d have even an ounce of any sort of romantic feelings for her, but after a drunken night out with the team and coming to the realization that they lived not even two buildings away from one another, confessions and heavy petting were exchanged. The next morning after mutual hungover groans were exchanged throughout the bullpen, Hotch called her into his office and made it very clear that lines were crossed… but also stated he had enjoyed himself. The confusion had begun there. Knowing he wasn’t typically one for physical contact, the feeling of him placing his hand onto her hand that rested on top of his desk sent a shock through her system. She enjoyed it, she really enjoyed it, but within thirty seconds of that contact he had also said how he needed her to get back to her desk— he needed to be alone to work.

Y/N brushed it off after that. Nothing was going to happen— Aaron liked what they did, but clearly didn’t want to pursue anything. That was understandable, and it would’ve stayed understandable if he kept up with the professionalism. Lack of said professionalism happened during a case in New York. Everyone had to share a room with someone except for one, and when it came down to pairing off Emily and JJ went off with each other, Derek and Spencer assumed they’d be the second pair, and Rossi claimed the solo room for himself. That left Y/N and Hotch with each other. It was very awkward for the first hour, but they slowly warmed up to each other again.

If anyone told Y/N that she would be having sex with Aaron that night she would’ve laughed in their face, and if anyone told her that they’d wake up in each other’s arms and bask in the warmth, she would’ve sent them to a mental institution. But it happened. After one too many glances they inevitably gave in, and that morning was a lot less awkward than the morning after their drunken dry humping.

But the cycle with Hotch continued after that. They’d share secret kisses, he’d tell her very sternly to get to work. They would spend the night with each other, he’d say they shouldn’t see each other for a while just to call her in the next night or two. At this point, she figured he was lonely but didn’t want to commit. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could play this game with him, and she would continue to mull it over in the early hours at the office before anyone else was there, stirring her coffee in the kitchenette until she felt a strong pair of hands touch her waist.

“I miss you.”

His voice was raspy, like he woke up not too long ago and just came in. She knew his statement was referring to the small break in seeing each other he had suggested, and the thought of it made her upset, causing her to place her coffee on the counter and turn around, crossing her arms.

“I can’t read your mind.” Her statement caused him to lift an eyebrow, forcing her to elaborate. “I’m a profiler, and for the love of God I cannot read what the hell is going on in your mind. You say that we need to stop and then you call me whenever you deem it’s a good time. You know we’re crossing a line here, make that very clear, but still see me in a romantic setting. I can't read your mind.”

His hands had dropped from her waist, and he took a step back. “There’s nothing to read here, Y/N. I thought we were together.”

She scoffed, causing him to wince, “then why the fuss, Aaron? Why are you saying things but doing the opposite? Why the mixed signals?” She waited a minute, staring back at him, waiting for him to say something, but when he didn’t, she grabbed her coffee and started to take off.

“Wait.” He hooked his hand around her elbow, causing her to turn back to him. “You’re right. I’ve screwed up. I don’t know what I’m doing half of the time— I don’t typically date, but Y/N, I’m not lying when I say that there is no one else I would want to be experiencing this with. I was actually hoping that you’re it for me.”

A small part of her wanted to laugh in his face. After countless days trying to read what the hell was going on in his mind, this wasn’t even on the forefront of the mental list she compiled. The biggest part of her wanted to believe him. She really did, but she had nothing to go on. “I need you to prove it, Aaron. I feel like I’m clueless here and I just—”

He swiftly cut her off by tugging her towards him and smashing their lips together. This kiss was a lot different than the secret or drunken ones they’ve shared. It felt like the real deal for Y/N, and she could’ve stayed there forever if it wasn’t for the small crash as well as the exclaimed “oh!” they heard.

Breaking apart, they turned their heads to see a very frazzled Penelope standing there with her hands in a surrendering position, lips in an “oh” shape, and a broken mug on the floor. No one spoke immediately, but once everyone was fully aware of the situation at hand, Penelope went down to the floor and started scooping up the broken pieces. “I am so sorry sir… and Y/N! I’m uh— I‘ll just—”

“It’s okay, Garcia,” Hotch’s voice was gruff, “I’ll clean it up. Just get ready for the briefing.”

She had slowly gotten up and wiped her hands across her dress. “Yes, sir,” she spoke quietly, but once she turned around and scurried away Y/N could hear a quiet “I am so telling Derek I was right.”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t awkward afterwards as they both pitched in to clean the broken glass. Their slightly heated faces and hidden smiles were enough for them to both understand what the other was thinking— this thing between them was real, and they had to practice avoiding the rest of the team for anything other than case related things.

#criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x female reader

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angelofsmalldeath-codeine · 2 months

Text

What we lose in art when blogs leave the platform

Last night I was working on my fics database (I’m the spreadsheet kinda autistic) and checking if the links I had were still working and trying to fetch links for the ones I had recently added. I was upset about the number of blogs gone (some might have changed name and I haven't kept up and that one is on me). Some really amazing stories, art and overall fun is all gone. Precious interactions that help build the community totally vanished.

The vitriol and unjustified hate I see spewed everywhere has gotten to unbearable levels. I’ve been in fandoms and fanfic communities since the days of printed zines and yahoo/geocities groups that were uber hard to get into. I have survived all the websites that shutdown leading us to mourn the loss of that work. Fanfic was akin to contraband and harshly judged. We know we are weirdos, hence why we find community in alternative spaces away from the mainstream.

It feels like people want us to go underground again. Cool, we can do that, but we gonna be gatekeeping the hell outta these spaces then.

What peeves me the most is the puritanical take that has been recently brought into the space and how that’s used to measure others and judge them on some standards they are not even aware of until they start getting hate. Said hate is usually delivered via anon asks, of course, because god forbid them having the decency of defending their shitty takes, right?

Still on the puritanical take, the goalpost seems to change often too. It is self-serving. Kink shaming/topic judging is the default mode until someone decides they like that particular thing and it is no longer controversial. Why are you censoring your peers? Why do you assume that everyone subscribes to your beliefs, tastes, preferred topics and tropes? The performative activism isn't a good look either.

Sometimes this fandom feels like the mormons who do the soaking thing so they can get off before marriage without actually fucking. If the cock goes in because my friend is jumping on the mattress, that is on the mattress, not on me. I digress but y'all get the gist.

I have been on this hellsite since its launch and have seen many fandoms come and go. The assholes eventually fuck off to be toxic somewhere else, but they do tend to jump from fandom to fandom for a while until their reputation and toxicity catches up with them. It takes too long and the damage they cause is often quite extensive.

We are not in competition with each other here. I have said it so many times... Tumblr isn't a monetised platform and fanfic is a gift economy. Leave your fucking TikTok and Instagram cut throat mentality at the door. We don't tear each other down trying to build ourselves up in this house.

During the pandemic fanfic came into the mainstream mostly because of people on TikTok. Great! We are a welcoming bunch and it makes us happy that more people can find joy in consuming fan made art of their favourite shows and ships in whatever form they choose.

It is not because we've opened the door that we will let y'all trash the room. I'm sure you were raised better than that.

Can you not be assholes? Much appreciated.

P.S.: I am too old to care and have zero fucks left to give about anyone's feelings getting offended over this. Fuck you very much.

#internet etiquette #fandom etiquette #you were raised better than that ffs #why y'all think harassing people will make you more relevant?#it is giving mean girl and peaked in high school #like seriously #I swear to god #I am more concerned about what we are slowly losing than you getting pissy

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darkstar225 · 1 year

Text

Twice's 10th member disappears after an argument with her favourite unnie

A/N: I got an ask on Tumblr and I loved writing it, ty! I hope the anon that gave me this idea likes it! :) (Ik it's angst but it's so good, like?? Ily anon)

The request: can you do a twice 10th member where Y/N gets into an big heavy argument with one of the members which causes her to leave upset for hours without her phone, worrying everyone especially because they have no way of contacting her. When she comes back it's around 3am and she comes back all bloodied, bruised, and disassociated not really speaking. (I know it's angsty sorry)

PS: Tysm for everyone who reads what I write, I hope I can bring a smile to your faces every time I post! I'd like to thank whoever sent me this idea 'cause I loved to write it <3

__________________________________________________________

Y/N had always been the 10th member of TWICE, a fact she cherished with all her heart. Being part of one of the most popular K-pop groups in the world was a dream come true. She had laughed, danced, and cried with her fellow members. Yet, her strongest bond was with Jihyo, the group's leader.

Jihyo was more than just an idol to Y/N. She was a mentor, a sister, sometimes a mother and the pillar TWICE's maknae leaned on during the most challenging times. Today, however, was different. A brewing argument had escalated into a heated quarrel, and their once harmonious relationship had cracked.

It had started innocently enough... Y/N had suggested a new choreography move during practice, hoping to infuse some freshness into their routine. But Jihyo had shot it down immediately, citing concerns about safety and cohesion. What began as a professional disagreement had spiralled into a personal clash.

The argument had raged on for hours, with both of them stubbornly sticking to their positions. It was a war of wills, neither willing to back down. Y/N's eyes had welled up with tears as frustration and hurt welled up inside her. Jihyo's words were tinged with anger and had cut deep, like a knife through her heart.

Jihyo - I can't believe you're so stubborn, Y/N!

Y/N, unable to contain her own rage any longer, snapped back for the first time.

Y/N - Well, at least I'm not a control freak who thinks she knows everything!

The room had gone silent, save for the heavy breathing of the two women. Their bandmates (sisters), who had been practising alongside them, exchanged worried glances. This was far from the usual friendship that TWICE was known for.

Jihyo's eyes filled with tears, and the youngest instantly regretted her harsh words. But instead of apologizing, she stormed out of the practice room, leaving everyone in stunned silence.

Hours passed, but Y/N didn't return. Her absence gnawed at the members like a persistent itch. They tried calling her phone, but it went straight to voicemail. Messages were left unanswered, and worry began to replace anger. They knew that when Y/N was upset, she often went on long walks to clear her head. But this time, it felt different.

Jihyo, burdened with guilt and concern, paced back and forth in their dormitory. She couldn't shake the image of her kid's tear-streaked face from her mind. She knew she had crossed a line with her comments, and now, their argument had led to the younger girl's disappearance.

