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morbus-mlm · 6 days

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Gravity Falls Headcanons/Things I Think About Often (Prev)

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- Mabel's modern artist who we heavily associate her with is Chappell Roan, especially her with the song HOT TO GO! Dipper deserves the same treatment but with Conan Gray okay. I need to see an edit of this silly guy set to Lonely Dancers.

- Pacifica lets her natural hair out once she leaves her family. It's closer to an ash blonde

- Wendy has always been a horror movie girlie, she's seen it all.

- Some of Wendy's friends made those "summoning ___ at 4 am" videos because they were bored, what else is there to do around this town anyways?

- pacifica is a youtuber, she's also a pretty sucessful pro-gamer. She is canonically very good with fps, so she decided to take it to a pro level.

- dipper creates some sort of mystery solving/ghost hunting/conspiracy analyzing show. It's a continuation on stuff he did in childhood (Dipper's Guide to the Unexplained).

- Mabel cannot be contained by a job title, she has done everything and anything creative. I feel like her main job would be something like a tattoo artist but on the side she sells sweaters on etsy, does drawing comms, animated, made music, she has her hands everywhere.

- Mabel, Paz, & Dipper will sometimes visit each other when working. I like the idea of Paz guesting on an episode of Dipper's mystery show, Mabel trying to play fps with Paz, Dipper visiting Mabel's tattoo shop and getting pierced there.

- Soos' keyboard getting decorated by the people he considers family. It starts with Mabel putting on like, five stickers on the bottom of it. Stan & Ford both carve into the sides of it. Dipper draws on it in marker. Melody writes words of affection on the sides/an inside joke between them. Abuelita is the one who etches Soos' name onto the keyboard case. Wendy writes like a cool, motivational quote on the case.

- the Hand Witch, her whole situation is looking towards the better. She and her man read as that one meme, "my witch gf" "me letting her do whatever the hell she wants"

- Wendy modifies her furbies. She is absolutely one of those people who makes long neck furbies and puts lights in their eyes/ears.

- Emma-May & Fiddleford do not reconnect. Emma doesn't know about Fidd's work in the portal, but she does know about him losing his sanity. She does feel sympathetic and understanding towards his situation, but ultimately she doesn't want to force a romantic dynamic with him.

- There are parts of her that have moved on, there are parts of her that still feel anger, and sadness over what happened between them. She's happy that he's in a better state now and reconnecting with their son. Emma-May writes to Fiddleford, hoping that he has a good recovery.

- Fiddleford writes a single letter to her. He writes that he is sorry for not being their to support her, to help her raise their child. I feel like he would be very apologetic but not self-aggrandizing.

- There are parts of him that are still angry at himself, and ones that still wish to avoid dealing with such a difficult and messy situation. But he is a man who moves forward. He writes that he's grateful for Emma-May's wishes, and he wishes her well in return.

- Although their romantic bond with each other has severed, their relationship ends on a kind note.

- ford plays the fiddle, fiddleford plays the banjo.

- If Ford and Fidd were in a romantic relationship, those two would be reserved in public, but real tender in private. Those two read to me as more reserved with their romances.

- Stan after a while just tunes out their calls to each other. They will get in the fucking, "no you hang up" loop, or the "ily" loop

- Ford unlearns a lot of things instilled in him as a child. the ideas of him being the golden boy or something special (both in the positive and negative sense), are something he now recognizes as ideas, not reality.

- this realization really sets in for him due to a lot of reading, him catching up on modern sciences, including psychology. (it's mostly him almost losing stan)

- Stanley is trying to do the same with his own thoughts of being the screw up, the scapegoat, it's hard for him in different ways. Stanley is a person who, "would insult himself first before anyone else could get to it" without his bravado+con-man persona.

- But they both put in the work. They're good brothers, they help each other.

- both the grunkles favorite sweet after all these years is saltwater taffee,

- I feel like Pacifica connects well with the adults in the town who aren't her parents. She doesn't exactly see any person as a parental figure, I think she just absorbs advice and experience from the people around her yk. Like her and Lazy Susan definitely have a stronger bond than Paz and her mom.

- Bill never really comes back, he just speaks like he has. In TBoB he acts like he's tough shit, but ultimately he's still in the psych ward-- like. This being has no real authority. I like to think therapy is working out for him, he has good days and bad days.

- Just based on my recollection, McGucket is a very agile man. He seems to be able to crawl up & down surfaces not built for climbing.

- I like to think that post series he takes up mountain climbing/hiking because by this point, he's less scared of supernatural beings compared to when he first came to Gravity Falls.

- McGucket dressing himself, McGucket finally being in a position where he can afford different clothing other than his slacks, him feeling present in his own body again. McGucket in green cowboy wear, (look i really like this Appalachian man, i would very much like to see him old and happy).

- Mystery trio (Stan, Ford, & Fidd) post-cannon. The twins travel the world, occasionally bringing Fidd along for the ride. Fidd is their guy in the chair, the person creating tech on the fly, their #1 man. These three men are absolutely on their way to adventure.

- the X-Men movies hold a soft spot for the Pines Family. They have all of them on DVD, usually the collectors editions. All of the Pines have a crush on Logan. The Stans both love older Logan—

- Mabel's room/home would be filled with little collectables (like tchotchkes or sonny angels)

- Stanley meets the Peanuts artists/goes to Knotsberry Farm. Stan gets a hug from Snoopy and he starts bawling.

- Shermie. I do not care if he is the elder or the younger, all I know is that he is the calmer sibling of the three. Is he well adjusted, (no, you kinda can't be if you were raised by Fillbrick), but he is the most normal.

- Stan's art is clearly influenced by the Peanuts, Ford's art influences are 80s sci-fi + realism. Shermie, his is Hanna-Barbera.

#p #gravity falls #mystery twins #kings of new jersey #mabel pines #dipper pines #stanley pines #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddauthor #other ships are present but can be interpreted as platonic #again more characters are brought up but I don't want to tag it all #NO STANCEST #GET OUT IF YOU ENJOY IT #text #long post

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beannoss · 2 months

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Something I think about a lot and wonder if maybe gets overlooked in Twilight’s story and as vitally indicative of his character is actually in the very first chapter:

Anya isn’t needed for Strix. Twilight decides to adopt her anyway.

[Spoiler warning: Mostly this post deals with early chapters already in the anime but there is reference to chapter 62, which has not yet been animated and will be in season 3]

Twilight decides it — “I’m going to rework the mission so it doesn’t involve a child because that’s too dangerous” and he’s 100% right! Donovan Desmond is canonically a far right warmonger with fascistic authoritarian aims. His government made liberal use of the SSS — a group to mirror the Stasi — who continue to operate in morally dubious ways (much more likely they’re actively morally reprehensible, though we’ve mostly only had rumours of that so far). From what we can tell, Desmond is at best an absent father and likely actually worse than that: if that's how he treats his own children, imagine how he might treat others. And the timeline seems to indicate that the experimentation performed on Anya was done under Desmond's government — even if Twilight isn't aware of experimentation on children, he is aware of both human and animal experimentation under Desmond's government. Taking all that and also the complexity of Strix's aims, undoubtedly there were other things that could be done, more straightforward if not necessarily easier.

So. Why? Why entertain the change at all? And then, having entertained it, why go back when the reasoning is indisputable?

On the Doylist level, I think Endo wanted to ensure that Anya had some agency within the set up — Endo also does this with Yor. It would be much harder to be on Twilight’s side fully, or to trust him on an ethical level/take him as any sort of moral authority, if he were just straightforwardly using these two people. To have them be active and consenting participants (arguably to actually be affirming the arrangement: Twilight sets it up, but Anya and Yor actually make it happen) even if the audience only knows the depth of their knowledge/motivations/etc currently, shifts the power dynamic in important ways.

But it also the set up tells us important things about Twilight. He is largely impatient, cold, detached in chapter one. His overarching feelings towards Anya are, I think, real annoyance, real confusion, and real impatience. He just doesn’t understand this damn kid and it turns out she’s a person which is frankly unacceptable — he’d needed and anticipated an automaton, ideally of himself in miniature form. (Though I think one could ponder whether Twilight was, in many ways, an automaton himself at this point, but that's maybe for another meta 🙃)

He’s not entirely unmoved of course — we're given to understand he’s affected when Franky tells him how many times Anya’s been adopted and returned, and isn't amused by Franky's joke about names. Franky's comment — "Just don't get attached" — reinforces this. The prospect of “the future” perturbs Twilight when he’s reading the parenting books. His initial reaction to Anya’s kidnap is horror. All these are true too.

Then there’s also this, from earlier in the chapter:

It’s exposition, yeah, and it’s also exposing. "Hopes" and "joys" are very specific words to describe those events. It could simply have been "A marriage? An ordinary life?" but describing them as such — hope for marriage; joy in ordinary life — expose something of what Twilight feels about those two experiences and, on the flipside, they expose what he deems he's lacking. No hopes of intimacy; no joy in (an ordinary) life. There's an argument as well, of course, that he's being ironic but I don't think that actually invalidates the above analysis. Drawing attention to 'hope' and 'joy' at all are revealing, regardless of Twilight's tone in thinking of them. I think it's also interesting this panel, taken in conjunction with a pair of panels in chapter 62, Twilight's backstory. The above is almost a pulled out version of this below panel of Twilight's recollection of his childhood, and of course the returning image of not just a rubbish bin but a rubbish bin on fire when it comes to disposing of his identity:

Back to Strix. Both his final interaction with Karen and the whole everything of the framing of Strix is making Twilight think (and feel, ahem) things that he hasn't for some time. Twilight decides, I’m reworking this. It can’t proceed this way. Not because Anya is a pain in his ass, not because she’s not as (apparently) intellectually advanced as he’d originally thought, not even because he thinks he can find another child who would better be exactly what mission parameters called for. No:

And what changes his mind is Anya asking to come home.

One of the important parts of this to me is this:

He seeks consent.

This moment is a keystone, I think, to understanding Twilight. It’s also more telling than he maybe realises. Twilight is decisive — we all laugh because he spirals at the drop of a hat when his daughter or wife look even mildly upset but outside those (also very telling) scenarios, he makes decisions and he pursues them. Often he makes decisions quickly. He’s a dab hand at it; it’s a large part of why he’s as good a spy as he is.

He’d decided to change Strix.

Anya asks him, in essence, not to.

So, he doesn't.

But it's wild that he entertains keeping her request at all — why? Why even entertain it? It’s dangerous; it’s impractical; there are too many moving parts outside his direct control; Anya isn’t the sort of child he’d wanted for the mission if he’d spent any time thinking about what a child might actually be like; Strix is in many ways an extremely long shot anyway, Desmond could just stop attending for reasons unknown and unrelated; etc.

So, yeah, why? Maybe because of this —

In conjunction, I often think of this moment in the cruise arc:

Twilight first naming the feeling as lonesome, and secondly tacitly conceding that he perceives Yor as a companion and that that relationship is important to him, something to be missed. What makes this for me though is that Anya calls this out "Papa's you're so sappy" and Twilight's reaction is that of someone caught-out. He doesn’t say “nuh-uh!” but he may as well have. Essentially, something landed a bit close to home, hm? Maybe some of that hope for marriage? A soupçon of joy of an ordinary life?

Twilight’s loneliness underpins many of his decisions with his family — probably without him being fully conscious of it. I think he is at least somewhat conscious of it, but also if he looks too closely... Well, best not to. I could fill this post, I think, with images that demonstrate his loneliness throughout the series; that sorrowful/pensive close-up of his eye(s) is one of the abiding motifs for Twilight throughout. I'd probably start with this one from Twilight's backstory arc:

Anya's request plays directly off his loneliness. Still though, he doesn’t immediately capitulate — he emphasises Anya’s choice. Is she sure? The last day has been scary for a child (and for him, but he's ignoring that part) and Twilight, in his increasing recognition that Anya is a person, is probably aware in the back of his mind that he hasn’t exactly been warm or welcoming or at all patient with her. Things that people respond to — he's otherwise excellent at manipulating people, so of course he understands this. So. Given she'd just had this scary experience, given he hasn't exactly been great with her: Is she sure? She wants to come home — with him?

I think the moment may get a little lost because Anya says something riffing off his own earlier thoughts and self-revelation (featuring that shadowed, lonely eye motif again!)

Were this a post about Anya, I’d talk about how it’s an important character moment for her as well by way both of demonstrating her agency/choice and also that she isn’t nearly as dumb as Twilight thinks (and the audience, maybe, also thinks).

But in my view, she didn’t actually need to say anything about it making her cry. I think she could simply have said yes in that moment and Twilight would have agreed.

Twilight’s an unreliable narrator; he’s disconnected from his heart and that shrouds his own motivations from himself — something he actually also concedes in this chapter!

And it shrouds from us just how much he actually understands himself. He’s also a master of deflection. Easy to assume or say that bringing Anya home is just to align with Strix. Nothing more to see here; nothing else going on. But also that ripping off of the mask in the panel above — and the literal 'riiip' sound effects — also indicate to us that this is an unveiling to himself.

In my view, Twilight agreeing to Anya's request, deciding to go back to original mission parameters, actually shifts his motivations, subtly. Now he’s committed not only to the original mission goals, but also to Anya. He needs Anya to succeed at Strix, not only for Strix's sake, but also because otherwise the mission will end and she’ll have to go back to the orphanage, and he’s just agreed with her not to do that (not right away, in any case). I don’t think at this point he’s thinking it’s forever — his thoughts throughout the manga indicate he still expects the Forgers to be temporary. I don't think the shift in motivation is necessarily even conscious, but given the set up, I think something inside Twilight recognises that agreeing to bring Anya home is a compact, jointly engaged. Mostly all this has become subsumed into Strix: he makes decisions. He pursues them. He deflects, even from himself. Of course it's just for the mission; this saved him the trouble of reworking it, of figuring out something else. Nothing more to see; no need to think any more on it. And to be fair to him, Strix is very high stakes, resting pretty solely on his shoulders, so of course that is, objectively, motivation enough. Why even consider beyond that?

But I personally think that to the extent he's aware of it at all, there is something else going on, that he wants to have Anya for as long as it takes him to work something else out for her. If that's the case, then of course, we have Occam’s razor: the simplest solution may be the best one.

Maybe Twilight should just keep Anya himself, eh?

[Image description: gif from Spy x Family season 1, episode 1. Twilight and Anya have just found out Anya passed her entrance exam and are overjoyed. Celebratory, Twilight picks Anya up and swoops her into the air as they smile at one another. End image description]

#spy x family #spy x family meta #agent twilight #loid forger #sxf manga #sxf manga spoilers #i haven't talked too much about yor in this but ofc she is also an important part of this dynamic #i’ve been in my thoughts for weeks about twilight and they’re all pouring out 🥲#i tried to work them out in fic first but it was not enough 😤#should I put some of this post behind a cut? pls lmk if yes #also caveat that ofc i'm working from translations which may sometimes miss nuance/be somewhat off from endo's originals #here fandom take this!#gif #and i had a whole section about the complexity of consent in children and particularly a child with anya's background #ultimately tho this is fiction we're discussing and i'm sticking within those parametres pls and thx

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corazondebeskar-reads · 2 months

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of rage and ruin - chapter five

of rage and ruin series

chapter five

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.7k

summary: the moon brings about a new change for you and joel.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), depiction of injury, body horror, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, viewer discretion is advised, discussions of breeding but this is not a pregnancy story

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When the moon ebbs enough for him to let go of the creature, you’ve been a frequent visitor in his cell. They never leave you overnight, and most days, you’re in your room for breakfast and dinner (though you’re slightly better fed in his).

Like clockwork, the wolf has curled around you, an ever-present inner tube to float you through the endless days. There’s not much to do here in captivity, no enrichment in your enclosure, so instead, you pet his fur and watch the way his eyes follow noises from the upper floor that you can’t hear. He knows when they’re coming far before you do, not that it matters. Not that you can do anything to protect yourselves, to prepare for them.

He doesn’t use his tongue on you again. Maybe it should be comforting, that he was just helping, or that he just had a thirst for blood, but it’s not. Cheryl’s question pecks at your brain until it weeps.

Why hasn’t he done… that? You would have said he wasn’t the type, wasn’t that out of control, wasn’t a real monster.

But she said he had done it before. Claimed, violated another omega.

And he still hasn’t taken the fucking chance to explain anything to you.

You grow tired of it near the new moon.

He’s corralled you away from the cold corner where your cage used to be, a goal you only figured out when he put his teeth on the chain between your handcuffs and began to pull you after ages of nudging had left you both frustrated at the inability to communicate.

Now you sit nestled in the embrace of his great, furry body on his mattress. It is, admittedly, more comfortable than you’ve been since they took you. The mattress sucks, but it hurts your ass less than the tile, and your back yearns to rest there instead of the locker room bench.

He curls the bulk of his body in the corner, you tucked within, but it was never meant for two humans, let alone one human and one… more than human. His elongated, thick limbs spill out over the edge, but it gets easier every day to look at him without feeling nauseated by the sheer otherness of his mutated body.

And he’s warm. It’s fucking frigid down here, and your sports bra and thin cotton panties do little to ease the shivers. But the wolf is warm and soft and mostly content to let you doze there.

You try not to think about why. Why this terrifying apex predator is treating you more like a teddy bear than a snack. Why you’re not more afraid, why you find yourself absentmindedly petting him and putting up no argument as he shuffles you around as he pleases.

“Is this all you did all day before, too?” you ask quietly one afternoon, tired of the way your brain rots and drips out from between your thighs. Sitting here in the silence, with nothing to distract you from his oaky musk, has you leaking that thin, sticky slick like a faucet. He doesn’t seem to mind that you’re dampening the mattress.

