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sarahjswift · 7 months

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Emails I Can't Send-Rowaelin Fanfic

This is actually one of my favorite things I've ever written. It's based off of the song emails i can't send by Sabrina Carpenter. That whole album is so underrated - go listen to it! If you want, listen to the song while reading. The song is so so heartbreaking and I just had to write about it. :)

(I know I haven't posted in a while, so I thought this would be perfect because I love it so much. I wrote it back in August <33)

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Language, some suggestive language

Tag List: @backtobl4ck, @aelinchocolatelover, @renxzs, @blue-bird17, @luell1q

The song had come from everything and nothing at the same time. She’d written it on a crumpled piece of paper, droplets of her tears weakening the page, at three in the morning. All of her hurt and pain and fear from that night put into a couple scrawling paragraphs.

Now, standing backstage in the wings, Aelin took a deep breath. The crew buzzed around her, Lysandra last-minute checking her makeup, hair and outfit before she went onstage. “Are you going to be okay?” her friend asked, emerald eyes filled with concern. “I know it’s an emotional song for you to sing live, and…you know, Rowan’s out there…”

Aelin winced as the sound of her ex-boyfriend’s name sliced through her heart. It was a pain she was used but not invulnerable to. “I’ll be fine,” she said, more to herself than anything. Nevermind Rowan was seated somewhere in the audience with the rest of his band, and soon he’d be about to hear a breakup song about him…no, never mind that.

Rowan was trying very hard not to think about what was coming next, about how the woman he loved with everything he had was about to be feet away from him. He’d never heard the song she was singing, very purposefully - whenever it came on the radio, which was every day, he’d cranked down the volume quickly.

Rowan took a gulp of champagne and tried to think of other things. He and his band, The Cadre, had given a decent performance, performing their song K. It was a crowd-pleaser, one of their first hits about Gavriel’s wife, Krystal. He sat at the table with the band - his brothers, really - their partners, and Maeve, the band manager.

Over the speakers, the host boomed; “Please put your hands together for Aelin Galathynius!”

Aelin took a deep breath and stepped out onto the stage, immediately hit with the white-hot spotlight. She stood in front of the standing microphone and smiled as the audience cheered.

“Thank you,” she said, her own voice echoing back at her through the earpiece. “And thanks to all the fans who got me here, performing at the Grammys. This is my new single, emails I can’t send.”

She tuned out the clapping and focused on the instrumentals leaking into her left ear. Nodding to Aedion, her cousin on piano, she took a deep breath.

“It’s times like these, wish I had a time machine so I could see what you did October 13th,” she sang. “At 10:15, were you really asleep or were you lying to me and the family?”

Rowan’s stomach emptied out. October 13th, the night of Aelin’s album release party and one of their biggest fights. The night he’d lied, saying he was with Lorcan when he’d been over at Lyria’s, comforting her while she cried. Comforting Lyria over the record label rejection, when he should’ve been with Aelin, celebrating with her.

He gazed up at Aelin, who looked heartbreakingly beautiful in a simple white crop top with princess sleeves and low-rise jeans, that showed off her muscled body in a stupidly perfect way. He couldn’t help but think of how he would peel those clothes off her if he hadn’t been such an idiot…get a grip, man. Creep.

“There’s no us in us when I’m lacking trust,” Aelin continued, and he forced his mind into the present - even worse. Her expression was reserved as her eyes floated over the audience, looking or not looking for one person. “You wanna discuss, ugh, you disgust me…”

The words sliced through him. You disgust me.

Aelin couldn’t tell if she sounded good or not, but she was getting into the mood of the song now. “Don’t make me cuss you out, why’d you let me down? Don’t say sorry now.”

Her voice was rising as she got to the climax of the song, the part she’d truly poured out of the sobs that had wracked her body that night. “And thanks to you I, I can’t love right, I get nice guys and villainize him,” she crooned. “Read their texts like they're having sex right now, scared I’ll find out that it’s true..”

As she sang, she closed her eyes and unlocked the gates she’d built brick by brick over the past five months, the pain and despair from Rowan flowing out her heart and into her voice. “And if I do, then I blame you for every worst that I assume; when I’m 45 someone calls me their wife and he fucks,” at that word, her voice broke in the crooning sort of way that she loves, “our lives in one selfish night.” The lyric, the story, the truth.

Rowan was in heaven because the subject of his every desire was standing in front of him singing with the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard, and he was in hell because she was singing a heartbreaking song about him.

“Don’t think I’ll find forgiveness as fast as mom did,” Aelin said, and that was the moment when her beautiful, beautiful eyes rested on Rowan. Electricity coursed through him as she did, and he held her gaze as if her irises were his last lifeline. The most heartbreaking and despairing expression flickered across her exquisite face and it was all Rowan could do not to leap out of his chair and hold her as she pointed an accusing finger at him and cried; “And God, I love you, but you’re such a dipshit.”

“Please fucking fix this,” Aelin neared-whispered as the song crested, the instrumentals fading and becoming sadder, more mellow. She blinked away the tears blurring her vision, Rowan’s piercing green eyes sending sparks through her body, “‘Cause you were all I looked up to.” and Lyria placed a possessive hand on her boyfriend’s arm, placing a kiss to his muscled shoulder, “And now I can’t even look at you,” and Aelin looked away and lowered her arm as the roaring of the audience overwhelmed the room.

#rowaelin fanfiction #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #aelin and rowan #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #angst #the angst monster tag #sabrina carpenter #emails i can't send #song fic #sarah j maas #rowaelin fanfic

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little-pondhead · 4 months

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Danny moved to Gotham.

Freakshow is touring in Gotham.

Freakshow knows Danny is in Gotham.

Danny knows Freakshow is still after him.

Danny's faith in heroes has been shattered.

Danny turns to the only person powerful enough to run Freakshow out of town, hopefully for good.

Danny turns to the Joker for help.

The Joker is looking for a new punching bag sidekick after Harley Quinn left him.

Danny is just the perfect person to be shaped by the Joker's hands.

Danny becomes the new Joker Junior.

#pondhead blurbs #dpxdc #how we feeling about this fellas #i think it's an ideal angst fic #but i don't wanna write it lol #the younger danny is the worse it gets #someone said that danny shouldn't be afraid of the joker because he's a clown and freakshow is a ringmaster. not a clown #if i find that post i'll tag the creator cause i can't remember rn #but i'm imagining danny who is heavily traumatized and scared and lonely #finding out that one of his worst enemies he hoped to never see again is hunting him and is so close danny has to check his eyes every day #just to make sure they haven't turned red #his anxiety is out of control and he's not about to go find a Bat or Bird to talk to #who would believe him anyways? he's a monster #but danny needs help cause he will not survive this on his own and he knows it #freakshow haunts his every waking dream #but freakshow isn't from gotham. he doesn't have the city's curses engraved into his blood. he never died and he's not truly teasing death #so danny chooses to plead for help from the only predator bigger than freakshow (in his eyes) who IS from gotham #danny goes to the Joker. prepared to offer everything but his free will and free mind. he can't give those up. it's all he has.#danny is a feral house cat asking a tiger to take care of a mountain lion for him by offering the tiger his own liver on a silver platter #joker is...delighted? maybe? no one is quite sure. but he takes what danny offers.#here is this little boy. almost the same age as the second robin when he died. pleading for the JOKER to be his savior. this will be fun

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carolannie · 5 months

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This took more time than expected.

#venn diagram #monster fucker #fantasy #d&d #angst #fic writing #bard players #villain #ao3 writer #masochist sub #i dont even know #i can't tag anymore #I hope you all got the idea #random #meme

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illegiblehandwriting1 · 7 months

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@sapphicseasapphire i thought a little too hard about us being the demons that follow sky around so i made a quick shitty lil sketch

he is not fucking having it today

(the simultaneous pen click tho, that's so ominous-)

@gemglyph @skyloftian-nutcase y'all get obligatory tags cuz Angstforce :P

#lu sky #linked universe #smoke & ashes #chicken scratch #angst #i feel so bad for him #also yea no one else can see us #we're just in the shadows and the corners of his vision #we're the monsters under his bed and in the closet #no one will ever believe him :)#he's having A Day #tag ur friends tag ur enemies just get all the sky angst writers to see this #this poor guy #he needs a break #will he get one? absolutely the fuck not

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 7 months

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season of the witch - j. miller

a/n: first joel fic! got super into this one, and it's super long. uhhhh hope you enjoy and happy october! also want to give a huge shoutout to @luveline for her au writing and her luna lovegood!reader which was a huge inspiration to this fic. love you jade!! warnings: spooky themes, kissing, mentions of yearning, don't think too deeply about the dialogue sometimes i kind of hate this ok, ellie and reader being best friends, dana struggling, like kind of horror stuff, some angst, burns, mentions of murder word count: 5.1k summary: you've lived in the small town of everbrook for a while now, and you thought nothing could shock you anymore. you're wrong. paring: monsterhunter!joel x witch!reader now playing: season of the witch - donavan "you've got to pick up every stich/oh no, must be the season of the witch"

Ever since you moved to Everbrook, you could tell everyone around you thought of you as odd. You were twenty-two, what were you doing living in a small old cabin outside of town? Didn’t you want to go to parties, do drugs, whatever it was that kids did these days?