As the hours stretched into the early morning, TWICE decided they had to take action. They couldn't let their angel wander the streets alone and upset. At 3 AM they finally grabbed their jackets and headed out, hoping to find her.

The night was cool, and the streets of Seoul were dimly lit. TWICE members walked in pairs, calling out Y/N's name as they went. Their worry deepened with every unanswered call. They checked all of their girl's favourite spots, but she was nowhere to be found.

Jihyo felt a sinking sensation in her chest. She couldn't bear the thought of her baby being out there alone, hurt and upset because of her. Guilt gnawed at her, clawing at her conscience like a relentless beast.

They searched for hours, their voices growing hoarse from calling their babygirl's name. Desperation hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. It wasn't just about finding her anymore, it was about making things right.

Finally, as the sky began to lighten with the approach of dawn, they spotted her. Y/N was walking slowly along the riverbank, her steps unsteady. She looked dishevelled, her clothes torn, and her face was stained with tears. But what shocked them the most were the bruises on her arms and the blood on her cheek.

Jihyo was the first to cry out, rushing towards her. The other members followed suit, their worry giving them strength.

Jihyo - Baby!

But Y/N seemed distant, her eyes glazed over. She didn't respond to their calls. It was as if she was there physically but not mentally. She didn't seem to recognize them.

Nayeon, the group's eldest member and one of the maknae's mom, reached out to touch Y/N's shoulder gently.

Nayeon - Kiddo, it's us. You're safe now.

Y/N flinched at the touch, her gaze finally focusing on Nayeon's face. She seemed to be processing their presence slowly as if emerging from a deep fog.

Tears filled Jihyo's eyes as she took in her youngest's battered appearance. She blamed herself for this, for pushing Y/N to the point where she had left, vulnerable and alone.

Momo (known for her motherly instincts with Y/N, ft everyone else lol) put her arm around TWICE's honey and led her away from the riverbank.

Momo - Let's get you home, okay my love?

As they walked back to their dormitory, Y/N remained mostly silent, only muttering a few words in response to their questions. It was clear she was in shock. The members tried to piece together what had happened, but Y/N's disjointed sentences didn't reveal much.

Back in their dorm, they gently cleaned the maknae up, tending to her injuries. There were more bruises on her body than they had initially seen. Jihyo couldn't hold back her tears as she applied a soothing ointment to her child's cheek, the one with the fresh scrape. It was a painful reminder of the harsh words she had thrown at her earlier.

After cleaning her up, they tried to get Y/N to eat something, but she refused. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the wall. It was as if her spirit had been broken.

Jihyo couldn't take it any longer. She had to talk to their girl, to apologize and beg for forgiveness. She sat down beside her and took Y/N's hands in her own, her voice trembling with guilt.

Jihyo - Sweetheart, I'm so sorry.

Jihyo choked out, tears streaming down her face.

Jihyo - I never should have said those things to you. I was wrong, and I hurt you, and I can't forgive myself for that.

Y/N finally looked at her, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and confusion.

Y/N - Omma... I don't even remember what we were fighting about.

Jihyo's heart ached at those words. It was a testament to how far they had let their anger escalate.

Jihyo - It doesn't matter, kid. I hurt you, and I promise I'll do everything to make it right for us, I'm your momma and I'm here for you boo.

As the sun rose outside their window, casting a warm glow on the room, TWICE gathered around their youngest, offering her their support and love. They knew it would take time for her to heal, both physically and emotionally. But they were willing to stand by her, just as they always had.

In the end, the argument that had torn them apart had brought them closer than ever before. They had learned the importance of communication and they were determined to be there for each other, no matter what challenges lay ahead. And this made them all share the same thought:

We are proud of our precious maknae.

A/N: I apologise for any errors, English is not my first language. Pls, let me know if there's something wrong, ty for reading <3

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commanderchr1st · 1 month

Text

Why I left tumblr suddenly in 2017 at the apex of my blog commanderchrist.

I'm sorry to "break character," but I gotta say some shit as Joe that's been bothering me for years. It is corny, it is personal, it is emotional, but I've recently been facing a lot of personal turmoil, and I gotta say some shit.

I'm not calling anyone out, not trying to start drama, but for quite some time I've had some baggage that has caused me a great deal of mental damage, tbh. More below.

Hey all, 7-8 year old drama here. I've told my friends this story, and I've also kind of hinted at it, but I've never really gave an official response why I left tumblr in April of 2017. It's a really long story, and it's been connecting to a process of grieving multiple friendships, two relationships. I've never really wanted to talk about it too terribly much on an account that is so closely associated with what happened, I mainly spent time venting on private tumblrs, going to see doctors, therapists, psychiatrists, etc. For a half of a decade, I was extremely upset, and honestly, it kinda came back in 2022.

First off, fartdick-supreme was a blog I made a few days after I left commanderchrist. I was obsessed to see a particular user disparage me, make false claims, and I was very, very angry on that blog. So, if you do snoop a little, just know that's a hella mentally ill college kid writhing in pain, not a coherent blog at all tbh.

The above picture was sent to me on discord in November of 2016 before they started telling one of my friends I called them fat (and they knew that person had self image issues and most importantly I didn't), racist, treating Tumblr like a meat shop, telling somebody I had a crush on that I was exploiting them because of their pill addiction (just an insane thing to say tbh), conspiring with an ex that cheated on me to write a callout post about all of this and more lol. I deleted in 2017 because I was unmedicated, going through a pretty severe breakup, was taking more than a full-time load at school, and this former friend was doing shit like this almost every day of the week. I refused to talk about this until I've had a LOT of time to heal because tbh somebody who I considered a close friend doing this kinda shook my mental health. I deleted, but I never left. I really don't want to leave their URL or talk specifically about anyone who was impacted on tumblr, but this has also affected a lot of individuals I used to be friends with. And for a lot of that, I was the scapegoat. I accepted this blame. Even though I didn't do like...any of it. At the most, I was a mentally ill alcoholic who had a really hard time navigating friendships. A good deal of friends also had their own individual hardships, especially this individual who had spread these accusations to myself and my friends.

I think it's important to say that all of this started because I was talking shit behind the friends back. I said they were a sore loser, I said they were impossible to talk to, I said they were bossy when it came to playing games, I said they needed to work on their anger issues. And I denied it to them, which I should not have. I should have told my friend all the problems that I was having with them. I failed to do that, because they were a very defensive person. My friends tried too, but they did not have any luck. So, it manifested as anger, and I did talk shit about them to those friends. Word got back to them, and this is how it all started. I'm not going to point any fingers because MOST of those friends, I am still on good terms with, but there were definitely a few that also seemed to share similar frustrations in a public setting.

Maybe it's because I'm mentally ill, but I refused to confront this. I deleted. I left. I went on medication, I finished my degree. But I did not ever once publicly defend myself.

Fast forward to now, and in 2022 I was faced with a very similar situation. I had broken up with my partner of four years. I REALLY don't want to get into the details of that relationship because it was incredibly toxic. I did a couple things I was not proud of as a response, especially when it came to involving my family in our relationship. Both my ex and my mother tried to drive a wedge between me and the other person, and it was maddening. It was a horrible way to live. Especially since every interaction I had with my mother was her trying to pry me from that relationship. At the time, I thought she was being manipulative and shitty, but everything changed in December of 2021 when my ex went to go visit family and I was left alone after moving several times, being evicted twice during covid, making some dumb mistakes financially, and it all dawned on me.

I was being abused. My ex from 2017 had BPD, which is fine, but my ex from 2022 also had this condition. And I was able to see a parallel: I REALLY don't want to go in detail about my relationships tbh and was one of the reasons I didn't want to bring it up, but in both relationships I was put into some fucked situations. In both, any time I had issues with something it was like pulling teeth... 0-10 on the intensity meter. I would bring things up and immediately be disparaged, yelled at, etc. In one of those relationships, they were drunk daily and would call me up and yell at me. They were also sleeping in the same bed as their ex boyfriend for months and not telling me (it was long distance). They also had some sexual exchanges with a pretty well-known tumblr user. The other, long story short, sexually abused me a lot. Put me in a situation of fatherhood when I explicitly mentioned I did not want to be a part of it. They said it was okay. And it was all okay, until all the sudden our bank account was shared and I had moved to a different state. They trapped me financially, and cornered me into fatherhood. The rest of the abuse got a bit more intense when I was left isolated without family in the state I was living in. This shit is hella hard to talk about, but those two are linked. In December of 2021, I realized everything. I was terrified, depressed, isolated, and ruminating. I broke up with my most recent ex in 2022 because...well its complicated but I misinterpreted this grief as me being gay. I thought I was purely attracted to men, and vagina repulsed. It took me longer than this to realize no, I was repulsed by my ex because of sexual abuse. Anyways, when I broke up with them, they threw shit all over the place, some at me. They screamed at me and told me that I was a waste of four years. And they immediately told me I could not be a father anymore and could not see the child. When just month prior I was given a deadline on providing a child for them.

What did this all have to do with 2017?

I've lived long enough to see me make some pretty big mistakes twice in a row. It's not the relationships I regret, despite the abuse. It's the lesson that I failed to learn myself. I need to stand up for myself more, and not accept blame when I did not do anything. I've been diagnosed with (at the very least) minor Obsessive Compulsive Disorder recently, I've had some mental issues in the past. But we are exploring that this may have been derived from PTSD. I think these two scenarios have been a part of it. I've let this get under my skin. In 2022, I lost a couple friendships because I did not explain ANYTHING to them, and my ex spoke to them a day or two after our breakup when I was still grieving, processing, trying to figure all this shit out. I'm ready now. I am a mentally ill person who suffered abuse from other mentally ill people. I have made the mistake of allowing THREE people who have mistreated me and left me with lasting trauma rule my life. They made me run, I've allowed myself to become all the things these abusive people have wanted me to be because I did not stand up for myself, I did not deny anything.... I ran like a coward. I'm sorry for doing that.

To the select people who have heard these rumors from these people in my life, I don't blame you for believing them. As a matter in fact, I'm sorry that I did not explain everything to you.

