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distinctlywhumpthing · 1 year

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In League — Dead Ringer, part III

Masterlist

Summary: (Continued from part II) The foreshadowed and promised caning. August is punished by Keats and loses any progress he might have made in making a friend. Takes place two years before August meets Wyatt. Beta-read by @alittlewhump!

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, indentured servitude, classism, degradation, manhandling, implied past noncon, burn mention, implied starvation, punishment (caning). Whumper pitting whumpees against each other and being a bully.

“It’s been a spell since I’ve seen you, Fionn,” Keats said, his back to August as he fingered Fionn’s bowtie. “I truly wondered if I’d gotten it right with this new one.” He circled Fionn, keeping an open hand pressed to his throat as he moved to stand behind him. A python holding its prey. “Isn’t he just perfect?” He leaned down, just shy of putting his chin on Fionn’s shoulder so their faces lined up as they regarded August.

Or, rather, as Keats did. Fionn started ahead unblinking, unseeing.

Their master must have been wise to his absence but rather than turn angry, he smirked and winked at August conspiratorially. “I think—” He pulled Fionn closer, forcing him to stand taller by the hand at his throat, and placed the end of the cane between Fionn’s feet. “He’s even better than the last.”

Fionn’s expression crumpled, something of a whimper escaping his lips. His hands at his sides were trembling fists.

Keats laughed, the movement shaking both of them for how close together they stood. His hand at the top of the cane between Fionn’s hips pulling him nearer still.

August averted his eyes, all too aware of Keats watching his every move, feasting on his reactions as encouragement.

“My, my, you have been missing me, haven’t you?” Keats continued, too loudly for it to be an honest exchange. All of this was just another game. “Poor wretched thing…”

How long had Fionn been up here alone? How long for him to be melting into the embrace as if it were salvation and not something wicked?

Some years ago, August had stumbled upon a tangle of limbs at Elmwood. A footman who’d always given him sour glances with one of the stablehands whom he wouldn’t have been able to pick out of the lot of them. He’d turned and run, abandoning whatever errand he’d been sent on and later refusing to return to complete it when he was discovered skulking in the servant’s hall. The footman had taken it on to make August’s life miserable, a display of influence and power, to dissuade him from becoming loose-lipped.

He didn’t realize that August was afraid to even admit to seeing the depravity, fearing any association with it. They’d all been warned about perversions at the workhouse. Had once watched a pair of boys whipped bloody on the racks before being dragged to prison for the crime. With little to look forward to after the workhouse, the boys often occupied themselves ranking the various types of labour they might find themselves indentured to. Among the worst were mining for the stories of being buried alive; factory work that would cost fingers at a time; being shipped to America only to drown on the voyage; and digging sewers whilst knee-deep in shit.

It was a taunting game to assign these wretched fortunes, same as it was an indulgent fantasy to allow themselves to wonder at being chosen by a tradesman, a farmer who’d never had a son, or a shopkeeper in the city in need of an assistant. But after that day, they had been armed with the ultimate derision, born of their shock and fear: Handsomer boys could be bought by twisted men and damned to suffer Hell twofold.

So, August was more than relieved when Keats said, “None of that today, Fionn.” Though the promise in his admonishing tone made August’s stomach flip. Fionn shivered as he was released but remained standing at sharp attention. “I’m not sure if August has informed you, Fionn, but he made a mistake earlier today and we agreed that the natural course of punishment would be the cane—”

“Sir, I thought—” The slap surprised August, a flash of pain on his cheek that brought tears to his eyes.

“You will learn to hold your tongue and speak only when invited.”

He clenched his fists at his side.

“Where was I? We agreed the transgression was deserving of the cane. I’m sure you’ll agree, Fionn.”

“Yessir,” came his well-trained reply, face betraying no emotion.

August swallowed. He hadn’t imagined they’d formed any sort of understanding in such a short time, let alone some sort of alliance, but it still felt like something of a betrayal for Fionn to simply accept this course of events. Perhaps it was purely self-preservation, which August ought to imitate rather than resent.

Their master tapped the end of his cane on the floor. “On your knees now like a good boy.”

There was less shame in simply sinking to the floor. At the very least, he’d be able to hide his reddened face from—

Keats snapped his fingers and August found himself hanging by his bowtie and collar, the oaf holding him from behind. He scrambled to put his feet back under him and straighten, reflexively gasping in a breath as he did, though he wasn’t released.

“You are slow,” Keats observed, grabbing August’s chin in a bruising grip. He turned his head left and right, inspecting him with those beady eyes. “I hope you’ll wind up being worth all of this trouble.” He released August and stepped aside. “I didn’t tell you to move.”

Fionn was on his knees.

“What?” August should have expected the slap this time. Tears spilled down his cheeks but he did his best to ignore them. “He didn’t do anything. Sir, the…mistake was mine, the punishment should be as well.” Keats raised his hand and August cowered as much as he could with the lackey still gripping his collar.

Keats let his hand fall. He paced back and forth like he was having a constitutional through garden instead of threatening his kept boys, cane tapping along with his heels on the hardwood. “You were agreeable downstairs. You thanked me so graciously for sparing you from the cane.”

“Sir, please.” His voice notched higher, made thinner by the pressure on his throat. “I didn’t understand this to be what it meant. I never meant for—”

“You are astonishingly dull-witted.”

“Please, sir. I’ll gladly take the cane myself. He shouldn’t have to pay for my error.” Fionn hadn’t even spared him a momentary glance and August couldn’t blame him. There was little chance they’d find camaraderie after this.

“An admirable sentiment and certainly meaningful as we are learning that your shortcomings far outnumber your strengths.” August felt his cheeks burn, his blood boiling with hatred for this man who was so visibly sated by the suffering he could cause. “Perhaps next time you will employ more of your limited discernment to make a better choice.”

He seethed, holding tightly to his anger rather than dissolve into hot tears of defeat. He wanted to scream, to lunge at Keats and beat him with his own cane, but he couldn’t take a step – let alone hope to best two bigger men.

Keats was smirking. “Yes, best not to fight and make things worse for poor, old Fionn.” At that, Fionn let his gaze fall, just for a moment. Keats turned to see what August was observing but Fionn had already fixed his expression, returning to emptiness. “I was planning to be merciful. Rather than strikes to equal the worth of the item you lost me, just one for each hour that you’ve been here, succeeding only to disappoint.”

August couldn’t help but be relieved. It had to be less than ten, maybe fewer than six. Things really had gone downhill rapidly. Fionn had told him it was fixed, which explained how it could have all turned on him. He felt even guiltier. Fionn had tried to help him. Perhaps if August apologized enough, when this was over, explained that he truly had never intended to pass off the punishment and—

“Unfortunately, I have no way of telling the time…” Keats raised his hands in a theatrical shrug, cane swinging, hooked over one of his open palms. “We’ll simply have to take the whole day. Twenty-four hours.” August struggled against the hand restraining him, struggled to stop himself from swinging and kicking out. Keats grinned. “Perfectly reasonable, don’t you think, Fionn?”

“Yessir,” he whispered, no different than before but now he looked so small and frail, kneeling there, Keats looming over him. August squeezed his fist tighter, fingernails biting into the burn on his palm, pain radiating up his wrist.

Keats raised the cane. August wondered how Fionn managed to stop himself cowering or flinching. His obedience was frightening. Their master swung the cane up. August held his breath—

And Keats let the cane fall. “Can you count as high as twenty-four? Or shall poor Fionn have to take responsibility for that as well?”

August gaped at him. Fucking—

“Well?”

“Yes, sir,” August grit out. “I can count to twenty-four.”

Keats raised his eyebrows. “I hope for Fionn’s sake this isn’t more of your unfounded arrogance.” He turned his attention back to Fionn. “Jacket and waistcoat.”

Fionn removed the layers until he wore only his white shirt, buttoned up to the same fucking bowtie that was being used as a collar on August. He painstakingly folded each item before placing it beside him. Keats didn’t wait for any further sign once he had straightened again.

The cane whistled through the air and came down with a crack on the center of Fionn’s back.

“One.” August had almost forgotten to say anything. “Two—”

Keats wound up for every blow, putting his whole weight behind it. By the fourth, Fionn seemed unable to kneel upright and had sunk onto his heels, starting to bow forward. He was breathing through his teeth, tears streaming down his face, but he hadn’t made a sound.

Halfway, Fionn was doubled over, an even easier target with his back horizontal. His spine and shoulder blades caught the worst for how much they protruded. Keats delivered the blows even faster now that he didn’t have to pay so much attention to the angle.

When Keats landed a blow across the back of Fionn’s neck, the boy finally cried out. His scream cut off with the next and then he was breathlessly whimpering. Keats paused to wipe his brow with a handkerchief and spared August a grin that made him want to be sick.

“—Twenty-four.”

The air rang without the sounds of the beating. Keats was breathing heavily, more so than Fionn who hadn’t made a sound for some minutes and remained, still as death, curled on the floor.

Keats wiped his brow again, letting his handkerchief fall in a flutter to the ground when he finished with it. “You’ll still have plenty of time to think, to make sure this really sinks in.” He stepped closer to August, too close, so that he could feel his breath on his face as he spoke. “I’m sure you’re grateful for my merciful hand to guide you in bettering yourself.”

It was all he could do not to laugh out loud and spit in his face, but clearly a spoken answer was expected of him, judging by the oaf shaking him. “Thank you, sir.” There was nothing to be done about the bitterness that was evident in his tone.

His master chose to ignore it, straightening his jacket as he headed for the door. He paused in its frame, turning to look at August again, though he didn’t address him. “Fionn, be glad that you’ve no need for such corrections.”

“Thank you, sir,” he croaked, using his hands to push himself up just enough to bow his head at Keats.

