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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 10 months

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𝑭𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑳 𝑾𝑶𝑴𝑨𝑵 ║ Chapter 6 - I Clung To Your Hands So That Something Human Might Exist in the Chaos

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 5.7k | CHAPTER WARNINGS: PTSD/anxiety/grief related situations | CHAPTER SUMMARY: You are finally able to express your gratitude and affection for Susan. It’s a reminder of all the reward for placing your full trust in people again. When a distressing part of your history lays claim to you, it disrupts your delicate ability to put your faith in others. But what if you have no other choice?

║ＰＲＥＶＩＯＵＳ ║⋄── •✧• ──⋄║ ＮＥＸＴ ║

Please read with caution if you have difficulties with works concerning: SA, physical violence, torture, captivity, trauma, and similar topics as they are discussed throughout the series. All highly sensitive portions WILL BE MARKED with my sensitive material banner if you wish to skip the more challenging portions. The sensitive material banner looks like this:

✧⋄⋆•✧⋄⋄⋆⋅⋆✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆•⋆⋄── •✧• ──⋄⋆•⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•⋆⋄ ✧ “𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚍𝚘 𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛? 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚎?” ― Jᴀᴍɪᴇ Oʟɪᴠᴇʀɪᴀ ✧⋄⋆•✧⋄⋄⋆⋅⋆✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆•⋆⋄── •✧• ──⋄⋆•⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•⋆⋄ ✧

Tommy and Maria’s baby girl was beautiful. She was the smallest thing you’d ever seen in your life. You had politely declined holding her as you had very little experience caring for tiny humans, and the last thing you wanted to do was accidentally hurt her. Thankfully Ellie was on the same wavelength as you, so you weren’t the only one rejecting Jackson’s newest bundle of joy, Gwendolyn Miller. It was a family name on Maria’s side, and Tommy agreed to it so long as he could pick the nickname.

“Hi, Gwen,” Ellie whispered, hovering behind the couch over Joel’s shoulder to get a better look. She was asleep, but her precious face was hard to ignore and drew almost constant cosseting and syrupy admiration.

“You can touch her, you know,” Joel says quietly. He gently nudged his side into yours.

You sat next to Joel with your hands neatly folded in your lap as you craned over Gwen’s head. Joel’s hand engulfed Gwen’s entire head, snug and soft against his chest. He’d done all this before, you had learned. He hadn’t told you much about it, but he had mentioned in passing a couple of times that he’d lost a young daughter during outbreak. You didn’t push him for any details. It was a sort of code you both honored where sharing snippets from your past was not a blanket invitation for exploration and questions, unless it was offered.

“But Maria said she had holes in her head,” you whisper. Although you were being completely serious, your solemn delivery only made Joel struggle to pull the line of his mouth straight.

“Just soft spots. She’s fine. Just don’t go pokin’ and you’ve got nothin’ to worry about,” he ribbed.

You reluctantly graze the tip of your finger against her forehead and soft curls. It wasn’t as scary as you thought it would be. It was actually easy to get wrapped up in the little noises she let out and miniature flexes of muscle in her face as she slept.

“She’s so pretty,” you breathe.

Joel murmured an agreement, although his eyes were locked on you instead of the little baby asleep in his arms.

The only tension around Tommy and Maria was from the beautiful chaos of having a newborn. A few hours of sleep logged here and there. Quick swipes of food when they remembered. Showers when they had the chance. There was no residual conflict from your celebration dinner, and, even if there had been, they both were way too busy being new parents to worry about something minor like that.

Susan stayed behind to help with a few household tasks while you, Joel, and Ellie left before you overstayed your welcome. On the way out the door, Maria reminded you to check with the trade and supply hub about new clothes. You thanked her, as if you could forget that you needed to exchange the garments you had first acquired in Jackson.

Ellie walked ahead, impatient to get back to her comic books and some alone time, while you and Joel ambled at your usual rhythm. Joel regularly walked you home from your patrol station work, and he didn’t forgo the trip even if he was off that day and had no reason to be there other than to accompany you. You knew it wasn’t just because he wanted to make sure you got home safely, and your heart erupted into a pitiful, beautiful river of mirth every time you remembered that he enjoyed your company.

“New clothes, huh?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah. Gonna trade in my stuff from when I got here,” you reply.

“Can’t imagine you woulda worn ‘em down already.” There’s a hint of a question in his tone that suggests he’s inquisitive about the topic but doesn’t want to pry.

“No, it’s not that. They’re not in bad condition or anything. I just need some bigger sizes, especially for my pants,” you explain. You absentmindedly look down at your attire for the day, smoothing a hand over the fitted fabric across your belly and hips.

“S’that right?” Joel made a contemplative noise. He was quick to tear his gaze away from your hand trailing against your midsection before you noticed.

“I mean, I guess I’ve gained some weight. Since I got here,” you clarify, thinking Joel didn’t understand.

“Good,” he says firmly.

You peer up at him with a slight tilt of the head and scrunched face in expectation of some sort of comment on your figure. You hope he wouldn’t say anything, even if it was a flattering observation. You tried not to think about your outwards self too much. The less you were reminded of it, the better. The veiled mirrors in your house were as good a testament to that as any.

“Means you’re feelin’ safe enough to slow down a little bit and eat some square meals. Takes gettin’ used to, I know.”

Joel dawdled alongside you, hands resting comfortably in his pockets. He glanced down at the ground as he spoke, an atypical behavior for him. He peeked at you from the corner of his eye as though he was gauging if this was a permitted topic of conversation.

You bob your head in agreement. You relaxed a bit after it was clear he wasn’t going to treat your body as a public forum for thoughts and opinions. “Yeah. I have an appetite now. It’s so weird.”

“Good thing you got your own private reserves of jerky, I guess,” he teases.

“Again, your fault,” you laugh.

You playfully shouldered into his side and kept your eyes on the ground to help distract from the tingly, warm feeling in your belly. It was happening more and more often, and only when you were with Joel. You thought it couldn’t be much of a bad thing given how nice it made you feel.

Joel smiled quietly next to you and made sure you got in your door safely before heading off with a wave.

Susan returned from Tommy and Maria’s with a full rundown of just how perfect Gwen was. You couldn’t help but smile as she spoke with unbridled glee. She was one of those people who just seemed destined to always be a mother or at the very least the guardian of something precious she could pour all her love into.

You felt a pang of guilt when she mentioned how much she enjoyed visiting with Tommy and Maria. You had been spending a good portion of your time with Joel and Ellie, frequently hanging out at their house until dinnertime. Susan never guilt tripped you for it, but you still felt bad that you weren’t spending as much time with her as you used to. Like you should be.

“Listen, Susan. I’m-I’m sorry if I haven’t been, you know, around as much. It’s not that I don’t like being with you,” you start with a nervous lilt.

“Oh what on earth do you mean, Bug?” she tuts. Susan was even quicker than Joel to shut down any whiff of self-negativity from you.

“I mean, just my shifts at the patrol station. And, spending more time over at Joel and Ellie’s.”

You crinkle your pursed lips to the side. You weren’t really sure how to word these kinds of things. It was difficult enough to pick which feeling took priority or which one to present first if they all seemed to hold the same weight. Putting all the words in the correct order, in the right tone, with the right body language felt like a riddle straight out of Greek mythology.

“That’s what you’re supposed to be doing, Bug!” she insists. “It’s a good thing. It means I’m doing my part to make you feel comfortable here. In fact, I think I’d be rather upset with myself if you weren’t starting to put yourself out there a little bit.”

“Really? You mean that?” you press.

“Absolutely,” she promises.

“Thanks, Susan,” was all you could force past the lump collecting in your throat.

This woman was such a treasure to you. You felt sorry for the entirety of Jackson missing out on having Susan around whenever winter picked up. You got to have her to yourself every day, and it almost felt greedy keeping such a lovely thing for yourself. Then again, before you came into the picture, Susan had been patiently waiting for “the right roommate” to come along. You and Susan had really found one another when you needed each other the most.

When you sniffed back your mawkish ruminations, Susan mistook it for anxiety. “Now now, Bug. It’s alright. You can always take a minute if you’re feeling overwhelmed. You know that. You did perfectly fine just then. I knew just what you were saying and everything. Go on and take a break, and we can pick up our chat later when you’re ready.”

Deciding now was as good a time as any to continue “putting yourself out there,” you cleared your throat and demystified the antsy air clouding you.

“Actually, Susan, it’s not really that. Not that sort of a thing. I just– I got a little emotional? I guess because of, because I was-I was thinking how I think everyone should have a Susan in their life. Everyone should have a Susan of their own. I’m- just- I’m really lucky.”

A diffuse, glistening glow cast over Susan’s eyes. “Oh, Bug. You’re such a sweet girl. I’m the lucky one.”

An idea flitted through your head so quickly you almost lost track of it. It was a stupid idea.

You shouldn’t do it.

Yes, you should.

Fuck it.

“Do you think that, maybe.. maybe if I could give you a hug?” you ask. “A small one?” you add hastily.

You really did want to hug Susan, but you didn’t entirely trust your negative reactions that seemed to spring up from nowhere at the worst times. A small hug would be a good starting place. Better safe than sorry.

Susan beamed ear to ear. “I think that sounds amazing.”

She held her arms out and waited for you to initiate. You ambled closer and slowly circled your arms around her middle. When you felt her light as air embrace around you, you let go of the breath you were vaguely aware you’d been holding. You weren’t sure what to do, but you could almost hear Joel’s voice in your head: Trust your instincts. Do what feels right. Don’t think too much about it.

You tucked your head against her shoulder, and that was the little gesture that emboldened Susan to gently run her palm down your hair. You trembled slightly at the enveloping comfort it all brought you.

“You’re doing so well, Bug. I’m so, so proud of you,” she whispered into your hair.

“I-I think I’m proud of me, too,” you confess.

You shared a nervous giggle together before releasing your holds. When you took a step back, the joy and pride on Susan’s face made you want to burst into tears.

If this was what being Susan’s roommate was like, you could only imagine the love this woman must have had for her daughter in all the years before her untimely passing. If Susan wanted to be your surrogate mother figure, you’d indulge her every damn day of the week for the rest of your life.

Ellie’s comics took up most of the kitchen table as she tried explaining the general plot of her favorite series to you. You had never really been into the science fiction kind of stuff, but you entertained her anyway. It was nice how she wanted to share one of her favorite things with you. Joel just seemed grateful that you were tackling it this time, giving him a much needed break from Ellie’s impassioned pitches about the absolute gem that was Savage Starlight.

You noticed one of the copies looked much less worn than the others. “This your newest one?” you ask, tapping the serial in question.

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess. I dunno.”

She shrugged and tucked her face lower. The swing of her mood in the complete opposite direction had you worried you’d done something to upset her.

You had been a little off today after a few nights of poor sleep. Something about the whole situation with Nathan had started a domino effect on your nerves and had made it more difficult to fall and stay asleep without any nasty dreams cropping up a few times a week. You were working through the feelings of anxiety that someone could still “get you” in Jackson, even though you knew you were safe. Joel would keep you safe.

Still, it was a difficult feeling to shake. You rejected the notion of being a victim, but you could admit that you felt like vulnerable prey, unaware of the lurking predator stalking you and waiting for you to put your guard down a little too much.

You practiced patience and understanding with yourself as much as possible, just like Joel had encouraged you to. A day at a time was all you could ask of yourself, as he frequently reminded you.

