#quit spewing your bile on every damn post

[constantvariations]

Someone on their personal blog: I love the word queer ^w^

The notes: the Q SLUR - because it is a slur, did you know it's a slur? because it's a slur - KILLED my grandma and ATE my dog so if you want to reclaim it that's FINE but if you use it for me I will KILL YOU

[yeet-or-be-hawed]

“Red and Black” Arthur Morgan x Reader

Trigger warnings: Violence, mention of rape, gore

This request was a bit of a challenge for me, I found myself in territory I really haven’t tried before so it was a nice challenge! This particular request came from anon asking for what would happen if Arthur was helpless to watch the reader being tortured for information. There is mention of rape, but that’s it. If you have requested a fic from me, I promise it’s in the drafts and will get out EVENTUALLY. I know I have requests that are older than this particular, but I’m honestly posting them in order that I can get them done in time. If you have requested something from me, I promise I’ve started on it and plan on doing it for you, I’m just a trash person who takes on more than they can handle. Anyways, this is my first oneshot I’ve done in awhile, so I hope everyone enjoys!

When Arthur came to, the first thing he noticed was he had been moved. He was no longer hanging upside down from his ankles, he was strapped sitting upright in a wooden chair. The thick ropes were tight against his chest, arms, and legs but he did feel some relief as his ankles throbbed in freedom. The next thing he noticed was Colm O’Driscoll standing directly in front of him. His relief disappeared, with Colm standing directly in front of him he knew he was in for worse torture than before. What else could they do to him at this point? Arthur had lost track of time. How many days had he been there? He had no clue, it felt like an eternity.

“Good evening Mr. Morgan.” Colm greeted him. His voice was smooth like silk but sly like a fox. He began to pace in front of Arthur, it reminded him of the way a wolf circles its prey. “I’ve been thinkin’ as of late that our usual forms of torture just ain’t cuttin’ in. I’ve spent the last few days tossin’ and turnin’ in bed, rackin’ my brain to figure out just what I could do to break you.” He looked Arthur dead in the eye and approached him. “I thought about cuttin’ ya up limb by limb and sendin’ ya back to ol’ Dutch piece by piece but I’ve done that before. Thought bout burnin’ ya alive, but that’s too quick. I even thought about givin’ ya to my boys and tellin’ em yo give ya the good ol’ O’Driscoll treatment but then, fate decided to intervene and dealt me the best card in the deck.” He laughed and Arthur couldn’t seem to find the humor in what he was saying. He grabbed Arthur by the hair and his face was inches from Arthur’s. He kept his eyes locked with Arthur’s as he spoke. “This one wondered in at the perfect timing, bring her in boys.” Colm watched as Arthur’s face drop from a solid stoic grimace to horror as his boys dragged you in, kicking and screaming. For the first time, Colm saw fear in Arthur’s eyes and he knew he found it. Victory courses through Colin’s veins as he stood and turned to you. “Now young lady, you’ve killed almost as many of my men as Mr. Morgan here. As much as I’d love to kill you right here and now, I need you.” He turned back to Arthur. “I’m gonna take my time makin’ you bleed, and Mr. Morgan is gonna sit right there and have a front row seat for it all.”

When he turned back to face you, you spit in his face. “Go to hell, Colm.”

Arthur flinched as Colm’s fist came down hard on your temple and knocked you out instantly. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the spittle from his face. “Wild one, that one is. I can’t wait to hear her scream.”

“I swear to god Colm, if you hurt her-“ Arthur’s voice was panicked and didn’t sound at all as threatening as he had hoped.

“My dear boy, I already hurt her. And I’ll do it again. I’ll keep doin’ it and you’ll keep watchin’ until you tell me everything I need to know about our dear friend Dutch.”

Arthur pulled and struggled under the ropes, his panic was now full blown. He was prepared to die, prepared to let them give him everything they had and keep his lips tight. He was prepared to die a horrible painful death, but he had been prepared for it for years. This he was not prepared for. One blow was more than enough to make Arthur want to spew it all, seeing them carry away your limp body was enough to make him want to speak up, but he couldn’t. He knew you would kill him yourself if he ever did, but his fear was tearing him apart from the inside. What were they gonna do to you? His thoughts were cut off as a hard blow was delivered to the back of his head.