It will not happen again. And if we have had conversations in the past, or you have considered me a friend. A friend. Not a funnyman, not a "derailer," not anything on this site. If you have talked to me, if you know me as Joe, not Jog. Feel free to DM me.

I've stopped with the anon messages, because tbh I don't want to deal with them. I've had this individual and a couple other send me them throughout the years. If they have anything to say, I'd appreciate them striking a conversation with me via here, discord, whatever. And the same with you if you're curious. Just come to me, ask. I won't yell at you. I won't say anything I won't want to say, either, so if you ask and we were never close or didn't have a friendship in the past, I may not be inclined to share more receipts that I have from this time frame. But I'm an open book.

If you've read this far and you've thought some of my posts are funny, videos, whatever. I just wanna say thank you for sticking with me and appreciating it. And thank you for hearing something out that you may have not had a general interest in. Again, this is not a callout post or anything like that. This was years ago, I'm ready to move past this. I need to heal, and if you were a part of this... even if you were shitty to me, I want you to heal and get help, too.

#personal #statement on my deletion #commanderchrist

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scoobydoodean · 23 days

Note

i’d like you to know you’ve made me much more of a bitter deangirl when it comes to the trap. like i still love the idea of it, of them reconnecting in purgatory of all places, and i still like the idea of lots of what dean says re: should’ve asked cas to stay and i forgive you and talking *about* his anger, but… dean had a right to be angry, including at cas. and yeah it’s good that dean apologized, for the sake of healthy communication cause that’s what you do when you’ve said hurtful things in an argument regardless of who’s “right”, but cas also should’ve apologized again. in fact, i can’t remember so i could be completely misremembering, but does cas ever actually apologize to dean beyond expressing the sentiment of feeling bad that mary died?

and i’m also thinking about the conversation they have before being separated. i like the angst of cas’s line re: i left but you didn’t stop me, but again, dean was not the only one in that argument. to leave was very much cas’s choice, and it feels kinda unfair to put that on dean, regardless of whether dean saying smth would’ve actually gotten cas to stay (which, to dean, probably would’ve seemed unlikely given cas’s past habits). and also, cas saying dean couldn’t move on, that’s actually fucking heartbreaking and almost… cruel. iirc it’d been at most a couple weeks since his mom (his mom!) had been killed!! plus dean never got to say goodbye, again!! of course he couldn’t just move on!

idk idk… anyway i believe i’ve sent an ask about your opinions on the trap before lol, and sorry about this long ass message, but i recently saw a gifset about that conversation (before being attacked) and all the notes were like ‘yes cas you tell him!’ ‘dean needed to hear that!’ ‘finally got dean’s head out of his ass!’ and it kinda made me annoyed for dean which. brainrot. but whatever. bitter deangirls unite, dean deserves the support 😭😭

context

LMAO sorry for my tumblr arc culminating in me turning full bitter deangirl ig and taking some of you down with me (I'm not sorry actually I'm having a ball in this bitch).

Cas's attempts at apologies are cataloged here. So he does try to apologize. But how many times has Cas been "sorry" only to do the thing he apologized for again? I mean the fact that he keeps "apologizing" for lack of communication and unilateral decisions over things that impact other people besides him and secret deals that blow up in all of their faces over and over and over and over shows that he is... not actually that sorry? Because if you're actually sorry, you actually change your behavior. Except Cas thinks "getting a win" (while actively digging a deeper hole in his relationship with Dean) is the way to "apologize" and make everything better instead of just... changing his behavior. And whatever his latest big plan to fix everything is never works and instead actively makes his relationships and his own self esteem worse. From the outside perspective, what Cas is doing (apologizing then doing the thing he just apologized for again) is just kind of... the ultimate way of telling a person you claim to love that their feelings actually have very little value to you. I mean Cas would be horrified by the idea that he doesn't actually value Dean's feelings, but what conclusion is Dean supposed to come to? Is it any wonder that Dean is perpetually confused about what exactly Cas thinks of their relationship? Is it any wonder that he reached a point where he couldn't stand to hear one more of Cas's meaningless apologies? To maintain any semblance of a relationship with Cas, Dean has to focus on what he feels about Cas's intentions (intentions Dean has always had faith in being good) but that faith and care increasingly forces him to ignore aspects of their relationship that are deeply hurtful because Cas refuses to do his part in addressing their issues in any meaningful way. It's just a vicious cycle of Dean trying to communicate that their lack of communication is upsetting and Cas pretending to listen and apologizing but clearly not actually listening or understanding the gravity of the situation and how it is slowly building a rift between them over years (with perhaps the most striking and hurtful example being The Future) until the secret over soulless Jack becomes "the straw that broke the camel's back" and Dean absolutely explodes at the end of season 14... and then... still... Cas's secrets remain—to the bitter fucking end.

Also yeah tbh Cas's "I left but you didn't stop me" makes my eyes roll so hard. Painfully stupid dialogue with unpleasant (though likely unintentional) implications (as linked in thread above).

#15.09 #mail

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all-mirth-no-matter · 2 years

Text

Time After Time | Chapter Seven

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Will the Delphi family have the answers you seek?

Warning: language, ethnic slur, supernatural (kind of)

ao3 Link | Catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 7: Vagabond

Go and see the sorcerer, look into a ball. You might find the answer written on the wall. The left one was a dancer, can you see the answer, oh? Put her in a mansion on top of the hill.

Please, don’t make her do things against her will. I found something special, I don’t know why. Looking into her pretty little eye, ‘cause I’ll tell you everything about being free.

— Vagabond, Wolfmother

The cool air hit your skin as your lungs took in a deep breath, a familiar mix of sea salt and flowers. The wind whipped your long hair from your shoulders, lifting through your chiton dress and twirling the fabric around you.

You leaned against the railing of the garden’s terrace and took in the view. From your height, you could see the ocean from every angle beyond the mass of the city beneath you - one of the perks of living on a peninsula, you always thought.

Your father and brothers would be quick to tell you the perks from a combative standpoint, but that was for them to worry about.

The sky grew golden with the descent of the sun and a warm feeling crept threw your chest at the anticipation of what you knew would follow.

“Please,” you whispered your prayer, closing your eyes as the light in the sky began to dim.

“Your Highness.”

The deep voice felt like a warm blanket as it wrapped around your shoulders. You turned to find the object of your selfish prayers as he stood before you.

The palace gardener. The young man with the golden eyes and the sharp cheek bones. Who you met every day at sunset as he tended to your favorite place in the whole world. The place where you’d talked for hours, days on end since he started working at the palace.

Where, as of a moment ago when your prayers betrayed your desires, you realized you’d fallen in love.

“I’m so sorry,” you felt the tears begin to well just behind your eyes, swallowing thick to try and collect yourself. “I made a vow, a promise, a fealty to another.”

“A prince?” he asked politely.

You narrowed your eyes at his reaction, expecting him to be hurt, upset, even angry. But in the light of the moon, you caught the uptick of his cheek as a smirk threatened at his full lips.

“A god,” you replied, your heartbeat increasing as he took a step toward you. “I’ve promised myself to priesthood. I didn’t expect you —“

His smirk turned into a smile as he rose his hand to your face. “My love, you prayed for me, to me.”

Your eyes searched the meaning behind his words. The gold of his irises began to shine, then burn.

“My Lord,” you whispered, realization washing over you like a vase of cold water.

“What I didn’t expect,” your gardener — your god — went on as his thumb gently ran across your cheek down to your chin before catching your bottom lip, “was to fall for you.”

The wind was stolen from your lungs at his admission before he pulled your face up to meet your lips with his own. The kiss made your body feel like it was being consumed by the sun and you poured your own love into the unspoken act.

You pulled away, eyes wet with tears and cheeks tight with a smile, your body consumed with love as you met his eyes again.

You gasped — where you’d expected to see the warm golden eyes of the man you loved, instead they were ice blue. Cold, angry, hardened of any care you thought was there.

A terrible, horrible feeling began to consume your body as you felt unable to breathe. The man before you grabbed at your arms, this time with hatred and malice.

“I curse you, Cassandra! From this day forward—”

“Y/N!”

You jerked awake, the feeling of two hands holding you caused you to panic, the feeling of impending doom still lingering over you as your heart rate beat out of control. Pushing away, you tried to fight against the hold.

“Y/N, look at me!”

You stilled long enough for the hands to turn you toward the body attached to them, your eyes finally clearing as they met another.

Cold, ice blue eyes.

You gasped in fright, your brain fog still telling you you were in danger, the face of the man from your dreams come to life before you. But the eyes were different than they’d been before. Softer, kinder, worried.

“Fuck, Y/N, it’s me! It’s Tommy — look at me!”

“Tommy,” you repeated, your breathing finally slowing as the fog began to lift.

The eyes that you’d once been afraid of brought you comfort as you searched them. Tommy seemed to recognize that you were coming back, because he breathed out a sigh of relief as he lifted his hand to your cheek. You flinched for a moment, but at the warmth of his palm you leaned your head into it, your breath finally slowing enough for you to look around.

You were still in the seat of the wagon, which was currently stopped as the horse in front of you bent forward to eat.

“You fell asleep,” Tommy spoke again softly as he kept watching you, as if knowing that you were still working your way back to him. “You were dreaming.”

Dreaming. It was a dream.

As if a dam had broken, you gasped for air as the tears began to fall. It was a strangled cry, one of defeat and emotional pain. The dream, the loss, the confusion of being in this place, of being ripped from everything and having everything ripped from you.

“Hey, hey,” you heard Tommy say softly before you felt arms wrap around you and pull you into him. You gripped his shirt in an attempt to stable yourself, pushing your face into his chest. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

He pulled you back to look at him, taking your face between his hands again, doing a sweep with his eyes across your face.

“I’m okay,” you finally said, your cheeks still wet and breathing still deep, but you were back. You looked around to see that the sun was low in the sky. “Where are we?”

Tommy watched you for a second longer, dropping his hands and straightening in the seat. “Just outside of the Delphi camp. Johnny Dogs went ahead to let them know of our arrival and make sure it was safe.”

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps pulled both of your attentions forward as Johnny emerged from the hilltop, accompanied with another.

“Tommy,” you grabbed his hand and his head snapped back to you. “You have to tell me about your dream. The one in France.”

