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aspoonofsugar · 2 years

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Semblance of the Soul: Blake Belladonna

Blake’s semblance is called Shadow because initially she herself is a shadow in at least 2 different ways.

From shadows, We'll reclaim our destiny, Set our future free, And we'll rise.

She rises from shadows because she is a Faunus. Her people’s problems have been pushed into the darkness and dismissed. Faunus are ignored at best and discriminated at worst. So, they all live in Remnant’s shadows.

Black the beast descends from shadows.

She descends from shadows because she runs away from a dark abusive situation. At the beginning of the story she is subjected to Adam to the point she symbolically shares her trailer and her song with him. In short, she is initially reduced to Adam’s shadow.

Blake’s goal is then twofold. She has to bring the Faunus into the light, so that they can be a part of society. At the same time, she must firstly escape Adam’s darkness.

In other words:

Your hopes have become my burden. I will find my own liberation...

Blake’s liberation is her own answer to the faunus/human conflict, but also her personal freedom. In order to reach both, though, she must overcome Adam’s toxic influence - his twisted hopes - and bloom into her own person. Let’s see how this happens by ironically using Shadow as a light to explore Blake’s hidden parts!

BLAKE’S SHADOW: GAMBOL SHROUD

Shaodw lets Blake create clones able to push her in whichever direction she wants. This Semblance is then about freedom of movement - it enhances Blake’s mobility- and defense - it lets Blake avoid hits.

However, Blake herself has not a high opinion of her power:

Blake: I was born with the ability to leave behind a shadow of myself - an empty copy that takes the hit while I run away!

She could see it as a symbol of resiliance or flexibility, but instead she associates it to her 2 major flaws.

Running away (while I run away)

Hiding herself (an empty copy)

Interestingly, these 2 traits are mirrored also by her weapon, which is called Gambol Shroud.

Gambol means to move around playfully:

Shroud is a piece of cloth used to cover things up:

In short, Blake herself is a shroud (a little bow) moving around relentlessly (running away).

She runs away and hides her true self starting with the Black Trailer, where she escapes Adam and camouflages her ears.

This last detail is interesting because isn’t it odd for a proud member of a Faunus rights movement? Especially when you consider this:

In flashbacks Blake is shown with her ears uncovered. So, why does she hide them at the beginning of the series?

A possible answer is that with time she has been victimized more and more by Adam to the point she can’t openly show who she truly is anymore. So, she symbolically covers her ears because she is actually repressing herself.

Here we come to a key concept: Shadow is actually a representation of Blake’s reaction to abuse.

Blake runs away and hides her true self (so her thoughts and wishes) because these are coping mechanisms to resist Adam. At the same time, Adam plays with these 2 behaviours, criticizing or encouraging them depending on what he needs:

Adam: I don't know. I'm out there fighting for us, and when you fight, people get hurt. What, do you want me to just abandon our cause? Like your parents?

Blake’s parents were such cowards to leave the White Feng. They refused to make compromises for the Faunus’ freedom out of selfishness. Surely, Blake won’t make their same mistakes because she is not like them. She is better. She won’t run away and she will make sacrifices for the cause. Even if the sacrifice is a part of herself.

It is this kind of narrative Adam uses to control Blake and it works until she finds in herself the strength to finally cut ties with him.

However, by this point she has already been damaged by Adam and she is stuck with 2 coping mechanisms she must overcome. Shadow is the physical embodyment of these 2 traits. It leaves behind a part of Blake’s self, a smoke screen the girl uses to escape. Blake disliking it then is the girl not accepting her whole self.

This, together with Blake’s semblance name, hints to the Jungian Shadow. This term is used in psychology to describe everything a person represses or denies about herself. It is usually associated to flaws she can’t see or accept, but also to dormant creativity or energy.

Blake’s story and Semblance evolution are then a journey of acceptance and integration with her shadow. This happens in 2 ways.

She must face and overcome her flaws.

She must rediscover the beautiful parts of herself.

Only in this way she can truly grow and move forward.

AN ADOPTED STRAY

I know you can't stand the thought of, Being stray, One more day.

Blake arrives at Beacon as a stray and there she finds a new family. However, her 2 flaws risk to ruin everything:

Weiss: Don't be stupid; of course I do. I'm just afraid of what she'll say when we find her. The innocent never run, Yang!

Sun: So... have you told your friends any of this?

The degeneration of her conflict with Weiss partly happens because Blake runs away without explaining her reasons. She hides who she is and leaves her friends grappling with doubts.

Luckily she manages to get over it with some help from Sun and Weiss. Sun encourages her to open up and Weiss accepts her no matter what.

After this initial fight, Blake becomes better thanks to her teammates, who support her and call her out whenever she goes back to her bad habits.

To be more specific, Yang helps with her complicated feelings on running away:

Yang: I'm not asking you to stop. Just please, get some rest. Not just for you, but for the people you care about.

While Weiss challenges Blake on the hiding her problems part:

Weiss: You made a promise to me, to all of us, that you would let us know if something was wrong! So, Blake Belladonna, what is wrong!?

This is not surprising because both girls are strong foils to Blake when it comes to these specific traits.

Yang stands her ground, while Blake runs away. They are opposites when it comes to facing a challenge and must balance each other out. However, Yang helps also in an unexpected way. Blake has come to resent her tendency to avoid problems so much that she spirals in the opposite direction. She takes no breaks in her quest to stop Torchwick and the White Feng. This ends up isolating her once again and makes her tired and weak. Yang teaches her that stopping for a while is different from running away and that she needs to love herself like others do.

Weiss’s self is as frail as Blake’s initially because of abuse. However, she shows it differently. Blake hides her true self and keeps silent about her wounds. Weiss instead tries to appear better than she is and makes everything about herself. The 2 girls learn to be more like the other. On the one hand Weiss grows more careful about others’ needs. On the other hand Blake becomes more assertive and open.

In short, thanks to her friends Blake recovers. She becomes more determined and self-confident. In a sense, she starts feeling whole again. And as this happens, Blake shows a new power her Semblance has:

Dust gives Blake’s clones elemental properties. She can create ice blocks, statues, explosions or lighting. In a sense, she can turn a part of herself into all of this. This is similar to how in the right environment and thanks to the right people, Blake does not have to feel empty anymore. She can again be full of happiness, feelings and dreams.

Weiss giving her the Dust also fits this idea. She is a Schnee, who should be Blake’s foe, but is actually her friend:

So, the world is not really an enemy as she thought while at Adam’s side. In her time at Beacon, Blake learns to let others in once again and starts changing thanks to their support. She rediscovers herself and grows stronger.

