#TW: Panic attacks mentioned | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-kr8tor · 11 months ago

Text

Rotten Floorboards

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 11.5k

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

Our Place In the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 7 >>> CHAPTER 8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It's fine, mister Thomas.”

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

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

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

“Sort of?”

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

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

“Havin’ sisters?” He jokes.

“No, leaving it all behind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No need—”

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

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

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

“Nothing, it's something profane.”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Run.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And that makes it alright to barge in?”

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

“I didn't give you my name.”

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

“You should. Goodbye.”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure you're alright?”

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“We need to be patient—” Someone says.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're speaking to horses.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thomas?”

“Yeah, is there another doctor here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, understandable. How about the thoroughbred?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah.” Thomas picks at his plate again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

He could only grin at you.

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

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

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

“You’re not even a reverend are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thomas healed you.”

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

“What are you saying?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'll come with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

150 notes · View notes

cryptidofthekeys · 1 year ago

Text

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

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

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

---------------------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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

------------------------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------

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

------------------------------------------------------------------

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

------------------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------

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

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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

------------------------------------------------------------

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

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

----------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------

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

------------------------------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------

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

------------------------------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------------------------

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

------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------------

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

------------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------

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

------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------------------------------------------------

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

------------------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------

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

------------------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------------------

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

------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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

------------------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------

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

--------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------

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

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

238 notes · View notes

lixiesstorys · 2 months ago

Text

Ignored

Trigger warnings: nightmares, panic attacks, feeling ignored

Hurt/Scared one: Han

Comforter: Stray Kids

The request was actually that the others would ignore Han as a joke on his birthday but I can't, I just can't write that, my heart can't take that 😭😭 (only a little bit dramatic XD). So I had to make it fit a bit better... hope you still enjoy :3

Description follows later XD. Just so far: it's Han's birthday but the members ignore him or even forgot about him

Han didn't really care about his birthday. Sure it was nice to have a day with his members, without so many schedules to do, but that was really one of the only things why birthdays were special. Of course the members always made something they normally wouldn't do and there was cake of course, but the most important thing for Han was the time with the others.

Because the times where even Chan, Minho and Changbin were there were rare. They had too much to do to be there always.

And that was why Han loved birthdays. Not only his own, but all their birthdays. Those were those rare days of them doing fun things all together.

So Han woke up in the morning, stretching himself a bit. At first he didn't even remember what was special about this day. But there had to be something! He could remember there was something: But what? - wait! Right, his birthday! He had to chuckle about himself a bit. He seriosley forgot his own birthday.

He got out of bed and made himself ready. On his way downstairs, Han noticed that it was suspiciously quite. But not the everyone-is-still-sleeping-quite more like no-one-is-here-quite. And Han didn't like that.

When he entered the kitchen, everything was empty. No one was there. Jisung looked at the clock on the wall 8am. Okay, maybe Chan, Changbin and maybe even Minho went in the studios to get some work ready, before quality-time. The others would be probably still asleep. It wasn't even that late, maybe he was just pretty early. In the end, this is a day off, why would anyone stand up that early? he asked himself and went back into his room.

But the hours went by and no one even came to look after Han. At 1pm he decided, that he would go to the studios. Maybe they kinda forgot that they had a day off? Even tho he didn't care about his birthday, it would hurt him, if they forgot... But the members would never forget him, right?

As soon as he was at JYPE, he went in the 3RACHA studio. as expected, Chan and Changbin sat on there chairs, concentrated at the lyrics in front of them. Han saw that Chan had a frown on his face, always a sign that he got stuck up at something and forgot the time. "Hyung?" the rapper moved to Chan's side and tapped his leader on the arm. But he didn't react.

After a few tries he just got a "leave me alone please, I have work to do. Or is it urgent?" as an answer. Taken back by the cold tone in the leader's voice he stumbled back a bit. Shaking his head once, Han tried to stop the pain in his heart. Calm down Han, Chan-hyung probably didn't even take a break from working. You know how moody he can be. Jisung walked towards Changbin. He tried the same with his other friend, but he didn't even seem to see him. The youngest 3RACHA member even waved in front of Changbin's face, but he didn't give any reactions.

A unwell feeling started to grow in his body and he searched up one of the studios. The parts for some songs weren't ready recorded, so maybe some members would be there. And he was right: Seungmin stood in the recording booth with Jeongin, who read through some sheets of paper.

"Hey you two, do you know what is wrong with Chan-hyung and Changbin-hyung?" "I.N that word isn't pronounced 'muudy' it's 'muddy'" "Ohhhhh, now it makes sense!" the youngest didn't noticed him. The rapper figured, that it was because they stood in the recording booth and couldn't hear him.

He opened the door and said the same thing he said a minute ago. But the younger members still didn't notice him or... ignored him? Suddenly Seungmin turned in Han's direction, who was reliefed to be noticed. "Jeongin, why did you leave the door open? No wonder the recording sounded odd" "Oh, sorry my bad" with the door that banged in front of Jisungs face his hope was washed away.

More anxious he speed-walked to the dance practice room. he already thought that danceRACHA would be there. Han already heard the music before he opened the door. A wave of loud beats washed over him. He would never understand how the whole danceRACHA wasn't deaf with the volume they had the music on. Even Chan, who wasn't so much better with his headphones, sometimes told them to turn the music down a bit.

Jisung quietly sat down on a chair that was placed in the room and waited until they had finished the dance. Now he wouldn't be noticed anyways, no matter how loud he was, the music would be louder.