His brow furrowed and you spied a flush at his cheeks, “Now? Is now the best time for this?”

“Please,” you whispered out in almost a pathetic plea.

Not sure why, but you were overcome with the feeling that time was running out. And despite your hesitations, you needed to know now more than ever what Tommy’s dream was about. And more urgently, if it had anything to do with the one you’d just had.

“You said you saw me. Were we in a garden? Something ancient, with long tunics and dressings?”

Tommy’s face continued to contort into confusion. “A garden? No, now look. I don’t know what just fucking happened there with you — you looked like some of the men back from war. But Johnny Dogs is about to be here. We’ll have to be on guard in this place, with these people — they’re dangerous when offended. There’s a reason why they’ve been able to survive as long as they have. Be careful what you say, what you give away.”

The part of your brain that was catching up with the present more quickly than the other wanted to scold Tommy for not telling you such information sooner. You liked to be prepared for a situation before walking in. But, whether it was because he still didn’t trust you, or because he was just so used to keeping secrets for himself, he was putting you in yet another situation where you felt you were playing catch up.

This seemed to snap your brain back to itself. You nodded, momentarily forgetting your dream and Tommy’s as the two men approached you both.

“Follow us,” said the Delphi member.

Johnny Dogs sent Tommy an unspoken look along with a nod. Tommy must have interpreted it as a sign to do as the other man said and follow, calling out for the horse to walk on as the two men walked alongside the animal to steer it.

“It wasn’t a dream,” Tommy said in a whisper, eyes still facing forward. You moved your head to look at him but saw him shake his head. Adjusting back to the front, he went on. “Or maybe it was, I’m not sure. In the tunnels we uncovered an enemy explosive, the ricochet of it sent me backwards, cut at my chest. I was layin’ in the mud when my team found me, covered in blood.”

You took a deep breath, not daring to interrupt him or react in a way that would draw you both attention.

“In the dream,” Tommy continued, his voice barely loud enough for even you to hear. “I just saw you, not us. You were wearing a shirt — it was long, stoppin’ at your…” he cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed by his own dream but he pushed through, “thighs. You appeared to have nothing else on. The top was an odd thing in a dark blue color with a pyramid and a rainbow on it.”

Pink Floyd, you identified, the shirt in question appearing in your memory. It was your favorite sleeping shirt — old, soft, and baggy enough for you to walk around your flat like it was a dress. It was the shirt you were wearing your last night in 2018.

He went on, his voice still low enough to not arouse the company still leading them to the campsite. “In the dream, it was like I was hoverin’ over you. You were laying, surrounded by red sheets. Then a bright light lit up behind you, surroundin’ you before your eyes opened and looked at me. I reached out for you, tried to pull you back. But the light became so bright, I couldn’t see you anymore. I woke up to Freddie poundin’ on my fucking chest to start my heart back.”

A theory began to form in your brain as you started to put the pieces together.

“I think we saw each other that night,” you whispered, mostly thinking out loud. “I saw you in the mud, sinking, with blood covering you. You saw me in my bed…”

Traveling to the past, you wanted to finish, but kept the words to yourself.

Tommy took a deep breath next to you, taking in your theory. Ahead of you, the campsite came into view.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I’m hoping this place will have some answers.”

Tommy didn’t say anything more as they pulled into the camp, parking the wagon just outside next to Johnny Dogs’. The sun was fully set now as Tommy adjusted his jacket and jumped out of the wagon.

The Delphi member who had escorted them approached the wagon and offered you his hand to help you down. Tommy appeared next to him, eyes steady at the man until he took back his arm and retreated. You felt yourself want to roll your eyes at the exchange, but there was something in Tommy’s warning that made you appreciate it instead.

After the dream you’d just had, it felt good to feel safe again as you took Tommy’s hand and he steadied you to the ground. He kept his hand to your back as you both walked forward into the camp.

Watching him from the corner of your eye, you noticed him slip into something else. His face hardened into the signature Thomas Shelby glare, as if building a wall around his thoughts as you began to walk into the camp. His eyes were nonstop, scanning everywhere as if looking for potential threats or escape exists. It reminded you of how your father used to walk into crowded places — always alert for impending danger.

You took that as your own cue to do the same, finally taking in the camp around you.

You weren’t really sure what to expect, half picturing some of the movies you’d seen depicting gypsy campsites. A couple large fires were lit throughout the grounds, each surrounded by a gang of caravans — the largest was parked at the end of the alley, almost like a head of the table. There were more people around you than you imagined there’d be, with dogs running around and barefoot children chasing them.

One thing you did expect, but still found chilling to see in person — the sigil on the caravan the Delphi escort was walking you both toward.

A painting of a tree — a near perfect resemblance to the mark on your back.

“Madam Despoina will meet you now,” the escort said, opening the door of the caravan. “She’s asked that you wait for her here.”

You took a step toward the large caravan, feeling Tommy begin to follow you.

“Just the lady.”

The man lifted his hand between you and Tommy, stopping him from moving further. Tommy’s eyes flicked down to the hand, then back at the man.

“No,” you spoke up, the Delphi man looking back toward you but Tommy’s eyes never left his. “He comes with me.”

“She said nothing of the sort—“

“I don’t care,” you shrugged.

The man held your glare for a moment before exhaling in defeat. Tommy held the door of the caravan open for you to enter before following behind.

Inside, the caravan was dark, with a handful of candles lit around the parameter and on the table in the center. Tommy moved to sit on the far side of the table, facing the entrance, while you took the seat to his right. Across from you was the empty seat.

As you waited, you began to grow nervous, but you were desperate to stay aware of everything around you. In your quest to disprove your mother’s fortune teller claim, you’d gone on your own crusade to debunk the myth. But despite your skepticism, you found yourself wrapped up in the excitement of the moment.

“Do you know what kind of divination they practice?” You found yourself asking Tommy.

He shook his head.

“Palm readings, tarot cards, crystal balls, tea readings,” you rolled your eyes, giving the caravan a once over again. You noticed some unlit candles, pointing them out. “It’s all such bullshit, see. It could be brighter in here, but they chose to keep it dark. It’s part of their trick — a dark atmosphere decreases people’s sensitivity to movement, heightens their sensitivity to noise, and causes them to be more on edge and frightened at the little things. I can’t believe we’re here.”

Tommy’s brow rose at her deduction.

“I bet you dollars to donuts that when she sits down, she’ll ask for our hands. Another part of the act — decreases the possibility of disrupting the play. A form of misdirection. Keep your eye on her hand and you don’t see her move her knee to knock against the table crying out spirits.”

You felt your temper rise as you continued, not being able to stop yourself now from just rambling out of pent up anger and nerves. Your eyes met Tommy’s, who was appraising you curiously.

“Not a fan of gypsies, I take it?”

There was a hint of defense in his tone that punched at your gut. He thought you were judging his people and suddenly you felt the need to explain yourself.

“No, I didn’t mean— it’s not that. It’s just—“ you were having a hard time backing yourself out of this corner. You took a deep breath. “My mother wasted a lot of money and sanity on fortune tellers and seances. She thought they had answers to her questions and it became an obsession. I learned a lot to try and convince her that such stuff didn’t exist. That it was all parlor tricks, unconscious muscle movement, static electricity, light trickery—”

“She never believed you.”

An older woman’s voice came from the entrance of the caravan. Madam Despoina, you assumed, climbed into the wagon and took the seat across from you.

“She always knew there was an answer out there. A truth, just outside her grasp. She searched, the same way you now search. It’s ironic, no?”

“Madam Despoina,” Tommy greeted, nodding his head down as a show of respect.

The woman nodded in return, “Thomas Shelby.”

Madam Despoina turned then to you and reached her hand out, silently asking for your own. You sent a sideways glance to Tommy, who was already smirking at the action.

Did they have donuts in 1918? You quickly found yourself wondering.

“Please,” the Madam said softly. “It has been so long since your line has had answers.”

You crossed your arms, a direct defiance of her request, “My mother was desperate. I am not. What could you possibly know about me?”

You felt Tommy inhale sharply, an uncomfortable energy radiating off him as his back straightened and he kept an eye on the woman to his left. Obviously he had a better understanding of Romani decorum than you did — you wondered if you’d gone a little too far with your disrespect, misjudging the consequences.

But Madam Despoina only hummed and smiled, her eyes nearly sparkling with a challenge.

She folded her hands together as she leaned against the table, talking directly to you as she began. “Our lineages have traveled from the same ancient roads. I am a direct descendent of the original Pythia.”

“Pythia?” You repeated, the pieces finally beginning to take shape.

Greek history and mythology had been one of your favorite subjects in school, as it seemed to be for most kids in your time. But after learning that your own history may have led back to that country, that culture, it made you hyper-fixate on learning as much as you could. You loved the idea of these stories, these grandiose themes that people of an ancient world told to explain every day occurrences or creations.

Your dream began to itch at the back of your brain as you thought back to those lessons.

“The Oracle of Delphi,” you continued, a sly smile from the woman across from you aiding your confirmation. “No wonder the name sounded so familiar.”

“Oracle?” Tommy’s brow furrowed as he looked to you for an answer.

The Madam nodded, as if encouraging you to explain.

“They were priestesses of Ancient Greece,” you replied tentatively, careful with your words.

You knew this was another tactic used by fortune tellers, to get the payee to divulge information to use back at you, making you unwittingly believe that they knew all along.

You cleared your throat. “They told prophecies and were considered the most prestigious oracles in Greece.”

Madam Despoina nodded. “The Pythia was the most powerful woman in the ancient world. We channeled our ancient god and he spoke through us.”

“You know, there’s some that believe the explanation for the prophecy inspiration came from vapors in the springs below the temple,” you interrupted.

You remembered a professor who always loved to bring reason or scientific explanation to some of these tales as a way of relating them back to real world scenarios. You’ll never forget the way he’d compared Hercules killing his wife and children because Hera spelled him to see them as demons to a fit of roid-rage. You channeled that professor at this moment to regurgitate some of his words.

“That the shift of very specific, active fault lines and earthquakes released some kind of hallucinogenic gas, giving the illusion of connecting with the divine. And as for the possessions, some thought them to be epilepsies, brought on by either the gas or from chewing and inhaling the leaves of a poisonous plant — like the way Vikings used to eat magic mushrooms and burn leaves to see visions of trolls and giants and gods.”