Joel huffs, a puff of hot air ruffling the fur on his arm where his head is resting. Despite your frequent naps, you don’t seem to have taken to his crepusculent nature yet. He rumbles, not quite a growl, and closes his eyes so you get the hint.

You don’t. It’s not long before he feels your pointy finger jabbing at his side. “Hey,” you say. “Why haven’t you turned back?”

This time, he does growl, a soft warning of a thing. The wolf doesn’t want the man, and the man doesn’t want you. Or, well. He does. That’s the problem, after all. His human mind stays stubbornly shut, content to let the beast deal with you instead.

It becomes impossible to ignore. He spends his days wrapped around you, trying to ease the tiny tremors. But you’re cold, so cold, and even his body heat isn’t enough.

In fact, it almost makes it worse when he has to get up, leaving you alone on the little bed with scraps to wear.

Joel doesn’t make requests. He doesn’t debase himself to beg them for anything. When he has to? Sure. He has and will again someday humiliate himself for water. But never for anything remotely unnecessary.

But you’re cold.

Now, his reticence makes this harder. He doesn’t ask for things, so they know they’ve won already when he does.

They made him care about this girl, about you, and he can’t hide it. Can’t hide from it. Can’t protect you, can’t protect himself from their manipulations.

But they’ve known since they brought you in. They knew they figured it out and had him made when he got territorial.

So not only do they make him beg, they make him work for it.

It’s only the new moon when he asks, and they make him wait.

Two weeks. He can’t take it.

The wolf doesn’t let him sleep often; he just paces. Paces and paces and paces, even though it makes you a little nervous.

Even worse? He likes you a little nervous. It makes him nauseous and giddy at the same time.

But cold? That’s just unacceptable.

Protect, the wolf whispers. Provide.

The man comes back. His graying hair is ruffled and damp; little droplets of water still cling to his chest and flatten the hair on his stomach. You keep your eyes above the waist, but not quick enough to unsee the way his heavy, flaccid cock lies thick against the plush bed of his balls. It twitches under your gaze, which you lift to find his on you, dark and full of warning.

You shouldn’t be this affected. He’s been walking around nude the whole time you’ve been here. And yet, there’s a rush of warmth flooding you, a tell-tale beat at your core.

Oh. No, it’s an actual flood of warmth. The apple blossom tang of your slick is strong enough that you can smell it, the glistening of your thighs and matted hair between betraying you.

His brows pinch, lip caught between teeth. “We need to talk.”

It’s funny—the universal dread behind those words. This is not when your mother sat you down to break the news of your dog’s passing; this is not when your high school boyfriend decided to have that conversation in a bottlenecked hallway outside the cafeteria. This is a virtual stranger, and yet, that phrase still sends your heart rate skittering and your stomach seizing.

You don’t realize you’ve frozen up until he makes a very irritating tch-tch with his tongue against his teeth.

“Did you hear me, girl? I need to talk to you. And you need to listen.”

“Hi Joel, nice to see you; it’s been a while,” you say instead.

He rolls his eyes. “I’ve been here the whole damn time.”

“Incredibly convenient that when you want to talk, you can be a person, but when I’m bored and lonely in here with your furry ass, you can’t be bothered.”

“First of all,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face like he’s already exhausted, “you talked plenty for the both of us. Second—” He glares as you open your mouth indignantly— “ second, this is important. And it’s important now.”

You shut your mouth.

“Oh, good, you do know how,” he mutters.

“I’m sorry, is my presence here a bother? Let me just pack up and go home. Oh, wait.”

You don’t know why you’re doing this. The residual bitterness you had scrubbed clean from your lungs is bubbling anew. How dare he have an attitude with you?

He growls. Honest to god growls, even though he’s human, because he can’t truly be, really. Not anymore. The lines between wolf and man are not as fortified as he likes to pretend.

They never really were.

That’s neither here nor there to Joel right now, though. What matters is that you knock this off and listen . “We ain’t got time for this,” he says. “I shoulda realized sooner, but I didn’t. I don’t know how much time we got, but I ain’t about to let you go into this blind.”

Your anger is snuffed by his icy tone, making way for the dread to creep back in.

He sits down with a huff, bare ass on the cold, cratered floor, putting a good half the room between you. A spike of guilt at having stolen his bed rises. At least you have underwear to put between you and the tile.

The guilt festers when he tosses you a small gray bundle.

It’s a blanket.

It’s worn and torn, certainly, and it’s thin. But it’s a blanket.

You’re actually speechless, looking up at him and opening and closing your mouth like a fish.

“Don’t make a big deal about it,” he says gruffly, so you shut your mouth and nod.

“Thanks,” is all you say, and he grunts in response.

You run your hands over the soft fleece and bite your lip. It seems less important to listen to him right now than it is to spread the blanket out on the mattress. You’re aware of his wary stare as you change the positioning over and over before uselessly fluffing the sad, flat pillow and setting it at the top of the bed.

“Shit,” he says. “We got less time than I thought.”

Once you’re satisfied with your one and only “home decoration,” you settle back on the mattress and regard him. “Before what?”

“Before your heat, baby,” he says with forced caution.

Your brain fizzles, like holding Pop Rocks in the back of your throat, when he calls you baby. You should be pissed. If it were any other man calling you something like that apropos of nothing, you’d be pissed.

But Joel says it, and you lose your train of thought.

For all that you’ve malfunctioned from it, Joel doesn’t seem to notice the slip of his tongue. He’s watching you expectantly, which brings the rest of his sentence to the surface.

“Before what?” you say, even though deep down, you know. Even if you didn’t have context for the word, you feel it. What was a low simmer is molten, now, as it churns in your abdomen, leaking from your cunt.

He grimaces. “I know how this is gonna sound. I promise I’m not tryin’ to pull anything over on ya,” he says, hands raised in supplication. “But you gotta know before it’s too late.”

His jaw ticks as he chews on the words he doesn’t want to taste before spitting them out between you. “Look, it ain’t like anyone knows a whole lot about our… conditions. But that’s what they call it.” He glances up at the ceiling, no doubt listening to the raiders stomping around above. “Best guess is a biological breeding imperative. But you’re going to get real… needy. It’s gonna hurt. And I’m not going to be able to stop myself. ”

You consider this, turning it over and over like a gas station hot dog roller. The image of his cock fits a little too well there, but that’s the long and short of it, isn’t it?

Well. There isn’t anything short about it. No, you can’t follow that path right now. You blink and notice he’s staring, waiting for some kind of— any kind of reaction, and clear your throat. “Why?”

You’re not really sure what you’re asking, just looking to take whatever semblance of an answer he can muster.

“Because it’s going to hurt you, and you’re going to beg me to help, and I’m not gonna be able to say no.”

“That seems wildly unfair to you.”

He sputters. “To-to me? Aren’t you listening? I’m telling you I’m going to lose control and violate you while you’re vulnerable, and you’re worried about what’s fair to me?”

“Well, it’s obviously unfair to me too,” you counter. “But, like. Okay, whatever, far be it for me to think you should have some say in this.”

He scrubs his hand over his face, scratches at his beard, and heaves a heavy sigh. A three-for-one in what you’re starting to understand as Joel for “Jesus fucking Christ.”

He completes the set for you.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, and then glowers when you snort a wry laugh.

He stands up and paces. It’s the first time you’ve really seen him behave like the wolf while remaining the man. It also, unfortunately, makes it very hard not to look at his cock. He catches you looking and groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry,” you say, shifting uncomfortably on the mattress.

“Ain’t your fault,” he says, resuming his figure eight.

You sit, picking at the skin around the nailbed of your left index finger until it bleeds, bringing it to your mouth to soothe the sting.

“Don’t do that,” he scolds when the blood blossoms, but you’re too lost in the realization of what’s coming to listen.

“It’s going to hurt?” you ask finally.

“Yeah, it’s going to fucking hurt,” he snaps and then sighs, shoulders slumping a little. “It’s going to make you feel like you’ll die if you don’t… if I don’t…”

“So, hold up. You get super strength, super hearing, super sharp teeth, and like mighty morphin fursuit powers, and I get… so horny it hurts?”

“What is wrong with you?” he mutters, but you ignore him.

“That’s so fucked. Is there anything cool about being an… an omega?” You don’t like the shape of the word on your tongue, spitting it out. It leaves behind a caustic taste.

“You’re more likely to carry to term successfully than human women,” he says flatly.

The caustic feeling spreads to the twitch of your lip. “Oh, come on. Fucking typical FEDRA. They accidentally created werewolves with a side dose of sexism.”

His jaw ticks. “First of all, we ain’t werewolves. ”

“Uh, you are. You, for sure, are a werewolf,” you interrupt.

The line between his brow deepens, like this conversation is taking years off his life. “Don’t say that,” he says, closing his eyes. “Do not say that again.”

“Dude. You howl at the fucking moon. You turn into a huge hairy beast, all ‘the better to eat you with’ style, like, you’re a motherfucking werewolf.”

He sits down, shaking his head. “Can you quit it?” he barks. Well, not literally. You’ve heard him literally bark. This is just rude.

Except, there’s a teeny, tiny quirk to the corner of his mouth. “Anyway,” he grunts. “It ain’t sexist. Anyone can be an omega.”

“Ok, but still. You get superpowers, and I get a super uterus.”

“I didn’t say it was fair."

You sigh.

“You’re being remarkably calm,” he notes, a little less gruffness and a little more concern in his tone.

“I can panic if you’d like,” you say with a wry grin. “It just doesn’t seem like it’ll help matters.”

“You’re getting complacent,” he counters.

“I learned it by watching you,” you say, mimicking the higher inflection.

He narrows his eyes. “You ain’t old enough to remember that commercial,” he says.

“You don’t have a clue how old I am,” you counter. There’s a surprising lightness in your chest. For all that you and Joel haven’t really spoken beyond the few tense encounters, talking to him is almost fun.

Or maybe you’re really that deep in the Stockholm Syndrome now.

Is it still Stockholm Syndrome if he’s not your captor? Because you sure aren’t warming up to Jim and Cheryl.

When you look back up at Joel, he’s watching you with furrowed brows and a deep-set scowl, the lines around his mouth like cracks in a sidewalk.

It’s haunting, his seriousness.

“What happened to your last omega?” you ask, finally letting the ghoul out from under your bed, hoping his words will disperse it.

“I killed him,” Joel says flatly.

“Oh.”

The silence settles again, less like a shawl and more like the space between the crackle of the intercom summoning you to the principal’s office and the long walk down the empty hall.

This time, though, your grandma isn’t waiting on the other side. There’s only the big bad wolf.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says after a long while. “It was different. He wasn’t mine. But that doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

“What do you mean he wasn’t yours? I’m… also not yours.”

Joel grimaces, which only serves to let the shadows twist his face further. “Yeah, ya are,” he says solemnly. “Sorry. But ya’ve been mine since they brought you in here. Or, the beast’s, anyway.”

His words settle in your stomach like the Edmund Fitzgerald, and all you can do is watch from the dry side of a glass-bottomed tour boat. You’ve been mine since they brought you in here.

There’s not much room left in you for levity, now.

“So that’s it?” you say quietly. “What, I’m going to just have to hope you don’t tear me to shreds while you… while you…”

“I don’t think it’ll hurt you,” he says of his other half. You find the way he speaks of himself so perplexing. You tend to split them, too, but for him to see himself in fragments is enlightening.

And sad.

“But…” he sighs, the burden of what he’s about to ask of you sinking its teeth in, “you can’t fight me. You gotta just… shit, you gotta just take it. If you fight, it might fight back.”

His gruff baritone and its potent words, the low hint of a twang and the undercurrent of a klaxon, put your stomach through a cotton candy machine, wrapping the tendrils of your anxiety into a nice bundle to choke on.

He sees the fear in your eyes and oh, he hates it. The wolf is snapping its jaw around his neck for it. How dare he scare you like this? How dare he threaten his girl? The beast is all teeth and fury and protect protect protect and he doesn’t even notice the change start until you suddenly say, “don’t.”

Don’t.

That’s all it takes.

You watch as the claws recede along with his fur.

“That’s not fair,” you whisper. “You stay here and talk to me about it.”

It stings much in the same way as the time he accidently got his jaws around a porcupine. It was early days in his new life, and in the height of starving season. His desperation cost him then but he wouldn’t let it now.

He settles back down, gritting his teeth. “You’re right. It ain’t fair,” he agrees. “Ain’t nothin’ about this fair to you.”

When it comes, it bears no warning. Maybe because it’s your first heat, you don’t recognize the signs.

True to his word, the man has stayed, though he warned you he couldn’t keep the beast at bay for long. The gibbous is waxing, fattening, bloating above you each night and it’s nearly sounded its call when the fever takes you.

You’re in your room when your abdomen seizes with the first cramp. There’s no mistaking it for your period. It comes with purpose, with rage, the sole horseman of your downfall.

Okay, maybe downfall is a little dramatic.

But you have barely had time to gasp at the wrenching of your insides before he’s calling out to you from across the hall.

You don’t answer, gritting your teeth as you throb at the sound of his voice, and he calls, instead, for them.

He’s never addressed them first, never voiced a need, never invited them into your subterranean den willingly.

And you know.

“Fucking disgusting,” Jim scoffs as he unlocks the door to your room.

“Don’t touch her,” Joel snaps, pressed against the bars with both hands wrapped tightly around them.

You think Jim makes some kind of threat toward you, but there’s none needed. It doesn’t occur to you to run, which haunts you later. In the haze of your aching body, every muscle tensed and ready, you let the call of the moon draw you to Joel, grabbing for his hands through the bars as soon as you can reach.

There’s something in his eyes that you don’t want to see. Something too close to pity, so you don’t look at his face.

Jim has to snap at you both and threaten the shock collar to get you to move away from the door. Joel, still mostly sound of mind, moves obediently to the back of the cell as Jim opens it, letting you stumble past the barrier before the clang echoes.

Joel catches you before you fall, and you grasp his forearms. The room is warm, suffocatingly so, and he looks increasingly concerned with each passing second.

“Too hot,” you whine, still digging your fingernails into his roughened flesh, the gruff hair a balm to your itchy, ill-fitting skin. Your body yearns for the change, to shift and settle into something closer to him, closer to what the moon wants you to be.

“I know,” he croons, sinking to his knees and holding you with your back to his chest, legs sprawled. His hand strokes your head, brushing sweat from your clammy skin. You catch his hand in both of yours, holding it up in front of you and following the lines of his palm, letting your fingertips test the tip of his claws, stroking the hair on the back of each finger.

“So thick,” you marvel.

He sighs, hot breath skittering across the back of your neck. “How’re you so far gone already,” he mutters, not really a question.

Your head spins. “I’m right here,” you say, eliciting another sigh.

“I know,” he placates again before he does something that sends your whole body into overdrive.

He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I know,” he repeats. “I’ve got ya. It’s gonna be okay.”

It isn’t, you think, as the twitching of your shoulders and legs sets off quiet alarms. It isn’t, because there’s no coming back from this. You know this, but right now? Here, in his arms, with his quiet rumbling voice and that kiss? Well, what happens next just isn’t your problem.

He inhales deeply, his lips still pressed to your head, and it slips from you without warning, without intent.

“Alpha,” you whimper on pure instinct, and he knows.

Oh, he knows.

It’s too late for either of you, now.

(please don't hate me for leaving you hanging or for the fact that chapter six will be on a bit of a delay and will likely not be finished until mid-september to october. remember that i love you!!)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #werewolf!joel #werewolf joel miller #alpha!joel miller #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #a/b/o fic #omegaverse #dead dove fic #fic: of rage and ruin #the last of us fic #tlou fic

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pretzel-box · 1 month

Note

hello! do you perhaps do smut things? If so! Perhaps sebastian and his husband with some smut? I know hes married to..zerum but her toxicity in the servers been enough for me!!

if you dont do smut or dont want to do this PLSS sebastian comforting an anxious (male plspls) reader? Tysm!! You rock and i love ur feed!!

The memories of the drowning

words: 1k

status: barely proof-read

tags: male!reader, slightly sequel to Suffocated , married established relationship, mention of anxiety and panic & comfort in the end

author note: I'm probably one of the people that currently hate on the devs for their behaviour, which makes me write x reader stories in first place. Zerum isn't included in the game, which means she can't be married in canon to Sebastian. She's a real person, not a pressure character. So congrats, y'all can marry our beloved merchant in your own headcanons! ♡

Every time you close your eyes, the events of the past replay in the depths of your mind, vivid and unrelenting, replacing your dreams with painfully realistic memories. The horrors you faced in the Hadal Blackside refuse to fade, instead etching themselves deeper into your consciousness with every passing night.

The different screams echo endlessly in your ears, a cacophony of terror that leaves an uncomfortable ringing, dulling your senses. Your body, conditioned by the countless encounters with unspeakable horrors, twitches involuntarily at the memory of how the floors and walls shook violently with every terrible angler attack. The sensation of those tremors, the sickening anticipation of what was to come, still lingers in your muscles, a reminder that survival was never guaranteed.

At this point, you can't lie to yourself anymore. The time spent in the depths of the Hadal Blackside has mentally scarred you, leaving wounds that may never fully heal. The darkness of the ocean wasn't just physical; it had seeped into your mind, haunting you in the night when your body relaxes from the survival modus only to switch back into pure panic.

