#if you’re wondering where the RAGE for my community is right now i’m compartmentalizing it onto twitter

[mabelsguidetolife]

...

#if you’re wondering where the RAGE for my community is right now i’m compartmentalizing it onto twitter #this is bullshit and i have a friend whose family lives in walking distance from the mall #and NRA members are being assholes when people in my city are DEAD because of them #i feel sick

[the-hopeless-haze]

Somebody Sit in My Chair and Ruin My Sleep (Being Alive Ch 15)

A/N: Idk how I feel about this chapter but here u go I guess lol

Previous Chapter

content warnings: implied smut

WC: 1.9k

Rafael didn’t have any idea what he was walking into on Monday morning, but Jesus Christ, the fact that you let the squad know what happened - down to the very last detail, it seemed - was a horror show. Amanda avoids him in some show of female solidarity, Nick shoots him sympathetic looks, and Sonny - fucking Sonny asks Rafael how he is and won’t stop asking how you were, if he’d heard from you.

But why should he expect mercy from the woman who turned down his proposal?

And maybe he deserved it. Maybe he should’ve tried to read the room instead of just pushing forward. You had been right - that night certainly wasn’t the prime time for a proposal in the slightest. Hindsight is always 20/20, and he keeps remembering moments where you were slipping away inch by inch like sand past his fingertips, and he can’t believe how stupid he was that he chose to swallow it down and chalk it up as nothing instead of sitting down and actually talking to you.

Still, communication is a two way street, and instead of sending him vague signals that he was too obtuse to decipher, you could’ve sat down and talked to him too.

It’s so much easier to assign blame than take it, isn’t it?

Ultimately, though, he just couldn’t believe you weren’t on the same page as him. Didn’t you always say you wanted all these things? Weren’t you happy that Rafael finally felt he was ready, too? Perhaps though, in the midst of all his internal turmoil he truly forgot to assess your feelings on the matter. Yes, you said you wanted children, yes, your parents constantly threw comments his way about settling down with you, and yes, you’d told him on multiple occasions he wasn’t too old to get married if that’s truly what he wanted.

But where was your actual opinion on marrying him in any of this? It was lost in between the need you no doubt felt to constantly comfort Rafael about his current misgivings and past misfortunes and your parents’ well-meaning but busy-bodied comments. It was clouded by Rafael’s own mother’s opinions, and hell, even Sonny’s - everyone was so afraid Rafael was going to lose you that they pressured him into offering you a ring and a promise of forever - but little did anyone know that by doing just that... he had in fact lost you anyway.

His mother was devastated, weeping about how you would’ve made such a lovely bride, how she was already looking at suits for Rafael and venues for the wedding... he couldn’t handle it and left her apartment after ten minutes of her lamentation. He should’ve never told her, he should’ve never been so sure of what was going on in your head, because now he realizes he never had any idea. No one did.

So now, he snaps at Sonny, because Sonny is guilty by way of telling him “oh sure, she’ll say yes” like anyone knew what the fuck you would do when the question was finally asked. Maybe you didn’t even know until he was down on one knee. Still, Rafael can’t help wondering if things would be different if the car accident never happened - deep down, he knows there were signs you were pulling away after Thanksgiving, but it’s so much easier to blame Sonny for it. You wouldn’t have sunk so low in a deep depression if you could’ve worked, if you weren’t immobilized by your injury... but would you have loved Rafael enough anyway?

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Rafael hisses at the younger detective. “You’ve been talking my ear off all morning.”

“Whoa, Barba, wake up on the wrong side of the bed today or what? I was just getting you up to speed on the case—“

“I’ve read the file. You don’t need to.”

“Fine. Liv’s in her office but I suggest cooling the attitude, because she’s not in a good mood either. Noah was sick and kept her up all night.”

“Lovely.”

And then, by some sick twist of fate, you walk through the door, and Rafael’s stomach turns. Never did you look so gorgeous, so beautiful, so fucking untouchable than you did now. It’s the first time in weeks he’s seen you in a blazer and slacks, the first time he’s seen you look like you gave a shit in months. And maybe that’s unfair - you were struggling, per your own admission - but it almost feels like all you had to do was lose the weight of Rafael and all his baggage that came with being in a relationship with him, and you were good as new.

He wonders how many of his exes could tell a similar story to yours, if that were truly the case.

You meet his eyes for a split second and he wants to drop dead. You give him a haughty smirk and head over to Amanda’s desk, turning your back to him.

Why couldn’t you just fucking leave like you’d said you would? It’d be so much easier if you did just go back home but like everything else that came out of your mouth that was merely a half baked promise you had no intention of making good on.

And maybe Rafael should’ve called you this weekend, but he couldn’t swallow his pride and come back to you with his tail between his legs after you rejected the proposal he’d worked all his life to be able to give. You never called him either, but if this was going to go anywhere, someone would have to talk first.

But shouldn’t it have to be you? You’re the one who asked for space. He’s giving it. What the fuck else was he supposed to do?

But now that you’re not living with him, now that you’re not even with him at all, you’re completely unpredictable. Never in his wildest dreams did he think you’d come over to him and Sonny, flash him your best sardonic lipglossed smile, and ask to borrow Sonny for a moment.

Rafael can’t even think straight, he can barely breathe, the rage coming up like bile and tightening his throat. How could you stand there and act like nothing was different now?

“Sure,” he snaps.