“Sorry if I said something. I’m just, I’m sort of tired, I guess. Didn’t sleep as much as I should’ve last night,” you offer in way of explanation and apology.

Joel busied himself with washing dishes at the sink, but you caught the swift, fluid turn of his head your direction at your remark. You pretend to not notice his concerned profile. You’d dealt with much worse than a few nights of bad sleep. He didn’t need to trouble himself with it. God knows he’d done plenty for you since you got here and continued to find ways to help you along. Something this small didn’t necessitate his concern.

Joel worried too much, sometimes, you thought. Between you, Ellie, and baby Gwen, he was never short on somebody to fuss over - of course with his best impression of an austere, stoic protector who wasn’t just a bleeding-heart over those dearest to him at the end of the day. It wasn’t something he’d vocalized to you, but it was something you’d felt from him enough times to know what sort of man he was deep down.

Ellie’s eyes hesitated over the serial before training her focus to another.

“No, it’s alright. It’s just from a… friend. We met them when we were traveling. But he, uh, he didn’t make it. My friend. He liked this comic, too,” she shares, idly pushing some of the comics around and avoiding your gaze. “It was his, though. The newer looking one. I took it after he… well, anyway. After he wasn’t around anymore, I took it with me.”

You nodded sympathetically. Joel was stiff as he washed the plate in his hands for what must have been the third time now. He seemed more on edge than usual. You hope he isn’t getting too worked up over you not getting all the rest you need.

“Yeah, I just guess I shouldn’t have taken it, maybe. I don’t know why I did. Like for a memory of him, maybe, or something,” Ellie mumbles, poking absentmindedly at various pieces in her collection. “No, I understand,” you reassure her. “It’s a nice way to-to keep his memory alive. Celebrating something he loved. And now you can share it with other people, too. Sharing it with me. I’m sure your friend would’ve wanted you to have it. I think it’s a nice way to remember someone.”

You felt the emotion of painful memories blooming before they came into your mind. Mae. You missed her. You wished so badly you had something of hers that you could’ve taken with you. Just something to hold, to have, to show that she existed. That she was real. That she was probably the best friend you’d ever had.

The entirety of her existence was now limited to the scraps and flickers of memories you had of her. There were so, so many horrendous memories with her, but you felt guilty willing those away and only trying to preserve the good. It was like you were denying her existence by letting those times, however tormenting and grievous they were, slip away into a wash of nothingness in your mind.

You alone carried her story with you. No family. No friends. No one except you. You’d heard an expression once that hadn’t made much sense at the time but had come to be acutely within your comprehension:

We die twice. The first being when you draw your last breath. The second being the last time someone speaks your name.

You hadn’t spoken about Mae to anyone. You’d given her a grave in your thoughts, burying her life, not speaking her name and telling her story to anyone willing to listen. It was as though you were killing her this time. Giving her another death. Refusing her the only life you could offer, the one where her memory lived on through you and the narrative of her life as told by you.

Your eyes began to pinch. You shake your head and repeat yourself, hoping that it wasn’t too obvious you’d gone into a bit of a tailspin just now. “But, y-yeah, remembering people. It’s nice. To do that. Your comics.”

Joel wasn’t even pretending to wash the dishes anymore. He was angled towards you halfway. He’d probably picked up on your digression and stilted words. You needed to get yourself sorted, and quickly, before you made Joel worry for nothing.

Ellie just sort of hummed a nonresponse, lost in her own thoughts just as you had been.

“Probably. Sam was sort of a little kid, though, so he probably wouldn’t have known any better how messed up it kinda is,” she ponders aloud, the guilt obvious in her voice. You wilted into a stony slump in your chair. A hard thumping noise rose in your ears.

“But yeah, it’s cool to share it with people. Sam would’ve like that, I think,” she decides.

You were gripping your elbows so tight that your fingers were starting to tingle.

“Hello? You okay?” Ellie asks, suddenly cognizant of your changed composure. “M’fine,” you grit out in a whisper. Joel had turned around fully now and was rushing his hands through a towel to dry them off. “If it’s because Sam was just a kid, I don’t have to talk about it anymore if it’s upsetting to you,” Ellie offers, unsure of what she had done or said that had clearly set you off. “Stop,” you grit out again with a strangled effort. Your eyes screwed shut, and acid lapped at your throat.

Stop saying his name. Stop saying his name. Stop saying his name.

“Hey.” Joel’s soft voice came from behind you along with a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“NO!” you bellow, rocketing to your feet and knocking your chair over. You couldn’t stop yourself launching a defensive swing in Joel’s direction, causing him to take a large step back.

The bouts of air you sharply gulped wracked through your chest in punctured, dry pulls, but you didn’t feel like you were getting enough oxygen. Your brain was screaming at you to fight, escape, protect yourself. You couldn’t find the threat, which meant that everything was a threat.

“Shit! Alright, I won’t say another word!” Ellie frantically vows, unsure what exactly she had done to spur this from you. She backed against the counter to put a wide space between the two of you.

Her emphatic appeal and physical retreat hauled you back into reality where shame readily awaited your return.

You glanced between her wild eyed confusion and Joel’s knowing frown. Overcome with your embarrassing spectacle, you scurry to run from the room, only managing to stumble backwards over your fallen chair. A sickly thud echoed as all your weight fell on your right hand and wrist. The stinging, shooting pain was immediate, but you ignored it as you scrambled backwards, propelled by your heels and elbows.

“Jesus Christ, Joel, help her before she fuckin’ goes through a wall or something!” Ellie barks out.

Your eyes darted skittishly to Joel who had his hands raised to his shoulders, palms out to demonstrate his nonthreatening advance.

“Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

He crouched slowly and winced at the demand it put on his knees. He rested a knee on the floor and extended a hand.

“Hey, right here, baby. Look at me.” Soft. Quiet. Helpful.

You wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. They felt trapped behind your eyes. Just a few moments ago you’d been willing them away, and now that you wished they’d just fall as they now swell and burn behind your vision. A sort of weak, shrill noise emanated from your throat. Your wrist was thumping in an undeniably afflicted rhythm, the fiery pulse of your blood rushing to the site.

“I’m gonna help you up. I’m gonna put my right arm behind you from your left side, and I’m gonna keep my left arm by my side completely, alright?”Joel’s eyes searched yours. You realize you had yet to answer him.

Ellie gawked at Joel as if he were on a LSD bender calling out bizarre Twister prompts to a party of equally strung out guests. “Dude, she doesn’t need a play by play! Just fuckin’ help her up!”

But you did need a play by play, and Joel did just as he had told you. No surprises. No changes. Only what you had been told and what you hadn’t refused. Your left hand, the only one that was working properly at the moment, grabbed onto Joel’s side, not letting go even after he had steadied you to your feet. Following your lead, he didn’t let go either.

“Grab a bucket from the garage and go get some of the snow from the back corner where it still hasn’t melted and gets real icy,” he instructed over his shoulder to Ellie. Normally one to argue, Ellie did as she was asked without a word.

“Look at me.” Joel’s voice was low and calm. You looked up. “You okay now?”

You nodded meekly, unsure if it was the truth or not.

“You don’t have to be. I was just askin’,” he adds.

You blinked slowly a few times. You were on autopilot, going through whatever motions and words your mind was puppetting you through. “I-I need to s-s-sit. Sit w’me.”

“Alright. Where d’ya wanna sit?” he asks. Calm. Low. Slow. Gentle. Safe.

“Couch.”

Joel’s arm never left your back just as your hand never left his side. You weren’t woozy, you weren’t disoriented, you weren’t even unsteady on your feet. You were just holding on because it brought you comfort. Holding onto this man brought you a sense of comfort. It was still such an odd thing. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to it or if it would always feel a bit strange and unusual to be soothed by it. To feel secure instead of scared. Ellie came back in with the bucket of crunchy snow and plopped a handful of it into two stacked tea towels before winding it up into a ball at Joel’s instruction. Joel moved his arm from your back and held his hand out for you to offer your injured one. You presented it to him with slight hesitation, but it was out of apprehension for what the damage was rather than him touching you. Joel gingerly assessed your forearm, wrist, hand, fingers, all of it until he seemed content with his findings. Though he was gentle as could be, you still flinched and hissed at the pain when he moved your hand a certain way. “Just a sprain. Nothing too severe. Nothing broken or snapped, at least.” His words came so confidently and calmly that it actually distracted you a little from the throbbing pain. “Ellie, change out the towels with new snow if it starts ta’melt too much. M’gonna go ask Tommy for somethin’ to keep her swellin’ down.” “You’re leaving?” Your question sounded more frantic than you had intended. Joel lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “Only for a little bit,” he promised. “And th-then you’re coming back? Right back?” you plead, not really caring how stupid or weak you sounded. “I’m goin’ straight to Tommy’s a few doors down and then straight back here.” You nodded, and his gaze softened once you appeared calmed by this assurance to get back to you quickly. You didn’t mind Ellie’s company. In fact, you rather enjoyed spending time with her, but right now the only person you wanted to be with and look after you was Joel.

You didn’t mull it over or question why exactly that was. Right now you were just allowing yourself to feel it and not have to have any explanation or reason for it other than it just was.

When Joel returned less than 10 minutes later, he had a small glass jar with a lid screwed on, housing noisy little tablets that rocked and jumped with his heavy steps. Ellie grabbed a glass of water for you at his request, which you gratefully accepted. Your mouth felt rather dry from all the humiliation.

You went to take the pill from Joel, not feeling the need to ask what it was, but were immediately reminded of your out-of-operations hand. Silently asking and subsequently receiving your look of permission, Joel pinched the tablet between his thumb and pointer finger and placed it on your tongue. You chased it down quickly with large gulps of water.

“Give us just a minute, Ellie. Head out to your room, and I’ll call you back in.” Ellie, ever agreeable today, went quietly without dispute, leaving you and Joel together on the couch. The floor creaked in the kitchen before the backdoor snapped shut and signaled you were alone.

“You’re gonna need to take this medicine a coupla times a day for the next few days. And ice your hand and wrist for the next 24 hours at least. Probably closer to 48 since I think it’s leanin’ a bit more moderate than mild. Not sure yet about a splint. You think Susan can help you with all that?”

You nod silently. “How’s it feel?” “It hurts, but.. it-it’s better.” You thoughtfully turned your wrist the smallest degree manageable to test your assertion and grimaced when a pain shot up through your elbow. “You’re gonna need ta’leave it be. Can’t be usin’ it or it’s not gonna get better any time soon,” Joel instructed. “Can you look at it again?” you ask.

Your imploring glance had an effect on Joel almost instantly. He studied you for a moment, searching for something. An answer to a question that you didn’t even know how to formulate. Yet, here Joel was, trying his best to figure it out for the both of you.

You know it sounded ridiculous to ask him to look again. There wasn’t anything Joel was going to see that he hadn’t already come to discover, but you didn’t care. You wanted him to delicately hold your wrist in his large, warm hands while rendering such precise movements as to barely smart your sprain. You wanted him to take care of you, to be gentle with you, to fuss over you. Just a little while longer. He sighed and looked down at your wrist. A small shake of his head. It didn’t appear he’d conjured any appeasing response despite his best efforts.

“Honey, it’s sprained at the very least. Me lookin’ it over ain’t gonna change that,” he explains gently. “I know that,” your voice breaks. “Just look at it again.” Joel seemed to catch on that you weren’t asking for him to reevaluate his conclusion. “You want me to look at it again?” he echoes, hoping for you to elaborate. “Yeah. You know, just- maybe hold it and see if it’s really bad,” you specify clumsily in a half-hearted whisper. Your request was so jumbled and awkward that it could hardly qualify as being dishonest. You wanted to be forthright. You just didn’t know how to get the words out to convey it. You wanted Joel to comfort you. “Alright.”