After some time, the music went silent and Han stood up. Felix and Hyunjin already got out of their positions from dancing, while Minho waited until the music was completely turned down. All three panted. Only god knew how long they already danced like that.

"Okay, done for the day! Let's go to the studios, Chan wanted to start recording in 10 minutes" and with that, they just left. It wasn't possible that they didn't see Han. While talking the three stood right in front of him.

The dancers chest tightened. He should go to the studios again. Maybe they were just joking with him. And he had to record his parts anyway.

The others already were in the recording room, when Han opened the door. Punctual, his part needed to be recorded next.

But before he could say something Chan mumbled "oh shit, I forgot to write down who should sing this part!" Jisung's heart froze. "I can do it. It's a rap part anyway!" "Okay, thank you, Changbin. I get lost in my thoughts way too often" Han couldn't hear more. He had already stormed out of the room.

Tears started to sting in his eyes, when the young dancer ran out of the building. What was wrong?? Why didn't they seem to see him? To know him?

He panted when he reached the dorm. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. As soon as he was in the safe place of home, Han started to sob. He slided down on the wall, pulling his knees to his chest. Why? why was it like this? He didn't understand! Why? Why, why why, why, wh-

"Is he already awake?" "Don't think so" "Okay then one..." "...two..." "...three..." "...HAPPY BIRTHDAY HANNIIII" Han's eyes opened and he sat up in his bed a bit too fast. For a second the whole room spun. "Han, are you okay?" the voice belonged to Chan, he could here it, but it sounded too far away. What happened. "Hey, why are you crying? Did we scare you?" this time it was Minho who talked. He cupped Jisnung's cheeks in his hands. But before he could get a better look at the younger's face, the rapper wrapped his arms around the dancers neck and started to sob into the fabric of his shirt.

All the members where stunned. That wasn't the reaction they expected. Minho looked at Chan with a look that said 'help me pleaseee'. As Minho 'said' Chan hurried to Han and kneeled down in front of his first Stray Kid, so he was at the same height as Han. "Jisung-ah, what happened? Why are you crying? Would you tell me please?" the leader asked softly, while rubbing one hand over Han's back. "I-I don't kn-know. You a-all ignored... ignored me..." The others looked at each other confused. But Chan smiled understanding. "Bad dream?" he asked, knowing the feeling of nightmares feeling real well too good himself. Han nodded and looked up from Minho's shoulder.

Against everyone's expections, I.N started to speak: "hey Hannie, I know it can be a scary feeling, but it's over now. We're here for you" "Yeah and we would never ignore you!" Felix joined in. The members moved close to Han to give him a hug. "Promise?" he asked quietly. But the others heard him. "PROMISE!"

END

Oh my god!!! Why did I need so long??? Give me new ideas please <3

35 notes · View notes

bunny-lovers · 8 months ago

Text

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

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

proship/comship/neutral DNI

77 notes · View notes

a-sip-of-milo · 2 years ago

Text

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

512 notes · View notes

haydenthewitch · 2 months ago

Text

Buck is the one who finds him- of course. They are staying in the same home, after all. It's not like eddie could afford an airbnb, or anything.

Eddie didn't know exactly what happened, honestly. One second he was texting chris, about everything and nothing at the same time. The conversation started the same way all of the conversations had started since eddie left chris in texas to come home for Bobby's feuneral. Chris was checking in on him. god, that kid had so much empathy in his body, and eddie is half convinved that he enherted all of the care in his heart from his mother.

Anyways, he was texting chris as he was packing up some things from his grandparents home, (they argreed that home was in LA, and although it was too short notice for him to come home before the fenural, he was activly packing and planning on coming home.) when eddie just felt this pit in his stomach. he was going to have to leave LA again, and go back to his parent's house again, and he just felt weak and dizzy at the thought. and then he felt an awfuk sense of dread and guilt, knowing that chris was being brave and dealing with it everyday on his own. It felt like he was leaving pepole on both sides, and maybe if he had been in that stupid fucking lab, everything would be diffrent-

He rembers feeling dizzy, lightheaded, and having intesnse heart palptations. he rembers colapsing onto the kitchen floor, curling up into a little ball, and feeling the tips of his fingers go numb. This is it, he thinks. I'm dying. I'm going to die. He rembers thinking that it wasn't fair to Buck. He was already having such a hard time losing their captain, his father, and now he was going to find eddie? on the kitchen floor of their house, dead? from a heart attack? eddie imagines buck, dressed in mourning blacks that have seen too much use, chris at his side, looking down at his grave, and a desprate sob escapes out of him. despite the release of air, he can't seem to get any back in, panic rising in his chest.

The front door opens. "Eddie?" Buck calls out. Eddie sobs, a desprate thought of no, he shouldn't have to see me like this, before buck is rounding the corner into the kitchen, and dropping down to the kitchen floor to reach him. "Eddie!? Whats wrong??"

"I think... I'm dying," eddie sobs out. "I can't fucking b-breathe." his phone dings, surley a text from chris, and another painful sob rings out, about how fucking unfair it all is. a flash in his imagination of chris finding out about eddie over the phone, just like eddie found out about bobby.

Buck gets closer, grabing his wrist tightly and looking into both of his eyes. eddie relizes that he's assessing eddie, like a paient. Eddie just tries to hold still, letting buck check him out. "You aren't dying, eds." Buck says in a realy soft voice. Eddie sobs again, unable to comprehend that. He feels so awful, like he genuinly can't imagine how it's possible that he's not dying.