Maybe that’s why you loved Everbrook, it felt like time had stood still even now, years after you had visited as a small child. There was something charming about it, as if you had stepped into a fairytale. Only fairytales had less gossip than Everbrook did.

You had frequented Everbrook every Halloween as a kid. Your grandmother had lived in your cabin once, and much like you, she had a house and a mind full of secrets and spells. Your grandfather died before you were born, and that was when your grandmother hauled all her things to buy this cozy nook of Everbrook.

And every Halloween, she would whisk you and your siblings away to celebrate. The town loved Halloween and was known for its fairs and parades. And it’s dark corners.

To tourists, just like you were as a kid, whispers of vampires, ghosts and witches were just silly ways to get them to buy merchandise.

But your grandmother swore by these stories, telling you to be careful of how you spoke ill of the supernatural. And it was only on your fourteenth birthday did you truly find out why.

You could never describe it, why your grandmother showed up on the dark and stormy night that was the eve of your birthday. It was like she knew something was going on, something bigger than just turning fourteen.

When you woke up the next morning, you couldn’t control anything. Things flew off your shelves before you could fully grab them, candles lit with nothing but a gentle blow of wind from your mouth, and when you went to school that day, an infamous bully had decided to pick on you the wrong day. You just glared at her, telling her to “eat frogs.”

As the first frog hopped out of her mouth, you stood horrified. Then the next one came. And the next one.

You didn’t stop running until you got home, where your grandmother sat, swirling her spoon in her cup of tea. Her hand didn’t touch the spoon. She told you that day of the truth. That every other generation, a child is chosen to become a witch in your family. Your father missed it. And she told you the story of your grandfather, a monster hunter sent to kill her. But something had happened on that mission, something no one could explain. They had fallen in love.

And for years, your grandfather was able to tell the entire hunting community that she was off limits. When he died, he told her to move to Everbrook.

“Why Everbrook?” You had asked, and she looked at you, with this mischievous smile.

“Surely you understand, my dear.” When you said nothing, she chuckled. “There’s magic there. Magic that keeps hunters from going anywhere near the place. That’s why there are so many monsters there today. Witches, like me and you, we’re harder to find. But vampires, ghosts, demons. They’re all real. And a lot of them live on sacred land like Everbrook.” She explained. “That’s why we must go, and I must teach you how to control your gifts—”

You stood up, seemingly horrified by this idea. You weren’t some kind of freak; you were totally normal. You had no reason to go with her.

“I’m not going with you! I’m nothing like you!” You stormed off to your room, inclining her to drop the topic for now.

Time and time again, your grandmother would encourage you to let her teach you. Instead, you sheltered yourself away from the world, focusing on maintaining the abilities you had. They terrified you. You were just a kid, how could you be a scary witch, something that was made up to scare small children into behaving?

So, you never went to your grandma’s house again. And you didn’t celebrate Halloween, and for a long time, you pretended. Pretended you were normal, when you went to college, in your relationships.

But the past eventually caught up with you when your grandmother passed away. She had left you her house in Everbrook, as well as a small sum of money. She had written you a letter, begging you to move there, to read her old books and to embrace who you were.

It took you almost a year, but you did.

That was a long time ago, and yet, it was also yesterday.

You lived a peaceful life in Everbrook. You learned how to at least properly manage your magic, not yet totally mastering it. You planted a garden and made sure your vegetables and herbs were always taken care of.

You made friends with various groups of monsters, your favorite being a ghost that haunted your favorite coffee shop in town. You live a good life, one devoid of people chasing you and trying to kill you for what you could do. You were simple the village crazy person, always on the outskirts of town in your own little world.

Sure, Everbrook was a small, quaint town. A little too small at times, but you loved your small crazy time. Nothing went exceptionally wrong here.

That is, until you meet a monster hunter named Joel.

• • •

Okay, you don’t know he’s a monster hunter when you meet him. He doesn’t know you’re a witch, so what did it matter?

He had moved to Everbrook with a kid, Ellie. You wondered why. Why a man in his late forties, early fifties, would adopt a teenager, and why they would move to this strange little town, away from everything.

You meet him in the bookstore. You, in between tending to your garden and learning spells, are determined to learn how to bake. You’re a good cook, but baking doesn’t come nearly as easily to you.

He’s shopping for comic books when you see him. You note everything about him, letting your head tilt to the side as you examine him. He wears this green and black flannel, appropriate for this time of year. His jeans are this dark blue, and his boots have leaves sticking to the bottom of them. The roots of his hair, and small pieces of his beard, are gray.

You bite your tongue.

You’re suddenly seventeen years old, with your first real crush on a guy. He was your older brother’s best friend. You suppose you’ve always had a thing for older guys, then. It was just a habit you’ve picked up on. Not that you weren’t of an appropriate age, but there was still a gap.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you it was rude to stare?” He asks, not looking up from the comic he’s inspecting. Your head turns, trying to tell if he’s talking to you or someone else. Besides the bored employee at the front counter, you’re the only two people in the store.

“How’d you know I was staring?” He chuckles, looking up to you for the first time, and he’s struck by your appearance. You’re wearing these dangly crystal earrings, with lavender flowers sticking out of your belt. You wear boots too, although they’re much less dirty than his, and sticking out of them are bunched up woolly socks. You’re holding a basket, with a loaf of bread inside, as well as a jar of jam and some chocolates. Your shirt is this deep purple, and the sleeves become nice and flowy after your elbows.

“Just had this feelin’, darling.” Your cheeks flush at the nickname.

“This feeling?” You mutter to yourself, not really asking for clarification. You take a few steps forward, flipping through the comic books. You don’t look at him. “Looking for anything specific?”

“Comics for my... for a friend. Turnin’ fourteen, figured I should get her something.” He tells you. You cringe at the age, remembering your horrible fourteenth birthday.

“You have a friend that’s a fourteen-year-old girl?” You question, a light teasing tone to your voice. He gives you this look, one of sarcasm and disbelief, without a touch of annoyance or anger.

“Will you just give me a suggestion, or are you going to keep asking questions?” He asks.

“Touche.” You say, before pulling out a cool sci-fi one that had been recommended to you. “Here, get her this one.” You hand it to him, and he examines it for a few minutes, seemingly trying to get a grip on what it is and what the plot was. But, he figures his friend will enjoy it, so he glances back at you and smiles.

“Thank you,” He pauses, asking you for your name without asking for it. You tell him, and he still has this small smile on his face. “I’m Joel. Joel Miller. Am I gonna be seein’ you around?” He asks. You shrug.

“I live on the outskirts of town, in this little cottage. I only come into town every so often.”

“The old brick one with the overgrown garden?” You frown. “I live in that area, in the cabin with the blue mailbox.”

“My garden is not overgrown, Mr. Miller, it’s just full!” You defend. But it perplexes you, no one except introverts and people who want to stay hidden live in that area. You wonder what Joel Miller could possibly be hiding but convince yourself for the moment that Joel Miller is just an introvert. After all, that’s what you tell people when they ask about you. He chuckles, shaking his head.

“Then I’ll see you around, Darlin’.” He hums, and nods to you, “Thanks for the help.” Then he goes to the counter to pay for the gift, and then he’s gone. You must have this perplexed look on your face, because the woman at the counter, Angela, just smirks as she rings you up.

“He’s handsome, huh?”

“What?”

“The guy you were talking to.”

“Well, I can’t say he’s not handsome.” Your face flushes. She laughs, although not maliciously. \

“Even fairies who live on the outskirts of town like you deserve love.”

“’m not a fairy...” You mumble as you make your way out of the shop, head turning down the sidewalks to see if you can spot Joel. When you can’t, you begin your long walk home, disappointment stabbing at you the whole time.

• • •

The next time you see Joel, you go to his house.

You don’t go to see Joel, but you made these homemade chocolate chip cookies, and they turned out a lot better than you expected. You want to share your creation with someone, so you head to the cabin with the blue mailbox in hopes of finding the young girl he lives with and giving her them as a birthday present.

You decide, on the off chance that you do see Joel, to wear this cute dark green jumper, with a black layered skirt, as well as your standard black boots. You put your hair up with a bandana and head over to your destination. It’s colder than it was the other day when you met him, but it’s nice.

In your basket, you keep the cookies, as well as a bundle of flowers from your garden. You knock on the door, and a young girl answers, her hair pulled back. She wears ripped jeans, an Adventure Time tee shirt and a long-sleeved black shirt under it.

“Uh... Can I help you?” She asks.

“Hi! Does Joel live here?” You’re sure he does, but you want to make sure just in case. The girl gets this smirk on her face, and you feel your ears go red.