August’s lip curled in distaste and Keats grinned, winking at him. He was glad Fionn couldn’t see the judgement he so poorly contained even knowing Keats had only elicited the response to get a rise out of him.

He didn’t breathe any easier when he was shoved away from the lackey’s grip. Nor when he and Fionn were locked back in alone. Even as the seconds stretched into minutes since their footsteps had disappeared, he still stood there rigidly, fingers balled into fists, seeing red. He thought of all the freedoms he’d enjoyed at Elmwood. His own time to walk into the village or on the meandering paths through the wood. The small shelf of books in the servants’ hall they could borrow from. Even at the workhouse, there’d been scraps of newspapers, empty cupboards and deserted corridors to hide away in, and his best friend. August really had found himself in Hell on earth.

It was Fionn that finally snapped him out of it. He whimpered, trying to unfold himself to replace the rest of his uniform.

August rushed to help him.

“Please,” Fionn whispered, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Please, don’t.”

Of course not. August was the last person he’d want to help him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, knowing it was no concession.

He retreated to the mattress Fionn had approved earlier, lying with his back turned to give the other boy what semblance of privacy he could. He stared ahead at the greying wood of the eaves and wondered how long it would take for him to match Fionn not only in looks but in spirit as well.

@whumpy-writings @writer-reader-24 @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @whumptakesthecake-deactivated20 @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash @peachy-panic @hold-him-down @poeticagony @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @melancholy-in-the-morning

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bylerisc4non · 1 year

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HOLY SHIT I GOT IT!! (Mike's self-acceptance journey)

Okay, so we all know that Mike needs serious help and therapy and to learn to respect and care about himself, right? Well, remember Lexi's play in Euphoria? Remember what it did for Rue? Yes. I'm proposing that they just put on a play for Mike about his life and he'll see everything, his internalized homophobia, his projection, s3 and how he was an asshole, between s3 and s4 and how he was so depressed without Will, and that's how he'll decide to change, accept, & love himself. And he'll breakdown and sob a lot and maybe scream and cry about the painting. He will leave that play a changed man and immediately go find Will to tell him he's in love with him. BOOM. Byler endgame happens.

No but in all seriousness, something like that probably needs to happen in order for him to finally come to terms with himself and his love for Will. He needs to see Will's perspective, which will probably come out in a painting fight or something. But he also needs to step back and look at himself and see that he's fucked up but he's amazing wonderful extraordinary and Will loves him for it. And he'll learn to love himself. He'll have a lot of apologies to do, like to El, but in the end he'll forgive himself and she will too.

sorry-- overwhelming brain explosion. More to this theory is that the "play" is actually just a time warp kind of situation where he sees his younger self and has to confront the fact that he's always mistreated and disliked himself, even that little boy. All of his trauma from losing Will and losing himself too (in s3 and while denying his feelings) will hit him. The hurt he felt from being lied to by Will hits him, but also hits ten times worse with the knowledge that he made Will lie to him, he was the one who made Will think he didn't need him or want the painting to come from him. Everything will explode in his face; his self-hatred, his denial, his IH, his ED, his suicide ideation. Everything is coming to light this season. Mike's journey with his mental health through the seasons is going to slowly get wrapped up, providing closure and hope for him.

Mike needs to step back and see himself the way Will sees him, as the heart. He's already begun to see this in the van scene. They will continue this journey of self-reflection in s5. He will step back and see himself, really see himself this time. Perhaps this doesn't mean he will necessarily get Vecna'd but we probably shouldn't totally eliminate that possibility. After all, with the mirror imagery and everything, it could potentially happen. And just the fact that this whole post is about the fact that Mike needs to step back and see himself, like in a mirror (*cough cough* Vecna holds up mirrors to people). And it will be hard to have that mirror held up to him, but he's slowly coming to terms with it. Eddie was a great influence and help with that. He was unapologetically himself and Mike saw that and started being himself too. Of course, there were still moments when he'd hide again, like in Lenora, but for the most part Mike really started chipping away at that mask and coming out of his shell in s4.

Why else would he be dressing more freely and doing his hair different and all that? He's starting to accept himself and he just needs to continue and wrap up that journey in s5. He'll accept himself as queer, which is the root to a lot of his other mental health problems. Therefore, when he's able to finally stand back and see himself as he really is and learn to love himself the way Will loves him, he'll be able to address those other problems. His mental health will only improve from there. However, the addressing of those issues may be messy. I have no doubt that it may end in Mike's "death." He won't actually die (hopefully) but it will be a visual representation of how everything caught up to him, of how his lack of care for himself (but also his loyalty) ended up being the death of him because he would do anything for his friends and has little self regard. He'll die sacrificing himself for those he loves.

BUT THEN he comes back to life somehow because why tf wouldn't he? And gay love saves the day as always. Mike learns to love and accept himself, byler endgame happens, and they all live happily ever after THE END.

But anyway.

In summary, Mike must see a clear vision of the person he's been through the seasons to address his trauma, IH, and mental health issues. He needs to see how he's hurt those around him, but that he's also been hurt. He needs to feel compassion for himself and learn of his importance. In other words, he needs to see himself through Will's eyes. Will sees the true him at his full potential: loyal, a leader, compassionate, kind, funny, smart. He's really, genuinely, the heart. He's started to see that in the van, however, with the realization that Will lied about El commissioning the painting, he may start to doubt himself all over again. (One step forward, three steps back.) So, the confrontation of the painting must lead to Mike seeing himself through a separate lens. He must see himself through Will's eyes and see that it wasn't El's truth but Will's truth. He'll breakdown and this realization will lead to the acceptance of not only his love for Will but of himself as a whole and that hurt in him will slowly begin to heal.

#byler #mike wheeler #mike's mental health #tw suicide #st5 theories #mike's journey with self acceptance through the show is an important plot point that i feel many overlook #but overall he needs to step back and see himself from a different perspective #in season 5 mike will finish up that journey #he will finally view himself as he really is: the heart #i know many dont like the idea of time travel and stuff #but i feel like mike seeing his past self and his hurt and pain throughout his life is a must (this could of course come through flashbacks #he needs to step back and see himself through a different lens #only then will he truly accept himself and be able to challenge the things like homophobia and his own mental health #mike's self acceptance journey #mike getting vecna’d #he needs a mirror held up to him to see himself #idk maybe this is obvious im just rambling #stranger things analysis #internalized homophobia

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blowjob-horseguy · 9 months

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Chapter 3: Dustin's Revenge

Eddie has known he was interested in other boys since he was a kid. Since he and his friend Richie had one too many wrestling matches in grade school and one day, he realized why he preferred to lose.

He doesn’t remember dwelling on it much, his life was fucked for so many other reasons- parents in prison, living with his uncle in a trailer- he didn’t really have time to freak out about liking boys. So, he just kept it hidden as best he could. Which was not very well at all according to his classmates. He was picked on all through his childhood.

He was an easy target to be fair; some skinny nerdy kid who couldn’t sit still and talked about elves and orcs a little too much. He was the geek, and the trailer trash, and the queer all rolled into one. Prime real-estate for bullying.

At some point, he realized he liked girls too, that only complicated his life even more.

He probably would have realized sooner only there weren’t too many girls that actually talked to him.

Whether that was because of the bullying or because he’s always been a bit hyper (a wild child as his uncle called him) he didn't know.

But one day, in junior high, a girl came into his life, and she spoke to him kindly. She didn’t talk to him much, but she wasn’t scared of him like everybody else was.

He became a little bit obsessed with her, all he wanted in the world was for her to look at him and smile.

It didn’t go anywhere, but it did change something in him for good. He realized that nothing really mattered. A pretty face is a pretty face, kindness is kindness, a laugh is a laugh, and nothing else fucking matters.

That made him feel worse somehow; like he was the only one on earth who felt the way he did. At least when he was just a fag it made sense, he’d heard of it before.

Maybe if he had realized he liked girls sooner things wouldn’t have felt so tangled, maybe it would have made his life easier like it felt like it should.

As it was, he was pretty sure that if he did date that girl, or any girl, all the rumors and whispering about him would make her believe he didn’t really love her.

Especially if he ever had the guts to tell her they were true, to actually be himself around her. Would that just make her feel bad for being with a queer?

He didn’t want that; he didn’t want her to ever feel dirty for being with a guy like him. So, he backed off; afraid.

Now he regrets that.

That he backed off.

She went on to become a cheerleader, he had to watch her date Jason Carver of all fucking people (that dick), and he had to see- he had to watch her...

Continued on Ao3

#steddie #tw biphobia #tw homophobia #tw f slur #implied past Chrissy x Eddie #it gets happier in the chapter I promise #steve x eddie #steddie fic #eddie munson #bi eddie munson

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bewarethegrim · 1 year

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Rereading some of Pete Wentz's old blog posts and found the most harringrove entry.

[noone ever fell in love with anyone because of empty pockets or red splotched eyes. drove around for hours tonight just to keep myself from feeling anchored. weighed down. to keep my mind off thinking about what kids like me deserve. desperation isnt a strong enough word (but it will have to do). my wrists are only black and blue cause i don’t got the balls. nothing gets you ready to have every single word dissected and put under a microscope. i got ringing in my ears but none on my fingers. i got sunsets in the veins on my wrists. we’re not just falling in love anymore, we’re demanding it. im the latest bloomer (dried out my wet dreams and saved them for a rainy day). i can still see you standing on my front porch- slowed my own thoughts down to a single blade of grass. you couldnt catch my eye cause i was too busy rolling them. the buttons on one side of your coat that wouldnt snap on the other side. they were just for fashion not for function you told me. you were pretty for a boy. it made me laugh when i thought of it, im sorry i wasnt laughing at what you were saying. it makes me laugh still- when im driving around for hours at night. id love to swerve off and blame it on the fog, but ive been talking on these roads too much lately. theyd spill all my secrets. this city won’t let me go.]