This is well shown by a comparison between the climaxes of volume 1 and volume 2. Both times, Blake fights Torchwick and the White Feng in an attempt to fix her past. The first time, she does so by leaving her team behind, but needs Sun, Ruby and Penny’s help to win. The second time, she does so together with the other girls and she overpowers Roman easily. Then they all save the day by stopping the Grimm.

The message is clear. In order to overcome the pain of her past and to develop Blake needs others. She can’t do it alone and not because she is weak, but simply because that is what people do. They meet each other and grow together.

So, everything is fine, right? Actually no, because it turns out that the struggle against Torchwick is just a rehearsal. When the true war comes, Blake meets the embodyment of her past mistakes:

Adam toys with her bringing all her insecurities and fears to the surface.

He manipulates her into fighting him alone:

Adam: Running away again? Is that what you've become, my love? A coward?

And scars her both physically:

And psychologically:

Adam once again steals parts of Blake’s self. The worst thing, though, is that even when he is gone Blake keeps acting as if he is still there. Out of guilt and fear, she runs away and goes into hiding. By doing so, Blake herself sacrifices important parts of who she is, like her team and relationships.

A BRAVE BELLADONNA

After the Fall of Beacon, Blake goes to Menagerie, which mirrors her interiority and personal problems since it is full of runaways forced to hide by the world’s violence:

Blake: The Faunus here in Menagerie - the ones that weren't born on the island - moved here because they were tired of fighting, of having to struggle constantly. Menagerie is filled with people that just want to be left alone.

At the same time, Blake’s choice to go there is not just her running away from team RWBY, but also a homecoming:

It is Blake’s first difficult step into facing her true self. And she discovers it is not so bad after all:

What is more, by returning to Menagerie she realizes some important truths.

No matter how far away she runs, the past always catches up to her:

Fennec: An interesting development, wouldn't you say?

Corsac: Interesting indeed.

Fennec: So, shall we inform Brother Adam?

Corsac: Oh, we shall.

She can try to hide her feelings, but they can’t disappear:

Blake: Shut up! Do you think I like being alone? Every day... every day I think about them! Ruby, Weiss, Yang... they were my friends! I loved them like I never thought I could love anybody.

Finally, even if she pushes others away, they keep fighting for her out of love:

Sun: You think you're being selfless, but you're not. Yeah, that chameleon friend of yours got me pretty good. But I'd do it all again if it meant protecting you. And I can promise Yang would say the same.

Even more importantly, Blake discovers she does not really want to run and hide anymore. She wants to take back control of her legacy and her life:

Blake: We’re not going to destroy the White Fang. We’re going to take it back.

While Blake goes through this series of discoveries, Shadow grows stronger.

What is initially just a push becomes more similar to teleportation:

What used to be a frail illusion becomes more physical:

This is the result of Blake’s constant struggle with her shortcomings. Her running away out of fear turns into the freedom to go wherever she wants and, as she expresses herself more, she finds solidity.

Her time in Menagerie is when Blake goes from reactive to active and overcomes her limits once and for all. She manages to do so thanks to 2 Faunus. The first brings Blake’s true self to the light, while the second lets her face her shadows. Obviously, they are Sun and Ilia.

Sun is Blake’s opposite on basically everything. She is a Faunus strongly involved in social justice, while he is initially uninterested. She is moved around by her clones, while he is able to move his. Finally, she gets stuck in her past, while he moves on too fast. It is specifically because of these differences that Sun is able to help Blake so much. In particular, he convinces her to forgive herself:

Life's not a game you can play to get even We all make mistakes but we need to move on I know that you hate where you strayed Forgiving yourself is the only way

There is no need to run or to hide because Blake’s friends and family are there for her no matter what. Just like mornings always follow nights.

Ilia is instead just like Blake. She is a well meaning Faunus caught up in an extremist group without the strength to leave. What is more, Ilia’s own coping mechanism is very similar to our cat girl’s:

Show them how you smile It's only for a while

Blake covers her ears while Ilia pretends to smile and to belong. Be it Atlas Academy or the White Feng, she always hides her true colors turning herself into a shadow:

So, Blake brings her into the light (symbolically she uses fire to draw her out) and forces her to show who she truly is.

Other than this, Blake convinces Sun of the importance of the Faunus movement and Ilia that extremism and hate will never be an answer. Once she does so with her 2 friends, she is ready to do the same with all the Faunus:

Blake: I don't know how to make hate go away, I don't. But I know that this kind of violence is not the solution. I understand that to ask you to leave your homes and protect Haven Academy is asking you to put your lives at risk. But that's what's at stake.

Blake inspires the Menagerie Faunus to fight for the world they want instead of running away. At the same time, she stops the most extremist parts of the White Feng. She has her people leave the shadows not to violently hurt, but to proudly help. In other words, she leads the Faunus into the light:

Rise up from shadows and into the light We'll stand undivided Our futures aligned A new brotherhood This time

And by doing so she drags Adam into the light as well:

She shows the Faunus what a coward and a poor leader he actually is and he is banished from the White Feng as a result.

Symbolically, Blake manages this thanks to Shadow:

The time she is hurt and hides because of him is over. She does not have to suffer anymore, but can just avoid the hit and move to fight back instead of running away.

BLAKE’S SHADOW: ADAM

At Heaven, Blake frees both the Faunus and herself from Adam. After the fight, the tables turns and it is now Adam that is forced to run and to hide into the shadows:

However, shadows can still be dangerous:

Even if Adam is not in control anymore, he is still there both psychologically and physically. He pops up in Blake’s mind and stalks her across Anima. Finally, he emerges from the darkness one last time for a final confrontation that pushes Blake to the limit and tests her development:

Adam: I wouldn't have to be doing this if you just behaved! But you're SELFISH!! You're a COWARD!

Once again Adam tries to provoke her by mocking her 2 coping mechanisms. She is selfish because she does not sacrifice herself for him anymore and she is a coward because she tries to run to safety. This time, though, Blake is not taking the bait:

Adam: So... tell me, Blake... how does it feel to be alone?

Blake: I'm not alone.

Adam symbolically tries to stab Blake in the same spot of Beacon. However, Blake does not let him and teleports to safety thanks to Shadow. She is breaking the cycle. Blake now knows that she is not a coward or selfish. Running from an abuser is not cowardice, taking care of herself is not selfishness and being helped by others is not weakness.

If there is someone who is selfish and a coward that is Adam himself. And here comes the truth. Adam is nothing, but Blake’s shadow. He is her flaws, but twisted and exasperated.

