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cryptidofthekeys · 8 months ago

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A Tiny Star is Born - Mr. Puzzles x Tiny!Reader

Alrighty, finally done with this one! It isn't super long- I mean longer than I expected, but here y'all go, G/T time with Mr. Puzzles! You get a lot more special privileges than anyone else, even members of his crew lmao- he'd just slap them away instead of doing what he's doing with you-

Only trigger warning for this one is that the reader nearly has a panic attack!

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You were sitting there on the couch, you had needed a self care day today as many things have been stressing you out as of recently, and so here you are, with your favorite drinks, snacks, and a weighted blanket to help keep you comfortable, you had seen your favorite streaming service Puzzlevision has uploaded a new episode, you had always loved that streaming service.

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It had a lot of good content, in fact, you were probably the number one fan as not many others watched it for whatever reason and even those who did, didn’t give it high regard, you would also always give the episodes five star ratings.

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It was like a comfort series for you, but either way, you sat there for most of the night, binging some of the previous episodes while eating your snacks, it was cozy and comfortable, and you could feel yourself beginning to relax as you focused on the TV, you could feel your stress melting away already, watching the silly antics going on, you smiled and giggled occasionally.

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You really needed this, this self care day …er, well night was exactly what you needed, as you watched a few episodes, at episode three, you could’ve sworn you seen something on the screen flicker.

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But at first you ignored it, thinking maybe it was just a weird glitch in the program, about halfway into that episode, you could’ve sworn you saw a glimpse of someone standing in the background that you KNEW hadn’t been there before as you’ve watched these episodes already, you shuddered a little, maybe your television was just messing up, or maybe some programming malfunction, it was so brief and so fast whenever it happened and then for the next few episodes, it was normal, you relaxed a bit more now, figuring it was just some glitches.

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You tried not to worry too much about it and continued watching the episodes until you were finally on the new one, excited, you sit up a bit more, still keeping yourself wrapped up in the weighted blanket, you cut the volume up and became fully focused, like you usually had when a new episode dropped.

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And well, it was pretty long, about thirty minutes or more, this episode involved a circus of sorts with all sorts of interesting colorful characters, they were going on wacky wild adventures which entertained you pretty well.

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You finished some of your snacks and the drink you had and for now you sat there and watched, thoroughly enjoying this episode, technically it had been out for a few days now as you hadn’t had time to sit down until you pretty much forced yourself, the episode was pretty sad with the end though, with one character disappearing into nothingness, which broke your heart a little, but even then, you enjoyed this episode a lot!

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You had looked at the ratings of it and frowned, it had even lower ratings than the last one from what the overall public says, it had 3.2 which made you sigh, you didn’t understand why others didn’t like this but oh well, it didn’t matter, what mattered was you liked it.

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You rated it five stars, and as you did, after you rated it and backed out of the website, it came right back up, you tried to close it, it did it again, you raised a brow, what was… Going on with the technology tonight?! You sighed in frustration as at some point your phone shut itself off and you sat it down on the table, and that’s when you noticed, the lights around your house were flickering and when you looked back at your television, you jumped slightly…

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Okay, you DEFINITELY saw a face for a split second there, you saw that one message you’ve seen when they were doing maintenance on the network, it said ‘PUZZLEVISION, PLEASE STAND BY’ and had the logo in the middle, you blinked in confusion but shrugged, maybe there was some kind of power surge going on, and then you yelped and jumped as some of the lights seemed to blow in the house.

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And you were nearly left in pitch black darkness except for the light of the television screen, you hear it beginning to static, the static growing progressively louder with each passing moment, and then those color bars appeared along with a beep that honestly made your ears ring.

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You were completely confused and beginning to grow frightened, this wasn’t… Normal… This wasn’t just a glitch… And then your suspicions were confirmed, as suddenly a face popped up on the television screen, a colorbar shaped into a smile, white eyes, two funky shaped eyebrows, and well you screamed in horror which made the face change into one of shock before you heard a voice speak...

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“Ah…! There you are! I’ve been waiting for you to log back on to Puzzlevision’s streaming service! C’mere” And then before you knew it, you heard a squelching sound and then saw a huge hand reaching for you from the TV.

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You naturally panicked and freaked out, immediately dropping the weighted blanket and trying to run, you had managed to get to the front door and you had gotten it open before you screamed as you were grabbed by the massive hand, it was a gentle grasp but you were completely engulfed and then before you knew it, you felt yourself being pulled back and into the television.

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You screamed and struggled, trying to fight off whatever the hell has grabbed a hold of you, you heard something that sounded like someone snapping their fingers and then you heard your front door close and lock.

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And then suddenly, you heard a bubbling sound and then… It was completely silent, you were encased in the giant hand, it was completely dark, and you were breathing heavily, and panicking, trying to squirm free, and then you heard a bunch of television static, and then suddenly, you felt the hand uncurling from you but gripping around your waist to ensure you didn’t go anywhere.

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You gasped and immediately looked around frantically, you saw some sort of weird television themed dimension, it was weird, and hard to focus fully on, but you could see TV sets floating around this strange space looking dimension.

------------------------------------------------------- You were shaking and breathing heavily and about to have a panic attack but then you heard a voice “Hey, hey! My dear…! Relax, just look at me, all eyes on me~!” The voice cheerfully spoke, and then you slowly looked to where you heard that voice and your eyes went wide, you looked up, and saw a… Giant television in front of you, it was that same face you had seen on your own TV set just a few moments ago.

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You could see the television was gray, had some dials and buttons, clearly an old model of television, he wore a black bowler hat, and had two antennas atop it, one shaped like a lightning bolt, he was also dressed very fancy in mostly gray, black, and white.

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Your mouth fell agape in shock, your panic somewhat dying down as you realized just who you were staring at, as it finally struck you…

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And well, the TV humanoid’s screen changed to show a more smug face “Ah, you recognize my handsome face now, my dear little star?” You were shocked as your struggles died down to some degree even though you were still nervous “...Y-You… You’re… M-M-M-M…” And then the TV headed humanoid’s face flickered to some annoyance by you being too shocked to speak clearly before his screen showed that smug look again.

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“Yes, yes, that’s right… The common denominator…! The most handsomest, and amazing host of ALL your favorite shows… MR. PUZZLES!” His face flickered to a grin that honestly looked a little unsettling.

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You were completely surprised by this, not only were you meeting the man behind Puzzlevision itself but also the man responsible for creating your favorite television shows and movies, you were meeting an… Idol essentially, but the thing that was the most shocking was just how huge this dude was, he was LITERALLY a giant, in fact he had to be 90 to a 100ft tall, he was holding you a gloved palm like you were weightless.

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It was… Scary… He brought you closer to the screen “My my, absolutely flabbergasted by my presence are we? I know, I know~ I’m quite wonderful, but, aside from that…! I want you to relax, I am not here to harm you or anything vile like that!”

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“No no, in fact, YOU my dear… You are the one who's been rating my shows with a PERFECT five stars, have you not?” And before you could speak, he chuckled, his face flickering to a happy smile “Of course you are! Well, I’m here to personally thank you! I do… Apologize for frightening you so, I er…” And then his face shifted to an annoyed and potentially embarrassed look.

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“...I’ll be honest, I do sometimes forget just how horrifying it could be to see a giant hand emerging from your television screen and then… Snatching you up, my intentions really were NOT to frighten you! In fact, I have a proposal of sorts for you in mind!”

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And then you were about to ask but once again, Mr. Puzzles spoke, he seemed to have realized something “Oh, where are my manners though, I’ve told you my name, which you obviously knew, but I’m afraid I don’t know your name, so what is it my little star?” You took a moment, squinting your eyes as you expected to be interrupted but Mr. Puzzles gestures for you to go on, his face going back to that smug look and so you spoke, still a bit shaky from the whole ordeal as you rested on Mr. Puzzles’ palm.

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“M-My name is… (Y/N)” And this made him snicker a bit “Ah, I see, this is a reader insert fanfiction where you can enter your own name…” You blinked a few times “. . .What?” And then he shook his head, his face going back to a smile.

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“Oh never you mind that, my little star! Just talking to myself… Anyways! It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N), you’re QUITE a big fan of my show, and I must say I am honored by that…” And then Mr. Puzzles snapped his fingers and the television sets around all changed to the website, to show your ratings specifically, showing all those five stars you’ve given.

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“You’ve given me five stars on every episode so far, and even though the overall audience would… Disagree” His face flickered to show annoyance before flickering back “Your opinions of my show have NOT gone unnoticed!”

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Mr. Puzzles then leans in closer to get a better look at your tiny form, he seems to be pondering something, he seems to get a good idea but he doesn’t say much, waiting for you to speak now.

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You take a moment to recompose yourself, you take some deep breaths and then finally you speak “I- Um… Well, I’m… Glad I could at least help, with my ratings but… …What does that… Have to do with anything? Why did you take me? And also, you… H-How are you so gigantic?”

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Mr. Puzzles pauses for a moment before chuckling “Well now, aren’t we full of questions, naturally so, either way, I’ll answer the simple one first, how I’m so gigantic, it’s simple really, I can grow my body or shrink it to whatever size I please” . . . That… Really didn’t make sense to you but then you looked around at the weird dimension you were in and looked at the being responsible for your favorite shows.

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…Eh, maybe some things didn’t need to be questioned too much… And then Mr. Puzzles’ screen flickered, showing that wide colorbar grin that unsettled you a little, he leaned even closer, his huge screen nearly touching you, the light from it was… Bright and warm, it was… Somewhat comforting “You wanna know why I chose you…? It’s very simple, my little star… Seeing how you're such a big fan of mine and how many times you’ve watched all those episodes”

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And just like that, the television sets around you flickered to show you, to show you on your couch or in other areas watching those shows and okay that was… Creepy.

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“I figured I would make you a little proposition… So, (Y/N)... How would you like to star… In your very own show?!” Mr. Puzzles spoke excitedly, he saw your surprise, and waited for a response, you thought about it, but were a bit unsure “...I-I don’t know… I-” And then Mr. Puzzles cut you off, a smug look on his face “Think about it…! You could be a star, aligned to my vision of course, we could create something PERFECT here!”

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And then you took a few moments to think about it further, and well… It’s not like you had anything better to do, you just hoped it wouldn’t stress you out too much, on the positive side, you’d get to be working with the creator of Puzzlevision himself “...Y’know what …Sure…”

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Mr. Puzzles’ had a grin on his face, but it wasn’t that unsettling one, he seemed completely delighted “Fantastic! Then… A Tiny Star is Born!” And then he chuckled, muttering something under his breath “…Also funnily enough the title to this story…” Before you could question it, he held you carefully in his gloved hands and spun around happily with you.

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“My dear, you and I will create something wonderful together! Come, come, let’s get started!” You smiled a little, while he could be a bit… Eccentric and honestly a little unsettling looking at times, Mr. Puzzles seemed genuinely nice enough.

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And then you heard him snap his fingers and suddenly, the setting around you changed, it looked like a dressing room of sorts, Mr. Puzzles finally sets you down in the chair, giving your head a little pat with his finger “Now darling~! It’s time to tell you what you’re going to be doing” And then he snapped his fingers again and suddenly, a script appeared in your lap.

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“This is going to be a tale of action… Adventure! Comedy! …Maybe some tragedy… And who knows, maybe even… Romance~!” And he winked when he said that which made you blush a little before you opened the script and began to read it.

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Judging from what the script says, it’s about you getting imprisoned in a cage of sorts by an evil giant, and you have to escape from there, and then your adventure will unfold once free.

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Mr. Puzzles then smiled, clasping his hands together as he looked down at your tiny form, he bent down “Just read over your script and rehearse for as long as you need to, mkay? After all, you can’t just rush perfection~ And when you’re done, some of my assistants will help you with your costume! Good luck, my little star!” And then with a snap of his fingers, Mr. Puzzles disappeared...

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Leaving you alone to catch your breath and take a bit to fully process what was happening, you had essentially been kidnapped by not only a giant TV headed humanoid, but also the man who just happens to be the one behind Puzzlevision itself and he had just essentially hired you as an actor.

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And yet here you were, sitting in the chair, looking at yourself in the mirror, which, you noticed while the room was giant sized, a lot of the objects were perfectly sized for you, everything seemed to have been customized to fit your size, you weren’t complaining though, at least Mr. Puzzles was considerate enough …Either way, you looked down at the script and sighed, smiling a little, this couldn’t be all bad, after all.

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You had met your idol and you were going to be working with him! This gave you determination, excitement, and so you began to read through the entire script, reading the idea, fixating on it much like you did with those shows, you would also rehearse your lines over and over again until they were memorized.

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During this time because well, nobody could just memorize all that in a day, Mr. Puzzles would pop in and check up on your progress and offer you some supporting words, and also obviously giving you something to eat and drink as well as even offering you breaks from time to time, during these breaks, you two would actually get to know more about each other, Mr. Puzzles would let you sit in his palm, you’d talk about yourself.

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And he’d talk about himself …A LOT, although, you noticed despite his egotistical nature that he seemed to genuinely listen to you, in fact, you noticed with any other crew, he’d listen to you more so instead of constantly interrupting and talking over.

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What seemed to stun everyone the most is the fact that Mr. Puzzles listened to YOUR ideas and actually liked them or implemented them into the show they were planning, because according to the crew, he NEVER listened to anyone aside from himself, he’d barely even listen to his own audience, you took notice that you got… Some special privileges, and then finally, after a while of rehearsing, some tweaking of the script, costume design, and all that.

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It was time… Mr. Puzzles appeared, hands clasped together and a smug look on his face “Alright, my dear little star! It’s time for your big debut! It’s time for you to shine!” You smiled and nodded, all dressed up as the man picked you up, holding you gently in his gloved palms, his face flickered back to a smile.

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You knew how badly Mr. Puzzles wanted to hit a full five star rating on his show, and you knew he could be… VERY much a perfectionist but he seemed to lighten up with you around “Yeah, maybe you’ll get the five stars this time, I uh, I’ll definitely do my best to help you, Mr. Puzzles” And the TV headed humanoid paused momentarily before smiling with his head tilted to the side.

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He pats your head affectionately “D’aww… Aren’t you sweet? You’ll do fantastic! After all, a face like yours was made for television, if I do say so myself~” And you blushed a bit at that and then… It was time…

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Mr. Puzzles heard a crew announce that and then he sets you down gently, he ushers you along with some big fingers “Now go on my dear! You can do this, you’ll look fantastic!” Mr. Puzzles praises which gives you some confidence and you nod, and then you were heading out there, it was… A bit nerve wracking, you were worried deep down of failing, disappointing or worse, upsetting Mr. Puzzles as well.

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You had seen how the man could be, sure his anger nor disappointment had NEVER been directed at you so far but seeing that one face… Those realistic eyes and lips, it was… Horrifying to say the least.

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You just tried to do your best, once the cameras were rolling, you played your part, an innocent tiny human who had been captured by a giant, taken to a castle, and shoved into a cage, well, you supposed he was handsome to you as Mr. Puzzles tended to star in his own shows a lot, you acted out your part, the other gigantic being acting out theirs, you had no idea where they even came from but you didn’t question it.

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Then came the scene of the giant about to grab you from your cage before, they had fallen over as if knocked out, and well, sure enough, here comes Mr. Puzzles, playing the hero, a hand extends to you, which you had been told to act fearful of at first to the script.

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…It was… Hard to truly be fearful when you trusted him as much as you did, and then Mr. Puzzles spoke, his voice dramatic …Well, more dramatic than usual “No no, my dear…! Don’t be frightened, I am here to save you from this monstrous creature…! Climb onto my hand, and I shall free you from your gruesome fate…!” You acted hesitantly like you had rehearsed, acting hesitantly as you walked over to the massive palm splayed out in front of you.

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And then you slowly climbed onto it and you were lifted up to see the face …Well, the screen of your savior, you saw the smug smile on his screen and well, you genuinely blushed, you couldn’t help it, and you had even seen some blush on his screen as well, it wasn’t… A part of the script but it added to the scene.

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And then, Mr. Puzzles was about to take you away from there before the giant began to wake up, and then a battle ensued, Mr. Puzzles had set you down, standing in front of you protectively, it took you every fiber of your being not to roll your eyes at how dramatic he was when speaking “Don’t worry my dear! I’ll keep you safe! You have nothing to fear!” Mr. Puzzles and the giant fought.

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A clash of titans if you would… You of course went and hid behind one of the containers on the shelf as that’s what was scripted, the fight lasted for about twenty minutes or so before Mr. Puzzles came out on top, he stood over the fallen giant victoriously.

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And then Mr. Puzzles walked back over to you, breathing heavily for the effect, he then extended a huge palm down to the table “Come now, my dear, let me get you out of here” And then you stepped out, and began walking toward the palm, looking up at him, you climbed onto it and then he began to walk out of the castle, walking and taking one last look back on the fallen giant, after walking out, that ended the scene.

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And another version of him sitting in a chair yelled “CUT!” You honestly didn’t know how he could do what he did, but then again, magic was already a pretty nonsensical thing, you had stopped questioning things upon first meeting him to be honest.

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That copy had disappeared in dramatic fashion after that and the real Mr. Puzzles holding you currently held you up and began to swing you around carefully and gently “My dear little star! You have such talent! I just KNEW I picked the perfect actor for my shows!” You smiled, your face slightly reddened at those words, you had hoped this would help Mr. Puzzles get to five stars as you knew how badly he had wanted it.

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In fact, during the time you two had spent together, he had confided in you just how badly he wanted to hit that five star rating, he had even mentioned something that if he hit those five stars then nothing would ever be the same again.

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You really hoped you could help him achieve this dream of his and then Mr. Puzzles set you down, his screen flickering to that happy grin of his, it was the less unsettling one, you noticed how his eyes seemed to move about during it, it was a cute expression …Although you definitely had your favorite expression of his, you wouldn’t say that out loud though, and then he set you down on the ground “Alrighty! Why don’t you go and take a breather, (Y/N)? After all, I’m sure you’re exhausted after that wonderful performance!"

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You nodded, he was right, you were exhausted after all that, especially from all the nervousness you felt deep down, you headed off to your own little room that Mr. Puzzles had designed specifically for you.