This first half is Billy, talking about how he feels stuck in Hawkins. His thoughts a cycle of the slurs and insults his dad throws at him, and the shameful fact that his dad isn't wrong. He looks at Steve and thinks he's pretty, and it makes him want to die but at the time time it makes him want to laugh because who would've thought his old man would be right? But he chooses to laugh because that's just easier. He drives, he drives too fast, and he thinks about how easy it would be to lose control. Just another tragic accident, but is anyone suprised? Tragic deaths are what kids like Billy deserve.

[im sure theyd lock me up somewhere if anyone saw me at 23 sneaking into cemetaries. taking pills to make me feel okay sleeping in the grass just above you. the sirens find me at the first light. my lips cracked and dried from the tears, i'll probably die a cliche. flash the lights to kissing boys. provocative. i promise you i wont ever have another afternoon like when we used to sneak out of school and drive the lakeshore. noone will ever sound as cool as you. we built cool. we made up style. we set the standard and theyre all just trying to live up to it. if theres nobody who thinks like us anymore. untouchable is unlovable. you always have me humming in my head just out of key. i bought an alarm clock just so i could hit the snooze button. whats the point in getting out of bed anymore if you only get out to say you did. if you could love the biggest fraud or the best liar- then im your prince. i was made just for fashion not for function.]

The second half is Steve. He finds the letter years after Billy has died. But as he reads it over and over again, he can't help but feel like it's not complete. So he sits down at Billy's grave like he so often does and he writes. Be writes how he feels like he's empty, unlovable and broken. Hidden behind years of lies and NDAs, no one could ever know the real him. He could never explain the scars, the nightmares, the paranoia. He finds solace in his memories of warm days spent with Billy at the Quarry. Billy telling him tales of California, and promising he'd take Steve to the beach, a real beach, once he'd saved up enough money to move back home. An event that never happened because Billy died before he could. He died in the town he felt stuck in and now he was truly stuck forever, under the grass and dirt below Steve's feet. Steve wonders how long it'll take him to join Billy down there?

#steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #bewarethegrim #stranger things #tw suicide #tw death #tw suicidal thoughts #tw child abuse #TW homophobia #this is really sad #Pete wentz stop being gay and sad challenge #i saw this on twitter and then the ghost of emo days past possesed me and now its been written #someone go back to 2009 and hug pete please #hes so sad

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anindecisivespirit · 9 months

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I don’t know why I’m suddenly thinking about this again, but I feel like writing about it. Tw: religion, religious trauma, transphobia, homophobia, anti-lgbtq+, anti-atheism, ableism?, etc.

I grew up in a lds/Mormon family. There are three experiences (right now) that really get under my skin, and I’d like to talk about them here. When I was younger (think, 12-13) there was a young woman’s leader that I hated. She was smothering, strict, guilt tripping and mean. One night, we were supposed to be making the set for a short skit we were putting on.

I have always been a very, very anxious person, and it only got worse as I got older. I couldn’t walk into classrooms with people already in them type anxious. So, in a gym full of kids with leaders breathing down my neck and expected to work but not given any instruction, I was panicking. I felt terrible, I felt sick. I couldn’t be in that room anymore or I would cry. I went into the hallway, where my siblings joined me, and we went outside because I was still feeling overwhelmed.

And that leader found us. She found me crying, my siblings trying their best to comfort me, and she got mad. She told us we were selfish, ungrateful, and mean, because she and the other leaders set up this activity for us (a lot of cardboard and box cutters and paint, that’s it) and we weren’t enjoying it. I told her I couldn’t. She told me to try harder.

My oldest sibling argued with her, saying we were an anxious family, that it wasn’t fair to force us to enjoy things we have never ever liked. Our leader told us that she was shy when she was a child, but she was made to be outgoing and now she was all better. We told her that’s not how it works, she didn’t believe us.

She brought cardboard outside, because even if we were leaving the gym we weren’t leaving the activity, and then she got angry with me again for not helping, even though she hadn’t brought us any tools so only she and my brother had knives. She told me to go get one. I had to go back inside, back to the gym, and had to find them. When I finally came back, she and my brother were working, and there was literally no space for me to help them.

She got mad at me anyway.

I don’t even remember her name, but I remember how horrible she was, and how no one helped.

This one and the next were far more recent. I may not want to go to church, but I want to see what my family sees in it (most of them, anyway), so I went for the first time in a long time.

A former missionary was giving a talk. He said he had once been teaching a man who could not go to church. Like, when he got up to the doors of the building he felt anxious, shaky, and sick. They convinced him to try, and he didn’t even make it an hour before he couldn’t take it any more and left.

The speaker said that he and his companion were disappointed before anything else.

This man who could not breathe inside this building, who suffered intense headaches and anxiety within its walls, who nearly broke apart from staying fifteen minutes in church had given himself a panic attack and had to leave, and they were disappointed.

They had him keep coming, for short periods at a time. Eventually he got used to it and could stay for the whole service.

Finally, the class was talking about the pioneers. They talked about how hard it was, how terrible it was. And then a woman spoke up, and said that she believes the pioneers are grateful that they lived when they did- because she herself would rather have her children die on the plains than have them stray from the gospel, that she would rather they suffer and die than become obsessed with technology, or be lgbtq+, or lose their faith.

I really don’t know why I’m thinking about these events so much today, but here we are. I don’t really have a conclusion, but you’re welcome to share your thoughts.

#vent post #religion #religious trauma #anxiety #my past #my life #tw death #tw transphobia #tw christianity #tw mormonism #tw homophobia

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musingsofmyown · 2 years

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Missing Case #007

[All trigger warnings are in the tags as well: drinking tw, past trauma tw, abuse tw, refrences to violence tw, homophobia tw, toxic christianity tw. If any of these are sensitive to you, then please do not read]

Harry and John never got along, that was pure and simple fact.

They were too much alike, always butting heads, yelling nonsense, shouting insults, anything went with them. Harry was a grand four years older than John, which wasn’t much but it was still enough to create a large gap between them. Though there were moments, few and far between, that brought them together.

John had always wanted to be a doctor, he played ‘pretend clinic’ ever since he was a kid, and soon, all that practice would pay off.

Harry was gay. That’s the long and the short of it. She had girlfriends, some stayed longer than others, and she was happy with them. But their father, Mr. Watson, hated it. He was ‘a Christian man’, there is nothing more un-Chrisian-like than striking your child for loving someone, and firmly believed that love, of any kind, should be between man and woman. He had beaten Harry for loving girls, and that terrified John. Because in secret, he had a few ‘experiences’ with boys, and if his father ever found out, John may not make it out alive.

One evening, after his usual rugby practice, he came home to an eerily quiet family. His mum and dad sat on the sofa watching some nonsense show, Harry was nowhere to be seen. John soon went upstairs to find his sister laying in the bathroom, beaten and silent.

“Harry, Harry are you okay?” He held her in his lap, hoping to god she wasn’t hurt too badly.

“Never better,” Sarcastic as ever.

“Here sit against the wall,” The bathroom was small, but it fit both of them well enough to shut the door,”God, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here-”

“Johnny boy, you can’t always protect me,”She smiled, lip busted,”I’m moving out next year, and I’ve talked to mum, she’s leaving dad and buying a house for you and her to live in.”

He was conflicted, but set his feelings aside for now,”Let me patch you up.”

There was a medkit under the sink, it was fully stocked. They kept it full-up because John was a rugby player, he got all sorts of bumps and cuts, but right now, right now it was going to help Harry,”I remember when you were little and you cured my headaches with bandaids on my forehead.”

“Now I know that paracetamol works a bit better,”He dryly chuckled,”Here let me see.”

John was gentle with Harry, knowing that she was probably all sorts of bruised and banged up from her confrontation with Mr. Watson. He slowly tended to the visible cuts and made sure she didn’t have any broken ribs, bruised more likely,”Take some more painkillers later, before bed.”

“Aye, will do Dr. Watson.”

“Here, water,”He took the water bottle from his rugby bag and handed it to her, still cold from earlier,”Keep yourself hydrated.”

“You’ll get into medical school, and you’ll be the best and bravest doctor out there, Johnny boy.”

He internally keened at the praise,”I hope so Harry.”

A few decades later, he found himself in 221b Baker Street with his madman of a flatmate, Sherlock Holmes. In their line of work, scratches and injuries were an occupational hazard. So as he stitched a cut on Sherlock’s arm, he smiled at the tender moment shared between him and his sister.

“Having fun playing doctor?” Sherlock inquired, more sarcastic than a genuine question.

“Just remembering patching up Harry.”

A moment passed,”I’m sorry… for what your father did to both of you.”

“It’s in the past now, Sherlock,” he brushed the detective’s hair back with his wrist, his hand holding forceps,”and I am honoured to call you my husband,” he kissed Sherlock’s forehead, earning a satisfied hum in response.

End Case-

(and back to our regularly scheduled cases tomorrow)

^^Previous Case!!^^

@atomiccollectorcreation-blog @train-mossman @tjlcarchives @neverquiteeden @rhasima @bisexual-confusion @whatnext2020 @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @jobooksncoffee @safedistancefrombeingsmart @iwannahavefrecklessodamnbad @7-percent @timberva @everyonebeatmetothegoodnames @erinswriting @myfirstisthefourth @salmonsown

(let me know if you want to be added or taken off!!!)

#drinking tw #past trauma tw #abuse tw #refrences to violence tw #homophobia tw #toxic christianity tw #Sherlock Holmes #John Watson #The Missing Cases of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson #original writing #original fanfiction #johnlock #bbc sherlock #ficlet #johnlock ficlet #It's a happy ending I swear

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cindysnuts · 1 year

Text

Justice for Outlaws

“We can’t talk our way outta being outlaws, Lee.”