Blake runs away and hides as a way to defend. Not only that, but later on she tries to do the same in a misguided attempt to protect others. So, her coping mechanisms are defensive and born from selflessness.

Adam’s instead are meant to hurt others and come from selfishness.

He runs away leaving his comrades behind:

Ilia: He was the only one to escape tonight. Those in the White Fang that followed him? Won't support a leader that abandons his people.

He picks on people when they are alone and vulnerable:

Adam: But I've waited so long, for you to be away from them.

And hides his true self to trick and manipulate others:

Yang: Did she make that promise to you? Or to the person you were pretending to be?

This is is why his Semblance lets him evade hits like Blake’s, but is able to give back the damage like Yang’s. It is a power born to avoid feelings and to lash out at others. This is why the name Moonslice is perfect. After all, Blake herself is associated with the moon:

And Adam has been taking her apart for years by breaking her over and over:

However, Blake has in herself the strength to survive and to heal:

After all, isn’t it what her ability is about? To leave behind parts of herself, so that she can survive despite it all. Sure, sacrificing fragments of who you are is damaging if you are conditioned to always do it. However, it is also a mechanism that helps you stay whole despite being shattered. And this is Shadow in a nutshell. It is a Semblance which represents both Blake’s weakness and her strength. It is what she must overcome, but also what she must accept and love of herself.

Moonslice and Shadow also say something else about Adam and Blake’s reaction to abuse. Both characters have suffered others’ violence, after all. Adam has been victimized by society, while Blake by Adam himself. This shows even on their bodies:

However, Adam chooses to let this trauma define him and even uses it as an excuse to hurt others. He reduces himself to a victim and acts as if this justifies all his actions. In a sense, he sees the world deformed through his own trauma and hate (I know it is bad taste, but this is literally what his scar symbolizes):

It's just a story of a boy who lost his way Into shadows strayed He'll see the light of day Nevermore

In other words, he puts all of himself in his pain and weaponizes it. This is why Moonslice only works through Wilt. He makes his Semblance and his Weapon a single thing, so that once he loses his sword he can’t fight back and dies. It is because he has symbolically tied who he is to it and has wilted away as a result. He has made everything about only one part.

Blake instead never lets her abuse define her. She struggles with it and tries to overcome it. She looks for new bonds, new ideals and a new happiness. She loses so much, but for every part that gets lost a new one is ready to bloom. This is why Shadow lets her create so many clones, so many different fragments of herself. They are infinite just like her potential.

This flexibility and richness is shown also through Gambol Shroud. Even if broken the weapon keeps being used in multiple ways:

Even in pieces, it is still able to defeat Adam:

This is because Blake is strong and full of resources. Adam’s abuse and her past mistakes are not all there is to her, but only a part.

BEAUTIES, BEASTS AND ROSES: FRAGMENTS OF THE SELF

Blake: When you've been at someone's side for so long, after a while they become a part of you. But that's just it, they're only a part of you. Don't forget about the rest.

Shadow is Blake in a nutshell. A scaredy cat that hides and runs, but also a strong survivor that fights for freedom. Most of all, though, she is a person made of many interests, wishes and dreams. She has many shades and many parts that all combined make Blake Belladonna.

Her mistake is that she initially takes this richness and complexity and makes it all about Adam. He is her boyfriend, her mentor and her partner in the fight for the Faunus. Everything in Blake’s life ends up focused on him. This is why Adam has so much control in the beginning. It is because he has infected every aspect of Blake’s existence isolating her from her other relationships.

This is shown also through Blake’s Beauty & the Beast allusion and Adam’s role in it. He is the Beast to Blake’s Beauty, but also Blake and Adam together are society’s Beast. Finally, Adam is also Blake’s Rose that is wilting instead of blooming, just like their relationship.

So, Blake starts the series trapped in Adam’s world and must escape. She succeeds and starts a recovery that goes through her meeting many different beauties, beasts and roses. Each one of them becomes a part of Blake’s support system and an important fragment of her identity.

There are Ghira and Kali obviously, who are a happy version of the Beauty & the Beast, a couple in love. At the same time, they are also the Faunus’ Beauty (Belladonna) that try to show society the Faunus are normal people.

Sun and Ilia are 2 other versions of the Beast to Blake’s Beauty. Sun is the Beast who falls for the Beauty, but lets her go. Ilia is instead the Beast the Beauty redeems.

Finally, there is team RWBY.

A blooming rose:

Blake: I know you don't always know what to do, but that's never stopped you from doing something. I was like that as a girl, but time and... a lot of other things, took their toll on me. Then I wasn't sure if that kind of girl could actually survive in the world... until I met you. It was a little strange at first because you were younger, but I've always looked up to you, Ruby. And I still do.

A defrosting ice beauty ready to help with the faunus/human conflict:

Weiss: I wish I could take back the years of pain my family has caused the Faunus and all of my complacency in it.

And a beauty burning with love that protects and is protected:

Blake: She's not protecting me, Adam. And I'm not protecting her. We're protecting each other.

Team RWBY is not just Blake’s new family, but they also directly play in her allusion. Ruby is Blake’s new inspiration that encourages her to go back to her lost innocence. She also symbolically brings Blake together with Yang, aka her new love. Weiss is the prejudiced Beauty, who slowly understands the Beast more and is ready to help. Finally, Yang is the Beauty that falls for the Beast. She is the light to Blake’s shadow and the Yang :P to her Yin.

Thanks to all these people Blake finds again all those parts she had forgotten or sacrificed to Adam and grows back into herself. It is through them that she can fight both for herself and the Faunus. It is with them that she can step into a new lightful life.

#rwby #rwby meta #blake belladonna #adam taurus #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #ruby rose #semblance of the soul #my meta

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daenqyu · 3 years

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promise me | bakugou katsuki

( gif isn’t mine !! credits go to @birds-have-teeth )

pairing: bakugou x fem!reader

genre: angsty fluff

summary: you’re used to dealing with your problems all on your own, but sometimes the weight becomes too heavy. and just when you feel like you’re about to fall, bakugou is always there to steady you back on your feet.

warnings: suicidal thoughts, descriptions of a panic attack, dark thoughts in general

word count: 3.2k

a/n: at first i wasn’t gonna post this because it was more of a comfort fic for me since i’ve been struggling a lot recently and bakugou is my comfort character, but i thought this could make other people feel better too so yeah :)

small disclaimer: this is completely based on my OWN, PERSONAL experience !!!!! if you ever experience suicidal thoughts, please seek help; you’re not alone. and you’re loved. you’re worth it.