Sometimes, the weight of it all comes crashing down on you in the dead of night, overwhelming you with the sudden, terrifying realization that you are trapped in a facility full of death traps, thousands of feet below the surface. The oppressive pressure of the ocean above feels like it's bearing down on you even now, crushing you under its immense, suffocating weight. The knowledge that you are surrounded by darkness and danger, with no escape, no reprieve, gnaws at the edges of your sanity with each passing second, making the experience worse.

Your eyes rip themselves open as your whole body starts to tremble uncontrollably. Cold sweat drenches your skin, making the sheets cling to you like the tentacles that once threatened to drag you to your doom. Your hand clings to your shirt, grabbing it tightly as if the fabric could anchor you to reality, grounding you in the present and warding off the terror of your memories.

The breath hitches, coming in shallow, rapid gasps that only feed the growing panic. The ringing in your ears intensifies, drowning out any attempt to calm yourself, until it feels like your head might split open from the noise. Desperate to silence it, you press both hands over your ears, squeezing your eyes shut in a futile attempt to block out the memories, the sounds, the overwhelming fear that consumes you.

But even with your eyes closed, the darkness offers no comfort. Instead, it brings the images flooding back, the twisted, writhing forms of the creatures you barely escaped, the cold, uncaring walls of the underwater facility, the endless corridors that seemed to close in around you with each step.

The faint hint of fluorescent blue hovered in the corner of your eyes, casting a soft, eerie glow across the dimly lit room. It was a color that had once sent chills down your spine, a reminder of all the deaths you had experienced. But now, it had become a familiar presence, a sign that you were not alone.

Sebastian had stirred beside you, waking from his own troubled nap. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. The gesture was silent, but it spoke volumes. He knew the weight of the nightmares that plagued you, the way they clung to your mind. He couldn't lie, he was in a very similar spot, haunted by his own memories of the Hadal Blackside and all the things Urbanshade did to him.

As his arms encircled you, you felt the coldness of his body seep through your clothes, a stark contrast to the warmth of his embrace. Yet, instead of making you shiver, it grounded you, reminding you that you weren't lost in the darkness of your mind. He was here with you, sharing in the burden of those memories.

Sebastian held you tightly, as if trying to shield you from all the monsters that have threatened to pull you under. His other free arm moved gently, fingers threading through your hair in a soothing motion. The rhythmic, repetitive strokes were comforting, helping to slow the rapid pace of your heartbeat and calm the storm raging within you.

He didn't need to say anything. His presence alone was enough, a quiet assurance that you didn't have to face this alone. He understood your fear, your pain, because he had lived it too. The horrors of the deep had scarred you both, but in this moment, you found solace in each others company.

Gradually, the tension in your body began to ease. The panic that had gripped you loosened its hold, replaced by a fragile sense of peace. You closed your eyes, not to shut out the memories, but to focus on the feeling of Sebastians arms around you, his fingers in your hair, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His tail moved, wrapping itself around you, and you couldn't help but melt into his touch.

In the silence, you could hear a faint sound. But it was Sebastianâ€™s heartbeat, slow and steady beneath your ear, that anchored you. With him, the memories didn't seem as overwhelming, the darkness not as suffocating. He was your lifeline, pulling you back from the brink.

"You're safe," he finally whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with certainty. "I got you." He leaned down, placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head, and nuzzled into your hair. "I keep you safe, didn't I promise you that in my wedding vow?"

You nodded against his chest, not trusting your voice to respond. His words were simple, but they carried a truth you desperately needed to hear, and you felt blessed to have such a protective husband. For now, it was enough. You were safe, wrapped in his arms, with the knowledge that whatever came next, you wouldn't have to face it alone.

Sebastian continued to hold you close, his touch gentle and reassuring, until the tremors in your body subsided completely. As you drifted off into a more peaceful sleep, the fluorescent blue light dimmed behind your eyelids, leaving you in a quiet, comforting darkness that was no longer filled with terror, but with the warmth of his presence beside you.

#sebastian solace x male reader #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace #sebastian solace fanfic #sebastian solace x you

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doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months

Text

Hollywood Babylon | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ? ;) )

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, heights

Word Count: 4424

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Dean sat with his arm draped around your shoulders on the back of a trolley tour of Warner Brothers studios. Dean was ecstatic, whispering to you about all of his favorite 80s horror movies that had been filmed there, and you smiled fondly at his ramblings.

Sam turned to you and his brother, seemingly uncomfortable, and hopped off the trolley. “Come on,” he said.

“Let’s finish the tour!” Dean begged, but Sam was already walking away. With an eye roll from the older brother, you and Dean hopped off as well to follow Sam around the lot.

Dean excitedly exclaimed, “Guys, check it out, it's Matt Damon!”

“Dee, I don’t think that’s Matt Damon,” you laughed.

“No, it is,” he argued, face dropping.

“Well, Matt Damon just picked up a broom and started sweeping,” Sam deadpanned.

Dean refused to back down. “Yeah, well, he's probably researching a role or something.”

“Ah, I don't think so.”

You noticed a sign pointing to the right. “Hey, this way, I think Stage 9 is over here.”

“Come on, let's keep going this way,” Dean pleaded, walking forward.

Sam shook his head. “No, come on, we've gotta work. Dude, you wanted to come to LA.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, for a vacation. I mean, swimming pools and movie stars! Not to work.”

“This seem like swimming pool weather to you, Dean? I mean, it's practically Canadian,” Sam scoffed.

“Yeah.” Dean seemed to hesitate before starting the next part of his sentence. “I just figured that, you know, after everything that happened with... Madison, y-you could use a little R-and-R, that's all.”

“Well, maybe I wanna work, Dean. Maybe it keeps my mind off things,” Sam grumbled.

“Oh-kay,” you cut in before the boys could become entrenched in a more intense argument. “So, this crew guy, he died on set?”

“Yeah, uh, rumors spreading like wildfire online,” the brunet responded. “They're saying the set's haunted.”

“Like ‘Poltergeist’?” Dean questioned.

Sam shrugged. “Could be a poltergeist.”

“No, no no,” the older brother said. “Like, the movie ‘Poltergeist’.”

Sam still looked confused.

“You know nothing of your cultural heritage, do you?” Dean scoffed.

You giggled. “Set of ‘Poltergeist’ was supposedly cursed. They used real human bones as props, and like, at least three of the actors died in it.”

“Well, yeah, it might be something like that,” Sam nodded.

“Alright, so this crew guy—” Dean began, “what's his name?”

“Frank Jaffey.”

“Frank Jaffey…” you considered. “He got a death certificate or a coroner's report or anything?”

“Well, no,” the younger Winchester started, “but, uh, it's LA, you know? It might not even be his real name. But the girl who found him; she said she saw something— a vanishing figure.”

“What's the girl's name?” you asked.

Sam thought for a second. “Uh, Tara Benchley?”

Dean began to grin widely. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Tara Benchley? From ‘Fear dot Com’ and ‘Ghost Ship’, Tara Benchley? Dude, why didn't you say so?”

You sent a warning glare at him. “Curb your enthusiasm, Dean.”

He shrank under your glance. “Sorry. I’m just— I’m a fan of her work. It’s very good.”

Your lopsided smile returned to your face and you shook your head at his antics, following him to Stage 9.

Once inside, you noticed a man in a sharp, fitted tuxedo with an earpiece talking to another man wearing a headset around his neck. There was another holding a thick packet of papers; assumedly a script.

The man in the fitted tuxedo seemed to notice you and snapped his fingers in your direction. “Uh, excuse me, Blue Sweater Girl?”

You pointed to yourself quizzically, suddenly remembering the oversized blue sweater swallowing your small frame whole.

“Yeah, you. Come here,” he ordered.

You briefly looked to the boys before heading toward the man.

“Can you get me a smoothie from Kraft?” he asked.

“Uh…” you stumbled.

The man scoffed. “You are a P.A.? This is what you do?”

You shook your head suddenly, figuring out what character you were supposed to be playing to infiltrate the set. “Yeah, sorry. I’m new. One smoothie comin’ right up.”

You turned on your heels with the boys hot on them.

“What's a P.A.?” Dean whispered.

“I think they're kind of like slaves,” Sam commented.

***

Hours later, the real crew was hard at work several scenes deep in their shoot for the day. You had swept the place for EMF, finding nothing and beginning to get slightly frustrated.

You met up with Sam and Dean at the Kraft services table.

“So?” you asked the brothers, shoving your hands in the pockets of your jeans.

“No EMF anywhere,” Dean said.

“Same here,” you nodded.

Sam snorted, “Great. So, what do you think?”

“Well, I think being a P.A. sucks. But—” Dean picked up a tiny sandwich, “the food these people get, are you kidding me? I mean look at these things. They're like miniature Philly cheesesteak sandwiches. They're delicious.”

He held one of them out to you, and you took it happily. “Thanks,” you grinned.

Dean took a huge bite of his own sandwich. “What'd you find out about the dead crew guy?”

“Frank Jaffey was just filling in for the day,” you said. “Nobody knew him or where he lived or anything.”

“Oh, great. So you found out about as much as I did,” Dean remarked. “Sam?”

“I did dig up some stuff about Stage 9's history.”

“Yeah?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Four people died messy here over the past eighty years. Two suicides and two fatal accidents.”

“Awesome. So any one of them could be a vengeful spirit,” you commented.

“Yeah. We've just gotta narrow it down more,” Sam nodded.

Dean’s eyes followed Tara Benchley as she walked onto set. “I'll get right on that.” He walked off, leaving you fuming.

You trusted Dean, but you didn’t trust his downstairs brain. And the fact that the two of you weren’t officially together bothered you in situations like this. You eyed him intensely with your arms folded, every once in a while bringing a hand to your mouth to chomp on your mini sandwich.

“Cool it, (Y/N),” Sam told you.

“I’m so cool,” you grumbled.

He made a bitch-face at you. “Uh-huh.”

You rolled your eyes. You stood by Sam, the both of you just trying to stick as close to the wall as possible for a few minutes. Then, Dean came back up to you. “I know who our mystery man is. And he’s not dead,” Dean said.

***

You then went to the home of Gerard St. James and confirmed that he was, in fact, the man who had posed as Frank Jaffey for the day. The whole thing was designed by the producers to stir up press for the movie, and it worked. In fact, you were planning to leave town chalking the whole thing up to a hoax when the man in the tailored suit who’d called you “Blue Sweater Girl” wound up dead; dropping into a scene hanging from his neck.

And so, you were back on set. You gave a lopsided smile at the sight of Dean so thoroughly enjoying himself; donning an equipment belt with a headset attached and snacking on as many sandwiches as he could get his hands on.

You noticed a P.A. whose name you learned was Walter storming off set and followed him. “Walter!” you called, trying to catch up to him.

“Leave me alone,” the short man grumbled, but you kept quickening your pace until you were by his side.

“What happened back there?” you asked.

“They’re screwing with the movie,” he replied.

“How so?”

He scoffed. “Didn’t you hear them? They keep adding explainers about how the ghosts can hear the summonings from hell or how the ghosts couldn’t possibly be afraid of salt,” he mocked the director.

“What’s got you so fired up, though?” you pushed. You reached the edge of the studio lot near the parking lot. “I mean, ghosts aren’t real, so, what difference does it make?”

He laughed humorlessly. “ ‘What difference does it’—” he cut himself off. “Look, you wouldn’t get it. Just— leave me alone.” He stormed off toward a green Jeep and slammed the door once inside it.

Perplexed, you made your way back onto the set. You took in the various actors and crew members milling about, reading over sides, setting up lights, mingling in the corners of the soundstage— and for a moment, you wished you could actually work on a set like this.

Dean was easy to find; frequently barking commands and responses into his headset, and Sam never far from him. That poor kid was so far out of his element.

“Hey, sweetheart, whatcha got?” Dean asked you as you approached.

That nickname still had a devastating effect on you. “Walter’s a little testy for a P.A. What you got?”

“Uh, not much. Other than EMF readings up the wazoo. For some reason, it's a legit haunting now,” he said. “Oh, and some freaky static feedback on the scenes.”

“Well,” you began. “Who’s the ghost? What’s it want?”

***

After reviewing one of the tapes Dean had snagged from one of his new crew-member friends, you discovered an apparition in the corner of the room just as Brad, the man who died, had fallen through the roof. Sam had somehow recognized her.

“Here. Check this out,” Sam said, putting a piece of paper between you and Dean who sat across the table from him.

“Yeah, go for Ozzy,” Dean spoke into his headset. “No, I don't have a 20 on Tara, I think she's 10-100… Okay, copy that. “ Dean looked back to Sam as you skimmed over the article he’d given you. “I'm sorry, what were you saying?”

Sam shook his head in exasperation, and you took the opportunity to explain what was happening to Dean. “Elise Drummond,” you relayed. “Kind of a rising star back in the thirties. Had an affair with a studio exec. Piece of shit kinda left her in the dust when he was done with her, and she hung herself from Stage 9’s rafters; right into a scene they were shooting.”

“Just like our man, Brad. So, what, she's got it in for the studio brass?” Dean questioned.

“Possibly,” Sam shrugged. “I mean, it's a motive. And Brad's death matches hers exactly.”

“We're digging tonight, aren't we?” Dean sighed.

***

Later that evening, you walked beside Sam into the Hollywood Forever Cemetery to dig up Elise Drummond’s grave.

“Which way?” Sam asked his brother, who walked ahead of you holding a map.

“Uh... over here,” he replied, continuing ahead. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

The older brother gestured to a memorial for Humpty Dumpty with a wide grin.

You shook your head, suppressing an amused sigh. “You’re a freak, dude,” you jested. “Kid in a candy store over a bunch of dead celebrities.”

“You just don’t get it, sweetheart,” Dean responded. “Hey, we've gotta go check out Johnny Ramone's grave when we're done here.”

“You wanna dig him up, too?” Sam deadpanned.

“Bite your tongue, heathen!” He passed another memorial, effectively distracting him from his younger brother’s blasphemy. “Oh, that's cool.”

“Focus, Pinky,” you said, nudging Dean’s shoulder.

“Hey, why am I Pinky?” he protested.

“ ‘Cause Sam’s clearly Brain,” you replied simply.

“So, what does that make you? Pharfignewton?” Dean chuckled.

“Oh, hell no. I’m Dot!” you protested.

“What, we’re doing a crossover episode?”

“Duh. You guys are the freaky lab rats. Not me. I’m flippin’ adorable,” you sassed.

Dean smiled delightedly at you.

“Guys, please,” Sam huffed, bringing your attention back to the task at hand. “What I don't get is why now? I mean, after seventy-five years, Elise Drummond suddenly goes homicidal, you know? Why this movie?”

“Well, maybe she's mad they're making a scary ghost flick,” Dean shrugged.

The brunet snorted. “Come on, is it really that scary?”

“Here we go,” you announced upon reaching Elise’s headstone.

“Yahtzee,” Dean remarked and immediately set to work digging.

***

You returned to the trailer Dean had scored to get a few hours of sleep after exhuming and torching the corpse of Elise Drummond. There was a pullout couch in the trailer as well as a single queen bed, and you and Dean agreed to share the bed. Sam clearly had questions, and you knew you would have to answer them in the morning.

“This is fuckin’ awesome, man,” Dean grinned, shrugging off his jacket and boots. “I feel like a movie star.”

You giggled. “Did you ever wanna be one when you were growing up?”

“Meh, I wanted to be a rockstar more,” he replied. “You got first shower.”

“Thanks.”

When both of you had showered and readied for bed, Dean slipped under the covers beside you. “Oh, holy crap, this is so much comfier than a motel.”

“Yeah, probably because the mattress is more than an inch thick,” you snorted, settling into Dean’s side. You laid against him in silence for a moment, before a question that had been plaguing you escaped. “Hey, Dean?”

He hummed in response.

“Do you— Do you have a… thing for Tara?” you asked.

He shifted to look down at you. “What?”

“I mean, I know you and I haven’t really… talked about anything yet…” you began to ramble, “but if you wanted to, y’know, go there with her— I just— it’d really upset me, is all.”

“(Y/N), if I wanted Tara that bad, do you think I’d have jumped at the chance to share a bed with you?” he asked earnestly.

“Well, I don’t know—”

“What, am I that much of a man whore?” he questioned before suddenly reconsidering. “Don’t answer that.”

You snorted. You paused for another moment, hesitant to ask your next question. “Would you— Would you ever wanna— I don’t know, be… more than just… this?”

Dean tilted your chin up with his finger. He leaned into you, kissing you gently, giving you all the answers you needed. “Fuck, yes,” he said against your lips.

***

The next morning, you awoke to sirens blaring outside the trailer. You jerked against Dean, waking him up, and he immediately straightened up and pulled you into his side protectively. He relaxed when he realized it was just a siren. However, that posed a more troubling question: why was there a siren outside your trailer at seven in the morning?

You quickly got dressed and met Sam at the door; heading down to see what the commotion was about. Sam went to investigate the crime scene as Dean went to talk to the friends he’d made on the set.

You milled about, simply observing. You noted Tara looking visibly upset as she stood with her costars; clearly having just woken up. People holding clipboards and headsets talked in hush voices, rushing from one group of crew members to another. You saw the director talking to a policeman, a body bag being rolled into an ambulance, and a nervous P.A. huddling with her friend a distance away from the scene. You’d seen all of these people before at least once or twice, and you assumed the sirens had to have woken everyone up. At least, everyone that was staying on the set and didn’t have homes nearby. Sam came back over to you.

“Run-in with a giant fan,” he said in a hushed voice. “Same thing happened to an electrician back in '66, a guy named Billy Beard.”

“What the hell, dude?” you questioned.

“I don't know. Doesn't seem like Elise this time, either. It's not her M.O.”