Two cowboys sit next to a smoldering fire, crowded for warmth beside their sleeping horse. A limitless night of stars shine outside the cave entrance they find themselves sheltering in.

“You don’t know that for sure, Jacob! Forgiveness ain’t as foreign of a concept to everyone else as it may be to you.” The smaller man replies with a twinge of accusation, but with eyes full of understanding.

“But you’ve seen the way they look at us; we were nothin’ but outlaws to ‘em way before we ever stole anything.” Jacob readjusts his weight. “I just don’t understand, Lee; they took everything from you too, ain’t they?”

“I–” he breaks away for a beat, letting himself take a shaky breath. “Yeah, they did. But I can’t help but feel like… We’re all human, ain’t we? Surely if they could understand us then they’d forgive us too!”

“They don’t wanna understand or forgive us. That’s the problem.”

“Well I’m tired of living on the fringes! I’m tired of only having each other, tired of being at risk, and just so tired of being scared of every stray whip crack or door slam! I’m just–” his thought is cut off by another shaky breath that accidentally morphs into a yawn.

Jacob chuckles, “Well if you’re so tired then maybe you outta go to bed?”

“Fuck you” he replies, resisting a smile. Exhaustion, however, does lead him to rest his head against the comforting groundcloth.

“I know getting shot at is scary, Lee. It’s a bit odd, but the most comforting bit of advice I ever heard was about a gunfight.” He moves to smother the last embers holding out. “Y’know, they make guns shoot so fast these days that you’ll feel a bullet before you hear one.

“By the time you’ve heard a bullet, it’s already missed you.”

…

Dawn is pouring into the hideaway as Jacob wakes up to short, curly hair tickling his nose. He can’t remember falling asleep, though he does remember agreeing to make a trip “as amiably as possible” to the general store they spotted in a nearby town. In his tired state, Lee had even worn him down to leave his sixgun behind, since “We won’t need it if we’re just two gents shoppin’.”

Jacob gently squeezes his arms, awakening the idealist whose waist they cradled.

“G’mornin, handsome. Time to get movin’ on your outreach campaign.”

Lee grumbles and gets up, knowing the much stronger man would simply hoist him out of their sleepsack if he didn’t. Sliding on his least-dirty clothes, he prepares the second-to-last portion of their beans and a few warm biscuits for breakfast. Glad we’re going shopping, I suppose, he thinks to himself, while he watches his partner use his massive shoulder muscles to throw the saddle over their horse, getting them ready to leave as soon as they fill their stomachs for the mission ahead.

…

To Jacob’s immense surprise, the market trip was not going so bad. They had people look away anytime they met their gaze, they always do. The majority of people, however, were being rather friendly to Jacob. He watches Lee, the little social butterfly that he is, start beaming as he ravenously chats with the weary smiling lady behind the counter.

Jacob chuckles, loading his arms up with the food they’d need, not minding that Lee had seemingly forgotten the purpose of their grocery trip. After all, it was the first chance they’d had in a long time to have any kind of a pleasant conversation with anyone, outside each other, of course. Maybe coming this far out West was a good thing after all.

His thoughts are interrupted when he notices a well-dressed woman, fit head to toe in white (save for her matching golden jewel sets), who was the first one not to avert her gaze nor offer him a polite smile. No, she was staring right at them, an all too familiar scowl spread dark across her face.

When she realizes the object of her disgust is staring back at her, her eyebrows raise and crinkle again before leaves in a silent hurry.

“Damn it.” He rushes over to Lee and pours the groceries on the counter. “We gotta go.”

Lee’s smile falls, being replaced by a fear instilled deep in his eyes. “Why, what’s happened?”

Jacob pulls out their cash as the lady quickly counts their total, seemingly startled out of her smile as well. “She was staring right at us, like she thought she knew what we were. She must’ve been some goddamned preacher’s wife, or sheriff's wife, or somethin, from what she was wearing. And I’d bet she’s going to get her husband.”

“Fuck.”

They rush to gather their paid goods in bags as they hear a commotion gathering somewhere outside. They burst out the doors, and quickly Jacob begins untying their horse while his partner loads everything they spent their last nickel and dime on into its saddlebags. Grabbing the reins and saddling up, Jacob waits for the all too familiar feeling of small, calloused hands around his waist before he gives the command to the horse to run.

It comes just a moment too late.

As they rush away, the two outlaws are stopped by a posse of men on horses, swarming out from around a corner, all in matching white uniforms, and led by a man Jacob must assume is that damned woman’s husband.

“Now y’all hold on!” Jacob hears a voice from behind him shout, “We ain’t done nothing wrong to y’all! Why don’t we all–”

But the voice is drowned out by a deafening bang, and the unmistakable sound of a bullet passing right by his head.

“YAH!” Jacob turns the horse around, galloping them away through an alternate route through an alley he’d planned out upon arriving, just in case they might need it.

BANG! Dust pours into his face as they peel away. BANG! He feels the wetness of tears stain his back as Lee’s face presses into his back. BANG! Another bullet whizzes by. This isn’t something he hasn’t done before, though. They just need to make it back to their safehouse in the cave. BANG! Jacob thinks to chastise him, but he couldn’t hear him over the galloping of what must be dozens of horses anyway, not to mention the thundering of guns booming at them like a September storm. BANG! The sun beats down on his face, and he realizes he must’ve long lost his hat in the hunt. BANG! The rocky hills are fast approaching, if only he can–

BANG!

“AAGH!” That one hit him in the leg, and it hurts like all hell. As long as he gets them, and more importantly, Lee to safety, that’s all that matters right now. He pulls a tricky maneuver, pulling hard behind a rocky pillar, before double backing and arriving at the mouth of their hideaway, not a white uniform in sight.

Taking a huge sigh of relief, Jacob finally lessens his white knuckle grip on the reins and sits up, causing the form precariously laid into his back to topple over, and fall off the horse.

“LEE!” Jacob cries out his lover’s name like he’s trying to shake the earth with his throat. He jumps down to his side, not minding the pain shooting through this thigh, seeing for the first time all of the blood staining the back of his shirt.

Lee isn’t responding to him. “LEE! STAY WITH ME DAMN IT!!” Blood covers his face and stains the solid rock below them, pooling into a stream that reaches out towards the one dripping off of the saddle. “LEE, LISTEN TO ME, PLEASE!”

Lee hadn’t even heard the first shot.

“Lee, God, what have they done?” He can barely manage to speak, his thoughts are running at a pace rivaling thunder. For the first time since meeting the only love of his life, Jacob weeps.

His thoughts drift back to his sixgun, and about the men who did this. Sadness leaves his body as rage pumps its way through his veins. He moves to grab his hidden rucksack, but stumbles as he puts weight on his thigh, only catching himself inches above Lee’s face.

All at once, his anger dissipates. Everything that Lee ever wanted was to be understood. His final wish runs through Jacob’s mind: one for justice in the face of all they had gone through, but that only comes with community, and he knows forgiveness ain’t a one way street.

Maybe it was divine, maybe it was that Holy Ghost that Jacob had long since thought abandoned him, but suddenly he was filled with a forgiveness he could hardly comprehend. One that could transcend everything his transgressors had ever leveled at him.

Turning around to see what noise was coming in the front of the cave, Jacob sees the face of the man dressed in white, high atop a horse. All at once, he sees the face of his father, of his hometown preacher, of the woman who first cursed him, and of the sheriff who first labeled him an outlaw.

Reaching out to the man, the cowboy releases his heart, letting the words he’s been feeling from the core of his being fly out his mouth.

“I forgive–” but the man doesn’t hear it, as the cave walls echo the BANG that rings out from the gun smoking in his hands.

A bang that Jacob never hears.

…

The rest of the men in white shuffle in, raiding the hideout of the few supposedly stolen possessions left scattered around, gazing upon the bodies of the two men they had silenced.

“Finally,” one says, “some damn justice comes for these fuckin’ outlaws.”

#short story #gay cowboys #Justice for Outlaws #they’re just good friends :)#this was my creative writing final! I really enjoyed writing it tbh.#themes of forgiveness. of trauma. of being a little fruity but yet devoted to those you love wholly!#and a little piece of writing lifted from Lindsay Ellis’ work teehee! but you’d have had to’ve read her books to know which. so teehee #ironically I lifted a trope directly from her for this. and nobody noticed bc ofc. yet I got points off for being too similar #to brokeback mountain. which I’ve never seen. I’ve just listened to enough Orville Peck and been gay and from the south enough.#this is STRAIGHT from the noggin Professor!! but that’s fine I still passed and GOT my degree so I ain’t complaining lmao #anyways PLEASE let me know what you think!! I eat up feedback like a dog 45 minutes past feeding time!!#oh yeah also. ask to tag. it’s a western so I feel like most are implied for the genre. tho I will add a #homophobia tw #homophobic violence tw #it’s clear what it is but has just a veneer enough of obfuscation that it may not be upsetting for some but.#I think for those sensitive enough to such topics to warrant a trigger it’s probably evident enough lol #CassidyWrites

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cedobols · 2 years

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under cut: pissy rant

but this is what im talking about. why do people feel the need to say these things in a space where gay fans openly enjoy interacting with content involving [mentioned driver]? we make art of these people, whether that’s illustrations or graphics etc, and in return we come across these posts that invite us to consider that the driver we like might actually hate us for existing purely bc of how we identify. yeah i know its pointless to complain bc this is the internet. but we actually have the power in this instance bc its our community. and i think it’d be nice if we cut out this anti-lgbt speculation bullshit

#tw homophobia #theres just. no fucking evidence for this shit #'lashes out at gays' wtf does that mean??#as an openly gay artist how am i supposed to just . scroll past that #if its a common discussion topic in this space?#feel like its just reinforcing this shame that a lot of us have had to work thru #when it comes to sharing our work that involves drivers like mark #who most dislike and disapprove of #like shut the fuck up!!!! srsly!!!!!!!#text #delete later #uaghh . ok sorry!#unf if u want idc anymore im just sick of this

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aestheticaashes · 1 year

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#fanfiction #homestuck fanfiction #homestuck #bro strider #dave strider #Bro (Time) | Fic #Time and Healing | Series #rhysie.txt #tw: past child abuse (mentioned)#tw: self-harm #tw: homophobia mention

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libraryfag · 2 years

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not to be starting discourse or whatever but no matter how many microlabels you throw under the bus Big Homophobia isn't going to suck your dick

#why are we even still having these arguments? to paraphrase another person here we could be fucking each other or whatever but instead were #arguing weather pansexuals s #*deserve to have basic rights like we have for the past 15 years or so #my posts #queer #sex tw #homophobia tw #queerphobia tw

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riversofmars · 2 years

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Songs of Love - Day 24

Prompt: "Slaying A Monster"

Rating: Mature (subject matter)

TW: Referenced Domestic Violence

Summary: Helen thought learning of her father’s death would set her free and absolved her from the shadows of the past. As she returns to the TARDIS with her friends, she finds the very opposite is happening. Seeing George and learning of what had happened to her parents dragged up memories she wanted to forget about. There are things she wants to overcome, particularly as she's becoming more and more aware of her attraction to her best friend, but it's not as easy as all that.