He could hear before he could see or speak. A piercing scream brought him back to the surface of consciousness. His eyelids were heavy but he fought to open them. Another scream and his eyes flew open. You were strapped down to a chair in front of him. Your clothes had been torn and cut, leaving your midriff, arms, and legs exposed. He had never seen so much of your skin exposed and had it been any other situation he would be blushing furiously. His eyes focused and a deep fury built up inside of him. Your face was covered in bruises and dried blood. Colm was standing on one side of you and on the other was a man holding a branding iron. Colm’s eyes landed on Arthur and he smiled deviously. “Well now, didn’t I tell ya all it would take would be a coupla screams to wake him up?”

“That ya did, boss.” The man holding the branding iron responded.

“Now that you’re awake Mr. Morgan, the real show can start.”

“Damn it Colm hold on ju-“

“Ah Ah Ah, not yet Mr. Morgan. Do it, Yoseff.”

Yoseff held the branding iron over the fire until it was red hot. Colm spoke as Yoseff got the iron ready. “Now, Ms. Y/N, I won’t lie to ya, this is gonna hurt a lot. But while you scream in pain, as the iron burns your flesh I need you to think of one thing and one thing only.” He grabbed your face with one hand and pointed at Arthur with the other. Your eyes met Arthur and his eyes were pleading and frightened. You kept your gaze steady. “That this is happening for one reason and one reason only.” Yoseff approached the the iron, red hot. “Because of him.” As soon as Colm’s words left his mouth, the iron came down hot on your stomach. You couldn’t hold back the blood curdling screech that left your mouth as the brand touched your skin. Tears bubbles in your eyes and fell faster than you could stop them.

Arthur watched helplessly as you withered under the hot iron. Your screeches shattered him like glass and the smell of your burning flesh made bile rise in his stomach.

Colm laughed coldly as he watched you and Arthur. You, a strong woman reduced to tears and wails in a matter of seconds and Arthur looked physically broken at the sight of it. Arthur couldn’t hide his emotions from Colm now, they were painted perfectly in his eyes. The pleasure it sent over Colm’s body felt almost euphoric. It was addicting. “Push it in good Now Yoseff, I want her to really feel it.”

“Yes sir.”

The added pressure pulled another scream from your lips followed by a sob. Arthur thought he would lose his mind in a matter of seconds in a whirlwind of self hatred and loathing and fear and panic. This was all his fault. You were here because of him, your cries for pain were because of him. The scar that would be left on your stomach would be because of him. His stomach dropped. That is, if you made it out of here alive to allow it to scar. If you died here, that would also be because of him. He couldn’t handle it, the thought of losing you. It seemed like an eternity before Yoseff pulled the iron from your stomach. The skin was black and red and your breathing was heavy. Colm inspected the wound and touched it. Each touched pulled a whine from your lips. “I dunno, Yoseff I think she moved too much. I don’t much care for the way this one looks. I think we should try the other side.”

“God no-“

“Okay boss.”

“God no, Colm please.” Arthur repeated. “Stop for the love of god please.” His voice broke. 

“Arthur Morgan, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you beg before.” He stopped and gave a small signal to Yoseff. Your screams began again as Colm grabbed Arthur by the hair. “Beg all ya like, this girl will receive every bit of torture for the rest of your stay. You should be glad, your wounds will heal and we won’t lay another hand on ya, and that’s a promise.” He leaned into Arthur’s ear and Colm’s hot breath made Arthur’s skin crawl. “She’ll also receive that good ol’ O’Driscoll treatment I told ya about. And you’ll get to see every second of it. That’s also a promise.”

Arthur lurched against his restraints hard. He couldn’t allow that to happen. It was too much for him. The thought of Colm and his men raping you in front of him was enough to make him rampant; he raged and screamed against the chair, desperate to break free. He didn’t care if he died trying, he had to get you out of here alive.