Joel’s tone indicated he wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing, only that whatever it might be was what you needed to feel comfortable. His fingertips brushed along your skin, his tender hold feeling like an anchor to him. Your eyes closed as you took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, Joel working over your sprain again in an unhurried mediation.

“Is it okay if I rest your arm here?” You open your eyes to see Joel is gesturing to his thigh. Your eyes flit to his, only a small part of you unsure. You nod firmly, showing certainty in your approval.

You watch curiously as he drapes your arm against his thigh, carefully separating your fingers into a fanned position across his knee. You tense slightly at the tight pulling feeling, and you can sense Joel pausing each time to check in on your face, your expression, your feelings, your thoughts. “Gonna feel pressure. Tell me if it hurts or if it’s too much.”

You chewed your bottom lip, working the worry and jitters through your teeth. Joel warning you of a possible unpleasant feeling and asking you to vocalize it to him so he can pull back or stop . . . it was overwhelming. You had never been warned. You had never been encouraged to vocalize your hurt and pain and cries for it to stop unless it was some fucked up power imbalance being enacted by some sadist. By Sam.

Joel pressed his palms with gradual force against your arm and wrist. It was a bittersweet feeling of sensitivity and appeasement. Ultimately it felt better than it hurt.

“You okay? I know it doesn’t feel great. Probably need a splint for a few days just to keep it from too much motion.” Joel isn’t sure if it’s his words or his movements that have you tensing and on the verge of tears.

“Tell me to stop.” It’s a soft command, ordering you to tell him if you don’t want this. You shake your head back and forth in exaggerated movements and breathe around the tight feeling in your throat.

“Well, if you aren’t gonna tell me to stop with words then I’m just gonna to take your silent cues ‘n stop,” he decides, carefully placing your hand onto your lap. The loss of his touch feels worse than the sting of your sprain. “It’s not that. Please. Don’t,” you choke out, holding Joel’s curious gaze. “Please. Can you sit? Very still? Just like you are. And-And don’t move?”

He nods, glancing you up and down as though he’s not sure what is coming next. You’re not even sure what’s coming next, but you feel yourself moving anyway. You lean forward enough to pick Joel’s hand up and bring it down over your head behind your back, guiding it to your hip. The freed curve of his side now open to you, you sidle closer into him.

You carefully grab his other hand and place it on top of your sprain before resting your uninjured one on top. You nuzzle the back of your head against his shoulder, sinking into the expanse of him. Joel remained still but pliable, careful to not be stiff to your arranging.

“Just hold me here like this for a little bit,” you bid in a hush. Joel answers by way of tightening his grasp of you ever so slightly and rubbing circles with his thumb against you.

“Anything you need from me, you’ve got it.” His voice is soothing, modulated, familiar. Safe.

Your lashes flutter against your cheeks. You can feel the wet there now. You wonder when you started crying. You sniff a few times, but your streams just feel hotter and more eager to spill over.

“Tell me what I can do. Please. Anything.” Joel’s firm, steady voice that existed in perpetuity wavered slightly.

Your eyes drift up to meet his. He’s looking down at you, now the one who’s pleading for something. Wishing and willing for anything that could help you. His hand between yours twitches. You think back to the time the two of you first went to the market alone. The talk you had on the way. The tears you’d shed then. The way he’d hesitated and then pulled back when he wanted to wipe them away.

You reach for his hand and guide it to your cheek where hot rivulets trickle steadily all the way down your jaw and neck. Even with your prompting, he hesitates to touch your face. So, you lean into his open palm. Your eyes flutter shut and squeeze tight at the overwhelming repose and contentment it engulfs you in. You nuzzle against it shamelessly, soaking up all of these foreign comforts.

Your whimper of a sigh, resounding in the solace of the gesture, seems to be the compelling evidence of your resolute consent that he is at liberty to nurture and pacify your distress. His thumbs swipes gentle passes across the curves of your face, skimming the tears off where they’re still gathering.

“S’this okay?” Your lids lift with concerted effort. You can feel the lack of sleep creeping up on you even more rapidly now.

“MMmhmmmmm,” you murmur back.

“How ‘bout you take a rest, sweetheart? I’ll wake you up in a little bit. Wouldn’t mind longer, but Ellie’ll get worked up if she ain’t called back soon.” Joel’s words already sound fuzzy.

“Righ’here?” you mumble.

You feel Joel’s chest vibrate with a chuckle. You could hear his heartbeat, steady and low. Were you laying on him? You jerked awake slightly and ebbed back into a lull when you realize you’d only slumped into his side where he’d cradled you tighter against him, legs drawn up slightly so you could dip into his middle all the more.

“Yeah, honey. Right here.” His breaths pull and press against your head where he’s resting his own. Joel had said you could have anything from him that you needed, and as you drift off you know with every fiber of your being that he could wholeheartedly deliver on that invitation.

If only we all had our very own Susan. 😣💞

The title of this chapter is a quote from Hélène Cixous.

Thank you for reading, commenting, and reblogging! Y'all are wonderful.

catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥

#fic: feral woman #FW #joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic #the last of us

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runnning-outof-time · 2 years

Text

Some Much Needed Comfort...Food | John Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @zablife

Pairing: John Shelby x reader

Summary: (Y/N) finds John Shelby slumped against the door to his home and quickly decides that she needs to help him. John finds that the way to the heart is actually through a home-cooked meal.

Warnings: language, mentions of violence (typical to series)

Word Count: 2274

A/N: this was a fun prompt to write...and a good way to take a little break from all the Tommy stories I’ve been writing. Enjoy! :)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in stories similar to this one!

———

"I swear with this fucking door..." (Y/N) heard come from outside. She stopped what she was doing at the kitchen counter to walk over to the window and see who the voice belonged to. Upon pulling back the curtains, she saw a man slumped against the doorframe, and he was in the process of banging on the door again. "Someone come down and open this door!"

She watched as this continued for a few moments longer before she decided to leave her house and find out more details on what was going on after he failed at his fifth attempt. "Excuse me, sir?" she asked as she approached him carefully. As she got closer, she could see that he had some blood coming from his lip, and that his knuckles were rather cut up and bloody. "Sir? Are you ok?" concern now in her voice as she continued walking towards him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," the man answered her as he glanced in her direction. His focus was more so on getting the door opened. "Come down and open the door!" he called to whoever it was inside as he banged on the wooden partition yet again.

"You don't look to be fine, sir. Why don't you come over to my place instead. I can help you get cleaned up and maybe make you something to eat," she offered, wincing slightly as she took in his bruises up close. Now she was able to see the dark mark right under his eye.

"I'll be grand once one of me kids comes and opens this fucking door!" he ended his sentence by yelling to whoever it was he was trying to reach, making (Y/N) wince again at the level of his voice.

"I really wouldn't mind," (Y/N) didn't give up easily. She felt horrible that this man was injured and was literally leaning against the side of his house. He couldn't even hold up his weight it seemed.

Before the man could say anything back to her, the door to the house he was still leaning against opened. Both his and (Y/N)'s attention was pulled over to the young girl who was standing in the doorway now. She had her hand on the doorknob as she glanced between the two adults standing opposite to her. (Y/N) recognized the girl. She would always come over when (Y/N) would be outside doing yard work or whatever. And the little girl always had a flower to give to her neighbor.

"The door was unlocked, dad," the girl said in a matter-of-fact tone, her eyes on her father. Her face was straight until her eyes shifted to (Y/N). Then a smile formed. "Hi, Miss (Y/N)," she chirped.

"Hi. How are you?" (Y/N) asked with a smile because it seemed like the man hadn't formulated his response yet.

"I'm good," the girl answered.

"You still could have opened it," the man interjected into the ladies' conversation before it went any further as he pushed himself off of the wall and wobbled onto his feet.

"Are we having dinner? I'm hungry," the girl then asked her father, obviously not noticing, or caring, that he was worse for wear at the moment.

"Does it look like I'm up for cooking dinner, Katie?" the man shot back. His words didn't come out angry. Instead, they were spoken rather incredulously. The child frowned, knowing that she'd now have to go to her aunt's for dinner.

(Y/N) noticed the change in her expression. "I can cook for you," she offered, making the other two people standing at the door stare at her.

The girl jumped in to respond before her father could. "You would? That would be great, Miss (Y/N)! Thank you so much!" she cheered, a wide smile now present on her face.

The girl’s father, however, didn't share her excitement. "I couldn't have you do that, (Y/N)," he tried to let her know that she wasn't obligated to do so even if his child was jumping at the opportunity.

But (Y/N) didn't want to hear it. "I wouldn't mind. I could cook you dinner and then help get you cleaned up from whatever happened," she said, motioning to the cuts and bruises he had.

"You really don't need to. I could..."

"No. I'm helping you and that's final. I'm not going to take no for an answer," she cut him off, her eyebrows raised to show that she was serious. The man just stared back at her with his eyebrows raised as well, but they were instead raised out of shock. "Now...where's your kitchen? I'm making us some comfort food."

The man didn't know what to say, but he sure as hell wasn't going to debate her plan any more. She looked like someone who wasn't to be messed with. He opened and closed his mouth a few times as he thought of a way to word what he was going to say before he let out a defeated sigh. He then stepped to the side and let her enter the house as he dropped his gaze to the ground. Katie was enthralled that her neighbor was going to be joining, and making, their dinner. She immediately ran to the stairs and ascended them, screaming out her excitement.

(Y/N) followed the man into his kitchen and she got right to work on thinking up a plan after he told her to 'have at it'. She decided that she would make her mum's soup recipe that was her personal favorite. It was simple to do, and it seemed as if all of the ingredients were present in this kitchen. So she got to preparing it. Once it was all finished and she had it cooking on the stove, (Y/N) moved over to where the man was sitting, watching her on the chair.

"Do you have any first aid supplies?" she queried when she stopped in front of him.

"Should be on the shelves over there," he answered, motioning to a shelving unit in the corner of the room. (Y/N) moved over to it and found what she needed, and she made sure to grab a few rags from in the kitchen before she joined him again and set her things down on the table.

"Alright...let me see what I can do," (Y/N) said as she stood in front of the man who was now looking up at her.

"You know, I should probably introduce myself before you do so," the man stated with a grin. It was only then that (Y/N) realized she didn't know his name. "My name's John," he then went about introducing himself.

"Ok, John. Let's see what I can do to help you here," she repeated her previous statement, making sure to include his name this time. She then took hold of his chin so that she could hold his face steady as she examined it. While she was doing so, she couldn't help but feel his intent gaze on her face. Her cheeks heated up when she dared to glance at him rather than his cuts and saw that he was wearing a slight smile. She couldn't help but get stuck in the trance that his soft, blue eyes were creating. "You know it'd help me to concentrate more if you weren't looking at me like that," she pointed out when she realized that she was staring.

"Like what?" John quirked an eyebrow, his grin growing.

"Like you are!" (Y/N) countered, her vague but incredulous response making John chuckle.

"Ok, (Y/N)...I'll stop looking at you like I am," he told her once his chuckles had died down.

"Thank you," she huffed through her bashfulness as she picked up the rag and continued cleaning his cuts.