The Monster Under The Bed

Helen looked out of the window of the train and watched the green landscape that stretched out towards the horizon. It was a comforting sight. No matter the decade, there was something soothing about riding a train through England. The rolling hills they passed by hardly seemed to have changed. While the train was going a little faster than it would have in her native time, it still allowed for quiet meditation and she rested her head against the cool glass. She had a lot to think about.

Her last conversation with George still echoed through her mind. There was some feeling of closure, yes, but her emotions were red and raw. They had never even been that close - as he had been keen to point out - but that didn’t mean she hadn’t cared for him or the rest of her family. The thought that she would never get to see any of them again evoked all manner of emotions in her that she had yet to figure out. It was complicated and she gave a deep sigh, her breath gathering on the cool window.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A voice pulled Helen from her pensive state and she looked around to find Liv glancing over. The med-tech sat across from her as they had managed to snag a four-seater with a table, a rare treat. The Doctor was off doing God knows what, pacing up and down the train as he was unable to sit still. It gave his two travelling companions a rare moment of peace and quiet.

“How would you know what a penny is?” Helen aptly deflected with a smile, considering her friend’s background, and Liv chuckled:

“Something I picked up from Molly, I guess. It’s what I get for hanging out with you Earth girls, I start to sound like you,” she explained with a cheeky sort of grin and the linguist was reminded of how much she liked it when she smiled. She didn’t as much as she ought to, Helen thought, and it only served to strengthen the effect when she did. It lit up her whole face.

“Molly?” The linguist questioned, as the name didn’t ring a bell. She wasn’t sure why she would have expected it would. There was an awful lot she didn’t know about Liv Chenka. They had spent some time filling each other in, introducing themselves, when Helen had first joined her and the Doctor aboard TARDIS. It was good manners, and while she had struggled with the concept of Liv being from an entirely different place and time to her, it oddly made a lot of sense. She wasn’t like anyone she had ever met before, that much was becoming clearer with every day they spent together.

“A friend,” Liv answered and Helen was beginning to know her well enough to notice the wistfulness behind her expressive eyes and found her voice softening noticeably too. “She was travelling with the Doctor when I joined them.” Helen tried to ignore the twinge of jealousy that she couldn’t quite explain or justify as an uncomfortable notion of self-doubt made her wonder whether she would rather be travelling with her still.

“Like I have joined you now?” The linguist prompted, trying to distract herself, and Liv smiled.

“I guess, yeah, hadn’t thought about it like that.”

Helen smiled as well. It was odd to think that Liv had been the new girl once, having to find her feet in the terrifying new world of time travel the way the linguist struggled to do now. Liv always seemed so capable, so together, that she couldn’t imagine her fighting the same insecurities she was.

“Where is she now? I can’t imagine anyone wanting to give this up - mad as it is,” Helen asked, after a brief moment of contemplation. She had been through an emotional roller coaster ride over the last few days. She had gone from wanting to abandon their great adventure after witnessing what her leaving had done to her family, to being forced to accept that she wouldn’t be able to, courtesy of her own thoughtless actions. The ache in her heart remained deep and raw and yet, having had a bit of time to get used to the reality of her situation, she had realised that she wouldn’t have wanted to leave anyway. It had been a rash, impulsive request and she was almost glad it wasn’t an option anymore.

Liv didn’t answer immediately, she dropped her eyes to her lap where she fumbled with the edge of her shirt.

“She, uh-” The med-tech’s brow creased as she seemed to be considering her words. “Molly died… not all that long before we met, actually… I mean, the Doctor and I, we travelled a bit in between but-” Her voice trailed off and Helen felt like a block of ice was forming in her stomach. She didn’t know what to say and cursed her own curiosity and tactlessness. If Liv had wanted to talk about her, she could have done so in her own time, there had been no need to push her.

“I’m sorry,” was all the linguist could manage, fearing she had ripped open wounds that the med-tech - as capable a physician as she was - could have done without having to mend. Helen could only presume the grief for her father was still on her mind in the same way as the grief for her own family was for her.

“It’s fine, you couldn’t have known,” Liv answered thoughtfully and took a deep breath, then smiled: “Besides, there was no need for a phone call from her, we got to say our goodbyes.”

“That’s… good, I suppose.” Helen was at a loss for what to say and she averted her eyes.

“I believe I was asking if there was something on your mind before?” The med-tech took charge of the conversation, obviously eager to deflect from herself which Helen couldn’t blame her for, even if she wasn’t particularly eager to bare her soul either. She waited as Liv continued: “You’ve been awfully quiet since we left London… I know the last couple of days have been a lot and you’ve hardly had time to… What happened with your brother, her family, your past-”

Helen looked up from her hands to find Liv watching her with concern, and her kind yet serious expression stirred something deep inside her. She had never felt so seen. From work and the limited social life she had had in her own time, she was used to people just passing her over or not really caring for anything she had to say. They might pay her attention for her looks but never for what might be going on in her head. She found it touched her more than she could have imagined, her heart ached and she wondered if it was from the effort of beating faster.

“It’s fine, Liv, don’t worry about it,” she tried to brush it off. There was still so much she needed to figure out in how she felt about it all, she wasn’t sure she could give her a truthful answer.

“Helen, it’s not fine,” the med-tech interrupted but Helen just shook her head.

“Really, I just-” She gave a shrug and a smile and continued as she tried to detach herself from the painful events: “It’s like I said earlier, we weren’t exactly close…”

“They were still your family,” Liv reached across the table and held out her hand to her. A silent gesture of support, of saying that she understood and was here for her and only needed to reach out if she wanted to.

Helen eyed her hand for a moment, confused. It was a wonderful invitation. She had held her hand a few times now for practical reasons while they were running from danger, not to lose each other. Their hands fit together well and she considered how lovely reaching out would be. She wasn’t quite sure what it was that was holding her back but it did.

“It’s not all bad,” she found herself saying, voicing some of the more complicated feelings that had been on her mind. “I’m glad I don’t have to face him again. My father. I guess there is an upside there…”

She looked across the table and found the lack of understanding on Liv’s face heartbreaking. It was what prompted her into action at last and quickly she reached for the med-tech’s hand before she could withdraw it.

“I know that’s hard for you to imagine, I’m so sorry about your father, he sounds like a wonderful man and-” True as Helen’s words had been, she regretted uttering them as she considered the effect they might have on her friend. She didn’t want to cause her any more pain than she was already in.

“He was…” Liv said after a moment of heavy silence. “But we’re not talking about my father right now.”

“I suppose not…” Helen dropped her gaze once more and her friend continued, gently:

“You know you can talk about it though, right? Any time. I’d be happy to listen. You’ve just lost your family, you’re going through a lot, so-” She let her voice trail off but reaffirmed her words by squeezing her hand. Her fingers were warm and firm around hers.

“Maybe it’s a new beginning too,” Helen considered as she observed their intertwined fingers and felt as though a whole world of possibilities was suddenly opening up to her.

Maybe, she would finally be able to let go of some of the things that had plagued her all her life. Maybe with some distance and the knowledge that her father would never be able to harm her again, she could allow herself more freedom. There had been a lot of things in her life that she had given up on, maybe now she could entertain them. It was scary and thrilling all at once. As she observed her hand in Liv’s, she marvelled once more at how their hands fit like puzzle pieces and how pleasant the brush of the med-tech’s elegant long fingers was on the inside of her wrist.

“I hope so,” Liv spoke into the silence. “For what it’s worth, you have a place in the TARDIS for as long as you want it.”

For a moment, Helen didn’t know what to say. She just looked at her friend across the table as emotions overwhelmed her. It was a lovely gesture she hadn’t expected or felt like she had earned yet. She was all new to it still. Also, she wasn’t sure whether it was technically Liv’s place to make the offer. It was the Doctor’s ship after all and they were both his guests. She wondered if, perhaps, the med-tech meant to imply that she could stick with her. The idea made her heart swell and she wasn’t quite ready to admit why.

“Thank you, Liv, that means a lot,” she said at last and Liv smiled in return.

“You’re stuck with us now,” she broke into a grin and Helen laughed with a sense of joy that made a good start on blowing away the melancholy feeling of loss that had been hanging over them.