“No, no way. Couldn’t be her. We deep fried her already. But it’s weird; these things don’t normally tag-team,” you thought aloud.

The director suddenly stood on the hood of his car. “Everybody! Gather around, okay! I've got an announcement to make.” He handed his keys to the P.A. who’d been nervously chewing her nails in the corner with her friend before addressing the group again. Dean walked calmly over to you at that moment.

“Everyone! Huddle in!” the director called. “In light of Jay's accident last night, and in cooperation with the authorities, we're shutting down production for a few days. I know, I know. Look, I'm not gonna lie to you. We've had a few setbacks this week. But we all know what Jay and Brad wanted more than anything. And that was to see Hell Hazers 2: The Reckoning on screens all across America! Now, we owe it to them to go on, and to pull together and make this damn movie, huh?”

The crowd before you cheered and applauded.

“But— but, but, but not today. Go home. Someone will call you,” the director finished.

You snickered, turning to head back to your trailer.

“Any chance you got more copies of those dailies?” you asked Dean.

***

Later that day, you were barely able to keep your eyes glued to the screen in front of you. While watching the B-roll of the movie was fun, the movie itself was awfully boring and cheesy. You just wanted a ghost to jump out at you already, instead of needing to sift through hours of footage while Dean and Sam were out researching.

A pretty blonde actress interrupted Tara’s character as she began to read in Latin from a book.

Dean and Sam reentered the trailer.

“Hey,” Sam said.

“Hey,” you replied. “Anything?”

“Billy Beard was cremated,” Sam informed you.

“Perfect,” you deadpanned.

“Any more ghost cameos in the dailies?” Dean asked.

“Not in the first six hours,” you sighed, sitting back on the couch and running a hand through your hair. “Y’know, maybe the spirits are trying to shut down the movie 'cause they think it sucks. 'Cause, I mean, it kinda does.”

Suddenly, something caught your attention in Tara’s awful Latin pronunciation. You rewound the tape a little bit, listening closely. “Holy shit, guys,” you said, pausing the tape. “That’s the real deal. A real life necromantic summoning ritual.”

Sam looked at you confused. “What the hell is that doing in a Hollywood movie?”

“Beats the shit outta me,” you scoffed. You paused a moment. “Wait, Walter.”

“What about him?” Dean asked.

“He was all bent outta shape about them changing the ‘real’ ghost stuff. Like the salt, or that bit they added in about the ghosts having super hearing to be able to hear the Latin chanting from hell,” you said.

“Yeah, but he’s a P.A. What does he have to do with any of this?” Dean questioned.

“Dean, I think she’s got a point,” Sam chimed in. “What if Walter wrote the script, and he’s the reason this is all happening.”

“Dean, do you remember what your P.A. friends said the writer’s name was?” you asked.

*** You and the brothers tried your best not to weird Marty, the writer of the movie, out too terribly much as you pried into the history of the writing. He ended up confirming your theory; Walter had written the original script. You ended up getting copies of the original screenplay from Marty and brought it back to the trailer you were squatting in.

“Lord of the Dead” was the title on the cover page.

“Should've kept Walter's original script. It's actually pretty good,” Dean noted.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “And it reads like a how-to manual of conjuration, like a textbook on how to summon ghosts and get them to do whatever you want.”

“Yeah, like kill people,” Dean realized.

“I’m thinkin’ he got pissed they tinkled in his cheerios and started using black magic to get back at these people for wrecking his movie,” you chimed in.

“Motive and means,” Sam nodded.

“It's worth checking out,” the older brother shrugged.

As night fell, you exited the trailer and were going to try and find Walter at his home address. However, when you reached the parking lot, you noticed that distinctive army-green Jeep. “Wait, that’s Walter’s car,” you told the brothers. It was one of the only cars in the lot aside from the Impala. Immediately, the three of you ran back to Stage 9 to see if you could catch Walter in the act of trying to hurt someone else.

Thankfully, you made it to the studio just in time. You could hear a man screaming and a fan loudly blowing, and you ran toward the sound with your shotgun raised. Dean came up behind Marty and shot at the ghost of Billy Beard, effectively making him disappear. Sam clicked off the fan, and you followed Walter up to the rafters.

“You are one hell of a P.A.,” you heard Marty telling Dean as you climbed.

“What are you doing?” Walter asked you, still a bit of a distance above you.

“Uh, the fuck are you doing, dude?” you questioned. “Raising spirits from the dead? Makin’ ‘em murder for you? Do you have a death wish?”

“You don’t understand,” Walter shook his head.

“You’re right,” you said. “I don’t.”

You began to charge him, but he held his hands up. “Just... wait, look,” the man pleaded. “You put your heart and soul into something, years of hard work. It's years, and then they take it! And they crap all over it! And then— and then they want you to smile and say, ‘Thank you’.”

“Listen, I get it, man,” you began, “I know that feels shitty. But this is in no way, shape, or form the answer.”

“Look,” Walter scoffed. “I've got nothing against you, sweetness.” You cringed at the nickname as he continued talking. “You're not part of this. Just please, please, just leave. But Martin's gotta stay.”

“Sorry, can't do that,” Dean called up to you. “It's not that we like him or anything, it's… just a matter of principle.”

“Then I'm sorry, too.” Walter picked up the talisman around his neck and began to mutter in Latin. The set began shaking, and you grabbed the railings on either side of you to steady yourself.

“(Y/N)!” Dean called up to you.

Suddenly, a ghost with a horribly mangled face appeared in front of you, knocking you to the floor. You aimed your shotgun and fired, making him disappear. When you looked behind where the apparition had stood, Walter was gone.

“Dammit!” you cursed. You then spotted him sprinting across a rafter in the distance. The quickest way to him was going to be running along a large steel pipe next to you that led straight from your platform to his.

“(Y/N), are you fucking crazy?!” Dean exclaimed as you began to sprint across the pipe, trying not to be too careful that you slowed yourself down while simultaneously trying not to fall to your death.

“Maybe!” you called back, leaping off the pipe and clutching the railing of the rafter. You pulled yourself over the top of it, boots landing firmly on the mesh, steel floor.

You saw Walter chanting in the back corner of the rafters and ran at him; he hadn’t noticed you til you were quite literally standing on top of him. You had him completely cornered.

“It’s over, Walter,” you told him harshly. “Give it to me.”

Walter threw the talisman to the ground at your feet, shattering it completely. “There! Okay, now no one can have it.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “I wouldn't have done that if I were you.”

“Oh, yeah?” he challenged. “And why not?”

“Because you just freed them. Ain’t nothin’ I can do to help you now,” you said. “You brought ‘em back and forced them to murder. They're not gonna be very happy with you.”

The rafters below you suddenly creaked and separated from the wall, Walter screaming as he fell to the ground below. You screamed, hanging onto the railing for dear life as it hung loosely from where the platform was connected on its other end.

“(Y/N)!” the brothers called.

Your feet swung limply below you as you searched for something— anything— to grab onto and keep you from suffering the same fate as Walter. You noticed a thick cable attached to one of the strings of lights hanging down into the scene below and swung yourself over to it; latching on the way a fireman would grip a fire pole. You let go just enough to slide all the way down, letting go when you were no more than five feet from the ground. You rolled over your shoulder before you hit the floor and undoubtedly broke a bone, having learned that it was best not to land on your feet in these situations.

Dean, Sam, and Marty looked down at you in shock.

“What?” you breathed out. “Nobody’s gonna help me up?”

Dean and Sam immediately outstretched a hand each to help you off the floor.

“Dude, how are you not dead?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, and since when are you chick-Ethan-Hunt?” Dean asked.

You shrugged. “My dad made sure I was agile enough to do shit like that. Still didn’t think I was gonna survive that.”

Sam and Dean chuckled, and you started heading out of the studio. “Shit, probably screwed up my arm, though,” you hissed, rotating the shoulder you'd used to tumble set over when you hit the ground.

“Hey, if that’s the worst injury you have after all that, let’s be thankful,” Sam commented.

Marty followed a bit behind, seeming a bit in shock. “Uh, guys?” he called.

The three of you turned.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” you replied. “Seriously. To anyone. Ever.”

He nodded, seeming slightly afraid of you.

*** You and the brothers decided to stick around for just a few more days to enjoy yourselves after everything that happened. You watched as Tara’s co-star, just as the brothers told you Marty had, directed Tara where to shoot by seeing where the ghosts were in the phone’s camera.

“You find out there's an afterlife, and this is what you do with it?” Sam snorted at Marty who was standing nearby.

He looked up from his cell phone, grinning. “I needed a little jazz on the page.”

You bid your goodbyes to the people you’d “worked” with that past week and walked toward the Impala with Dean’s arm around your shoulders. You laced your fingers with his.

Dean grabbed a sandwich with his free hand, and the three of you walked toward a painted sunset backdrop crew members were rolling away. “God, I love this town,” he chuckled, making you and Sam laugh.

The backdrop before you moved to reveal a beautiful sunset over the Hollywood Hills, bathing you in the sun’s glow.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

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ohnoitstbskyen · 5 months

Note

What’s the difference between Ascended, Aspects, Freljordian demigods, Aurelian Sol, and whatever Soraka’s got going on? Are they all just different varieties of League gods?

Hoo boy, okay, so. First of all, Riot have been pretty adamant that there are no gods in Runeterra, every god-like being that exists in that universe is actually a spirit or just a very powerful being of some kind, but definitely no real gods, no matter how much it seems like they are definitely writing these characters to be actual literal gods.

I don't 100% know why they are so insistent on this, but I imagine it has something to do with censorship and ratings agencies, or maybe they just don't want to have to establish any actual theology on Runeterra. Volibear isn't the god of storms for real, he's just a super powerful spirit that can create storms in the Freljord, but not all of them, so please don't ask us whether every single thunderstorm in the Freljord was something he did deliberately. That sort of vibe.

To go through them point by point:

Celestials & Aspects

The Celestials are beings like Aurelion Sol and Bard, which exist as cosmic entities operating on levels of power and motivation beyond human understanding. They came into existence with the universe itself, and tend to busy themselves governing various parts of its operation. They are, again not gods (Riot is very insistent on this), but Aurelion Sol literally made every star in the galaxy, he's functionally the progenitor god of Creation.

Some of them, though, like to interfere in the mortal world of Runetera in various ways, and they tend to use mortal vessels to do it. That's where we get Aspects: Aspects are mortals who are chosen by the Celestials that live on Mount Targon to contain their power and be their avatars in the mortal world.

Leona is the Aspect of a Sun celestial, Diana of the Moon celestial, Pantheon is the Aspect of War (or he was, until Aatrox killed it, but he retains access to many of its powers), and Zoe is the Aspect of Twilight, and so on.

Soraka is another Celestial in mortal form, but she is NOT an Ascended. Rather than possess a mortal, she created a mortal body for herself and poured the whole of her being into it, which is causing her body to permanently burn up from the inside while she regenerates it with her magic. She lives on Runeterra and acts as a mysterious mystical wise guide and mentor to mortals who need it.

Ascended & Darkin

Ascended are somewhat similar in kind to the Aspects, but usually lesser in power. The Ascended are also human beings infused with Celestial magic and power, specifically with the power of the Sun, although as far as I know, that power is drawn not from the Celestial of the Sun who empowers Leona, but directly from the physical Sun itself. This means the Ascended aren't possessed by Celestials and retain full free will, at the cost (or let's be real: benefit) of being transformed into furries, which extremely coincidentally just so happen to closely resemble the gods of the Egyptian pantheon. but again, they are definitely not gods, please don't put it in the newspaper that they are gods.

I don't know exactly how canon Riot considers this anymore, but the lore was that the Aspects of Mount Targon gifted the power of Ascension to Shurima in order to produce Ascended that could serve as shock-troops in the war against the Void, which is a swarm of extradimensional horrors that are constantly trying to eat the world. Whatever the case, the Ascended DID fight the Void, and it traumatized and corrupted them so badly that they degenerated into body-horror blood monsters called the Darkin.

The Darkin fell into civil war and it got so bad that The Aspect of Twilight (not Zoe but her predecessor in the role) decided to use some magical trickery to imprison them all in their weapons, which is where they've stayed for a few thousand years, getting even more traumatized and mentally destabilized by the total sensory deprivation and solitary confinement. If any mortal touches a Darkin weapon, it immediately assimilates them and uses their flesh as a new host, and then goes on a killing rampage about it. That's where you get your Aatrox, your Varus and (eventually, once he devours Kayn) your Rhaast.

Gods, Spirits & Demons

This is the category for Ornn, Anivia, Volibear, The Seal Sister and so on. The Freljordian people worship them as gods, but they are, technically, only extremely powerful nature spirits, manifestations of the nature of the Freljord itself, which draw power from the land and to a lesser extent from their worshipers. There are many, many lesser nature spirits, which might be worshiped as gods by particular tribes or hold power over particular areas, but Ornn, Anivia, Volibear, The Seal Sister and the Iron Boar are the most powerful and most widely revered.

On a similar note, Ionia is absolutely choked to the gills with spirits, because those lands are soaked in magic. They are usually not worshiped as gods specifically, but take the shape of everything from dragons to living trees to sprites and will-o-wisps and which roam fairly freely in Ionia. This includes characters like Lillia, who is the daughter of a magical tree of dreams on whose branches the dreams of mortals grow and mature, and it includes Ivern, who is an extremely powerful and ancient nature spirit formed from the soul of a magical tree.

Demons are distinct from spirits, in that rather than drawing on the power of the land or fountains of magic, they draw on the emotions of living things for their powers. The most powerful demons are known as The Ten, who get their power from the most primal emotions that living things feel. Fiddlesticks is the demon of Fear, and Nilah somehow draws her strength from Ashlesh, the Demon of Joy, whom her order has imprisoned. We don't know who the rest of the Ten are yet, but Riot seems to have that worked out somewhere in their internal deep lore.

Swain has a lesser (but still powerful) demon of secrets called Raum bound in his arm through some sort of deal, Evelynn is a demon of anguish and pain, Tahm Kench is a demon of addiction, and Nocturne is a demon of nightmares.

Besides those, there are an untold number of lesser demons, who feed on more and more specific feelings, and thus are less and less powerful because there's simply less of that stuff around to feed on. They are often called Azakana, and may be demons that feed on feelings as niche as, like, noblemen's fear of their extramarital affairs with handsome commoners being discovered. Yone hunts the Azakana and collects their mask, although even he doesn't know quite what for.

Death

This is where we place the Kindred. Technically they are merely Spirits of Death, but more than perhaps any other category of creature, Riot keeps writing them as Literal Gods of death and I don't think it makes sense to think of them any other way.

The Kindred take on many different shapes all across Runeterra, seemingly influenced in large part by the expectations of the people or creatures who are dying, but their most popular visage is that of a Lamb and a Wolf, hunting together. Lamb's merciful arrow ends your life if you accept that your time is up and go gently into that good night, but Wolf hunts you down and rips you to shreds if you resist and fight to your last breath, destiny be damned.

The Kindred are there for every death on Runeterra, they are the mediators (as far as we know) of all forms of death everywhere, and by far the most classically "anthropomorphic embodiment of universal existence" style god in the lore that we know of. Where a god like Anivia only really has power in the Freljord, the Kindred have power everywhere there is life. Only the undead escape them, and even then, only temporarily.

In Conclusion

YES Runeterra has tons of gods, it obviously has gods, you can't walk five feet in that universe without tripping on a god, but they tend to be gods with hard limitations on their power and influence, and rarely have powers on the level of bending reality itself.

Even Aurelion Sol, who literally makes stars, can't snap his fingers and undo causality, for example, or suspend the laws of physics wholesale.

Riot's weird insistence on "no gods in Runeterra" is more of an affectation, a bit of a put-on, than an actual narrative principle, and most of the gods of Runeterra can be understood very comfortably through the lens of various non-Christian religions like Norse or Greek mythology, or the hero/god characters of something like Polynesian myth.

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persevereforahappyending · 1 year

Text

He Hung Up (4 - Finale)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: “Are you serious right now?” you yanked your shoulder out of Sam’s grip. You took a step back but continued to face her. “You don’t like me, I get it! Right now, Tara’s safety is my only priority. Can we at least agree on that?”

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Death, Murder

Word Count: 4.8k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You rode the subway, pulling Tara as close to your body as you could. You were surrounded by dozens of people dressed up in Halloween costumes, a good number of them being a Ghostface costume. Anytime someone in a Ghostface costume moved, Tara tensed, and you tightened your grip on her. It was a popular costume, so many people wore one every year. Actually, living out the horror movie though, made all of you not know if the Ghostface walking past you was some random guy who decided to celebrate a serial killer or if they were the real deal and a knife would be sunk into your back before you had time to blink.

Ghostface had killed Quinn, then Anika. You still hadn’t processed that, maybe if you had been quicker, had been stronger, maybe Anaika would still be alive. Anika was to kind of a person, to caring to everyone to be killed that way, to be killed at all. You felt Tara rub her hand up your back underneath your jacket causing you to snap out of your grief and look at her. She furrowed her brow at you. You didn’t have it in you to try for a smile, you couldn’t pretend around her. You tightened your jaw, frowning, dropping your eyes to the dirty subway floor. You didn’t have time to have a breakdown, there was a killer after you. Luckily Tara understood, laying her head against your chest as you wrapped a protective arm around her.

You hadn’t had time to breath since Anika’s death. You remembered looking into Anika’s eyes, her falling, her body lying on the ground. You had flashes of sitting in the back of an ambulance, Tara squeezing your hand as Mindy was patched up. You were vaguely aware when Ethan came walking up, Chad slamming him against a van. Everything was just static though. The only thing you saw clearly was the blood on your hands, Anika’s blood, not your blood. Anika’s blood. Your hands were drenched in Anika’s blood.