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You did wonder if he planned to keep you here forever or something, after all, you did have a home to go back to, you maybe needed to talk to him about that… …For now, you sat in your room that was perfectly customized to your size, you sighed and took some deep breaths, you decided to grab yourself something to snack on and drink and then you sat down on the couch, you needed some stress relief, so you decided to read a book.

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After all, usually after shows were filmed, Mr. Puzzles would be gone for a bit, you assumed he was keeping up with the ratings and well making sure everything was in order, he seemed to be on top of everything that goes on here, he seemed to be in control of everything here judging from the looks of it.

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You read your book for a bit before moving onto playing some video games, you did that for a little bit, and then finally, you listened to some music, all of these activities easing your stress, although, there was a lingering fear deep down in the back of your head, worrying that you hadn’t done a good job, that Mr. Puzzles would be angry with you if he didn’t hit those five stars...

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Even if he had never shown any signs of anger to you, you definitely had a lot more special privileges compared to the other crew members and actors, in fact, you were the one Mr. Puzzles hung out with a lot, he rarely ever hung out with the others, if he did, it was mostly for appearance’ sake.

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He could be egotistical a LOT, he was a perfectionist, he had a lot of… Questionable traits in all fairness but as you sat there listening to music, you kept thinking of the TV headed humanoid, you had been here already for… Well, a long time, Mr. Puzzles had said you had been here for about a week when you asked, which on one hand you REALLY needed to get back to your home because you just know you had some cleaning to do amongst other things.

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But on the other you didn’t… Necessarily want to leave here either, the reason is because even during the week you had spent here, you had saw Mr. Puzzles less as an idol, but more so… As a crush, you were developing feelings for him.

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You thought back to just a few moments ago, when the two of you had blushed at one another, you thought about that damn face, that damn smug look he oh so loved to wear all the time… Even now, when you were alone, just thinking about it made your face blush, you groaned as you plopped down on the couch, laying down and placing your hands over your face.

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You were falling in love with the TV headed humanoid and you felt silly for it, after all, hell, you doubted he felt anything like THAT toward you, sure, he liked you and gave you special privileges and… . . . Wait… Did he also have feelings for you? You shot up from the couch, thinking about that now.

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And the more you thought about that the more you began to realize that maybe he did have a thing for you, you wouldn’t assume obviously, but it would make plausible sense, before you could question it further though, suddenly, you had been teleported out of your room and grabbed up by a giant gloved hand like usual, you yelped and panicked just a little bit from the suddenness of it and before you could even try to speak or protest...

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Mr. Puzzles was spinning around with you again, and okay, this time it was making you pretty dizzy, the TV headed humanoid wasted no time in telling you what the deal was “My dear little star! Look!” He pointed at his own television screen, and it flickered.

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This time, not showing a face but he showed the episode that had just dropped with you in it, and your eyes widened, you looked shocked, the episode had a full five stars, everyone, even some of those executives that had criticized the show so harshly were stunned with their reviews of it, they had even given it a five stars, the overall opinion of the public was that this show was very good, and this meant you had helped him.

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You had helped Mr. Puzzles achieve his dream, and that made you ecstatic, now you understood why he was spinning you around “H-Hah…! We did it!” You were happy, finally, the streaming service and the shows you had such a passion and love for, now people seemed to understand.

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Mr. Puzzles’ faces flickered between each one except the scary and annoyed expression, he seemed like he was going to overload with happiness unless he calmed down, he tried to calm down and recompose himself, his face going back to a regular smile “Yes! I finally got my five stars, and it’s thanks to you, my dear! I just knew I made the right decision by taking you with me, with you by my side, we’ll be unstoppable! The whole WORLD will tune into Puzzlevision to watch our shows!”

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It was not often, if at all that Mr. Puzzles would give anyone else aside from himself the spotlight, the credit, but he seemed to be ecstatic by the thought of sharing the fame if it meant sharing it with you.

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You were happy, and you hadn’t realized there were some tears forming in your eyes, because well, knowing you had helped him succeed, that took a lotta nervousness off that you had been feeling, Mr. Puzzles quickly noticed this, and his face flickered to an expression you hadn’t seen before, a face of genuine concern and worry “(Y/N)? My favorite little actor… What’s wrong? Have I been holding you too tightly? Did the swaying scare you?”

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You were quick to shake your head “N-No, I just… I’m just… Really glad I helped you, I-I uh, I won’t lie to you, Mr. Puzzles… I-I was… Kinda nervous, anxious about…” And you paused, unsure whether you should admit this.

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But, Mr. Puzzles looked like he wanted to know what you were about to say, in fact, he wasn’t interrupting you, and well, you couldn’t lie to him or hide that forever, so you sighed and decided to open up just a bit “...I-I just, I was worried… That i-if I didn’t, um, get you to five stars, that you’d… Get angry with me” And Mr. Puzzles gasps, his face flickering to one of surprise but he understood why you’d think that, and then he brought you closer to his screen.

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A warm smile on his face as he held you in his giant gloved palm “Oh my dear little star… My sincerest, I… Know I must have put a LOT of stress on you during those times, and while, true, I do get angry with some of my staff…”

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Mr. Puzzles begins to gently stroke your head with his other hand, using a finger since he didn’t want to accidentally squish your tiny form “I would never take my anger out on you…! You… …Well, as cliché as it may sound, you are… Special to me, not just my favorite actor obviously, I…” And then he paused, seemingly trying to find the words, his screen flickered, and well, he awkwardly stuttered which is rare for someone as confident as him.

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And his screen had pink where his cheeks would be “...W-Well I… Erm, I… I value… You…” His words sound a bit robotic before a flicker of annoyance crosses his face and he sighs before finally speaking properly “I… I really do value your company, you make this space feel… LESS lonely”

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You looked up at Mr. Puzzles, processing his words, you felt his finger reach up to wipe your tears gently away and that made you smile and blush slightly yourself, you reached out to hold his finger, your hand could just barely fit around the gloved appendage because of your small stature, while you did need to address the fact that you also needed to go home …At least every once in a while.

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You could do that later, as it seems Mr. Puzzles had an idea, as he pulled his free hand back “Here, I know just the way to make it up to you” And with a snap of his fingers, the space around you two changed, into a much cozier setting.

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It was your home but, big enough to accommodate Mr. Puzzles’ huge height, a place where you felt at your most comfortable and safe, he snapped his fingers again and a weighted blanket formed around you, wrapping securely around you, some of your comfort foods and drinks appeared if you wanted, Mr. Puzzles then holds you close to his chest, and well.

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You can hear a heartbeat, it makes you wonder about Mr. Puzzles anatomy, just how did the man work exactly…? He was a TV headed humanoid, did he have a real heart or was he just imitating a heartbeat to give you comfort? Either way, it was a very nice gesture.

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Mr. Puzzles looked down at you with a warm smile and a blush on his face “Let’s just enjoy some quiet time together my dear little star” You nodded at that, feeling utterly relieved to have the pressure taken off and to just be able to relax, you sat there in the palm of the TV headed humanoid’s hand, he gently stroked your hair in an affectionate manner.

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You hadn’t had much time to think about it since you had been working for the last week or so with Mr. Puzzles but, now you were paying attention to just how tiny you were in the palm of his hands, you fit perfectly in them, you felt… Comfortable and safe, despite how unhinged the man could be.

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You have seen some of his more… Unhinged moments play out as the week had unfolded obviously, and well, he could definitely be intense but he never seemed like that to you…

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You watched as Mr. Puzzles looked down at you, even the way he looked at you compared to others was different, he had a soft, gentle expression on his face, he did give you that smug look sometimes but that just made your heart swoon whenever he did, and you had a feeling he knew that because he loved to pull that face on you more often.

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In fact, his screen flickered to that face as if he had read your mind, he didn’t speak but he was smugly staring down at you, he adored attention and oh boy, did he love your attention on him like this.

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You felt the warmth of Mr. Puzzles screen bearing down on you, it wasn’t overwhelming or super hot, just a pleasant warmth that made you feel comforted, you knew your parents had once told you not to sit too close to the TV many times but, well, considering how things are now, you wouldn’t mind sitting close to THIS television, it’s something you could get used to.

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You snuggled a bit closer in the giant TV headed humanoid’s palm and you saw his screen flicker for a split second, he seemed surprised that you were so comfortable, so trusting around him but then he had a genuine smile and a pink blush on his screen.

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You two didn’t speak, but you didn’t have to, the looks on your faces, the atmosphere of the room spoke for itself, Mr. Puzzles gently reached his free hand down, stroking your cheek with a huge finger, you allowed this to happen, even nuzzling slightly into the touch, it felt… Nice, you felt completely safe and trusting in these giant hands.

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You reached out to gently pat his finger, as a silent thank you, pausing slightly when you looked at your own hand just compared to one of his fingers alone, you were pretty fascinated by the size difference, even though Mr. Puzzles had said he could shrink or grow whenever he felt like it.

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You had questioned to yourself at some point why he stayed this height, in fact at some point during the week you had asked why he stayed that height and he gave you a strange answer, yet another weird thing of mentioning a story of sorts, he had said something along the lines of ‘Oh, that’s because this story wouldn’t exactly be an x Tiny!Reader if I wasn’t giant’ . . . You REALLY needed to ask him to explain what he meant by all that because it had just confused you completely.

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But for now, you were beginning to grow sleepy, you yawned and Mr. Puzzles seemed to catch on to it, and well his screen flickered for a moment before going back to his smile, and then, soft, relaxing music began to play.

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You smiled, appreciative of that as you lay down on the palm of his hands, he continued to stroke your head gently, keeping you held securely to his chest, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat that you didn’t know was real or synthetic but either way, the steady rhythm helped further relax you, you snuggled into both his palm and the weighted blanket, you began to close your eyes, you felt the warm glow and light of his screen on you.

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You could tell he was looking at you, and well, Mr. Puzzles wouldn’t deny, to him, you looked absolutely adorable like this, he was… Awkward with admitting any feelings he may have, hell, he had been awkward trying to tell you that you mattered to him in general.

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You then spoke finally, your soft sleepy voice echoing out “...Goodnight, Mr. Puzzles…” And then Mr. Puzzles chuckled softly, patting your head “...Goodnight, my dear little star… Sleep well…” And then you finally fell asleep, safe and sound in the palm of his hands.

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(Woo boy gfjdhgdfsk be glad y'all get the fluff- bc oh man I have a lotta angsty ideas for this sadistic tv headed freak /vpos but legit I do have a lot of fun writing g/t stuff, a part of me misses doing that for characters but genuinely I hope y'all enjoy!)

#smg4 mr puzzles #smg4 puzzlevision #mr puzzles x reader #reader insert #giant and tiny #fluff #comfort #The Cryptid's Writings #tiny reader #he treats y'all so well but anyone else he's like aha no- go away #tw panic attack mention

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bunny-lovers · 2 months ago

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If you have anxiety or panic attacks, your f/o will absolutely learn how to best comfort you.

Whether that means holding you close, verbally assuring you that everything is okay, or just giving you some time and space alone, your f/o loves you and will do whatever you need them to to help you feel better.

proship/comship/neutral DNI

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a-sip-of-milo · 1 year ago

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#panic attack #neurodivergent #actually neurodivergent #tw panic attack mention

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bbloveseevees · 2 months ago

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Today I learned that the BPM in Bake no Hana is the same as your heart’s during a panic attack

I don’t think ANYBODY in PJSK is ok.

#pjsk #project sekai #mizu5 #mizuki pjsk #bake no hana #tw: panic attack mention #they need help #psi-post

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the-kr8tor · 5 months ago

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Rotten Floorboards

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 11.5k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Cowboy AU, Wild west AU, CW hallucinations, TW poisoned without your knowledge, CW violence, religious talk, CW guns, TW abuse mention, CW food mention, CW panic attack, CW injury, TW death, TW blood and gore.

Our Place In the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 7 >>> CHAPTER 8

Skinned knees, scarred hands, and venomous words, you've endured it all back home. Survived it all— his tight, firm grip on your hand that only loosened around guests, finger always running along the gold band on your finger, a reminder of your hatred, a different reminder for him. Then your aunt's yelling in your ears until you could only hear her thunderous words at night even when you're alone. Her pen that does more than sign documents, the sharp end pointed directly on your palm, stabbing and cutting along your life line as if it could end your life right then and there— sometimes you wish it could. Then him, your uncle who had his hand in cutting your ties with the man you love, whose echoing footsteps walk outside your door at night, never giving you reprieve from the pain of being awake in that mausoleum of a home. All that pain, all that abuse you've suffered from your so-called kin doesn't compare to seeing Hobie's limp body under the monstrous weight of steel and ash.

Your heart has stayed inside your stomach since then, his green eyes closed, breathing shallow than the well that your uncle threatened to push you inside— you won't drown in it, you'll just crack your neck and your spine while you lay in tepid dirty water. You feel like that now, hopeless, blank eyes staring at the sky, seeing the world pass by from inside the well.

You've never left his side, feeling as if you'd regret it if you did even for a moment. You've regretted a lot of things, letting your parents go on that doomed expedition, and letting your aunt dictate the rest of your life. Never again. So you don't leave, you don't drink, you don't eat while the stranger who helped carry Hobie into the shabby inn treats him.

Your own wounds ache, festering under the heat of the southern sun. The humidity is clinging to your skin, making it all worse, making the pathetic bandage around your ear throb from the pain, tethering from infection. The walls of the small room they've put you in is suffocating, walls that feel like it's closing you in, dark hardwood that sweats from the sheer heat, and floorboards that creak and squeak from your footsteps. But you'd rather stay upstairs than what's below you. It smells there, especially when the day runs hotter than the surface of a boiling pot. It's probably because the whole building is old and moldy. Or there's something dead hiding underneath the rotten bloated wood.

The alligators outside your window hiss and groan, birds you've never seen before get eaten the moment they step foot inside the marsh. It's not fair, you think, for they only wanted to eat yet they ended up getting eaten themselves.

The night gives your nerves a break, the cooler air breezing through your injuries, taking the pain away for only a moment. Fireflies gather outside the willow tree that you've been staring at since you've arrived. Hobie sleeps under it all, from all the noise and the heat. You've held his hand the entire time, even with the bandages around your palms you could still feel him, feel his pulse, feel how he still breathes. Your eyes are dry and red, tears gone from how much you've cried on his bedside, and pleaded to the man to save him whatever it takes. The rickety armchair that has one leg missing has been your home, the room is your land, and Hobie has been your reason to stay.

You held his hand in yours, watching as his eyelids moved about, a sign that he still lives and thinks despite the trauma to the head he endured when the train crashed. The bandage around his head has turned red from his wound. He protected you, did everything to shield you from death. You'd cry if you still had any tears left to give.

Dawn has arrived, and you hear a knock at the door. It's quiet, almost silent as if the sound would disturb Hobie's slumber.

“Come in,” your voice is still hoarse from the noose that wrapped around your neck. It's small, barely there, barely having the resemblance of your former self.

With a creak, the door opens, and a familiar face pops out. “Just checkin’ on ya.” His southern drawl is thick, shaven face illuminated by the lamp he holds. “I need to change his bandages. And yours if you'd permit me.” Entering the room, he shakes his leather bound bag with the initials ‘T.M.’ embossed on it. The metal and glass inside clinks against each other.

You watch him carry himself with confidence, but with apprehension from his gait. “Do him first.” Moving the chair aside, you still don't fully leave Hobie.

“Alright,” his friendly eyes look at you with uncertainty. Kneeling down next to the bed, he examines Hobie's head, gently unspooling the cloth. That's the only time you look away, refusing to see him that way or it might wiggle its way into your dreams. “I’ve realized that I haven't asked for your name, miss.” You hear his bag unzipping while you stare at the outside world blanketed in deep blue. “Not your fault though, Holden brought you in haste.”

“Holden?” You ask, eyes scanning along the marsh.

“That's the big brooding man that carried him in. My name's Thomas, by the way, what's yours?” The smell of putrid ointment hits your nose, you refuse to cover the smell.

You give him a fake name, a name that isn't known to many, a name that isn't plastered in every bounty board across the country. “It's Clementine.”

“What a pretty name, I'd shake your hand but 'm occupied right now.” He chuckles, and you hold your breath while he continues to treat Hobie. After minutes of silence, you hear the rustle of fabric as he closes the bandages around his head.

You turn to look, the sight of Hobie just laying there is sobering. You've always known him as a strong person, always burying his heels in, independent in all the ways, and speaking his mind when he needs to be. The opposite of you, but right now, you have to be the one that's strong enough for him, to fight, care, and protect him if need be while he recovers. You don't know if you can do it, but it comes easily to you because it's Hobie, you've already done so a lifetime ago. You inhale deeply, finally meeting Thomas’ brown eyes.

“Thank you, for helping, you don't know us but you still helped. I promise I'm going to pay you back for the room and…” you look at the room that still bares Hobie's blood all over the floor, and his things thrown in the corner. “And everything else.”

“No, need.” Thomas smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Crow's feet evident in his smile. “Just seein’ him get better slowly is enough for me.” You give him a weak but genuine smile. “Your turn, miss?”

“I'm fine.”

“I've been a doctor for twenty years, and you're clearly not fine. Especially that ear of yours. I've seen better ears from pigs in line for the slaughter.”

You glance at Hobie's sleeping face, finally relenting. “Okay.”

“I'll try to be quick, I promise.” You scooch your chair closer, immediately holding Hobie's hand like his skin is magnetized. “I don't want to ask but, this injury doesn't look like it came from the train derailing.” He starts to peel off the shoddy bandage that you hastily put on, your skin feels like on fire. You don't mind it anymore, you've felt worse.

You sniff, eyes glued onto the gold ring dangling from Hobie's neck. “A piece of metal from the train nicked it.”

“And your hands?” He nods at your burned palms hidden under cloth.

“Heat from the metal when I tossed it off him.” A half lie.

“Ah,” Thomas cleans your wound with the same putrid ointment. He tugs at your raw skin, you bite your tongue on instinct. “Maybe I shouldn't ask about your neck then.” The angry mark left by the lasso still stays, you know it'll stay there forever. If not, then in your mind.

You look back at the stranger, eyes pointed and daring. “Don't ask.”

There's new cloth around your ear, muffling the sounds made by the house. “Then I won't.” He seizes his movements, eyeing your hand around Hobie's. “May I treat your hands?”