"Can you take a deep breath for me?" Buck asks, still in that too-calm, too-gentile voice. Eddie tries, he genuinly tries, but about halfway through taking a big gulping breath, he coughs and it feels like all the air in his lungs evades him.

"I c-can't." Eddie sobs, trying to get another big gulp of air in before sobbing it all out.

"It's okay, it's okay," Buck tries to reassure him. He shifts how he's sitting, so that buck is basicaly layong all of his weight on eddie, both of them sitting on the tiled floor. "Eddie, your having a panic attack." Eddie sucks a big breath in, before blowing it all out again, too quickly, and almost painfuly.

"Buck, i don't know what to do." He cries, and he can actualy see buck get emotional. "Everything hurts and i'm scared."

Buck grabs eddie's hand, pulling it in to his own. "Just focas on me okay?" Buck says. He squeezes eddie's hand, too tight, almost painful. "Can you hear my voice?" Eddie nods. "Okay, discribe it."

Eddie shakes his head, thinks about it, before he just says, "Sounds deep, and calm." Another sob, one that makes his chest ache, and buck squeezed his hand again.

"Can you feel my body pressed up against yours?" Buck asks. eddie nods. "What does that feel like?"

"warm, and heavy." Eddie doesn't relize it right away, but right about now is when the tears break, the worst of it over.

"And my hand?" Buck asks.

"Slick with sweat?" Eddie says, and buck breaks his calm demenor, a small suprised laugh coming up out of him. Eddie also feels himself laugh, a little, but he feels so tired it feels bone deep. he brings his sleeve up to wipe away some of the snot and tears on his face, and buck wordlessly helps him. Eddie breathes out again, and it kind of sounds like another laugh, but its realy an emotion closer to relief.

Eddie takes stock of his body. His chest hurts a little, but it's from the voilent sobbing, and not becuse his heart or lungs are giving out, like he thought. his vocal cords hurt from screaming and sobbing, but other than that he just feels normal. He does howeved, feel extremely exasted. The feeling is more closely tied to fatige, (like working a 24 and then driving home for an hour due to rush-hour traffic in LA) that it is to the word tired.

So, He wasn't dying. Relief flooded him.

"I'm sorry," He rasps out. "I don't-"

Buck cradles eddie's face in his hands. "It's okay." Eddie leans into his hands, feeling too tired to worry about whats 'normal' to do with his best frenid. He feels like his energy has been leached, and he can't help but lean on buck- emotionaly and physicaly. one of eddie's hands reach buck's neck, pulling him phiscaly foward untill their forheads were touching. "I'm here." Buck rasps out, and that makes eddie almost tear up again. Buck was hear for him, always.

"I need a nap," Eddie tells him. "That took it out of me."

"Panic attacks can be realy exasting," Buck says.

"I genuinly thought i was dying," Eddie tells him in disbelief. "I thought i was going to die."

"A lot of pepole feel that way when they have an attack like that." Buck says again.

"Did you use to get them, or something?" Eddie asks, pulling back slightly, so he could look Buck in the face. Buck shakes his head, then screws up his face, before nodding.

"I mean, yes, but not as extreme as yours." He explains. "I don't know all of this from experince, and that's probably what you were asking. No, I read a lot about it after the blackout, when uh... When you had that panic attack and you went to the cardiolgist." Buck screws up his face. "And you didn't tell me untill i pushed."

Eddie laughs a little. "Are you still salty about that?"

Buck cracks a smile. "A little, Yeah."

"...so that's how you knew how to help?" Eddie asks, but he already knew the anwser.

"Yep." Buck blows out a breath. "They're tecnicaly called grounding techniques, but it doesn't realy matter." Buck pauses, breaking the eye contact and looking down, like he's about to say something he doesn't want to see edddie's reaction to. "I wanted to know how to help in case you ever had one again. I know you can take care of yourself, of course.... i just needed to make sure, i guess?"

I love you, eddie thinks. I'm in love with you.

He's too tired to tell buck, but he's too tired to freak out, too. Maybe most of his filters are gone, maybe he's always felt this way. He'll figure it out in the morning. All he knows is those thoughts sink heavy like stones in a lake, and root themselfs into the very nature of his being: Eddie diaz, In love with Evan Buckley.

#tw: panic attack #i like. teared up writing this #TLDR: eddie has a panic attack and buck helps him through it #tw: mentions of death #no i didn't write the sterotypical “five things you can see”. tbh there's a time and a place for that but i've had panic attacks my whole #life and that technique has never worked for me. sometimes more questions make pepole panic harder. buck coaching eddie through getting #back in his body is much more direct #i'm gonna get off my soap box now #911 abc #911 #911 on abc #buddie #911 fic #buddie fic #panic attack fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #chris diaz #bobby nash #no i don't belive him to be dead. yes in this fic eddie diaz has attended his fenural and belives him to be dead #fuck you tim #my fic #my writing #hayden writes #hayden goes insane about buddie #i wanted to write four or five sentences about this topic but i always fucking yap to much #coming to you live from my five am brain #hayden yaps #hayden yaps about 911 #wee woo husbands

51 notes · View notes

bbloveseevees · 8 months ago

Text

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

I don’t think ANYBODY in PJSK is ok.

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

96 notes · View notes

sparkywrites25 · 8 months ago

Text

Perspective

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

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back before you killed anyone.