IT was too much. you couldn’t handle it. you thought you could and that’s why you decided to not tell anyone, especially not bakugou. he knew about your struggles and burdens; at some point in your relationship you decided you felt comfortable enough to share that part of yourself with him and even tho he couldn’t really understand all of your emotions, he was still very supportive. but of course that didn’t mean you told him everything. sure, you trusted him with your life and you knew he would never judge you, but that wasn’t enough to make the voices in your head go away.

for a while everything seemed to be fine, you had managed to keep yourself distracted enough to not have to be alone with your thoughts. whether it was hanging out with friends, going on dates with bakugou, or watching tv shows, you were always busy with something. but there’s only so much one can do to stop themselves from thinking, or in your case, overthinking.

the nights were the worst. normally you’d watch random videos until your eyes started hurting from the brightness of you phone and then go to bed, but there were times when even that wasn’t enough. when not even heavy metal songs could be as loud as your dark thoughts, and they only seemed to intensify the more you tried to push them away. you tossed and turned on bed in hopes of eventually tiring yourself out, yet you ended up sitting on the mattress with hot tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried your best to catch your breathing.

all the emotions you suppressed for months now suddenly came crashing down on you, forcing you to face your inner demons and making you realize just how not okay you were. you couldn’t quite pinpoint what was bothering you so much; it was everything, yet nothing at the same time. it was about you, but also everyone else in your life. it was about not knowing who you were, about losing yourself and not really knowing what you were doing with your life. it was about thinking you were a failure, yet better than most people. it was confusing. and it was eating you alive.

your hands tugged at your hair so tight a part of you was afraid you were gonna rip it off and your chin rested on your knees as you brought them up to your chest in a feeble attempt to hug yourself.

this always happens. stop making such a big deal about it. why are you even crying? you’re so ungrateful. such an attention seeker. completely pathetic. why is bakugou even dating you? he might as well leave you for someone better. prettier. smarter.

loud sobs left your mouth as your thoughts mentally destroyed you, your insecurities getting the best of you. but it was more than that. this wasn’t just about not feeling good enough or thinking you didn’t deserve your boyfriend. it was about thinking you would be better off. after all you were just a bother, right? you would be doing everyone a favor if you just fucking did it, but you couldn’t. you wouldn’t. because you were scared. because you were a coward.

at some point it became too much, you could barely even breathe and your chest was hurting, or maybe it was your heart, along with your head, which’s pounding had become almost unbearable. your eyes burned from all the crying and you could feel the puffiness beginning to form around them. with trembling hands and blurry vision, you took your phone in your hands and dialed the only person you knew was capable of helping you in a situation like this.

the blonde haired boy groaned when he heard his phone ringing from the nightstand next to his bed. he rubbed his eyes before mentally insulting whoever was calling him so fucking late at night, but just as he was about to start screaming onto the phone’s speaker, he saw your name flash across the screen and his whole expression changed in less that a second. because you were his exception to everything.

“y/n? do you know what fucking time it is? this better be-” he didn’t get to finish his sentence when a sob coming from your end interrupted him. suddenly he was up and about, his eyes widening as he sat on his bed, all the sleepiness he felt moments ago disappearing at the heartbreaking sound. “are you- are you crying?”

“k-katsuki,” he cringed, hating the way your voice sounded so broken and not like your usual self. and while he didn’t know what was going on exactly, he had a pretty good idea.

“i’m here,” he tried to assure you, but he hated how your sobs only got louder after that. “what happened? are you okay?”

“no. it’s bad,” you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him, not when you needed him the most. “i’m s-sorry for calling you so late, i-”

“you don’t have to apologize. i wasn’t that tired anyways,” he bit his lower lip, debating on what he should do next. “do you want me to come over?”

“yes,” you didn’t even hesitate; it almost sounded like you were begging and bakugou could feel his breath hitching in his throat for a moment. “please, i need you.” that was all he needed to hear before he hung up, throwing the phone on his desk as he hurriedly put on whatever shirt he had laying around, not bothering to put shoes on. he didn’t have time to think about some stupid footwear. he stumbled while running towards your dorm room, not giving a fuck about how loud his steps were or if he could wake up his classmates.

much to his luck, your room wasn’t that far away from his so he got there in less than two minutes. he could feel his heart hammering against his chest as his hand gripped the door’s knob, but he didn’t waste any time before turning it around and letting himself inside. the sight before his eyes made something inside bakugou break. you were sitting down on the floor with your knees up to your chest, hands clutching your head tightly as choked sobs kept leaving your mouth. and he hated it. he hated it because he knew exactly how you felt; the same way he felt every night when he was alone in the confines of his room and his thoughts were the only thing keeping him company.

you hadn’t noticed him, too focused on trying not to pass out, so he made his way over to you slowly in order to not startle you. he kneeled down in front of you, quickly recalling the website he had read a few days ago that talked about what to do when a person was having a panic attack. his hand gently touched your shoulder, careful not to scare you, and while you still flinched at the sudden touch, your expression somewhat softened after seeing it was none other than your boyfriend.

“hey beautiful,” he smiled softly at you, or at least tried his best since all he wanted to do was scream and fight someone. because you didn’t deserve this. someone as kind as you didn’t deserve to go through all this shit. “can you hear me?” you nodded, tears still running down your cheeks and your whole body trembling. “good, now let’s take a few deep breaths,” he inhaled deeply before exhaling, wanting you to repeat his actions and you tried. your hands stopped gripping your scalp, instead opting for bakugou’s arms, which were at each side of you as they held onto your shoulders. “you’re doing great, just focus on me okay? only me.” you nodded once again, still trying to ease your breathing pattern as you stared into his beautiful vermilion eyes, the ones that always managed to intimidate you (in a good way of course).

after a few more minutes of breathing exercises, you managed to stop the pants that came out of your mouth, but tears still ran down your cheeks as the thoughts never ceased, perhaps getting louder and louder with every passing second. you wanted nothing more than to close your eyes and curl yourself into a ball, but you knew that wasn’t gonna solve anything. so you kept holding on to your boyfriend’s arms, as if he was the only thing holding you down to earth.

this better fucking work, bakugou thought to himself before he spoke up again, “y/n, can you tell me five things you can see?”

“you,” talking was still hard, yet you forced yourself to look around the room and answer his question correctly. “my p-phone, the desk, d-dirty laundry, and,” all this thinking made the pounding in your head worse, but at least you weren’t focusing on the voices. “my stuffed t-teddy bear.”

“hm, four things you can touch?” one of his hands tenderly gripped your shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours.