“It's fine, mister Thomas.”

“It's doctor, actually,” there's amusement in his eyes. “I’ve got a license and everythin’. You should see it, it's very professional lookin’.”

You crack a smile, “sorry, doctor.” With slight apprehension, you slide your hands away from Hobie's before laying your palms on your lap. “Do you own this place?”

“I do, sort of.” He unwraps your hands, revealing the angry skin underneath. Sucking in his teeth, you already know it's healing badly. But he still tries, for that you owe him everything.

“Sort of?”

“It's my sisters’ you see, they went on this business trip to get more funds for the place so they asked me to look after it for a few weeks.”

“I'm guessing that you had to leave your practice.” You flick your eyes over to Hobie's rising and falling chest to check on him. Satisfied, you look back at the doctor handling you with care. “That must've been horrible.”

“Havin’ sisters?” He jokes.

“No, leaving it all behind.”

His smile falters. “Don't cry crocodile tears for me, miss, I'll be back there treating the sick in no time.” His head tilts curiously at the old scar on your palm, ghosting his thumb over it. “What happened to this one?”

You want to say that it was because of her, that she did it. But this is one of the rare times that it wasn't her fault. Yet, when it was, she's good at hiding the evidence. Your aunt wasn't an idiot, she knew how to turn a girl into her personal workhorse that you whip and punch to obey without leaving any marks, without showing the world and causing them any concern for your well-being. So you tell the halfhearted truth.

“It was a long time ago, there's no cause for concern on that one.” It healed, a remembrance, telling you that everything will heal if you give it time— that Hobie will heal. You meet his eyes, finding it hard to read the old man. “How about Holden and the others I saw? I didn't get a good look at them when I entered but I saw a few guests. Are they guests?” You question him because that's what Hobie would do.

“Holden lives nearby who just happens upon the train wreck. He has a small stable in town, in Saint Denis. If you want he can take in your horses? They're mighty fine, I don't want them getting soiled by the marsh.”

“That…” you think for a second. If the horses are gone then you'd lose your only way out. Hobie would say no. “No, thank you, I'll take care of them.”

“You sure? Fine by me, there's hay inside the stable for ‘em.”

“The others? You were talking about them.” You continue to push the subject.

“Ah yes, sorry ‘bout that, old mind and all. Well, there's Eli, he's been stayin’ with us for quite a while. A priest on a mission we call him.” You listen intently, taking note of every single detail. “Then there's Lucy, she's a regular ‘ere, always comin' and goin'. Accordin’ to my sisters.”

You nod as he finishes your hands that's now tightly wrapped with bandages. Thomas begins to stand up, gathering his things. “Will he be okay?” Will he wake up?

He sighs, there's something behind his eyes that you can't quite pinpoint. “It’s hard to tell.” Your heart hammers inside your ribcage. “But he has so far survived the night, I think he'll pull through.”

“Thank you, again. I'll repay you, I promise.” You reach for Hobie's hand, letting your warmth seep through his clammy hands.

Thomas' eyes flick between your hand and eyes. “Don't mention it. I'll bring a basin with drinking water for him. Drip water onto his lips every few hours so he won't dehydrate.”

You nod in understanding. “I will, thank you ”

“Then some food and water for you.” He smiles, opening the door and looking over his shoulder to glance at you.

“No need—”

“How would you care for him when you don't take care of yourself? You need the energy. What would he say?”

You chuckle, squeezing his hand tighter. “He’d call me a wanker for not eating.”

Thomas knits his brows, turning back towards you. “A what?”

“Nothing, it's something profane.”

He chortles, wiping his hand across his nose like he smelled something foul. And you smell it too— the sourness, the moment he opened the door. Maybe a rat died under the staircase. “I won't ask then. Get some rest, miss Clementine.”

The door clicks and you're once again alone with him. It hits you again, how dire your situation is. There's a rock in the back of your mind that keeps rolling about, reminding you how close Hobie was from dying in your arms. But there's another boulder in the pit of your stomach, it tells you of a fate that could befall you now that you're here, close to the person looking for you. You'd rather jump towards the alligators than be back in their hold.

Hobie will wake up, you know he will. For now, you'd stay by his side, play the good nurse and protect him as much as you can because he would do it if the roles were reversed. You hold his ring in between your fingers, letting the cold metal melt into your warm skin.

—

You whisper to him, words that you're afraid of letting go, words that you wish would wake him up. You wonder what he dreams of, is it home? Is it something good? Or is he dreaming of you? You'll ask him when he wakes up, he'll wake up, you know he will.

There's another knock at the door a few hours later. Thomas enters with a tray that smells of something savoury, you've forgotten how hungry you are. But how could you indulge when Hobie lays there like a statue?

“I have some duck for ya, and a loaf. It's not much but it'll fill you up.” He senses your trepidation. “Please eat, you'll get weaker if you don't. ‘sides, no one will take care of him if you fall ill.” The utensils rattles as he places the tray in your hands.

You stare at the food with a blank stare. Guilt eats you alive, grief devouring what's left of you. “C-can you…” you clear your dry throat, “can you check on him? See if his breathing is alright?”

Thomas nods curtly after a moment, placing his fingers above his pulse, timing it on a watch that dangles from his waist coat. You don't touch the warm food until he's done. “His breathin’s fine, he's a fighter.”

You finally feel like you can exhale again. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” standing up, Thomas points at the bowl filled with water where a cloth floats atop it. “That's for him, from what we talked about.”

“I remember.” You're already squeezing the cloth, releasing excess water before you place the tray on his bedside to slowly let the water drip on Hobie's dry lips. With every drop, you pray to whoever is listening to will him awake.

“I'll leave you to it,” the door closes, and you're once again left in your dark thoughts where your fears have come true.

In between eating and playing nurse, your eyes start to get heavy with every bite of the succulent meat. You couldn't help but finish it to the bone, letting it fill your belly, leaving half of the loaf for Hobie when he wakes up. After chugging a whole pitcher of water and emptying Hobie's bowl by slowly but surely letting him drink, you place the tray down on the ground to lay down next to him carefully. There's a headache forming in-between your eyes, maybe you're incredibly fatigued than you thought you were. You're mindful of his injuries but not your own as you lay on your injured ear. It's self flagellation, as if everything that has happened was your fault the moment you stepped foot in the new world. As your eyes get uncomfortably heavy, mind foggy, you fall asleep curled up on his side.

You open your eyes and you're back home. The gilded walls of your room open up to you like a theater curtain. Your chest heaves, eyes filled with tears that you refuse to let go. Chiffon and velvet dress hugging you tightly, too tight, suffocating you slowly like a hand on your throat. Hand upon your chest, you rip it all off as if the garment burns you. But it isn't enough to get rid of it all, so you walk over to your table in haste, grabbing a sharp letter opener to slash and tear at the threads putting it all together. One by one, the once pretty gown is torn to shreds at your feet, from bodice to skirt, it all lays on the ground like discarded meat. In a flash, your eyes see red and bloodied muscle still writhing on the floor instead of fabric. As soon as it appears, it's gone after a beat.

You stand there in your slip, but the heaviness in your chest persists, hands and legs going numb— a testament to your shallow breathing. Your hands glide along your body to find anything tight around you, gasping and still in a panic, your hands stop around your neck that holds a string of diamonds. Without a second thought, you snatch the shiny thing away from your clammy skin, breaking the chain in the process.

Air enters your lungs the moment it's gone. Palms above your chest, you inhale and exhale whilst hot tears flow out of your eyes in a shower of sorrow. Leaning over the table for balance, your eyes meet with a familiar handwriting addressed to you. You're brought back in time the second your hand touches it, brought back to five years ago when Hobie slipped you a note during a party. You read it again, telling you that everything was ready, that he's ready to run away with you, somewhere far away and that you should pack your things.

After you read it, the letter dissolves into dark ink that drips down to your feet. You're holding the new letter again, opening the plain wax seal, you read the contents. Then you read it over and over until you get your mind wrapped around the saccharine yet sorrowful words that are all written in his hand. Hobie, the one you've been mourning since the news hit you.

His address is written hastily next to his own name, you laugh and then sob, hugging the letter to your chest. The scene shifts as if you've entered the fog and into a new world. You're in front of the docks, a large ship looming over you. You're dressed in a pair of borrowed trousers from Peter's wife, whilst the older man himself speaks by your side but you can't make out his words. It's all a garbled mess. For some reason, his hands are dripping with blood, but you don't point it out.

You tell him something, and he shakes his head with a smile, eyepatch moving as he gently nudges you towards the ship. The night hides his face, and all the secrets haunting you, even with the full moon shining down. As you wave goodbye, the ship unfurls its sails, sailors reeling the anchor up, and the captain steering the ship towards your future. You watch as Peter's silhouette gets farther until he's a mere dot in your sight.

You raise your head up to watch the swirling sky, falling stars raining down, and the moon smiling back at you. Someone whispers your name, and you instinctively turn around, expecting a fate worse than death thinking that they've found you. But you're greeted by Hobie himself, still in the same clothes you last saw him in, hair short, and face flat.

“Hobie?” You sound like you're underneath the waves.

“Run.”

You're awoken by the squeak from the rotten hinges. Sitting up, your eyes adjust to the light, seeing a silhouette of a tall, bony man in black and white. Vision focusing, you see him awkwardly stop in front of the doorway, the white square on his collar tells you that this is the reverend Thomas was talking about. He has a patch work of a beard and an aura of weariness.

“Eli,” your mouth speaks before you could think.

“That's me,” he chuckles, clearing his throat right after. His hands are behind his back, prompting you to be more wary of the man.

“What are you doing here?” You sit properly, hand placed on your gun belt, feeling the cold metal of Hobie's gun on your palm.

“I–I was…” his blue eyes flick from your gun to Hobie's sleeping face. “Thinking of p-praying for him.”

“He’s not dead yet, reverend.” Your harsh voice cuts through the man.

“I don't mean any offense.” He holds his empty hands up, you glance at his rough hands and the tattoo on his wrist revealed from how his sleeve rode down. It's something you can't quite get a good look at. Noticing your stare, Eli brings his hands down, pulling down his sleeves. “Praying for his swift recovery. That's what I meant.”

“You can pray for him outside our door. Better yet, pray downstairs.” You stare him down. “Where's your book of prayers?”

“I'm sorry, I should've knocked.” You can't place his accent. “I thought you were asleep—”

“And that makes it alright to barge in?”

He balances on the balls of his feet, your eyes instinctively flick over to his leather shoes that are too shiny, too kept as if he just bought it or cleaned it for the occasion. “We got off on the wrong foot, I'm sorry, miss…Clementine. My name's Eli.” Reaching for you, you only look at his hand without shaking it.

“I didn't give you my name.”

The reverend takes his hand back with a wince. “I–I got it from Thomas.” Your jaw tightens, eyes boring holes into his forehead. Thankfully, he reads the room and your expression. “I should go—”

“You should. Goodbye.”

The reverend doesn't turn his back on you, opening the door with what you could read as a cursory apologetic look. “I'm sorry, again.”

You grunt in reply. With the door clicking close, you stand up, taking a spare chair that Thomas always sits down on to lodge it under the doorknob. Locking the door and battening down the hatches. It's what Hobie would do, it's what he always does when he thinks you've fallen asleep.

“Wanker.” You scoff out before sitting back down next to Hobie. You don't find sleep after that. Your mind is too noisy, too chaotic to find sleep even though your body demands it.

—

Two days in and Hobie is still unresponsive, he breathes, even twitches in his sleep but he's unable to wake up. It's pure torture for you, seeing him lay there while you try your best at taking care of him. You've even tasked yourself at watching the good doctor clean his wounds and replace the bandages so you could do it yourself. You miss his smile, his laugh, and how he holds your hand. It’s just like how you've felt for those five long years, but this time you can see him, touch him, and take care of him but he doesn't speak nor look back at you. You don't know which one is worse.

Thomas says he's getting better, but you still worry. You play his nurse and a grieving widow at the same time. Everytime Hobie's breath hitches or even when his finger twitches you sit up, frantically calling the doctor to check on him. He always says the same thing, ‘he’s just dreaming,’ it doesn't fill you at ease, especially if it's anywhere near the dreams you've been having.

Three meals are brought to you every day, and each meal has brought you to sleep. You blame the trauma you've experienced, the things you've seen, the things you've done— it brings you towards the precipice of life and death each time, and without fail, you dream of him. Hobie still sleeps on the lumpy bed, body lay still, breathing sturdy and true. You don't mind the sleep, but the dreams you've had aren't always good, so you'd rather keep your eyes open than face the horrors that sleep brings.

Sometimes your mind wanders off, vision whirling to something else, something worse than him laying unresponsive to the world outside. In the corner of the dark room, you see a bloodied fountain pen with soiled grain littered around it. You turn around to look away, and you see something worse, his pristine white suit is a glaring contrast to the almost dilapidated state of the room, acting like a beacon of pain for you. He doesn't smile, nor come closer to you, he just stands there, back straight like he owns the place, light green eyes aglow like the fireflies outside but none of the comfort.

The blood in your veins runs cold at the sight, so you turn away from him as he stands guard with his judging eyes. Your eyes land towards Hobie to calm you down and bring yourself back to reality. He still sleeps, bandages wrapped around his head, eyelids twitching while he dreams. With a sigh, you suddenly see a pair of eyes under his bed, you're frozen at the sight of a large hand appearing from underneath, nails dark and rotten, wounds littered around the arm, decaying and sour smelling. You see it give you a crooked smile. Heart thrumming, the hand grabs Hobie's wrist, blackened blood oozing from its touch. With horror in your belly but bravery in your heart, you yank the hand away, finding it bursting into a cloud of smoke the moment you touched it.

“You alright?” Thomas asks, he watches you catch your breath from the doorway.

Your hand is closed around nothing, still held up in front of you, gasping at nothingness. You inhale, clearing your throat and bringing down your trembling hand to your lap. “Y-yeah, I think I'm just too hot.”

Thomas nods, eyes roaming around the room. “You've been cooped up in this room for two days. I think some fresh air would do you some good.”

You immediately shake your head. “I can't leave him. Besides, there's a window here, I get enough air as it is.”

“Pardon my bluntness but, you need to stretch around, get a different scenery or you'll go mad seeing the same walls.” Thomas crosses the gap, tentatively placing his hand on your shoulder. His palm hovers slightly above your blouse, not truly holding you. “I can watch him for you, the worst has come to pass already. I know he'll wake up eventually.”

You glance at Hobie's face, he does look better than before. There's color on his lips again, his breathing stable, skin no longer clammy and his wounds are starting to scab over. And the horses need your attention too, you have no idea how they're faring since they got here. You ponder leaving him for a moment.

“...okay, j-just for a few minutes.” But you still don't trust Thomas enough to leave Hobie alone with him. “You don't have to watch him.”

“Alright, I understand where you're comin' from. Hell, I'll give you the key to the room if it makes you feel any better.” Thomas takes out a ring of keys from his pocket, and then he takes out an old key from the metal ring to hand to you. “Just bring it back after.”

“Alright, thank you, that actually fills me with ease.” You close your fingers around the key, letting the metal press down into your burned palms.

“I'll be downstairs. I promise if I hear anythin’, even a squeak I'll come runnin’ out to get you.” Thomas smiles, back already turned to leave.

Your voice calls him back. “Doctor, you've seen death, do you think there's an afterlife?” You suddenly ask him, Thomas stops in his tracks, chuckling softly.

“I don't know, love.” You raise a brow, head turning immediately to face him. “I think it's best if you ask the reverend that. I'm sure he can provide you with an answer.”

“But you've seen people die, right? From your patients, to just…living. I want your opinion on the matter.” You push the subject, eyes heavy and tired. You can feel every bone in your body as your vision shifts, seeing iridescent light pass through the windows and shine in Thomas' face. When your eyes focus, the light is gone.

Thomas scratches his head. “From what I experienced?” You nod, “I don't think so. I think there's just darkness right after.” He sniffs, hands placed in his pockets. “I really think you should talk to the reverend, he might provide a more comforting answer.”

“Maybe I should.” Your voice drifts off, eyes blankly staring outside.

“You sure you're alright?”

“I don't know.” You don't see how red your eyes have become, or the bags weighing it down.

Thomas leaves without another word. You don't leave the room after that, and the key stays with you to hold onto, letting the metal dig into your palms.

—

Startling awake, you sit up from the whispers that have managed to slither its way inside your ears. You look over your side, seeing Hobie asleep and safe, you begin to sit up, head pounding roughly against your skull as if you've been hit by something in your sleep.

More whispers echo out into the darkness, your eyes wander around the room, finding no one so you listen closely. You glance at the floor, ears straining to hear, you realize the voices are coming out from beneath.

Slowly clambering away from the bed, hand reluctantly releasing Hobie's hand, you make your way onto the floor, laying yourself down on the cool wood. Pressing your ears, you listen in on the murmured conversation.

“She barely sleeps!” A woman's voice exclaims, it's followed by shushing. “It doesn't even work on her. I'm at my fuckin’ limit.”

“We need to be patient—” Someone says.

You press your face down closer to hear better. “We've been patient. We need to—” the floorboards creak from your movement. And they immediately quiet down.

You lay there perfectly still, but no sound from downstairs can be heard. Standing up, you check the doors if you've locked it properly this time, and you pat the gun on your hip to feel if it's still there. The unfounded trust that you've given to the strangers downstairs are wavering by the minute. But you can't leave, not until Hobie wakes up, or you might disturb his healing.

—

You gasp awake, trembling in your seat, the wounds on your palms have reopened from how your nails have dug into your broken palms. It's another nightmare, another nightmare that has kept you awake. Hobie still sleeps, and you're still trapped inside the small dusty room.

The heels of your palms rub roughly on your eyelids, washing away the nightmare and sleep. Laying your head on the back of the chair, you stair at the ceiling and the cracking paint. There's a dark red spot near the middle, it's barely noticeable but it's there. The longer you stare at it, the bigger it gets. You fight a sob as you abruptly stand up, maybe you should take Thomas on his offer by going outside. It doesn't hurt to leave for a few minutes, right? Surely no one is awake at the break of dawn, so Hobie is safe to be left for a moment. And he's comfortable with the window opened, letting the cool early morning breeze inside.