Your throat was rough and sore from the screaming, but you couldn’t stop. The burning of the iron on your skin was too much. You tried not to look at Arthur, you had never seen such raw fear in his eyes and it was all your fault. You had to run off on your own and be the big hero, well look where that got you. Hosea and Dutch tried to stop you, tried to tell you to wait until they had a plan. You had heard that too much from Dutch, but you should’ve listened to Hosea.

Your head was spinning from the pain now, your body tried to break away from the burning metal, but Colm’s big hands on your shoulders held you down tight. This time it didn’t feel quite like eternity before the relief of scorching iron left your side. A heavy sigh of relief left your lips but as soon as the air hissed between your teeth, another swift blow to the back of your head was delivered. It wasn’t enough to knock you out, but it was enough to cause your head to slump forward and cause you to see stars. 

“Now, that’s better.” You winced at the phantom pain of Colm’s fingers prodding the new burn. “What do you think Mr. Morgan?” 

“I think I’m sendin’ you to Hell, you dirty bastard!” He bellowed. He didn’t sound angry though, to you he sounded desperate. He sounded like a man with no water in the middle of the desert. 

Colm laughed humorlessly. “Tsk tsk tsk, Mr. Morgan that’s not what I asked.” The sound of skin hitting skin and it shook you. You pulled your eyes up. “I asked what you thought of the branding job.” Colm kicked him in the stomach and bile spilled from Arthur’s mouth onto the floor. 

“Colm please,” you could barely whisper. “let him go.” You coughed. “Do what you will to me, but please, just let him go.” You coughed and your head was light. 

Arthur fought the tears that tried to well in his eyes. What were you doing begging for him like that? You were obviously in worse shape, and not even for your own torture. This was all his fault, and here you were begging for him to be spared. He shouldn’t be surprised, how just like you to beg for another’s life while yours is on the line. 

When Colm laughed, it sounded surprised and almost delighted. “Here that, Mr. Morgan she wants me to let you go.” He paced the distance between the two of you and took your chin in his hand. “She’ll let me do what I will to her, you hear that boys?” The men in the room whooped and hollered. Colm looked to Arthur and sneered. “Oh, I’ll do exactly what I want, but I’m gonna let this pretty face heal up first. I want to enjoy myself when I take you, little lady and I can’t do that when your eyes are so swollen you can’t see what I’m doin’.” 

Colm dropped your chin and your head slumped. Arthur couldn’t tell whether or not you were conscious. He could barely hear your breathing and your head was still slumped over. Colm turned to leave and he waved towards the men in the corner. “we’re done for now, put ‘em to sleep boys.” As Colm exited the cellar, the butt of a rifle came down on the back of Arthur’s head and everything went dark. 

“...dunno boss, we been here longer than we ever stay in one spot. Van Der Linde is bound to be lookin’ for us by now, not to mention the law and the bountymen. We need to move.”

“We ain’t goin’ anywhere yet, you hear? I ain’t done with these two yet and we can’t move with them it’s too risky.”

“But boss-”

“’But boss’ me one more time and you’ll be six feet under, you hear me boy?” 

“Y-yes sir!”

Footsteps approach. Cold water splashed over your face and your eyes opened instantly with a surprised gasp. It took a moment for your vision to focus, Colm was standing in front of you and Arthur was being carried in by a heavy man. Colm talked as they strapped him in. “Before we get started, I’m gonna ask you a coupla questions, just in case I can save the lady from a little pain.” He pulled a knife through a handkerchief slowly, cleaning it as he talked. His eyes remained focused on the blade. “Where is Dutch and his little gang hiding out these days?” His eyes slid down to your face. Your lips remained tight as you met his gaze defiantly. “I said,” he slashed quickly, leaving a cut along your cheek. “Where is Dutch?” 

You winced in pain as the blood trickled down your cheek. You allowed yourself to look at Arthur for just this one moment. He looked better than before, you supposed Colm kept his word about only hurting you. His bruises weren’t as angry purple as the were before and the dried blood was beginning to flake off. Still handsome, even after being beaten near to death. You hadn’t seen your own reflection since you arrived but you thought it was safe to assume you looked horrible. He was still unconscious while the men bound him. Had you been in better condition, you probably would’ve laughed; Arthur would need to be unconscious for two scrawny men like that to tie him down. Colm’s booming voice demanded your attention. “I’m givin’ you one more chance girl, where is Dutch?” His voice was angry and impatient. 