“Whoa, no need for the attitude, Rafael,” you say sweetly. “We can all play nice, right?”

Rafael doesn’t say anything, can’t say anything… he just shakes his head and walks to Olivia’s office. How could you compartmentalize like that, he’d love to know. Wasn’t this killing you, too?

The rest of the day proves to go by smoother, thankfully, albeit minor annoyances that come up like a snippy altercation with Olivia due to both of their bad moods and a taxi driver haggling him about the fare. Rafael still cannot wait to come back to his office and savor his fourth cup of coffee today after running around the city all morning, put his feet up and do some paperwork…

But you’re there, in his chair, with your feet up on his desk.

“Get out,” Rafael says before you can utter a word.

“I want to talk,” you say innocently.

“I don’t. Get out. Who the hell let you in here?”

“Carmen, duh. She still thinks we’re together, apparently.”

“Do I have to call security?”

You stare at him blankly. “You’d really call security?”

Rafael rolls his eyes, throws his briefcase on a nearby chair. “What the hell do you want?”

“Where do we go from here?”

“Nowhere. You ended it.”

“Okay, no, I just said I needed space. I didn’t end it--”

“Right. I need to work.”

“Okay. We’ll meet later then,” you nod, standing up.

“I didn’t agree--”

“I’ll be back in a few hours. I got to head back to the precinct in fifteen minutes anyway.”

Rafael hates doing this, showing a moment of vulnerability, but he has to ask, “Are you staying? In New York, I mean.”

“For now,” you say, softening too. “Obviously. I talked to Liv for a long time, talked to my dad.. And… I don’t know if being back home is the best course for me either. I’m just trying to get back to some semblance of normal, you know?”

“Right.”

“I’ll see you,” you say, walking past him and leaving his office.

How many years would it be before he did figure you out?

------

The two of you don’t really talk much at first when you reunite later on that evening. Rafael draws the shades in his office, and it’s all pulling at clothes, at skin, at hair and you’re not proud of it but you also don’t really regret that you let it get that far. You missed him, in an annoyingly cloying way, and what was better than makeup sex when the two of you were still pissed off at each other?

“You need…. You need to go to therapy,” Rafael pants after coming down from his high.

You have to laugh at that. Maybe that was only the 7th most offensive thing someone had said to you after sex. And, annoyingly, he was right, even if his delivery and timing could’ve been light years better.

“Mm. I know,” you tell him, pulling him in to kiss him again, his sweaty chest sticking to your back as you pull off him to lay, or rather squeeze next to him on the couch.

“You need to--”

“Let’s not get into the shit I need to do right now, okay? I know I have things to sort out. So do you.”

“Right. I’m sorry. I’m trying to help, and I’m trying to understand, but--”

“Right now… don’t. Just fuck me like that again.”

Rafael chuckles - damn, it was only two days and you missed his laugh that much? It just tugs on your heartstrings in the worst way, but you suppose it proves how much you love him, how you couldn’t just put this down. You hated being the first to let your guard down, to bring yourself to his office not once but twice… but you couldn’t bear to lose him, either, and you’d hurt him where no one else had. It had to be you who offered a new start.

“I need to eat, mujer. And as tempting as that sounds… we need a change in location anyway.”

You nod in assent. “Fine.”

Neither of you get much sleep that night, as you split a bottle of wine and a pizza and talk, cry, fuck, whatever… but it’s a long sleepless night you wouldn’t have traded for the world. Things are different between you two, naturally, but something has to be shed to grow, and maybe you left some good things behind along with the bad things, but it’s how these things go. You can’t expect a relationship to be standing firm after a rejected proposal. For the moment, you’re just happy the two of you found a way to get back up.

As you curl into Rafael’s arms at four in the morning, you don’t feel at peace - lord knows you still have so many things to worry about - but you do feel better, and if that’s all you can get right now, you had to be okay with that.

Taglist (ask if you wanted to be added!) @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes​ @thatesqcrush​ @law-nerd105​ @blackeyedangel9805​ @moon-river-drifter​ @the-baby-bookworm​ @dianilaws​ @xecq​ @lv7867​ @teddybluesclues​ @averyhotchner​ @houseofthirst​ @stardust-fray​

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #barba x reader #barba #Law & Order SVU #SVU fanfiction #rafael barba x you #barba x you

[nocturne-pisces]

Title: Get A Load Of This Trainwreck

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Rating: PG-13 for language, minor violence, suicidal ideation.

WC: 1.9k

Summary: You’re just a receptionist. You can’t save the world.

AN: This was inspired by a couple lines in a Cavetown song. Any notes would be appreciated. I take drabble requests, I specifically work well with the kind of whumpage like what I’ve written here. Special thanks to @frnkensteingrl​ for giving me the extra push and giving me an audience.

______________________________________________________________

You felt the pad of Bucky’s thumb trace over your knuckles as he drove. 

“I’m thinking after things-” he cleared his throat, figuring out how to phrase what was going on between them”-uh...get better. We should take a vacation. Anywhere.” 

The words echoed in your ears, registering as sounds in the English lexicon, but not really absorbing them. You’d barely spoken in the last couple weeks. Barely eaten. Barely slept.

You spent most of your time sitting on the floor of your bathtub letting your tears mix with the water. The drops of water drummed against your ribcage. Hollow and empty. 

“Okay,” you answered, voice cracking from underuse. He looked over and offered a genuine smile, happy that he got to hear the sound of your voice. 