“You’re the one from the bookstore.”

“…He told you about me?”

“Won’t shut up about you. I’m Ellie.” She smiles, and opens the door further, inviting you to come in. “He’s upstairs, I can grab him for you—”

“Uh, I’m actually here to see you.” She stops and looks at you. “He told me it was your birthday, and I decided to give you these.” You pull out the cookies and the flowers and hand them to her. She gasps at the sight of the cookies, delicately putting the flowers down before grabbing a cookie. She hums, looking to you.

“These are amazing! I haven’t had good cookies in so long, Joel isn’t much of a baker,”

“Neither am I, honestly. I’m still learning, but I figured it was your birthday and you deserve some.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” She hums, finishing her cookie.

From the top of the stairs, you hear a familiar voice yell out, “Ellie, who was at the door?”

“Come down here and find out, old man!” You laugh, but quickly stop laughing when he comes down the stairs. His hair is wet from the shower. You want to scream at how good he looks. He just stares at you, and neither of you says anything until you decide to go first.

“Uhm, I brought cookies.” You say, “I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

“No, no, you didn’t intrude... I just, wasn’t expecting you is all.” He says honestly. You begin to look around a bit at your surroundings and realize that Joel and Ellie have been living the bachelor life, and there aren’t many boxes. You wonder if they had any boxes to begin with, since it seems they’re close but there’s something off about the whole dynamic. You can’t put your finger on it, but you see that Ellie clearly isn’t here against her will.

But who are you to judge? You live a witch’s life, and that isn’t something you share on a first date.

“Well, help yourself to a cookie,”

“Hey! You said these were my birthday cookies!”

“Ellie!” Joel scolds, looking back at you. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Sure, that would be nice.” You smile, and he gets you one. “Would you like to go outside to talk?” You ask softly, and he just smiles and nods, grabbing a cookie before going out with you and your coffee. You lean against the porch railing, sipping your coffee. You wait for him to begin the conversation, suddenly quite nervous.

“So…How long have you lived in Everbrook?”

“A while. Are you gonna be here for a while?” You ask.

“I think so. I like it here, nice, and quiet.”

“Yeah, it’s nice.” You hum. “How’d you wind up with Ellie?”

“I uhm… I adopted her. Knew her folks.”

“Oh, I’m sorry...”

“’s alright...” He smiles gently and sips his coffee. “She liked that comic book you recommended, so thanks...”

“No problem. She’s a nice kid.” You smile.

“So, what’s your deal, Darlin’?”

“My deal?”

“You’re always dressed in these crazy outfits, and you have this dazed look about you. Like a little bunny.” Your face flushes, and you laugh.

“I just like living the simple life. So, what if I dress a little eccentrically? You dress like a lumberjack all the time, am I gonna see you chopping trees?” You tease, smiling gently. He laughs and it makes you all warm inside. Maybe he really likes you.

“No, no chopping trees for me.” he said gently, leaning against the banister.

“Well, what do you do for work?” He pauses and stares out into the forest ahead of him.

“I used to be a hunter.”

A chill runs down your spine, and you begin to think. It would make sense, his sudden showing up in Everbrook, his interest in you. But how does that connect back to Ellie? Why would he adopt a teenager in his line of work?

Why hasn’t he killed you, then?

“Yeah. My grandfather was a hunter. Until he met my grandmother, then he couldn’t do it anymore.”

Joel stays silent, sipping his coffee.

• • •

About a week goes by, and Joel shows up at your door. The top part of your door is swung open and you’re cooking dinner when he walks up the path through your garden. He calls your name into the open door, and you quickly appear. You grin at him, and then you notice the bouquet of wildflowers he holds in his hands.

“These are for you.” he says softly, and you take them, a large grin on your face.

“Thank you. They’re gorgeous.” You tell him.

“Pretty girl like you deserves pretty flowers.” He says, and your cheeks flush.

“Please, come in.” You tell him, opening the bottom of the Dutch door. He steps inside, and notices how warm it is. Not temperature wise, but there’s this feeling to it. Warm yellow lights, plants everywhere, the smell of dinner cooking on the stove. Somewhere from deeper in the house, music plays.

“What’re you cookin’?”

“Oh, I’m making chicken parm…Do you want to stay for dinner?” You’ve never asked anyone to stay for dinner, it’s a bizarre feeling.

“I’d like that.”

“Alright, good. Then set the table, and then we can eat.” You tell him. He hums and goes to do as he is told. Eventually, you manage to plate and serve dinner, sitting across from him. You watch him for his reaction to the food, and after a few bites he just hums lowly, and looks at you, pointing to the dish with his fork, not saying anything. You grin. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Thank you for having me for dinner. I came over to apologize, really.”

“Apologize?”

“I didn’t mean to tell you I was a hunter. I know how off putting that could be for someone, to hear I hunted animals.”

You can’t confirm your suspicions that he was hunting more than just animals. So you let it go, in favor for him not pushing you and finding out that you were a witch.

“It’s alright, Joel. Everyone has to make a living somehow, right?” You hum. He smiles and nods. “So, where’s Ellie tonight?”

“Eh, I wanted to give her some time to herself.”

“Good man.” You smile, continuing to eat your food.

“Where’d you happen to come upon this little cottage?” He asks you, tilting his head.

“I inherited it from my grandmother.” You told him, a soft smile on your face, as there always was when you thought of her. “She was a good woman. She passed away when I was twenty-one.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He tells you, and you can tell by this look in his eyes that there’s something more to his sentiment. That this is a man who has known grief well and is haunted by it. You wonder if he toured the country killing people like you before or after he became good friends with grief.

“It’s okay. I got to move here and live a good life.” You confess, and this makes him smile again. Then, you can’t help but ask. “Why’d you move to Everbrook, Joel?” He tenses at your questions. You can tell he’s contemplating what to tell you. You know whatever he tells you will only be a half truth no matter what.

“Ellie got into some trouble where I used to live. Figured a place like this would be good for her. Safe.” You can tell it’s not a lie, but you aren’t satisfied with it. That’s when you realize you have to know. You do know that all hunters have the same tattoo, right above their inner elbow on their biceps. It’s always a bow and arrow, with the hunter’s initials incorporated into the arrow. You also know the tattoo is protected by some sort of seal that burns most creatures to the touch. You have to know. So, with a wave of your hand, subtly, the glass of wine Joel drinks from spills all over his flannel, and he huffs.

“Oh my god, here,” You start handing him napkins as he attempts to clean up the mess. He glances up at you, and his eyes have this look about them. Like he knows you were the reason it spilt. Then, he starts to unbutton and pull off his flannel before he suddenly remembers that you would see his Hunter’s mark. You realize he knows your plan and stand, going over to him and dabbing his flannel with your napkin.

“C’mon Joel, take the flannel off.” You sigh, and he says nothing. He slowly begins to pull off the flannel, but before you can really look for a tattoo, his hands are on your waist, pulling you between his legs.

He leans up and kisses you before you can see the tattoo. You put your hands on his cheeks and kiss back, bringing yourself closer to him. He hums into the kiss, standing up and walking, so that you’re up against your counter tops.

His hands are roaming your sides, and you groan softly into the kiss. The desperation you’ve had since you met him, it all comes to a head. Your hands first go to his hair, where they play with his hair, including the grays that threaten to push you over the edge.

Despite your suspicions that he wants to kill you, you want him desperately. You groan as he bites your lip, tugging it a bit, and you just moan. Your hand runs down his arm, because just for a moment, you forget the context of the kiss.

You pull away when your hand starts to burn, letting out a yell.

He looks terrified that you’ve found him out. Tears prick your eyes.

“I knew it..” You whisper softly, turning to run your hand under cold water. Joel’s tattoo glows, as it always did when anything supernatural touched it. “I think you should go.”

“Darlin’, I—”

“Go, Joel! I don’t want you here, just fucking kill me when I’m walking home from the market! Don’t kiss me like you want me when you’re here to kill me!” You snap, tears running down your face. He doesn’t say anything after that. He steps forward and kisses your shoulder gently.

He turns and leaves, and even though you tell him to leave, you turn back hoping to see him.

The worst part is that nothing makes sense anymore. He’s stronger than you. If he wanted to kill you, he could have. And how does Ellie fit into the situation, why would he move to a magical town with a teenage girl?

You’re frustrated, and your hand is burning. You cry some more as you attempt to clean the spilt wine, frustrated that it stains the rug that the table stands on. You were such an idiot, why would you let him kiss you? Why would you kick him out after?

You decide a cup of tea will help clear your mind, but you don’t stop crying all night.

• • •

The full moon looks beautiful tonight. You’ve charged your crystals and have done your monthly rituals to enable a prosperous month ahead. So, at around midnight, you go for a walk through the woods. Even though you know how dangerous it is. The woods, on nights like tonight, are full of werewolves. But most of them live in their own woods across town, so you don’t expect to have any problems.