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

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

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

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

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

Why shouldn’t they?

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

Now titans are chomping on your team.

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

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

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

You’re so weak. You’re pathetic.

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

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

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

Too busy panicking about nothing, huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

70 notes · View notes

let-roman-bite-someone · 10 months ago

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

especially since,

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

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

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

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

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

WTIT was 100% an anxiety-centric episode.

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

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

145 notes · View notes

radioactivepeasant · 3 months ago

Text

Snippets Thursday: Hostile Hostage Negotiation 3

Jak actually did remember being carried down a flight of stairs to someplace cooler -- primarily because the pockmarked medic from before came running up, shouting frantically before realizing he was too late to stop the battle trial.

"He's not one of them, sire," the medic cried, "He's one of their victims!"

"Yes, I am aware."

That Damas guy was near his head, but Jak couldn't be bothered to open his eyes.

"The situation was handled."

"He's still suffering heat exhaustion, sir, he shouldn't have been outside at all! We had an emergency in Ward 1 and I couldn't get back to the holding cells to get him- I'm sorry kid, this is on me."

"It isn't." Damas still sounded calm. "I failed to notice the boy among them during the initial capture. I bear responsibility."

"Quit yappin!" Daxter interrupted them both, "Just get Jak some eco already!"

Jak remembered being put down on a cot of some kind, and unbearably cold things being layered over him -- under his arms, over his neck and chest, around his legs and abdomen -- but beyond that, he was just too exhausted to stay focused.

It was bright when he opened his eyes again. Something metal was touching the back of his head and he heard-

Snipping.

Why did he hear snipping sounds?

He tried to ask, but his voice was gone. There was a cracked, rasping whimper of a sound that might've been his question, but he couldn't be sure.

"I'm sorry," Daxter said from beside his head. His voice wobbled. "I'm sorry, pal, really. I know you're gonna hate this, but I gotta do it."

Do what? What was he doing? Jak tried to move his head but he was so tired.

"Hey-! Easy!" A paw steadied his head, and the sound of the shears continued.

"Your um. Your body's not releasing heat fast enough, Jak. The mats are trappin' it all."

Daxter made a shaky attempt at a laugh. "Re- remember how I always said I'd give you a fade in your sleep if you kept stealin' my coffee? It's...not exactly a fade, but I'm givin' it my best."

Jak pushed his throat to cooperate, straining vocal cords until he could make something come out. It was only a questioning groan, but it was something.

In response, furniture creaked and he heard the rustle of someone standing up.

"Ah. He's back among the living, is he?"

It took a few seconds for Jak to place the voice. It was the man the Marauders called Damas. The one they mistook for his relative. Jak could barely see him from the corner of his eye, just....watching them. What did he want?

An unbearably warm hand touched his forehead, and Jak made a rasping whine of indignation. This did not make the hand move.

"Well, little man. You've had quite a day, haven't you?" Damas sounded dryly amused. What was so funny about all this?!

"My wife will have my head when she finds out I accidentally put you in that ring unarmed. It won't be long. Mel always finds out."

Well good. Jak hoped it was at least entertaining. He would have glared at the man if he'd had the energy for it.

It was a relief when Damas took his too-warm hand away and moved to look at something off to the right of whatever he was laying on.

"Overall temperature is better. I still think they should've kept him partially submerged. Would have been more efficient."

Submerged in what? They were in a desert!

When Damas’s face appeared over Jak's again, that stupid grin was back. The man tried to hide it behind a fist, but his eyes gave him away.

"Oh no." His cheeks twitched with badly suppressed mirth. "Oh the haircut isn't going to help us at all, is it? That's still quite a resemblance"

This time, Jak did manage a glare. But all that did was make Damas chuckle outright.

"Oh don't look at me like that. It's not my fault your genes came out that way. One of my great-grandparents or their siblings, perhaps, but I didn't make you look like that."

The laugh pitched into something more self-deprecating.

"Now! Let's see if I can convince Mel of that before she murders me in the middle of the clinic!"

Jak fought as hard as he could to make a sound even slightly recognizable as words. It took him seven seconds to push out a barely audible,

"....th' rot?"

Damas reached down, and Jak felt some of the unbearably cold things on him being replaced with colder things. As he worked -- to make Jak miserable, apparently -- he kept up a casual, one-sided conversation.

"I don't know how you got into my desert, but the ill-fitting clothes on the Marauders certainly suggest where you came from. I regret to inform you," he said, without the faintest hint of regret, "that you aren't likely to see Haven again for several years. When the hell-city drops foundlings on our doorstep, we tend to be fairly...reluctant, you could say, to give them back."

Daxter's paw patted Jak’s forehead.

"He said that li'l piece of metal he gave ya means we get to stay here, long as we ain't freeloadin'," he murmured, "If we get three of 'em, we'll actually be citizens."

Jak was pretty sure he'd never been a citizen in his life. He made another protesting sound when he was abruptly lifted partially upright. A wedge-shaped block of some kind of soft material was shoved under his shoulders, and for the first time Jak got a look at the room he was in.

It would have been a pretty basic clinic if there weren't six beds in one examination room. Clean counters with a vaguely antiseptic smell that turned his stomach, white walls and sheets, beeping boxes that monitored pulses-

And a bag of fluid draining into his arm.

It was in his arm! Jak knew what that meant.

NEEDLE.

The box beside the bed began beeping very rapidly as he struggled to breathe.