A sigh raked its way through your chest as you pulled into the parking lot for Dr. Raynor’s office. Bucky had finally convinced you to go to couples therapy when you’d called him James one too many times. You were only three weeks deep. Bucky did all the talking,  you mostly stared out the window, just sitting there to appease him. 

The problem wasn’t him. The problem was you. You took a leave of absence from work for a few weeks, and it had given you the time to truly dwell on all of the things that were wrong with you. 

You sat on one end of the hideous gray Ikea couch and Bucky sat on the other, making himself comfortable while you just figured out a way to make yourself small. 

Dr. Raynor made you feel naked, like she saw through you. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line as she looked from Bucky to you. 

“How was last week?” She asked, swinging her notebook open and jotting down notes as Bucky began. 

“I think we’re doing better. She still barely speaks, but I convinced her to go out to a local pizza joint last Friday night.”

Thinking about leaving your apartment building last Friday night made your empty stomach lurch. Your friend had sent you the headline as soon as it was posted ‘MRS. WINTER SOLDIER LOOKING WORSE FOR WEAR.’ The picture attached was one of you where you looked particularly washed out, the bags under your eyes practically fucking glowing while you hugged your cardigan close to your frame. 

“And what about you, Y/N? How do you think last week went?” Dr. Raynor asked.

“Fine,” you answered, pulling your cardigan closed around you again now. 

Bucky’s leg was starting to bounce, he did that when he was irritated or under duress. You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, a tell tale sign that a storm was about to roll in. You swallowed hard.

Bucky’s thin patience snapped and his head whipped around to stare at you lightning fast. “Why wont you work on this like I’m working on this?” he thundered. You startled, your body going rigid as Bucky’s tone rolled over you in waves. He might as well have stabbed you in the stomach and twisted the blade. He rubbed his hands over his face, feeling the panic rising in his chest. The love of his life had been slipping away from him for months and he didn’t know why.

“There’s nothing you need to work on,” you offered meekly. You just wanted to deal with it on your own, compartmentalize and get over it so you could go back to being The Winter Soldier’s Perfect Wife.

“I know, I know. It’s not a me thing, it’s a you thing, but you’re not getting better and I can’t help unless you tell me what’s going on.” His voice started to falter, like he was about to fall and he was grabbing onto anything that would keep him from the drop. “Please, baby, please…” he took your hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing it. 

Though you didn’t turn to him, you closed your eyes as you drown yourself in his concern, the sob getting lost behind your ribcage while you wondered what he’d ever seen in you. The tears flowed anyways, falling off of your face and onto your sweater. When you didn’t respond to his touch, he let you have your hand back, keeping his body angled towards you. 

“Y/N, you have to let other people in if you expect to get better,” Dr. Raynor said. 

Your body felt like it was compressed too tight, like an aerosol can in a hydraulic press. Just a couple more pounds of pressure and…

“Do you want a divorce?” It was barely a whisper on your right side. You turned your head to see Bucky eye locked pointedly on his hands, eyes red and glossy while he twisted the wedding band on his ring finger. 

Your jaw dropped as your breathing became ragged. No. Absolutely not, you didn’t want a divorce. You only loved him. You only wanted him. How were you supposed to explain that you didn’t understand why he didn’t want a divorce. 

At the sound of your breaths he looked up. Bucky’s eyes went wide watching you hyperventilate. He could see the fear in your eyes as you tried to hold on to the reality around you. 

“Baby it’s just a panic attack, breathe with me,” he said, moving to crouch in front of you. 

Dr. Raynor got up from her chair and walked over to stand next to where Bucky sat.

“Deep breaths, Y/N,” she said, laying a hand on your shoulder. 

There were too many people too close to you and it was too much to handle. You felt yourself fill your lungs with air before letting out an ear splitting, blood curdling scream. You screamed until you had no air left, and then you took a breath and sobbed. 

You fisted Bucky’s shirt and shook him, rage and venom lacing your voice. 

“Ever since Steve died you’ve been America’s fucking golden boy. Your fucking redemption arch is Oscar worthy. Take a look at this monster! He doesn’t know how to communicate, everyone just give him a little bit of space! 

“And then there’s me. Little ole me. Too fat. Too skinny. Wears too much makeup. Doesn’t wear enough makeup. What is that dress? Does she own anything other than sweaters. Who designed the bags under her fucking eyes what a GODDAMNED TRAINWRECK.”

It was all pouring out of you and you couldn’t stop it. Everything you’d bottled up for Bucky’s sake since the funeral. Everything you’d tried to deal with on your own. 

Bucky was reeling. It was like someone had flipped a switch in his head and he was coming to understand everything.

“I’m just a fucking receptionist. Yes, my husband is the Winter Soldier-” you mocked, looking over at your pretend patient from your pretend desk “- He's doing so well recently. Can I schedule your fuCKING FOLLOW UP APPOINTMENT?”

You reached back and swung down into Bucky’s left arm, wanting to take your anger and frustration out on something, anything. Needing the release of catharsis, the release of pain. Bucky didn’t even flinch, he felt like he deserved it after having been this fucking oblivious for so long. When your fist connected you felt a crunch in your wrist and your face contorted as you let out a strangled cry. Bucky jumped and reached for your hand but you jerked it away from him, tears still running down your face.  