You looked up slowly. “Dutch...” You coughed. “Dutch is...” Colm held a hand up to the men binding Arthur and they paused. “Dutch is going to kill you.”

Colm lashed out in rage. His fists came down on you in a deluge of anger. Your whole body was throbbing with pain, but your lips remained tight. The thought of Arthur’s eyes on you while you were beaten felt worse than anything physical they could do to you. Seeing the horror and hearing his voice break was almost too much. You never meant to cause him any pain and without you, he probably would have escaped by now. You were nothing but a burden to him now and you knew it. You didn’t care how much pain you were in, you had to get the two of you out of here. 

It didn’t take Colm long to burn himself out on beating you, without your cries of pain it just wasn’t very fun especially since Arthur wasn’t even awake yet. He wiped your blood from his knuckles and cleared his throat. “Okay boys, wake him up.”

A bucket of water was flung on him and you heard him gasp in surprise and cough. Colm did nothing to address him, he wouldn’t meet yours nor Arthur’s gaze as he slowly walked over to the fire and twisted his blade through the tongues of the flames. His eyes refracted the orange glow of the blade as he pulled it from the fire. “Cauterization,” he started. “Is a very funny thing. Sure, it stops the bleeding, but at what cost? Have you ever cauterized a wound, Miss Y/N?” You shook your head slowly. “How about you Mr. Morgan?”

Arthur said nothing, he just stared at Colm, his face was hard to read. Colm laughed. “Quiet bunch today, are we? Let’s change that.” The blade ripped through the flesh down your arm. The stinging of the laceration with the burning of the hot blade was overwhelming. Your resolve to keep your mouth shut for Arthur was shot, Colm was quick in slashing your flesh, leaving huge red gashes, but the blood never spilled. On the third slash, the blade was warm, but not hot enough to stop the blood. “Shit.” He hissed. “New blade!” He called. Your vision was blurry but when your eyes found the fire place, someone was already heating a new knife. Another man grabbed the knife from Colm’s hand and took it to the fire. They had planned for this alright, their system was quick and efficient. Within 30 seconds, Colm had a brand new red hot blade. 

Arthur watched on in horror, for that was all he could do. Colm was slashing the flesh of your arms strategically, not hitting any major veins and replacing the knives every few cuts to make sure the blade was hot enough to cauterize the flesh it touched. Arthur’s mind kept reeling back to when he had to dig a bullet from his shoulder and cauterize the wound himself. It was his only time doing it, but it near made him pass out in pain. But you were still fully conscious and screaming as Colm used your arms for cutting boards. It was too much. You were going to die soon and Arthur knew it. He wondered if he would go insane before or after watching you die. His eyes met yours between your tears and his heart felt like it was in a million pieces. He had to end it, he had to tell Colm everything. Damn Dutch, and damn the whole gang. All he wanted was for your screams to stop. But when he opened his mouth, your expression hardened. Colm turned to switch off knives and your lips formed barely a whisper. “Don’t.”

Arthur couldn’t stop the tears that fell from his cheeks. How could you be so selfless? You knew as well as he did all this would be over if he just told Colm what he wanted to know. Your breathing was heavy and your body was bloodied, bruised, and broken. To any other man, you would look like a broken doll but to Arthur you looked strong. In that moment, it was the strongest Arthur had ever seen you. Face swollen, covered in blood, and still too defiant to give up. He sniffled and gave you a nod. 