“Have you been wanting to go back at all? Home, I mean… not permanently, of course, hopefully! But to visit… do you miss it?” Helen’s curiosity won her over. She had been meaning to ask about Liv’s home world but there hadn’t been much of an opportunity before now. She wondered how the med-tech felt about having left home and she wondered if she, herself, would end up missing her native time eventually. Thus far she could only think of things she wouldn’t miss, except her family perhaps. She wouldn’t miss having to get up early for work when she wasn’t a morning person. She wouldn’t miss the way her male superiors belittled her. She wouldn’t miss the social pressure to eventually settle down with a husband when she had no desire to. She wouldn’t miss how lonely she had been, unable to form a meaningful connection with anyone. She had always felt so very much out of her time.

“Dunno, maybe…” Liv gave a noncommittal shrug. “Not at present though.”

“What’s it like? Kaldor?” Helen pressed on curiously and the med-tech gave another shrug as if she wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“Desert mostly,” was the curt, yet pleasant, reply. It seemed as though she didn’t have much to say on the matter and Helen wondered if she didn’t have much of a connection to the place she came from anymore, much like herself.

“Is it? Explains why you’re so tanned,” she observed and Liv chuckled.

“I guess so,” she conceded and rubbed her arms. “And explains why I’m so cold. Honestly, is this what you call summer? I really should have taken a coat…” She cast a glance out of the window. It was a mix of sun and clouds and Helen had to admit that it wasn’t as warm as one might have liked in the summer.

“Here, have my cardigan,” she offered and let go of her hand. She was reluctant to do so for course, but she had to in order to brush the item of clothing off her shoulders and hand it over.

“You don’t need it?” Liv frowned, visibly hesitant, as the linguist held the cardigan out to her.

“I’m plenty warm, have it,” she prompted kindly, even though it was a white lie. She expected she would get cold eventually, her blouse was rather thin, but the thought of taking care of her friend in this way warmed her in an entirely different way.

“Thanks,” the med-tech gave a soft smile and took the cardigan. Helen thought her cheeks pinked a little but it was difficult to tell when her hair fell in her face while she put it on. She pulled it this way and that, as it wasn’t like anything she would usually wear but eventually she settled down and leaned back in her seat. They had a while to go yet before they would return to the TARDIS. They shared a smile as Helen leaned back as well, getting comfortable. Silence fell between them but not unpleasantly so, as they both cast their glances out of the window.

As lovely a sight as the countryside was, it didn’t hold the linguist’s attention for long. She found her eyes drawn back to her companion who, for her part, continued to watch hills and trees shoot past their window.

While unfamiliar, the cream cardigan over her navy button up shirt suited her. It softened her appearance. It wasn’t that Helen didn’t like her usual appearance, quite the contrary, there were a lot of things about Liv Chenka’s physical form she found altogether too appealing. The soft wave of her dark hair, her slim yet somewhat strong frame, her deep blue eyes, her radiant smile… If Helen was being perfectly honest, the cardigan did nothing to emphasise or lessen those attributes, it was the quiet thrill she experienced for seeing her wearing her clothes.

Helen caught herself in her thoughts and her eyes shot into her lap, to her hands that had taken up the anxious habit of fiddling with the ham of her blouse. She was getting too brave, she realised, getting ahead of herself, wanting to run before she could walk. It was dangerous territory and she didn’t want to mess up. Even though she felt her father’s hold over her waning, it didn’t take away the painful memories that forced themselves onto her mind. Her thoughts wandered as she looked back outside the window.

---

“What happened to Albie? Why did they take him away?” George piped up first when Helen wouldn’t have dared, not in their father’s presence.

“Shush, George,” their mother was quick to interrupt her youngest son but the small boy wouldn’t be dissuaded. He was too young to understand. So was Helen, really, but in many ways she was older than her years. She thought she had just aged a whole lot more as she didn’t think she would be able to forget what she had just been witness to, even at the tender age of eleven.

“I want to see Albie!” George protested and he looked around to his siblings for support. Harry, second oldest of the Sinclair children, hung by the door to the hallway. His expression was indifferent with numbness but the way he’d inched towards the door frame betrayed his desire to have an escape route. George stood in the middle of the room, facing his mother who held out her hands appeasingly, almost as if to usher him backwards, towards the door as well, anywhere, really, so long as it was away from her husband, their father. He was sitting in his armchair by the fire, hunched over, leaning his elbows onto his knees, cradling a large glass of whisky in his hands. He wore a face like thunder.

Helen looked on, numb yet mortified. She stood a few paces behind George and felt utterly helpless. She wanted to kick and scream and protest like her younger brother seemed good and ready to do but she knew it would be no use. It would make things much, much worse. She cast an anxious glance at her father who was gripping his glass so tightly, she feared it would fracture at any moment.

“You can’t,” their mother tried to sooth her youngest but his sorrowful complaining had already been too much for their father’s tense nerves.

“Make him shut up!” He growled at his wife who looked panicked and rightly so, Helen thought. Their father’s wrath was a terrifying thing and she had never seen him quite as mad at that. She grabbed George’s arm and pulled him along, backwards towards the door. Not too fast to displease their father and be seen to be fleeing, but quick enough to get out of harm’s way.

“It’ll be okay, it’s just that Albie-” their mother started, seemingly trying to explain but their father interrupted her sharply, furiously and downed his whisky.

“Stop saying his name!” He yelled and jumped to his feet. His temper was quick. “Don’t you dare speak about him ever again. Don’t you dare tell him what he did,” he jabbed his finger at his wife. “I will not have filth like that in my house!”

“He’s still our brother…” Harry stated quietly, hanging by the door and Helen was surprised. She hadn’t expected him to dare and speak.

“He’s no such thing, he is no son of mine!” Their father barked and the ear splintering noise of glass breaking made them all jump. He had smashed his glass on the mantelpiece, shards flying everywhere. The boys retreated but Helen stepped forward, grabbed her mother’s arm for fear of her safety.

“Mother-” she started but she shook her head.

“Hush now, Helen, listen to your father,” she tried to put on a brave face but her voice was shaky and her eyes betrayed fear. “You ought to go now…”

“And to think a son of mine-” Meanwhile their father continued to rage. “It’s your fault, you stupid woman! Whatever made him turn out like that, he must have had it from you!” He turned back towards the rest of the family, focusing his eyes on his wife with malice.

---

“Earth to Helen?”

Helen jumped and knocked her head on the window she was resting against. Her mind struggled to return to the here and now. The memory had consumed her, put her right back into her eleven-year-old’s shoes and it was a terrifying place. She struggled to respond.

“Geez, what do I have to do to get your attention? Weren’t you the one that was meant to pay attention to our train stop?” Liv was teasing her but Helen didn’t manage a response in kind, she didn’t even manage a smile.

“Sorry,” she whispered and quickly stood when she realised they were pulling into the train station.

“Are you okay?” The med-tech asked with immediate concern. She grabbed Helen’s arm as she tried to walk past her in the aisle.

“Yeah, fine, just… like you said, I’ve been through a lot.” She pressed her lips to a thin smile and pulled her arm from her grasp. Where she had been content to hold her hand before, her touch suddenly made her self-conscious and uncomfortable.

“Helen…” Liv must have noticed her changed demeanour and Helen felt guilty immediately. She looked hurt by her retreat.

“It’s fine Liv, really. Let’s get back to the TARDIS,” the linguist tried to put the matter off and walked ahead to the door as the train began to slow.

“Okay, yeah…” the med-tech agreed as she followed. She came to stand beside her by the door as they waited. “I didn’t… Did I do something wrong?” She asked after a moment of tense silence and wrapped her arms around herself.

“No, no, not at all. Things on my mind, that’s all,” Helen forced herself to smile and to her great relief, the doors of the train opened, cutting the conversation short.

“Okay…” Liv agreed and followed as Helen was the first out of the train.

Helen hung back a little once they had met up with the Doctor and walked through the train station. The Doctor and Liv were engaged in conversation about where they would head next in order to find the other pieces of the clock. Meanwhile, the linguist found herself utterly unable to grasp a clear thought. Her fathers shouting echoed through her mind. The slurs and abuse shouted at the top of his lungs, the crashing of things breaking and the thundering of his footsteps. Helen had huddled together with her brothers, forced to listen as even with their bedroom door bolted shut, as she had had the good sense to do, they could make out every word, every sound, and where left to imagine the actions that went with them. They hadn’t heard their mother and, in hindsight, Helen wondered if she had done her best to stay quiet and not scare them any more. There was no way she would ever forget about that night, even if she had nothing to fear from him now. As she felt the nauseating effect her memories had on her, she wondered if she would ever be rid of the monster that held a firm grip on her mind.

From a few paces behind them, Helen watched Liv, still dressed in her cream cardigan and gesticulating wildly as she spoke. Beside her, the Doctor was listening with keen interest, nodding every now and then and offering an opinion.

Liv was mesmerising when she spoke. Her wit was sharp; her intelligence evident in every word. And her voice conveyed emotion like nothing she had ever heard before. Excitement and dread. Curiosity and despondency. Joy and sorrow. Her voice had the richest tone and Helen felt every word she spoke in her soul. She could listen to her for hours.

There was something utterly captivating about Liv Chenka. Everything about her from the physical to her very soul was fascinating and she couldn’t pull her eyes off her as they walked. She tried to, as her father’s words tore at her inner defences. Why now? She wondered. She had thought she would feel better, feel relief and shake off the shackles of the past, but the more she thought about it, the more keenly she became aware of her thoughts about her friend, the more she struggled to breathe.

“Why was what Albie did so wrong?”

It had been a genuine question. It had been a week after Albie had been taken away and Helen had spent it processing, thinking about the things she had seen and heard, trying to make sense of her father’s rage and her mother’s helplessness. Eventually, she had caught her mother unaware in the kitchen and she grasped the opportunity to ask. She had to understand. She knew what had happened, she knew of the consequences, but what she couldn’t fathom was the why. And so, in her childish naivety, she’d gathered her courage to ask while her mother was applying a fresh layer of make up to the space underneath her eye.