Dr. Raynor’s eyes were wide, looking to Bucky to see if she needed to call an ambulance, or a local psych ward. Maybe an exorcist? Buck just shook his head. This is the breakthrough they’d been praying for for months now, you just needed time to work through it. 

“I’m just a fucking receptionist. I can’t save the world,” you cried, cradling your busted hand to your chest. Your chest felt like it was fracturing and falling in on itself and in just a second the couch was going to swallow you up into the endless black.

You looked up at him finally, tear tracks standing out against your skin, your hand starting to swell. “Why do you love me when I’m so useless?” 

At that moment, Bucky would rather have sat in the chair for another 70 years than hear the pain in your voice. 

His own tears finally crested and tracked down his face, his nose burning and his throat dry. He set his forehead down on your knees, holding onto your calves for dear life. 

Bucky could remember every cup of tea, every tissue you’d used to wipe his tears, every time you’d woken him from a nightmare, every time you’d slept on the floor with him, every time you stitched him up so he didn’t have to deal with a hospital, every time you got the groceries by yourself because he’d broken down in the shakes in the middle of the paper goods aisle, every time you’d remembered to grab his favorite cookies, every time you waved off him being on a mission during a birthday or an anniversary. 

Bucky could remember every time you’d sacrificed yourself for him, but couldn’t remember the last goddamn time they had an in-depth conversation about you. 

It felt like someone had slapped him in the face. Fuck, you should have slapped him the face.

“I am so fucking sorry,” Bucky said, his voice cracking as he looked up into your face. 

“I’m not special, I don’t-” you started, but he cut you off. 

“You are special,” he pleaded, taking the hand you weren’t cradling against your chest in both of his, “Goddamn does it take a super kind of woman to put up with my bullshit, and you do it all without breakin’ a sweat.” 

“James, I--”

“You really gotta cut that James shit, you only call me that when you’re mad at me. Are you mad at me?”

That earned a broken chuckle from you, he wasn’t wrong. 

“No, Buck, I’m not mad at you. I just wish I was more. That I did more. Maybe if I saved a planet-”

Buck cut you off again, shaking his head. 

“Baby, you save my world every time you make brownies,” he breathed, meeting your eyes. 

It felt like the world finally rolled off your shoulders. You felt so incredibly stupid and relieved at the same time. 

Bucky wasn’t done, “no one behind a camera or writing for a blog or a newspaper or whatever the fuck they have in the impulse aisles at the grocery store can tell me all the superpowers that my wife has.”

“Oh god, I know, I’m so stupid,” tears started to spring forward again as you leaned forward into Bucky’s shoulder. 

“You’re not stupid, baby, no, but I just might be the world’s oldest idiot,” he replied, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I had no idea it was affecting you like this. I am so sorry I haven’t been paying attention.” He took your face in his hands and blotted away a couple stray tears with his thumb, leaning in to lay a long, loving kiss on your forehead.

“I’m sorry I let it get this bad without saying anything,” you croaked back.

Dr. Raynor cleared her throat, trying to get everyone’s attention. 

“I am so glad we have made so much progress today, but Y/N’s hand is turning purple,” she said, pointing at the hand laid against your chest. Your wrist throbbed something awful, like you’d just remembered you’d been in pain to begin with.

“Oh fuck, right, I’m sorry,” you bit back more tears, this time from physical pain. 

“Shit doll, let's get you to a hospital,” Bucky said, helping you stand and ushering you out the door. 

“Next week, same time. We’ll do another check in,” Dr. Raynor called after you. 

Maybe tomorrow, in your pain killer haze, you could look at gated communities to move to.

#marvel #avengers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #married!buckybarnes #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #winter soldier #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier

[redheadedrenagade]

Wicked Game

Chapter 1: When the Lights Went Dim

credit to gamegifsdaily for the beautiful gif. 

Here’s the first chapter to Wicked Game, a Joel Miller x Female OC fanfiction. I’ll be honest, I have NO CLUE where this fic is going to go. I don’t anticipate it being super long, and I still haven’t decided if I’m going to go super in depth into the OC’s past. I really just wanted the chance to write something sweet and smutty for our Joel. And Ellie. I love them both so much don’t loOK AT ME

This takes place 2 years after the pair move into Jackson. OC came along halfway through their first year, so the 3 have had 1.5 years of time spent together so far. In this, Ellie has forgiven Joel for his mistakes and continues to have a healthy relationship with him, though it does still very much bother her now and then.

As far as WARNINGS go, this is an 18+ fic, and I fully intend on keeping it that way. Possible triggers may include sexually abusive language, especially in this first chapter, sexual language and situations (aka SMUT Y’ALL), cursing, gore, death, apocalypse horrors and I’m sure a number of other adult themes. So please, please don’t read if you’re underage. I say that with care, not contempt. 

That being said, I hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with so far. :) If interested, this is the song that inspired the title of this chapter. I felt like it fit really well. 

She had no idea how she’d ended up in this insane situation. Four men with their guns drawn on her, her own gun pointed right at the leader’s forehead as Ellie did as she was asked and stayed behind her. Ellie had no gun on her, just her trusty knife. But they hadn’t thought much of it since Charlotte had her gun, they were hardly out of Jackson to feel true concern. They got complacent. And now, they were in deep shit.