Madam Despoina kept her smile as you talked, chuckling as you finished. “That is a very astute observation of our history. Perhaps it’s true. I never did believe that our power was fueled solely on magic or the divine alone.”

That surprised you. You hadn’t expected her to take your reasoning seriously — part of you thought she’d kick you out on the spot. As if reading your thoughts (or your facial expression, you reasoned), she chuckled again.

“Despite how the root came to be, it does not negate the clarity of the branches. We continue the Delphi name and practices in honor of that lineage,” she went on after giving you a moment with your thoughts. “Just as it seems, your mother continued yours.”

Your brow creased, “What do you mean?”

She closed her eyes and began to speak in another language, Latin perhaps, before opening them and speaking again, this time in English.

“Know thyself and thou shalt know all the mysteries of the gods and the universe,” she said cryptically, obviously reciting something, but you didn’t know it’s origin.

“Know myself?” You repeated, your brow creasing. “That’s what I came here for,” you replied, half annoyed, half skeptic.

“I know why you came here. It’s been long predicted of your arrival.”

You took a deep breath. “I was starting to like you. Do you have anything less generic to say?”

She smirked, “You still disbelieve our power, our connection?”

“I believe you’re trying to probe me with leading questions,” you replied, leaning your elbows against your lap. “That the power of suggestion is half the battle of divinity. You know why I’m here, you wouldn’t have agreed to meet with me if you didn’t already know there was some connection. I’m here for real answers, and you either have them, or you don’t”

“Aye, you are perceptive,” you were surprised to see her smile. “Most readings are easy — love, fortune, death, these are all pieces that are simple to persuade. But not you, not the one who branded herself with the tree of knowledge, of universal balance on your back.”

You felt yourself shift in your seat, your shoulders moved at the mention of your tattoo between them.

As you said, you guessed they already knew about it. Tommy would have had to give Johnny Dogs a reason for reaching out to the family, a reason strong enough to request an audience with the woman before you.

A quick glance at Tommy, who had narrow eyes on Madam Despoina, confirmed such.

Playing it off, you shrugged. “So, tell me something I don’t know.”

The woman smiled again, leaning forward to match your stance. “You were named after the cursed one herself. The first of your matriarch. The infamous Trojan princess.”

“Cassandra,” you answered. “The unbelieved prophet.”

Your dream itched harder in the back of your mind at the sound of your middle name being said out loud for the first time in years.

“A gracious gift given by the god himself at the promise of her body, who then twisted into curse once she refused to lay with him,” the Madam explained with almost a song-like quality.

Of course you knew the story. You’d been ecstatic when you began the Iliad and found your own name amongst the pages.

You hummed, “You know, there’s another side of that story. One that paints Cassandra as a devout priestess, who had the gift bestowed to her freely. She didn’t ask for it, nor did she consent to it. And it was only after he made his advances, believing that she owed him for this gift she didn’t ask for, that he cursed her in rage of an ego blow.”

The Madam nodded, “And which do you believe? The temptress or the victim?”

“Seeing as most history is written by men, I tend to sympathize with the female viewpoints,” you stated, crossing your arms again.

“What if I told you there’s a third side to this story. One that I believe you have already begun to uncover.”

Your itch turned into a burn as you thickly swallowed.

“Yesterday was the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. Some say it’s the mark of a death and rebirth of the Sun.” Madam turned then to Tommy, who’d been quietly observing during this time. “You’ve had experience with that yourself, haven’t ya, Thomas? You were dead, and now, reborn.”

“What does any of this have to do with why we’re here?” You asked, feeling a sense of protectiveness over Madam’s focus on Tommy.

“Why did you bring him?” She asked you, still looking toward Tommy. “My men told you that I’d meet with you alone.”

“I promised him no more secrets —“

“No,” she cut you off. “You wanted me to reveal your secret for you. But I cannot.”

“Because you don’t know—”

“Because it’s not time!” She shouted, pivoting back toward you quickly. The humor in her eyes had gone now. “You are a traveler, but you don’t belong here. You have been sent to this place, to this time, for a reason. A curse brought you here, but unlike the others, you have a chance to mend ancient mistakes. You have a chance to save lives with your knowledge, with your insight. You must get the right people to listen. Break the cursed chain, end the line of travel.”

Your mouth gaped as Madam Despoina had gone on, but your brain was doing everything to absorb every word, every micro-expression you could make out to understand.

The woman stood from her seat and began her retreat, taking a deep breath before turning back around.

“You will find the answers you seek, so long as you stay true to thyself. Listen to your dreams, your visions, your memories. And above all, know you are stronger than those who came before you — you are stronger than your mother.”

With that, she left the caravan, leaving you and Tommy alone.

You looked over to Tommy, who was staring at you — a look you couldn’t quite make out. You opened your mouth to say something when the caravan door opened.

Johnny Dogs stood at the open end, “We’ve been invited to stay for dinner and to rest for the night. They have a caravan for the two of yous.”

Your brow creased as you looked back to Tommy, “We can’t possibly stay the night here. Not after that —“

“We must,” he replied, his voice as even as it’d been before. “It’ll be an insult if we don’t.”

He stood up, offering you his hand to help you up as well. He pulled you close to him, his voice low enough so even Johnny Dogs couldn’t hear.

“But we leave first thing in the morning. We speak nothing of what happened here tonight. Understood?”

“How can you expect that of me?” You asked genuinely, hoping he didn’t mistake your question for childish disobedience. Your mind was swimming with everything that’d happened in the last few hours. Your eyes sought his, “How can you not have questions for me?”

He exhaled a humored breath before swallowing, pulling your head the inch it needed before his lips brushed against your temple. His hand returned to your back as he whispered into your ear.

“Oh believe me, love, I do. But there will be time for that later. Come on, we can’t keep them waiting.”

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

tag list: @cillixn @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @swordofawriter @sweetmilkshakeluminary @ttae-yong @topstory21 @cole-silas @moral-terpitude @optimisticsandwichgladiator @reallysparklychaos @enrapturedbythemoon @bat-shark-repellant @kpopslur @ilovestrngrthgs @musicsweetie21 @invisiblexcth @lovelydivs @whoisf4yryl0v3r @itscheybaby @laylasbunbunny @lordofthunderthr @luvstylesz @roseanimelover @lostgirl219 @berarenado @akemiixx01 @mulletmcghee @jasminxts @fanfics-that-hit-my-feels

hope I didn’t miss anyone in the tag list! let me know if you’d like to be added and thank you all for the kind words and amazing support!

#Tommy shelby #Thomas Shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #Peaky blinders #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders fanfic #Tommy Shelby fanfic #time after time #fanfic #mine #I apologize for the name discrepancies between here and ao3

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obikindred · 7 months

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Ok tumblr today I am going to ramble about something. It was discussed in the obikin discord i thinkkk probably about a year ago now? But:

Obligate cannibal stewjoni.

I figure thats not everyone’s jam, so more about biological logistics and how that applies to our good friend Obi-wan below the cut vv

So I know the biology surrounding an obligate cannibal would have to be kind of funky but basically in my mind the prion diseases that would kill irl humans provides a necessary nutrient in stewjoni lifeforms. Perhaps two or more separate humanoid species are the only living things left on the planet after its other meat sources have been hunted to extinction, leaving only the humanoid species left. Maybe a herbivore group vs a group of obligate carnivores? Or maybe it’s just one carnivorous group that utilizes slavery/human husbandry/ human sacrifice? Regardless, it causes them to evolve over time into obligate cannibals. Or something. I offer you an obi-wan with pointed, ripping teeth and (optionally) nails that grow in naturally sharp.

I figure the temple provides Obi-wan with synthetic meat or supplement pills or something that has the added nutrients needed for a stewjoni initiate, so he never actually feels the craving for humanoid flesh until he gets put in a situation where those rations are not readily available to him. I also figure they probably give him special classes on his own biology so he knows how important it actually is to keep those rations/supplements on him at all times, but. You know. Shit just happens to Obi-wan LOL.

Qui-gon discovering a young Obi-wan on Melida-Daan wide eyed and drenched in blood, having gone without his supplements for too long for the first time and deciding that no, he will NOT in fact train this feral animal (he does infact begrudgingly train this feral animal). Qui-gon is wary of this boy, treats him like a dangerous animal that needs to be controlled, and in response, ever grateful for the chance to probe that he is not too wild to be domesticated, his padawan becomes just that. Obi-wan is the perfect jedi, you would scarcely know of his origin planet if not for those teeth (he files his nails down and smiles with his mouth closed. Nothing to be done for speaking, unfortunately.)

There is a significantly more upsetting, dead-dove rabbithole that could be followed regarding one Anakin Skywalker’s missing hand and a master that is Not Normal about his padawan, how something about the boy just makes his teeth itch for the hot, steady gush of fresh blood, but I digress. Im always down to talk about weird starwarse biology and even moreso about obligate cannibal obiwan, but I think I will leave this here for now… :3

#cannibalism tw #LOOK MAN. i just think obiwan deserves to be wild-eyed and covered in blood #feral and unhinged.#as a treat.#and also i think anakim would probably be into that hes a freak like that #obi wan kenobi #star wars #anakin skywalker #qui gon jinn #mentioned.#obikin #max talks smack

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hanahaki-disease · 2 months

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The One Minute You’re Not By My Side

An ROTMNT FanFic

Summary:

For as long as he can remember, Donnie always had Leo beside him. Through every illness and injury, daydream and nightmare, Leo had been at Donnie's side; it was all he had ever known.

And then the impossible happens for one minute: Donnie was alone for one minute.

Leo doesn't understand why Donnie was so strung up after the Krang invasion, chalking it up to him being protective over everyone and shutting himself off for some reason or other. When confronting him, Leo learns why his twin had been distancing himself from him

I had published this on my ao3 a few years ago intending to put it here on tumblr but I haven’t gotten around to it, but it’s here now. This is for all you angst-loving disaster twins fans!

*********************************************************************

“No Leo!” Donnie yelled. The battle shell he was working on forgotten about as he tried to hold back his tears. “I’m not talking about when we lost you in that krang dimension!”