Colm missed your small interaction, and for that you were thankful. It was nothing more than a look and the confirmation of understanding of said look, but it was the closest to private conversation you and Arthur had had since you arrived. It gave you the strength to push through whatever was left in store for you. You caught Arthur’s eyes and held their gaze as Colm slid the blade under your collar bone. It was easier to hide the pain now, your lips held tight and you kept your expression as blank as possible. You would get through this together, his gaze wasn’t so desperate and yours wasn’t so pained. Colm’s impatience grew as you kept your pain invisible. He huffed in frustration as he switched off blades. He plunged the knife into your thigh, pulling a hiss of pain from between your lips. Colm smiled cruelly. “There we go, was that so hard?” He twisted the blade and your face contorted in pain. “There’s no need to hide it just for Mr. Morgan’s sake.” He pulled the blade from your flesh and a gasp fled from your parted lips. “Yes,” Colm cooed softly. He slowly sunk the knife into the flesh of your side, careful not to hit any major organs. The slowness of his movements were agonizing. As he twisted, you saw stars and a small cry escaped. You thought you heard a gunshot in the distance as you cried and your eyes shot to Arthur. His eyes darted in the direction of the sound, but Colm paid no mind. Arthur gave you a small nod and with every touch of the knife, you wailed as loudly as possible. More gunshots grew closer, but your cries were drowning them out. Colm was also distracted with how pleased with himself he was. He was convinced you were fully broken now, screeching and wailing like a child with every touch. It was almost too easy. As the gunshots approached, your cries grew louder and more blood curdling, you weren’t sure how long your voice would cover the fight going on outside, but you had to keep Colm distracted. The door to the cellar flew open. “Boss we-”

The man slumped and fell down the stairs. Before Colm could react Dutch, Sadie, and Hosea were coming down upon them guns blazing. Dutch brawled with Colm as Sadie and Hosea freed you and Arthur. Sadie’s small hands moved quickly to undo your bonds as she whispered death wishes to every O’Driscoll in camp. It didn’t take long for Dutch to grapple Colm and put a bullet between his eyes. Sadie tried to help you to your feet but your wounds wouldn’t allow you to stand quite yet. You had forgotten how quite indecent you were until Dutch covered you in his coat.  Finally, you were safe. 

-

The healing process was slow and tedious. You lost a lot of muscle mass from healing and every day chores took a lot out of you. You couldn’t even lift a bale of hay by yourself anymore. The worst part was Arthur though. Since your return to camp, he has been very standoffish and doesn’t say much to you. You would think after everything you had been through, the two of you would be closer. 

You sighed as you picked up the ax and put a small log on the stump. Your arms protested as you swung back, but you were determined to get back to your old self. Just as you were about to swing the blade down, Charles’ big voice boomed behind you and scared you so bad you almost dropped the ax. “Y/N!”

His giant hand took your shoulder and you groaned. “You know better than to work yourself like this, here let me.”

You gripped the ax stubbornly. “Damn it Charles, how am I supposed to get back to my old self if no one will let me do any chores?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be back to normal in no time.” 

You huffed. “Not soon enough. Ya know I ain’t even allowed outta camp yet? Arthur’s been back out on jobs for two weeks now and I cain’t even pick up a damn hay bale!”

Charles gave you a small smile. “Arthur wasn’t beat up nearly as bad as you. How ya healin’ up by the way?”

You pulled up your sleeves to reveal fresh angry red scars. “They finally stopped scabbin’ over a coupla weeks ago. Still got the phantom pains. Still got a hole in my thigh though. I’m fine really.”

“Glad to see you’re making a solid recovery.” He held his hand out. With a groan of frustration you handed over the ax, Charles is an argument never won.

It was nice having everyone in camp worry, nice to know you were loved and would be sorely missed, but after a month it was getting old. You were tired of being petted, being asked how you were all the time, and treated like a fragile child. You knew the others meant well, but it was getting quite old. You wiped the sweat from your brow when you entered your tent, the summer was getting unbearable. Really it was your fault for wearing a thick long sleeved flannel, but to be quite honest, the scars covering your arms were a little embarrassing. Last week when you rode into Rhodes with Sadie you made the mistake of wearing a chemise top. Everywhere you went you got strange stares, it was humiliating. Even around camp, people stared but it was worse here. Here they stared in pity. Before all this Colm business, you were up there with the men as far as skill and killing went. Now you felt like you were on the same level as Jack. You changed into your chemise top but remained inside your tent. The worst part of all of it wasn’t even other’s opinions, it was yours. You had considered yourself lucky for so long, never taking injuries bad enough to scar you were relatively smooth compared to the others. Now your smooth skin was covered in big angry scars, a constant reminder of your failure. You never necessarily felt pretty, but you had also never felt ugly until now. 