As you’re walking, you’re thinking about Joel. You can’t help it, your kiss has you yearning for more, and you’re just desperate for him. You’re too deep in your thoughts to hear footsteps behind you, until someone grabs your arm and you’re pulled behind a tree.

And when you see Joel, you’re even more mad at him.

“What’re you doin’ here?!” He whisper-yells, and you glare.

“What are you doing here?! I’m allowed to go for walks whenever I want, you aren’t the boss of me!”

“Always so damn in your own mind, could you consider for a moment that I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay?!”

“You’re here to kill me!”

“I’m here to make sure Ellie doesn’t kill anyone or get herself killed!”

You stop.

“What...?” That’s when you hear it, a howl. It sends a shiver down your spine. And that’s when it all clicks. Joel isn’t hunting you; he isn’t here to kill you. Ellie isn’t a kid he adopted from a friend, she’s someone he’s assigned to protect. He used to hunt, but not anymore. “She’s a werewolf.” You look at him.

“And you’re a witch, are we all caught up now?”

“How’d you know?’

“Before the mark burnt you and you spilled my wine? I just knew. I hunted people for years, but you witches, you always have these cabins in the woods, and you’re always baking, and you always have flowers. It’s like y’all are one big stereotype—” He’s cut off by your lips on his, and his hands are on your hips again, pushing you against a nearby tree. You hum before he pulls away, starting to kiss down your neck.

“Joel...” You say softly, your hands in his hair.

“I’ve got you, sweet thing...” He mutters, biting down on your neck, leaving a mark.

Ellie howls again, closer now. It snaps you both out of your trance and you look to each other. He grabs your hand, and you make your way through the woods, back to your cabin. He’ll make sure you get home safe, and then he’ll continue to look after Ellie. But he hears it before you—Panting, pattering steps behind you.

“Run!” He tells you and you both take off. Twigs scrape the bottoms of your legs and your arms as you run, never letting go of Joel’s hand. Your skirt catches on one of these branches and you topple over, letting go of Joel’s hand. Before he can reach you, Ellie is on top of you—She’s smaller than other werewolves you’ve encountered but the weight of her fur is too much. She has you caged in, and she has this snarl on her face.

Then, the strangest thing happens. She starts to sniff your skin, as if trying to figure out who you are.

“It’s me, Ellie. It’s just me, ‘m not gonna hurt you, honey.” You tell her. And it’s as if a lightbulb switches inside of her head, and suddenly she’s licking your face, happy you’re here. You groan at the slober, and gently push her head away from you.

She backs off, letting you get up. You kneel back down to scratch her head.

“Why were we running if we knew she wouldn’t kill me?” You ask.

“Didn’t know that. She doesn’t attack me, but she’s attacked others.” He tells you. You hum, picking up a stick and waving it in front of her face, before throwing it as far as you can. She runs off to get the stick. It makes you laugh.

You stand fully now, glancing back to Joel.

“So…”

“I gotta finish looking after her. She’s my mission now.” You nod, stepping closer to him.

“Well..” You start, your hands on his shoulders. “You could at least kiss me again.” He grins and leans down, kissing you softly before pulling away.

“Like that?”

“Hmm, I was thinking something with a little more passion...” You shrug. “It was okay, I guess.” You tease, and he smiles, then brings you in for a longer, deeper kiss.

You spend all night with Joel, looking after Ellie and kissing until dawn. When the morning comes, you go out in search of Ellie on your own, a blanket and some pajamas in hand. Joel’s searching the other way. You find her, cold and alone, huddled up by herself. You frown.

You crouch beside her and wrap the blanket around her, frowning softly.

“Sorry I licked you.” She says softly. You recognize the tone of her voice. Her shame in who she is. You empathize with it, remembering how horrible it was to be fourteen. You smile and hand her the clothes.

“Don’t worry about it.” You turn so she can get dressed, but the blanket remains wrapped around her shoulders. You realize she doesn’t have shoes on. You frown and pull off your boots, kneeling in front of her. You gently put your socks on her feet, and then your boots. You lace them up, and make sure they’re nice and tight. “There. Nice and warm.”

You glance back up to her, and you see tears running down her face. You frown and bring a hand to cup her cheek. She doesn’t have to say anything, you know she feels ashamed and embarrassed of her newfound abilities.

“Oh, honey… You don’t have to apologize. I was bitter and angry when I became a witch, and it destroyed me. You come from a very long line of werewolves, and—”

“I’m the first one. I got bit six months ago.” You frown. That’s why this wasn’t Joel’s first time watching over her on a full moon. And you’ve heard of werewolves biting kids before they’re fourteen and starting a new line of the creature.

“Then I’ll teach you. How to live this life, how to be happy in your own skin. It won’t be easier, but embracing who you are is so much easier than ignoring it. I’ll be here every step of the way, and so will Joel. We’re not gonna leave you to deal with this on your own.” You tell her, and when you stand up finally, she hugs you tightly. You smile to yourself and hug back.

“You two okay?” Joel asks when he finally finds you two. Ellie wipes her tears and smiles at him.

“Yeah, let’s go home. I’m sick of these woods, and I want breakfast!” she declares. You laugh, rubbing her back and beginning your walk to their cabin.

This is it, you decide. This man and this girl, they’re it for you. They are your happy ending, your family. Sure, it’s not the most conventional family, what, with a werewolf, a witch, and a monster hunter. But it’s yours, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t thrilled to have them.

You have spent so many years longing for someone to see who you are and love you despite your freakish abilities. But all along, you were meant to be around freaks who are just like you. You are designed to be each other’s family, and you were always destined for the fate of your grandmother—To fall in love with a monster hunter and live a quiet life in Everbrook as you perfect your spells.

Joel looks back at you for a moment with this perplexed look on his face.

“Darlin’, where the hell are your shoes?”

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller au #ellie williams #ellie williams x platonic reader #ellie williams werewolf au #joel miller monster hunter au #halloween fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #i hate this #i hate doing tags #not proofread

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emry-stars-art · 10 months

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Hi again!

As fun fact in osteopathy there is actually a method to treat psychical trauma. It's part of craniosacral therapy and basically looks like some voodoo shit (i tried it on my two friends and it works 🤯) .

To do it u need at least 3 people, one holding patient's head, one holding their legs and one holding their hand in the areas like heart, liver and brain. People holding their head and legs must move them accordingly to patient movements ( which way is easier) and person holding hands above the organs need to check in which directions there are restrictions and work on them.

During this therapy people fall into a state similar to meditation or REM faze of sleep (they still can hear every louder noise so it's important to be really quiet). Our job is to observe what their reactions are. One of my friends started putting his hands into his jeans pockets every few minutes, it can be really anything that their memories bring back at that moment.

They can just move in a specific way but also they can start screaming, crying, suddenly sit up or roll on their side and if it's connected to any accident they can feel it like it is happening again at the moment ( my other friend told me that when she was the patient she felt like she was about to cry, started shaking and couldn't speak for a few minutes). It also may bring back memories that are bad but we erased them from memory as a defensive mechanism.

One of my instructors even said that he calls this method "casting out the devil" because of its effects 😅.

Personally I think it's very interesting and I didn't even know that something like this existed until two years ago. Also there are a lot of videos on youtube of people talking about how this helped them with their problems.

*quietly* wtf wtf wtf wtf wtf wtf wtf wtf

Okay so I’ve been looking at this for like two days trying to figure out what I could possibly say or add to this but I haven’t found anything, everything you need to know is here! Like!! What!!! This sounds so insane, I’ve never even heard of anything like it :o but that is fascinating I’m still reeling

Voodoo shit indeed, just thinking about an average person’s reaction to this back in whatever time the au is set in… yeah that some witchcraft right there for sure 😂 I’d have to do a lot more research but just the thought of there being someone that specializes in this stuff. Feels like when police depts would bring in psychics to help them “solve” a case or something except it actually works lol. Somebody comes in to the castle and all the medics or professionals are like “who are you” and then this happens?? My brain would have exploded

This is so rife with angst potential… I don’t even have to point it out. You’re reading this, you know exactly what I’m talking about. But the one thing I got stuck on for slightly longer even than anything else was the recovery of repressed memories. Maybe it’d help in the long run but at the moment? Ow

Thank you for another great ask, it hurts my heart to think about Kevin, Andrew, and Wymack watching this, hurts even more to think about Abram allowing them to do it 🥲 well I’m intrigued and I’m gonna go look some stuff up, have a great day everyone

#I might actually be back later today it depends #but I couldn’t keep this in my inbox any longer I needed my fellow angst enjoyers to see it #shipshifting-monster #you are a fascinating individual with a fascinating pool of knowledge #I don’t even have a scene idea for the tags I’m just. WHAT #so insane omg #not art sorry guys #asks #royal au