You had come out of your head when you heard about the plan to try and catch Ghostface. The second Tara volunteered to be bait with her sister you objected, speaking for the first time. Tara not joining in being bait was the one thing Sam actually agreed with you on. Tara didn’t leave any room for argument though, she said she was joining and walked away from the van. You chased after her, begging her to let you stay with her as she and Sam walked the park, but she refused. You were dragged back to the van by Mindy who refused to let go of your hand.

You weren’t sure how Mindy didn’t hate you. How none of them hated you. Even Sam hadn’t made a snarky comment about you, if anything every time she looked at you, you saw worry in her eyes. Mindy hadn’t said anything to you, but she hadn’t yelled at you either. After getting stitched up she sat next to you and Tara, leaning her head on your shoulder and now she was sitting in the stakeout van, holding your hand. You really wished she would yell at you. You killed her girlfriend, you deserved to get yelled at. You knew you weren’t the one to stab Anika and you weren’t the one to tilt the ladder, but you were the one to let her go. You dropped her. Anika fell to her death because you couldn’t hold on.

You were brought out of your thoughts again when the phone finally rang. Ghostface taunted Sam and it turned out you were all in the wrong place. Ghostface was across town attacking Gale. The plan didn’t matter, nothing mattered, after the call you were all racing uptown to save Gale and you were still too late. Turns out you truly couldn’t save anyone. Now you were on a train headed to a serial killer’s lair to try and kill a different serial killer.

Sam stood next to her cute boy from next door. If you had the energy, you totally would’ve made fun of their relationship. Sam had been so adamant about keeping their relationship hidden but now that she had confessed, she had no problem staying close to him. Danny seemed to be taking everything well considering he had just witnessed a murder and by helping all of you it put a target on his back.

The fact that he was so calm should have been concerning. He should’ve gone to the top of your suspect list especially since he was the reason Chad got onto the subway and wasn’t able to wait with Mindy when she got separated. You didn’t think it was Danny though, he may look strong and intimidating but he was all warm and gooey on the inside, there was no way he was a killer.

Chad stood next to you and Tara; eyes glued to his phone as he repeatedly texted Mindy. The only thing you guys knew was that she was on the next train and that Ethan was with her. Her not being alone calmed some anxieties but also brought forth new ones. Ethan was Mindy’s top suspect, and you couldn’t help but agree, he was so unsuspecting looking that he would clearly be an obvious choice for the killer in a movie.

You got pulled out of your thoughts again when the five of you came to a stop outside of the theater, Kirby greeting all of you as she had already arrived and checked the place. Sam was pulling Danny to the side and whispering quietly to him. You furrowed your brow; Danny didn’t seem thrilled about whatever Sam was telling him.

“She’s telling him to stay outside,” Tara’s voice cut through your thoughts. You turned to her, tilting your head. “Maybe you should as well. This isn’t your fight. You’re only in danger because you’re with me.”

“I’m pretty sure that ship sailed the second I took that phone call for Sam,” you said lightly, trying for a soft smile.

“What we’re about to do, what we’re going to have to do, it’s a lot different than answering a phone.”

“This jackass attacked me in my dorm.” Tara opened her mouth, but you didn’t let her interrupt you. “Let me finish. It wasn’t because of you. It was because I ran my mouth and pissed him off. He’s gonna come after me whether I’m with you or not. Face it, we’re safer together.”

Tara huffed. She looked at her sister who clearly didn’t want you coming with them but rolled her eyes, she seemed done trying to argue when it came to you. Tara then turned to Kirby who just shrugged.

“It’s your call,” Kirby said, shrugging again before making her way into the theater.

“Fine,” Tara sighed. “I guess I would feel guilty if I left you out here all alone, making you an easy target for a psycho.”

You smiled, following the others into the theater as you left Danny outside. You had already seen the theater the first time Gale showed you all, but you hadn’t really paid attention. You wandered past the cases, seeing every different attack and murder. Everything telling the story from the first Ghostface to the one from last year.

“I’m going to double check the perimeter,” Kirby said, wandering off down one of the dark corridors.

Sam made her way up the stage, standing before the glass case that held her father’s robe and mask. Tara gave your hand a comforting squeeze before following close behind. You slowly walked down the path of memorabilia; you hadn’t looked at it before. When you got to the theater the first time all you saw was Anika. You had plopped yourself down at the edge of the stage and waited while the others walked around taking it all in and coming up with the first plan to try and catch this guy.

You were even aware that Tara ran off, having a small breakdown. You wanted to comfort her; your heart broke at allowing someone else to do it. Your feet just wouldn’t move, your head wouldn’t allow you to forget about Anika. Failing to comfort your girlfriend when she needed you was just another thing you added to your list of things you failed at.

You came to a stop at the last display case. The case for last year’s Ghostface. Pictures of the crime scenes hung up, next to drawings of the attacks. The knives used to kill and stab proudly on display, still coated in the blood of their victims.

You saw the images of Tara’s attack, the blood splatter going from her front door down the hall and into her kitchen. So much blood. Tara still didn’t know if Amber had let her live on purpose or she meant to kill her, but the cops arrived too quickly. Either way you couldn’t understand how Tara’s best friend, her girlfriend, could do something so cruel. You clenched your jaw, looking up towards the stage where Tara seemed to be trying to comfort her sister. She wasn’t going to get hurt again. You wouldn’t allow it. She had already survived so much. You were going to make sure she got out of it again this time.

“I’m gonna call Mindy again,” Sam mumbled, stomping off the stage and brushing past you as you made your way to Tara.

“Hey,” you said, giving her a small smile.

“Hey,” she replied, giving you that soft smile she always had whenever she looked at you. Even in a killer’s lair trying to trap another killer she still somehow managed to have that smile.

You intertwined your fingers with hers, bringing her hand up to your lips to give it a soft kiss. She pulled you down the steps of the stage and towards another room. There was a snack bar and a popcorn machine with some popcorn still in it.

“Oof, can you imagine how that tastes?” you asked, eyeing the popcorn.

“If you try it,” Tara said, spinning around to point a finger at you. “You can say goodbye to ever kissing me again.” She leaned against the snack bar, watching you.

“Yeah, death by decades old popcorn is not how I want to go out.” You leaned against the counter next to her.

She stepped closer to you, tugging at the string of your hoodie. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” you shook your head, giving her an awkward smile. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I mean this is the second time you’ve gone for this.”

“But I didn’t just see one of my best friends die last night.”

You turned away from her, looking at the wall behind the counter. An old chalkboard with the faded prices of candy, popcorn, and sodas was still listed. Your leg bounced as your eyes dropped to the dust covered counter.

“Can we not talk about this?” you whispered.

Tara ran her hand up and down your back stepping into your personal space and placing a kiss against your shoulder. “Baby,” she whispered into your shoulder.

“Please,” you turned your head to face her, you already felt your eyes starting to fill with tears. “I can’t help protect you if I’m having an emotional breakdown.”

“Okay.” She turned your body, wrapping her hands around your waist.

She pulled you into a hug before pulling away just enough to rest her forehead against yours. She stood on her tippy toes, giving you a gentle kiss. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. No matter the situation, no matter what was going on in your life, Tara always managed to pull a smile out of you.

“You know I can protect myself,” Tara whispered against your lips. “I’ve done it before.”

“I know,” you whispered back. “You’re a total badass and you’re most likely going to be the one to save me.” She chuckled at that. “But at least let me pretend.”

The two of you were broken out of your moment when Chad burst through the doors. You both jumped, spinning around to face him.

“Sorry,” he said shyly. “Did I interrupt something?” he smirked knowingly.

“Of course not,” Tara said, stepping away from you and smoothing out her shirt.

Chad’s eyes widened, you reacted before he had time to yell. You spun around seeing Ghostface appear behind Tara. He brought his knife down, you yanked her towards you, pushing her towards Chad. The knife sliced down your forearm instead of finding its home in Tara’s shoulder.

“Go!” you shouted.

You heard the squeaking of shoes as they took off down one of the halls. You stood facing Ghostface. He flipped he knife in his hand before slashing at you multiple times. You managed to dodge each attack.

He managed to get you pinned against the counted. You used both of your hands to hold his arm with the knife. It was a losing battle. He was using his weight to push the knife, making it inch closer and closer to your neck.

You kicked at his feet, tripping him up enough that his hand slid. You pushed him away just enough to wiggle yourself out from between him and the counter. He fell forward, impaling the knife into the countertop.

You put your hand on the hilt of the knife, preventing him from yanking it back out. You used your other hand to grab him by the back of the hood and slam his face into the counter. He fell back to the floor with a groan, taking the knife with him.

You took the chance, jumping over his body and running for the door. You didn’t know where Tara and Chad had gone but if Ghostface got in then you needed to find them. The place wasn’t secure like it should have been.

You flung the door open, running right into Sam. You both let out a yelp. She was staring behind you. You looked back to see Ghostface pulling himself up. You grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled her down the hallway, running as fast as you ever had in your life.

You came to another empty room, your eyes darting all around, looking for an exit.

“Where’s Tara?” Sam snapped, yanking you by the shoulder to face her.

“I don’t know,” you said, turning to look for an exit again.

“You don’t know!” she made you face her again.

“She’s with Chad! I told them to run when that psycho appeared,” you gestured back down the hallway you had come.

“How convenient.”

“Are you serious right now?” you yanked your shoulder out of Sam’s grip. You took a step back but continued to face her. “You don’t like me, I get it! Right now, Tara’s safety is my only priority. Can we at least agree on that?”

Sam clenched and unclenched her jaw a few times, glaring at you. She finally nodded.

“Great!” you through your hands in the air.

Something fell causing both you and Sam to turn to the closed door the sound had come from. This time it was Sam’s turn to pull you, yanking you to another door. She swung it open but then quickly stepped back, stumbling into you. You turned to see Ghostface in the doorway, waving his knife back and forth in a taunting motion.

You pulled Sam back just in time for her to get missed by a knife swipe. You pulled her with you to another door, flinging it open and taking off down another hallway. You felt Sam close behind you. She practically pushed you through the next door when you came to it.

As the two of you stumbled through the door you ran right into Tara and Chad, causing all four of you to jump and let out various yelps.

Sam pushed past you, yanking her sister into a hug. She pulled away from the hug to give Tara a once over, making sure there were no new injuries. You did the same then turned your eyes towards Chad, making sure he was okay as well.

“It’s Kirby,” Sam said, as the four of you made your way to the middle of the room. You had managed to end up back in the main room with the stage.

Chad ran to the gate, but it was still locked. Your kill box plan seemed to be working great. The only problem being you were all in the box with the killer. You all made your way through the display cases when Ghostface came out from behind the curtain on stage.

All of you scattered, running different directions around the display cases as Ghostface swiped his knife. Tara ended up getting a cut on her arm, but she managed to dodge any further injuries by diving to the floor. You ran over, pulling her back to her feet just as Ghostface swiped at Chad, missing him, and taking the head off a mannequin.

Sam grabbed Tara, pulling her towards the door with the snack bar. You followed close behind with Chad right on your heals. You all burst through the door, turning to face Ghostface as he came barreling through as well.

He swiped at you a few times, while you managed to jump back dodging each attack. You got him to turn his back to the others. Sam and Tara grabbed each of his arms, pulling him back and pinning him against the counter. Chad dealt a couple blows to his face before the girls released him, making him collapse to the ground. Tara delivered a hard kick to his face.

You moved towards Tara and Sam, instantly pulling Tara into your side. Chad grabbed an old gumball machine, intending to smash it into Ghostface but a second one came out of nowhere, stabbing him in the side.

Tara screamed, trying to run towards him but you held her back, keeping her between you and Sam. The Ghostface on the ground got up, joining his partner as they each held Chad and began stabbing him over and over again. The three of you watched as his body collapsed to the ground, the two Ghostface’s turning to face you as they wiped the blood off their knife simultaneously.

The three of you took back off through the door, back into the showroom. The three of you stood back-to-back as the two Ghostface began to circle you. Sam had a knife while you and Tara grabbed a couple bricks lying on the floor. You got ready to face off against the killers when Kirby came in firing her gun, causing the two killers to run off.

Sam jumped in front of you, and you pushed Tara behind you as Sam held her knife out, keeping Kirby at a safe distance.

“We know it’s you!” Sam shouted.

“No, no, no,” Kirby defended, shaking her head, her gun still drawn. “They knocked me out.”

“Kirby, stay away from them!” Someone shouted. All of you turned to see detective Bailey approaching, his gun drawn and pointed and Kirby.

Both Kirby and Bailey went back and forth accusing each other. They each claimed the other was lying and was most likely working with the killers. You and the sisters stood in the middle of the room, eyes darting back and forth, unsure of who to trust.

“Watch out!” Kirby shouted just as a Ghostface ran up behind Bailey, their knife raised. Bailey fired his weapon, shooting Kirby.

The three of you froze, backing away from Bailey as far as you could.

“You,” Sam whispered.

“Me,” he said with a shrug, both Ghostface’s stepped up, taking a place at each side of Bailey. “I expected more from the two of you after what you did to us,” he directed at Sam and Tara.

“What do you mean us?” Tara asked.

The Ghostface to the right of Bailey took off his mask, revealing Ethan. “Mindy was right,” he said, with a sadistic smile. “This was your grandmother’s, Nancy Loomis,” he pointed to the mask. “And speaking of family, my name isn’t Ethan Landy, is it dad?”

“Dad?” Tara asked in shock.

“Damn,” you whispered. “I really nailed the call about daddy issues.”

“That mouth of yours is exactly why you’re gonna die slow and painful!” Ethan shouted, pointing his knife towards you.

“Wait,” Sam said. “If it’s you two,” she looked between Ethan and Bailey. “Then Mindy?”

The second Ghostface took off their mask, revealing Quinn.

“The fuck,” you whispered.

“Didn’t see that one coming,” Quinn said with a smirk.

“Yeah, cause you died,” Tara said.

“It was a good way to get off the suspect list.”

The three of them began circling the three of you. Quinn and Ethan swiping and stabbing at all of you to make sure you stayed group together. They went on and on about their plan to frame Sam for all the murders, eventually getting to the part where they revealed they were Richie’s family.

“There’s a very special bond between a father and his first son,” Bailey said.

“Well, guess we know who the favorite is,” you mumbled. “But hey I guess when your choices for favorite son are between a film obsessed nerd turned serial killer or this loser,” you pointed to Ethan. “I mean, no competition really.” Ethan gritted his teeth, stabbing at you again but missing.

Sam disrupted their plan by saying how pathetic Richie was. It allowed an opening for Tara to swing her brick, knocking Quinn in the face. Kirby recovered and fired several shots into Bailey, hitting his vest. Ethan ran up and stabbed Kirby, but Sam knocked him in the head with a brick.

“There!” Tara shouted, pointing to a ladder that led up to the second level.

Tara was already up the ladder and climbing through the bars to get on the upper level by the time you and Sam were making your way over to the ladder.

Sam was in front of you, almost at the ladder when you saw Quinn coming up behind her out of the corner of your eye.

“No!” you shouted, moving on instinct.

You jumped in Quinn’s path right before her knife would have entered Sam’s back. Instead, the knife entered your stomach.

“No!” you heard Tara scream.

You coughed up blood. You thought you heard Sam let out a gasp behind you. You only saw Quinn, mouth bloodied, teeth missing but still having a sadistic smile on her face. She gripped one of your shoulders before plunging the knife into your stomach again, and again, and again. You lost count how many times she stabbed you before she lightly shoved you off her knife, making you instantly collapse to the ground.

You saw Quinn run off through blurry eyes, black spots dancing in the corner of your vision. “Oh my god,” Sam gasped out. She was kneeling by your side. She put her hands to your wound, as if she could possibly stop the bleeding. “Why?” she whispered.

You opened your mouth to answer but only coughed up more blood. “Tara,” you managed to get out in a breath, coughing up more blood in the process.

Sam looked down at you, her hands hesitating to leave your wound. She turned to look up to where Tara had been before looking back down at you. If you didn’t know any better, you could swear you saw tears in Sam’s eyes. That was impossible though, there was no way Sam was getting teary eyed over you, clearly you had already lost so much blood and you were becoming delusional. “Go,” you said with one more breath before falling into another coughing fit.

You felt the pressure of Sam’s hands leave you. You saw her figure standing above you through blurry eyes before your vision went black.

You slowly opened her eyes, blinking only to see a bright white light in your eyes. You tried pushing yourself up with your elbows but instantly dropped back down with a groan.

“Hey, hey, take it easy,” a soft whisper came from the side of you. You turned your head, blinking a few times to see Tara standing next to you. Her eyes were red rimmed, but she was smiling when you made eye contact with her.

You blinked a few times, getting your eyes to adjust from the sleep. You looked around to see you were in a hospital room. You were somehow alive. You were sure you were dead after you lost consciousness but apparently you were wrong.

Tara came into a clearer view; she was in a chair at your bedside. She had the chair pulled as close as it could get to your bed, and she gripped your hand as if she was afraid, you’d suddenly fade away. You slowly lifted herself up again, this time Tara helping you as best as she could. When you were sitting up you saw Sam sitting in the corner of the room at a little table. When she saw you awake, she got up to stand opposite of Tara at your bedside.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice gravelly.

“You were stabbed,” Tara said, her voice hollow as she tried to hold back more tears. “Ten times.” She wiped away the tears that began to fall. “You were stabbed ten times.”