Needle. There was a needle. Daxter saw the needle, why didn't Daxter stop them why was there a needle what did they put in him what was in the bag what eco was it why was there a need-

Daxter scurried up onto his chest, weighing him down. He grabbed Jak's cheeks and yanked them back to face him.

"Hey hey hey hey! Cool it, Bigfoot, it's just saline! It's electrolytes, Jak, you know what electorlytes are. You were dehydrated, pal! I didn't let em put anything weird in you, I promise!"

Now the weird king's humor was completely gone. He approached the bed with a small wooden cup and held it out.

"It's alright, you're safe here," he said, "Here. Try to drink some water. Might help you get your voice back."

Daxter had to hold the cup to Jak's lips. Jak's ears burned with shame and frustration. If these people meant to hurt him, they definitely knew by now that he was helpless. Jak had sworn almost a year ago that he'd never let himself be in that position again. Yet here he was, at the other end of a needle again.

"I know."

It was Damas again. He'd sat down beside the bed and was just watching again.

"I saw the scars. We tried to be as minimally invasive as we could."

They saw!

"That's-" The man trailed off like he was having a hard time gathering his words. Then he shook off a piece of armor around his forearm to pull down cloth wraps. The skin beneath them was shiny. Uneven.

Burns.

In the shape of shackles.

"We know, kid," the man said with a terrible solemnity. "We all know what it's like. Every person who wasn't born in this city came here looking for freedom."

"They...find it?" Jak's voice was strained, but he still managed skepticism.

"They do now," answered Damas. "The previous king had...other ideas, but that's why he's dead."

Jak's pulse slowed from breakneck speed to merely rapid. He tried to breathe slowly, but his lungs were more in-tune with his heart, positive they needed air now.

He stared at the room, at Daxter, at the king man, seeking a distraction desperately. And he found one when Damas turned his head. He hadn't cleaned off the stripe of blood across the side of his head where Æthelstan had managed to graze him with the sword.

"You fought."

Jak let Daxter give him more water and hoped he'd sound less like Torn when he spoke again.

"Why?"

"Because a man challenged me with a blade held to a kid's throat," Damas answered. Something dark hid just beneath the surface of his words. "More specifically, because the only reason you had a knife at your throat was because that Marauder thought you were my kid."

That sat cold on Jak’s chest, heavy as a night-hag.

He was no one's child. Praxis and Kor had seen to that.

Samos had seen to that, too. He'd known Jak longest and adamantly refused to tell him anything -- even something as small as his parents' names.

"...'m not."

Damas caught the pain hiding in the statement, and that pitying look was back.

"No, you're not," he agreed, "But it was still my fault you were in that situation. If I'd seen you in that group of Marauders last night, you wouldn't have even been in that Arena."

If. Wouldn't have. Nothing good ever came of "might have been". Jak bit back sharp words lest he scrape his already raw voice to pieces.

"It was the resemblance, I suppose. Not sure why Gunnar immediately assumed you were my son and not some...cousin or something. He'd have seen you around if you were a Wastelander." Damas gave the boys a sidelong glance, and a hint of mischief still hung there.

"Trust me. If I'd had a son who could battle-shift as fast as you did out there, *everyone* would know because I'd never shut up about it."

Jak didn't answer that.

Battle-shift? Did he mean turning into the eco freak?

"How long d'I have to be here?" he asked slowly. "Are there...more of those guys out there?"

"Those...guys?" Damas looked to Daxter questioningly.

"Marauders. Or people mistaking Jak for your mini-me. And/or." Daxter eased off of Jak's chest and returned to cutting his hair. "I *also* would like to know if there are shirtless murder hobos waiting out there."

The king broke into a wheezing laugh, turning away in a futile effort to hide it.

"Mur- murder hobos? You certainly have a way with words, small one."

#fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #hostile hostage negotiation au #tw needle mention #tw panic attack #Jak's got Trauma understandably and Daxter is Just Doing His Best #Damas six months later: 'so i was wrong about my initial assessment. Mel put the sandal down let's be reasonable about this-'#Melinöe was not reasonable about this. she put up with stupid dad jokes for six months. the buck stops here

36 notes · View notes

inkie-does-whump · 1 month ago

Note

for your ask to be overwhelmed with asks: a writting prompt (if you want it to be) someone being put in solitary👀

How Long Have I Been Here (All Alone)

A Lizzie fic for my Lab AU <3

Words: 3300

Content warning: discussion of intercourse and rape, questionable morality, mention of previous burn wounds, body dysphoria

Aka: Lizzie broke the rules and now she suffers the punishment. Meanwhile Joel and Pearl deal with the consequences of what happened during the body swap

Lizzie hates being Pearl.

This body is fragile. The magic inside it are weak tremblings of stardust laced in the tissue of her organs, so insignificant that she can’t even fly with it. Outside of having no wings, Pearl’s body is just… wrong. Lizzie isn’t unfamiliar with being various sizes (she’s exploited the fae size-shifting abilities thoroughly) but Pearl is proportioned strangely. She’s long and thin and it makes Lizzie stumble over her own limbs.

And her face. And her hair. And all these new patterns across her skin that make her feel so alien.

Lizzie hates it.

The Watchers promised it would only be for a little bit. Only a few weeks and then Lizzie would get her own body back. All her fae magic, and her wonderful pink hair, and her soft limbs that fit just right. Lizzie just had to make it a few weeks.

And she had one rule to follow: be Pearl. Act like her, talk like her. Take her name and her life. No one can know you aren’t her.