"The soup smells good," he commented after it had been quiet for a few moments. (Y/N) was finished with his face and she was now working on cleaning and bandaging his bruised wrists.

"Thank you. It's a recipe of my mother's," (Y/N) responded with a slight smile on her face. "Alright, you're all finished, John. Please don't go trying to get more cuts and bruises," she told him as she gently dropped his left hand back to his lap.

"I can't promise that," he responded to her, a smile on his face as she sent him a joking glare, "but I will try my best not to," he added for extra measure.

"Thank you," she nodded, stepping away from him so that she could clean up her makeshift workstation.

"How much longer for the soup you think?" John asked her then as he watched her clean up and go back to check the pot.

"Not long," (Y/N) told him as she spun around to rest her palms against the counter behind her.

"I should probably go tell the kids," he said then as he stood from the chair and moved over to the steps so that he could climb them.

(Y/N) didn't get to ask him how many kids he had before he returned and had the sound of pattering feet following him. Then, four, younger children appeared. (Y/N) didn't know that this many kids lived across the street from her. She'd met Katie before, but that was about it.

"(Y/N), this is Daniel, Alice, and Benjamin. You already know Katie from before," John began with the introductions as the kids all filed in around the table, sending the lady still standing at the counter smiles. "Kids, this is (Y/N). She lives across the street and is helping dad with dinner today," he then explained why (Y/N) was even there.

"Hello. It's so nice to meet you all," (Y/N) smiled politely at the table of children. There were no objections to (Y/N) being there or making dinner, which made her happy.

She made quick work of taking the pot off of the stove and then started transferring it into separate bowls for each person at the table. To her surprise, the two oldest kids: Katie and Daniel, came over and helped with serving the food to the others sitting at the table. Once everyone had a bowl in front of their chair, (Y/N) took a seat directly across from John, who was smiling widely at her. She smiled back before her eyes focused on the food in front of her. The entire table started eating then, and the kids were immediately singing their praises for the soup (Y/N) had made. They even went as far as to tell her that she needed to come over every night and cook for them because their daddy was terrible compared to her. The best part about it was that John didn't disagree with them.

“Ok, kids...why don’t you head up to bed now? It’s getting late,” John stated after the group had been chatting at the table for some time. He had to give a stern look to Katie, who was trying to protest his decision by telling him that they weren’t tired yet. Little Alice, who was practically asleep at this point, didn’t help her sister’s case. So with a huff, Katie hopped off of the chair and dragged her feet to the stairs, the rest of her siblings following behind after they said goodnight to their father and to (Y/N).

“So, honest truth...” (Y/N) trailed off once it was just the two of them in the room, “what did you think of the soup?” she asked as she leaned forward slightly.

“I thought it was very good,” John sent her a grin as he nodded his head, “much better than the shit that I cook up.” (Y/N) couldn’t help but giggle at his statement.

Then she tried something bold. “Maybe you could come over to my place for dinner sometime...just you and I,” she suggested, hoping that John would catch the glint in her eye as she locked them with his.

A slight expression of shock formed on John’s face before it was quickly replaced by intrigue. He didn’t expect her to offer up something like that. “It depends...will you be cooking another meal like this one?” he asked, his question sounding as if he was trying to wager out the deal.

“Of course I would be,” (Y/N) smiled. She held that expression before dropping it slightly. “You’d just better not come to my house with cuts and bruises on your face,” she wagered her side of the deal, trying, and failing to hold a straight face as she spoke. It melted back into a smile halfway through the sentence.

“I’ll make sure not to get into any fights before I show up,” he told her, the grin on his face making her roll her eyes and shake her head. She couldn’t help but smile at his words. “It’s a date then?” he checked with her a few moments later.

“Yes, it’s a date...I guess,” she just about stuttered out, his choice of words catching her off guard.

“It’s a date,” John affirmed, sending her one last smile.

(Y/N) never expected this course of events to happen when she heard him screaming outside just a few hours earlier. What started as her trying to offer a helping hand to a person who looked to be worse for wear, ended as a chance for her to get to know John better. It’s amazing what some good comfort food can do.

———

Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts @magicalxdaydream @the-anxious-youth @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @julyzaa

MASTERLIST

#john shelby #john shelby x reader #john shelby x y/n #john shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #fanfiction #fanfic

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sporesgalaxy · 2 years

Text

Okay, I think I've got this to where its the fun kind of psychoanalytical torture

So yee haw, let's go, etc: THE 1st accidental dreamwalking incedent Belos and Signey had.

^ you're signing up for this

you get to see this full img with full context too! ⬇️

Anyways. It is a nightmare so: content warnings below the cut.

•••

Content Warnings:

Wittebane Brothers Typical Violence

general unreality warning because of dream logic

getting stabbed bloodlessly & semi-accidentally by a pitchfork

characters being completely unable to will their bodies to move at all for limited periods of time

A group of teens being condescending, rude, and exclusionary towards younger kids

Name calling: scaredy-cat, weirdo, annoying

A kid trying to appease mean people by acting mean to someone else

descriptions of the physical sensation of one's body shapeshifting in body-horrory ways against one's will

•••

A short foreword:

There is an old myth on the Boiling Isles that Humans, because they cannot cast spells, lack a heart.

This myth predates the discovery of the bile sac. In ancient times, it was understood only that the heart was the source of a witch's magic.

This is the origin of the modern superstition that witches with round ears are heartless in the metaphorical sense.

•••

Philip cannot move a muscle. He barely maanages to breathe. He wants to scream, to run, to do anything that might save his brother, but it's useless. An invisible force binds him to his hiding spot.

Caleb drops his pitchfork, and the clatter of wood and metal against the rocks is deafening.

The witch puts an arm around Caleb so gently that Philip wants to be sick. They enter the doorway filled with light so slowly that he isn't sure he sees them move. Their forms blur around the edges, until the last hint of them vanishes, and the door slams shut.

At last, Philip is able to rip himself out of his crouching position. He pushes himself over the rock, running full speed towards the door.

P: CALEB--!

Before he reaches it, the door swings back open, and a new figure rushes out of the light toward Philip, causing him to almost fall over from momentum when he stops. She leans back into the doorway to say one last thing to the other side--

S: --no thank you! Sorry!

-- then closes the door and moves away from it quickly. Philip finds himself dumbstruck. This girl is not the witch who took Caleb, she's too short-- closer to Philip's height-- and lacks any cloak, instead wearing only an odd shirt with leggings.

From behind the door, Philip hears the muffled voices of a few more young girls:

?: What's her problem?

?: Come on, scardey cat!

?: She wouldn't've been any help, but it would've been fun...

?: If you join, you can pick the doll!

The voices seem to wait for a response, which the girl does not offer.

?: Fine! Your loss! Let's go.

Shuffling and laughter can be heard moving away from the door.

The girl from the other side sighs, sits heavily on a flat rock, and pulls her knees up to her chest.

P: Who are you?!

S: [jumps violently] Oh! Uhh...

She rubs her face and sniffles. Her cheek seems shinier, but it's not quite how tear streaks should look--

S: I'm Signey. Sorry. I thought this was...my room...?

She looks around, only just now registering that she is in a cave and not, in fact, her bedroom.

P: Well...it isn't!! So begone! A-and bring my brother back! Or...or else!

He points an accusatory finger at her with much more confidence than he feels. She looks more confused than intimidated.

S: Um, I didn't see any boys on my way here...? I just came from my dad's house.

She points unhelpfully at the door.

P: I don't care!! Get out!!!

S: ...Okay.

To Philip's surprise, she stands as if to heed him. But instead of actually leaving, she just looks nervously at the door, then begins wringing her hands.

S: Uhh...but could I please stay for just a minute? I just... don't want to be in there during the conjuring. The spell won't take long.

Philip's eyes go wide.

P: Spell?! Caleb!

Frantic, Philip rushes to the door, and picks up Caleb's pitchfork on the way. He hesitates just in front of it, trying to will his hands to stop shaking. With a deep breath, he barely manages to steel his resolve, and throws open the door.

On the other side is a hallway, apparently inside of a house. He hears girls giggling around a corner and runs toward the sound, finding a circle of witches that look a little bit older and are dressed even more strangely than Signey. Candles are arranged throughout the room, casting everything in flickering light.

P: [wielding pitchfork awkwardly] Where's Caleb?!

The witches look at him with confusion, disdain, and annoyance.

?: Uh.

?: What the heck?

?: Back off! Cool witches only!

P: [voice shaking] Just-- just tell me where my brother is and I won't hurt you!!!

?: Oh my Titan.

?: No one cares! Get out!

?: We're in the middle of something!!

Signey shuffles timidly around the corner behind Philip.

S: [To Philip] Hey, don't bother them...!

?: Signey, make him go away!

Signey moves with some reluctance toward Philip.

S: Uh, come on--

Philip scrambles backwards a couple of steps, twisting to face her.

P: Get back!! I can't allow these witches commune with the Devil, or-- or whatever it is they're doing!

Signey raises her voice slightly to match his.

S: It's none of your business! Get out!

The other witches chatter in agreement.

P: No!! [a bit desperately] I have to find Caleb!

?: If he makes us miss the moonlight, I'm gonna kick his ass!

S: [to Philip] You're being annoying!! Just leave!!

Signey grabs for his arm; he quickly elbows her away. Philip then shoves the handle of the pitchfork at her, trying to force her back, but she grabs it and starts trying to wrench it out of his hands. In a moment of desperation, Philip twists the handle out of her grip and swings the sharp end towards Signey instead.

He feels it catch on something.

The room falls dead silent. Signey, who'd squeezed her eyes shut, opens them.

That's weird, she thinks distantly, looking at the metal prongs buried in her chest, he didn't even swing from that angle.

Philip stares, frozen with shock. Signey does not move a muscle. They stand there dumbly for what feels like ages.

Until the witches behind them start laughing.

Philip whips his head around to face them them. They are now shrouded in shadow, their facial features becoming unclear and their grins seeming to stretch to uncanny extremes in the dim light. They take turns jeering between fits of giggles.

?: Wowww!

?: Seriously?

?: Don't just stand there!

?: Suck it up! Get him back already!

?: Yeah! Use a spell!

The laughter makes Philip's skin crawl. He can't stop the strain of desperation in his voice when he says,

P: Stop laughing! This isn't a joke!

Laughter roars again. The apparent leader retorts,

?: Yes it is!

Pointing a shadowy finger toward the pitchfork's prongs, she continues, barely stifling her own laughter,

?: It's not bleeding! There's nothing in there!

When Philip looks again, he realizes it's true. It's as though he's poked through the shirt of a scarecrow. The fabric puckers inward, but there's no indication of flesh or blood underneath.

Despite the witches' amusement, the unnatural sight gives Philip a rush of conviction.

P: She's a witch, like all of you! It's sorcery!

His comment renews their laughter a bit too well. The lead witch says, as though it is the most obvious thing in the world,

?: Yeah right! She can't even handle a moonlight conjuring!

Signey is trying desperately to speak, but her jaw will not move far enough, and her vocal chords refuse to cooperate. Her half-articulated wheezes are drowned out. Stop, she wants to say, help me, she wants to yell, it still hurts, she wants to cry, but it's all useless against whatever invisible force grips her.

When leader witch address Signey directly, Signey cannot will her head to turn or her eyes to move to meet hers. Still, she hears the wide smile in her sister's voice,

?: The joke is that you're both human and he still hates your guts!!

As the witch erupts into giggles, Philip's eyes reflexively snap to Signey, and he instantly regrets it. Her wide-eyed, desperate terror reflects his own too closely.