She must actually be afraid if she’s listening. She never listens. God dammit, I have to get her out of this…

“How…how about we make a deal? Hmm? I go with you. Willingly. But you let the girl go,” she says, working hard as hell to keep her voice from quivering as all the possibilities of torture flash across her mind.

“Charlotte…no. NO! You can’t – “

“Quiet, Ellie! I mean it!” she cuts the girl behind her off, her heart breaking at how angry she has to make herself sound so Ellie will hopefully head her suggestion. Charlotte feels Ellie relent as she presses her small body against Charlotte’s back, her forehead coming to rest between her shoulder blades. Charlotte understands the sweet gesture and what it means. She can feel the girl’s anger and love radiating off her. She’s warm, and Charlotte lets herself compartmentalize this nice feeling for another time, when she’ll have to escape inside her own mind just to survive.

I know, honey. I’m sorry. But there’s no other way.

The group of men in front of them snicker and look at each other in a way that makes her stomach twist into a knot.

“Now why in the hell would we do that? You’re both pretty, young things. Especially that one…could be a mighty nice opportunity, trainin’ her to be our little slave,” the leader replies, and she feels her face contort with rage at the sick filth coming out of his mouth.

“We can either all die, right here, right now, or you accept my offer. If not, I’ll put a bullet in your fucking skull, and when one of you shoot me, Ellie will run. Now both of your little fuck-toys are gone. Kinda’ defeats the purpose, don’t you think?”, she hisses at them, her eyes drifting onto each one of them, sizing them up.

Ellie can outrun them. She can do it. I know she can.

Just as she’s about to risk it all and pull the trigger, the man lowers his gun and smirks at her.

“Fine. You’ll just have to care of all of us, then. You think you’re strong, sweetie? Oh, we are gonna’ ruin you,” he says, his dark eyes glittering terribly. Charlotte lets out a long breath she didn’t realize she was holding and gives him one sharp nod, her arm still holding the gun at him.

“Okay. Good. She runs away first, though. Only then do I drop this gun. Then I’m all yours, boys,” she replies, noticing how monotone her voice has become, completely devoid of emotion.

Maybe I’m numb. That’s probably a good thing.

She hears Ellie curse in rage behind her, but before the girl can protest, Charlotte turns her head to the side and lets her eyes find Ellie’s. They are angry, terrified pools of forest green, and her heart clenches hard at how torn she looks.

“It’s okay, Ellie. Go on. It’s okay,” Charlotte whispers to her, giving the girl a smile only reserved for her.

She looks as if she’s about to say something, her mouth parting slightly, but she’s quickly cut off.

“Ellie. We only got one shot at this. Don’t make it all for nothing. Go. Go, Ellie. Now!” she manages to ground out, sparks of agony twisting its way through her veins. Not because she’s scared, but because she knows this is goodbye. Her mind briefly wanders to Joel, picturing his face as he smirks at her and Ellie for doing something weird or obnoxious (which was most of the time). Picturing his dark eyes looking into hers on occasion, which never failed to make her stomach flip flop like a little kid with a crush.

“We’ll come back for you,” Ellie whispers fiercely into her ear, making sure to step to the side and glare acidly at the men, and without another word, the girl turns and starts sprinting away, her form getting smaller and smaller as she distances herself. Not until she’s over the large hill they’d come down does Charlotte sigh in relief, turning her head back to the men.

“Give it five minutes. I’m not stupid, I don’t want you just hunting her down after I give you my gun,” she says matter-of-factly, and the man raises his hands in a passive gesture as he backs up a step and then crosses his arms in wait.

Charlotte hardly registers the conversation a couple of them are having, but she hears enough that she has to physically hold back a shudder of disgust. The time comes and goes in what feels like both seconds and eons, and finally, she slowly lowers her arm and clicks the safety back on, letting the gun fall from her hand into the grass with a soft ‘thump’.

This is actually happening. Shit. But she got away. That’s all that matters. She got away.

“Good girl,” he mocks her in false praise before holding out his hand for hers to take.

She swallows the bile rising in her throat and lets herself remember one last day in the sun with Ellie and Joel. A perfect day, when they were happy, when she’d held Ellie down and tickled her into a laughing fit that made even the unbreakable Joel chuckle and shake his head in amusement. The dinners with Maria and Tommy, in their house which always felt like a haven. The townspeople she’d grown to love like family.

I’ll miss you all so fucking much.

Then, the moment was gone, and all that remained was the hand that would lead her to the end of what her spirit could endure. She takes it and says goodbye to the way things were only hours ago.

══════════════════

Charlotte is jerked awake by the sound of someone’s gruff voice near her, and suddenly, she’s slapped hard across the face. She gasps, blinking furiously while trying to see through the blur of her vision who had hit her. She tries to bring her arms up to protect her face, but she realizes slowly that her wrists and ankles are tied to the chair she’s in. Things come into focus then, the panic of being restrained sharpening her attentions, and she sees the leader of the gang bending down to leer at her, his hands resting on his thighs.

“’Bout fuckin’ time. Been waiting for hours for you to grace us with your presence,” he drawls nastily, and she looks around the small, dingy room and notices it’s just the two of them. The walls and floors are made of concrete, and the only light available are the small rays of sunlight pushing their way through a tiny window high on the wall.

“Did…why did you knock me out, you bastard? I thought…you said – “ He laughs derisively and slaps his thigh in glee, stepping back to walk over to a decrepit old desk that’s covered in various instruments. Deadly looking instruments.