It was disorienting, but she tried. Really, she did. But it had been a long time, and she kept thinking about that fire, and she kept wondering where her real body was.

And there was Joel.

Wonderful, beautiful, gentle, amazing Joel. Her husband.

Lizzie is a lot of things, but she is a terrible actor and terrible liar. And that is how she ended up here.

At the end of the few weeks she was put back in her own body, where she slept and slept until she was healed of the burns. When she wakes up again it is to the introduction of a new lab “Secret Life SMP.”

Her own body takes some getting used to. She had grown familiar to Pearl’s body but she was back in her own again. Her lovely soft body. Her lovely soft body. Her body. Her body.

Joel finds her in the dark bathroom, staring down her reflection. Her real reflection.

“baby?” he askes softly. “Is something wrong?”

Lizzie holds her skin like it will peel away if she doesn’t hold it there, “why don’t I fit?” she whispers. “this is me. Joel. I'm supposed to fit back.”

Joel reaches to cup the side of her face, to tilt her expression into his eyes, “Is this because of the Pearl situation?”

He has something like guilt in his eyes, like he regrets the nights they had spent while she wasn’t in her own skin. Lizzie remembers the confusing sensation of him inside her, inside Pearl. Everything was new again, and she didn’t fit around him like normal, but it was okay. They were together again so it was okay.

“I love you.” Joel says. “if you’re in this body or any other. I still love you.”

Lizzie shakes apart, and Joel reaches his other hand to hold her steady. Tears pour down her cheeks. She collapses into Joel’s palm, shrinking and hiding away until he is cradling her in his palm.

“I’ve got you.” Joel murmurs, brushing a thumb over her, “come on, let’s go to bed.”

Lizzie lets him carry her back to her room. She would give anything to spend the night curled with Joel, but they had been given strict rules about staying in their own rooms at night. So Joel wrapped her tiny form in her sheets and gently rests her on the pillow. Lizzie relaxes into it, and she lets her previous panic and all her adrenaline knock her out.

…

Lizzie soon learns there are consequences to breaking rules. She should have been better at hiding. She should have not let anyone know at all.

But she hadn’t and now she was being led away by the Watchers again. She catches Joel’s eyes from the other side of the room, and that is all the farewell they have before she is yanked away.

The room Lizzie is shoved into is blank. White walls, floor and door, which is locking behind her with a click and leaving her here alone.

It looks terrifyingly like the room Scott had been locked in once. The Watchers had rolled a TV into the lobby and let all the subjects watch as Scott lost his sanity. Lizzie heard him describe it later as torture, although he hadn’t been threatened with anything but the silence. Scott described the sound of his own bones scraping against each other, and what was enough to tell Lizzie she never wanted to find herself in that room.

The static of a microphone cuts through the silence, “hello?” someone taps on the mic twice, “hello? Hi Lizzie!”

Lizzie’s stomach twists, “hi Pearl.” She says. “This isn’t Scott’s room, is it?”

“oh the Quiet Room?” Pearl laughs, “no, this is just a room. Just a white room.”

Lizzie still feels uncomfortable, “So, what do I do?”

Pearl discusses something with someone just out of range of the mic. Lizzie can hear the turning of pages, “okie, let’s see.” Pearl hums, “you’re being punished for… oh! The body swap?” she skims the paper, “breaking policy, telling multiple subjects, Joel, yup yup. Oh.” There is a heavy pause. “You-“

Lizzie winces.

“Oh gosh-“ Pearl’s voice is muffled like she’s turned away from the mic, “I’m gonna be sick.”

Lizzie heard her drop the papers. She hears the Watchers say something to Pearl, but she can’t make out what.

Pearl clears her throat, “uh, so. You’re here for solitary confinement” her voice sounds strained. “you’ll be given food twice a day. Random times.”

Lizzie glances at the door behind her, “So, like. A few days?”

Pearl hesitates, “the document says three weeks.”

Oh. Okay. Three weeks. Lizzie can. Lizzie can do that. Probably. “Anything else?” she asks.

“Some of the panels in the wall slide in and out like drawers. That’s where your food will be delivered. You can also find stuff for sleeping there.” Pearl scans the document again, “I think that’s it. Ready?”

Lizzie swallows, “I guess I can’t say no, can I?”

“no.” Pearl says. “good luck.”

And then then the microphone clocks off, and Lizzie is alone.

“ok.” She says, “you’ve got this. Just a few weeks. Nothing too hard! You were alone for months while you healed, this should be a breeze.”

It takes her ten minutes before all the drawers are pulled open. Two blankets. A pillow. One drawer just has a meal tray labeled “return to drawer when finished.” She leave that one.

She spreads one blanket in a corner of the room and puts the pillow at the head. She curls up with the second blanket, back against the wall. Her wings press against the cold surface.

The first two hours are tolerable. She fidgets with the corner of the blanket as the boredom begins to settle around her.

Her first meal is dropped off. She can hear a bell ring on the other side of the wall, which prompts her to open the drawer again. A full plate and a glass of water sit on the tray.

“Hello?” Lizzie tries to peer into the drawer, “hello? Food person? Can you hear me?”

When no one answers, she takes the tray and closes the drawer.

“Thank you.” She chimes, before sliding it closed.

The food is practical. A ham sandwich, no cheese or condiments. A few crackers. There is a bowl with something white scooped in it, maybe yogurt? A feeling of dread settles in her stomach.