Philip steps backwards in a futile attempt to separate himself from what he's done. The fire encircling them, dancing with derisive glee, prevents him from getting very far. When did the flames get so tall? Philip feels the bloodied knife slip out of his weak grip.

His own blood feels like ice. He can't doubt himself now, not after he's come this far. Not when there is still so much to do. "You're not human," he mutters desperately, trying to force himself to believe it, "You're not human anymore!" The figure, now partially obscured by flames, struggles to hold itself upright. "It's a lie...!" But his dread and panic, allowed a tiny foothold, proves impossible to escape by any reasoning he can imagine right now; Philip feels himself spiral into sickening, unbearable uncertainty.

Spurred by his moment of weakness, hundreds of grating, childlike voices flood his mind, burying all coherent thought under a shrill cacaphony of accusation and animal distress. In the same instant, Philip feels his muscles slithering painfully beneath his skin, spasming more violently when he reflexively tenses them, only ceasing after they're stretched taut by aching, malformed bones.

He shifts his weight, fighting the burden of his own greusome anatomy. A round, golden mask snaps loudly beneath his heel, and he lurches backward.

Too shocked to control the transformation, with nothing to support his weight, Philip falls into empty space--

In two very different places on the Boiling Isles, Signey Shale and Emperor Belos jolt awake from a nightmare.

#THIS HAS BEEN IN MY DRAFTS FOR AGES AND I WAS KIND OF SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING JUST TRYING TO MAKE IT A WORDLESS COMIC BUT #SURE. OK . IVE NOW POSTED IT ON ACCIDENT . SO ITS HERE NOW #adddna #tohsona #toh

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disappearinginq · 2 years

Text

I’m rewtaching a favorite show of mine - well, up until season 4 favorite - Yellowstone, and I realize that they capitalized on an emotional topic to get out of shoddy writing and what I hate even more is that it worked.

Jamie and Beth have hated one another from the get go, but between season 1 and season 2, it goes from ‘every sibling in this family somewhat hates the other one but they’re still kind of okay to one another’ to there’s a very intense hatred that wasn’t there before between these two specifically.

There’s a few scenes where you can make a guess - Beth as a child is blamed for their mother’s death (by her mom herself) when Beth’s horse spooks into their mom’s and the horse crushes her. Okay, maybe that’s why Jamie doesn’t like Beth, and Beth just hates everyone because that’s pretty traumatic. Nope - you get another flashback where their mom is still alive on a Christmas when they’re all pretty young and you find out Beth has always been dramatic, and Jamie is complaining that they should just start opening presents without her because it will be New Year’s before she comes down. Okay, so they’ve always had issues. Some siblings are like that, I get it, fine. One girl, middle child, in a family of all cowboys and she also hates horses? Makes sense - drama is the only way for her to get attention.

And then comes The Real Issue - some time after their mom dies,I assume Beth is 16 or 15 and Jamie is two years older and about to leave for college, his birthday is in December - so 17 ish. She’s been knocking boots with the other teenage ranch hand (who becomes the love of her life later on) and she winds up pregnant. Rather than go to her father, her older brother, or even the guy she’s been having sex with, she goes to the brother that she doesn’t particularly like, and asks him to take her to a clinic for an abortion. Their family is 6 generation famous - everyone knows this family, their business, etc. John Dutton runs this valley through fear and violence. They founded the town. So they can’t go to a Planned Parenthood, even several towns over, because people will still know and report back to John. So they go to the next door Reservation where Jamie shows his ID while his sister waits in the truck, and the nurse at the desk informs them that a stipulation in getting an abortion there is you’re sterilized. Jamie seems to think about it for a minute, goes back out to the truck with his sister, and tells her it’s okay to come in.

From then on, Beth absolutely despises Jamie for the rest of their lives because ‘he prevented her from ever having kids without telling her about it.’

And this is where I lose it.

I get why they picked it, bodily autonomy is a hot topic and so is the fact that indigenous women were sterilized by white doctors against their knowledge for years in a planned genocide. It made the audience so mad that they just stopped paying attention to the amount of holes in this plot. It might’ve even made this make sense if Beth wasn’t the white daughter of a homicidal white land baron who ran everyone and everything in the state of Montana. Why is the blame put squarely on the 17 year old (or the 15 year old) when clearly multiple adults somehow just....screwed the pooch? If you knew who’s kids those were, if you stopped and sort of paled at their last name, why would you not tell the one getting an abortion ‘hey - you sure about this?’ because that’s just too much WTF to expect a white doctor to recognize the rich white kid and say absolutely nothing - no consent form, no talking to her about it - why would you not question Jamie at that point? Why wouldn’t you question Beth? Is this rape? Is this abuse? YOU DON’T KNOW, THEY JUST DECIDED THE EMOTIONAL REACTION WOULD PREVENT PEOPLE FROM LOOKING TOO CLOSELY. Why would you sterilize the fifteen year old in secret when women who are in their 30′s have to get multiple doctors and a psych eval to get a hysterectomy, or tubes tied when their rationalization is ‘you might want kids some day?’ or ‘what does your husband have to say about it?’

Again, it’d would’ve made perfectly logical sense if it’d been an indigenous woman and a white boyfriend (or no boyfriend, or even her own husband, or literally just by being indigenous). Why does no one question why Jamie was either 1) so angry at his sister that this is some pubescent revenge scheme (except it’s clearly shown that he regrets it - thank you Wes Bentley for caring about your character development when the writers didn’t) or 2) so scared of his dad finding out that his little sister is pregnant that he decides right then and there that getting sterilized is the best course of action? I mean, this is the dad who puts a branding iron to his youngest son (when he’s still a teenager) when he gets a woman from the Rez pregnant and refuses to take her to a clinic for an abortion like his dad tells him to. That’s the son he likes. So the threat is real that something bad would’ve happened if they told their father - bad enough that Jamie and Beth keep it a secret into their 40′s - but AGAIN - why is this on Jamie? And only on Jamie? Is it really that hard to make the leap that Jamie knew what his dad was going to do - drag his sister to a clinic anyways, and then quite probably kill the kid who knocked her up - the kid who winds up being her husband and her father’s favorite son? Why are we not putting the (or any) blame on John Dutton who was apparently so fucking awful at this point that they were scared to go to him and this was the better option?

There’s too many parts in this story line that make absolutely no sense, or require a lot more guilty adults than just Jamie and Beth (should also note, that for the first season, Jamie and Beth, for having this horrible relationship and skeleton in the closet, still call one another when they’re in trouble - need a ride, need to confess something, try to save the ranch, etc - and then it just vanishes in season 2).

Maybe I give Jamie too much leeway. Maybe it’s because I love Wes Bentley as an actor and keep watching the Behind the Story shorts on the DVDs where he explains Jamie’s motivation. Or maybe because I really fucking don’t like that they’re obviously trying to make Jamie the Bad Guy because he’s the adopted son and clearly, Adopted Kids are always the Bad Guy in media (I have never met a single adopted or foster kid who was like ‘yeah, my loyalty is to my Bio parent despite the fact that they were so fucking awful that I got taken away by the state and put in a much nicer home with people who actually want and love me, let me torpedo my adopted family’s lives straight into the shitter now that I have my bio family again’. But the fact that the entire fandom in a goddamn western has become like Team Iron Man vs Team Captain America because EmOtIoN irritates the fuck out of me because it’s excusing the writers for having absolutely no fucking idea what they’re writing about and just want drama for the sake of drama and never really thought out how this would actually go down.

And this isn’t even touching on the fact that any child that Beth had would be emotionally or physically abused because that’s exactly what Beth does to the teenager she ‘adopts’ in season 4, because having a kid doesn’t automatically make you a better person - which they would know, if they looked at the amount of kids in foster care.

#yellowstone tv #yellowstone rant #Jamie dutton defense squad #but seriously this is the dumbest #laziest way to explain why they hate one another #it's clearly written by a guy who doesn't fully understand women's issues #who didn't want people to look to closely at a swiss cheese plot #which is aggravating because until this I loved the show #still love season 1 and 2 #season 3 starts the ball dropping but only with that scenario #the rest is pretty solid #and then season 4 happened #and I am so mad that people make money off of writing like this when fandoms are so much better at all the angles #every consideration is made for every character #and they do it for free #jamie dutton #beth dutton #was it bad? yes - but because it was poorly thought out and it's just a trap plot #yellowstone

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acourtofthought · 1 year

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Hello!

I need to vent how horrible the acotar fandom is.

This ship war has become hell. I can't stand to see how much they chase the girls (Elain and Gwyn) and exempt Azriel's contradictory actions.

Male chauvinist is very dominant as always, especially among such young girls.

Another one who suffers a lot from this is Lucien. The disrespect in theories is absurd, I doubt that Elain would like to be talked about the way they say about Lucien. Remembering that she defended Lucien from the love of her life Greyson in Acowar.

Absurd theories that Lucien is someone like Tamlin's father, Rhys' father or like Beron himself.

They say that acotar5 will be forbidden romance. Where they'll do it all behind Lucien's back like he deserves to be tricked or manipulated.

They place him as an aggressor and harasser, and he is a sexually and psychologically abused character.

They say the bond of mates is fake like Rowan, but they forget that the bond never existed. Rowan didn't feel that thread, and yet he loved Lirya and their child.

Aelin has great respect for Rowan's history, just as he does for her past and romances, unlike Azriel who sees Lucien as a nuisance and shows gratuitous disrespect.

Elriel stan are sometimes racist and make fun of the violence he suffered and even make fun of his disability.

I as Lucien Stan get sick of these things. How do you handle this fandom? Do you have any tips on how not to fall into the desperate Elriel's traps?

How do you think Elain would react to hearing the dismissive way Azriel says of Lucien? How do you think she would handle it if she heard about the Blood Duel idea?

Vent Away!! I understand your frustration because people have blown way past reason and logic and have entered into Mean Girl territory all in the name of fictional characters.

And pitting Elain and Gwyn against one another while treating Az like a poor baby who just needs to be "wuved" is disturbing.

This man TORTURES people. He starts fights in important political meetings because he can't control himself. He disobeys orders from his High Lord and High Lady.

Yes, what happened to Azriel is terrible and it's completely understandable why he's got issues. But constantly making excuses for him and giving him repeated forgiveness for his actions / behaviors while acting like two females under the age of 30 who very recently experienced major traumas and have not yet discovered who they're meant to be are the problem is crazy.

Elain and Gwyn are extremely parallel characters right now.

Both had older sisters who protected them. We know it's a fact for Elain and Gwyn tells us:

"Catrin was always the strong one" "After our mother died, she took care of me. Looked out for me."

Catrin was Gwyn's Nesta.

Both have shown moments of extreme bravery (Elain while saving Briar and when she stabbed the King and Gwyn during the attack on Sangravah and the Rite).

But despite that, they are both still hesitant to fully embrace their futures. Elain by sort of hiding in the NC telling herself everything is fine and Gwyn (despite her proclamation that she was tired of living in the library and didn't want to take the safe road anymore) returned to living in the library and wasn't sure she would attend Nesta's ceremony after the Rite.

Again, lots of similarities between them.

One of the only reasons E/riels have a problem with Gwyn is because Az is being set up as her possible LI. No, she doesn't need to be your favorite character but it's a near impossibility to hate a character whose major role in SF was to be Nesta's support system. To have created so many slanderous things to say about her. How can you have so much hate for a character who has not been written to be antagonistic in any way right now?