“Helen, don’t-” Her mother whirled around, her eyes shooting in between the windows and the door, obviously scared someone might overhear them. But Helen had been careful to wait until her father had taken to his study.

“But what if he couldn’t help it? What if that’s just the way God made him?” Helen continued her questions, rushed them even, as she needed answers. “Why is it so wrong to-” She wanted to understand so she could put the thoughts out of her mind. On the face of it, she considered herself too young to experience these things for herself but on an academic level, she wanted to be prepared for every eventuality, just in case she-

Her mother struck her across the face.

“Do not let your father hear you speak like that,” she hissed and Helen raised her hand to her burning cheek, stunned into silence as she looked at her mother with wide, terrified eyes. She had never raised a hand to her before and Helen knew this wasn’t like the anger that burned inside her father. This was fear, lashing out. Desperation. And it was all too evident in her mother’s shaky breaths and the tears that burned in her eyes as she herself seemed mortified at her actions. “Don’t give him a reason, please, Helen, I can’t lose another one of you,” she pleaded then and Helen’s heart dropped with sorrow, with guilt.

Helen couldn’t quite fathom the pain of losing a child. She hadn’t been able to then and she still wasn’t, she figured it was the sort of pain only a mother could understand. But she did understand, even then, that she couldn’t allow for her mother to go through it a second time.

“I’m sorry, Mother…” she whispered and tears welled up in her eyes. Tears of grief for her beloved brother. Tears of sorrow for her mother’s fate and loss. And tears of pain for realising that people did get to be who they wanted to be or love who they wanted to love. She had yet to see how these truths would impact her own life beyond her family, but the injustice of it all weighed her down.

And then, her mother’s arms were around her, both comforting and seeking comfort in return.

“I love you so much. It’s not fair, none of it but-” Her mother held her tightly and whispered apologies into her blonde hair. She pressed a kiss to it. “Albie made his own bed. He broke the law. Even if he- He could have stopped himself.” Her words sounded hollow and Helen wasn’t sure if she even believed them herself.

“He shouldn’t have had to,” she countered in a moment of angry defiance as she wrapped her arms around her mother’s middle and allowed herself to be the child she was. A child that just wanted to be held by her mother and have the world explained to her. But no explanations were forthcoming as there were none to be had that would make sense.

“Please, Helen, please try to understand,” her mother pleaded instead but Helen never would.

“There we are, at last!” Liv’s joyous exclamation as they returned to the TARDIS pulled Helen out of her thoughts and she was glad for it. She could feel herself tearing up, though if anyone had asked, she would have said it was the wind. Quickly she caught up with her friends and they returned to their home - the only place Helen could proclaim as such now.

“I’m going to turn in, I think, I’m exhausted,” Helen declared and the Doctor nodded as he launched the space and time ship.

“I’ll be a while working out our next steps. Have a good rest,” he smiled and his attention had already returned to the console.

“Thank you,” she mumbled in response and headed off towards the inside of their ship, back to her room, back to safety. She felt her composure slipping and she needed to be alone. What she had initially mistook as a bolt to freedom was quickly turning into treacherous quicksand of memories, deep rooted grief and internalised behaviours that wouldn’t let her go.

“Helen, hold up,” Liv called and rushed after her, catching up in no time. She seemed to have learned from last time, she didn’t reach for her arm but she fell into step with her.

“I’m sorry, Liv, I’m just… really tired, emotionally drained, so…” Helen made her excuses, she didn’t even look at her. The TARDIS seemed to have taken pity on her as well as they came up to her room already.

“I just wanted to give you this back,” the med-tech replied and struggled out of the cardigan. “Thank you for letting me borrow it.” She looked clumsy in her rush, particularly as she tried to fold it up quickly and Helen found it incredibly endearing, despite the conflicting emotions that made her feel nauseous. She also caught a glimpse of Liv’s toned stomach as her shirt rode up while taking the cardigan off and the linguist quickly fixed her eyes to the floor.

“Oh it was nothing. You could have hung on to it…” she replied but took the item of clothing as offered to her. She was mindful of not touching her hand to her friend’s in the process.

“My dad used to tell me off for it. Used to say it was bad enough having to tell Tula and my washing apart, there was no need to add my girlfriend’s to the mix,” Liv answered easily and with a smile and Helen’s chest tightened. Had she made the statement on purpose? Was it her way of inadvertently telling her that yes, she was interested in women, and present all the potential to her? Or was it the universe having a laugh at Helen’s expense and making her emotional conflict much worse?

“Oh- uh- right-” she stuttered and tightened her grip around the cardigan while avoiding her friend’s eyes.

“Thank you anyway,” the med-tech continued and Helen nodded.

“Of course.”

Neither one of them moved and the silence between them became stilted, almost uncomfortable and it was Liv that broke it in the end:

“Do you maybe want to have a cup of tea before bed or-”

“No, no, I just- I think I ought to just sleep.” The linguist was startled out of her stupor as she felt first tears falling. Quickly she turned.

“Helen?” Liv’s voice was filled with concern now but Helen didn’t have it in her to worry about her now. She fled into the safety of her room and closed the door in her friend’s face. She felt terribly guilty but the tears wouldn’t wait any longer.

She had had hope. She had thought she would be able to rejoice and let go of the past demons now but all it had done was bring back the most painful of memories. Albie had barely been a man yet. He had been young and he had been in love and that had been his only crime. Over twenty years later, she still couldn’t fathom it. She had worked so hard over the years to deny herself any sort of romantic feelings. It had only been a few years after Albie had been taken away that she first felt the sort of attraction she had feared she might one day and it had been the realisation of all her nightmares. The fear that had been creeping into her subconscious all this time had become a reality and she had cried for herself and the things she would never have.

Where she had thought today would free her at last and allow for the exciting possibilities that presented themselves in the shape of the attractive med-tech that had come into her life, it proved the events of the past and her father’s hold over her remained strong as ever. She had hoped in vain.

“You stupid, horrible man!” She sobbed and buried her face in her hands. “You’re ruining my life!” She wanted to throw something, break something, to air her anger but she knew it would only make her more like him so she refused. She simply rushed the short space to her bed, stumbled along the way and dropped to the floor by the foot of it.

“You’ve done that all by yourself. What a disappointment.” Helen heard her father’s voice echo through the back of her head as if he were really there.

“I don’t want or need your approval!” She spat, defiantly, but her physical response was more fragile. She leaned against the foot of the bed and gathered her knees to her chest.

“Then why are you stalling? What’s holding your back?” He was laughing now, as if he could sense the power he exerted over her without even having to try.

“I-” Helen gasped, her voice cut off by tears.

“You’re pathetic,” he mocked.

“No, I’m-” She shook her head and buried her face in her hands, resting against her knees. She wanted to believe she was safe, the TARDIS gave a hum of comfort, but there was nothing anyone could do against the monsters in her mind.

“You know you don’t deserve to be loved. It’s wrong. Nothing good will come of it,” her father continued and the linguist’s protest was weak and innocent, as if she were eleven again.

“No, that’s not true. There is nothing wrong with following your heart and-”

“No-one is ever going to love you,” he spat the words, voicing the possibility that she feared most.

“Yes. Yes, she will. She might, she-” She so wanted to believe it. She wished now that she had Liv’s fierce determination, her strength of character and her unwavering beliefs. She wished she had been part of her world before, then maybe, she wouldn’t feel so lost in it.

“She won’t feel the same about you. Why would she? She’s so much more capable than you. So much more experienced, you wouldn’t even know what you’re doing. You’ve never even been-” the voice of doubt carried on.

”Well, how could I? When I’ve always had to be scared of-” she sobbed.

“She won’t want to be with you. Who would? You disgust me!” He snarled.

“Then just leave me alone, let me go!” Helen exclaimed. “You’re dead! Well and truly this time and I will never have to see you again and you have no right anymore to have an opinion on what I do! Or who I-” she shook with violent sobs.

“Helen? HELEN!”

With the smash of the door being forced open, the storm of emotions was shocked into silence. Helen’s eyes shot up to find Liv standing in the doorway, white faced and panting from what she could only presume was the effort of breaking her door open. She hadn’t even heard her knocking, or the banging that had followed, or the concerned calls for her to open up.

“Liv-” the linguist breathed when she realised that her friend must have been outside her room this entire time, probably having heard every word - hers at least.

“Right, I don’t know what’s going on but you’re going to talk to me about it. I’m not having this!” Liv exclaimed, coming out of the shock she seemed to have had for finding her friend in the state she was in.

“Liv…” Helen whispered as she didn’t know what to say. How was she to explain what was going on with her?

“No! You were fine earlier. Contemplative, but fine. Something happened,” the med-tech argued hotly, refusing to be put off again. She hurried forward and knelt in front of her, her eyes were filled with questions and her brow furrowed with concern. She reached out, ever so gently, and cupped her cheek, brushed her thumb over it to rid her of tears, even though they kept falling. Helen quickly jolted back.

“I’m so sorry, Liv- I can’t-” The linguist shook her head, defeated and sorrowful at the look of disappointment on her friend’s face. Her touch had felt lovely and yet-

“Helen, just talk to me, that’s all I want. Let me try to help,” she urged her softly and moved away a little and sat beside her, legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap, helplessly holding on to each other as she seemed to have realised she wasn’t welcome to hold anything else.

“I thought it would be over,” Helen whispered when she realised there was no way around it. Liv was here. She wanted to help. She wanted to listen. Maybe she would understand. “I thought if I never have to see him again, I would be free to-”

“Free to do what?” The med-tech prompted her along gently but Helen couldn’t say it, not yet. She squeezed her eyes together as the doubts resurfaced.

“But he’s still there, in the back of my mind, saying horrible things. The more I thought about it, the possibilities that I- It brought it all back. All of it,” she whimpered, as if the emotional pain became physical.