“Then why are you so upset?!” With a huff, Leo dropped onto the bed. His leg had been healed enough to walk him from the med room to Donnie’s lab, that’s for sure, but he couldn’t stand there for that long. Not yet at least, with the way Donnie said his knee cap was fractured. “I don’t get it. I don’t get why you’re so adamant about this!”

“‘Cause, you don’t understand!” Donnie replied.

“Then tell me! I can’t read your mind-!”

“You died!” He snapped. Donnie turned around from the table, tears flowing freely now in the purple LED lights.

Leo sat there stunned. The breath in his lungs held itself in his throat and the words on his tongue died like Donnie said he had. “What?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“You died. I’m not talking about when we lost you in the other dimension. No. Your heart stopped beating for one minute on the way back to the lair.” Donnie turned back to the haphazard piles of wires and metal on the table.“For one minute—for seventy-four seconds—you were dead and for the first time in our existence…I was alone.”

He couldn’t look at his twin the same anymore.

They thought Leo was stable enough to move to the lair, and while he needed the most medical attention out of the group, everyone believes he was good enough to move through the subway tunnels toward home. He had been doing fine, up until the station on sixteenth and broadway when he had gone quiet and limp. Leo had started slipping out of April and Donnie’s grip, his legs unmoving and his head hanging against his chest. April was the one to notice first, not liking the way Leo’s hand wasn’t gripping onto hers anymore.

When they laid him, Leo’s eyes had glazed over, a ghostly sheen that spread over his irises and left him staring ahead at whatever victim was in its path. And Donnie was right next to him.

Donnie couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. The world below him disappeared and he was falling through into nothingness as he stared at his twin brother’s dead eyes. Around him, fuzzy figures went to work trying their best to reanimate the dead turtle. He saw red and orange were the first to the scene, their hands following the steps from the CPR training a few years ago. Yellow was next to him, trying to shake him out of his stupor. Grey was somewhere, Donnie couldn’t see where because it didn’t matter at that point. Donnie was now alone in this world.

Everything zeroed in on Donnie as the realization hit him: Leo broke his promise.

A flash of a memory, a ghost of a forgotten time when the twin was just under six years old, hiding beneath their shared blanket in the middle of the night. Bright eyes staring at each other as they giggled about everything and anything.

“Hey ‘tello?” The blue-dressed turtle said.

“Yeah ‘nardo?” The purple one replied.

“You’re never going to leave me right? You’ll always be with me?”

“Of course!” The child’s voice beamed. “But only if you promise to never leave me alone, m’kay?”

“I promise! I’ll always be right by your side!” The blue turtle held out his third finger. “I pinkie promise!”

“But we don’t have pinkies!”

“Doesn’t matter! You have to promise to, okay?”

“Okay,” the purple turtle wrapped his third finger around his brothers, eyes half closed as sleep was rushing over them both. “I promise.”

Donnie didn’t know what to do in those few seconds, that moment when his whole world crumbled to the ground. And then he heard a gasp and yelled of relief. He saw black gloves twitch off the ground and a blue bandanna spring to life before reading on the cold concrete of the subway station. And while everyone else had expressed their concerns and double-checked if Leo was okay to move again, Donnie had still stayed frozen in place, his eyes staring at where Leo’s dead ones looked back at him.

“Donnie,” Leo said breaking the silence.

“No! No! Don’t ‘Donnie’ me!” The older twin yelled, angry tears replaced the sad ones, but they were tears nonetheless. “I had to lose you twice! Twice! I had to watch you break your promise twice, Leo! You said you’d always be by my side, you promised we’d be twins forever, and then you had to do your dumb-dumb self-sacrifice to save our dumb-dumb lives without thinking of how that would affect me!!”

His chest heaved, every ounce of anger and grief pouring in his words. Donnie had been fighting a war against his emotions since the invasion, trying to keep his head level and not think about those few moments where his other half had been gone, and right now he was losing. Donnie wiped a few tears from his face, his cheeks feeling dry and crusted over from the salt, “I…I don’t know how to live if you’re not there, ‘nardo, because you’ve always been there.”

“It’s always been us, always been you and me.” Leo looked away from his brother, his own tears creeping up on him. “And then it was just me…I-I don’t know what that’s like, and I don’t ever want to find out again.”

That’s how it had always been, since they were toddlers, Leo and Donnie were practically glued at the hip. Wherever one went, the other would follow. When one got sick, the other was right next to them. Even if they fought or argued, they never strayed far from the other. The blue and purple turtles had a bond so very different than the rest.

When they were older, shortly after reforming Draxum from villainy to lord of the lunchroom, they found blueprints of Draxum’s lab. Original ones at that.

In the design for the center spire, the one that housed the oozequitoes and the cage where their father was trapped, there was no separation wall between Leo and Donnie’s embedded mutation bobble. They had been floating in shared goop when they were mutated by the ooze and Lou Jitsu’s DNA. No wonder they had been so close—they were practically reborn as twins when they were mutated!

Whether it was a coincidence or not, Leo and Donnie had grown up as them against the world, and for a few moments, it was just Donnie.

Leo grunted, his voice bringing Donnie’s attention to him, his non-existent eyebrows were furrowed as he stood up from the bed. There were no arm rests to help him up and his walker was too far away to grab, but that didn’t stop him. And slowly, oh so slowly he made his way to his twin, weak and recovering arms wrapping around his brother and the bandages that covered Donnie’s injuries.

“Leo, wha—?” Donnie began, startled by the unannounced touch.

“I’m sorry, ‘tello.”

Donnie cried again for the second time that day as he wrapped his around his brother’s cracked shell, burying his sobs in his neck as the two of them hugged. And for the first time since the end of the invasion, Donnie didn’t feel alone anymore, not when he had his twin by his side.

***********************************************

If you decide to read my other works, you’ll notice that this fic isn’t as…refined as what my most recent stuff is like. It doesn’t matter though, this was like my first serious work and I’m proud of it.

You should be too >:|

<3 hanahaki

Main Masterlist

#rotmnt #leo and donnie are twins #rise leo #rise donnie #rise mikey #rise raph #rottmnt disaster twins #disaster twins #rotmnt fanfiction #he dies #straight up not having a good time #he lives though #so it’s fine

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nikethestatue · 2 months

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I feel like sjm has really lost a lot of the fandom at this point. Not that it matters, she’s popular enough without the fandom. But most all my friends don’t care anymore. I think there have always been dry periods since acosf but people came back for hosab for the crossover and for hofas. But now so long has passed without a hint of acotar news and I really think BB has let it be pushed too far. Maybe it is the printing change that’s caused no news, but I am not so sure. I’m just like, where is the damn book announcement already???

A lot of people expect huge outcry when the next book is announced but I honestly think people aren’t as invested as before. You’ll have a small segment that will be upset and a segment that will cheer but I don’t think it’s going to have the insanity that was expected.

If she really was still drafting in April, I think the book could still be done and printed before 2026 but I wonder if BB would decide to push it to early 2026 anyway.

Yeah, I was talking to a mutual just last night, and we felt the same--yes, she will sell, but I wonder if in some ways, the train's left the station for her?

We started to talk about Azriel specifically, and how she really was the OG creator of the 'mysterious winged shadow man' in Azriel. And how, after ACOSF, and the bonus chapter, the interest in him was RABID. Like people were utterly insane for him.

And instead of capitalizing on this wild adulation for him, she and BB completely dropped the ball.

It's really bizarre and I think they'll look back at this time in 10-15 years and say, fuuuuuuckkkk, did we fuck this one up.

Because now, every mediocre writer and their cousin have a shadow daddy in their lame romantasy books. And there is nothing original about the concept anymore. In fact, there are too many now.

And SJM, who decided to play the stupid shipwar game, instead of striking the iron when it was hot, absolutely pissed in her own pocket. Like yeah, people will read the book, sure, but the novelty, the anticipation, the mental agitation is all gone now. And for what? Gwynriel vs Elriel?

Dont know who is making decisions or doing the marketing, but it's like when Yahoo didn't want to buy YouTube, but instead bought Tumblr, and Google swept in and bought YouTube.

It's kinda like that.

Well, I don't know. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

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hawkinsindiana · 1 year

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i’m not gonna leave you here

ALMOST PARADISE: PART FOUR - CHAPTER NINE OF NINE

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 4.8k

a/n: i have returned from the dead to drop this lil nugget of a final chapter. literally bat shit to think i have been writing this shit for FOUR YEARS! thank you to those of you who have continued to support my writing even through all the droughts. i definitely needed time to step back from tumblr so also a quick kiss to the few that sent me sweet asks checking up on me ily ily!!! writing this story has truly brought me such immense joy i feel ridiculously grateful to the ones that have decided to READ THE WHOLE FRICKING THING!!!! anyways..... thank you thank you thank you and i hope to see you for s5 >:)

masterlist

“What are you thinking about?”

Your voice filters into Steve’s mind, reaching him through the anxious worries he’s been so focused on beneath the reporter’s drawl on the television. The back of your index finger glides gently across the line of his jaw, helping to coax him away from what made him cast his gaze down towards his socks. His skin is smooth under your own, freshly shaved and moisturized to perfection.

Steve’s eyes shift to you, who’s comfortably tucked under the weight of his arm. Your irises are as warm and inviting as ever, quietly beckoning him to divulge. He grins lightly as the answer reaches the tip of his tongue.

“You.”

The only reason he’s so blunt is because he wants to see your reaction — a brilliant smile that fades into awe and pure love. He feels your body melt further against him as you try to play it off with a rather endearing roll of your eyes. Steve’s sure that some joke about him being a sap rattles around inside your pretty head, but it never comes to fruition. It must be the look on his face that keeps words from escaping you because once again, your gentle eyes silently plead with him.

He bites down on his lip before anxiously darting his gaze across the room; this is the last topic of conversation he wants to bring up, but it keeps shouting at him from the depths of his mind. Before Steve gets the chance to speak, you reach over to take his free hand between yours, lightly massaging his tired knuckles. The crease in his brow softens.

“When are you going back to the city? I know you weren’t supposed to leave for another week but…”

Steve pauses like he’s carefully choosing his words. His hand, which you’ve dragged to your lap, shifts to intertwine a few of your fingers together. He swallows harshly, “I don’t know, maybe that’s… changed. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to go sooner.”