And the Elain hate is also extreme. I've seen some Gwynriels (this is a very select few as most Gwynriels I talk to are awesome) say that Elain should be killed off or SA because she's worthless. This is a girl who had a special cake made for her sister because she wanted her to know how much she's always appreciated her. Elain stood up to Nesta to allow Feyre to use their home as a meeting spot for the Human Queens regardless of what that might mean for her own engagement. This is a girl who has always shown the members of Feyre's new family with respect. She doesn't have to be anyones favorite but Geeez. Saying she'd be better dead or assaulted is way out there. Of course people have things they dislike about her, that tends to happen when a character is more fleshed out. SJM has given her good and bad (especially when we are witnessing sister squabbles on page) but acting like she's a more terrible person than Az is 🤔

And Lucien, my god. His entire journey so far has been filled with impossible decisions. Constantly being put in the middle of his friend and High Lord (a High Lord who gave him a job and home) and Feyre, a friend he had just met. Always between a rock and a hard place on what she needed versus what Tamlin and the Spring Court needed. Being accused of not doing enough when, whenever he tried to do anything he was threatened and eventually abused by Tamlin. Having to reign in any emotions he may have had for Rhys and the IC, people he was led to believe were the bad guys for centuries and who really didn't show Lucien much respect in the beginning, because they were allowed to dictate when and how he was allowed to see his own Mate. He's never threatened ANYONE or brought harm to anyone Elain cared for. He freely works with Az even though Az treats him like garbage He's always tried to find balance between respecting Elain's need for space while also letting her know he'd still like to interact with her. All while he can't return to his home as his father keeps trying to kill him and Feyre ruined his name in Spring.

What tough decisions has Az made as of late? What impossible situations has he really been placed in? Az is a bit of an asshole right now for no real reason at all besides his desperate need for love while Lucien has legitimate problems and is faced with difficult decisions. Az starts fights, has anger issues, refuses to communicate, and doesn't listen to authority. Yet Az gets more respect because.......? Because he said something poetic about Illyrians and the wind and acts like a perfect gentleman around Elain?

I do think SJM will restore Azriel's character but anyone holding him in higher regard at the moment than Lucien, Elain or Gwyn is a very interesting person indeed.

To answer your last question, Elain would dislike everything about the Az that exists when she's not around. From how he talks about Lucien to his casual disregard for he and Graysen's lives. To the real thoughts he has about her, that she's the "third sister" and that's why he wonders why he didn't get a bond, that his thoughts for her really only amount to sexual fantasies. That he doesn't think she can handle something dangerous.

It's ironic because the front Az puts up around Elain is how Lucien actually is yet she's so stubborn against getting to know him that she hasn't realized it yet.

I think the reason I don't fall into the E/riel traps and bullying is because, after looking through the series over and over and OVER again, I finally feel like it's all clicked. I came up with a lot of different thoughts, even trying to prove an E/riel endgame possibility at one point but some of those things didn't feel right. I'd have an idea and start running with it but after asking other questions, the idea fell apart under my own scrutiny.

A year ago, I would have probably been uncertain on my stances and wondered if I missed something but now I do feel very confident that I'm just as versed as any of them might be (at least on the Elucien / Elriel / Gwynriel debate) and that makes it easy to ignore or argue back. That's not to say SJM can't turn around and completely change the direction of her story but as far as things stand right now, I do feel that I've grasped the hidden messages she's left us about those ships. And that in order for E/riel to ever be a possibility, she would have to go in a completely different direction and decide what's she's written so far didn't matter because what there is does not point to E/riel.

So for others out there that struggle dealing with them I think really looking back through the series and trying to disprove their arguments can help because it builds the confidence that you understand the material as well as the next person. Or, you can find blogs that resonate with you, that their logic also makes sense to yours, and use that to build up your knowledge.

But even if it's a blog you usually agree with, it's ok to question their take on it too. If I or anyone else says anything that makes you go "wait a minute", then going back to the books can again help. See if you can disprove (or even find additional supporting proof) of what they're saying.

In the end, regardless of how much effort you want to put in when it comes the series, remember that anyone who resorts to threats is not anyone you should be paying attention to anyway. They are obviously not someone you should respect and allow to dictate how you feel about yourself or your enjoyment of something.

I am sorry for the stressful nature of the fandom though. It does suck the life out of me from time to time and it makes me desperate for answers from SJM.

#pro elucien #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #anti e/riel #pro elain archeron #pro gwynriel #gwynriel #pro gwyneth berdara

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onceuponanaromantic · 1 year

Text

of living dead and sights unseen

(Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial‘s prompt: FFF190 Trapped in the Dark. Have a little ghost story, though CW for mentions of death and of some violence. Enjoy!)

There is a ghost looking back at her when she looks into the mirror.

The bathroom light creaks, splutters and spits sparks. The ghost looks at her with open, dead eyes, beneath the long ragged curtain of her hair. Shadows leak across the stained concrete, spilling out from beneath the sinks. The air sinks around her, heavy with the bitter iron and the withering sweet of frangipani.

She doesn’t let her gaze flinch away from the ghost’s, even as her hand goes to the wooden pencil. Technically, stakes or even a crucifix would work better, but wood of all sorts works fine, and pencils are easier to store. They’re also less obvious, given how often she returns to the school, which, by default, also makes them less suspicious. The freezing touch at the tip of her spine grows colder, creeping down her back.

“Hello.” She says softly, hand reaching towards the mirror. “Would you like to come with me?”

The mirror ripples upon contact with the pencil, which is good, and shatters, which is not.

The ghost shrieks, and shoves her to the ground.

“I know you’re scared.” She chokes out, between rolls across the concrete, between those too sharp fingernails pulling at her hair and face, “It’s hard, being alone in the dark there. But I’m not here to hurt you. Please.”

She wrenches herself up, forcing herself up against a cubicle door. “Listen.”

The ghost lifts a hand and hisses. The toilet behind them gurgles threateningly. The smell of decay seeps into her eyes and nose and mouth, curdling around them.

She continues to meet her gaze. “It must have been a long time. I’m sorry. It must have been cold. And dark. And you shouldn’t have had to go through that. Let me help you.”

The ghost snarls, her teeth bloody and eyes wild. She raises the pencil.

“Go with her.”

A new voice startles both ghost and girl. She takes the chance, pushing the pencil forward gently and encouraging the ghost to take hold. When it is done, she breathes.

She turns, and stops.

A familiar name falls from her lips. The ghost before her is more human than ghost. The soft faded blue of the pinafore wrinkles as she kneels before the girl, taking her in. She looks so young.

“Are you hurt?” the ghost asks, in the creeping darkness. “I’m sorry that I didn’t intervene earlier.”

“I’m sorry.” She blurts out, not even caring that she remains kneeling in the remains of the fight. Her voice hitches into a sob. It breaks. “I should have come back for you.”

The ghost’s eyes are soft. “It’s okay.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, it’s not. I couldn’t- I couldn’t even come back.”

The ghost reaches forward, only for her to turn away.

“I’m sorry.” And just like that, it all breaks free in one go. Tears stain her torn blouse and ragged jeans. Her voice breaks again and again as she looks at the face of her best friend. The one she didn’t save when it mattered.

“I should have come back. I should- I knew. I knew that- I knew that wasn’t safe. I knew- I shouldn’t have left you there alone. And then it happened too fast and I couldn’t. And I-“

“And you keep coming back.” the ghost says, “Because after it all settled, they found my body.”

“I didn’t mean to.” she sobs, “you should still be here. What was the point- what was the point of being able to- of knowing how to- I couldn’t.”

She chokes, voice a harsh rasp. “What was the point of all that power if I couldn’t even save the few people who mattered to me?”

The ghost hugs her. She feels almost solid. There’s even the scent of her rose shampoo still clinging to her hair.

“And then I tried-- I tried, god knows, I tried to find your ghost. But I couldn’t. So I thought you had passed on, but you-“ She looks up at the ghost’s face, taking in the whites of her eyes and the soft roundness of her jaw betraying her youth. “I’m—”

“It’s like you always said.” The ghost said comfortingly. “Right? Ghosts are drawn to where they were torn violently out of time. They haunt because they cannot escape the well.” She presses a hand to her jaw. “You said that grief is like a gravitational pull, remember? When you were explaining it to the juniors.”

She nods, hiccupping.

“So when I didn’t come back as a ghost, you thought I had passed on.”

“But you didn’t.” The words tore themselves out of her. “You’re still here. I’m-“

“Don’t apologise.” The ghost met her eyes. “You have nothing to apologise for. You did your best.”

“But you’re still here.” She fumbled, almost on instinct, for a pencil. The ghost pressed her fingers to hers. She had always had poor circulation while she was alive, so the cold almost didn’t register.

“Don’t you think I get some choice in whether I wanted to move on?”

The ghost pulls her hand, pushing her to sit against the wall instead of the cubicle door. She goes easily, still in shock.

The ghost pulls her hair through the dark brown of her hair. “You never dyed your hair.” “What?”

“Asteria, I knew enough about ghosts. If I really had wanted to move on, I could have.” The ghost says sadly, “Look at you. They tell me, you know. You’ve been coming back here every weekend for the last three years, to deal with the ghosts.”

She pulls her hands towards her, looking at the short, torn edges of her nails. “You wanted to paint your nails. You said, after we’re out of here. You were going to dye your hair bubblegum pink. And paint your nails-“

“Teal. With gold flakes.”

“Did you really think I would have wanted you to remain trapped here?” The ghost smiles, “I love you too.”

She waves a hand, and stands. She pulls the girl up. The lights continue to flicker, and the darkness continues to seep.

“Go.” the ghost says, “I’ll stay here, if you want to visit. But go.”

“I expect your hair a different colour when I next see you.” Her voice is light, even as she steps forward into the mirror.

When she finally stands, bracing herself against the wall, there is a ghost in the mirror, looking back at her.

This ghost grins.

#fff190 #syl's writing #flash fiction friday #trapped in the dark #little ghost story!!

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hahahahahangst · 1 year

Text

Nothing else matters (Be The Young 19)

GIANT TW which will be valid for each episode for suicidal thoughts, self-h*rm, violence, cursing, relatives dying, mentions of s*x, s*xual assault

All chapter titles are song titles, some of them translated from Italian songs. We start from the first season and make out way through the series. I will break canon (mostly from the S2 finale) but will try to get back into it for the sake of ✨ lore ✨ .

Summary: Emily's life used to be normal. Until one day, her family died, leaving behind just one letter.

"After reading this whole letter, call John Winchester. [...] He’s your real father."

MASTERLIST

Nothing else matters

Never opened myself this way Life is ours, we live it our way All these words, I don't just say And nothing else matters

“Dean, I can’t.” Cried Emily. “I can’t see him like that.” Dean exhaled, quickly gazing behind him to make sure Sam was still passed out.

“Emily, he’s going to be just fine. It’s just holy water. He won’t even feel it.”

“You don’t know that, okay? You’ve seen the marks it leaves. It’s like acid.”

“So what, we let the demon in there?”

“What- no! I’m just saying I don’t want to look while you hurt Sam!”

Dean glared behind him again, impatient. “You know what? Grow a pair. You can’t be a hunter and a little scared girl in distress.” He dismissed her and turned back.

“Really? Grow a pair? You want me to act like I lost my mind? Randomly punch people, shoot my brother- what’s your problem?”