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fumifooms · 4 months

Text

Thinking about Mithrun angst unfailingly gets me like

#Dungeon meshi #mithrun #has ID #Feel free to review it and rewrite it to be more efficient or pleasant or smth #This face should become a common reaction pic/emote. Source: I would use it a lot #Putting together my Mithrun playlist and torturing myself through the process. Pausing every minute to recompose myself on the verge of #Crying and/or writing out a long emotional rant about him #Him and the winged lion being an abusive relationship allegory. I’m fine.#Feeling abandoned. Feeling empty. Feeling forever changed and for what? There’s no peace to be found like this. No closure. Not here.#Me thinking about Chainsaw Man again. “I love you please humiliate me/ Rob me of my dignity and laugh my honey” sung with that raw intensit #Thinking about Tablet. Thinking about Deep Down.#Thinking about Ghost and pals songs. Pathological Facade and Novocaine.#“Who will I become?”#Anyways fun reaction pic for blorbo angst #I have unspeakable monsters in my drafts. Including perhaps maybe a web weaving #Fumi rambles #(in tags)

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maxladcomics · 11 months

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Gemknight AU (Underfell version) belongs to @fluo-skeletons

Was thinking about the King Papyrus ending

#gemknightau #gemknight #papyrus #underfell #underfell papyrus #undertale au #comic #king papyrus ending #< rare tag #rare overkill comic #Sharp angsts over having to kill #But is comforted by the fact #he was very cool #human #< also rare tag #accidentally made the magic in the last panel #the vague shape of a monster soul.#I'll pretend that was intentional

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factorialsotherfandoms · 4 months

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Hello to you all, and hope your Monday is going well, and your holidays are tolerable if you celebrate! Here's a little gift for people following the XCOM2/QSMP thing. It's messy, it's disjointed, we'll pretend that's a design choice for Forever's mental state. Things in brackets might be dreams, might be memories, might be stray thoughts, all in a jumble. Things out of brackets are in linear time, though each set of brackets denotes a timeskip of between hours and days. All accounted for, this fic follows between two and three weeks.

Tomorrow I'll see if I can bring myself to stop tormenting au!Brazilians enough to go stab my usual chew toy for you call. Also sorry this au!Forever, this doesn't even come close to the worst few weeks of his life, though this is the end result of 10 years of impending breakdown. He just... Memory scenes are either 10 years ago or very recent. There's a reason he won't think of in between. How old is everyone in this au...? Don't think about it and shhh.

The prompt is coma, and Forever is doing extremely mentally poorly this entire fic. In the flashback sections there's also extremely unethical governmental and military shit going on, near death experiences, explosives, etc.

There are no benches in Aypierre's lab, unlike Tubbo's, so Forever paces the floor, and he shakes. The adrenaline still needs burning off, and there's nothing to do but stress. Philza is perched on one of the counters, toast in hand as he gets to work on a report.

Forever doesn't know how Philza can even think about reports at a time like this - Felps could be dead, or could by dying, and until Aypierre and his assistant finish the surgery there's no way of knowing anything at all.

But then Philza never met Felps, either. He's seen the photos in Forever's office, of five Brazilians in botched together military uniform or casual wear, at the training range, at the bowling alley, sometimes just in ones or twos or threes or fours, back when life was great and hope meant something, but he's never met Felps.

Not until today, not until Forever had dragged them all across the world, and then dragged Philza specifically to a lab in the middle of nowhere, and maybe it's unfair when so many of the crew are missing loved ones to force them to put everything down for Felps, but god damn it Forever's in charge here, and it has to count for something.

Even if that something is a man thought dead for ten years, injured and starved and in some sort of stasis, with Federation wires inserted into his brain.

"Calm down," Philza calls, as he throws the crust of his toast at Forever's head. "You're no good to anyone like this."

Forever turns on him, meets his eyes. "I-"

Philza pats the counter beside him. Forever's a long study in losing battles, and some of them just aren't worth the principle; he hoists himself up, accepts the toast and the water bottle, and pretends breathing is something he does for himself.

"I know everything's a bit shit right now, and I can't promise it won't stay shit - can't even promise it won't get worse - but we're in this together. Pierre will get that shit out his head, and Toby'll work out what it was for, and then we'll go kick some Federation teeth in knowing exactly what we're doing it for. Sound good?"

If that's Philza's idea of a pep talk, Forever has no idea how the man commands the loyalty he does. Still, it makes him laugh, anxiety running off him with the slight pitch of hysteria in his tone.

"I don't think I'm cut out for kicking teeth in," Forever says, once he gathers himself. "Not then, not now, you know?"

"Luckily for you, I'm a dumbass, and it's what I'm best at," and, no, if you asked Forever that's far from Philza's greatest skill, even if it is certainly one of them.

Perhaps his greatest skill comes after those words, when Forever can make no reply, cannot keep up the banter. Philza pauses. He reassesses. He puts down his paperwork, and shifts to the side.

"Forever?" he asks, much gentler now. "Do you want a hug?"

Forever doesn't bother answering the question; he collapses against a waiting chest, is wrapped tight in waiting arms, and continues sitting, continues waiting for news.

There's no platitudes, no sympathies, no promises that can't be kept. There's just Forever, and Philza, a science laboratory, and the hope that, after so long, there's still enough left of Felps that he can be saved.

(There had been coordinates, hidden in a supply cache, with a note asking if he remembers that night in Rio. The handwriting was familiar - too familiar - and it was the next in a series lasting years. Every one has led to information, to allies, or to desperately needed resources - Forever has come to trust them, the little notes from an informant he never recruited or met but suspects that he knows.)

(So he'd asked Bad for a distraction, and taken just Philza with him, and slipped into the research centre.)

(Now they know what was there - Felps, in a stasis tube, a chip in his brain killing him slowly and with a function to kill him fast, alone and unconscious and bearing half-healed wounds - maybe he would have killed the scientist, not sedated her.)

The surgery doesn't kill Felps, though not doing so might have done. As soon as the implant is cleaned up and handed over to Tubbo, their chief engineer recognises a remote detonator on it. How it hadn't been used yet - perhaps it is just a defective one - Forever has no idea, but that's not really his concern.

Hours pass. The sedatives should have worn off, but Felps does not wake. Aypierre hesitates in a way the man rarely does, before reminding Forever he's a neuroscientist - occasionally a more general biologist - not a doctor.

But they don't /have/ a doctor, and Aypierre is the closest they have, so Forever clings to his words.

They don't have a medical facility either, just Aypierre's autopsy lab scrubbed down and seared with UV. Usually the recovering take one of the bunks in the common room, and everyone just works around them.

For this though...

Forever has a bed, in his office, an old thing with taunt canvas pulled over a metal frame. There's more space up there, and more privacy, and Forever has the excuse to stay close if Felps is sleeping where he works.

So they carry him over there, and Aypierre brings what medical equipment they have, and the back wall of Forever's office becomes a miniature ICU.

(The first time Forever met Felps, it was at an underground military base in the Serra da Mantiqueira. He was supposed to be a young and bright political aide on the path to a career in government. Instead aliens had decided to invade, and his boss had decided he was better suited to ensuring no misuse of public funds in the new task force set up to deal with it. She was unsure if it was worth it, in the early days, to mix washed out soldiers with career criminals with volunteers and undocumented scientists, and throw them to the aliens just to see if it would slow them down.)

(He was younger, he was stubborn, and he was put out by the assignment - he knows the force was made up of the disposable, the expendable, and people who wouldn't be missed, and he knew what it meant to be assigned there. Still he grit his teeth and smiled and went along with it, and in turn was introduced to a whirlwind of people. He barely remembers most of them these days, and certainly not the introductions. What he does remember is that, at the centre of it all, was Felps.)

(Not in a literal way - that was their commander - but off to one corner, hiding a smirk at the chaos behind a clipboard, was the equally young parole officer. Forever had always known the quiet ones in the corners know all the goings on.)

(So he brought him a coffee, and asked for his name, and the rest of what was said is lost to time.)

Forever spends the night on his couch. Come morning Felps shows no sign of waking, no sign of life but the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of the heart monitor.

He knows what it means, and he hates it - it's not just that Felps is more sensitive to the sedative, and the blood tests show it's not another drug in him system. Not a known drug, at least, but an unknown one they're equally helpless to act on.

And if it's not the sedative, and it's not Federation drugs... It means there's actual damage, it means something in Felps' brain or his mind is damaged, and only when it heals will he wake.

Forever's never cared much for the distinction, and neither did Felps. Cellbit, Pac, Mike - one of them would know, but they're not here to explain it. Aypierre is too technical; Bad once says it's the difference between meat and thoughts. It's something to do with psionics but, again, Forever's field was the purse strings, the PR, the morale, and in recent times has become decision making.

He's not a medic.

They don't /have/ a medic.

Not a real one. Field medics, kinda, people who can stop someone bleeding out long enough to get home, sure, but once they're home?

Aypierre is all they have, and he's the first to admit that dissection and surgery are not quite the same skillset.