You sit down on his bedside, hands gently cupping his own. “I'll be back, alright? I just need to check on Buck and Cherry.” He doesn't answer. “Maybe they can tell me how they managed to find us. Or maybe what you told me before was actually right, that they can smell us. Like loyal hounds we had back at the manor.” Your words drift away as your eyes lose focus, staring at the raised scar on his neck. You sniff, bringing yourself back to reality. “Please wake up, I feel like— just please wake up. Yell my name when you do and I'll come running back.” You kiss his knuckles, eyes glancing at the pair of white trousers standing in the corner. “I'll be back.”

You stand up, ignoring all the ghostly eyes staring at your back. They're not real, you whisper to yourself. Opening the door and locking it behind you before you could change your mind. The key is safely tucked away in your breast pocket. A headache rushes by, you almost fall on your knees from the pain.

As you stand shakily in the hallway, the floors seem to shift and change. It stretches before you while you walk, as if it won't allow you to escape the place. You close your eyes tightly, grounding yourself by holding onto the wall. When you open your eyes, you see your aunt standing at the end of the long hallway. She's clad in black, a long coat hiding her entire body, from her neck to the tips of her feet. Her hair is stark white against the dark material, strands that are longer than you last saw her. You can barely see her face, but it's odd, like something's amiss.

“Where are your eyes, dear aunt?” You ask in a small voice, as if you've returned to the young age you first met her.

She opens her maw, a deep dark crevice of sharp teeth all lined up in rows. You hear your name escape from her unhinged jaw, it's whispered close in your ears. “You can't leave.”

“I just did.” You say without remorse, and without guilt. “Watch me leave again.” With measured steps you walk closer to the vision, as you get closer and closer, her body turns transparent until you've walked through her. And everything returns to normal. You've reached the banisters overlooking downstairs, hand clasped tightly around the wood. Shaking, but victorious. “Not real.”

You look over the railing, eyes roaming around the small space. There's a small common room where a fireplace that doubles as the kitchen lies. A large man sleeps on the single couch facing the fireplace, snoring softly, arms crossed over his chest. A humble bar is placed across it, where amber liquid in foggy glass sits on the shelves. Leaning closer, you spot a door on the floor that could lead to a basement of some sort. The surfaces have been wiped clean except for the tops of the shelves that are caked in dust. There's minimal decorations, save for a few pictures hanging on the walls. Then it hits you, the smell of the place. From sour milk to rotten eggs, you can barely decipher what it is, only decay.

You can see the place being homely after a renovation if not for the stench.

The wooden bannister creaks when you put your weight on it, you flinch away before it gives out from under you. You walk slowly down the small steps of the stairway, legs shaking from the thrumming headache behind your eyes, feet swaying like you're drunk off of moonshine. You attribute it from the vision you saw and from how fatigued you are. But your shoes barely clack against the floor from your footsteps. Your eyes skim over the photographs on the walls, yellowed paper and old frames of family. You look for Thomas in any of the pictures, but he's absent in every single one.

You finally make it down without waking anyone. The man, Holden, you surmise based on the description Thomas gave you, still snores on the couch. Crossing the threshold, you unlock the front door to go outside.

The entire marsh is bathed in blue, sun barely peeking in the horizon. A breeze passes by, goosebumps rising on your arms from the cold. You should've brought your coat with you, but it's too late now. If you go back upstairs, you think you cannot go back down.

You already feel like you're coming back to your old self. Eyes still weighing heavy in its sockets but at least the air and the greenery have grounded you back to reality. You have no idea what has befallen you, why you've been having visions of your family. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation, or maybe the living has decided to haunt you for all the things you've done to survive.

Walking along the wooden paths that prop you up from the mud, you follow it further down towards the small stable. The birds are beginning to wake up, chirping just above the canopies of tall willow trees. With every footstep, your feet sink slightly into the mud, soil swallowing down the planks of wood laid down as a makeshift path. Flies buzz around your legs, you swat away any that comes near your healing wounds.

You finally make it towards the stable, opening the door with slight force since the hinges are long rotten from the wear and tear of the moist environment. You finally crack it open, seeing seven horses in their little pens on the side. The wood inside is in the same state as the inn, bloated and decaying from age. Light filters through the cracks, dust and bloatflies flying all over the horses.

Bucky peeks his head when he hears you enter, he immediately recognizes you, hind legs stomping in excitement. You smile genuinely at the dark horse, walking towards his stable, still swaying slightly on your feet. Cherry appears from behind Bucky, coat muddy and hair tangled. You guess that they had to share a pen because of the lack of space in the stable.

“Hi, you two.” You reach up towards their faces, Bucky nuzzles your hand while Cherry huffs against your palm. “I'm sorry, I should've visited you earlier. But Hobie needed my attention.” With the mention of his rider, Buckeye neighs, leaning away, almost standing up on two legs. You think that he worries for him. “It's alright, calm down, boy. He's getting better.”

Bucky shakes his head, so you scratch the back of his ear where he always seems to like. You coo at him, whispering kind words towards the horse for finding you and Hobie amidst the wreckage with Cherry in tow. You enter their pen, brushing your hands along his fur and hair. Hobie's canteen peeks from his saddlebag on Bucky, so you take it, taking big gulps before placing it back inside the pack. You feel a lot better already.

Cherry watches you and Bucky interact. When she's had enough of Bucky getting all of your attention, she nudges your shoulder, nodding and huffing like a petulant child. “Alright, alright, I didn't forget about you.” Chuckling, you rub along her snout, you find that she likes to be pet there the most. “Have you been good? I'd give you both an apple or sugarcube but I don't have any on me.” You spot the bundle of hay near the entrance. “Is hay good enough? When we get out of here I'll give you both all the sugar cubes and fruit you could ever want.”

Leaving their side after numerous pets, you grab a pitchfork laying on the corner to grab some hay to place in their pen. Once both horses are properly fed and petted, you look around the stable for a horse brush, but the only thing you could find were more horses looking at you with curious eyes. You're more confused though, you see five horses in each pen, but there are only four guests inside the inn that you know of. There's Thomas, Eli, and Holden that you've already met. Then there's the mysterious Lucy. Whose horse is it that is alone in the corner? Maybe it's a spare? Nevertheless, you feed all of them.

“I'll be back,” you fold your knees to grab a bucket on the floor. “Let me just get some water for—”

“You're speaking to horses.”

“Jesus!” You clutch your chest from the sudden intrusion.

“Just me, sorry.” A woman stands in the doorway, hands on her shiny belt buckle, red corset tight on her torso, revealing freckles dusted on her shoulders and clavicle. She smiles, showing a gold tooth in the bottom row of her teeth. The sun has now fully risen outside, bathing her back in light, shadows hiding her face from you. “I'm Lucy, you must be Clementine.”

You clear your throat before you almost made the mistake of correcting her. “Y-yeah. Nice to meet you.”

“Why are you doing manual labor? Aren't you injured?”

“I am, but I'm feeling a lot better now thanks to the doctor.”

“Thomas?”

“Yeah, is there another doctor here?”

She chuckles, stepping forward out of the shadows. You see her chiseled face, lips full and pretty, more freckles lined around her eyes and cheeks. Her blond hair is tied in a neat braid, cowboy hat perfectly fitted around her head. There's a hunting rifle strapped on her back, and a large ornate knife on her waist.

“I'll take care of the water. Breakfast is being served inside if you're hungry.” She says with a lilt in her tone. “There's sausage, the good kind. I think you'll like it.”

“You've got their water?” You ask, glancing at your horses.

“Yeah, I've got them.” She crosses the small distance towards you, you don't drop your guard even when her hand grabs the bucket away from you. “I've been the one looking after them.”

“Oh, thank you then. I hope they're not too much of a bother.”

“Not really. Especially your Arabian there, she's real pretty.” Lucy eyes Cherry like a piece of meat on the chopping block. “How much for her?”

“Excuse me?” You scoff. “She's not for sale.”

“Alright, understandable. How about the thoroughbred?”

“No,” you stand stiff, jaw clenched. “They're not for sale.”

She grins slowly, brown eyes flat and staring at your soul. Shrugging, she begins to walk outside. “Eh, it's worth the try. Your loss, I would've bought them at a mark up.” Her voice fades away as she leaves.

You stand there with your fists shaking, you're perturbed by the people residing in the inn. You think Thomas and Holden are the only decent ones inside.

Cherry neighs behind you, you look over your shoulder to meet with her eyes. “The nerve of some people, huh?” Buckeye agrees by trotting in place.

Walking back towards the inn already has you sweating from the humidity. Once you open the door, all eyes are on you. Thomas stands behind the bar, preparing a plate. While Holden eats on one of the empty bar stools with a cup of steaming coffee paused on his lips as he stares at you. The reverend was just about leaving the basement when you entered, hand frozen on the handle of the basement door.

The doctor breaks the awkward silence. “Good morning. Did ya have a nice walk outside?”

You flex your hands on your sides, biting the inside of your cheek. “It was…pleasant.”

Eli casually stands up and then sits on the sofa near the fire and the cooking pot. He opens a large book, reading like he didn't just leave the basement as if he owned the place.

“Come have breakfast with us.” Thomas beckons you over, sliding the plate he was just preparing over to you. “I was just about to go upstairs and give this to ya.”

“Thank you, I'll eat it in my room. I don't want to disturb you all.” You come closer to the bar, fingers placed around the porcelain plate. You feel eyes on you, Holden continues to eat in the corner of your eyes. Eli is mouthing scriptures at his seat.

“No, no, come stay!” Thomas hands you a cup of coffee. The smell brings you back home. It's not a good memory. “It'll do you some good to have company, even for a moment. Please stay.”

You nod, clammy palms rubbing along your trousers. “...sure, just for breakfast though.” Rubbing your nose, Thomas notices.

“Sorry ‘bout the smell. We think there's a rat that died in the basement but we can't seem to find it.” He picks at his own plate while leaning on the other side of the bar. “That's why the reverend was down there. It was his turn to look.”

You nod, glancing briefly at the trap door on the floor. “Can I have a glass of water instead? I don't like coffee.”

His fork clangs on the plate as he lets go. “Oh of course!” Turning around he takes a pitcher of water and then he pours you a glass. While he does that, you look at the pictures behind the bar.

“Which one are your sisters?” You gesture towards the frames, Thomas still has his back towards you as he continues to pour you a glass.

“Oh, the picture that's in the middle.” You follow where he pointed at. A photograph of two smiling women in front of the inn when it was still new and shiny hangs in the middle of the bar. Their faces are flat and serious but the way their arms are around each other says that they're particularly happy in the picture. If not for the long exposure needed to take the scene, they would be grinning widely.

You tilt your head at the picture, eyes scanning their features and comparing it to Thomas' face. “You don't look like them.”

He twists around, handing you your glass of water. “I've been told.” Chuckling, he looks back at the picture briefly before turning towards you. “They got my mother's features and I got my father's. Which parent do you look like the most?” His eyes watch the mouth of the glass against your lips.

“I barely remember their faces now.” You don't drink the water just yet to answer his question. “So I don't know.”

“That's too bad.” And yet, he smiles. “How ‘bout you, Holden? Who do you look like?”

“My mother.” He says gruffly, tone monotone and uninterested.

“Ah.” Thomas picks at his plate again.

“I haven't thanked you yet for saving him.” You address the large man. “Thank you.”

“I just happened upon the place. My eyes couldn't leave the train wreck.” Holden stares at the same spot on the bar, you follow his line of sight, once you've reached the end, you see a dark red splatter on a glass of gin.

Before you could ask, Eli interrupts. “As is his will.” He's now in front of the fire even though it's sweltering inside already. “It's very lucky that Holden happens to be riding that way.” Eli says those words with humour, as if the train derailing is the funniest thing in the world.

Thomas clears his throat, “I heard no one else on the train got hurt.” You sigh in relief, knowing the real Clementine and her family are safe and sound. “A few railroad workers were injured but they're fine now, last I heard.”

“Yes, it's good that no one else got severely hurt.” Lucy appears inside the inn, smiling at you. She stalks silently around you like you're prey. Your hand instinctively slides down towards your gun belt.

“Well, except for your lad.” Thomas says, you look at him with wide eyes, blood running cold, gun now fully in your hand. The world swirls around you, your breathing gets faster, heartbeat loud in your ears. The air shifts, everyone except Thomas stiffens. “We know who he is. He's a fuckin’ legend ‘round ‘ere, but don't worry, we won't tell any lawmen. We're not like that.” Thomas continues to speak even with your world crumbling around you. He doesn't know what he just revealed. “Drink your water, we don't want you goin' thirsty now.”

“‘L-lad?’” you almost whisper, but the entire room is silent, a pin could drop and you'd hear it. Your words are thunderous compared to the fire cracking in the fireplace. “You said you're from here.”

Thomas chuckles nervously, you stand up, eyes flicking over towards the occupants. The rotten stench under the floorboards has increased ten fold in your panic, the tiny splotches of crimson on the walls and glass aren't just dirt and grime.

It's blood, and the entire inn is covered in it. Hastily scrubbed off the surface, but the mark of death remains.

They all look at you, Holden stands behind you, his shadow casting over you. Lucy continues to smile while Eli looks on amidst the backdrop of the raging fire behind him. Thomas gives you a look, shaking his head subtly.

You don't miss a beat, gun aiming behind you to shoot. But no bullet flies, you don't hit your mark for the chamber is all emptied out without your knowledge. You don't know when it was taken out but you don't have time to ponder it. Running past Lucy towards the stairs, you yell his name.

“Hobie!” You manage to get to the third step before you fall flat on your face, nose harshly landing on the stair, shoulder oozing something warm. Looking over the source, you see Lucy's hunting knife embedded in your shoulder. “No!”

Lucy giggles, and the reverend joins her side, face downturned, eyes following how your blood oozes out of your back.

“Fuck! They said don't draw blood! What the bloody hell is wrong with you!” Thomas shows his true colours, yelling at Lucy angrily. You continue to crawl up the stairs despite the searing pain. “Fuckin’ grab her! Get the key, it's on her.”

“I'm…” you still fight, elbows pressed on the rough wood, crawling relentlessly up the stairs. “Going to fucking kill all of you.” You say through gritted teeth, ignoring the seething pain as your body trembles.

Eli's voice pipes up. “We just want to get you home. God will strike you down if you do that.”

“Strike me down all he wants. He knows where I am.” With determined eyes, you keep crawling even though your arms are split apart by splinters.

You're about halfway up the steps when you hear loud heavy footsteps walk towards your form. Groaning, you dig for the key inside your pocket. The second you find it, you toss it with all your might, it flies up and then it lands and slides under the bar shelves. It's your turn to cackle. Large hands grab you, turning you over. Holden's scowl looks back at you. Puckering your lips, you spit at his face, laughing as he lets you go, desperately cleaning his face.

“Move over, big guy. Do I have to do everything around here?” Silent steps cross over to you while you try to desperately climb up. You can't feel your back anymore. Suddenly, you feel a cloth press on your mouth and nose. You know this smell, it's sweet and tart, but there's an underlying bitterness. Recognizing it from the description on the botanical books you've read, the ones that they say a proper lady shouldn't read. And you know you're about to black out within ten seconds. You try to fight back but you're weakening.

“Shh,” Lucy coos, arm tightening around your neck as she presses the concoction harder on your nose. Her own arm hits the knife still in your shoulder, you gasp in pain, inhaling more. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

The last thing you hear is his voice calling out after you. You're not sure if it's real or not, but you still cling to hope that it is.

—

The rope around your body is rough against your skin, the hemp seems to tighten around you as you move. You feel bandages on your shoulder blade, stab wound aching and throbbing. Entire body covered in sweat, your clothes are drenched from the heat. Your vision swirls, mind tethering between reality and fantasy. You see your aunt standing near the rake you just held, your uncle crouched in the corner, watching you struggle against your binds. And him, who sits next to you, as if he's guarding you. His face crosses your line of sight, it shifts between Hobie's soft smile, and his grinning face.

“I told you, you can't leave.” He says, hand reaching up to touch your face. You know he's not real, that he's a result of what Lucy gave you, what they've been giving you— but you still feel the air around him shift, how his palm sits on your cheek like a hot pan against your skin.

“C–Cross,” you gulp down as much air as you can amidst your state. “What did I do to deserve this?”

He could only grin at you.

“You’re awake, good. Lucy didn't accidentally kill you.” Eli stands near the doorway of the stable with a gold gun in his hand. Fingers yanking off his tab collar.

“Eli, you creepy motherfucker.” You slur your words, but you fight the haze. “How much did they pay you just to bring me back?”

He sniffs, “a lot.” The horses neigh in the background, you turn your head and you see Bucky and Cherry frantically thump and kick their hooves inside their pen.

“You’re not even a reverend are you?”

“No,” He says, turning away from the doors to face you. “I was once though.”

“Let me guess, you weren't cut out to be one.” You lean up, almost folding yourself to squint at him. “Or they fucking kicked you out.” He flinches, it's subtle, but you saw it. “They did, didn't they? What did you do, reverend?” You taunt while you try to ease your wrists off from the rope. Your skin stings from the movement, but it'll be worth it once you get your hands around his scrawny neck. “Oh shit, don't tell me it's—”

“It was gambling. I've racked up a debt.” He was quick to answer, as if he's still trying to protect his reputation. “I used all the donations.”

“That's fucked up.” You scoff, riling him up, playing him like a fiddle. “Seriously, so fucked up. And you decided to what? Scam more people by wearing the uniform?” Eli doesn't answer, you see him bounce on the balls of his feet, anxiety rolling off him in waves. “Is there an afterlife, reverend?” You say in a small, weaker voice to rag on him on more. It works when he turns towards you.

“Stop talking,” He saunters over to you, crouching down to your level. “I've already heard all those words before, you don't get to hurt me back, girl.”

“Was it all of you? Holden looked like he didn't want to be in there.”

“Please, he was the one who recruited me. He knew that Thomas needed more men the moment he heard Hobie's name.”

You chuckle bitterly. “You know that one of you has damaged the goods, right?”

“Thomas healed you.”

“Yeah, but still, you've left a mark. That means the pay will go down, that means your share will go down thanks to Lucy.” You can practically see the cogs in his head turn. Tilting your head, you turn him against his own team. “Tell me, would it hurt if you got someone out? You know, increase your pay.”