It was this morning that Steve remembered what the initial plans for Spring Break were. Just over a week ago, you two had been excitedly swapping ideas about what to do with all of your free time. But now, he can barely remember what any of them were. The only thing that crosses his mind is the intense and gut-wrenching desire to keep you close, but simultaneously out of harm’s way.

You blink in surprise as a deep inhale is pulled into your lungs. In the wake of all the destruction your actions have caused, it’s hard to imagine leaving Hawkins without attempting to rectify what you’ve done. In comparison, your education seems like the least important thing in the world right now. But then again, who knows how long it could take to hunt down Vecna once more?

He’s still out there… you can sense it, burrowed deep in your soul. It’s the same feeling that told you the Russian code was more than a transmission — a feeling that’s grown into more than intuition or anxiety, but rather the upsetting truth that you know intimately how the Upside Down works. There’s more to come and soon; when it does, you want it to be the last time.

You’re tired. You want to rest. You feel like every ounce of courage you once had has left your body. You’re terrified to plan anything that could backfire again. But you want your family safe. You want Steve to be safe. These horrors have plagued you long enough. They’ve stolen so much of your life from you.

You’re angry.

It scares you, but you know that there won’t be a sense of closure until you watch the life leave Henry’s eyes — whether by your hand or someone else’s, you don’t particularly care.

Are you willing to see this through to the very end? To do what it takes to get the life you crave?

“I don’t… I don’t think I can go, Steve,” You mutter, “At least not until this is over.”

Confirmation washes over Steve’s face — the slight lift of his brow and the sigh he expels says it all. As he cards his free hand through his hair, he speaks.

“Yeah, I was afraid you were gonna say that.”

Suddenly, you realize his reaction was not one of reassurance and relief, but rather disappointment.

Steve’s arm slides to the back of the couch as you sit up straighter. Your voice is a bit more stern, straddling the line between genuine confusion and vexation, “What, you’d rather have me leave?”

“No, no,” Steve replies immediately as his anger suddenly begins to churn. It’s not directed at you, no, but at the mere thought of having to watch you drive away from him. Selfishly, he wants you by his side at all times. He wants to turn to you for support whenever he needs or offer you his shoulder to cry on at a moment's notice. Whether it’s healthy or not, Steve cannot imagine himself without you. He needs you now.

But hurt is starting to cloud over your irises; the slightly cold and calculating look Steve knows will impale him through the heart if he doesn’t act fast to clear this up. Maybe a different approach would be best considering you both are so high strung at the moment. He shouldn’t have assumed that you’d want to leave right now — that much is clear.

Steve has begged you to leave Hawkins more than once; now it feels more like a matter of life and death.

He sighs and re-adjusts, moving from a laid-back posture to one of thought and concern. He wants to lean in closer even though you’ve shifted away, but decides to reach for one of your hands instead — you don’t recoil from his touch. Your gaze stays locked on his face, analyzing every micro expression so you can attempt to understand.

“God, of course I don’t want you to go, baby. I never want to be away from you ever again,” Steve begins softly, gently holding your hand between both of his, “I just…”

He stops again, recognizing that your face has slightly relaxed due to his tone and touch. Something in him withers knowing that his instinctual reaction and initial question prepared you for a fight he never wanted.

And then that image and sensation flash through his mind again.

Your cold skin. The whites of your eyes. The weight of your limp body in his arms. Overwhelming grief — the kind he’s only read about in your books. Emptiness. Fear. Longing. Pure, unfiltered anger.

All of that was real. Steve didn’t know he could feel something so strongly. He never wants to experience anything as intense as those feelings for the rest of his life, unless it’s his love for you. That’s an exception he’s willing to overlook.

“I can’t do… that again.”

You see it too; the pain in his eyes that’s lingered since returning home. You’ve noticed it every time he looks at you, as if it’s the last time he’ll see your gentle smile. He’s touched your bare skin with such intention it’s addicting and branded kisses onto everywhere he can reach. The most beautiful words have fallen from his lips — how excited he is for all of this to be behind you, how lucky he feels to be a part of your future.

You did this to him. Even if it couldn’t be helped, you still damaged him. For the first time, Steve Harrington has felt truly desired. You want him for more than just his body or his parents’ money. With you, he finally has a life in front of him; one that promises fulfillment and unabashed happiness.

You understand his fear perfectly. You sigh too, your hard exterior cracking instantaneously.

Defeated, you nearly pout as you murmur, “And I’m not gonna leave you here, Stevie. I don’t care how long it takes.”

You don’t have to say anymore for him to accept this fate. If you’re willing to give up your education over this, something you and Steve have been discussing for years, then he knows you’re set in your choice. He understood how much it meant to you to leave Hawkins then, but now you’ve made the decision to stay and fight.

How could he have asked you to leave in the first place? It would hurt you just as much. With the phones still down, there’s no telling when he would get word to you about his or your brother’s safety. If there’s one thing Steve doesn’t want, it’s for you to be living with uncertainty as cruel as that.

“I know, I’m sorry,” He frowns as you shuffle closer again and relish in the warmth of his palm against your cheek, his fingers deftly tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear. How fortunate is he to have someone who’s unwilling to leave his side?

He continues as you turn your head to kiss his wrist, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You tut softly with forgiveness, despising the feeling of a disagreement no matter how small it is, “No, I understand why you did. I mean, all of this has been so…”

No other words come to mind, so you chuckle in disbelief instead; you’re relieved Steve’s frown quirks up at the sound, his hand dropping to clasp both of yours now. He loves the varying texture of your skin; he could get lost for hours exploring it, even though it’s already committed to memory.

“It makes sense why you’d want me to go, even if you don’t want me to.”

You’re glad Steve’s arms open up for you when you worm in closer still, now awkwardly pinned to his side; when you press your cheek to his shoulder, you can practically feel his love for you radiating like his warmth. The soft fabric of his sweater against your skin is an added comfort you can’t quite describe. How lucky are you to have someone as dedicated to your safety as Steve?

A smirk crawls across your lips as all four wandering hands finally settle somewhere in this embrace, “What a shame I feel much safer when I’m with you, hmm?”

It’s half-hearted sarcasm, of course; a playful jest that has Steve’s chest rumbling a bit in soft laughter, “Yeah, what a shame.”

He’s more uneasy than he was before.

—

If it weren’t for the plumes of smoke billowing up into the clouds, this would be the most gorgeous day of the year. Selfishly, a part of you wonders if there’s still a chance you and Steve could sneak off to the lake and drown in sunlight. On second thought, given your previous visit, maybe you aren’t willing to go swimming anytime soon.

It’s hard to confront the consequences of your failure. For many, this cataclysmic event was the final straw — dozens, if not hundreds, of families have continued to flee. As Steve drives through the suburbs, you watch a father frantically loading the trunk while the mother lifts their toddler into the car seat. On your street, there was a home left abandoned with the front door wide open.

Continuing into town, the destruction grows more severe. The flames from a gas station have finally been contained. The diner you and Steve used to frequent has been reduced to crumbles, the neon sign shattered against the pavement. Your eyes linger on it a bit too long, heart aching that you’ll never get to return; Steve’s grip on your hand tightens.

As gut-wrenching and upsetting it is to see the carnage, nothing prepares you for what washes over you upon entering that hospital room.

A different type of guilt pools in your stomach — nausea that you’ve grown used to over the past few months. It’s unmistakable as the sight of sterile white plaster and bruised skin floods your vision.

“The doctors said it’s… pretty much a miracle that she survived,” Lucas says, continuing his explanation of that fateful night as he returns to Max’s side. His hands remove a book from his chair before sitting down — he must have been reading to her. More pain echoes in your chest.

You wish you could’ve visited sooner. When you received his call on the radio this morning, another wave of emotion made itself known. After everything, you didn’t make sure Lucas and Erica were safe. You didn’t bother to check on the others. All that mattered to you was if Steve was okay, if Dustin was. They’re not the only family you have in this fight anymore.

As Lucas goes into more detail about the events at Creel House, your brain grows cloudy from thought. The older they’ve gotten, the similarities between Lucas and Steve have made themselves more apparent; they’re fiercely loyal, unapologetically kind, gentle, and compassionate. But a striking similarity is their willingness to get bloodied and blue to protect the one they love.

Lucas has come to you many times over the course of the last couple years seeking advice over Max. Not only does he trust you and your opinion, but you and her also share many similarities. You both can be incredibly stand-off-ish and suspicious of others, but those that prove their worth are given a plethora of love and care in return. If Lucas asked you for help with his love life, he knew you’d never steer him wrong because you understand the one he’s tried to woo — whatever you worked worked every time. Well, except for the last time.

Steve knows it’s the reason why Max’s involvement in all of this chaos has been weighing so heavily on your conscience. In your mind, if you had done more to help her, Vecna never would’ve seen her as a viable target. He hates to think of the alternative, that the fourth victim might have been you instead, with guilt loud enough to beckon that monster closer. But one way or another, Steve nearly lost you. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to come to terms with that fact.

You can’t help but reflect on how close you were to a similar outcome. If Steve hadn’t reacted as quickly as he did, maybe you’d be in another room in this hospital, your love wrought with worry and fused to your side until you woke. Maybe your body would be enclosed in a wooden box and buried beneath a willow tree, an abundance of flowers curling around your headstone — peonies, probably.

Your love is mirrored in theirs. But made clear is the fact that you and Steve have gotten lucky. You never thought you’d look at your life and consider any part of it to be more fortunate than someone else’s — a flaw you understand to be incredibly selfish and blind. You still have your twin flame, burning brightly in this room with you and a kind of warmth felt even with a lack of touch.

The other pair has dimmed, one of them too weak to fight anymore.

You want to help again. You need to help again.

“Can you…” You whisper, wrapping your fingers around Steve’s arm as you pull yourself closer to him. You glance back to the Sinclair boy, noticing the desperate way he clutches the redhead’s hand.

“Can you gimme a minute alone with him? Please?”