He /does/ know brain surgery, however, or at least this specific one - he cut his own, similar implant using mirrors and less than half the tools he has now. He chose death over continuing to serve as the Federation's toy, and it was only Roier noticing that the Feds were hunting /something/ that lead to him being rescued before he was murdered in the sewers of Toulon.

So when Aypierre says the surgery was successful, Forever is inclined to believe him - or at the very least knows there's no better opinion to he had. The surgery was successful, but with the implant dug deep into the very depths of his brain, with the fact even a careful extraction will leave tissue around it damaged, to say nothing of the tissue it replaced... It is hard, then, to know how long the damage will take to heal.

If the damage will heal. Brains are tricky things, unpredictable like that.

No, not if - when - Forever refuses, he refuses to loose anyone again.

(The aliens breached the gate as the fireworks sounded for the new year. Within minutes they were overrun, bodies littering the floor. They fought back - of course they did. Forever hid in the command room, pistol in hand and crouched behind a filing cabinet. Cellbit and Felps were with him at first - Tazercraft were blessedly away at a conference - but quickly lost in the struggle.)

(The aliens came, and then the bombs, and Forever, already injured, ducked under a table to escape the falling rubble.)

(And then, the next he knew, there was blood on his hands and his face as he stumbled from the rubble, skin and clothes torn all over. Nobody came to help them, nobody came to save them, their little group who held fast in the fact of the threat, made of rejects and failures and those with nothing but each other to loose. There was no rescue operation, no hand or medical attention, just broken fingers clawing their way out of the rubble.)

(Because they were rejects and failures and the dregs of society. Having nothing but each other means that nobody else will save them - and by the time Forever wakes everyone's dead, or they're gone, or they're too far away to help. So, he claws himself from the rubble and saves himself in their names instead.)

(A month later, the government surrenders all power to the aliens - to the Federation. Forever thinks of a base turned home turned unmarked grave, steals a pistol, and leaves.)

Days pass in a blur. He shifts around his office, making sure he can always see Felps where he lies unmoving on Forever's ancient army bed. Every other report he reads he glances up, watching Felps' chest move, watching the heart monitor continue in a steady pattern, watching for the slightest hint of a twitching finger.

It doesn't come. Still, it doesn't come.

He receives Bad's report from the diversion mission - the man himself is injured, shot in the leg and demanding Forever brings him hot chocolate.

He can't, he can't - Forever can't bring himself to do it, to leave Felps alone in a strange place filled with strange people after having been tortured for so long.

It is Roier that brings the report - Forever has him fetch the hot chocolate instead.

Roier brings him a mug, too - it's only weeks later that Forever realises that the request was an attempt to drag him from his room.

(That night he dreams of their old base - their home - and as they celebrated some random victory. Pac and Mike had rigged up an ancient disco set in their laboratory, clearing the work benches to the sides. The two of them danced under sparkling lights - as did Forever, as did Felps - and Cellbit sat on one of those benches with a bottle of something alcoholic and laughed.)

(They were young, they were dangerous, but they were free. The war as going well enough to take a night to themselves, and so they did. There were so many things to worry about, so many stresses even then, but they were together, and together, and as happy as they knew how to be.)

(Two months later, Forever now knows, their worlds would be destroyed.)

Forever barely sleeps, or eats, his days spent between his desk and Felps' side. When he has to he sleeps on the tattered old couch, the slightest jolt of the ship waking him as it never has before.

He gets news from R&D - Tubbo managed to deactivate the self-destruct on the implant, and Aypierre has been working on decoding it. The data is too corrupted to be much use, but seems to have been forcibly connecting Felps into a psionic network. Like a soul-bond, but artificial, using his very brain as a processor to run combat simulations.

Draining his strength, his consciousness, his soul - even if the physical damage is limited, the damage to his psyche itself...

Felps will wake up. He has to.

The-contact-who-Forever-prays-is-Cellbit entrusted Felps to him, and Forever...

Ten years ago they were five, and they were family - Cellbit and Felps and Pac and Mike and Forever. He thought Felps died that day, when the bombs came down. Cellbit he hasn't seen since, either, though he heard rumours as he clawed his way through ruined cities and refused to give in. Pac, Mike - Tazercraft were with him for a while, then one day they went to retrieve some needed parts and just never came home.

A lot of people just never come home, in the end.

It's been four years since them, and there's been other people, but Forever hasn't heard a word from his family in that time.

Now it's just him, and Felps. Felps, returned beyond reason, rescued from beyond help, lying in Forever's own bed and nobody has any idea if he's slowly healing or slowly dying, or maybe even just slowly existing in the only way he has left.

(It was never him and Felps, before - him and Cellbit and Felps, him and Pac and Mike and Felps, but never him and Felps alone. They circled around each other, and they were friends - family - but they were not as close as the rest. Now its just them, them, them, and if Felps dies on them Forever doesn't think there's any salvaging his soul.)

(Felps must hold their souls in his hands - how else could he have sat in the middle of five and just smiled even as they tore down the world?)

It's four days before he breaks, sobbing at Felps' side. Philza finds him there, not too long after, and carries him to the couch.

He falls asleep on Philza's lap, and wakes up on a pillow, with a blanket for the first time in days.

After a moment panic sets in, after another moment he finds Philza sat at his desk, sorting through the requests for aid and reports, his Crow's eyes angled to record the heart monitor and keep him from needing to look up to see it.

"Phil?" he asks, and it's the first word in days.

"Go back to sleep," Philza says. "I've got you, king."

Forever doesn't do as he's told - he sits, and he twists, and he watches Felps breathe for himself.

Aypierre comes to check on Felps, an electrical engineer turned neuroscientist turned makeshift doctor after one too many alien brain dissections left him the closest thing to a surgeon they have. They need one - a real one - but human doctors are one of the groups that the Federation rounded up, disappeared, and left only technology in their place.

You still find a few, of course, but not many. Not very many at all.

The timing might be serendipitous, or it might be hell - as Aypierre is looking after Felps, Forever's pager pings.

So does Philza's - and, fuck, did he steal Philza from a shift?

Either way, there's a message, and it needs an immediate response. Summons are to the command centre, and Forever...

Forever doesn't know how to leave the room.

"Pierre will keep an eye on him," Philza promises, and maybe that's half of the problem.

But Forever doesn't know how to say that, so he lets Philza take his hand and pull him across the hallway.

It's the width of one hallway to the command room, then a set of iron stairs down from the observation balcony to the hub. They ignore the maps and the globe for the computers, Philza leaning on a nearby wall giving his silent support as Forever answers the call.

There's psionic transmitters causing problems under Tijuana, sending out bursts to incapacitate psionically sensitive civilians for moments at a time. Forever isn't sure why, but it sounds like hell - he thinks of Pac and Mike, natural, accidental psionics, heaven knows where, heaven knows if they're alive, dropped to the ground in debilitating pain for some alien's sick amusement.

He thinks of Felps, and the brain implant, and wonder if that's left him sensitive now too.

"Put Fit on it," Philza suggests. "He's demolitions, and as sensitive as a fucking rock."

It's not a lie, but it /is/ funny. For the first time in what feels like years, Forever smiles.

"Can you put together a team?" Forever asks of him. "I don't know if..."

He trails off, Philza looks curious, but nods, "That's... Mexico, right? I'll see if Missa's free."

"Thanks," Forever says, and he means it. "I need to get back..."

"To your paperwork, right?" Philza helps him save face, just like that. "Fucking dumbasses, you'd think by now they'd know you use E45-C not D14-Q for munitions requisitions, and yet!"

"And yet."

Forever hasn't seen that particular mistake, yet, and dreads what he'll find in the reams waiting for him.

It's only later he realises he shouldn't just be the paperwork he's afraid of. Reality crashes back in - Bad, still on crutches and confined to the common room after that hit, and the fact Philza never returned from assembling a team.

Which means Philza went out with them - of course he did, he's useful, and strong, and good at this, but Forever's not even at the comms if something does go wrong!

But Felps is here, and Aypierre left when Forever returned, and he just-

Forever feels his heart rate pick up, and twist, and mangle. He drops to his knees and holds them and tries his best to plan - they need resources, they need a doctor, they need labs and a medical bay and power hubs and... And so much.

If they can get a radio relay set up... If the can do that, maybe they'll have an easier time finding an actual doctor to recruit. Maybe Fit - no, he's out - or Wilbur - no, Fit did his radios for him - know something... Forever makes a note to ask, scrabbles for waste paper, and starts making lists of what they'll need.

He's still making lists when, hours later, a muddy Philza knocks and sticks his head around the door.

"All sorted," he says. "Got the transmitters taken out; I'll get you more paperwork in the morning, but nobody's hurt. Nothing even had time to shoot at us. Clearly weren't expecting us, the idiots."

"Thank you," and finally Forever feels like he can breathe.

"It's what you-" Philza pauses. "Wait, you don't pay me. It's what you feed me for, though; need anything before I go shower?"

"Go, go," Forever shoos him away. "I'll call if I need you."

They both know he won't.