“What are you saying?”

“There are plenty of alligators here. I'm saying that accidents happen.”

Eli knits his brows, “but which one—?” The unmistakable sound of a gun going off echoes around the marsh. It's so loud that the horses are startled, panicked neighing fill the stable, birds scramble off the trees to fly away. “That came from inside the inn!” He stands up, you drop your façade as he turns away. “Shit!” More shots ring out, then a dozen more, suddenly, it's quiet in the marsh again.

Eli is in the perfect position for you, his body shields you from the afternoon sun as he stands there in a worried state. His gun is in his clammy hand, hammer pushed all the way down. Without a thought, you sit up in a crouched position slowly without startling him. And then you push him on the back of his knees with your shoulder, earning a pained groan from you and a sudden bang when he falls that has you flinching away.

Rubies pool around Eli's body, and you realize, he has shot himself when he fell on his face.

“Fuck.” The voice by the doorway says, you can only see his silhouette, the setting sun directly at his back. He's hunched over, silver gun in his bloodied hand.

“Hobie, are you real?” You could cry, on instinct, you move to get to him but your binds prevent you. Tears cling to your eyelashes as he slowly makes his way towards you. “H-how?”

You can see his face fully now, blood coats his cheeks and neck, eyebrows contorted in pain but his smile tells you otherwise. “I woke up.”

“You did.” Sobbing, you try to hold him even with the ropes around your wrist. “Are you okay?”

Hobie holsters his gun, wiping the blood off his hands on his trousers, and then he cradles your face. Thumb brushing along the tears. “‘m alright, dizzy and a bit of a headache but ‘m alright.” His viridescent eyes are aglow, trapped tears glimmering. “Are you—? Did they hurt you?” He asks in a small voice, afraid of your reply.

You frown, and he already knows the answer. “I thought you wouldn't wake up.”

“With you waitin' for me, of course I'd wake up.” Hobie lays his forehead against your own. He's real, and he's holding you in his arms again. “‘m real, love. I'll never leave you again.”

You cry in his arms even when he cuts off your binds. Your mind is still reeling from the previous event. Body free, you embrace him, face tucked on the crook of his neck. He holds you, kissing your temple, hands rubbing up and down on your back. He apologizes against your skin a hundred times. And you forgive him a hundred more.

Hobie releases all the horses from the stable, all the now riderless horses gallop out in a rush. He guides Cherry and Bucky out to hitch them just outside on the trees and away from the inn and stable. Coming by to get you, who stands in front of the inn.

“I need to get my things.” He says next to you, pinky curled around your own. “Your letters are still in there.”

“I'll come with you.”

“No, you don't need to see that.” His eyes warn you of the sight ahead.

“Too late for that, Hobie.” You thump your head on his bicep. “I’ll watch your back. Just in case.”

“Stay close, yeah?” He smiles softly, letting go of your hand reluctantly. You nod behind him, gun drawn and loaded.

The door opens, you try not to look at the bodies at your feet but your eyes seem to gravitate towards the violence that was left. There's blood splattered all over the walls, Holden's body is hunched over itself, blood seeping out from his numerous gunshot wounds. You walk a bit more, following Hobie's path. Broken glass crunches at your feet, and you see Lucy laying on the ground with her own knife shoved inside her chest. Her eyes are wide open, mouth agape in surprise. By the stairs, in the same position you were in mere hours ago, lies Thomas with a shotgun wound on his back, making you see through him.

“H-how'd you manage this on your own?” Your nails scratch along the metal of your gun.

“You were in danger.” Was all he answered.

As you stand there, you hear something on the floor next to the bar, glancing downwards even though you've had enough of the sight, you find someone who shouldn't be there.

“Culver?” You ask, and he whizzes out.

“Help. Me.” He tugs at your trouser leg, he's drenched in crimson, from his face down to his boots.

“He was hiding underneath the floorboards with the bodies of the actual owners.” Hobie says, guilt is written all over your face. “It's not your fault, love, you gave him a chance and he spat at it.”

“P-please,” he wheezes out, voice hoarse and broken, “they hired me, I-I was just following orders.”

You sniff, fists shaking. “It was my aunt wasn't it?”

Culver shakes his head, desperate to please you, desperate for you to save him again. “No, it was your h—”

Your bullet cuts him off, he lays there, now unmoving, and the gun in your hand smoking. You feel like you're deprived of air. Hands shaking, tears flowing out freely.

Hobie reaches for you slowly, you don't flinch away so he pulls you in, letting you weep against his chest.

—

The flames ebb away at the building, ashes flying off into the air as the roof collapses down on itself. You let the smoke fill your lungs, watching the fire light up the entire marsh, but it acts as a beacon to where you are. And you can't risk being found, especially when he's back on your side.

You kneel down, placing the framed photograph of the actual owners on the ground, apologizing to them quietly.

“We should go, Hobs.” You softly say, tugging at his sleeves.

He nods, eyes flicking between you and the burning inn. His palm is pointed towards you, waiting for you to reach for him. When your hand slides on his own, all his fears melt away. You're safe, and he's alive— that's all that matters.

—

Midnight comes, you and Hobie rode further north and away from the chaos you two left. Bucky and Cherry sleep next to each other, both tired from the ride. You tend to the fire while Hobie cleans his hands in a nearby river. The murky water turns a dark shade of red as he scrubs his hands clean, there's blood under his fingernails. And shallow crimson slashes on his arms. Once all the blood has been washed away, he sees a slash on his palm, identical to yours, the one he sutured himself. He winces, and you turn around to check on him. The both of you had been quiet the entire journey, preferring to look on whenever one groans in pain or when either one of you shifts on the saddle. You don't want to talk about it, and he doesn't want to either. Both thinking that it was his and your fault for everything that had happened.

He holds up a hand to you, wordlessly telling you that he's alright. Nodding, you turn back towards the fire, your vision shifts from the campfire in front of you to the burning cinders of the inn. A wet cloth on your cheek jerks you awake.

“Sorry,” Hobie flinches, taking the cold cloth away from your skin. “You have soot all over your face.”

You smile softly, hand reaching for his wrist, gently placing the cloth back to your face. He understands, wiping away the ash off of your skin. You stare at him, face unreadable, bandage still wrapped around his head. “Hobie,” he hums in reply, continuing to wipe the grime off. “You said you had to leave but you never told me how you left. Please tell me what happened that night.” Why did you leave me?

Hobie scooches closer to you, knee to knee, hand still wiping along your forehead. “Hicks did it.” You listen, hands fisting his vest to tamp down your frustration and everything in between. “He was the one who found out, told your aunt and got a group from the factory to ambush me in our meeting place.” His voice breaks but he composes himself. “He was the one who slashed my throat and…” faltering, the cloth slid downwards to your neck, rubbing along your skin. “buried me alive under our tree.”

Your heart clenches, imaging him clawing his way out of the dark earth. “Hicks, h-he married my aunt six months after you left. That motherfucker boasted that he killed you, hid your body in the woods. But I knew better.”

Hobie runs his thumb under your eye, wiping away a stray tear. He gives you a brief smile. “Fucker wasn't content in bein’ the factory manager, he had to ‘eliminate the competition,’ he said. I wasn't even participatin’.”

“I'm sorry,” you wrap your arms over his shoulders, hands holding his jaw. You apologize to him like an acolyte asking for retribution in front of the shrine. “I'm sorry, I should've done something— I could've—”

“There was nothin' you could've done, love. Just like how I couldn't fight back.” He pulls you in, face pressed on the crown of your head. “They used you against me. Told me that you didn't want me anymore. Told me I was a burden to you.”

“No, never. I'd never do that.” You pull away, holding him close, meeting his emerald eyes that reminds you of the best parts of home.

“I know that now. I knew it back then too, but my anger and frustration got the best of me.” He presses a heavy kiss on your forehead as you close your eyes, listening to him breathe. “Peter helped me get out, and all he got from it was getting his eye taken out.”

You gasp softly. “He helped me too,” Hobie looks at you, hands still cradling your face. Hands that are warm against your soft skin. “He didn't tell anyone where you were, I didn't know until now, until your letter. He helped me get on a boat.” You remember that day, it was raining, it was also pouring down back when Hobie left. Your nails dig into your palms when your mind gives you the image of him digging himself out of the flooded soil, lungs inhaling in rain water and dirt. “I–I really wanted to look for you, to run after you but I couldn't.” Hobie presses you against his chest while you heave, tears flowing down your cheeks as you feel his own drop on your head. “They had me under lock and key, they guarded my doors for years, until—” You pause, hands bunched up on his shirt. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

Hobie cradles you in place, arms holding your form as he lets his touch calm you down, accepting your apology, and accepting his faults. “You did good, love, you survived. But I'm ‘ere now, you'll never be back there.” You nod against his chest, Hobie hides his sorrow filled face in the crook of your neck, lips pressed on your skin, mumbling apologies. “When I was runnin’ away while I was still bleedin’, I thought I should at least say goodbye to you. But I changed my mind and went towards the docks while Peter hid me in his cart.” He leans away, just like back then, he doesn't want to sink his teeth into you, to bite hard and draw blood. “I thought that you deserve someone who isn't me. Someone who's not broken. 'm broken, and 'm afraid I'll never return to who I was before.”

You reach up to touch his cheek tenderly, head placed on his lap, cradling your body just like he did under your oak tree. “You are not as broken as you think you are. Not to me, never. You are everything to me, Hobie Brown.” You hug him, for you have no idea how to tell him that you know he can't be ‘fixed’, that there's nothing to be fixed. That even if there was, you'd break yourself, break every muscle and bone in your body, tore it limb from limb so you'd be broken together. That you'll fit right in where his jagged edges lie just like before. But you know you don't have to, because you're just as broken as he is.

"Is there still room left in there for me?" You poke his chest right where his heart is.

His yearning has taken a form in you, it has your face, and it has your voice. You are love incarnate.

"Always. you've never left.” He says softly, words that are only for your ears. You nod, smiling, tilting your head up as he leans down. “Let's go home, love.” He wants to carve out your name in his heart, but he'll settle for the next best thing— etching your lips upon his own.

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let-roman-bite-someone · 4 months ago

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this is something i’ve been ruminating on ever since WTIT came out.

i’ve been thinking about this connection for a while. Virgil’s anxiety can lead to cognitive distortions if taken too far (a.k.a if Thomas beats himself up over something) and these cognitive distortions are Remus’s creations. this is interesting, it’s interesting to see how Virgil’s and Remus’s roles overlap and almost compliment each other, but in an unhealthy way.

but this just makes it all the more confusing as to why Virgil wasn’t present in WTIT, and why he seemed so unbothered in the endcard. i once aired this confusion on here and most people said that it was like Logan in Moving On, Virgil was still present within Thomas, he just didn’t take a physical form.

this doesn’t make sense to me because when Logan sunk out, Thomas had trouble thinking logically at first. he gets around to it eventually, but it’s clear that while Logan wasn’t completely gone, his disappearance made a significant impact on the group. Virgil was having a panic attack, Roman was urging Thomas to act on impulse, Patton was confused and lost.

it’s clear this is not the case in WTIT. in an episode that is so heavily centered around anxiety and - dare i say - paranoia, it’s baffling that Virgil was almost completely unaffected. especially since, again, he seemed fine in the end card. he was a little bitter towards Patton, but that’s all.

i’m just curious as to whether there was a canonical reason for this. for why Virgil wasn’t involved in an episode where Thomas was constantly panicking over dangers that might take place.

especially since,

1. Thomas is worried about something Virgil has mentioned before, being alone/losing his loved ones.

2. Thomas did something that Virgil has canonically been shown to care about in the past - not following up on his plans to be productive.

3. fake!Nico says WORD FOR WORD what Virgil suggested during the debate - AND both scenarios were about a potential love interest not replying to Thomas’s text.

of course, Virgil has greatly improved since the negative thinking episode, but he is still anxiety. and Thomas is still an anxious person. and Thomas was visibly freaking out throughout WTIT so it’s really really unlikely that Virgil was just in the backseat for that episode.

Logan temporarily “leaving” (but still being present) in Moving On makes sense because it was an emotional episode, and Thomas needed to sort things out with his emotional sides a.k.a Patton, Roman and Virgil (mainly Patton). there was logic involved but it wasn’t a logic-centric episode.

WTIT was 100% an anxiety-centric episode.

i doubt that this was accidental. there are so many direct parallels and callbacks, it had to be intentional. there’s no way Thomas and crew just forgot that Virgil played a crucial role in creating cognitive distortions. i think there’s something deeper here, there must be a reason why Virgil wasn’t present for this episode and how he seemed so nonchalant when he did appear. there’s absolutely no way Virgil was just “present within Thomas” and didn’t feel the need to show up in person.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #thomas sanders sides #tss #sasi #virgil sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides meta #tss meta #sanders sides analysis #tss analysis #tss parallels #virgil sanders sides #tss virgil #deep dive #tw panic mention #tw panic attack #tw anxiety #tw paranoia

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sparkywrites25 · 2 months ago

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Perspective

Summary: You're struggling in the aftermath of a mission. Amid the beauty of autumn, Levi finds you.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Inspiration: Credit goes to @creativepromptsforwriting for some of the prompts that I used. Here is the post.

TW: descriptions of death and violence as well as symptoms and mentions of anxiety/PTSD especially flashbacks and panic attacks.

Taglist: @youre-ackermine @galactic3a @notgoodforlife @ladycheesington

Notes: If you like my work and want to see more then please join my taglist. Form is pinned on my blog.

Your footsteps crunch satisfyingly against the browning leaves beneath your boots. You enjoy the harsh, crisp sound as you march across the grounds to the thick woodland surrounding the base. Under the stunning rays of sunset, the forest shines in various shades of golden-brown, green and red. The leaves that drop to the ground are beautiful in their variety before they land with their comrades and disappear into the autumnal mulch of the earth, turning to bits under your weight.

Huffing quietly, you lower your head and continue onward, a scowl twisting its way across your features. Away from the prying eyes of your comrades and commanders alike, you allow your feelings to fully settle over you. Your first ball into fists so tight that your nails scratch deeply at your palms and your shoulders are so squared that they ache already.

Each puff of air is sucked in and inhaled quickly, each one shallower than the one before. You let your stride increase, your anger pouring off you in waves as you retreat deeper and deeper into the forest. The colourful, bright ways of sunset begin to disappear behind the thickening shade of the trees.

The scent of apples hits you immediately and your stomach surges in immediate, nostalgic delight. In those brief seconds, you are back home watching your mother serve up the family treat of apple pie, the apples produced from the family orchard. Or you’re running through the orchard with your friends, ducking behind trees and lying down flat behind brushes and bramble. Or you’re strolling under the trees with a basket, plucking down the ripest-looking apples and adding them to your basket, beaming with pride at the growing pile there and then comparing the collection to the ones sitting in your siblings’ baskets.

Back before you killed anyone.

The thought brings you a stop and for a moment you can’t breathe as the images hit you again: comrades swallowed up in horrific, gaping mouths, riders racing towards their endangered comrades only for a surprise grab to pluck them out of their intentions and their lives, and the remains of bodies and blood streaming the plains around the titans.

You reach out a hand to the nearest tree to steady yourself as the stench of iron and death overtakes you at once. You gag under it and bring your fist to your mouth at once.

You’re a useless captain. You should have just taken the loss and focused on the mission. You should have protected your squad. Maybe you wouldn’t have lost half of them.

It was so simple at the time; the possibility of saving the new recruits and minimizing casualties. It was a sick twist of fate that your decision had resulted in more casualties.

You lean against the tree and slide down it until you have slumped onto the ground. You stretch out your legs and you feel your anger draining out of you as your intrusive thoughts take hold. Anxiety swirls like a maelstrom, filling up your body with a dizzying, queasy feeling of regret. The faces of your team, the ones who will never come home again, drift in front of your face, like their ghosts are taunting you.

Why shouldn’t they?

You let out a shuddering breath, a strange, strangled sound escaping you when you think of Commander Erwin’s announcement this morning. The next mission would be delayed. There was talk of that being the last one before expeditions halted for the winter. You smile mirthlessly. Once upon a time, that would have irritated you. You would have been chomping at the bit to get out there again.

Now titans are chomping on your team.

You pass a hand over your face, closing your eyes as that weight falls over you again, the heaviness of responsibility, of the consequences of your decision. The same burden of dread and hindsight that hovers over you at night, sapping sleep away from you before it can land.

Your breathing is coming out in shallow, quicker pants. You stretch out your hands either side, feeling for the earth around you. Your left hand closes around the nearest object - something smooth and lukewarm. You turn your head to look at the smooth, round object in your fingers. Your see a chestnut, free of its spiky case, sitting in the lowest dip of your hand. You clutch onto it instinctively, hanging onto it steady firmness as you breathe deep.

On your other side, your fingers meet with the familiar shape of acorns. You trace the shapes of them with your fingers. The motion helps with the increasing struggle to breathe. You can feel some of the nervous energy disappearing into the movement and you gasp for breath, trying to take in more air.

You’re so weak. You’re pathetic.

How you ended up in this position, you suddenly can’t remember? Why did the higher ups think that they could trust you? What made them think that they could trust you? They made a mistake. That much is very clear. You can’t even breathe properly.

You hold onto the acorns and the chestnut, focusing on the grip and trying to breathe as slowly and deeply as you can. Unfortunately this isn’t the first time you’ve felt like this. You just have to wait. You keep your fingers moving over the acorns and then move your fingers over the chestnut as well. You feel some of the anxiety beginning to ebb away little by little.

“Planning on camping here all night?” Captain Levi questions as he steps out from behind some trees to your left. You jerk at the arrival, cursing yourself for not spotting him.

Too busy panicking about nothing, huh?

You swallow and look away from him, trying not to focus on how put-together he still looks after a day of training and official duties. Not even a hair looks out of place.

“It’s not a crime to seek out some peace and fucking quiet,” you snap at him between gritted teeth, your fingers still trying to work off the worst of your feelings.

The famous captain slowly strides over to stand in front of you, frowning at you as if he can’t believe that you’re actually sitting in the dirt. In fact, that’s probably exactly what he thinks, you muse.

“You shouldn’t be on your own when this happens,” he reminds you.