You nodded, the memory flooding back to you. “Is it bad I’m glad it was Quinn and not Ethan? I don’t think I could handle it if it had been Ethan,” you joked.

Tara let out a laugh, but it turned into a half sob. You let out a small laugh as well before wincing in pain. You settled for smiling up at Tara. You glanced at Sam to see her trying to hide a small smile as well. Shit, you had to be in bad shape if Sam was willing to laugh at your jokes, even if she was trying to hide it.

“What about the others?” you quickly asked. You remembered the last image you had of Chad, him being stabbed then tossed to the floor. You still had no idea what happened to Mindy, you think you remembered Quinn mentioning stabbing her on the subway.

“They’re okay,” Tara said quietly. “Even Chad. They’re all okay. We’re all okay.”

You nodded, letting your head fall back onto the soft pillows. Sam cleared her throat causing your attention to shift to her. She was picking at your bed sheet. You had to still be delirious or very high because it almost looked like Sam was nervous, but Sam didn’t get nervous.

“Thank you,” Sam finally said. “You saved my life. So, thank you.”

“Anytime,” you said.

Sam stared down at her hands playing with the sheet before looking you in the eye again. “Why?” her voice cracked. “You could have died. Why risk your life to save mine? I’ve literally been nothing but cruel to you.”

“I wouldn’t say you were cruel.” You tried to joke but Sam just let out a sob, tilting her head for a real answer. “I told you; Tara’s is my priority. That includes her getting to keep her sister.” You felt Tara’s grip on your hand tighten.

“Well, for saving my life,” Sam wiped the tears from her eyes, she tried to sound like her normal serious self again. “I will now allow you to stay at the apartment.” Your eyes widened at that. “No need to sneak in and out.”

“Really?” you couldn’t help but be shocked by this new development.

“This does not mean I like you,” she pointed a finger at you. “And you better not be there every day, or I will throw you out again.”

You laughed at that. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“I’ll give you two a minute.” She quickly left the hospital room, closing the door behind herself to give you and Tara even more privacy.

“I think she’s warming up to me,” you said, trying to break the ice. “Get stabbed a few more times, save her life, save your life, and next thing you know she won’t want me to leave your place.”

Tara ran her fingers through your hair, scratching your scalp lightly. “As much as I would love that,” she said. “I would prefer never to see you get stabbed again.”

“Me too,” you nodded. “This is quite painful.” That made both of you laugh. “Lay with me?” Tara’s mouth parted open, but she didn’t say anything, she hesitated to move. “Please?”

She nodded hesitantly. You smiled softly as you moved as far to the side of the bed as you could, being as gentle with yourself as you could. Tara carefully slipped into the bed next to you, careful not to bump any of your injuries. She curled into your side, resting her head against your shoulder as you wrapped an arm around her before drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

Taglist:

@screechat

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #he hung up

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redhoodinternaldialectical · 9 months

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It's quite important to me that Jason and Bruce's conflict is not a misunderstanding.

I truly believe that if each of them had perfect omniscient knowledge of every detail of what happened surrounding Jason's death, not only would they still have conflict, but they would still have the SAME conflict. Neither the question nor the answer of Under the Red Hood's climax would change.

Sheila's betrayal is often known about in canon (frankly there is no way anyone but Jason should know; it is deeply unclear to me why comics allow others to be aware of this) and it does nothing to change anything.

Bruce's one off attempt to kill the Joker at most changes a few lines during Jason's plea to let him kill him ("Please! I know you wanted to, I know you tried to once, what changed? Did you forget about me? Did you stop caring? Did you fucking well forgive?! You for whom vengeance is your only life?")

Learning about the people Jason saved doesn't do much to assuage Bruce's horror at what Jason has become ("Each life is precious, unique, irreplaceable. It does not absolve him.")

Learning exactly what was done to mourn him modifies the depth and force of Jason's fury some ("You buried and destroyed all trace of me, the actual person, didn't even try to tell Dick, and then blamed my death on my own irresponsibility?!") But otherwise does very little.

Talia's involvement being revealed does nothing, because frankly she didn't do much of anything except stall this confrontation and give him a knife. It's a really cool knife, granted, but it sure as fuck didn't convince Jason this needed to happen!

The exact details of Tim's induction into the role have the largest effect - on an issue that is utterly tertiary to his main conflict with Bruce ("Oh wow, cool, great, the new kid you got to emotionally support you actually volunteered, and has parents so his entire well-being doesn't hinge on your approval. Congrats on approaching the bare fucking minimum! Now, wouldn't you agree that you have a duty to protect him by taking care of the murderer who killed me?! Instead of fucking demanding that he be good enough not to get killed?!")

I have a whole damn post on the can of worms Jason understanding the events of War Games would open! ("YOU LET ANOTHER ONE OF US DIE WHILE I WAS GONE?!?")

I am convinced that the only ways in which their conflict becomes less intense is through a misunderstanding.

And I like it that way. I'm really, really glad it's not a misunderstanding, and that it can't be resolved through better communication. Their issues are real and meaningful and cannot be swept away without one actually conceding to the other's demands.

#jason todd #got big thoughts today #damian's tomfoolery #bruce wayne

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wynnyfryd · 6 months

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Trailer park Steve AU part 59

part 1 | part 58 | ao3

cw: canon-typical horror/gore (like for real this time), emetophobia, reference to minor character death. ty to @thisapplepielife for indulging my weirdly specific research about headstones

Steve tries to follow her — gets shot down before he even gets within speaking range, Max shouting at him to give her a minute the second she spots him coming over the hill. He backs off, hands raised in surrender, and then…

Well, then he’s already out of the car.

Well then his feet know where to take him.

His dad’s grave isn’t far. Maybe a football field away, close enough that he’ll be able to hear it if Max calls for help. He moves toward it without thought, his legs carrying him past simple overgrown markers in the oldest part of the park — crumbling remnants of civil war soldiers, farmers and shopkeepers and factory workers, people who worked the mines, people who died before his grandfather was born. People who might have been loved once, before time and moss and water stripped their names off of the stones.

Up the next slope, the markers get more elaborate, shift from bronze to granite to marble, to monuments and mausoleums and a fucking obelisk; ostentatious displays of the town’s oldest money. The coal barons, the oil tycoons. Rotten bastards, Wayne might say.

The Harringtons aren't that rich. They're further down the hill in a neatly manicured row of Indiana limestone; fresh flowers on each grave, the weeds plucked, the grass trimmed.

Dad's buried right next to Grandpa Otis.

It almost looks nice.

Crisp, clean, dry. Nothing to suggest the messy wet red of his father's demise. Steve shoves his hands in his front pockets and steps up to his dad's plot, toes the edge of it, the rounded lump of earth, sparse grass and loose soil where his father's bones are laid. The ground gives a little under his weight, the dirt compacting. Could he dig this up with just his hands? Could he claw through until he reached the bottom, pry open the box and peer inside? Unbidden, the image forms in his mind: worm food and rot, half a man left inside, somehow still frowning in disappointment with his jaw bone shining clean.

Steve's stomach turns. A sick shiver runs through him, saliva flooding his mouth, sweat beading at his hair line.

This isn't right.

Something's not right.

There's a sudden chill in the air, frigid wind carrying a smell like roadkill in the summer — heat wafting from the pavement, death clogging up his throat. Steve covers his nose and wills his shoulders down from his ears; tries to mutter words of comfort to himself under his breath. “Just a graveyard, Steve. Just a totally… normal…”

Ice on the back of his neck. Steve tenses every muscle, turns his good ear toward the sound of whatever's creeping up on him; something taller than him, something slithering and wet, its rasping rattles of frozen breath sending goosebumps down Steve's arms. His hands twitch inside his pockets.

Then, a voice — a voice that isn’t his, that can’t be anyone’s, because the man it belonged to is dead. “That Munson boy was right about you."

Steve can't fucking breathe. Dark clouds roll in around him, violent as a blooming bruise, and that voice behind him echoes — distorted, vicious; hungry.

"You are a black hole."

Steve grabs two fistfuls of his own hair and tugs; wills the pain to dispel the nightmare, his eyes swimming from the sting.

The thing behind him laughs. "Look how you ruined your mother," it snarls. "Look how you tore her apart.”

"Shut up!" Steve barks with his hands over his ears.

“Steve…” The voice deepens, beckons, thick with malice and rot. Steve slowly turns to face it, trembling all over, pulse thudding in his ears, and his shoes squelch in the dirt, and when he looks down he sees that the dirt has turned to mud that now turns to oozing red, a viscous river beneath his feet, flowing up over his ankles, pouring from his father's grave. And there, in front of him, a mangled remnant stands. The ruined corpse of Richard Harrington, his skin shriveled and gray, the torn parts of him held together by his clothes. There’s a hole in his torso where the exposed ribs glint like knives.

Steve throws up on himself.

The ground gives way beneath him, goes spongy like rotting meat, and the thing wearing his dad's face cackles as Steve sinks into the earth, the grave swallowing him whole, up to his calves, his knees, his thighs. "Join me," it offers, lipless smile full of teeth.

The glamor peels back to reveal a monster underneath, its scarred skin crawling in mucus-coated vines; naked, long-limbed, stitched together with burnt flesh.

Steve screams as he scrambles for purchase, up to his hips now in the muck, his feet on the lid of his dad's casket. He claws blindly at the loose ground but it’s all thick and wet with red, and the air itself is red; blood in the sky, in his eyes, in his lungs. He's going to die here. The voice tells him so. It's in his head now, a bellowing echo as the monster draws near, one hideous hand outstretched, an all-consuming join me, join me, JOIN ME—

“HEY!!!”

Max shouts directly in his face, shaking him hard by both shoulders where they're crouched on the cool ground, Kate Bush leaking from the headphones slung around her neck. Steve gives a startled shout and jerks back out of her grip, falling hard on his ass, landing harder on his elbows.

The world shifts back to blue. To dry, clean grass. To breathable air.

Steve pants up at the sky. His shirt clings to him where he's soaked it through with sweat. When Max offers him a hand, he stands on shaky legs, looks at the ground beneath his feet and screams again, scurrying back until his ass hits a stranger's headstone.

There’s a dent in the earth where he was standing. A smudge of packed dirt where he really did sink in. Steve stares at it; feels it reaching out for him, the dark patch thudding like a heart beat, spreading out like snaking vines.

He clutches at his heaving chest. Max’s eyes are huge on him.

"Okay, what the fuck?" she begs.

"What the fuck yourself!"

No heat behind the words, but they burn him, anyway, pushed out on a weak gasp. Is this what she was talking about? Is this what she calls nothing?

This doesn't feel like fucking nothing.

“Shit," she says, and her eyes go even wider. Steve can see the veins in them. "Shit, Steve, your nose…”

He swipes his arm across his face.

It comes back red.

—

part 60

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #max mayfield #vecna

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justagalwhowrites · 4 months

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Yearling - Ch. 37: Pieces

Mitchum sends you to where he wants you as Joel questions Cody. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-36 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and several steps beyond that. Fairly graphic torture (not of reader.) Mention of past sexual assault, not described. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only

Length: 6k

A/N: As with the last chapter, I want to state, real quick, that Bambi is NOT going to be sexually assaulted again. This is a highly triggering subject and, given the situation she's in, I understand if folks are bracing for it. That's not going to happen. The threat of it is there but it's not going to happen.

We are into the final arc of Yearling and we are going to see some TLOU 2 OVERLAP again. There isn't any this chapter but there will be in this arc and here's how: a character from that game will be mentioned as will the spoiler-y incident from a few chapters ago. What happens plot wise in this arc is completely separate from the game and entirely original content BUT there is that character overlap and more specific mentions of the incident and the motives behind it. This character returns THIS CHAPTER. If you're trying to go in blind to season 2, it might be wise to step back. Feel free to send me a DM, I'm happy to answer any and all questions!

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

They were talking about you like you weren’t there.

You’d been used to that once but it had been a long time since you’d been just a thing, separate from that life about as long as you’d suffered it. You had forgotten just how much you hated this part of being a prisoner. You’d internalized so many of the more acute horrors that the smaller things had slipped away, but the change from human being to livestock was sharp. You didn’t have much in you to fight against anything - still barely able to stand - but it seemed what little there was faded quickly just listening to the men talk about you as though you were some unruly animal.

“Take her back to the main camp,” Mitchum said, taking your arm and turning you around so he could look you over. “She’s good on a horse, don’t let her near the reins. Don’t be stupid enough to think this one won’t take off just because she’s down some fingers, she’s a feral thing. That fucking moron… Get her there and don’t fuck her, understand? She’s mine and I gotta make sure she’s broken in right. Been wild too long, gonna have to start from scratch.”

He took your chin in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his own.

“Gonna bring you back where you belong,” he said. “I tamed you once, I can do it again.”

You didn’t say anything, all your energy going in to keeping yourself standing. You tried to think about something, anything, beyond how close Mitchum was to you again, every alarm bell your body had ringing. Where his fingers were on you burned and your heart raced, the blood loss and fear making your head spin.

The only thing that could be worse than being this close to him again was Savvy and Ellie being this close to him. The thought that you’d saved them from this was a small comfort. You hoped they made it back. You had to believe they made it. You weren’t sure you’d have the strength to keep going otherwise. They made it, they made it back to Jackson, they were safe there.

But the men were talking about Jackson, too. Like it was something they could take. What’s worse, they sounded confident that they could do it. It was something that had seemed impossible when you were within the walls, everything so strong and permanent. How could the will of men destroy something like that? But now that you were here, back in the grip of what terrified you, it didn’t seem so impossible anymore. Jackson was just people, too. Good people, strong people who had decided to survive and work and love alongside each other but people all the same. It doesn’t take some act of God to destroy a person, just one other, determined person can do the job.

You couldn’t handle considering that, not when the only things in the world that mattered were dependent on Jackson to be safe. You had to believe that Jackson could withstand whatever came its way, that Ellie and Savvy had made it back, that they would be safe within its walls and would never have to face men like Mitchum and Cody again. They made it, they made it back to Jackson and they were safe. The whole city was.

You thought it over and over again in your head, a mantra of sorts, as they brought you to a horse and forced you on its back. You were too out of it to grab the reins immediately, a man mounting up in front of you before you could think twice about taking control of the animal.

“Better not try anything back there if you know what’s good for you,” the man snapped before making the horse move. You just tried to stay upright and tried to think of ways to escape once you were strong enough to run. You had to resist the urge to try now, every nerve in your body on fire and driving you to run or fight. But you couldn’t. You’d never survive a fight right now and you’d only be able to walk a mile - maybe two - before you’d collapse and then they’d have you again. You needed to save your strength or you’d never get out.

You tried to remind yourself that you’d done all this before. You’d survived what they did to you and made it out. You’d lived and built a life and found your daughter and protected what mattered. You’d done it once, you could do it again. You just had to survive.

You focused on the people that you wanted to survive for - Savvy and Ellie and Joel and Maria and Tommy and William and Julie and and and - and tried to settle into the sway of the horse as it walked.

Time was strange like this, pulling and warping. It seemed like it was dark longer than it should have been when the sun started to rise and then, when the men stopped for a break, the sun seemed higher than it should have been. You drank water when it was offered. You watched for a chance to steal a horse - the only way you thought you’d be able to make it far in that moment - but didn’t get one.

The light hadn’t yet taken on the soft, hazy quality of evening when you reached where you were headed. It was an unfamiliar place, a small subdivision - maybe two dozen houses total - with mountains at its back. There was a guarded perimeter, men in cowboy hats who gave the men you were with a nod as they rode in.

They brought you to the center of the neighborhood, to a house that was small but looked to be in good repair, two men stationed outside.

“Down,” the man you were riding with ordered. You obeyed, sliding off the horse and stumbling, head spinning. He dismounted more smoothly before grabbing you by the collar of your shirt - Joel’s shirt - and hauled you for the door, one of the guards meeting him there. He took a padlock off the front door before opening it and shoving you inside, past a small living room with a sunken sofa and a kitchen with counters covered in a thick layer of dust. He forced you down a hall to a bedroom. You were almost positive it had been a little girl’s room once but it had been stripped of all forms of childish comfort. There were two twin sized mattresses on the floor, tucked into corners on opposite pink walls. There had been carpet once, you were sure, but it had been pulled up, just the plywood below remaining. There was a bucket at the foot of each bed and some drywall had been pulled away near each bed, exposing the frame of the walls, chains wrapped around a stud near either bed.

“On the bed,” the man ordered, shoving you toward it and making you stumble. You more fell onto the mattress than sat on it but it didn’t seem to make a difference. He approached you and you went to kick him, not about to let him just take what he wanted without a fight, but he caught your boot, giving you a sharp shake when he did. “Just making sure you don’t run. Sit still or this will hurt a lot more than it needs to.”

He pulled your boot off before you had a chance to respond and tossed it near the door before picking up the chain. It was thick and heavy, no cuff on the end. He wrapped it around your ankle, tight enough that it cut into your flesh a little, and put a padlock through the loops to hold it in place. He gave it a testing pull and it didn’t budge. He nodded.

“Recommend you rest while you can,” he said, dropping your leg. “Mitchum’s back in a day or two, don’t imagine you’ll have much while he’s here.”

He turned to leave and you looked to the other mattress. There was a smear of blood near the chain that was still bright red, like it hadn’t dried yet. There was someone else who had been here, someone recently. The door closed and locked and you stretched out on the bed, trying to force your body and mind to still enough that you could rest.

It didn’t work very well. You faded in and out of consciousness for a while - you weren’t entirely sure how long but you were fairly certain night had fallen. The window in the room was covered with yellowed newspaper but you were pretty sure you’d seen light coming through it earlier in the day. It was dark now.