(That night, Forever dreams of a screaming heart monitor, of being pushed aside to make room for compressions and electricity and a last ditch effort to save Felps' life. He dreams they try for so long, but they fail, Felps' body just too weak to carry on.)

He wakes the next morning with a scream, panicking as he looks, as he checks, as he sees.

Felps is alive, still alive, still unresponsive but still alive. He lies unmoving on the bed, but for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Forever grabs his hand and clings to his wrist, not trusting the monitor right now.

No work gets done that isn't already in motion - Forever spends the day clinging to Felps' wrist, measuring his pulse with every step, and begging him to survive.

(Felps warned him about Cellbit, and indirectly about Tazercraft, but Forever couldn't stay away. What makes a man tick, what drives someone to murder, what is the scum of the earth but human at the end of the day?)

(It's an addiction, maybe, to dangerous people. To Cellbit, whose danger is obvious with so many murders to his name and a reputation for making death hurt, to Mike, who creates world-ending weapons in his sleep and picks your pockets while he thinks, to Pac, who seems innocent enough until you find yourself pranked with a glitter trap, and three days later he uses the same concept to set an entire alien squad on fire.)

(To Felps, who looks like just a person, but somehow the world orbits around him - or at least those three, and by extension Forever, do.)

(/Wa/s. Creat/ed/. Seem/ed/. Look/ed/.)

(They're gone now, stolen from him. Dangerous people who became friends, who became family, and now are gone. Even Felps, now returned, might never wake again. Even now, they are family. Even now, they mean the world to him.)

(And Forever doesn't know if he'll ever speak to any of them ever again.)

Forever does his best to refuse sleep again. After a short while of that, Bad escapes bed rest, and immediately comes to find him - the man has a sensor for Forever's bullshit, he swears.

Soon enough Forever is wrapped up in a blanket and tucked up on the sofa while Bad plays ancient movies, DVDs salvaged from ruined cities, on an equally battered tv. They both have not chocolate, and Bad rests his injured leg on Forever's battered coffee table.

They don't speak, but Bad leans against Forever's arm. Forever leans back, their heads pressed together.

It feels like he can breathe, for the first time since they brought Felps home Forever feels like he can breathe.

(Once upon a time there were enough beds for everyone. The five of them had pushed their bunks together and slept arm in arm. They'd usually ended up in a knot over the three middle beds, pulling everyone and their blankets together. It had taken months to grow that close, and it had raised the eyebrows of their comrades - two scientists, a cop, a serial killer, and a political aide sharing a bed - but once they were family and the winter drew in... Well...)

(Once upon a time there were enough beds for everyone, but Forever isn't sure he ever remembers there being enough blankets to keep out the chill.)

In the morning Bad is gone, and there's a fresh stack of paperwork on his desk. Forever files it, attends his meetings, begins planning a meeting between the Deserters and the Reapers, and knows that's only another headache to come. Aypierre promises to stay with Felps, because there's some things Forever cannot avoid.

Forever's fingers twitch and shake, every moment he can slip away he goes and checks on his friend. There's never a change, he's not really expecting one now - just for Felps to sleep and sleep until he gets an infection or they run out of ways to feed him or someone with a better chance of survival needs the machines keeping him alive.

Forever can't loose him - he can't, he can't, he can't - but with every day there's no change... Every day there's no change, it becomes more likely he'll die.

(Felps was never a great combatant, a bit like Forever himself. If Cellbit had decided to fight his leash, he almost certainly would have won.)

(Somehow, that never happened. Instead, when they were sent out into the field, even Forever, even Felps, not supposed to be combatants but the situation was dire... Even Pac and Mike were sent out, experienced in /something/ physical, but supposed to be confined to research and the lab. Maybe predictably, Felps was shot. When he was left bleeding and dying on the ground... Pac had been right there with a medkit, and Mike covering them both, and Forever had been able to do little but watch as Cellbit ripped his attacker apart with his bare hands, screaming bloody vengeance as he did.)

(But Felps hadn't died that day, and they hadn't lost him, and this time it's Forever who is left to cradle his head while they wait for help that will never come.)

(They'll pick up the pieces all the same. It's what they've always done, isn't it?)

Some days are harder, some are easier, most are grim. Forever cannot bring himself to leave for more than a few minutes, and Tubbo ends up wiring the video calls into his office. Let's him stay even more, stay closer even so.

Maybe it's bad for him, maybe he should get out more as Philza and Bad both try to say, but here is Felps and Forever will not leave him alone again.

He's been alone for ten years - whether he wakes or he dies, Forever will not let him be alone when it happens.

(He dreams of Rio, of the place hopefully-Cellbit asked him about in that note, in that note which led to Felps. Tazercraft were heading off to some research convention, so the five of them took the night off to party. They'd used the flights an excuse to be in the city overnight rather than the base, booking out hotel rooms and spending the night at the hotel bar. It wasn't anything special, except that they were together, and away from the base, and it never happened again.)

(Felps had passed around bracelets, made of cheap plastic beads, with their initials scratched into the plastic with scissors then coloured with marker pen. Forever still has his, still wears it every day. He's had to replace the string a few times, and while working keeps it safely under his gloves, but it's still there - it's still there, and it always will be.)

"Felps" Forever whispers to him, one night when it's late and he's tired and he knows he should sleep but he doesn't think he can. "Felps."

He isn't sure what to say, he doesn't know what he can do, he can only run his thumb across Felps' cheek and pray tomorrow's negotiations does not go so wrong as to need to take the medical equipment away.

"I miss you," Forever ends up saying. "I miss all of you. You're right here, but you're not really company."

"Did you know the world has changed?" he continues. "It's not for the better - perhaps it's better for you to stay asleep, to remember a better world and imagine maybe we could have won... We didn't. We lost. We lost... We lost everything... The world, our home, each other... It's just you and me, now. I... I wish the others were here, too."

His voice breaks. Forever swallows it - it will do nobody any good to cry.

"Do you remember Rio?" he asks the question maybe-Cellbit asked of him. "Do you remember the last time we were all together?"

Forever takes a deep breath, and bows his head.

"I hope you do," he says. "I hope you remember us. I hope... I hope you are happy, whatever you are dreaming of."

He might not be dreaming at all. He might already be dead, nothing left but the automatic motions to survive.

And Forever knows... Forever knows his chances aren't good.

"I miss you," this time when his voice breaks, Forever does nothing to end it. "Please, Felps... Please, wake up soon... I know you love to sleep, but hasn't it been long enough?"

He knows it won't work, he knows Felps' body will wake or it will decay, that begging does nothing but waste his breath.

He begs anyway.

"It'll be okay," he promises, broken smile through the tears. "I'll make sure you're okay - you just need to wake up, that's all."

He'll burn the world, if it means Felps would be okay.

"I'm scared, Felps, I'm so scared you'll never wake. I'm scared I can't give you the time you need, that'll I've fucked up somehow."

The tears flow freely now.

"I miss you."

He slips down and down, until his head rests on the metal bar a the side of the old camp bed. His hands move, too, from cradling Felps' face to holding his hand, cling to it like it's the last lifeline on earth.

It might as well be, at least for Forever.

"I really, really miss you."

He sobs into the fabric on which Felps lays, and continues sobbing until he falls asleep.

(Forever dreams of an angel with Felps' face, or perhaps of Felps in another time, finding an excuse to sneak him from meetings, to bring food to his desk, to just sit in the offices and chat while they worked.)

(He dreams of a thousand tiny interactions which happened, and others he imagined, in a world long dead but that he fights for all the same.)

(He dreams of that angel holding his hands, and promising that this isn't the end, that there's still something to save, that they can be whole again.)

(Forever doesn't know when he stopped believing him.)

Forever wakes to a gentle touch on his face, a hesitant, slack finger tracing across his face.

He opens his eyes, and blinks, and traces the fingers to an arm, and an arm to a shoulder, and a shoulder to confused eyes.

"Why are you crying?" Felps asks, the movement of his lips an almost silent whisper.

"Felps?" Forever whispers, grabbing back the hand and holding it close.

"Hi Forever," he sees the way ta smile grows from Felps' eyes to his lips. "What... Happened?"

"So much," Forever runs a hand over his face. "My God, so much has happened - but you're safe now. I- I've got you, you're safe now."

And, it's true, or as true as it can possibly be when they're hunted on all sides and the world is on fire.

"You're safe," the tears begin spilling, faster and faster. His fingers twitch to cuff Felps' shoulder, to press against his arm, to call him an idiot, to scold him for scaring them - for scaring him - but he's so fragile on the old bed, with wires and machines and papery skin, and Forever is terrified if he is anything but gentle he'll shatter his friend. "You... You're actually here. You're /alive/."

Forever barely remembers to summon Aypierre - there are tests to be done and checks to be made and Forever doesn't even know where to start, he just puts a non-emergency summons through before he breaks into a sob the tears become too thick to see.

"Don't cry," he hears that whisper from Felps. "Please, don't cry!"