“I don’t exactly get advance warning,” you bite back.

“You’ve been stressed to hell all day.”

“So? I’m often stressed. I’m used to it.” You exhale, feeling your breathing beginning to steady at last. Your eyes flutter closed with the rising relief of the feeling of air actually settling in your lungs properly.

“Hange told you to go and see them if you were this stressed.”

“Yeah because running to my superior officer every time I get pissy is a real good look.”

Levi crouches down, his kneecaps inches from the ground and his eyes, as grey-blue as pale slate, meet yours intensely. “Everyone needs to take a breather. That includes you.”

“Why should I when I don’t deserve it?” you question, your brows furrowing.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring into your eyes. He looks like he’s reading you. “You made a tough call. You did what you could. Sometimes it goes to shit. That’s not on you.”

“They would be alive because of me,” you whisper.

“Not necessarily. If we’d advanced further, we could have run into another titan horde and lost even more lives.” Levi frowns at you. “You can’t know what would have happened. We’ll never know that shit. Once we make a choice, anything else is gone forever. All you can do is choose what you’ll regret the least.” Levi’s words are calm but firm at the same time.

You lower your gaze to the leaves between your legs. You can feel yourself steadying now that your breathing is returning to normal. You think about your options back then on the mission. Would you have regretted leaving the recruits to it? Would you be haunted by that instead of this? Was it always going to end with you sat in the woods having a panic attack?

You sit there silently, mulling over your thoughts. Levi remains crouched but he stops staring at you, gazing around the forest instead. It takes you a few minutes to realize that he’s keeping an eye out for trouble while you recuperate. You feel a swell of gratitude and something deeper at the thought.

Eventually you clear your throat and your fingers release the acorns and the chestnut. You start to pick yourself but suddenly Levi’s hands clasp around your elbows and he hauls you to your feet.

You’re unsettled by his strength and so when you are upright, your feet stumble, unprepared for the sudden weight again. You topple into Levi who catches you against his chest. Your face is instantly nose to nose with his and your heartbeat begins to quicken for an entirely different reason.

He’s staring at you for a moment, his mouth ever so slightly open as his eyes dart down to your lips for a moment. His arms move around you, holding you to him.

You don’t want to move. You want to stay there, wrapped up in his arms. You want to stay in this little bubble, out here in the trees away from titans and tragedy.

Levi leans in a little, like he’s going to touch his lips to yours. Like he’s done so many times before already, in the darkness and in the privacy of his office or yours. Part of you wants him to, to linger here together a little longer.

But your breathing is quickening again and Levi pulls himself out of the daze that holds you both. His arms around you shift so that his hands hold your elbows again.

“Come on,” is all he says and you nod, getting your bearings and stepping back from the hold. Once he’s sure that you’re steady, he lets go and you feel the absence of his touch.

Soon you’re walking through the woods again but this time, the rage and fear has calmed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, you are settled in one of the chairs beside Levi’s fireplace, a large mug of pumpkin spice tea in your hands and the comforting presence of your little black furball, Sooti, in your lap.

The dark little kitten snoozes happily against your stomach and you lower one hand to brush against her soft fur. The motion eases away some more of the earlier anxiety.

You smile towards Levi who is working quietly at his desk behind several stacks of paperwork. His jacket and cravat have been put away and the top buttons of his shirt are undone. At last, a few strands of his hair are falling into his eyes.

You say nothing to interrupt him, just reflecting on how lucky you are to have him, and all of the good things in your life. You’re grateful to be able to see that clearly again.

After taking a sip of your tea, you turn to gaze into the firelight, feeling your body relaxing once again. The crackling of the fire and Sooti’s purring fill the air, and your heart with peace.

#my fics #fic: season of changing #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #one shot #levi ackerman #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x reader fanfiction #tw: panic attack #tw: ptsd #tw: anxiety #tw: death mentions

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spaciebabie · 2 months ago

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at first getting diagnosed with cptsd was like, "yay my trauma has been validated (it always was valid)!" and i really thought that was going to be it, but then i started to do research as i do whenever i realize i have something and learned that!! the way i experience socialization is!! quite horrid actually!!

#i have had this stupid fucking rule for myself for years since i was little #''dont speak unless you're spoken to or else something bad will happen. nobody wants to hear what you have to say unless they ask''#I TELL MYSELF THAT ALL THE TIME????#AND I DIDNT REALIZE IT WASNT NORMAL #thats not something that healthy people think to themselves whenever they want to talk to people. they just talk to them #they dont tell themselves not to speak to people for fear of what may happen to them jesus christ spacie #i get so scared when i message anybody ANYTHING #bc everything and anything i wanna talk about feels so stupid why would anyone give a shit #staring at a funny joke i want to send someone for 30 fucking minutes before deleting it b/c my brain is like ''errmm who cares?''#''also they're going to yell at you for wasting their time!!!''#i sent my friend a meme once and had a panic attack (or maybe a flashback?? im still trying to figure out what they are) immediately after #this shit sucks dude. it sucks #at least im processing what happened to me. thats why it hurts so bad rn its been stockpiled for like.#2 decades #im not looking for any sympathy here im just putting it out there #so that anybody who feels the same way i do know they're not alone #ive been struggling everyday for like 2 months now (actually DEFINITELY longer)#it will get better. things just need to be taken one step at a time #i have gotten thru my worst days i have a 100% success rate #how many days have i been alive #7930 #lightwork #lets keep it goin #vent #trauma tw #trauma mention #wrote this post thru a flashback btw!! dealing with them is getting easier #before i would be unable to function for days at a time!!!#with one of the most recent ones i had i was so in the thick of it i avoided everyone i knew for a week cuz i was convinced #i was an evil unlovable freak that only wanted to hurt people

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mauselet · 1 year ago

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The Influencer - And All Is Not Fine

This story is for @ask-the-rag-dolly's blog, specifically The Influencer AU. Honestly, loving the blog so much. Huge thanks to Mod Bee for creating it and if you haven't already, go check out her blog.

Big thanks to WanderingDragon and Foolscap Hamato for helping with the fic.

Yes, the story is named after Entropy by Awkward Marina lyrics. Also, the anon/s that speak in orange and red, you got a reference in there cause it felt fitting.

Well, I really hope you enjoy this story!

Story includes: Ragatha X Pomni (but can be taken as platonically), angst, hurt/comfort

TW body horror, possessive behavior, possession, anxiety/panic attack, haphephobia/fear of being touched, questioning sanity, self-neglect

It's been a few weeks since Pomni found out that there were currently hundreds of voices inside Ragatha's head. Wow, and after all this time it didn't sound any less insane. From what Pomni understood, those voices were a virus that had infected the circus and latched onto Ragatha. They couldn't tell Caine about this because he'd likely kill them and Ragatha refused that. For some reason, she wanted to protect them which seemed even crazier than the whole situation. Some of them were friendly, sure, but others…

They attacked Jax, causing him to glitch out. They taunted Ragatha by plaguing her mind with the worst cases imaginable or calling her names or taking her too literally. They spawned that stupid paper shredder!

Oh, how Pomni hated that thing! The next time she sees one, she’ll personally smash it into pieces.

In short, the voices–all of them–stressed Ragatha out. And who could blame her? Sometimes even your own voice in your head can drive you mad. Pomni was actually impressed that the doll hadn’t reached her breaking point yet with these “anons”, as they called themselves, constantly following her.

Of course, it wasn’t all that bad. Sure, they led to Ragatha temporarily losing her arm, but it was also thanks to them that she worked up the courage to speak to Pomni again. The thought of that always brought a smile to the jester’s face.

She was glad she could talk to her. Not only because Ragatha was nice and overall pleasant to be around, but it was also good for the ragdoll; especially now that she avoided the other circus performers to prevent another Jax fiasco or a possible infection.

The redhead’s absence was noticed by the others and to Pomni’s surprise, they were concerned about her. When Pomni first arrived, she was too busy spiraling down her anxiety to see it, but these trapped souls were friends. They cared about one another, even if it’d be in their own strange ways. So Pomni decided to reassure them all with daily reports on how Ragatha was doing.

And that was usually the extent of her interactions with them. Until Caine’s adventures forced her to stick around the whole day. Sometimes she was able to avoid them, however, there were times when she just couldn’t no matter how hard she tried. Unfortunately for her, adventures like these stacked over the course of the last few days, making it basically impossible for Pomni to check on Ragatha.

By the third or fourth day, Pomni was getting anxious. Throughout the adventure, her fingers were constantly convulsing while stuck in an unnatural position, her eyes turned into scribbles and her thoughts were as far away from the game as possible.

Ragatha must’ve been lonely. It’s been days since she’s interacted with anyone. Well…since she’s interacted with someone who meant no harm to her. Hopefully, she was alright…

Pomni suddenly jerked and snapped out of her thoughts as a gloved hand waved in front of her eyes. Her head shot up and she saw Kinger, Zooble and Gangle who announced to her that they found a way to replace her in today’s adventure and that she could go see Ragatha. If she had to be honest, she didn’t even know what the adventure was, but if she really wasn’t needed there…

She gave the three of them a quick smile and dashed to Ragatha’s room as fast as her short legs could carry her. As soon as she arrived and caught her breath, she rang the bell, waiting and…

Waiting.

Pomni felt a pit in her stomach. No, no, no. She shook her head. Everything’s fine, it’s just taking a bit. She rang again.

“R-Ragatha? It’s me, Pomni. A-are you in there?”

But she was still left waiting.

“Ragatha!” she raised her voice, yet still no response.

Oh God, three days… Three whole days with nothing but those voices. That must’ve been a nightmare for the doll and Pomni left her dealing with that alone. She left her again…

“I’m coming in!” she announced and reached for the doorknob. Her body froze as she held it, overwhelmed by worried thoughts, but also by a sense of déjà vu. She chuckled darkly at the memory of desperately wanting to know what was behind a door she shouldn’t go through and then opened.

A wave of relief washed over Pomni as she wasn’t instantly met with a glitching blob with a thousand glowing eyeballs. She walked in and closed the door behind her.

She looked around the room and her heart skipped a beat. Ragatha was there, sitting on her bed, sewing what appeared to be a suit. She was so focused on her work; maybe that's why she didn't register the bell. Pomni can't actually remember if she'd ever seen her this focused, but she looked surprisingly calm and, the jester had to admit, quite pretty.

“Um…Ragatha?” the short woman started, walking over, “I'm sorry for barging in, I was just worried when you didn't answer.” But the ragdoll didn't respond; it was as if she didn’t even notice that Pomni was in the room talking to her.

Was she ignoring her? Was she mad? Did she…hate her? All of those thoughts sounded really ridiculous considering that this was Ragatha we were talking about. She doesn’t even allow herself to hate Jax, someone who’s caused more than enough harm to her, so there is no way she’d ever hate Pomni. Right…? Yet all those thoughts, as unrealistic as they might’ve seemed, felt like real possibilities to Pomni.

Somehow despite Jax putting her worst fear in her room, voices constantly screaming at her and hurting her and Caine forcing her into some of the most dangerous scenarios, not being there for her seemed like the biggest crime of them all.

Well, there was only one way to fix it.

“I’m so sorry I took so long,” Pomni let out, her steps slowing down, “I tried to check on you, but Caine’s adventures-”

“Oh, it’s alright, dear,” hearing that gentle voice, Pomni stopped. It was nice hearing her again, but something felt off. Sure, Ragatha occasionally used pet names like hun or sweetheart or even dear–oh geez, Pomni felt her cheeks heating up just thinking about it—that wasn’t the issue. She sounded more nonchalant than reassuring.

That didn’t matter right now. She wasn’t mad and that brought a smile to Pomni’s face. However, that didn’t last long as the doll finally raised her head.

Pomni’s face turned paler than usual if it was even possible, the pinwheel eyes shrunk, making them nearly invisible and her smile vanished as if it was never there.

Oh %$!#... Oh %$!#! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO! This wasn’t… This couldn’t have been real!

She wasn’t just staring at a black void with two colorful eyes where Ragatha’s button was supposed to be. She wasn’t just witnessing her friend slowly abstracting in front of her! She wasn’t… She wasn’t…

This wasn’t real!

It… It was just one of the digital hallucinations that Caine mentioned. Yeah! That’s it! That’s…That’s what it…was…

But those eyes, that void, they were still there, no matter how much Pomni convinced herself about the opposite.

Caine. She had to go get Caine! As Ragatha said once, maybe there was still time to fix this.

“Stay here!” Pomni blurted out, “I’ll be right back!” She quickly turned around and ran to the door. She’s going to come back this time. This time she won’t let Ragatha suffer.

She reached for the doorknob, but before she could grab it, arms wrapped around her and she was pulled back. One of the arms held her abdomen while the other was around her neck, not too tight yet still uncomfortable.

Feeling the fabric arms against her skin made her dizzy and itchy. She could sense every single pixel touching her, causing goosebumps to spread over her body.

“Where are you going, dear~?” she heard a whisper in her ear. It was Ragatha’s gentle, calming voice- No. It sounded different and…wrong. The voice was demanding and rough.

Pomni’s breath hitched. Was really something wrong with Ragatha? Or was her mind just messing with her? Well, the physical contact didn’t exactly help her think clearly as her body was plagued with this disgusting sensation.

“Don’t leave me~” For whatever reason, those words made the black-haired woman sick.

The doll’s embrace tightened. The touch of the fabric felt so venomous and paralyzing. It felt sickening. It felt wrong.

The jester wanted to escape that trap. She needed to escape it, yet no matter how much the voice in her head screamed at her body to move, it wouldn’t budge an inch. She was frozen in such a predicament with nothing but her racing heart, uneven breath, and voice stuck in her throat.

She attempted to take a deep breath, only to leave herself coughing.

“Are you alright, dear?” That voice again. It made shivers run down Pomni’s spine.

She sucked in another breath and let out a very weak and broken “Ragatha”. She repeated this a few times until she made a sensible sentence: “Ragatha… Please, let go…”

“Let go?” the doll wondered innocently, “why would I do that?”

“Please…” the jester mouthed.

“It’s not like I want to hurt you.” The grip tightened even more. “I would never hurt you. I would never-” The taller woman went silent. She felt the pale jester in her arms trembling and her heart dropped.

“Pomni…” Ragatha let out softly and her embrace loosened, “y-you’re shaking…” Rather than talking to Pomni, however, she seemed to have told it to herself. Reminding it to herself as if just physically feeling it wasn't enough to make it sink in.

Even some of the voices were yelling at her to let go while the others objected. Was it the good or bad ones? What even made them good or bad? Were there even any bad voices? Were there even any good voices?

The voices that objected weren’t yelling, but whispering yet they were somehow much louder than the yells.

“Don’t listen to them–” “You can’t let go–” “You can–!” “She’ll find Caine and tell him about us–” “She wouldn’t–” “It’s too great of a risk–!” “If Caine finds out about us, we’ll be–” “What would happen to Rags–?”

“Ragatha, don’t you care about us? Don’t you care about what happens to you?!”

She flinched, instinctively tensing her hold on Pomni. In no way did she help the situation, with the jester’s body convulsing out of control.

“What is it, dolly? Are we too much for you to handle? Are we too loud? Can you even tell the difference between us and your own thoughts? Is there even a difference at this point?”

Oh God, her knees felt weak, her head was spinning, and tears filled her eye. She felt like she was about to collapse at any moment, but there was something forcing her to stand. Something kept her body like this against her will despite her exhaustion.

“Oh, dollface, do you feel the abstraction crawling under your skin? Or well, fabric? Did we do it? Did we f̴i̷n̴a̵l̸l̴y̸ ̶b̷r̸e̶a̵k̷ ̶y̷o̴u̵?̸”

All the voices then started shouting over one another again. Ragatha couldn’t even make out what they were saying as it all blended into an incoherent mess. With so much noise in her head, she wanted to join them. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs; let out all her frustration not just with the voices, but with her whole body. It would be a beautiful relief, but even that was a luxury. Her body wouldn’t let her. They wouldn’t let her.

She’d swear that in the middle of all the noise she heard things that made her want to throw up. She hoped that it was just her imagination and her brain tried to give those noises some meaning, however… That would mean it was her own thoughts and that creeped her out even more. Strangely, some of those words weren’t anything bad, they were just…words. Yet they all sounded so disgusting. So wrong. Every last one of them.

Every last one…

Every last–

“Please…” One voice silenced all of them despite how weak and broken it was. No… No, it was loud and clear. It was…real.

It hit her like a truck. Everything that just happened in the span of a few minutes. How Pomni walked into the room, apologizing. How terrified the jester was when she saw her. How she stopped her when she tried to leave. How she was holding her this whole time despite the pain she was clearly causing Pomni.

Ragatha jumped back, letting go of the jester, allowing her to collapse to her knees. The small woman was sitting there, swinging back and forth, hyperventilating. She reached her hands to her arms as if to brace herself, but she didn’t touch. Instead, she grabbed her hat and pulled, her eyes shut. The bells one would associate with joy and fun now sounded distorted to both of the performers. The bells were… unnerving.

“Oh my gosh…” Ragatha let out as it all sank in. She covered her mouth and a tear ran down her face as she stared down at the black-haired woman. Her heart was breaking at the sight. “Oh my gosh…”

She did this… No, no, no. The voices did. Right…? She…She wasn’t in control, was she?

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, although, she wasn’t sure if Pomni could even hear her, “I-I lost control of them.” She cried more. “I messed up. Ragatha, you idiot… You %$!# idiot! You scared her. You hurt her! Why would I…? I would never-”

She felt tears rolling down her right cheek too, but that wasn’t possible. She wiped the tears with her hand and when she looked at it, her fingertips were covered by dark liquid.

Her heart stopped, realizing what that was. The dark void was leaking. The voices were right…

The bells on Pomni’s head rang again, causing Ragatha to snap out of those thoughts. There was something more important she had to do than pity herself. Her emotions could wait. Her abstraction could wait! She didn’t matter right now. She didn’t matter at all! Pomni did.

Despite her own breakdown, she rushed over to the jester, kneeling in front of her. She was in tears, barely thinking straight, potentially on the verge of abstracting, but Pomni mattered more.

Ragatha reached her hand towards the pale woman but flinched when she realized it wasn’t the brightest idea considering what caused this in the first place. She instead laid her hands on her own knees so Pomni could see them.