It took you a moment to realize what had pulled you back to consciousness. There was a scuffle outside your door, the sound of someone being wrestled inside. You shot up, scrambling to find something you might be able to use as a weapon but came up empty, the room stripped of anything that could be a tool and your mind still working slowly. You were still down a lot of blood.

The door opened and you braced yourself to claw and bite but the man there paid you no mind. Instead, he shoved a tall, broad young woman in, one with a blonde fishtail braid that hung down her back. Something inside you twinged at the sight of her, a distant alarm bell ringing. She was familiar, you couldn’t see her face but you knew her. You could feel it.

The man forced her onto the opposite mattress and all but threw the chain around her ankle before locking it into place.

“If you’re fuckin’ smart, you’ll behave yourself,” the man backed away from her, panting for breath with a cut on his cheek. “If you weren’t one of Mitchum’s favorite toys, I’d kill you myself.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, lifting her head from the mattress, her teeth bared in a snarl. Your breath caught, the fingers from your intact hand groping for the chain attached to your ankle, your best hope for a weapon.

You did know this woman - almost more of a girl in spite of her size and strength, she couldn’t be much older than Ellie and definitely young enough to be your daughter. You didn’t know her name or where she was from or why she had tried to murder your husband but you knew her, knew how she looked when she was filled with rage and desperate to kill a man. Knew how she looked as she beat Joel until he was bloody and half dead. Your grip on the chain tightened.

The man left and you weren’t sure if the two of them had said anything else, the high pitched whine that had taken over your ears only just beginning to fade.

She seemed to notice you then, straining to sit up, her eyes wide at first but narrowing when she reached your face.

She recognized you, too.

“You,” she was still panting for breath, leaning against the wall at her back, sneering at you. Watching you. “I should have known they’d find some other fucking way to torture me.”

You watched her back, ready to defend yourself in case she made a move.

“I could have said the same thing about you.”

***

Joel wasn’t aware of much.

There were gunshots but they were of little consequence. The screams didn’t register, either. Neither did the sweat on his neck or the pain in his back or the pull in his leg that had been there ever since he was shot by the girl who wanted him dead.

He could feel your blood on his hands, though, and the feel of your fingers in his pocket and hear the thud of his heart and he could see. He could see Cody on his horse but he could see how you’d been afraid of him, too. That day in the stable when Joel held you and you were so scared you could barely stay standing. He could see how it would have happened, how this man would have cut away pieces of you. How scared you would have been, how you would have fought anyway, how you would have screamed.

All Joel really knew in that moment was that he needed to hurt this man. He needed to take every ounce of pain from his body until there was nothing else left inside of him and he needed him to know, as he died, that he was dying for you.

Cody tried to dodge Joel as he threw himself at him, the horse stutter stepping away as Cody tried to pull it back while also grabbing his gun. But he wasn’t fast enough, Joel’s hands closing around the edges of the man’s jacket as he yanked him to the ground, Cody’s gun flying into the trees.

But Cody was not a small man and his thrashing weight threw Joel off balance, the two of them sprawling to the forest floor. Cody was younger and more agile and got to his feet first, pulling his knife free from his belt, lunging for Joel. But Joel was ready for him, kicking him in the gut so hard that it knocked the wind out of him and sent him stumbling back. He got to his feet, too, Cody leaning against a tree, knife out as he caught his breath.

“You’re not gonna get her back,” he panted, a sneer on his face as he watched Joel. “She’s with him now and he’s not gonna let her go so easy this time. And when he’s done with her, don’t think you’ll even want her back.”

There was commotion at Joel’s back but it barely registered.

“I should have fucking killed you when I had the chance,” Joel said, watching him closely. “She was too good to you. She’s always been better than anyone left fuckin’ deserved, least of all you.”

“And she should’ve known what I gave her when I let her go,” he said, standing up a little straighter now, breath caught. “Instead of being an ungrateful cunt.”

Joel roared and threw himself at Cody, the other man striking out at him with his knife. He nicked Joel’s shoulder with the blade but he barely noticed it, the blow not really hurting so much as being filed away as information, things he would need to contend with at some point when Cody’s blood was cold on the ground.

Joel threw a punch, catching Cody on the jaw and he stumbled for a moment before lunging at Joel, striking out with the knife again but falling short and following up with a clumsy fist after. Joel caught his hand and twisted it, the other man giving a sharp yelp. Joel liked the sound, the evidence of his pain soothing the gnawing desperation inside him.

But his satisfaction was short lived, the knife slamming into Joel’s shoulder making him seize up for a moment. He was aware that it should hurt, that there was metal inside him now that didn’t belong, but all it did was bring everything into sharper focus. This knife was probably the one that had drawn your blood, too. It seemed right that he should suffer it with you after he’d failed at doing what he’d vowed to do.

The split second of the shock of the stab passed quickly and Joel drove Cody back into the tree, slamming his back into the trunk of it and knocking the air out of him, his head hitting the bark with a sickening thud. Joel didn’t relent. Instead, he punched him across the face, one arm holding the man in place as he hit him again and again.

This satisfaction held longer. Cody’s fingers scramble and clawed at Joel, trying to find purchase somewhere they could pull him away from his singular mission but that was impossible. Joel’s physical body didn’t matter to him anymore, not without you, and every small hurt was swallowed by the drive to destroy.

“Joel!” Tommy’s arm looped around Joel’s neck, pulling him back from Cody who slipped down the tree trunk, his hands limp on the blood coated leaves, his chest still rising and falling, eyes blinking as he stared into space. Joel strained to pull away from Tommy’s grip but his brother held him firm as he panted for breath. “Joel, you can’t kill him yet, we need information. We kept one of the others alive but we need information or we’ll never find her. He’s alive, we need him to stay a live a little longer.”

Joel slumped forward in Tommy’s grip and his hold on him loosened, starting to feel his body again. His knuckles hurt and were slick with blood. Joel wasn’t sure how much was Cody’s and how much was his own. There was a sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder and he reached back with his other arm, flinching as he did, before taking hold of the knife and pulling the blade free. He heard Tommy wince as he did and Joel brought the weapon around in front of him, holding it up for a moment. His blood was slick over half the blade, the edge serrated.

“You cut off my wife’s fingers with this?” Joel panted, squatting down to be on Cody’s level, holding the knife up. His own voice sounded odd to him, so normal when everything was so wrong.

“Wait, what?” Ellie stalked over to him and Joel glanced up at her. There was a cut on her cheek and her eyes were wide. Joel turned back to Cody and reached into his pocket, gently pulling your fingers free before setting them on Cody’s stomach. “Motherfucker!”

Joel barely registered the sound of Tommy wrestling Ellie away, too focused on the man in front of him to worry about anything else.

“Did you cut off my wife’s fingers with this?” Joel said again, voice flat.

Cody struggled to swallow and Joel took hold of his jaw, yanking his head around so he was looking right at him.

“Answer the question.”

Cody blinked a few times before taking a shaky breath.

“Yes.”

There was a rattle in his voice and blood on his teeth.

“Good.”

Joel took the knife and thrust it into his thigh, just over his knee. Cody screamed and squirmed uselessly under him and Joel waited, keeping constant pressure down on the blade, giving him no relief.

As he quieted - gasping for breath, eyes wide and bloodshot - Joel pulled the knife from his leg and wiped the blood on his jeans.

“Gonna hurt you like you hurt her,” he said, picking up Cody’s hand from the ground. He started trying to pull it away, heavy breaths shifting to hyperventilation, but Joel held firm, forcing the hand down to the man’s thigh. “What, you afraid of me usin’ your knife the way you do? That it? Can’t be that bad, can it?”

“No,” he panted. “No, please, I’ll give you whatever you want, I’ll…”

Joel lined the blade up with the smallest knuckle on Cody’s pinky and cut through it in one devastating push, the man screaming and writhing and trying to pull his hand into his chest to comfort himself but Joel didn’t let him.

“You’ll give me what I want?” Joel asked, putting the knife at the next joint down. “But what if what I want is my wife? What if what I want is your pain, hm? You give me that?”

He cut again, the blade meeting more resistance this time. Joel pushed through it, the knife cutting through the denim of his jeans on the other side of his hand as he screamed again. Cody closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree and Joel resisted the urge to beat his face in. He had to leave him alive for a little while longer.

And besides, he couldn’t take more pain from him if he was dead.

“No, you don’t get to fuckin’ pass out on me,” Joel stabbed the knife through his hand, pinning it to his thigh before grabbing his hair by the fistful, bringing his head forward so it was only inches from Joel’s own. He could smell the blood on his skin, clearly see the trails of salt on his cheeks. “You get to be awake for this. Doubt you ever let her pass out, did you? Not about to do you any favors. Now, you focus on me, understand?”

Cody managed a nod. Joel dragged the blade through is palm, between the webbing of his fingers, cutting a path through the delicate bones of his hand and the thick muscle of his thigh as Cody begged and screamed. The wound at Joel’s shoulder ached. He couldn’t bring himself to care about either thing.

He held Cody’s hand in place again and gave him a second to quiet and catch his breath before lining the knife up at the base of his pinky.

“Please,” he panted, eyes so desperate as they met Joel’s. “Please, I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” Joel asked, brows raised. “Can’t survive what you did to her?”

Joel cut, separating the bloody remains of the finger from Cody’s hand and casting it aside. Cody’s screams were growing hoarse and Joel ground his teeth. He still needed answers from him and he needed to be able to talk for that.

He pulled the knife away, holding it firmly and watching as the other man caught his breath.

“I can make this easier,” Joel said after a moment. “You tell me where she is? I kill you. Quick. Maybe not painless but not as bad as this. You’re not leavin’ here alive. Should have killed you in Jackson months ago. Hell, should have fucking found you years ago and killed you then but I didn’t. Not about to let you go again. But it’s up to you if how I kill you is for you or for me, if it’s fast or if it’s slow.”

“I…” the wet rattle of Cody’s breath was sharper now. “I can’t… I can’t trust you to do it quick…”

“Yes you can,” Joel said. “You tell me where my wife is? I’m gonna go get her. Not gonna want to waste more time here with you. It’ll be quick if you just tell me.”

Cody’s eyes searched Joel’s for a moment, like he would find some kind of answer in them. Joel didn’t need to see his reflection to know that the only thing Cody would find in his gaze was the hollow, desperate pain of your loss. There wasn’t anything else left in him to see.

“I traded her,” he said. “To Mitchum. Met… met him about 10 miles north east of here but he won’t still be there. I don’t think he’d keep her with him - he never did before, always… always had her at his base…”

“And where’s that,” Joel asked when he trailed off. Cody’s neck went limp and Joel grabbed his chin again, giving him a sharp shake and forcing his eyes to spring open. “Stay with me, focus right here. Where is Mitchum’s base? Where would he take her?”

“Little spot,” he panted. “Just… a bunch of houses, don’t know if it’s got a name…”

“Tommy!” Joel called without even glancing back at him. “Need a map.”

It took a few seconds before Tommy appeared, handing Joel a wrinkled and worn map.

“Point to where it is on this map,” Joel said, releasing his bloody, four fingered hand. “Your buddy over there know where it is?” Cody nodded, shaky, once. “Good. You point where it is. He’d better point to the same goddamn spot.”

He handed the map back to Tommy and kept Cody in his sights, watching as his skin grew pale and his head listless and limp. There was a scuffle and scream behind him, loud enough that Cody shocked back to full consciousness with it.

“Sounds like your friend don’t know what’s good for him,” Joel said, taking Cody’s bloodied hand and forcing it to his thigh again. “Or what’s good for you.”

“No,” he shook his head, his eyes so wide. “No, please!”

“Tell him to cooperate,” Joel said.

“Do what he says!” Cody screamed. “Just do it, please!”

Joel pressed the knife to the base of his ring finger and cut. He was almost surprised at how easy it was to force the blade through the bone and sinew. He could barely feel the strain of it as Cody screamed below him. The knife sank a bit into his leg as it cut through the last of the skin and Joel picked the finger up, holding it in front of Cody’s crying eyes.

“She scream like you?” Joel asked, turning the piece of his captive slowly before them both, the wet of his blood catching the light like the fractures in the glass of his watch. “You like hearin’ it like I like hearin’ you?”

“Please,” Cody managed, voice ragged and hoarse.

“Why’d you do it?” He asked, lowering the severed finger but keeping it firmly in his grip. “You already took her, already were handing her over to that… animal. Why’d you need to hurt her, too.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Joel thrust the knife into his upper thigh, inches shy of the man’s crotch and he gasped, mouth open in a silent scream. He was wearing out, inching closer and closer to death.

“Don’t give a shit about your sorry,” Joel said. “Why. Tell me.”

He gave Cody a second to start to recover from the pain before twisting the knife, making him seize again.

“Tell me.”

“She tried to run!” He sobbed, collapsing back down again. “She… she tried to run, killed two of my men. And she never… never appreciated what I did for her then…”

Joel just nodded slowly. You’d been able to try to run, at least before Cody took your fingers. You weren’t so scared that you couldn’t move, weren’t so beaten that you couldn’t run. That was a good sign. You were a survivor. He had to remember that. You’d survived before. You would now, too. You would still be alive for him to find, for him to save, and he would save you. If it was the last thing he did, he would save you.

“Joel,” Tommy was at his side and it was quiet at his back. “Same spot.”

“Good,” Joel said. He carefully picked your fingers up from where they’d fallen in the leaves at Cody’s side and tucked them away in his pocket again before getting to his feet. Ellie was at his side, her rifle in her hands.

“I want to hurt him,” she said, her voice flat.

Joel looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since they’d found Cody. There was a darkness in her eyes that terrified him in its familiarity. It was the look she’d had for a split second when he’d found her after David had taken her from him. It was sharp and vicious and demanding and Joel wasn’t sure she knew how to come back from it.

“Will hurtin’ him help you?” Joel asked as gently as he could. She looked up at him, that sharp look still in her eyes.

“He hurt my mother,” she said, a hint of barely contained rage on her face. “I need to make him pay.”

He considered her for a second, trying to think clearly as he looked at the young woman who had once been the girl he’d shepherded across the country. In so many ways, she was still that little girl, one who he’d protected and failed at protecting, one who he had saved and had led to her near demise.

Would this be any worse than anything she had already suffered? Would it hurt her any worse than the things that Joel had allowed on his watch before, when he hadn’t been good enough to take care of her the way she deserved? Would it be, somehow, any more terrible because he allowed it?

Ellie was so like him in so many ways, ways that terrified him when he thought about it. There was a passion in her that so easily bloomed into rage and he knew what it was to keep that stifled and smothered. He knew, too, what it was to take it out on another human being, even one who deserved it.

He adjusted his grip on the knife and held the handle out to her. She went to take it but he pulled it back for a moment.

“Can’t kill him,” Joel said. “Understand?”

“Joel…” Tommy said at his back, but Joel just held out his empty hand, silencing him.

“Understand?” He repeated, watching Ellie closely.

She hesitated a moment, watching him back with those sharp, dark eyes.

“I understand,” she said, taking the knife from him and turning to Cody. She cocked her head, examining him cooly.

“Please,” the man whispered, looking up at her.

“Which fingers did he take?” Ellie asked, not looking back at Joel.

“Outside two,” Joel said, a twinge in his chest as he said it. “Her wedding ring with ‘em.”

Ellie nodded, her grip tightening on the knife before lowering her knee to pin Cody’s wrist of his intact hand to the ground.

“I told you I was gonna fucking kill you,” she said, her voice dangerous as the man tried weakly to pull his arm away from her. “My dad told me not to do that. But I am going to make you fucking pay.”

She slammed the knife into his hand with a sharp, angry cry, more hacking at him than cutting, striking him again and again until she was splattered with blood and Cody had screamed himself to silence. Joel’s stomach twisted at the sight of it, the satisfaction at knowing Cody’s agony twinged with an ache of his own at the sound of Ellie’s pained scream.

“If you’re just gonna let her fuckin’…” Tommy snapped, nudging Joel roughly to the side and stepping around him to wrap his arms around Ellie from behind, forcing her to still. She quieted then, no longer screaming and just sobbing instead. “It’s OK baby girl. C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up…”

“No!” She tried to shake him loose but he held firm. “I want him to hurt! I want to make him hurt, I want him fucking dead, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve to live, he doesn’t…”

“I know,” Tommy said gently. “I know. But you hear him? He’s passed out, you’re not gonna make him regret this any more than he already does and Joel’s gonna finish him. He’s not gonna live, OK? He’s paid for it, he’s hurt for it, it’s OK baby girl.”

The knife slipped from her hold then, lying beside the mangled flesh and bone that had once been Cody’s hand. His pinky and ring fingers were completely gone.

“C’mon,” Tommy said again. “Gonna get you cleaned up, let Joel finish the job, then we’ll get movin’. You’re OK.”

He pulled her gently to her feet and gave Joel a deadly look as he passed, Ellie gathered against his side as he led her away.

Joel knelt and picked up the knife, every inch of it splattered in blood now. He didn’t care. He took Cody’s chin in his hand and gave his head a sharp shake and the man gave a sharp gasp before trying to cough but choked on his own blood instead, his eyes opening slowly. He couldn’t even lift his head now, his eyes the only thing it seemed he could really move.

“Wanted you to be awake for this,” Joel said, his voice a deadly calm. “Wanted to make sure you felt it. Wanted to be sure you knew why you were dying.”

Joel thrust the knife into Cody’s side, burying it fully between two ribs and twisting it there. His eyes went wide and his body thrashed as much as it could but it was a useless endeavor. He started gasping for breath, the gurgling sound of him starting to drown in his own blood overwhelming the sound of the woods around them as Joel pulled the knife from his side.