“You really think I give a shit about fuckin’ you, girl? Nah, I’ve got bigger fish to fry,” he replies, picking up a knife that glints ominously in the small bit of sunlight. “We know you two must’ve come from Jackson. We’ve been working for weeks trying to find a way in without being shot, and lo and behold, we come across you two!”

She snorts, despite the consistent throbbing in her head from being cold cocked with his gun and relaxes her head back against the chair casually.

“And you think I can help you…what, sneak in? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, buddy, but it’s impossible. Truly, there’s no fuckin’ way,” she replies with ease, and for the first time since they’d met, she’s being honest with him. It just wasn’t possible.

“I was thinking of something a bit more…motivating. To the people guarding it. Now, I can’t imagine why anyone would give a rats ass whether you live or die, but I’m banking of the fact that they probably don’t wanna’ see you tortured slowly until you die,” he says smoothly as he saunters towards her, slowly making a circle around her.

She feels a jolt of fear course through her, not about being tortured, but about what they’ll do if they see her…would they give in?

God, I hope not.

“They won’t give up an entire community of good people for me, if that’s what you’re wondering. None of us would, for any one person,” she replies, her jaw clenching as she feels his presence behind her where he comes to a stop.

“That so? Hmmm. Well, I think it’s worth a shot, don’t you?” he chuckles darkly before one of his hands comes to wrap itself around her throat in warning.

“Whatever you say, boss. It’s your show, not mine,” she hisses through clenched teeth, wanting so badly to recoil from his touch.

Fuck. This could be bad. Really, really bad.

“Good girl. Let’s get started then.”

Without warning, he stabs the knife deep into the meat of her shoulder, and a sound she doesn’t even realize she can make is ripping its way out of her throat. The unbearable pain is like nothing she’d ever felt as he twists the blade inside, and instead of crying, she roars. Even through the haze of agony, she refuses to let tears fall.

“Aw, I know, honey. But if you cooperate, we’ll save the brutal shit for the townspeople. Have to give them a good show, y’know?” he says as he grips her braid and yanks her head back hard enough to where she can look up into his eyes at an upside-down angle.

She spits into his face in rage, surmising that if this is her last day on earth, she wasn’t going to go out without a fight.

He yanks the knife out of her body and her back arches unnaturally in her chair as she screams again, all anger and no surrender. He walks around to the front of her now, his face far less at ease as he wipes her spit off angrily with the back of his hand.

“Little bitch likes it rough, huh? That’s fine with me.” He then swiftly sinks the blade into her thigh, crouching down close to see her expression. She almost goes deaf from the sound of her own scream in the small room, and out of instinct and adrenaline, starts thrashing against her restraints in earnest.

“What’s that? You want more?” he asks, his expression mockingly soft as he places his free hand against her cheek. She turns quickly and bites a couple of his fingers as hard she can, picturing her canines cracking the bones in half. He wrestles his fingers out of her mouth as he yelps in pain and surprise, then looks at her incredulously as her chest rises and falls rapidly. She stares straight into his eyes, her mouth now filling with a copper taste, and she gives him a bloody, feral smile.

“Do you?” she whispers, and her voice is acid. He blinks a few times before his face twists into rage and he starts to fumble with his belt before ripping it off. She doesn’t have time to anticipate what his intentions are before he’s stomping around to the back of her as he quickly wraps the belt around her throat, squeezing harder, harder, until little white spots start to erupt across her vision.

“Fuckin’ cocky bitch, I’m gonna’ make you wish you would’ve turned into one of those fucking monsters when you had the chance,” he rasps against her ear, but she can barely hear him through the sound of the blood rushing behind her ears. Her heart is trying, and failing, to keep her alive, and the panic of truly not being able to breathe hits like a freight train. She’s turning absolutely animalistic under her restraints, knocking the chair side to side in her desperate attempt to breathe, to escape.

Please, please, air! Please, god!

She’s practically deaf now as the room starts to shrink, dimming around her like theatres used to do before a movie started.

This is it. Oh, god, this is it…

Just as she’s slipping over the precipice of unconsciousness, the belt slackens, causing her to breathe in a horribly painful, ragged breath that claws its way down into her lungs. She immediately starts coughing so hard that she’s barely able to suck in the sweet, precious air given to her, and nothing matters more at this moment than filling her lungs with it greedily. She feels an agonizing pain start to ripple through her shoulder, and then an almost unbearable sensation of the knife being pulled out of her leg in a swift, precise motion. She screams again, her cry broken and raspy after her throat was crushed so tightly by the belt.

“…….hear me?”

“…………I’m here….”

A low, gentle voice rumbles into her senses from across the world and she wonders for a moment if she’s already dead.

She cracks open her eyes as she feels light pressure being applied to her wounds and realizes there must be people here. She croaks out a feeble warning.

“Who…don’t touch – “

She hears it again then, that low cadence of baritone hushing her gently, wrapping something around her leg.

Her understanding seeps back into her brain as her eyes finally start to clear, although things are still a bit blurry as the intense pain throbs and flows through her.

Then, all at once, fear grips her heart hard as memories come flashing back into sharp focus behind her eyes.

Ellie. ELLIE.

“Where’s Ellie?! ELLIE!” she screams, her voice cracking in panic again as the figure of…Joel?…comes into focus before her. Suddenly, she’s awake. Truly awake.