“Hey, Pomni?” she spoke up, her voice trembling. That sure was reassuring…

C’mon, Ragatha! Get a hold of yourself! Pomni needs you! Don’t freak her out.

She took a deep breath and ran her hand through her yarn, brushing it over her right eye to hide it. She curled her hands into fists and calmed her breath before speaking.

“Pomni, hun?” She was doing her best to keep her voice stable this time. “Look at me, please. Hun, look at me.” Pomni cringed, her body still going back and forth. “It’s okay, it’s just me. The real me, I promise,” Ragatha continued, “I just need you to look at me.” The big eyes slowly opened, showing scribbles, and looked up. “That’s it.” Ragatha smiled at her brightly. “Good job, sweetheart. Good job.”

The smaller woman was still trembling, still pulling at her hat, still swinging back and forth, still not controlling her breath.

“Alright, dear-”

Pomni flinched at that, tears streaming down her face as she looked away.

“O-okay! Okay,” Ragatha said in an unintentional panic. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out. I won't call you that again, I promise. I promise. You’re safe now.”

Still in tears, the jester stopped pulling at her hat, yet the bells kept ringing. Each sob was accompanied by a happy metallic chime as her body jerked. Ragatha had to admit that it made her wails quite adorable and each little jingle seemingly made a voice in her head disappear each time. But she wished more than anything that they'd stop.

“Pomni?” Ragatha knew she had to keep trying. “Hey, Pompom, hun… Can you look at me again?”

The smaller woman didn't seem to listen. She then choked on her sobs as they didn't mix well with her rapid breathing. Seeing this, some of the voices panicked, but Ragatha had to stay calm. She instinctively lifted her hand from her knee, however, thankfully stopped herself from touching Pomni.

“Please?” the ragdoll’s soothing voice asked and Pomni couldn't deny it. The black-haired woman turned to her, scribbles in her bloodshot eyes.

“Good job.” A smile of relief and reassurance formed on Ragatha's face. “Now, honey, you're having another episode, but that's okay. It's okay, I'll help you through it. I’m not going anywhere. We'll get through it together, okay?”

Pomni nodded slowly, choking on her sobs again.

“I need you to breathe with me,” Ragatha told her, “four seconds in, hold and six out. Four, hold, six.” She waited for Pomni to nod again before she took a deep breath that the jester immediately followed, yet struggling. They held their breath, but sniffles broke them. Then they exhaled together.

“Now, let's try again.”

And as Ragatha said, they did. Breathing was much easier for Pomni this time around.

“You're doing great,” the redhead praised her, “are you able to go on your own?” She watched as Pomni nodded and took another deep breath with her eyes shut. “Good, keep going. You’re safe, hun. Focus on me, okay?”

When Pomni opened her eyes again, they were back to their pinwheel look. Ragatha also noticed that she stopped shaking and the swinging slowed down. Her smile widened in relief.

She kept talking to Pomni while the jester calmed her breath. They were like this for a few more minutes until…

“R-Ragatha…?” Pomni finally spoke up and the ragdoll gasped quietly.

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” Ragatha greeted her, “you feeling any better?”

“A little…” Pomni’s voice was still pretty weak, but she had much more to say. She held her hands together, rubbing her thumb with the other. “But I should be the one asking you.”

“What are you talking about?” Ragatha shook her head. “I just helped you through a panic attack-”

“And I’m forever grateful for that,” the jester blurted out, “but, Ragatha… You’re on the verge of abstracting!” They both flinched at the yell and Ragatha covered the black void on her face despite being hidden behind the hair. “And it’s all because of me.” Pomni shifted her eyes away. “Because I left you when you needed me. Again!”

“Pomni, you can’t blame yourself for that. It wasn’t your fault.”

“‘Can’t blame yourself?’ You’re the one to talk,” the pale woman scuffed. She then took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“No, you have all the right to call me out.”

“Did it happen because of… them?” Pomni glanced at the taller woman, her eyes narrowing at the last word.

“I think so,” Ragatha replied and noticed Pomni inhaling to speak, but she quickly interrupted her, “that’s why you can’t tell Caine.”

“But, Rag-”

“You promised.”

“And you said you wanted this to stop,” Pomni reminded her, raising her voice, “I understand you don’t want them to die, but think about what they’re doing to you. Stress? Mental breakdowns? Abstraction?!” The doll lowered her head in shame. “Rags, you’re suffering and I can’t bear to watch. You care about the people around you and I appreciate that, but for once in this digital life think about yourself first.”

“No need to worry, darling,” Ragatha said calmly, looking up with a bright smile as if the topic was just a casual small talk, “the anons are actually what keeps me from abstracting, otherwise I’d be in the cellar by now.” Pomni cringed at every word due to how cheerfully the doll said them. “We’re also really, really sorry for touching you. We were so afraid of you telling Caine that we had to stop you somehow. Sorry we hurt you.”

Pomni was just staring at her, an unsure expression painted on her face. This all felt wrong and Ragatha’s next words didn’t ease that feeling.

“I’m fine, really. I’m sure that I can join in on the adventures again soon.”

No, that wasn’t right. She just said she’s afraid of Caine finding out, why does she suddenly want to take part in his adventures? And that wasn’t the only thing off.

“What happened to staying in your room to prevent infecting people with the virus?” Pomni wondered, “don’t get me wrong, the others would be happy to see you and they’re definitely worried about you. Heck, Zooble, Gangle and Kinger helped me get out of an adventure to check up on you; it’s just…”

“You’ve been spending so much time with me and you’re not influenced,” Ragatha pointed out.

Well, Pomni couldn’t argue with that. There were still many other issues with this seemingly spontaneous idea, but the more she thought about them the less sense her reasoning as to why they were even issues made. It was as if her mind was getting blurrier the more she tried to use her brain. She must’ve been tired from her previous meltdown.

“I guess you have a point.” She let out a sigh and smiled at the woman softly, but then… Did Ragatha have that wide grin on her face before? That didn’t matter right now; she needed some rest.

“Look, I know I haven’t been here in a while, but I should really go into my room and take a nap,” she explained.

“Oh, no worries, d̶e̶a̸r̴,” Ragatha replied, “have a nice sleep.”

“I’ll try. Thanks.” Pomni stood up and headed to the door. She grabbed the doorknob and turned back. “And I mean it, try thinking about yourself. It isn’t hard to care about you; me and at least three other people can agree on that.” Her smile widened as she opened the door. “And Ragatha? …I… Thank you for helping me through the attack, I really appreciate it. You’re a great friend.”

She then closed the door and stayed in the room.

She originally planned on finding Caine the moment she was outside. She was well aware that Ragatha didn't want that, however, Pomni was willing to do anything to help her stop hurting. She didn't care if Ragatha hated her for it–she was sure she would–she just wanted her friend to be safe.

But as much as she wanted that, she couldn't bring her body to go through with it. It was as if it didn't obey her.

“Don't leave me,” she remembered the doll's words. No, it wasn't a memory; it felt like someone just whispered in her ear.

That's crazy. It was just her imagination. Nothing else.

“Pomni, please. Don't leave,” Ragatha's voice begged her. It sounded so real. But there was no way Ragatha's whispers could reach her, right?

The more she thought about it, the more her mind was filled with white noise, static. And the longer that went on, the more that noise made sense to her as if it spoke to her.

“I'm scared,” one noise was much louder. Ragatha's voice.

Pomni's not leaving her again.

She let go of the doorknob and turned around to see the ragdoll still sitting on her knees, showing Pomni her back.

“Actually, can I stay here?” the jester asked, “I don't want you to be alone and…I'd also feel more comfortable with some company.”

“Why of course,” the doll replied, the huge grin remaining on her face. She got up and headed over to her bed. Reaching into her hair, she pulled out her bow and used it to tie her hair up in a ponytail.

“You can take a nap in my bed,” she said.

“Oh.” Pomni blushed a little, not only at the offer but also due to the redhead’s sudden hairdo change. Whatever it was, it had some strong influence on Pomni. "Thanks."

Once at her bed, Ragatha picked up the suit she was working on when Pomni first walked in. It was nearly done. It truly was clothing worthy of someone as powerful as her; someone with influence stronger than the ringmaster himself.

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hannahbarberra162 · 7 months ago

Text

Can't Fix Fix A Broken Heart - Chapter 2

Now on Ao3

Chapter 1 All chapters

Chapter 2: Fourth Division Commanders

TW: implied past abuse, y/n has a panic attack

Everything in Italics are y/n’s thoughts.

_____________________________________________________

You looked back and forth between Vista and Oldest Brother. Looking between them you could see some physical similarities. They had the same body type and predilection for wearing open shirts. Vista was grinning widely and even Oldest had a small smile on his face. Something you had never seen before - it was a little unnerving.

Vista came up to his brother, pinched his cheek and hugged him about the neck. Oldest gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and said to the pirate “looking as ugly as ever Brother.” All the men laughed with no malice. Vista happily faced his companions gesturing to Oldest and said “My oldest brother. Call him Oldest. You met Heavy and Baby last night. The three of them stayed here with Da while I went out to sea and they opened this bar. It was always just the three of them here after Da died.”

He surveyed you with a mildly amused expression on his face “that is, until now. Seems a sister has joined the family.” Oldest just grunted as his response and took the folded newspaper from under his arm and placed it on the bar top. You were thankful Oldest was there so you didn’t have to respond.

You realized you were pinching the skin on the sides of your fingers - never a good sign. It was time to go. “Nice meeting everyone,” you said while holding up your hand in a small wave “but I’m going to get going.”

“Sit girl” Oldest said simply. His tone didn’t have any wiggle room for misinterpretation. You didn’t sit down but didn’t move any farther away either. He gave you an intense stare that you didn’t know how to interpret.

“Thought you said you weren’t a pirate” he finally said in his gravelly voice.

Your eyebrows pinched together in the middle. You had no idea what he was talking about. “I’m not,” you said with confusion in your voice. The others in the bar had become quiet, watching the interaction play out.

“Look then,” as he opened the folded newspaper and slid a wanted poster your way. Your anxiety was increasing second by second. You turned over the paper and glanced down. It was a picture of you, from about a year ago. You looked much thinner, and your eyes were glassy - almost dead inside. You had no expression on your face besides general misery. You were dirty and had a thin shirt covering your bony chest.

WANTED: Y/N L/N - 4th Division Commander of the Twisted Pirates

ALIVE ONLY. BOUNTY - 25,000 Beri.

Below that was a physical description of you that was nearly accurate. It also included your “crime” of sinking a merchant Marine vessel and going on the run for years.

You gripped the paper between both hands. This couldn’t be happening this couldn’t be happening what was this what was happening. You couldn’t hear anything you couldn’t see anything you were just looking at the paper only the paper. Your neck felt like it was filled with stinging bees. What were you going to do what were you going to do you couldn’t go back you couldn’t go back you couldn’t go back they were gonna take you back gonna find you gonna take you

You were jerked out of your thought loop when Oldest gently touched your shoulder. You looked up at him with your eyes as wide as they could go. He said something you couldn’t hear. You were looking at him but also not looking at him at anything at anyone. Were you in your body? Was he talking to you? Or were you looking at yourself from outside your body. Pinch your fingers to find out if its real pinch harder pinch...

You did suddenly remember there were other people there. Your heart was pounding but your limbs felt numb. You couldn’t remember what was happening but you needed out. Now. Outside now or you were going to puke inside. Puke inside clean it up puke again clean it up again again again. Outside was always better always better could breathe could move always better. You felt like you were dying were you dying dying dying would dying be better? Gonna die on that ship gonna die on that ship gonna die gonna die. Still clutching the paper you mumbled to him “g’na take a break.” You tried to walk as normally as you could manage to the door out to the back alley.

Oldest watched you leave the bar. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Marco, Thatch, Vista exchanged a look between them.

“What?” said Ace shrugging a shoulder at them. “It’s not even a high bounty. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“You fuckin’ idiot,” Thatch said as he smacked Ace on the back of the head. He started following after you out the back door of the bar.

Marco POV

He didn’t know who was more surprised over the Wanted poster - you or him. You were clearly not a pirate - and definitely not a Commander. You were uncomfortable with seemingly any conflict -which was kind of a prerequisite for being an outlaw. And your reaction to the poster had been extreme. Looking down at the poster, he saw your old picture and frowned. You were obviously being mistreated by someone during that time. And it seems they wanted you back.

He halfway listened to Vista talking to his brother. Vista’s brothers were good people - Marco had known them for a long time. It was always nice to visit the Brothers - and they usually gave out some free booze too. But his mind kept wandering back to you. There were so many unanswered questions and surprises from the day that he wanted to dig into, especially with the addition of this new information.

His first surprise had come when you opened the door. Having graced the doorway of The Brothers Bar for many years, he had been expecting the grizzled Heavy or even a surly Baby to open the door. Instead, he had looked down at a sweet looking someone. Never in all the years he had known the Brothers had they ever hired anyone. Especially not a woman. He wasn’t even sure he had ever seen more than a handful of women in the bar over the years.

But there you were, hair piled high on top of your head, wearing worn clothes with your sleeves rolled up, a too-large apron dwarfing your body. You were a sweet little thing, looking annoyed and professional at the same time. Physically, you were definitely his type - in a different setting, he would have flirted with you to try to get you into his bed. Or maybe even join him and Thatch - he and Thatch had similar interests and shared a few women over the years. But you were anxious at seeing them and clearly wanted them gone. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t have the courage - or maybe the ability - to say no to them coming into the bar.

Despite your timid nature you didn’t immediately tell the pirates that Ace was there when questioned. You deflected their questions even though you were outnumbered and outclassed. You even went to speak with Ace privately before he entered the room in case he needed time to fight or flee. From Ace’s story, he knew you had met that morning so it's not like you were old friends. Why were you being so…kind? Why were you being so protective of Ace, someone you had just met? Normally civilians were either indifferent to pirates or outright hostile. It seemed that you helped Ace and didn’t ask anything in return. Were you trying to curry favor with Oyaji? It didn’t seem likely since you didn’t ask any of them any questions about their activities or even seem to recognize them at first sight.

An even more surprising event from the morning was that Ace had actually showered in your apartment. Ace was normally emotionally distant from strangers. Polite, charming, handsome, charismatic, but distant. He only truly relaxed when he was with his siblings or alone on Striker. Thatch’s comment wasn’t too far off either - the Whitebeard Pirate commanders usually had a pool going betting on when Ace would shower next. The longest he had gone without showering was 22 days, and it only ended because they strong armed him into the shower after they could no longer bear his stench. Ace was a little more feral than most people knew. Ace didn’t comply with any social etiquette that he didn’t want to, being raised by tigers or lions or whatever it was he said was on that island.

But for you, he had taken a shower (with soap!), brushed his hair, drank what you gave him, ate your food, followed you around, hung on your every word, probably sniffed your panties… Ace certainly warmed up to you quickly. Marco wondered if Ace had also found you as cute and edible as he did... Ace was young and inexperienced but seemed like he’d be eager to learn. Maybe with a guiding hand he could join in with you and…Marco yanked his thoughts away from the subject. More to think on at a later time.

With that, he could also admit to himself that his feathers were a little ruffled that you had recognized Ace but not himself, Vista, or Thatch. They had been around a lot longer than Ace had and their bounties were higher. They were iconic pirates after all! His ego was bruised more than anything. He was going to ask you about it later - maybe when things were less tense.

The back door opened and Heavy and Baby entered the bar. Similar to their brother, they grunted, took a shot, then smiled at Vista. Non verbal communication went a long way with Vista’s family it seemed.

“Oi. Oldest. Vista’s in town.”

“No shit Baby. You couldn’t have told me last night?”

“Nah, was too drunk with Mustachio and Birdy here. Had a table throwing contest. Besides, you seemed to have figured it out all right.”

After greeting the other two brothers, Marco started tuning back into what everyone was talking about. You were on everyone’s mind that morning.

“See the papers?” spat out Heavy.

“Yep” replied Oldest and Baby in unison.

“It’s fucked” retorted Heavy. “She’s no pirate, can’t hold a sword, knife, gun, nothing. Don’t think I’ve ever seen her make a fist even. Can’t turn a corner without shaking like a leaf. If she’s a Commander, I’m Whitebeard. Something is going on.” The three Brothers and Vista all simultaneously crossed their arms and started frowning. If not for the topic of conversation it would have been something Marco teased them about.

“Why’d you hire her yoi?” asked Marco during the brief lull.

The Brothers looked at one another. Heavy and Baby tilted their heads towards Oldest who narrowed his eyes at them in annoyance and began. “Well, see, it’s like this,” started Oldest “Obviously her fruit power is helpful, we won't deny that. Saves us buckets of Beri almost every day. But the truth is we didn’t really hire her. We found her. A few months ago, there was a shipwreck and crates from the destroyed boat started washing ashore. We were openin’ ‘em, taking whatever was inside ‘em. Well, we opened one, and there she was. Sealed inside, starved skinny as a skeleton, and nearly dead…

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sp0o0kylights · 1 year ago

Text

Part Seven/ Part Eight (YOU ARE HERE)/ Part Nine

Ao3

Monsters aren't real.

The thing that's flying towards him is--a hallucination. A figment of Gareth's imagination.

The same way the feeling of time slowing to a crawl is just a trick of the light playing with his anxiety.

He'd be fine.

(It won't hurt.)

Gareth's limbs froze, locking him in place even as the manticore bore down on him.

Thankfully, Steve did not have that problem.

Gareth's shirt was snatched from the back, choking him as Steve yanked him out of the way.

It was just in time--the Manticore blew past seconds later, too-large body so close Gareth could feel the air move past him.

The stench was unimaginable.

A fuckload of noise exploded in Gareth's ears as time kicked back in. He fell hard, behind Steve as the older teen swung his nail bat with his left hand.

Huh. Gareth thought distantly as wood, nail and flesh connected. Steve's ambidextrous.

He never would have guessed.

Doesn't think anyone would.

(Should Gareth survive this, he will immediately tease Steve about it. Right after profusely thanking him for saving his life and having a meltdown about honest to God monsters existing in Hawkins.)

The fucker barked a noise, and the only comparable thing Gareth could relate it to was a seal--if a seal had played with some of the sound effect pedals the music store.