Arthur rode into camp as the sun fell behind the trees. His muscles were still a little sore, but it was more likely from three days of riding than it was from his brush with Colm. His scars were healed to a healthier shade a pink, but the deepest scars were emotional. He forced himself to not look in your tent as he passed. He still hadn’t forgiven himself for what had happened to you and now he couldn’t even look at you without being reminded of how his mistakes caused you unimaginable pain. Your screams haunted his dreams nightly, no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t escape his own guilt. Luckily for him, there was still plenty of moonshine and nothing helps you forget guilt like alcohol. 

You were already quite tipsy by the time the sun had disappeared over the horizon. After a couple of drinks in your tent with Sadie and Abigail, the liquid courage melted your nerves and you were enjoying the cool summer breeze on your exposed arms. No one had mentioned your scars or even stared, you were starting to think things were returning to normal. That is, until you saw Arthur. He walked into the fire light and greeted Sean and Karen who were closest to him. His eyes landed on you and they didn’t even land on your face. His eyes traced your arms and lingered around your exposed collar bones.He made a face like he was about to be sick and grumbled, “Scuse me.” before turning and leaving. You also weren’t the only one to catch his strange actions as half the group around the campfire were now staring at you. Pearson cleared his throat and awkwardly continued his story of the sea.

“That’s it.” You whispered to yourself as you stood. Abigail asked you where you were going but you ignored her. You followed Arthur to the shore of the lake and sat beside him. He kept his gaze straight ahead. You sighed. “When you gonna start talkin’ to me again?”

He looked at you in surprise. “You want me to talk to ya?”

This time you were the one who looked surprised. “Course I do, why wouldn’t I?”

Arthur’s eyes looked pained as he took your arm in his hands. They were so much gentler than you imagined them to be. “I’m the reason they did this to you. You got hurt real bad and it’s all my fault.” 

“Nah, I’m the one who came after ya I deserved it. Now I’m just as ugly on the outside as I am the inside.” You laughed weakly at your failed joke. 

Arthur’s eyes remained on your arm. “That’s just it though, you ain’t ugly. Inside and out, you’re beautiful.” 

You were thankful the moon was hidden behind the clouds, your face was bright red. “I-I don’t know about that.” You stammered.  “I do.” He lifted your hand to his lips and placed the gentlest of kisses on each scar. His beard scratched your skin and when he placed the last kiss on your shoulder his eyes met yours. For a moment, static hung in the air as you stared into each other’s eyes. Then almost as quickly as it began, the moment ended. Arthur’s eyes averted from yours and he began to back away from you. I’m sorry that was-” 

You caught his cheek in your hand and pulled him back towards you. “No!” You said a little too frantically. “No.” You whispered. “That was fine. It was more than fine.” You cleared your throat. Had it suddenly gotten humid out? Your throat was dry and you could feel the warmth over your entire face and down your neck. 

“Okay,” he whispered as he slowly scooted closer to you and wrapped an arm around your waist. His eyes never left yours, needing constant reassurance that what he was doing was okay. You nuzzled your head into his chest and felt his chest let out a shaky breath and he placed a small kiss on the top of your head. Maybe you were beautiful, scars and all. 

[rey-png]

Bilgewater

Summary :  "I feel like this place is going to be the death of me." Rey mumbles absently, gazing out at the murky horizon without quite seeing it. If she could unfocus her eyes enough, maybe, just maybe she could see something other than grief and horror between those gnarled trees. Kylo seems to consider her words carefully, his expression strained as he comes to stand at her side."This place is going to be the death of all of us."

---------

Following the mysterious death of her best friend, fifteen-year-old Rey is forced to flee the small southern town of D’qar in search of a fresh start. Only the demise of her beloved caretaker Ben Kenobi coaxes the young woman back to her home nearly a decade later. Her arrival carries a tempest that unearths the hollow town’s past and present horrors, threatening to pull Rey under the bayou she had fought so desperately to escape from.