“y-you, your shirt, the c-carpet, and m-my pj’s.” the dizziness in your head started to come to a halt and you sniffled, thankful that bakugou was able to make things better. like always.

“that’s it, you’re doing so well. now three things you can hear?” his head turned around to leave an innocent kiss on the skin of your forearm, his gaze still focused on your face.

“your voice, t-the rain, and the air conditioner.” the feeling of bakugou’s lips made you come back to your senses slowly but surely. now your hands were the only thing trembling, not your whole body.

“you’re almost there baby, two things you can smell?”

“my diffuser and your perfume,” a small smile made its way to your lips as you breathed in his scent, letting out a pleasant sigh as the smell filled your nostrils. “caramel.”

bakugou scoffed, a soft blush splashed across his cheeks as he looked away from you for a moment.

“one thing you can taste?”

you took in a deep breath, not really knowing what to answer until you licked your lips and tasted the familiar sweetness of your chapstick, “cherry.” your grip on bakugou’s arm loosened, but still lingered there. he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in, feeling a big weight off his shoulders knowing you could breathe properly again, but he was still bothered by the situation.

“dumbass, don’t ever scare me like that again.” his words were rather rough yet you knew he meant no harm, you knew he was genuinely scared for your well being and that was just his way of voicing out his concern.

“i’m sorry.”

“what did i tell you about apologizing all the damn time?” he groaned, letting his arms fall to his sides as your hands came up to wipe your remaining tears away. you sent him an apologetic smile before sighing, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to wrap your head around everything that happened.

meanwhile, bakugou stared intently at you, wondering whether or nor he should ask what caused the sudden outburst. he didn’t want to make you feel worse, but if he knew you like he thought he did (which he does), you’d probably end up bottling everything inside until you had another breakdown. and he’ll be damned if he ever let’s that happen again.

silently, he crawled towards you. and once he was close enough, he positioned himself behind you so you could sit on his lap and you happily complied. you cuddled your face against his warm chest, enjoying the comfort it provided, and bakugou placed his chin on top of your head, keeping you close to him. you stayed like that for a few minutes, just basking in each other’s presence, but in reality bakugou was just giving you some more time to calm down before pestering you with questions that could possibly overwhelm you.

“you want to talk about it?” he was still keeping his tone low and gentle; anyone who heard him would’ve been extremely confused by his sudden change in demeanor. because he could be a lot of things, but gentle was not one of them. then again, you were his exception. you were different.

“i...don’t know,” your hands played with the hem of his black tank top, eyebrows furrowed together as you tried to find the right words to describe your internal turmoil. “it’s just...everything piling up and never knowing what to do,” bakugou leaned down to place a kiss on your temple, quietly letting you know that he wasn’t going anywhere, and somehow, that made you want to cry all over again. “you know when you get really tired of yourself and your life?” he hesitantly nodded, not knowing where you were going with this. “well i feel like that everyday. a-and sometimes i think it would all be better if i disappeared.”

it took him approximately 5 seconds to get what you exactly meant by disappearing, but when he did boy was he mad. his eyebrows furrowed and his grip on you tightened, an annoyed, yet concerned expression evident on his face. how could you say that? you were his everything, the only one who could calm him down, the one who made him smile by just breathing; his light. he wouldn’t know what to do without you, hell he didn’t even want to imagine it.

“you’re such an idiot,” a smile tugged your lips at his harsh choice of words, the complete opposite of the hold he had on you. “you listen to me because you know how much i hate repeating myself,” one of his hands grabbed your chin softly, yet firmly as he tilted your head to make you look at him directly. “feeling like this is not your fault. i know that it’s easier to blame yourself for everything that goes wrong in your life, trust me, i know. but there are things in life that we just can’t control and most definitely aren’t responsible for.”

you scoffed, “well you’re one to talk.”

“tch, such a smartass, aren’t you?” bakugou rolled his eyes at your remark. “that’s exactly why i’m telling you all this, dumbass. because i don’t want you to go through what i did, especially when you have me by your side to help you.” your eyes widened at his sweet confession, gaze softening at the boy in front of you. he avoided it, looking to the side with rosy cheeks.

“katsuki…” you lowered your voice, lifting your hand to place it on bakugou’s cheek and your heart jumped when he looked at you. his eyes reflected nothing but pure love and adoration, and you were sure yours were the exact same. without saying another word, you kissed him softly, fingers caressing his soft skin. the kiss was short and innocent, but it made bakugou smile ever so slightly.

“let me finish,” he said once you pulled away and the determination in his voice made you nod, knowing he needed to say whatever was on his mind. “i know there’s nothing i can do to make your pain disappear or for you to change your mindset because that’s not how it works. but i am and will always be here for you. i don’t give a shit if you think you’re gonna bother me or if it’s late or if you think it’s something stupid, you just tell me. and if the thoughts continue then maybe we can even get a professional to help you, but please don’t give up on me.” the crack in his voice at the end of his sentence made your heart stutter.

both of your hands cradled bakugou’s face, your eyes desperately looking for his once again. when he finally looked at you, you saw the tears threatening to fall from his eyes and how hard he was trying to hold himself back from breaking down. he needed to be strong. he couldn’t be weak in front of you. you were the one who needed to be comforted, not him. so with those thoughts in mind, bakugou sniffled and roughly wiped the unshed tears away. but you didn’t move from your place.

“so promise me,” he pulled you impossibly close, your faces barely inches apart. “promise me you won’t give up, that you’ll fight and be stronger than your demons because you fucking are. you’re so much stronger than you think, shit you’re probably stronger than me!” your eyes widened, surprised he even said something like that, but knowing he 100% meant it. because bakugou didn’t lie. “promise me.”

you nodded multiple times, taking out your pinky to show him you were serious about this. and while bakugou thought you couldn’t be any more childish, he still grinned and interlaced his own pinky with yours, “i promise.”

“good, now let’s sleep because i’m tired as fuck.” you rolled your eyes at the sudden change in attitude.

“knew it was too good to be true.” he raised an eyebrow at your comment, standing up to lay down on your bed, the soft sheets welcoming him with your scent.

“the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“nothing, let’s just sleep.” you sent him a smile before laying down next to him, his arms quickly wrapping themselves around your waist to pull you even closer.

you turned around in his hold to properly look at him. his head rested comfortably against the pillow, his hair messy and sticking up in all different directions, while his eyes lazily looked over at you. he looked angelic, ethereal even. without thinking it twice, you ran one of your hands through his hair, giggling when he let out a happy hum and gripped your hips, as if telling you to keep going. he looked so pretty, lips slightly pouty as he forced himself to stay awake for a little longer. at least until you fell asleep.