“Brought what back, Helen?” Liv asked compassionately and turned towards her once more. “Talk to me,” she pleaded and as Helen started crying once more, she pulled her into her arms before she could protest. The linguist struggled, aware of her closeness and terrified of it as she imagined her father would have a good laugh at how scared she was of a woman’s touch, just because-

But Liv’s arms, though strong, were gentle as they held her. She’d knelt up and pulled Helen towards her, making her rest her head against her collarbone and she kissed the top of her head in a comforting, tender gesture. She whispered soothing nothings into her hair and assured her that everything would be alright until finally, the linguist relaxed in her arms and allowed herself to be held, to be comforted, perhaps in time she could allow herself to be-

“I thought he would kill me if he found out,” she whispered and Liv stiffed at the shocking statement.

“What?” She breathed and pulled back a little to be able to look at her. Helen looked up. It was too late to turn back now so all she could do was confront the fears that continued to whisper to her about how her friend would never understand and never feel the way she wanted her to.

“My father…” the linguist clarified and the memories flooded her mind, the fear took hold of her once more as she tensed up. “The police took Albie, ‘cause it was against the law, but for women it wasn’t so I thought, if he found out, if I ever- then he would just do it himself and my mother, she-” She gasped for breath as her thoughts spiralled. The fear that had dictated her teenage years cut off her airway. “I couldn’t let her lose another one of us. He beat her black and blue the night that-” she whimpered and shook her head violently, trying to clear it, but she couldn’t. She pushed against Liv, tried to pull away as she felt claustrophobic, she began to panic and the med-tech released her quickly.

“Helen, Helen, you’re not making any sense. Hold up, please, for me. Back up. I’m not following,” she did her best to calm her as Helen scurried away, put some distance between them and Liv remained, her expression heartbroken. “Take a deep breath. Look, I won’t touch you.” She held her hands up to show they weren’t anywhere near her, though her face betrayed how much having to do so hurt. “You have nothing to be scared of. You’re safe. You’re in the TARDIS and you’re safe and I’m right over here,” she pleaded with her to understand.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” Helen dropped her gaze when her panic subsided and she realised how she had acted. Slowly, she returned to the space beside Liv and leaned against the foot of the bed.

“It’s fine. I understand. You’re panicking. But you have to help me understand why,” Liv offered gently and Helen felt like she didn’t deserve her patience, her understanding. “I can’t pretend to know what you went through with your family. I can’t. I don’t understand your time and- but I understand pain. I understand feeling helpless. I understand what it’s like to fear for your life,” the med-tech offered slowly, speaking into the silence as Helen fell into sorrow. She didn’t have the words she needed to express herself and Liv seemed to realise as much as she carried on slowly: “I was a medic on a world that had been conquered in a terrible war and occupied. I was trying to help people but whatever I did, it was never enough. I was just trying to help people but by doing so, people thought me a collaborator, a traitor, that’s what they called me. I was hated when all I wanted to do was help, do what I do best… And every day I would fear for my life. So I understand, Helen, I do.” Her hand inched forward, eager to grasp Helen’s but she seemed to think better of it, as she retreated to her friend’s hollow words:

“It’s not the same.”

“What?” The med-tech questioned gently and the linguist took a deep breath before answering:

“It’s not the same as being afraid of someone who should protect you. You can’t understand because your father was kind. He was a good man. He loved you! My father, he- He despised everything I was. Being a girl wasn’t a great start and then, when Albie-” she broke off and Liv asked:

“Who is Albie?”

“My brother,” Helen answered and strangely, it felt good to say it. She hadn’t expected that.

“You had another? You only mentioned Harry and George…” Liv frowned and the linguist couldn’t blame her for her confusion, so she explained:

“Albie was my oldest brother but… he died, he-” Fresh tears choked her up.

“Helen, what happened?” Liv asked gently and Helen closed her eyes as she forced herself to say the words she had never told anyone:

“He got arrested because he had… relations… with another man.”

“What? Why?” Liv’s voice was filled with disbelief and while Helen had expected as much, it didn’t stop her feeling disappointed.

“See, I told you you wouldn’t understand…” she mumbled.

“Well, I understand that in the past-” the med-tech started but the linguist interrupted her:

“You can’t understand the fear. You can’t possibly understand what that was like,” she gave a bitter laugh. “The night they took him away… my father turned into a monster. Before then, it had only been my mother and me he would put down but when Albie- One of his precious boys… He turned it around on Mother of course. Told her it was her fault. He beat her up. He’d never done that before...” Her voice trailed off.

“Helen, I’m so sorry,” Liv didn’t seem able to think of anything else to say. She looked devastated.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Helen said and found it far easier to admit than she had the first time around, to George. Then, it had been a spur of the moment comment, now, she had thought it through and come to that inevitable conclusion.

“I understand,” her friend nodded.

“But I was foolish to think he would just… let me go,” Helen felt calmed now and leaned back against the bed. “That the fear would-”

“Fear of what?” Liv prompted and the linguist looked over to her. Her eyes found her hand, lying flat against the floor between them. She felt an overwhelming urge to take it but she didn’t dare. Instead she said:

“Can’t you guess?”

Liv remained quiet but she could see the understanding in her eyes.

“He would have killed me if he had found out, so I never… and I thought with him gone I could finally… but turns out I can’t, he’s still there. Like a voice in the back of my mind, saying all the things I’m afraid of…” she whispered her explanations for her behaviour.

“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Liv offered and Helen gave a sad laugh:

“Rationally I know that but-”

“No, Helen. I mean it. I won’t let him,” and just like that, Liv grasped her hand and pulled it towards her. She rested it against her lips. “Even if he were still alive, if he were in this very room, I wouldn’t let him put a finger on you!” Her words were spoken with fierce determination and her grasp on her hand was firm while her lips were ever so soft.

“Liv-” Helen was overwhelmed but among her swirling emotions, she felt no urge to pull her hand away. Her friend’s words touched her, cut through the conflict and the confusion and reached her heart.

“I mean it. No-one will ever hurt you again, Helen. Not him, not anyone,” Liv promised fiercely. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry you went through that but starting now, I’ll do whatever I can to make things better. You’re not part of that world anymore.”

“I know that…” The linguist nodded and the med-tech’s expression softened.

“Then if it’s not him, what is it you’re scared of?”

“I-” Helen wasn’t sure how to answer the question. And as she considered the mocking words her father had spoken, she realised it wasn’t the attraction itself that scared her. She had come to terms with it long ago, she had simply repressed it to survive. It was the thought that if she was brave enough to follow her feelings, she would be rejected anyway. And then she would lose everything. She had no place to go back to and she couldn’t risk losing the only place she had to turn to. “I want to stay here forever,” she confessed.

“Good, well, that’s what I said, isn’t it? You have a home here,” Liv answered gently and kissed the back of her hand once more. It was a lovely feeling and Helen felt her breath catch. Maybe she could be brave. Maybe that would be the thing she needed to do to be free of the fear at last. She had to overcome it. Despite her doubts, despite the risks, despite the potential to lose everything. She had to be honest with herself and with Liv if she wanted to be free.

“I want to stay with you forever,” she whispered and the moment of doubt passed as quickly as it had come when Liv smiled:

“Good.” She planted another kiss on her hand and this time Helen didn’t flinch. “Me too.”

“Why?” The linguist couldn’t quite believe it, she wasn’t sure she had heard her right.

“Because I’m slowly and steadily falling in love with you,” the med-tech answered with a hopeful smile. “And I’m hoping if you… if you stay, we might…”

Helen hadn’t considered Liv might be insecure too but that was what she seemed when she dropped her eyes for a moment, almost as if she was scared of finding out her reaction. The linguist, for her part, let her words wash over her, words so powerful and desired that they silenced the storm. It was as if time slowed to a trickle and Helen allowed the words to engulf her and lift every aspect of her being, in the equal opposite reaction to her father’s hurtful words. Where he had trapped her, Liv would set her free and Helen crossed the distance between them. She pulled their hands out of the way and crashed their lips together.

It was a clumsy kiss, inexperienced but pure, as if she wound back the years and the many missed chances and experiences she would never have. The realisation of her teenage desires, in one impulsive moment of overwhelming emotions.

“Oh God, I’m sorry-” Helen blinked, perplexed and pulled back, she brought her free hand to her mouth while Liv held on tightly to the other.

“Whatever for?” The med-tech asked gently but despite the concern visible in her eyes, a smile lit up her face. The smile Helen longed to see so much more of. Perhaps, if a kiss could make her smile, she should try it more often…

“I’m sorry this is going to- I’m still-” She took a deep breath as she didn’t feel quite brave enough to repeat the gesture, as much as she would have liked to.

“That’s quite alright,” Liv nodded, stroking her thumb over the back of her hand in reassurance and Helen found her touch didn’t feel unwelcome then, strange and new but in a comfortable, safe and reassuring way.

“I have demons, Liv,” she confessed as she didn’t think she would be able to overcome her past as quickly as that. It had been foolish to think as much in the first place. It would take a long time for her emotions to align with her rational mind. Trauma wasn’t rational and the scars ran deep.

“So do I,” the med-tech answered with a sad, yet somewhat hopeful smile. “But we will defeat them - together.”

She opened her arms to her in an offer to care for, comfort and protect her in a way no-one else had been willing or able to before. Her father had been the monster under her bed and her mother the helpless victim alongside her. In time, Helen knew they would fade into the past and she would be allowed peace as she finally found a home she would be safe in.

Helen settled into Liv’s arms, home at last.

#Doctor Who #fanfiction #liv chenka #helen sinclair #femslash #eighth doctor #liv x helen #whump #hurt/comfort #angst #happy ending #internalised homophobia #tw mentioned domestic abuse #tw past trauma #tw domestic violence #flashbacks

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