Pairing : Rey / Kylo

Additional Tags : Southern Gothic, Cults, Past Child Abuse, Murder Mystery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Memory Loss, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance, Alternate Universe - Twins, the solo twins to be exact, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Rating : Explicit

Chapters : 1/?

"To realize that all your life - all your love, all your hate, all your memory, all your pain, it was all the same thing. It was all the same dream, a dream that you had inside a locked room. A dream about bein' a person.... And like a lot of dreams, there's a monster at the end of it."

                                                  PROLOGUE

Brambles tug at too-thin arms, nipping at exposed flesh until her clothing is speckled with bright red stains. Her feet nearly send her sprawling as she trips over exposed tree roots, but still she presses onward. Physical discomfort is not nearly enough to slow her down as the baying of hounds rings through the tepid summer air.

Flashlight beams cut through the darkness around her, flickering like lightning bugs through the underbrush. They are accompanied by distorted voices, some of them calling her name, some of them wailing in despair. Even the pleading voice of her guardian isn’t enough to stop her in her tracks. Something far more sinister is following at her heels. She can feel it breathing down her neck.

  Ahead she hears another cry, high pitched and frightened, one that quickens her pace and silences those at her back. ‘Rey!’ Cutting through the trees, her bare feet meet water, sinking deep into mud, splashing noisily through the bayou. The scum that coated the top of the murky water so dense she could have sworn it was earth.

  ‘Rey! Please!’

  Rey tries to call out as she wades deeper into the mire, to assure them that she is on her way, but no words fall from her lips. She reaches up with trembling fingers to press against her mouth, wincing as they catch on the barbed wire that gagged her.

  A pained whimper erupts from her chest, harmonizing with the brutal cry that rips through the swamp. Her movements become frenzied, the world around her warping and twisting, bleeding into inky blackness. She scans the gloomy, star studded horizon, slipping on the mud and rocks beneath her in her haste to find the source of such a blood-curdling lament.

  The woman loses her footing, tumbling forward into the foul water with a strangled gasp. Hands shoot out to steady herself, only to catch something soft and cold beneath the ripples. Rey frowns, brow puckering as she clutches at the odd form. Narrowing her eyes through the dark, she tugs lightly, fighting to regain her balance.

  A mottled grey face blooms from the star-laced water, bloated and terrible even in the half light. It’s the face of a girl, a face eerily similar to her own. Bubbles erupt from her gaping mouth, that bloodcurdling lament spewed right along with them. Bruised lids pop open to reveal yellowed, unseeing eyes that peer up at her in fear and agony.

  Rey jerks backwards as dead hands clamp around her wrists, dragging her towards the terrible, dead face of Kira Kryze. The barbed wire around her mouth tightens as she shrieks in terror, the taste of copper thick on her tongue, gagging her as the shadows rise up around the girl and the corpse...

 “It sounds like this dream correlates with the phone call you received yesterday.”

 Rey’s unfocused eyes flick back to her therapist, blinking hard as she forces herself into the present. Even in the smog infused city, she can taste the foul water on the back of her tongue. Perhaps that was just the bile from the previous night though. She could still feel that suffocating darkness and the frozen grip of her best friend a she dragged them both down to the depths.

 “It’s more than likely, right? I mean, nothing else could have triggered it... I haven’t had dreams like that in years .” They were the reason she was there in the first place, after all. Those grisly nightmares she could never quite remember. They’d began vividly and in earnest shortly after she’d left D’qar, night terrors that left her nearly incapacitated with exhaustion during the day.

 Only a friendly intervention from her dear friend Finn several years back had propelled her into the office of a psychotherapist. ( Heavy eyes droop, her car swerves, Finn yells and grabs the steering wheel before they careen off the highway. He drives her to Norra Wexley’s every week after and pays for every session. )

 Doctor Wexley sits upright in her chair, cool eyes fixating on her patient as she jots down another note on her pad without looking at it. Rey could swear the woman was able to see right through her sometimes, which is likely the reason she rarely scheduled appointments anymore unless absolutely necessary.