Lizzie sits on her blankets and chews the sandwich quietly. It’s dry, and she wonders if yogurt would taste good on a ham sandwich. She smiles. Joel would find that funny.

When she finishes the sandwich she takes the spoon and stirs the bowl’s contains. It definitely isn’t yogurt, it’s too thick. She tastes it and immediately her dread is alleviated.

Lizzie’s not sure what exactly it is, but it is sweet. Sugar, a major part of fae diets. She eats it with a spoon and wonders what it is. Not sweet enough to be icing… whipped cream? She settles on that.

The bowl is scrapped clean. She saves the crackers in case she gets hungry again before her next meal.

Lizzie drops the tray off in the drawer again, and sits down in her bed. It was going to be a long day.

…

Pearl is indignant.

She wants to believe that Joel wouldn’t do this to her. She wants to believe LIZZIE wouldn’t do this to her, but she read the report.

While she had been sleeping away in Lizzie’s body, she had been off VIOLATING Pearl’s. It makes her feel gross and it makes her want to bite someone.

“JOEL.”

Joel looks up to find Pearl standing menacingly in the doorway to his bedroom.

He laughs nervously, “heyy, Pearl. You look- stressed?”

Pearl glares around his room for a moment, contemplating how to do this. She lets out a breath, it comes out as a hiss.

“I know what you did with Lizzie.” She starts, fighting to stay levelheaded. Fighting to not scream at him. Fighting to not cry. “During the body swap. I read the report.” She clarifies.

Joel is silent for a moment. Then he lets out a weak, “I didn’t dream that?”

Pearl paces to the end of his bed, “No.” she says, intending to sound angry but it come out weak. Her shoulders slump, “No, you-“ her voice breaks.

Joel bends his head in shame but doesn’t apologize, “You mad at me?”

“Yeah.” Pearl scoffs, “of course. You were- in…” she swallows, the settles on, “I trusted you.”

Joel looks up at her, “I didn’t mean to hurt you!” he says, “but Lizzie… I mean. We both thought she had died in that fire. Or was relocated. I don’t know… I didn’t think-“

“yeah, ya didn’t think” Pearl spits.

“-didn’t think I would ever see her again.” Joel admits, “and when I realized you- you were her. And everything. It was a lot at once…”

Pearl is quiet. She can’t stop thinking about how it would have felt. The intrusion. She’s nauseous.

“it didn’t last long. And soon you were back to- back to you! And so I thought I’d dreamed it. Or at least imagined it. It’s so hard to keep track of what’s real.”

Pearl knows about Joel’s mental instability. But she doesn’t think it’s an excuse for this. He knew it was Pearl’s body.

She won’t let him make her feel like a bad person for feeling violated. He took advantage of her. It wasn’t okay.

“I feel gross.” Pearl murmurs.

Joel nods, “understandable.”

Still no apology.

Pearl seethes internally.

“That’s all you have to say?” she snaps.

“what am I supposed to say?!” Joel bites back, “you would have done the same.”

Pearl pauses at that, thinking of the people she left behind when she was kidnapped into this hellscape. Gosh, she misses Karn.

“It was my body.” She says at last, “it doesn’t matter if Lizzie was inside and you both consented, I DIDN’T.”

Joel glares around the floor again, “you would have done it too.” He repeats.

Pearl sighs and slumps against teg side of the bed. Quiet.

“Yeah.” She whispers, “probably.”

…

Lizzie is pacing. She’s been pacing. Her knees ache from it, but the steady steps are the only think she’s found to drive off the boredom.

She has slept seven times, but she’s only eaten eight times so she must be on day four, even if it feels like day eight. The food has been repetitive.

This time when the bell rings and Lizzie receives her next meal, she spreads the cream on her sandwich just so she doesn’t have to eat yet another dry sandwich. She nibbles on the crackers throughout the day.

When she gets tired of pacing she lays on the floor with her arms spread.

“The floor is cold.” She observes out loud, just to hear someone’s voice. “the floor is smooth and white and cold.” She says.

She tries singing to herself. She doesn’t remember a lot of music since her burn injuries, but one renter liked Olivia Rodrigo so she finds herself humming words she doesn’t quite remember. She made some lyrics up herself.

She falls asleep and dreams about the fire. She dreams about the flames at her skin and the exhaustion that had pumped through her. She dreams about Joel. Joel loving her. Then others. All the people she has tried to fight off and failed. And she dreams about the aftermaths of those rentals, she dreams about pregnancy tests. And she dreams about going home. And little Jimmy with those plastic pink fairy wings he used to wear to seem more like the family. She dreams of how she’d throw them away when he’d disappeared.

And she wakes up numb.

She stands just to have something to do. Stretches. Checks to see if she’d missed a food drop off while she’d slept.

She hadn’t.

She lays back on her blanket and stares at the florescent lights. There are twenty-five squares of them in the ceiling. She knows because she’s counted them several times already.

Lizzie begins to count them aloud yet again, and falls asleep in the middle of “twenty-one”

…

Joel thinks maybe he should feel guilty. But he isn’t.

Actually he was in the right. That was his wife. It didn’t matter what she looked like.

Besides, he didn’t think he would ever get the chance to again. He’d been so sure he would never see her again. Martyn told him about Netty. About how his wife had just been taken one day, and never returned. Joel had thought Lizzie was like that too, forever gone. And then she had been right there. Right in front of him and begging.

How was he expected to turn her down?