“Not like you lost your mind, like a hunter!” Dean turned back to look at her. “You’ve been in the life for years and still get stuck in this crap? You want to be a hunter? Prove it.” He handed her the bucket he had filled with holy water. “Be the though bitch you’ve been pretending to be.”

Emily’s heart started to race. Dean wanted her to be tough? She could definitely satisfy him. Vexed, Emily grabbed the bucket from Dean’s hands and looked at Sam. His head was dangling from his shoulder and he was tied to a chair in the middle of the room.

Maybe she could be tough. She could try.

She took a deep breath. “So?” Asked Dean, impatient.

“Give me a second.”

“We don’t have a second. Just- watch and learn, okay?” He walked towards her and snatched the bucket away from her, disappointed. He immediately threw the entire content of it on Sam. With a strong sizzling sound, Sam woke up screaming. Emily cringed to the horrible mix of sounds.

“Would you look at that…“ He said, heavy breathing. “The Olsen twins, back from the dead.”

“How about I smack that smartass right out of your mouth?” Said Dean.

“Sam's still my meat puppet. I'll make him bite off his tongue.”

“No, you won't be in him long enough. Bobby.”

The man, who had been standing in a corner, angrily looking at the two siblings argue, started reciting an exorcism. Dean talked over him.

“See, whatever bitch-boy master plan you demons are cooking up? You're not getting Sam. You understand me? 'Cause I'm gonna kill every one of you first.” He said, bitter. Sam seemed to struggle, in pain, but then started laughing maniacally. Bobby looked up, surprised, but kept reciting.

“You really think that's what this is about? The master plan? I don't give a rat's ass about the master plan.” Said Sam, with a smug expression, suddenly not in pain anymore.

“Oops. Doesn't seem to be working. See, I learned a few new tricks.” He continued. Then, he started reciting something in Latin of his own. Emily looked at Bobby.

“What is that?” She asked, not recognizing the spell. The man didn’t have the time to answer her, because the room started shaking. Feeling something falling on her, Emily looked up and saw the demon’s trap Bobby had set up, breaking with the ceiling. After a couple of seconds of chaos, the room went silent.

“There, that’s better.” Said Sam, evil. With a nod, Dean and Bobby flew against the walls of the room. Sam looked up, confused, and saw Emily still standing. She raised a hand at her. Emily felt a force trying to push her away, but was able to resist it. It felt the same way it would have felt if it was a kid pushing her. Sam looked even more confused, which suggested Emily that maybe something wasn’t going according to plan.

“Trouble in paradise, fella?” She asked, trying to think of something she could do. Dean and Bobby were on the floor, passed out, and she was on her own.

“What’s going on?!” Asked Sam, angry. “You’re not supposed to be this strong!” The demon’s words caught Emily’s attention. Sam walked towards her, visibly upset. “That’s okay-” He said, punching her. “We can settle this the old way.” Sam grabbed Emily from her hair, making her scream in pain. As much as she tried to set herself free, she couldn’t. Sam was stronger than her, so possessed Sam could only be extremely stronger than her. “Has anybody told you you’re a real bitch?” Said the demon, punching Emily’s already broken nose. “Sending me back to hell like that- real slut move.” The third punch almost made Emily lost her senses, but she finally recognized who was inside Sam. It was Meg. Emily looked around, knowing full well she had to do something. “By the way, I saw your dad down there.” Continued the demon. “He doesn’t say hi.” Emily scoffed, angry. “And Sam? Oh, if he could talk about you…“ Meg held Emily higher and closer to her, pulling her up from her hair and sustaining the rest of her weight by holding her neck. As she spoke, Emily felt angrier and angrier. “He knows full well that you’re gonna be the one that goes dark side first.” She hissed. Emily felt a sudden wind filling the room, getting stronger as she got angrier. “He can’t wait to shoot you in the face and get it over with.” Suddenly, a book, coming out of nowhere, hit Sam’s head, making the demon lose their concentration and take a step back. Emily knew she had to make her move. If she could move the door, she could for sure move bodies as well. But was it going to be harder? What if she failed? All her doubts were wiped when she saw Sam stand back up and lead towards her. She just had to think it, and his body flew towards the wall, slamming against it violently. A shiver went down her spine as she realized Sam had passed out again. Pinned there, his sleeve had moved up, exposing a mark on his forearm. Emily recognized it from one of Bobby’s books as a binding lock, something that kept the demon inside of Sam’s body despite the exorcism. She knew exactly what to do. She approached his body carefully, scared he might wake up all of a sudden.

“Sam, if you can hear me, I’m very sorry.” She said, as she extracted a knife from her back pocket and used it cut through the mark. With the mark broken, Sam’s eyes shot open, black as the night, and then he screamed, vomiting a huge amount of black smoke.

With the demon gone, Emily fell to the ground, exhausted. She leaned on a pile of books which has crashed down during the fight, and tried to calm herself down. Everything around her was spinning, her body slowly going numb, her breath becoming shorter and shorter and panic making way into all her limbs. She opened her eyes and saw Sam’s bleeding arm.

She had to do something.

She had to stop the bleeding, but she couldn’t, her legs won’t move, her hands won’t be steady enough.

“Emily!” Called Dean’s voice, barely overcoming Emily’s thoughts. A lightbulb exploded over her, making both Emily and Dean flinch. Emily looked at Dean helping Sam up. He took a step, but almost fell again, holding his arm, in pain. Emily heard the sound of a window breaking behind her. “Emily!” Called Dean again, alarmingly looking at her while he wrapped Sam’s arm in a piece of fabric. “Stop!” That was when she realized, the lightbulb, the window, it was all her. With a dull thud, a whole stack of books fell over. Emily looked at Dean, short of breath, and pleaded for help.

Probably for the first time since they had met each other, Dean seemed to understand exactly what was going on with her. She couldn’t stop, she couldn’t control anything, not even her thoughts.

What was she becoming?

Why was it happening?

Why did she seem to have the same powers as demons?

Was she one of them?

How long before Dean was going to kill her?

Was she turning into something evil?

Was she evil?

“Emily!” Dean’s voice finally rose over everything else. Emily looked at him and regained consciousness of her surroundings long enough to realize she was lying on the floor, uncontrollably crying and trying to scratch the floor beneath her to release the tension that was building in her body. Dean towered over her, worried. “Look at me!” She said, stopping her from scratching the floor any longer. “It’s over, it’s okay.” The tension kept building up and with it, the urge to get rid of it. She closed her eyes and started banging her head on the floor. Dean quickly let go of her arm. “Emily- STOP!” He said pushing her head on the floor to stop Emily from hurting herself. “It’s over. You’re safe now.”

#spn fic #supernatural fic #supernatural #sister!winchester #little sister fic #dean winchester #supernatural season 2 #tw #PLEASE READ THE TW WE ARE ABOUT TO REACH THE BAD PART #be the young #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural angst #supernatural sister fic #spn #spn fanfic #ao3 #supernatural a03 fanfict #sister fic

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nomorerww · 7 months

Text

I am Sage's mother, better known as Nana. I adopted Sage after my son died when she was still a baby. She's been through six foster homes by then, but we loved her and she blossomed into a joyful, lively girl who made music and art.

Puberty began and COVID hit, and she was treated for depression and anxiety, at times very severe. Her teachers shared any concerns with me so her treatment could be adapted.

The transparency ended in August of 2021 when Sage started high school. She started a public high school and she told me that all the girls there were bi, trans, lesbian, emo and she wanted to wear boy's clothes and be emo. Because I saw it as just a phase, it was fine with me.

But at school, she told them something different: she was now a boy named Draco with male pronouns. Sage asked the school not to tell me, and they did not tell me even though I informed them of her mental health history and medication. If I had known, this would be a much different story.

She was terribly bullied. No one told me. But boys followed her, touched her, threatened violence and rape. Something happened in the boy's bathroom but for two days, the school told me nothing. They kept meeting with Sage alone and she became so distraught they called me to pick her up.

That evening, I found a hallpass labeled 'Draco' and Sage told me she was identifying as a boy, and that her counselor said she could use the boy's bathroom. She'd been jacked up against the wall by a group of boys. She was crying, terrified. I said just stay home, we'll figure it out. That was my last conversation with Sage for five months.

The night she ran, she thought, to a young friend she'd met online, she left a note saying she was scared of what would happen if she stayed. The sheriff, FBI, search dogs were called in. I dropped to my knees in prayer. Nine days later the FBI found her in Baltimore. My baby had been lured online, sex trafficked by DC then Maryland. She was locked in a room, drugged, gang raped and brutalized by countless men. It was night. The FBI told us to pick her up in Maryland the next morning.

We packed our cars with blankets and stuffed animals and arrived by 8 am, but we were told we couldn't see her, and were summoned before Judge Robert Kershaw late that afternoon. They didn't even tell Sage that we came for her. We finally entered the courtroom and Sage appears on a huge Zoom screen from a prison cell. She looks tiny and broken, and I cry out 'I love you Sage.' Sage responds 'I love you too, Nana.' But attorney Anisa Khan rebukes us. She is a 'he' and his name is 'Draco' not Sage. We were floored.

Khan accuses us of emotional and physical abuse, that we are misgendering her, even though we just learned she claims to be trans and we're willing to use any name and pronouns to bring her home. My husband was so tearful he kept forgetting the new pronouns, so the judge had the bailiff remove him from the courtroom. I was pleading for my child to be returned and treated for her unspeakable trauma. Judge Kershaw told me, if I use the word 'trauma' again, he would throw me out too.

For over two months, he withheld custody. He housed Sage in the male quarters of a children's home. Sage told me she was the only girl and repeatedly assaulted. She was given street drugs by the other kids and Khan told her she didn't care. She just wanted to win the case and all the way to the Supreme Court if necessary. Khan tried to prove abuse, but we were eventually cleared by both states of all charges.

Sage later told me Khan had told her to lie that we hit her. Khan even had Sage's school counselors testify against u,s though they barely knew Sage and they didn't know us at all. Khan told my precious child I didn't want her anymore. I found out Sage never received any of the letters I sent her.

Sage ran from the Children's Home and disappeared for months. They told me she might already be gone forever, but I couldn't give up and I finally found a tip on her social media that led the marshals to her in Texas. She had been drugged, raped, beaten and exploited. This time I was able to be with her for the traumatic rape exam, and to bring her home.

Back in Virginia, she entered the mental health facility that Judge Kershaw had ordered, as it would affirm her as a male. The therapist began pressuring her to have her healthy breasts removed. Sage was too scared to protest, but she asked me to secretly buy her girl's clothes because she wanted to be a girl, but keep them in the car. It took a kind lawyer, Josh Hetzler to secure her discharge.

After almost a year. Sage was finally home. Safe. Alive. Sage is receiving professional trauma care the first trafficker has already been convicted. Sage has nightmares, panic attacks, rape-related medical issues, but there's hope. I tell her she's not broken she's just scarred. And part of that hope is that in courageously sharing her story, others will be saved.

Sage said she doesn't know who she was back then. She wasn't a boy, she just wanted to have friends. But her school, the judge, the attorney and the doctor were all blinded by their ideology. The consequences for Sage were unspeakable.

Please don't let ideology harm another child. Let parents do our jobs. We know our children best and we love them a million times more.

Thank you.

#rogd #transing children #ref #reposted bc religion still hasn't unblocked me

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intosnarkness · 7 months

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Dear Yuletide Letter

HI! You’re awesome! (And if you’re writing me a treat, which would be amazing, my name is saMaLander, not saLaMander - a few stories got misplaced a couple of years ago, and I don’t want to miss yours!)