But Forever cannot handle that - he smiles through the tears, lifts Felps' hand to kiss his fingers, and presses it to his forehead once he has. There's laughter in his sobbing, and a flicker of joy in his heart; Felps is weak, so weak, he's missed so much and has been so hurt, but he's alive, he's alive, he's alive!

Forever's never lost someone and found them alive before. He's lost and he's lost, his friends have vanished and they've died and they've been taken, and sometimes he's even found the bodies; he's never had one come back to him before. Just as they've lost ground, and allies, and every stationary base they've ever made, he's lost his friends. Loss, loss, loss, years without a victory, without anything better than a bittersweet win - just getting the Avenger livable and flying cost them Tazercraft, and he's never believed it was worth it.

To be honest with the world, he'd stopped believing victories were even possible at all.

So despite what Felps asks of him he sits there and cries, and cradles his hand even while Aypierre works, and maybe, just maybe, with Felps at his side it might someday be okay.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp x xcom #qsmp au #qsmp felps #qsmp forever #not sure how many of the others are worth tagging #angst #hurt/comfort #qsmp favela5 as family #it would be 6 but bagi hasn't been introduced yet #merry christmas y'all enjoy this monsterous angst fest #which out of order and in piecemeal explains forever's backstory #or at least some key pointers #and the nature of the favela and what they mean to each other #mostly forever and felps #but forever and all of them #and also bits of forever and philza or bad #and a bit of aypierre's backstory #the details here of aypierre's are ripped wholesale from a canon character #including the stuff about being a scientist forced to doctor by circumstances #sorry for the long top i needed to ramble #this entire fic is ramble #but i needed to intro-ramble too #this - rescuing felps and getting data from his brain implant - is actually the start of the plot #oops lol #i need to make lunch and I'm out from 2 so it miiight be a while before it gets to ao3 #tumblr's also being a shit about me copy-pasting atm #so its time out

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slow-clap-processors · 10 months

Text

you guys…

ITS DONE!!!

(my chelldos fanfic)

(and it’s 144 pages?!)

that being said, I probably won’t post it until

a) AO3 approves my account invitation request and

b) I can actually proofread this thing (if anyone has the time and energy to beta read/consult on half-life lore, ASL, crow behavior or computer science- I will be indebted to you for life.)

edit: it’s here (<- link to the series on AO3)

#chelldos #portal #cheshi slow claps #portal 2 #if you want to know what it’s about:#it’s basically your typical post-canon return to aperture #glados is in her chassis #there’s a lot of fluff but also a lot of angst! so #and also they’re both asexual because i said so #i’m going to start a tag watch:#you monster (affectionate)#(that’s the name)#i’m literally dancing around rn this took SO LONG

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leiawritesstories · 10 months

Text

dial drunk

inspired by "dial drunk" by noah kahan. if you know the song, you know how much angst is about to happen. @backtobl4ck thank you for encouraging me ;)

Word count: ~1k

A/N: PAINNNNNNN. Frederick is very very proud of himself.

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

The shifting flashes of red and blue police lights in his rearview mirror yanked Rowan from his half-unconscious stupor back into reality. The siren caught up with him seconds later, piercing through the fog of intoxication clouding his senses. Fuck, how much had he drunk? How many empty bottles littered the floor of his kitchen?

Hadn’t he sworn, months ago, to lock the alcohol away? Hadn’t he promised someone he loved more than life itself that he would stop drinking to forget?

Even though he had, that someone had broken him so badly he’d gone for the liquor cabinet, grabbed bottles at random, and poured the alcohol down his throat until the burn faded into numbness and the agony of the evening faded into the liquor-induced fog. Then he’d climbed into his pickup and left–he had to get the fuck away, clear his head. Part of him wouldn’t care if he drunk-drove himself off the side of the road, if he crashed and burned and died a nameless drunk.

Guided by the police cruiser behind him, Rowan pulled off to the side of the road and stopped, keeping his hands on the wheel. A police officer got out of the cruiser and walked up to his door.

“Open the door, son.” The officer’s deep, calm voice was familiar, even through the haze of alcohol and anguish blurring his mind.

Blearily, Rowan threw his pickup into park, set the parking brake, unlocked his door, and opened it. “Have my li-licensh’ here, sir,” he slurred.

“Rowa, I don’t need your license.” Ah fuck, just what he needed–Rhoe Galathynius finding his daughter’s boyfriend–ex-boyfriend now–drunk driving down Main to get the hell out of town after a breakup that shattered both of them into a thousand tiny shards.

“Sh-sir?” Rowan was confused.

“You’re drunk, Rowan.” Rhoe’s voice remained infinitely patient. “I have to take you in for the night, son.”

Son. The endearment stabbed a barbed spear straight through the raw ruins of Rowan’s heart. Groggily, he shut off his engine, stepped out of the truck, and would have fallen on his face if Rhoe hadn’t caught him.

“Here.” Rhoe steadied him. “Come on, son. It’s just for the night; you’ll be able to go home once you’ve sobered up.” Holding open the back door of the cruiser, he nudged Rowan inside. “You get one emergency call.”

“Aelin!” Rowan blurted.

“What?”

“Aelin,” he repeated, hoarsely. “My call.”

Unidentifiable emotions flashed across Rhoe’s fatherly face. “Okay.” He handed Rowan his phone. “Go ahead.”

Rowan tapped Aelin’s icon, heard her ringtone start to sound, and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

“Th-this is Aelin.” Her voice–raw, rough, and creaky the way it was after she’d been sobbing–crackled through the phone.

“Fireheart?” Rowan choked out.

Click. Beep.

She hung up.

Blindly, Rowan grabbed for his phone, but Rhoe held it out of his drunken reach. “I’m sorry, son.”

“Please,” Rowan begged, tears spilling out of his eyes. “Le’mme try again, sir, fuck, I swear I’ll cooperate.” His voice broke. “She–I–I need–she’ll call back, I swear.”

Grief and empathy shone in Rhoe’s kind eyes. “I can’t. I’m sorry, son.”

“Fuck!” Rowan buried his head in his hands. “Please!”

Rhoe’s strong hand rested on the younger man’s shoulder. “Why do you want to do this to yourself?” he asked, gently. Rowan could hear the muted pain in the older man’s words, the deep love Rhoe had for his daughter and for the man she loved, and he knew how much it must tear the man up to arrest his daughter’s boyfriend for drunk driving and then end up going home to a broken, emotionally bleeding version of his daughter.

“S’done,” Rowan slurred, his vision blurring so badly he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep until the pounding in his head went away.

Rhoe let out a soft sigh. “Stay here, son.” He left the back door open, stepped aside, and spoke to his patrol partner in a low voice for a few minutes. When he returned, he helped Rowan out of the cruiser instead of closing the door and heading off to the jail like Rowan thought he’d do. “I’m going to need your keys, son.”

Rowan blinked. “Huh?”

“Your keys.” Rhoe held out his hand, huffing out a short breath at Rowan’s complete confusion. “I’m going to drive you home in your truck, son, but I’ll need your keys to drive.”

“Oh.” Fumbling a little, Rowan handed over his keys. Rhoe unlocked the pickup, helped Rowan up into the passenger side, buckled his seatbelt, closed the door, and went around to the driver’s side. A moment later, they were back on the road, headed towards Rowan’s house. “Sir?”

“Hmm?” Rhoe glanced towards him, his face illuminated in the amber wash of the traffic lights.

“I-I’m sorry.” Rowan closed his eyes and sank back into the passenger seat. “I’m so sorry.”

Rhoe was quiet for a long few moments. “Lock the cabinet back up, son,” he finally said. “It won’t do anything good for you.” He reached Rowan’s house, pulled into his driveway, parked, helped Rowan out of his truck, and walked him into his house. “Son.”

“Yeah?”

Rhoe pressed Rowan into a brief, tight hug. “Don’t beat yourself up too badly.” He closed the front door, leaving Rowan alone in his house once again.

Rowan made it into the kitchen, shuffling slowly with his hand on the wall to guide him and keep himself upright, and swore at the sight of the bottles on the counter and the floor. So many. Maybe that was partially because of his hazy vision, but still–so many.

He left the kitchen. He’d deal with that mess…later. Right now, he needed sleep.

He only made it as far as the living room couch before his legs buckled and he half-collapsed onto the couch, barely remembering to kick off his shoes before he flopped down on his side, closed his eyes, and tumbled into the sweet black oblivion of drunken sleep.

The last thing he saw before deep sleep claimed him was Aelin’s heartbreakingly beautiful face, her stunning eyes lined with tears, her soft, broken plea for him to “just leave” spilling from her lips.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

#my writing #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #or maybe not mwahaha #the angst monster tag #ANGST #AAAAAAANGST #pain pain pain #this isn't even a little bit fluffy #i'm so sorry NO I'M NOT #FREDERICK YOU STOP THAT #DAMMIT FREDERICK #tw: alcohol use #based on a noah kahan song

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