“She’s fine, Char. She’s okay, she’s right here with me, see?” Joel says in a shockingly gentle voice she’d never heard him use before. Not with her, at least. Sure enough, Ellie pauses tending to her shoulder and walks around to look at her, taking her hand gently. The expression on her face breaks Charlotte’s heart.

“God, they really fucked her up, Joel,” the young girl says with a wince that held equal parts compassion and fury as she surveys Charlotte properly.

“Barely…barely a scratch,” she mutters, grinning crookedly at them before furrowing her brows in pain again and letting her head fall back against the chair.

I’m so tired. But I’m safe. Because of them…is this really even happening?

Before she can say anything more, Joel is gingerly scooping her off the chair – when did her restraints come off? – and starts to make his way out of the building with Ellie in tow.

“We know, tough guy,” Joel whispers to her, the barest hint of a smile in his tone as he jostles her into a sturdier embrace. She can’t help but let out a small whimper and she hears him curse under his breath at himself for being too rough. Her vision is starting to grow a bit fuzzy around the edges, and a feeling of calm starts to wash over her as he holds her close.

Suck it up, buttercup. He just saved your ass. Don’t make him feel bad.

In and out, her consciousness weaves as she registers a few bodies here and there on their way out, Ellie marching resolutely in front of them. Joel is so warm, and he’s breathing hard from having to support all of her weight, but he doesn’t slow down for a second. The light of the already darkening day starts to seep into black and white as she starts to black out, and her mind can only think of Joel and Ellie.

They’re okay. She’s okay.

“I’m sorry, Joel…my fault…I’m sorry,” she grumbles groggily into his shoulder, guilt snaking its way into her heart. She’d put Ellie at serious risk. Now, she was doing it again, but this time with Joel in tow.

I’m supposed to protect her. Not the other way around.

“S’all right, sweetheart. Just hang in there. We’ll be home soon,” he replies, and she can feel the comforting vibrations from his chest as he speaks. She giggles lightly at the pet name, her mental awareness no longer coinciding with reality anymore.

“Sweetheart…” she whispers in a small voice, burrowing her face into him closely enough that her lips graze the pulse point beneath his strong jaw. He inhales sharply through his nose and squeezes her a little tighter in his arms but doesn’t reply. Ellie jogs further ahead to keep an eye out, gun in hand as Joel does his best to move as quietly as possible.

The ground starts to be swallowed up by the sky, and she wants to stay awake so badly, but she just can’t. She slackens her hold around Joel’s neck and her body slumps in his arms, all of the fight leaving her at once. She hears him pleading, jostling her a bit to get her attention, but she just can’t. She just needs to rest, just for a minute.

“M’sorry…so tired…” she mumbles before the darkness floods her vision and the world is swallowed by silence.

#tlou #the last of us #joel miller #ellie williams #joel x oc #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #naughty dog #ps4 #video games #wicked game fic

[littledragonlily]