 This was frighteningly necessary.

 Upon waking, Rey had turned on every light in her apartment and sat huddled on her ratty sofa, shivering before the TV. It took well over an hour and every single grounding technique she’d been taught to calm her down. The moment she did, her shaking fingers punched in a text, which was replied to only five minutes later, confirming an appointment for later that afternoon.

 Rey’s intuition had always been keen, growing up as she had. She knew things. It was her gift, of sorts.

 Old Ben Kenobi was saved in her speed dial, and the number that flashed across her screen was not.

 The moment she saw that fucking area code, she just knew .

 Just as she knew the news of his death had been the catalyst here.

 The young woman runs a hand over her weary face, wanting nothing more than to lace her fingers through her hair and tug so hard it all came out. Rey had done well for herself the last decade. She could think of home and withstand the occasional news her he would send without dissolving into a fit of despair. She wasn’t the scorned and frightened girl she once was. She could handle things damn it…

 Wexley seemed to understand where her rampant thoughts were beginning to stray and was quick to interject “You’ve come a long way, Rey. This isn’t a regression. These feelings, these experiences are normal. I would have been surprised if you DIDN’T react as you did. This is a harsh blow.”

 Rey nods silently, resting her chin on her hand as she stares off into space. She got that, but it sure as hell didn’t make her feel any better.

 Where Rey came from, one didn’t air their dirty laundry because one always had their shit together. Those that didn’t or COULDN’T comply to those unspoken rules were considered frail and weak. The idea was so saturated that even if those around you cared, they were so over burdened with their own repressed issues they didn’t have the capacity to take on yours as well. It was why they were all rotting, why she was still rotting.

 She’d read Doctor Wexley the same spiel time and time again until she sounded like a broken record. She can’t tolerate vulnerability in herself. It makes her skin crawl to be seen as anything less than a pillar of strength, even before a person who was paid for this nonsense. It’s why she keeps her mouth shut as her therapist barrels onward with her words of wisdom.

 “This is not a sign of weakness.” Wexley punctuates her words with a sharp tap of her pen against her notepad “You know this… I don’t think you know how proud I am of you though.”

 THAT catches Rey’s attention. She nearly gives herself whiplash meeting her eyes.

 She could count the people who were proud of her on one hand.

 Doctor Wexley smiles kindly at her and leans forward in her chair “You could have done things the easy way. You could have said you weren’t going to show up and you could have sold that house from here… But you bought that plane ticket. Rey, that’s a huge step. When you first came to see me, that girl would NEVER have considered what you did today.”

 Now it’s Rey’s turn to smile, though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just wonder if I don’t have ulterior motives for doing this. I owe Ben that much but...”

 There are some tragedies you never stop punishing yourself for, regardless your level of involvement in them. There are some people that will never stop punishing you for them too. There was a vicious cycle of injury, self-inflicted and otherwise that stemmed from that old town. Six years of therapy couldn’t rectify her need to crucify herself. Maybe it was all some subconscious ploy to drag her back.

 “I think your heart is in the right place.”

 Rey isn’t sure her heart exists in this place at all anymore.

 She nods in agreement regardless and clambers wearily to her feet. Her hour was up and she had a lot of preparing to do, physically AND mentally.

 “Thank you, Doctor Wexley… I guess I’d better go pack for a funeral.”

Me @ myself: don't you dare start a new fic when you have an entire series you need to work on also me: laughs manically as i hit publish

Anyway here is the southern gothic fic nobody asked for. This has been rolling around in my brain forever and I've finally started piecing it together. It's heavily inspired by True Detective, which I've been binging recently. Needless to say, this is going to be INCREDIBLY dark. It's sort've my therapy fic and will explore the repercussions of trauma as I've seen it in myself, in those around me, and from what I've learned from research, therapists and other professionals. Please mind the tags. I'll be adding more as I write this & will add warnings in each chapter as I see fit, namely where sexual abuse is concerned.

A short snappy set up! I'm a quarter of the way done with the next chapter so it should be up soon! Comments and reblogs are fabulous! Please let me know what you think <3