“wanna know something really cheesy?” he sounded tired and you felt bad for keeping him awake so late when he probably had a long day. nevertheless, you hummed and continued to comb your fingers through his hair. “you’re fucking amazing. absolutely mesmerizing,” bakugou opened his eyes to look at you better, a small smile tugging his lips upwards as he saw your flushed expression, trying to look away from him, but he didn’t let you. “i love you, y/n.”

he’s said it before, and you should be used to it by now, but it never fails to make you heat up and feel all fuzzy inside. bakugou looks so serious, because he wants you to know he truly means it, yet so soft at the same time and you know this isn’t easy for him. he doesn’t like showing his vulnerable side to people, thinking it makes him weak, so to have him open up to you and declare his love for you so openly makes you feel special. because you’re the only one who knows this side of him.

“i love you more, katsuki.” another genuine smile grazes bakugou’s lips after hearing you call him by his first name, your voice sweet like honey.

he presses a kiss on your forehead as he lets you snuggle up against him, “go to sleep, i’ll be here when you wake up.”

that night, you slept peacefully, knowing you’re safe in bakugou’s arms. you don’t know what tomorrow or any other day holds for you, but if you have him by your side, you know you can overcome anything.

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warsofasoiaf · 3 years

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Writing Characters With Believable Military PTSD

I typically write these writing and worldbuilding essays from a dispassionate perspective, offering advice and context to prospective writers from as neutral a point of view as I can manage, with the goal being to present specific pieces of information and broader concepts that can hopefully improve writing and build creators’ confidence to bring their projects to fruition, whether that be writing, tabletop gaming, video game programming, or anything that suits their fancy. While writing this essay though, I struggled to maintain that perspective. Certainly, the importance of the topic to me was a factor, but ultimately, I saw impersonality just as a suboptimal presentation method for something so intensely personal. I do maintain some impartiality particularly in places where historical or academic context is called for, but in other respects I’ve opted for a different approach. Ultimately, this essay is a labor of love for me, love for those who suffer from military PTSD, love for those who love those who suffer from it, and love for writers who want to, in the way that they so choose, help those two other groups out. Thus, this is a different type of essay in certain segments than my usual fare; I hope the essay isn’t an unreadable chimera because of it.

This essay focuses on military-related PTSD. While there are some concepts that translate well into PTSD in the civilian sphere, there are unique elements that do not necessarily fit the mold in both directions, so for someone hoping to write a different form of PTSD, I would recommend finding other resources that could better suit your purposes. I also recommend using more than one source just in general, trauma is personal and so multiple sources can help provide a wide range of experiences to draw upon, which should hopefully improve any creative work.

And as a final introductory note, traumatic experiences are deeply personal. If you are using someone you know as a model for your writing, you owe it to that person to communicate exactly what you are doing and to ask their permission every step of the way. I consider it a request out of politeness to implore any author who uses someone else’s experiences to inform their writing in any capacity, but when it comes to the truly negative experiences in someone’s life, this rises higher from request to demand. You will ask someone before taking a negative experience from their own life and placing it into your creative works, and you will not hide anything about it from them. Receiving it is a great sign of trust. The opposite is a travesty, robbing someone of a piece of themselves and placing it upon display as a grotesque exhibit. And if that sounds ghoulish and macabre, it’s because it is, without hyperbole. Don’t do it.

Why Write PTSD?

What is the purpose of including PTSD in a creative work? There have been plenty of art therapy actions taken by those who suffer PTSD to create something from their condition, which can be as profound for those who do not have it as it is therapeutic for those that do, but why would someone include it in their creative works, and why is some no-name guy on the internet writing an essay offering tips as to how to do it better?

Certainly, one key element is that it’s real, and it happens. If art is to reflect upon reality, PTSD suffered by soldiers is one element of that, so art can reflect it, but what specifically about PTSD, as opposed to any other facet of existence? Author preference certainly plays a factor, but why would someone try to include something that is difficult to understand and difficult to portray? While everyone comes to their own reason, I think that a significant number of people are curious about what exactly goes on in the minds of someone suffering through PTSD, and creative works allow them a way to explore it, much the way fiction can explore scenarios and emotions that are either unlikely or unsafe to explore in reality. If that’s the case, then the purpose of this essay is rather simple, to make the PTSD examination more grounded in reality and thus a better reflection of it. But experiences are unique even if discernable patterns emerge, so in that sense, no essay created by an amateur writer with no psychological experience could be an authoritative take on reality, the nature of which would is far beyond the scope of this essay.

For my own part, I think that well-done creative works involving PTSD is meant to break down the isolation that it can cause in its wake. Veterans suffering may feel that they are alone, that their loved ones cannot understand them and the burden of trying to create that would simply push them away; better instead to have the imperfect bonds that they currently have than risk losing them entirely. For those who are on the outside looking in, isolation lurks there as well, a gulf that seems impossible to breach and possibly intrusive to even try. Creative works that depict PTSD can help create a sense that victims aren’t alone, that there are people that understand and can help without demeaning the sense of self-worth. Of course, another element would be to reduce the amount of poorly-done depictions of PTSD. Some creative works use PTSD as a backstory element, relegating a defining and important element of an individual’s life as an aside, or a minor problem that can be resolved with a good hug and a cry or a few nights with the right person. If a well-done creative work can help create a bridge and break down isolation, a poorly-done one can turn victims off, reinforcing the idea that no one understands and worse, no one cares. For others, it gives a completely altered sense of what PTSD is and what they could do to help, keeping them out, confusing them, or other counter-productive actions. In that sense, all the essay is to help build up those who are doing the heavy lifting. I’m not full of so much hubris as to think this is a profound piece of writing that will help others, but if creators are willing to try and do the hard work of building a bridge, I could at least try to help out and provide a wheelbarrow.

An Abbreviated Look At The Many Faces and Names of PTSD Throughout History

PTSD has been observed repeatedly throughout human history, even when it was poorly understood. This means that explorations of PTSD can be written in settings even if they did not have a distinctly modern understanding of neurology, trauma, or related matters. These historical contexts are also useful for worldbuilding a believable response in fictional settings and scenarios that don’t necessarily have a strict analogue in our own history. By providing this historical context, hopefully I can craft a broad-based sense of believable responses to characters with PTSD at a larger level.