Maybe got run over by a car right after for good measure.

In one breath, the monsters' weird, elongated hand-paws raked lines through the floor.

In the next, a wing smashed high over Eddie's head. The finger-like claws at the crux of it pierced through Stewart's still-stuck door, balancing itself as it turned.

This brought the manticore's gore-filled hole of a mouth so close to Eddie's head Gareth thought it forfeit, and it was only Steve's interference that kept Eddie the Banished from being Eddie the Buried.

"Come on!" Steve bellowed.

He smacked the bat into the floor, as much a challenge as it was a distraction.

Thick saliva dripped to the floor in clumps as the manticore's head, a bulbous thing composed of five petal-like slices of flesh and too many teeth rattled in response.

A car horn trumpeted again--and if it was a warning it was one coming far too late.

The Manticore dropped its chest to the ground as it took the bait. A dark, black tipped scorpion tail rose over the back of the beast, stinger longer than Gareth's arm and wider than a sword.

Faster than Gareth could track, almost faster than Steve could parry, the tail lashed forward, stinger out like a lance.

(But Steve, wonderful, amazing, athletic Steve, caught and parried it with his bat.

Then and there, Gareth swore to never mock a jock, ever again.)

The bat met armored exoskeleton with a sickening crack!, the force of the hit shaking Steve's arms. His right foot slid back, biceps flexing as the stinger pushed against him, straining hard against nail and wood.

Steve grunted, shoes squeaking as he was forced to give ground, the Manticore overpowering him by the sheer strength of its tail.

The entire encounter had barely lasted a few seconds but without interference?

Steve would be thrown aside--and impaled.

Before Gareth could think about how stupid it was, he was on his feet and rushing to help.

He grabbed the fire poker off the ground and thrust it forward, towards the manticore's not-a-face.

Screamed “Go back to hell you piece of shit!” So loud his voice cracked.

It worked.

The beast flinched, tail rocketing back as it rose back up on all four paws, hissing in outrage.

Steve staggered with how fast the tail had moved, but caught himself, bat wavering in the air, and--

There was no reprieve.

No moment to breathe, because as soon as the stinger's gone there's a grotesque, hand-like paw swiping at them both.

Gareth fell back, only to realize he wasn't the target.

Steve was.

The claws flash in the flickering overhead lights and there wasn’t any time.

He's as good as dead and Gareth can't do anything to save him--

But Eddie can.

Sometime during the last few seconds, the older teen had pulled his knife. Jammed it deep into the back of the manticore's front leg, and twisted after the blade had sunk down to the hilt.

This, and the resulting aborted attack, saved Steve's life.

The thing wailed as the struck leg crumpled, sending the fucker’s head on a collision course with the floor.

Stewart's door jumped in its frame as the wing-claws, dug in deep into the wood, caught the manticore. Two flesh-petals scraped the floor, but the move kept it from falling-- at the cost of putting its full weight on the door.

A door already bowed. Hinges pre-fucked with, thanks to Eddie’s early meddling.

It didn't hold.

Hinges screamed as the wood bent, before gravity asserted itself and shattered it. Massive wood splinters shoot out in an explosion of wood, more than one piece embedding itself into the manticore.

Eddie scrambled backwards half turned to protect his head, saved from two large chunks of wood only by the grace of his thick leather jacket.

Several things happened at once.

The car outside honked a third time.

The manticore lunged.

And Eddie tripped.

One petal of teeth tore into him--a graze that left his leg a bloody mess and ripped a scream from his mouth.

Gareth and Steve both shot instinctively: Steve to attack the side of the manticore's head, Gareth to slam the fire poker into a wing.

(One second turned into three.)

The manticore in turn, leapt backwards, head shaking with the hit of Steve's bat--and Gareth had exactly one half-second to realize all they had done up until this moment was piss it off before the wing he'd struck swept out.

It struck him in the gut and Steve in the chest, sending both of them flying.

Gareth's back met the floor a second time expelling all the air from his lungs, vision going dark at the edges as his head hit the floor.

(Three seconds turned to seven.)

This time he physically couldn't move, too stunned as Eddie screamed Steve's name.

Stewart, Gareth realized, was screaming too.

(Seven seconds became eighteen, until Gareth's chest could take in air again, the loud ringing in his ears easing somewhat.)

He kept blinking, thinking the weird streaks of orange light was his vision blurring, until his brain kicked in and informed him that no, those were flames he was seeing.

Gareth pushed himself up on his elbows to find that reinforcements had arrived.

Flames flew in an arc as another on-fire tennis ball struck the Manticores side. The ball bounced, flames trickling down to the floor as the monster beast shrieked.

A third ball had it slamming itself into the wall as Gareth whipped his head to the opposite end of the hallway.

Tiff and Dustin were spraying a can of something onto a number of tennis balls--the ones Gareth knew Tiff kept in her car for tennis.

Lucas loaded one into his slingshot, drawing the rubber bands back and holding so that Jeff’s lighter could turn it into a proper weapon.

He launched it once flames encompassed it fully, and Gareth watched as it flew true.

Landed to the right of the muscular, lion--like chest, flames catching every piece of skin that was touched.

A part of Gareth expected this to only distract the fucker, the same way the pieces of wood sticking out of it’s sides had barely slowed it down--but fire, apparently was its weakness.

The manticore reacted like it was being burned with acid more so than fire, dropping and rolling and ping-pinging between walls as more and more of its wing was overtaken.

Its screams turned into rapid, wracked yelps, until finally it threw itself so hard into a wall that it fell through it.

For a moment a dark hole remained open.

Gray pieces of ash lazily floated out, giving them all a glimpse into a terrifying, dark blue forest, red lightning slashing the sky above before the hole re-sealed itself.

(It closed the way a wound did. All sides creeping in at a speed far too fast for human skin, but was just slow enough to make the wall appear like a living membrane instead of wood and plaster.)

For a long moment, the only thing Gareth could hear was all his friends' harsh panting.

"Did you kill it?" Stewart asked, head peeking around the corner.

Eddie looked to Steve to answer.

Which he did.

"Rule number two, man.” Steve raked a hand through his hair, trying to comb out the sweat that had collected at his temples after he climbed to his feet. “If you can’t see the body, it’s not dead.”

Stewart crept cautiously into the hall, looking as shell shocked as Gareth felt. "Why the hell isn't that rule one?”

"I don't know, the kids made the rules. You can ask them.”

Gareth’s head pulsed unhappily, but Gareth had other concerns as he made his way to his feet.

“How bad is it?” He asked as he made his way over, Eddie still on the ground.

“I’m alright.” Eddie lied, as if they all couldn’t see the sticky patch of blood on his torn jeans.

"Stop talking, start walking!" Dustin yelled at them.

“Eddie’s injured, give us a minute!” Steve yelled back. “God. Go make yourself useful and get my medkit!”

“I’m fine, it’s fine! ” Eddie yelled out right after, voice waspish in his pain.

It convinced absolutely no one, and in fact, caused several people to come down the hallway towards him.

Lucky for him, Steve made it there first.

Dropping to his knees in front of Eddie, he gently moved a ringed hand away from the wound, giving it a critical once over as Gareth and Stewart hovered.

“It’s not bad.” Eddie tried to argue, wincing as he poked around his leg, Steve continually having to bat his hands away. “If we can wrap it I’ll be able to walk out of here.”

“I won’t know until I see more of it.” Tiff said, Jeff and Grant right on her heels to circle Eddie and Steve. “But he might be right for once--there’s not much blood. You’re gonna lose the pants though.”

“Noooo.” Eddie said, in a poor mimic of one of his D&D voices.

“Not to rush you, but we need to get out of here.” Jeff cast an anxious look over at the wall, and Gareth nodded his agreement.

This wasn’t a safe place right now.

(Had likely never been a safe place, if it was birthing out monsters like the manticore.)

Steve looked up at Eddie, holding his gaze.

“Think you can hobble over to the cars if two of us help?”

He got a sharp nod back.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Now hop to it.” Tiff said with a clap. Her voice was dry, tone almost sarcastic, but Gareth heard the unease in it

Not that anyone needed any convincing to get the hell out of dodge.

("I'm going to take up running." Eddie told him later, hands shaking from pain as Gareth drove Van Helsing after FrankenCar, Grant's Ford Escort

They had managed to wrap Eddie’s leg up in a quick bandage with the medkit. Gareth hadn’t truly been able to bring himself to look at the wound, but he’d caught a glimpse.

The fang marks stood out on Eddie’s pale skin, and ran in so many rows it looked like he’d shoved half his leg into a shark's mouth.

Tiffany insisted it was more horrific looking than it was actually horrific, and given Eddie had made at least three “am I gonna lose the leg, Doc?” jokes, Gareth believed her.

Still--it was weird, to drive Eddie’s van.

Weirder still to see Steve's Beemer (unnamed on grounds that Hellfire couldn't decide between the Batmobile and the BeemHolder) lead their little procession--though it had been a fight to get Steve to drive the car instead of ride along with Eddie.

"We both know you’re not seriously considering going running.” Gareth told him, voice shaking. “Which is unfortunate, because I'm going to make you anyway."

His fingers tightened hard on the steering wheel.

“I’m going to make everyone go running.”

It was a testament to how scared both of them were that they ended the conversation there.

No joke, no walking back what they'd said.

Running apparently, was back to being a core survival skill and Gareth very much enjoyed staying alive.)

xXx

Gareth hadn’t asked why the Byers house was the chosen place to regroup.

Had kind of assumed that it had been picked because Will’s mother wasn’t home.

Definitely was not expecting an adult to come flying out of the door with the air of a frazzled border collie, herding kids inside before freezing when she caught sight of Eddie.

Or rather: Eddie being carefully pulled out of Van Helsing by Steve and Jeff, cursing and whining the whole way.

“You big baby, you’re not that hurt.” Jeff huffed as Eddie’s squirming almost forced him to let go, resulting in Eddie gripping at Steve’s sweater like a liferaft.

“You can talk when you’re the one that got bit by a monster, Jeffrey.” Eddie snapped back, hopping on his good leg. “I almost died!”

“Steve said it just barely grazed you--”

“Steve was busy trying to keep it off of me to really notice what was happening! Unlike you. What were you doing, Jeff? Honking the fucking car horn?”

“I wasn’t the one honking--”

They continued to bicker as Miss Byers marched forward.

Gareth expected her to yell--and given the way Eddie’s eyes went wide at the sight of her, possibly even deny them entrance.

Shoo them away or send them home.

It wouldn’t be the first time a member of Hellfire had been beaten, only for the adults around them to act like they were the ones causing trouble.

Instead, she earned Gareth’s respect immediately by moving alongside Steve and asking; “Is anyone else injured?”

Barely waited for the shake of Steve’s head before spinning on her heel and heading back inside, yelling all the way.

“Will, fetch me towels. Jonathan--get the medkit! ”

“No worries, Miss Byers. Stevie here already has one.” Eddie said, before his attempts to charm her fell utterly flat when he accidentally jostled his leg and hissed out a curse.

“Steve’s not as good as mine, hun.” Her eyes swept over his leg, calculating. “Is that bite what I think it is?”

“Related.” Steve answered, starting the lengthy process of getting Eddie inside.

“Shit.” She sighed, and for the first time that night Gareth realized she too, wore the same haunted look Steve did.

Which meant she'd believe them.

A part of him, the part who was still a teenager, a kid in his own right, relaxed that an adult knew.

As with most of Hellfire, Gareth didn’t typically trust adults, but his relationship with his own parents was slightly better than most of the others. It led him to such beliefs like that maybe, just maybe, this would be the end of the monsters.

That he’d never face a thing like that outside of D&D, ever again. That whatever events haunted Steve would be handled by the proper authorities.

(That they’d be okay. Everyone would be okay.)

Sirens sounded in the distance, and even as Gareth walked inside the house he knew it wasn’t true.

Whatever all this was?

It wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“Munson?” A rumpled Jonathan Byers said, blinking like an owl hit with sunlight as the Steve-Eddie-Jeff procession went past.

He got a half-assed roguish grin and a waggle of fingers while Steve rolled his eyes over Eddie’s head.

“What happened!?” Jonathan asked, as Joyce bustled past him, relieving Jonathan of the medkit.

“It’s a long story, but we have a code red at the lab.”

Gareth knew he was frazzled, purely by the fact his hands once again went to mess with his hair, right after helping Eddie down into a chair.

“Which they knew apparently.”

‘They’ was accompanied by Steve jerking his thumb towards the living room--where the kids were talking to themselves in a huddle.

Outside, the sirens grew louder.

Jonathan looked to the living room and back, before heaving a sigh so world weary it was almost impressive. “Of course they did.”

“Demodog?” Miss Byers asked as she laid out various medical supplies on her kitchen table, pausing every so often to stare at Eddie’s leg.

“It was a manticore!” One of the kids yelled.

Gareth wasn't surprised to learn some of the brats were listening in.

There was a pause, as Miss Byers stared quizzically at Steve.

“It's like a demodog but much larger?” He told her, making an awkward shape with his hands that explained absolutely nothing. “With wings? Oh--and a scorpion tail.”

“It was terrifying.” Stewart added in a mutter, all of Hellfire awkwardly camped themselves around Eddie.

Which wasn’t good, given the frown on Miss Byers face as she carefully cut away even more of his jeans and their shitty attempt at band-aiding his wound.

It was the face of someone who was about to cause pain in an attempt to heal, and knew it.

For all that he was their front-man and self-proclaimed shepherd of Hellfire, Eddie's pain tolerance was absolute shit.

The guy could take a punch well enough, and the rings on his hands meant business when he hit back--but when adrenaline wasn't flowing?

Eddie broke down faster than his van did.

This whole thing was a bit of a sore spot. Something Eddie had admitted once under extreme duress had come from his father repeatedly telling him a man needed to be tough, and a Munson man even tougher.

(The duress in question was during one particularly animated D&D fight.

Eddie had gotten too excited and slapped an open palm down on top of a pointy figure, embedded it well into his skin.

The incident had derailed the campaign entirely and caused Hellfire as a whole to learn that their fearless leader really hated people watching him cry.)

Needless to say, a room full of children, his friends, his crush, and one of said kids' mothers wasn't exactly an ideal set up for Eddie to lose it.

So Gareth set himself up as a sort of barrier, blocking Eddie's view from the living room (and hopefully, vice versa, before making eyes at his friends to do the same.

Thankfully Jeff at least, caught on.

Communication was given through pointed looks and nudging elbows, but quickly enough, Hellfire managed to make a decently solid barrier between the kids (and Jonathan, who was doing an amazing job of chewing out said children) leaving Steve and Gareth as the sole onlookers.

“Alright, someone start talking.” Miss Byers loudly commanded, as she finally unearthed Eddie’s wounds.

To Eddie, she offered a well-used bottle of Tylenol, muttering quiet apologies before she began cleaning his very gross looking wound.

“Hey--” Gareth himself muttered, half praying he’d magically think of an excuse for Steve to fuck off, only to realize Hellfire’s jock had actually moved into the kitchen.

A line of mismatched mugs and cups was taking form on the counter, and it took a minute of carefully looking anywhere but at Eddie as Miss Byers worked to figure out Steve was making hot chocolate.

Figured that was probably smart, given Grant looked so tense Gareth expected his head to explode at any second.

(The loud arguing from the kids as they tried to explain didn't help any.)

A thought that Jonathan also seemed to have, given he put on a voice that sounded far to fatherly for Gareth's comfort and bellowed;

“Alright, enough!”

--which at least got him the silence he wanted.

“One at a time!” Jonathan parented from the living room. “Will, you start. Dustin you’re up next, then Mike, then El.”

He put his hands on his hips and Gareth nearly laughed aloud, because apparently the children weren't the only ones picking up Steve's mannerisms.

“Start from when you decided to sneak out without telling anybody but Steve.”

“If it makes you feel better we didn't actually tell Steve.” Dustin chirped.

Jonathan stared at him, and judging from his face alone Gareth expected utter hell to erupt from his mouth.

Instead they got a sort of quiet: “That does actually make me feel a bit better, thanks.”

Steve scoffed from the kitchen in response, which thankfully covered Eddie’s pained hiss from where Miss Byers was patting hydrogen peroxide into his bite mark.

Unfortunately for Jonathan, the kids came up with their own order and as always, let Dustin and Mike be their talking pieces.

“Like we told everyone else, it started because Will and El sensed something--” One began, right as red and blue lights splashed across the walls.

The source of the siren--a police truck that, judging bu the loud crunch of tires sliding on gravel and a shriek of breaks--had arrived.

Several of the children (plus Grant) cursed.

“Who called Hopper?!”

“He’s El’s dad idiot, of course someone called him.”

“Come on Max didn’t we talk about calling people names--”

Eddie tensed, as did the majority of the room, as loud, pounding footsteps tore up the front porch.

“I called him.” Miss Byers said as she rose from her crouch, apparently done re-bandaging Eddie.

She weaved her way through the room and was nearly taken out by her own front door when it was flung open to reveal the man himself, who looked like he’d spent the night fist-fighting his way through a bar, in the dark.

“El?!” He bellowed, eyes frantically scanning the room before landing on her.

The relief was so immediate it seemed to make him slump for a second.

Or rather, long enough for him to draw in enough air to get out a proper yell. “Someone better start explaining, right now. Starting with you Michael Wheeler!”

It was only then, as the man himself stepped into the light, that Gareth finally figured out why he looked sort of--off.

Unreal even, like a figure stepping out of a dream and into reality.

Jim Hopper, Chief of Hawkins Police Department, was wearing Scooby Doo pajamas.

The top was a faded orange color, boasting an image of a footstep in the center of a magnifying glass.

The bottoms were green, the head of the famed Great Dane patterned all over.

Combined?

It was Gareth's last straw.

‘You cannot be having a panic attack over the Chief’s pajamas.’ A far away part of Gareth thought hysterically, as his vision kaleidoscoped.

God, was he so fucking lame.

#adopt a jock #pre steddie #steddie #gareth emerson #steven harrington #eddie munson #the hellfire club #the party #and #a manticore #0o0 fanfics #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #hellfire adopts steve #RIP to hellfire you had a good run not knowing about any of this lol #tw small injury mention #tw panic attack mention there at the end #cause Gareth just kinda paused his while fighting for his life lol

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