TMI: Oversharing

((Trigger warning: mentions of self harm, r@pe, abuse, drugs, alcohol, suicide, body dysmorphia, mental illness, ...um, a lot, actually, so please please think about this before reading ahead. My life's a mess tbh. Will put an * (or many, if bad bad) by the numbers of anything with potentially bad triggers just in case..)) Credit to one of my mutuals, after reading their oversharing post, I felt like writing my own might actually be cathartic for me, so thank you mutual (no name callout because they may not be comfortable with that). 1. I actually have zero idea about who I am when I'm on my own. I've felt this way for years and only recently has it been recognized/taken seriously. 2. My father and three siblings are all on the autism spectrum in varying degrees. The question hangs if I am too, I show similar signs, but I don't care enough to find out. 3. I cycle through obsessive behaviors. Collecting things, couponing, certain games; luckily it has never landed on an unhealthy addiction so far, but it scares me that it might. 4*. I have been self destructive for 7+ years. (For clarification, I'm 21 going on 22 currently.) My arm is white lines and long story short, I cannot wear shorts above my knees anytime soon, or anything less than a one-piece bathing suit to cover my torso. 5*. My arms are healed because I was relentlessly picked on by an abusive ex and my own father when I wore it on my sleeves, so to speak.. I hide it now. My dad still doesn't know I started doing it again and I plan on keeping it that way. 6****. Callout to my ex I mentioned above. Because of him, I get ptsd episodes if I'm under the water even a second too long, forbid I'm being held down even playfully. He took whatever he wanted, including my current peace of mind in relationships. I've been trying to escape the damage he caused for 5 years. 7****. Callout to friends/another ex I trusted that would not take no for an answer, especially the one that took me as I cried for him to stop. 8*. By all normative standards, I'm wickedly smart. I had the military branches beating down my door from my perfect aptitude test scores (no studying, mind you, I wing tests), and if not for mental issues stealing my motivation to try, I could've been in my top ten graduating from high school easily. However..no one wants to take a damaged "genius" so..yeah. 9. I have so so so many ideas of what I want to do with my life, but I'm viciously afraid of stepping foot outside of my not-so-comfy-but-good-enough bubble. 10*. I am professionally diagnosed with major depressive disorder, general anxiety disorder, and dependent personality disorder. That list may grow when I actually trust the psychiatrist enough to tell them Everything™. 11. If I don't push myself to hang out with my friends/favorite people, and it has to be because THEY want ME, I will quite literally spend all day in my bed during my time off. Even finding the motivation to clean my room and pay my bills (spoiler, I usually don't) is just..improbable. 12*. I have two, count them one-two, people that are even close to knowing Everything™ about me. (Unfortunate spoiler: they've both done things that they sometimes use against each other to make me question my faith in them.) I love them both, which causes me immense guilt because they both want to keep me Forever™ (also know to me as until they get tired of my..Me-ness.) and right now I'm just wondering how long of Forever™ I'll actually be alive for. 13. Speaking of immense guilt, hi, it's because I've hurt mentioned people both more than they admit to. I didn't mean to I'm sorry I really didn't just I just how do you not depend on someone that you were engaged to but also how do you not depend on someone that actually gets you and is your carer and you actually get along with everyone in their system and ahhhh fjdjfhdjrbd I'm sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry.. 14. Sorry, sorry.. I'm back. Kinda? Anyway.. I feel like a split person, kinda. I have different aspects of myself that handle different things and I have names for them, but I would NOT call myself a system at this point, I would just say I am compartmentalizing and personifying certain aspects of my personality. It just feels easier, yeah? I try to stick to the ones people love best (Mama(carer)-me, Lily(regressed)-me, and Belle(work)-me). My carer is the only person "acquainted" with all of Me™ by name. 15. I only always get along with one person in my house, which is my little sister, Hannah. She has a degenerative disorder and has her own special way of communicating. But as far as I can tell, I'm one of her favorite people, and that makes me super happy actually. 16. So I got derailed on number 13 because that's such a touchy subject. Mostly because I'm forced to choose between the two of them because of societal norms/their feelings/some other reasons here, and in my head and heart I'm so dependent on them both it hurts. (Lately, however, I've been more dependent on my carer.) 17****. Possible reasons I shouldn't be dependent on ex-fiancé person: Has hit me in a "black-out rage" previously (isolated, non-recurring, however I have my days of questioning would I trigger that again..), can be incredibly argumentative if my word choice is incorrect expressing my issues (bad to the point it has triggered me to self-harm), and has forced my indecisive self into making a decision in the midst of a six-hour crying/panicked episode. Also can be neglectful as a person to depend on at times, a little more self-centered than he realizes most of the time, etc. 18****. Possible reasons I shouldn't be dependent on my carer person: Lack of respect towards a previous relationship with ex-fiancé ((as in..well.. some unloyal behavior happened while I was drunk/high/sometimes sober and it actually makes me sick that I let that happen.. I disrespected my own relationship oh god I'm horrible I never wanted to be that person I didn't mean to I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..)(okay, okay, calmed down..)), one of his alters is notoriously angry/violent however has recently been more gentle with me after some talks about the fact that anger/arguments/violence/yelling trigger my anxiety badly (I'm a sensitive marshmallow puff y'all, sorry..), I WILL NOT HOLD HIS PAST AGAINST HIM but it sometimes gets in my head a little so I try to talk it out when it does, he does have a bit of dependence on Mary Jane (think green, not a lady) but I don't mind this so much because it's better than alcohol (I helped with that! I helped! Yay!), and there are some times when he doesn't word things well and it'll get to me but I don't see this being intentional honestly. 19*. My past trauma makes me hypersexual, and sometimes I'm incredibly disgusted with myself for being that way. Thankfully though, my regressed self is "too small" for those things and my carer does not fetishize my regressed self, so thankful for that. It is that that caused my initial confusion because I didn't understand that some communities were fetish.. ugh.. 20****. In the past year I have cycled through drinking, smoking, and pills as a short-term "dependence" (I put that in quotes because I feel as if it had been serious I would not have been able to step away so easily). Each one I have quit (drinking is social, and never anywhere near as heavy as it used to be). I occasionally smoke Mary Jane now as it is more effective than my Prozac I'm currently prescribed (will get changed soon, I hope). 21. Physically I have some liver/kidney damage (my fault), scalp psoriasis, chronic acid reflux, chronic pain (fibromyalgia), anemia, cold and hot sensitivity, spleen damage (I'm Epstein-Barr sensitive, aka unfortunately susceptible to mono), and something I don't have a name for that makes me get incredibly weak if I don't have a steady intake of sugar during the day.. (any ideas?) 22. I have a SEVERE phobia of vomit. I can handle the word, stories are iffy, but seeing/smelling/hearing it will trigger a panic attack and when i do it (which is thankfully only once every few years so far) it is incredibly painful and I will NOT eat for days. I will be absolutely food repulsed. I doubt anyone would post anything visual, but if you do and you're reading this, PLEASE I'm begging you, post a warning for me. I'll be eternally thankful. 23. Something lighthearted for once: I will not see a superhero/comic book/Nerdy™ movie that I can't go see without my dad. It's just super important to me. 24****. I hate my appearance while simultaneously being incredibly vain about it (do I make sense? No? Ok). I have dysmorphia, because I swear by a few things (I'm always too big, my skin is always bad, etc etc.) If it were not for my conditions (phobia of vomit, not being able to function without sugar), I'd most likely have an eating disorder. Instead I am in a state of limbo where I hate my body but I won't do anything negative to impact my body image. (Yay?) 25. You now know more about me than most people I know in real life, including my parents and family. Sorry it's so much, thanks for sticking around.

#tw self harm #tw depressive #tw body dysmorphia #tw abuse #tw rape #tw suicude #trigger warning #so this is probably way tmi #helped a little tho tbh #Tinana speaks