In the time of Rome, it was understood by legionnaires that combat was a difficult endeavor, and so troops were typically on the front lines engaged in combat for short periods of time, to be rotated back for rest while others took their place. It was considered ideal, in these situations, to rotate troops that fought together back so that they could rest together. The immediate lesson is obvious, the Romans believed that it was vital for troops to take time to process what they had done and that was best served with quiet periods of rest not just to allow the adrenaline to dissipate (the "combat high"), but a chance for the mind to wrap itself around what the legionnaire had done. The Romans also recognized that camaraderie between fellow soldiers helped soldiers to cope, and this would be a running theme throughout history (and remains as such today). Soldiers were able to empathize with each other, and help each other through times of difficulty. This was not all sanguine, however, Roman legions depended on their strong formations, and a soldier that did not perform their duty could endanger the unit, and so shame in not fulfilling their duty was another means to keep soldiers in line. The idea of not letting down your fellow soldiers is a persistent refrain in coping with the traumas of war, and throughout history this idea has been used for both pleasant and unpleasant means of keeping soldiers in the fight.

In the Middle Ages, Geoffroi de Charny wrote extensively on the difficulties that knights could experience on the campaign trail in his Book of Chivalry. The book highlights the deprivation that knights suffered, from the bad food and poor sleep to the traumatic experience of combat to being away from family and friends to the loss of valued comrades to combat and infection; each of these is understood as a significant stressor that puts great strain on the mental health of soldiers up to today. De Charny recommended focusing on the knightly oaths of service, the needs of the mission of their liege, and the duty of the knight to serve as methods to help bolster the resolve of struggling knights. The book also mentions seeking counseling and guidance from priests or other confidants to help improve their mental health to see their mission through. This wasn’t universal, however. Some severely traumatized individuals were seen as simple cowards, and punished harshly for their perceived cowardice as antithetical to good virtue and to serve as an example.

World War I saw a sharp rise in the reported incidents of military-related PTSD and new understandings and misunderstandings. The rise in the number of soldiers caused a rise in cases of military PTSD, even though the term itself was not known at the time. Especially in the early phases of the war, many soldiers suffering from PTSD were thought to be malingering, pretending to have symptoms to avoid being sent to the front lines. The term “shell shock” was derived because it was believed that the concussive force of artillery bombardment caused brain damage as it rattled the skull or carbon monoxide fumes would damage the brain as they were inhaled, as a means to explain why soldiers could have physical responses such as slurred speech, lack of response to external stimuli, even nigh-on waking catatonia, despite not being hit by rifle rounds or shrapnel. This would later be replaced by the term “battle fatigue” when it became apparent that artillery bombardment was not a predicative indicator. Particularly as manpower shortages became more prevalent, PTSD-sufferers could be sent to firing squads as a means to cow other troops to not abandon their post. Other less fatal methods of shaming could occur, such as the designation “Lack of Moral Fibre,” an official brand of cowardice, as an attempt to shame the members into remembering their duty. As the war developed, and understanding grew, better methods of treatment were made, with rest and comfort provided to slight cases, strict troop rotations observed to rotate men to and from the front lines, and patients not being told that they were being evacuated for nervous breakdown to avoid cementing that idea in their mind. These lessons would continue into World War II, where the term “combat stress reaction” was adopted. While not always strenuously followed, regular rotations were adopted as standard policy. This was still not universal, plenty of units still relied upon bullying members into maintaining their post despite mental trauma.

The American military promotes a culture of competence and ability, particularly for the enlisted ranks, and that lends itself to the soldier viewing themselves in a starkly different fashion than a civilian. Often, a soldier sees the inability to cope with a traumatic experience as a personal failure stemming from the lack of mental fortitude. Owning up to such a lack of capability is tantamount to accepting that they are an inferior soldier, less capable than their fellows. This idea is commonly discussed, and should not be ignored, but it is far from the only reason. The military also possesses a strong culture of fraternity that obligates “Don’t be a fuckup,” is a powerful motivating force, and it leads plenty of members of the military to ignore traumatic experiences out of the perceived need not to put the burden on their squadmates. While most professional militaries stress that seeking mental health for trauma is not considered a sign of weakness, enlisted know that if they receive mental health counseling, it is entirely likely that someone will have to take their place in the meantime. That could potentially mean that another person, particularly in front-line units, are exposed to danger that they would otherwise not be exposed to, potentially exacerbating guilt if said person gets hurt or killed. This is even true in stateside units, plenty of soldiers don’t report for treatment because it would mean dumping work on their fellows, a negative aspect of unit fraternity. Plenty of veterans also simply never are screened for mental health treatment, and usually this lends to a mentality of “well, no one is asking, so I should be fine.” These taken together combine to a heartbreaking reality, oftentimes a modern veteran that seeks help for mental trauma has often coped silently for years, perhaps self-medicating with alcohol or off-label drug usage, and is typically very far along their own path comparatively. Others simply fall through the cracks, not being screened for mental disorders and so do not believe that anything is wrong; after all, if something was wrong, surely the doctors would notice it, right? The current schedule of deployments, which are duration-based and not mission-based, also make it hard for servicemembers to rationalize their experiences and equate them to the mission; there’s no sense of pairing suffering to objectives the way that de Charnay mentioned could help contextualize the deprivation and loss. These sorts of experiences make the soldier feel adrift, and their suffering pointless, which is discouraging on another level. It is one thing to suffer for a cause, it’s another not to know why, amplifying the feelings of powerlessness and furthering the isolation that they feel.

Pen to Page - The Characters and Their Responses

The presentation of PTSD within a character will depend largely on the point-of-view that the author creates. A character that suffers from PTSD depending on the presence of an internal or external point-of-view, will be vastly different experiences on page. Knowing this is essential, as this will determine how the story itself is presenting the disorder. Neither is necessarily more preferable than the other, and is largely a matter of the type of story being told and the personal preference of the author.

Internal perspectives will follow the character’s response from triggering event to immediate response. This allows the author to present a glimpse into what the character is experiencing. In these circumstances, remember that traumatic flashbacks are merely one of many experiences that an average sufferer of PTSD can endure. In a visual medium, flashbacks are time-effective methods to portray a character reliving portions of a traumatic experience, but other forms of media can have other tools. Traumatic flashbacks are not necessarily a direct reliving of an event from start to finish, individuals may instead feel sudden sharp pains of old injuries, be overwhelmed by still images of traumatic scenes or loud traumatic sounds. These can be linked to triggers that bring up the traumatic incident, such as a similar sight, sound, or smell. These moments of linkage are not necessarily experienced linearly or provide a clear sequence of events from start to finish (memory rarely is unless specifically prompted), and it may be to the author’s advantage to not portray them as such in order to communicate the difficulty in mental parsing that the character may be experiencing. Others might be more intrusive, such as violently deranged nightmares that prevent sleep. The author must try to strike a balance between portraying the experience realistically and portraying it logically that audience members can understand. The important thing about these memories is that they are intrusive, unwelcome, and quite stressful, so using techniques that jar the reader, such as the sudden intrusive image of a torn body, a burning vehicle, or another piece of the traumatic incident helps communicate the disorientation. Don't rely simply on shock therapy, it's not enough just to put viscera on the page. Once it is there, the next steps, how the character reacts, is crucial to a believable response.