Concern immediately blossoms in Steve’s chest with your request. Knowing that your last attempt to support Lucas was ultimately in vain and a heavy burden on you, he’s not super keen at the idea. But Steve also knows you. You’ll find some way to help the boy either way, and he’d rather it be here in this room than during a moment of danger and desperation. Whatever it was you said to Max seemed to have helped her — maybe this will be different. Steve nods, remaining silent as he answers.

Clearing his throat, Steve turns to Erica and Dustin and gestures to the hall, pulling a couple of loose dollar bills from his pocket. He mutters something about the nearby vending machines and ushers the two of them out of the room, closing the door while flashing you a brief look. You’re not quite sure what he’s feeling, but you can’t imagine you’re particularly easy to read right now either. Between the pair of you, there’s enough compartmentalization happening to last a lifetime. But keeping a straight face in front of the others isn’t quieting the raging thoughts as well as you thought. Instead, you can feel them building — your fault your fault your fault.

As you sit in the chair beside Lucas, you can’t figure out where to begin. He doesn’t seem to blame this on you; if anything, he’s being too hard on himself. There wasn’t much more he could’ve done to try and keep Max safe, but you’re confident that’s not what he needs to hear right now.

“I, um… I almost didn’t make it back the other day.”

It takes a moment for Lucas to register your words. His eyes drift to you upon the realization, but you quiet his concerns before they ever make it out of his mouth, lips parting to speak.

“I’m fine,” You mutter. A lie, of course. The skin of your throat is still tender to the touch and there’s a roughness in your voice that hasn’t faded. If you think too hard, it feels like the tendrils have returned, crushing your esophagus more and more with each second. The fear kicks in again, until the face of your rescuer greets you out of the darkness.

“But Steve, he…” You pause, forcing yourself to avert your gaze from the boy because you see too much of your love in him. A younger version perhaps, a soft reflection in Lucas’ bruised eyes, but enough that your heart grows heavy once more. You shake your head gently, a wobbly breath falling from your lips.

“I’m only here because of him. I wouldn’t have survived if it weren’t for Steve. I don’t know what-”

You immediately stop yourself, refusing to consider the alternate outcome any further. You shove it away deep into the recesses of your mind. When you finally look to Lucas again, you don’t have to say anything else for him to understand what it is you’re trying to tell him.

For a while now, Lucas has wanted what you and Steve have. Everything about the two of you… seems perfect. Even though he knows you haven’t always had good times, that doesn’t matter to him. He had hoped maybe Max would want that too.

But now?

Lucas nods silently, fully embracing the support you offer. There’s still hope. The road may be difficult, but he can’t let this be the end for them.

“She said she wasn’t ready.”

“Hm?”

“Max,” He clarifies sadly, his demeanor rapidly shifting to one of sorrow, “She said she wasn’t ready to die.”

Immeasurable grief swarms you. The air is drawn from your lungs as the hefty weight of his words burrows deeply into your soul. It’s the final nail in the coffin that solidifies your shame and remorse. You feel numb.

—

There’s a steady stream of people that filter into the school from the parking lot; it seems that you’re not the only group in Hawkins that felt inclined to help those affected by this disaster. Numerous boxes packed with all manner of clothing, toiletries, and other necessities line the walls and coat the tables. Resources are passed around to those who need them while the rest is organized to be distributed around town to multiple relief sites. Those that were displaced and can’t afford to leave rest on the various cots sprinkled throughout the gymnasium. It’s a bit overwhelming to say the least.

After Steve’s recruited to fold donated clothes, one of the volunteers leads you away.

“How do you feel about being around kids?”

“I think I could handle that, yeah,” You say, forcing a somewhat warm smile to pull at your lips. She gestures towards a young girl, no older than six, fiercely clutching a well-loved stuffed elephant between her soot stained fingers.

“Her house was destroyed, just torn right down the middle. We’re trying to find her parents,” The woman whispers, her hand touching your shoulder gently in gratitude, “But still nothing.”

You sigh, feeling your throat tighten, now able to put a face to all the destruction you and your friends weren’t able to stop. You approach the girl by asking if you can sit with her, to which she eventually nods at you with tired and exhausted eyes. When you introduce yourself and ask her for her name, she shifts a bit, “Erica.”

“Erica, huh?” You smile again, “I have a friend with that name. She’s pretty tough and strong.”

With your comment, the girl turns her head toward you; her skin’s coated with dirt and dust, hair a touch matted up. There’s a bit of blood on her forehead too.

“Is she like She-Ra?”

You can’t help but laugh a little at her reference. You pretend to think about it for a moment, even bringing your finger up to your chin to sell it further, “I think she’s more like Firefly. You know, from My Little Pony?”

Your answer brings a slight grin to her face; it simultaneously warms and breaks your heart. You put your hands down onto your knees, trying to remain as casual and maternal as possible, “What do you say we get you cleaned up? Would you like that?”

Erica nods before she grabs your now extended hand and uncurls herself from the plastic chair. As you start to walk forward, one hand wrapped up in yours and the other still tightly around her stuffed animal, she freezes unexpectedly. Her eyes are darting between the seas of people milling around, anxiously unable to focus on anything. You crouch down, meeting her eye line once again.

“I get nervous around a lot of people sometimes, too. I can hold you… if you want.”

Erica nods quickly, reaching her arms up for you to lift her. It takes a bit of effort ao you don’t anger your back, but you manage to settle her onto your left hip.

The added closeness seems to comfort her as you continue forward, taking a moment to grab a spare plastic bag. She’s a bit harder to carry than you expected, but now’s not the time for you to complain. You wander through the tables, picking out anything that you might need to get her freshened up. The longer you walk, the more she begins to speak, telling you to grab certain items that she likes — a butterfly hair clip, some berry scented chapstick. You even make time to stop by the snacks to grab her something to eat; Vickie makes her a strawberry jam sandwich when Erica tells you she’s allergic to peanuts. She gobbles it up quickly, smearing some of the jelly onto her cheek, which you wipe it off with the back of your sleeve. Your smile grows more genuine the longer you spend with her.

Steve thinks he nearly has a heart attack when you eventually stride up to the clothing table, this small child latched tightly to your side. You look so at ease with her head resting against your chest, whispering little comments that manage to engage her amidst all the chaos. At a quick glance, this child could be your daughter. Her eyes have a similar hue to yours — even your noses are similar. His brain starts to go quite fuzzy the longer he spends watching the two of you together.

“What’s your favorite color?” You ask Erica as Steve hands you the small pair of folded sweatpants, underwear, and socks you point to. The girl hums for a second, adjusting her grip on her elephant, “Green.”

“Good choice. I like green too,” You answer, focused intently on her as you shift your arm to hoist her further up your side. Steve watches you with this kind of dumbly adoring look, lips pulled back in a small but optimistic smile as he gets lost in a daydream.

He sees flashes of you, curled up on the couch wrapped in blankets with your children — your children. Yours and his. He sees the smile that spreads over your face on their birthdays, the sadness in your eyes when one of them gets sick, the anger you feel when they mention they’ve been bullied at school.

He sees the road-trip summers with your baby girl — little Marcie Harrington, maybe a younger sister too. He nearly swoons at the thought of your family taking in the sights at Mount Rushmore, the redwood forests, even the Finger Lakes. He imagines you wrangling your daughters in front of the Moab arches while he tries to figure out the damn timer on the camera; he ends up accidentally taking three pictures of himself before finally getting it to work. Then the two of you are splayed out in the sand on some beach while your children nap in the RV — you’re clad in that stupid red bikini you keep taunting him with, your warm and exposed skin practically irresistible. Steve looks at you fondly before leaning over to give you a big kiss under the Californian sun, so incredibly thankful for the life you’ve been able to build together.

“You got any green, Stevie?”

He blinks once, then once more; the first for snapping him back to reality and the second for the nickname. He clears his throat, trying desperately to forget about the blood that rises in his neck. He looks around for a moment, forcing the dream from his mind as he searches for something small enough to fit the girl in your arms. You watch him almost knowingly, like you could picture the same images behind your eyes.

Eventually, he finds a couple of options and holds them up for the girl to pick from; she’s made up her mind from the first one he shows her. Erica gasps, hand immediately shooting outwards to grab the small tie-dyed tee with wide eyes. The pink and green gradient twists and turns across the fabric, clearly enthralling to a child her age.

Her enthusiasm takes you by surprise but it’s a welcome one; you chuckle a bit before speaking, “Oh, that’s a nice one. Good choice.”

As she puts the clothes into the bag, you smile across the table at Steve, effectively punching the air out of his lungs. You casually address him, “Thanks, baby.”

Trying to regain some of his composure, he winks at you as he starts refolding the other shirts, “Any time, ladies.”

Before you get a chance to reply, Erica’s desperately trying to wiggle free from your grasp. The moment she touches down onto the ground, she takes off in a full sprint and gets scooped up into the arms of a couple — you instantly understand this to be her mother and father. The girl looks like a perfect mixture of her parents, maybe more like her dad. It’s hard not to let their reunion warm your veins, the relief in all of their joyful sobs making your eyes a bit misty. You don’t particularly care that she left without any thanks, knowing that her and her family are back together is more than enough.

“You’re good at that.”

Your gaze moves back to Steve. In this light, his eyes are as soft and warm as liquid caramel. He rests a sweater on his shoulder — a gentle smile curls his lips. A bashful expression washes over your face as you feel blood pool in your cheeks, the underlying meaning of his words bringing back a hint of hope inside your chest. You can see your family too.

A flash of red breaks you from the comfort Steve’s attention brings; both of your faces drastically warp as you glance out the window, a very familiar feeling washing away any source of happiness. You find yourself frozen as you stare up at a rapidly moving cloud of smoke. It spreads, expanding large enough to cover the expanse of blue sky until none of it remains. Crowds begin to flock to windows, watching in awe while you and Steve join them, soon joined by Robin and Vickie. White particles begin to gently fall, earning a few shocked noises from the onlookers. You sigh as Steve’s hand finds yours, a silent solace; you both know what this is.

“An earthquake and snow in two days?” Vickie says in a moment of innocent disbelief.

The worst kind of dread rolls over you, the kind where you know that this is only the beginning. Everything that’s been happening has been building to this. You hate to spoil her childlike wonder, but as another bolt of red lightning cracks through the sky, you can’t help it.

“That’s not snow.”

—

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