Joel still remembers how foreign it was. Pearl wasn’t fae. Everything was different and his heart was pounding the whole time, and she had cried afterwards (that wasn’t unusual. Lizzie had been doing that since her renters got to her. She just clung to him and pressed muffled sobs into his shoulder)

He does regret it. Only because Lizzie said afterwards that she hated it. It was too different. She had been seeking familiarity but this wasn’t anything like their normalcy.

Joel tries to understand Pearl’s anger. He tries to see the whole situation from her point of view, but all he can think is that her anger seems unwarranted. Pearl hadn’t been in her body when it had happened. It was Lizzie. And Lizzie was Joel’s wife. So it was okay.

When Lizzie comes back from her punishment Joel will talk to her about it. And she can talk to Pearl. And they can smooth this whole thing out. Lizzie will explain to Pearl that she has absolutely no reason to be upset.

There is a computer monitor in the lobby for anyone who wants to watch her. Joel sits in front of it for hours at a time, just to feel close to Lizzie again. There is a small timer in the upper right corner of the screen that ticks down to when she’ll be released.

The Watcher like to make examples of those who don’t follow directions. It seems to be working.

Bdubs says he feels more tortured than she does. He covers his ears while he watches the single clock in the facility, just so he doesn’t have to hear her muttering and pacing while he dutifully watches the time. Joel is forced to listen to him count every second while they sit in the lobby together, watching different things. Mumbo comes to sit with them sometimes too. His eyes are on Lizzie. He traces their matching burn scars into his skin.

…

Lizzie feels like she’s shaking apart. She needs to do something. She needs anything. Situation. Something.

“Something, something, something, something…” she mumbles while her hands search the wall for… something. Maybe she missed a drawer. Surely she’s supposed to have something else. Something to drive off the boredom. “…something, something.”

She walks straight into the wall, and stumbles backwards, dazed.

“I’m sorry.” She says, “I didn’t, uh, see you. Pay attention. I wasn’t paying attention.”

She runs directly into the wall again, as though she’s already forgotten it was there. She takes a step back and stares at her hands like it was their fault she had just walked into the same wall twice. They shake in response.

Lizzie groans and sits down again. Maybe she should take another naps. She’s tired. Is it night time yet?

She wishes she had a clock.

She misses Joel.

…

Lizzie sits numbly on the floor when she hears it. A rattling at the door. She turns to stare at it, hope rising in her.

Is it time? Time to go? Please.

But the door doesn’t open. Instead she hears someone swear, and then a nervous, “Lizzie?”

Lizzie moves to the door, “hello?”

“hi, we don’t have long. Mumbo is, uh, “fixing” the monitor right now, so no one can see you.” It sounds like Joel. Lizzie rests her forehead against the door weakly.

“are you trying to break me out?” Lizzie asks hopefully.

Joel hesitates, “I don’t have the key. And also the Watchers would probably just put you back in here. I just wanted to say happy birthday.”

Lizzie recoils, “birthday?”

“it’s October 7th. Impulse got a look at the date on the computer he fixed for his last rental. We’ve been counting.” Joel says. “So, um, happy birthday babe.”

Lizzie smiles, “thanks. Worst birthday ever if I’m honest.” She pauses, “what time is it?”

“I think it’s about noon.” Joel says.

Lizzie draws away from the door. Her internal clock was WAY off. She was going to go to bed again soon.

“You’ve only got a few more days.” Joel assures, “just a little longer.”

“Thank you.” Lizzie says. “I love you.”

Joel is silent.

“Joel?”

No response.

She bangs on the door, “JOEL.”

Suddenly she’s laying on the floor. Weird. Did- did she fall? Was… no, she didn’t imagine that…

Lizzie hurries to the door, “Joel!” she calls. She bangs against the door until her hand bruises. Tears prick in her eyes. “Joel! Please!”

She slams her shoulder into the door. It aches under the impact, but doesn’t open. There is still no answer from her husband.

Lizzie bangs her head against the surface weakly, her head spinning. She’s gonna cry. She’s gonna vomit. Gosh, she’s gonna hurt herself at this rate.

She backs up to kick the door, “JOEL, PLEASE!” the door rattles but doesn’t open, doesn’t break. She screams, hot desperate tears streaking down her face.

...

Lizzie is released eventually.

Pearl is ordered to open the doors for her. She stands and stares at Lizzie for a long moment, like she’s conflicted.

Lizzie steps out of the room, trembling. There is no one but Pearl lead her out of the hallway.

Pearl takes her hand slowly. The sensation is pleasant. Lizzie missed the feeling of skin.

“I hate you.” Pearl says.

And before Lizzie answers Pearl hugs her. Squeezing her together. Lizzie can hear Pearl’s heartbeat drumming. She wraps her arms around Pearl, palms resting against her back.

“Hi Pearl.” Is all Lizzie answers with.

Pearl tightens her hug, “I hate you and your husband but-“ she sniffles, “I’m glad to see you.”

“That…” Lizzie pulls away from the hug, “yeah. I’m sorry.”

Pearl rubs her face weakly, “Joel is caged right now. He, uh, he started attacking the Watchers again when he saw the footage…”

Lizzie nods, “I wanna sleep in my bed.”

“Me too.” Pearl murmurs.

…

#inkie talks #life series au #hermitcraft au #lab au #tw: sa mention #tw: sa #tw: panic attack #this isn't my best work...#trying to get back into writing since finals #ughh #inkie writes

27 notes · View notes