“You could have lived, you know,” Joel continued. “Could have spent the rest of your years anywhere but Jackson, never would have looked for you. She asked me not to look for you, to just leave you alive. Felt like she owed you somethin’. Maybe she thought you’d been a good man once, long time ago. But you and me, we know the truth. You were never a good man, never had it in you to be good. You didn’t deserve her mercy so you ain’t gettin’ mine.”

“You…” he gasped and choked. “Promised…”

“Promised what?” He asked. “To make it quick for you?”

He didn’t give Cody a chance to respond. Joel just shrugged.

“I lied.”

He thrust the knife in between the same ribs on the other side, twisting it and pulling it free before wiping the worst of the blood on Cody’s pants and getting back to his feet. He put his hand in his pocket, the one that held the pieces of you. He traced your wedding band with his thumb, feeling your cold skin below his touch. How many times had this flesh laced with his? How many times had it tangled in his hair or squeezed his arm or touched his cheek?

He held it himself now, trying to keep the pieces of you warm as Cody drowned in his own blood. His dying breaths were harsh and rasping and desperate, the last gasp of his mortality clinging to this life as though there was anything but pain to be found for him here. As if there was anything he deserved beyond pain. Just before the light left his eyes, Joel picked Cody’s fingers up off the ground and opened his mouth, forcing them inside. He stood back again, watching as he tried to take two quick, shallow breaths around them before going completely still.

“Joel,” Tommy said from behind him.

Joel looked down at Cody’s body for a moment longer. This man had hurt you, raped you, taken you. He was dead now, at Joel’s hand. There was justice in that. He spit on his body all the same.

He turned to find his brother and daughter standing side by side, Ellie’s eyes still sharp but rimmed in red, her cheeks puffy. Both of them were wet, Ellie no longer splattered in blood.

“We should move,” Joel said, stalking toward Cody’s horse. Tommy just watched him as Joel mounted up, the horse pawing at the ground for a moment as he got settled. He looked back at his brother. “If you ain’t got the stomach, Tommy, I’ll do this myself…”

“I’m comin’,” Tommy said, going to another horse and mounting up, too. “Just hope you don’t get lost in the process.”

Joel didn’t say anything. What was there to say? That the man he had the potential to be had left when you did? That, without you, there was nothing left to lose?

He didn’t need to say it. Somehow, he was sure, Tommy knew.

Instead, he nudged his horse forward, starting on the path given to him by the man he’d left in pieces on the ground.

Next Chapter

A/N: So Joel is pretttttttty damn feral at this point. I'm not sure I've ever written a Joel quite this unhinged and that's not even accounting for the fact that the juxtaposition between Jackson Joel and Feral Joel is pretty harsh. He's just gone, at least for now.

There are just three chapters left of this fic now (I think, the way some of this chapter flowed means it may grow to 41 chapters but I don't think so)! Next chapter is going to be a big one, one that's been building for the whole of this fic and I'm so excited for it. I hope you are, too!

Thanks for being here through this INSANELY lengthy journey both in word/chapter count and in time. It feels like we've been with Joel and Bambi forever and that's because we kind of have been - almost a year now! I hope you've enjoyed the ride. I know I have.

Love you!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust @ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost @beccerjune @mumma-moonchild @netonetoneto @mellymbee @purplelye @n7cje @flugazi @evyiione @randomhoex @aliengirl99 @orcasoul @reds-ramblings @pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel @jenispunk @panda-pascal @sarap-77 @flugazi @your-slutty-gf @daniegraceg @partyofone3413 @cumberpegg @noisynightmarepoetry. @fifia-writes @grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123 @ashleyfilm @arizonadreamingg

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #yearling #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc

157 notes · View notes

atinylittlepain · 1 year

Note

Hi, love your writing!!! Anyways, I was thinking, a Joel x Reader! One-shot, where the reader possibly messes up a deal or trade with a different group and Joel is PIIIIIISSSSSEEEDDDD (grumpy angry Joel bc yes obvi 🧎🏻‍♀️) so anyways they go back to Jackson and he slowly gets over it y'know, BUT then when the next occasion for a trade arises, Joel brings reader along and it seems like Joel is betraying the reader, trading her for supplies (possibly handing her over to enemies or some real sick people) but then he reveals its a ploy to get the upper hand on the group and the two take out (k1ll) the bandits and Joel is basically like " I would never trade you for anything even if you mess up sometimes" Yada Yada fluff 💕💕💕

-yc :3

baaaabe, apologies for my delayed reply, but i love some good angst and wanted to do it right <3

gif by @riley-keoughs

Cold as Ice

Joel Miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

when she messes up on a job, Joel's anger freezes her out harder than the biting Wyoming winter.

warnings | 18+ angst, canon-typical violence, feelingsssss

..................

She was freezing. It was the middle of winter in Wyoming, and she was shaking so hard she could barely steady her hands on her rifle. It didn’t help that she was laid out in the snow on her stomach right now, peering out from an overlook at Joel and the men he was dealing with. She knew it shouldn’t be much longer though, so she did her best to steady her focus back on the scene in front of her.

Joel had asked her to hang back while he traded with them, men that he had encountered a few weeks back on a solo patrol shift. Always careful to keep the existence of Jackson a secret, Joel had told the men that he was a lone survivor, making camp in the valley of the mountains for the winter. While the men had accepted this lie, they had also asked to meet soon to trade, something that Joel couldn’t deny without stirring suspicion. So, he made a plan to return to the plains the next week, bringing her along for hidden back-up if need be.

She had said yes to joining him without hesitation. They’ve been partners for a while, having traipsed across the states with Ellie in tow and witnessed their fair share of horrors. Somewhere along the way, they had started seeking a little more creature comfort in each other, but she had chalked it up to just that, comfort, no need for feelings messing things up.

Where Joel goes, she goes, and vice versa. But as she shivered in places she didn’t know could shiver, she wanted more than anything to be back in town where the unfathomable luxury of space heaters exists.

Her nose was running, snot freezing right to her face as she tried to keep her eyes on the men down in the valley, but the deep itch of cold kept forcing her to rub her face in the crook of her arm.

It happened so quickly she didn’t have time to even think of stopping it, a hard sneeze racking her body. She was lucky her finger wasn’t on the trigger, but the men still seemed to have noticed it, heads whipping around to look up the hill that she was tucked behind. She could hear a swell of heated murmuring between Joel and the men. She pressed herself as flat into the ground as she could, praying that they would chalk it up to the whipping wind or an animal. The men’s questioning chatter died down into silence and she held her breath as the only sound that remained was that of boots trudging closer through the snow.

She craned her neck up just enough to look out over the hill, relief flooding through her at the sight of only Joel hiking toward her, the four other men receding in the opposite direction. Her relief was short-lived, however, with the way he hauled her onto her feet with a harsh hand hooked under her arm, pushing her to keep walking along with him.

“What the hell was that?” Suddenly, the cold was the least of her worries, with the way Joel was seething beside her. She stumbled over her reply.

“I-I fucked up. I’m– I’m sorry.”

“We don’t get to fuck up. Not out here. You know that.” Her heart dropped at the harsh tone of his words.

“Wh–what happened with those guys? Where are they going?” Joel huffed, keeping his eyes forward as they continued to trek back home.

“They got spooked. Gonna have to come back in a few days to finish this fucking deal. You’re lucky they weren’t smart enough to think anything more of that sound.” It was the last thing either of them said the whole hike back to Jackson, Joel’s anger cracking and fissuring between them until the distance felt insurmountable.

For the first time since they settled in the house Tommy gave them, she slept in her own bed that night, startling awake to the sound of Joel slamming the door to his room.

…

It had been a quiet few days back in Jackson. She had been avoiding Joel as best she could, and he did nothing to stop her, each of them taking odd shifts to stay out of the house as much as possible. Ellie had sensed there was something wrong right away and had asked her “what the fuck happened” but all she could do was sigh and shake her head at the thick heat rising in her throat.

More than anything, she was upset at herself, that she had made such a stupid mistake. But a close second to that feeling was the wary fear she felt being the subject of Joel’s obvious ire. If they happened to cross each other’s paths, he wouldn’t so much as look at her, keeping his head down and his brow furrowed as he quickly shuffled off. She hadn’t been sleeping at all either, having gotten so used to tangling up with him each night. There was no warmth, no steady heartbeat to lull her to sleep alone in her own bed.

She was starting to resign herself to this new reality in which Joel Miller seemed to want nothing to do with her. She told herself that she’d stick around for Ellie, but otherwise, she’d keep away from the man she had so clearly let down. This didn’t last long, however, not when Joel sought her out at the stables, sidling up next to her where she was grooming one of the mares. It was hard to look at him, and she resolved herself to keeping her attention on the horse as he spoke in a hushed tone.

“I, uh, need your help tomorrow.” She couldn’t help the scoff she let out at that.

“Why would you want my help? I’ll probably just fuck it up anyways.” She knew it was a childish thing to say the moment it left her mouth, a heavy silence falling between them after. Joel finally cleared his throat to press on.

“Gotta go back out tomorrow to finish that deal. Nobody else can know what’s going on, Maria’d probably have my head if she found out.” Her heart sank at the realization that the only reason he was asking her for her help was because she was the only person he could ask. She let out a harsh cough to mask the thick sadness creeping up her throat, nodding at his words, but still not looking at him.

“Alright, fine. We’ll head out in the morning.” Another stilted silence fell on them. She knew Joel well enough to tell that he had something else to say, by the way he was toeing his boot into the ground and lingering next to her. But he seemed to think better of it, letting out a sigh and grumbling that he’d meet her at the gate in the morning as he was already trudging out of the stables.

…

The silence was maddening. They had been walking for a few hours, getting closer to the meeting point, but it had felt like an eternity with the way neither of them was speaking. They had never been particularly talkative on the road, but by the time they had settled in Jackson they had warmed to each other enough to usually keep a quiet conversation going. No longer able to stand it, she finally cleared her throat, words puffing out into the cold air.

“Joel? I am sorry– about last time. I–” Before she could finish speaking, Joel came to a halting stop, pressing her back behind him, and it was then that she saw the four men coming toward them, guns cocked. Shit.

“Drop your weapons! And whoever you got tucked behind you better step out to the side.” Joel glanced at her over his shoulder, a hesitant nod as she shuffled out alongside him, both of them shouldering off their guns, palms up as the group of men closed in.

One of the men let out a low whistle, looking her up and down like a piece of meat.

“Was that noise we heard last time you, pretty?” She pressed her lips into a thin line, trying hard not to give anything away in her expression. The men all laughed, but Joel was quick to cut through it with a firm few words.

“This doesn’t have to be a problem. We can still trade.” The men instantly steeled back into silence, the mouths of their guns all aiming at Joel. The man who seemed to be the leader sneered.

“Was I talking to you, man? No.” He turned his attention back to her.

“Why don’t you walk over to us, pretty? Then turn around nice and slow so you’re facing your man.” With four guns aimed at them, she knew the man wasn’t asking, he was telling, so she did as he said, quietly trudging through the snow closer to the group before turning around to face Joel.

“Can’t blame you for hiding this one from us, buddy.” The man sauntered closer to her and she had to will herself to keep from flinching as he pressed up behind her, frostbit fingers skittering along her cheek.

“What’s your name, honey?” She muttered her name to the man, trying to keep as still as possible as he skated the barrel of his gun along the side of her neck. She couldn’t help the quiet yelp that escaped her lips when he brought his other hand to the swell of her thigh, squeezing hard. She didn’t dare look at Joel, shame rising like hot bile in her throat.

“S’a pretty name for a pretty girl. Don't you think your boyfriend here was a little rude for not introducing us?” The men laughed again, a sound that sat heavy in her stomach. The man behind her hummed a little, pressing his cheek against hers as he looked over her shoulder at Joel.

“Isn’t he a little old for you, honey?” The men snickered, and her eyes finally darted to Joel’s face, his eyes squinted, mouth screwed up. A shiver of fear ran up her spine because for the first time in a while she couldn’t read him, couldn’t parse out what he was thinking or feeling in that moment. She had never felt so alone.

A gasp escaped her mouth when the man wrapped his forearm around her chest, cocking the barrel of his gun right under her chin as he kept his eyes set on Joel. She thought she could see his fingers flex where his hands were still held up.

“Tell you what, pal. I’ve got a new deal for you. You let us take this sweet thing off your hands, and in return, we won’t shoot you where you stand.” Blood rushed in her ears, an icy panic settling in at the way Joel wasn’t seeming to refuse, to offer up some alternative. She couldn’t help thinking that maybe this really was it, that Joel Miller was cutting her loose and feeding her to the wolves. Her thoughts were jolted by the sound of the man cocking his gun again, pressing the barrel a little harder into her jaw.

“I’d rather not ask twice, man. Do we have a deal or not?” She could see the bob of Joel’s throat, but he refused to look at her, his gaze staying on the man holding her up.

“She has my knife. Just let me get it back and she’s all yours.” His words felt like a quick kick to the stomach and she choked on her breath, but her mind followed fast with the realization that what Joel said was a lie. His face was still unreadable, but it was becoming clear that he had a plan. The man behind her let out a breathy chuckle before harshly shoving her forward toward Joel, he catching her forearms to steady her.

“Go ahead, then. But make it fast.” Joel finally looked at her, reaching around her to unzip her pack, she guessed to look like he really was digging around for his knife. He ducked his head down, his words a low murmur just barely heard above the whistling wind.

“Know you keep a side piece in here. You still got your knife?” She offered him a faint nod.

“I’ll cover you. On my word.” She could feel his hand in her pack closing around the pistol she had stowed in there. She met his gaze again, one more jerk of a nod followed by Joel’s muttered “now.”

They did what they do best. She whipped around in a flash, Joel already shooting one man down as she ran up on the others. The three men left standing were so disoriented, unsure where to aim their guns, and she made quick work of a second man, striking her blade across his throat and sending him down to his knees, warm blood spurting across her face. Joel was quick to put a bullet in another one, leaving the leader for her. She was more than happy to jam her blade up into the softness beneath his ribs, watching blood gurgle out of his mouth before he slumped to the ground.

Her hands were shaking as her eyes swept over the aftermath, but Joel quickly came up behind her, spinning her around to face him and cupping her jaw in his palms, eyes searching her expression.

“You alright? Not hurt anywhere?” She shook her head in his hold, finally letting out a stuttering laugh, making Joel furrow his brow at her.

“What? What is it?”

“I just– really thought you were gonna let them take me for a second there. Thought you were finally done with me.” His face slackened at her words before he snapped back with a gruff scoff.

“You fucking serious right now?” She shrugged, eyes not quite meeting his.

“After last time, figured you didn’t want to work with a fuck-up anymore.” Joel made a harsh sound in the back of his throat, dipping his head down to try to catch her gaze.

“That’s bullshit. You’re my partner. I’m not gonna fucking dump you just ‘cause you made a mistake. That’s not how this works, how we work.” She finally met his gaze, a little fire kicking up in her anger.

“Oh, it’s not? Then why have you been avoiding me like the fucking plague ever since?” She didn’t get an answer, Joel breaking away and quietly muttering that they needed to get home.

Another agonizingly quiet walk back to Jackson.

…

When they got back, she was quick to stomp off toward their house, but could feel Joel watching her the whole way as he trailed behind. She was sick of getting jerked around by him, and now it seemed the tables were turned and it was she who wanted him out of her sight.

She took the stairs two at a time, quickly shuffling into the upstairs bathroom and shutting the door behind her. She wasn’t expecting there to be so much blood spattered across her face when she looked in the mirror, and the sight made her pause, her breath catching in her throat. It wasn’t the first and it wouldn’t be the last time she had to harshly scrub away the remnants of violence.

The soft click of the bathroom door opening didn’t stop her from continuing to drag a damp washcloth across her face, skin going red and splotchy under her ministrations.

“Hey, hey. Just stop– will you look at me, please?” Calloused hands grabbed her wrists to stop her movements, turning her toward him. Joel let out a long sigh when she still wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Look, I’m sorry for the way I acted. I was never mad at you– was mad at the fucking situation. A-and I was trying to create some distance before I said something I didn’t mean. Never wanna hurt you– you’re– I–” he stopped himself with another sigh, leaning back against the sink. She tentatively stepped between his legs, her wrists still held firm in his hands between them.

“I’m sorry too, Joel. It was an accident– but it was a stupid one. Fucking hate that I let you down.” He let go of her wrists to bring one hand to cup her jaw, tilting her head to finally get her to meet his gaze.

“Didn’t let me down. Even if you did– more than made up for it today with the way you took out those fucking fools.” That coaxed a half-hearted smile from her as she leaned into his touch.

“We did that together.” He nodded lightly, thumb stroking the arc of her cheek and making her breath hitch.

“We did. Make a good team. Right, partner?” Her smile stretched into a grin at his words.

“Right– partner.” When he kissed her, it felt different. This wasn’t their usual lust-driven tangles. It was careful, and dizzyingly sweet, something she hadn’t known Joel was capable of. He pulled away just slightly to rest his forehead against hers as they silently followed the push and pull of each other’s breath.

“You know I wouldn’t do that, right? Would never leave you.” She sighed, nodding her head slightly against his.

“I know you wouldn’t. But it wouldn’t hurt to be reminded every now and again.” That made him chuckle as he brought his other hand to her hip, squeezing lightly.

“Consider this your first reminder then.”

The kiss he gave her that time was just as sweet as the first. It was all the reminding she needed.

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