General notes: I like relationships of all shapes and colors and sizes. Friendships, lovers, enemies, found families, weird combinations of the aforementioned lists. I want to see people interact, and how they fit their broken bits into the same space as everyone else’s.

My only hard nos are incest and graphic torture. (I can do violence, just please don’t go peeling fingernails off or whatever.) Anything else, I’m gonna be just fine.

Tropes I enjoy: Friends to lovers, Found Family, Magical Realism, Bed Sharing, lost memory, hurt/comfort. I’m like porn, if the spirit moves you.

Neverwhere - Marquis de Carabas

The Marquis is such an enigma and I love him to death. What is his life like when he's not on an adventure? Where does he call home? How did he come to be in London below, and how did he come to his position of power, such as it is? Who taught him? Feel free to extrapolate anything from canon - his relationships with Door's father, the Earl, Serpentine, and anyone else who tickles your fancy are all welcome.

Specific prompts:

A new adventure: someone comes to the Marquis with a problem that is, frankly, silly. How does he react to a request that is Beneath Him?

The Marquis knows something that someone else would like him to not know. They are willing to use force to make him forget.

Things are quiet in London Below, and the Marquis de Carabas needs a sandwich.

In the spirit of The Marquis of Carabas' Picture Book, someone named Puss in Boots is looking for the Marquis, to settle a long score.

Friday Night Lights - Eric Taylor

The way Eric molds young men is amazing to me. How he inspires them, how he relates to them. And how he helps them find the people that they want to be. I'd love to see his first coaching job ever, his last game before retirement, or just a soft winter night with his family when the girls are grown. Just anything that has him focused on as a dad is what really moves me.

Specific Prompts:

Gracie decides to play youth sports, and Coach is asked to lead her team. What changes for him when he's coaching 10-yaer-old girls?

Any of his former players has a kid, and comes to introduce the baby to their Uncle Eric.

Anything about him learning to be a dad to Julie while juggling his assistant coaching with Jason Street or any other hotshot QB.

When he's done coaching, and he stops, what does he do with the rest of his life? Where does he go, and what does he do there?

Severance - Ms. Casey

Ms. Casey breaks my heart. I have a terrible feeling that she is either being held against her will or a very realistic robot that Mark is going to end up decapitating. Either way - what does she feel about the people she councils? Does she feel anything for them? What is a Wellness session like for her? And does she have a connection to the MDR team since she spent one of her 4.5 days alive with them? Feel free to bring in any other characters here, I'd love to hear her inner monologue as she interacts with them.

Specific Prompts:

All the Wellness sessions are the exact same lies. Ms. Casey has started to slip in new information to see if anyone notices.

There's something about Mark S. that she just doesn't like.

The moment of waking - what is it like for her to not know how much time has passed between her sessions? What do they tell her about her outie?

Innies aren't supposed to dream, but Ms. Casey does.

Hadestown - Eurydice

Eurydice is a hungry young girl, but who was she before she was on this road? Where did she think she was going? What happened to the people who raised her, who kept her before she was on the railroad line? And with the way things have changed in Hadestown, what does she remember of a single red poppy?

Specific Prompts:

A lot can happen behind closed doors. Tell me about it. Feel free to get iddy with this, if you want. This is one place I wouldn't mind a little non-con if the spirit moves you.

How does Hadestown change after Orpheus unionized the workers? What is her life like below?

What actually made her love Orpheus? Was it just the song, or was there something else that changed her mind?

The Fates used to sing in the back of her mind, but since she went below, they've been quiet. What does it mean when one day she hears them again?

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evereinefaust · 9 months

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*.·:·.✧ 𝐃𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐧? ✧.·:·.*

It was a fine morning. There were two or three clouds in the sky but they were not very large, so they didn't threaten the weather. And the temperature had only risen a little bit. The sun was shining brilliantly. The grass had recently dried up after being watered the night before, even though some of them needed extra water too. Some of the trees around were drying up, having gone through several days of rain without being able to sprout.

Underneath the shade of a willow tree sat two teens on the park bench, one of them was a pink-haired playing on her phone, while the other was a [h/c]ette watching her companion play. They were having a pleasant chat over this particular game. It was yet another of [Y/n]'s recommendations to her friends, and Lyn was eager to try it out.

It didn't take long for them to hear footsteps approaching. The person stopped just behind the bench they were sitting on, their shadow looming over the two girls. They looked up and saw familiar silver hair and blue eyes.

"Did you buy everything, oniichan?"

"Mhm," Mikhail raised his arm and showed them the box of treats. "What are you playing?"

"It's a mobile game called Cookie Run. [Y/n]-chan recommended it to me," Lyn replied, focusing back on her phone.

"I see."

"Wanna watch Lyn-chan play, Mikhail-nii?" [Y/n] asked, smiling at him.

"Sure."

Mikhail walked around and sat in the available space next to his cousin. After securing the box of sweets on his lap, he leaned a bit toward Lyn so that he can see the small screen of her phone. The silver-haired man doesn't really play games that much, though that doesn't mean he wasn't interested in it.

Growing up with Lyn, he was practically forced to play with her. He discovered many types of games, some of which he truly suck at and Lyn would boast about defeating her older cousin at children's games. Often, he would beat her and the younger girl would resort to violence upon his teasing. Though, now that he's an adult, playing games became a luxury.

"What's the game all about?" he asked, curiosity swirling in his azure pools.

A small smile emerged on [Y/n]'s lips, eyes softening. "Well, first off, Cookie Run is a series of free, online mobile games where your protagonist goes on an endless running adventure."

Mikhail nodded at her explanation. "So the character you're playing is a cookie?"

"Yup! His name is Gingerbrave," Lyn chirped, going to the character selection and showing her older cousin the said character. "And apparently, the game is inspired by the folktale, The Gingerbread Man."

The man nodded once again.

"The game Lyn-chan is playing is called Cookie Run: Kingdom. There are a lot of other games developed by the same developer. I believe that all the games are connected in the same universe but the key difference is the gameplay and plot it focuses on," the [h/c]ette explained, leaning against the bench and swinging her legs. "The two games that I fully know of were Ovenbreak and Kingdom. And I think they're the main series games... I don't know..."

Mikhail hummed. "I see."

The young adult continued watching his cousin play, witnessing how the gameplay worked and the various characters he saw. Mikhail would ask ever so often, and [Y/n] was happy to explain everything so that he would understand it. His eyes glimmered whenever he found something interesting, if he was curious about it, he'd ask the [h/c]-haired girl. From time to time, [Y/n] would observe Mikhail's expression and then at Lyn's playing. A satisfied smile emerged on the girl's lips, seeing how interested the silver-haired man was in the game.

Ever since the day Mikhail was introduced to Cookie Run, his mind would often drift toward desserts. He would watch his younger cousin play her game and the first thing that comes to his mind was the desire to buy more pastries and try out ones that he hadn't tasted yet. Furthermore, he got too invested in the game—more like the cookie characters—that he would bake cookies just like the characters he see in the game.

There was even this one time that he invited [Y/n] to the cafe after their work just to ask questions about Cookie Run's cookies. The young girl was happy that he turned to her for such things, albeit surprised that he would even ask about a game he doesn't play. Well, considering how Mikhail was such a foodie and has a sweet tooth, it didn't surprise her. He may not be interested that much in the game at all, but instead in the living, talking food that the game features. But hey, [Y/n] doesn't really mind—as long as he enjoys himself, that's fine by her. Besides, she still has one more mobile game about food that she can introduce to him. But this time, they're not just living cookies who can fight and run, they are instead personified foods...

As usual, Mikhail woke up later in the morning. It was a Saturday, meaning that he got a day off from his acting job and even from his archery training. He was thankful for that since he could barely get enough sleep for the past few days due to his busy schedule. And that's why he often resorts to eating desserts to fuel his brain with enough sugar for the day. Though, of course, Cookie Run had an influence on him as well... but he wouldn't admit that.

Naturally, he planned a tranquil Saturday, spending time with his family and maybe reading a few books he hasn't finished yet. He has just gotten up and prepared a hot beverage to fully wake himself up before starting the day. With a mug in hand and a phone in another, the silver-haired man was about to enter the living room when his drowsy eyes caught sight of something peculiar.

Mikhail stopped in his tracks, seeing an entity floating above a table full of cake slices. It looked like a humanoid figure, but it didn't resemble any creature or human being. It has brown skin, brown hair, and even a long cape with a similar palette. There are even coffee beans floating above its head like a halo. Although the silver-haired adult could only see the side profile of this mysterious entity, as far as Mikhail knows, there are no living creatures with such form in this world. What could it be?

"What the..." he muttered in disbelief, blinking away his sleepiness.

"What is this?" the creature spoke, its voice masculine and mellow. With a hand under his chin, his gaze observed the selection of desserts below him. "Which composition is made up of excess sugar and carbohydrates? I can't understand."

"Soon, Mikhail's eyebrows scrunched together, sweat-dropping as confusion occupied his mind.

"Of course, a little bit of sugar helps to change the mood, but this..."

The entity continued to speak, not noticing Mikhail's presence or was just deep in thought about the desserts. Meanwhile, a single idea emerged inside the silverette's head at this occurrence...

"Did a cookie spirit come because I ate too much dessert?"

"...And that's it."

"..."

An awkward silence ensued after. Emerald green, sky blue, and [e/c] hues stared at each other before each girl bursts out laughing at the story. Charlotte was giggling, hiding her mouth behind her hand. [Y/n] was trying to contain her laugh, rolling to the side of the couch, and decided to just laugh into the cushion. As for Lyn, she didn't hold back her laughter. She had both hands on her stomach, her loud laughter sounding like mocks towards the silver-haired man. Tears were already bubbling in the corner of her closed eyes.

"That's so lame!" she exclaimed with glee. "You're such a kid, oniichan!"

And as expected, Mikhail had gone red with embarrassment and shame and hid behind his hands. He glared at his younger cousin through the gap of his fingers, though that didn't stop Lyn from laughing. She found herself snickering every time she heard something remotely funny coming from her older cousin. And this time, the story was off the charts. Even [Y/n] couldn't help herself, she laughed again. Her face turned red, and she covered her mouth to hide her grin. She took a moment before letting out a sigh and finally calm down.

The [h/c]ette wiped her tears away and sat upright, giving Mikhail a smirk. "You know, you should stop thinking about desserts, Mikhail-nii."

"Well, at least we got to know why he's so hung up over cookies..." Charlotte grinned.

"Shut up," the silver-haired retorted, giving the blonde a glare.

Eventually, they managed to quiet down their laughs, leaving Lyn with a cheeky grin as she wiped the tears forming on the corners of her eyes.

"That's so hilarious!" she grinned widely, her amusement evident in her bright eyes. "Oh, man! Did you see that face? Priceless! I swear I'm gonna tell everyone else about this."

"Don't you dare," Mikhail warned with a stern look. "Or else."

"Or else what?" Lyn challenged, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Are you gonna beat me up, oniichan?"

"Not quite," Mikhail replied without hesitation.

Charlotte and [Y/n] watched in amusement as sparks flew between the Blake cousins. And just like that, Lyn and Mikhail once again engaged in their childish bicker. This time, with the two girls as an audience.

#fanfic #fanfiction #alternate universe #oneshot #reader insert #x reader #one shot #fluff #drabble #female reader #moments in archive #lord of heroes #loh

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