When the character experiences something that triggers their PTSD, start to describe the stress response, begin rapidly shortening the sentences to simulate the synaptic activity, express the fight-flight-freeze response as the character reacts, using the tools of dramatic action to heighten tension and portraying the experience as something frightful and distinctly undesirable. The triggering incident brings back the fear, such as a pile of rubble on the side of the road being a potential IED location, or a loud firework recalling the initial moments of an enemy ambush. The trauma intrudes, and the character falls deep into the stress response, and now they react. How does this character react? By taking cover? By attacking the aggressor who so reminds them of the face of their enemy? Once the initial event starts, then the character continues to respond. Do they try to get to safety? Secure the area and eliminate the enemy? Eventually, the character likely recognizes their response is inappropriate. It wasn’t a gunshot, it was a car backfiring, the smell of copper isn’t the sight of a blown-apart comrade and the rank odor of blood, it’s just a jug of musty pennies. This fear will lead to control mechanisms where the victim realizes that their response is irrational. Frequently, the fear is still there, and it still struggles with control. This could heighten a feeling a powerlessness in the character as they try and fail to put the fear under control: "Yes, I know this isn’t real and there’s nothing to be afraid of, but I’m still shaking and I am still afraid!" It’s a horrifying logical track, a fear that the victim isn’t even in control of their thoughts - the one place that they should have control - and that they might always be this way. There’s no safety since even their thoughts aren’t safe. Despair might also follow, as the victim frantically asserts to regain control. Usually with time, the fear starts to lessen as the logical centers of the brain regain control, and the fear diminishes. Some times, the victim can't even really recall the exact crippling sense of fear when attempting to recall it, only that they were afraid and that it was deeply scary and awful, but the notion that it happened remains in their mind.

Control mechanisms are also important to developing a believable PTSD victim. Most sufferers dread the PTSD response and so actively avoid objects or situations that could potentially trigger. Someone who may have had to escape from a helicopter falling into the ocean may not like to be immersed in water. Someone who was hit by a hidden IED may swerve to avoid suspicious piles in the road. Someone buried under a collapsing ceiling may become claustrophobic. Thus, many characters with PTSD will be hypervigilant almost to the point of exhaustion, avoiding setting off the undesired response. This hypervigilance is mentally taxing; the character begins to become sluggish mentally as all their energy is squeezed out, leaving them struggling for even the simplest of rational thoughts. This mental fog can be translated onto the page in dramatic effect by adding paragraph length to even simple actions, bringing the reader along into the fog, laboriously seeing the character move to perform simple actions. Then, mix in a loss of a sense of purpose. They’re adrift, not exactly sure what they’re doing and barely aware of what’s happening, although they are thinking and functioning. In the character’s daily life, they are living their life using maximum effort to avoid triggering responses; this is another aspect of control that the character can use as an attempt to claw back some semblance of power in their own lives. Even control methods that aren’t necessarily healthy such as drinking themselves to pass out every night or abusing sleeping pills in an attempt to sleep due to their nightmares, are ways to attempt to regain a sense of normalcy and function. Don’t condescend to these characters and make them pathetic, that’s just another layer of cruelty, but showing the unhealthy coping mechanisms can demonstrate the difficulty that PTSD victims are feeling. Combined with an external perspective, the author can show the damage that these unhealthy actions are doing without casting the character as weak for not taking a different path.

External perspectives focus on the other characters and how they observe and react to the individual in question. Since the internal thought process of the character is not known, sudden reactions to an unknown trigger can be quite jarring for characters unaware, which can mirror real-life experiences that individuals can have with PTSD-sufferers. In these types of stories, the character’s reaction to the victim is paramount. PTSD in real life often evokes feelings of helplessness in loved ones when they simply cannot act to help, can evoke confusion, or anger and resentment. These reactions are powerful emotions with the ability to drive character work, and so external perspectives can be useful for telling a story about what it is like for loved ones who suffer in their own fashion. External perspectives can be used not just in describing triggering episodes, but in exploring how the character established coping mechanisms and how their loved ones react to them. Some mechanisms are distinctly unhealthy, such as alcohol or prescription drug abuse, complete withdrawal, or a refusal to drive vehicles, and these create stress and a feeling of helplessness in characters or can impel them to try and take action. Others can be healthy, and a moment of inspiration and joy for an external perspective could be sharing in that mechanism, demonstrating empathy and understanding which evokes strong pathos, and hopefully to friends of those who suffer from PTSD, a feeling that they too, are not alone.

As the character progresses, successes and failures can often be one of the most realistic and most important things to include within the work, since those consumers who have PTSD will see parts of themselves in the characters, which can build empathy and cut down on the feelings of isolation that many victims of PTSD feel. A character could, over the course of the story, begin weaning themselves off of their control mechanisms, have the feelings of panic subside as their logical sides more quickly assert control, replace unhealthy coping mechanisms with healthier ones, or other elements of character progression and growth. Contrarily, a character making progress could, after experiencing significant but unrelated stressors, backslide either into unhealthy coping mechanisms or be blindsided by another attack. This is a powerful fear for the victim, since it can cause them to think ‘all my progress, all my effort, and I am not free!’ This is often a great fear for PTSD users (people with depression often have the same feeling) that find methods of coping are no longer as effective, and the struggle is perceived as one that they’re ultimately doomed to failure. This feeling of inevitable failure can lead to self-harm and suicide as their avenue of success seems to burn to ash right as it was in their hands. More than one soldier suffering from PTSD has ended up concluding: “Fuck it, I can’t live like this,” as horrible as that is. Don’t be afraid to include setbacks and backsliding, those happen in reality, and can be one of the most isolating fears in their lives; if the goal of portraying PTSD accurately is to help remove that feeling of isolation, then content creators must not avoid these experiences. Success as well as failure are essential to PTSD in characters in stories, these elements moreso than any other, I believe, will transcend the medium and form a connection, fulfilling the objective we set out to include in the beginning paragraphs.

Coming Back to the Beginning

It might be counterintuitive at first glance to say “including military PTSD will probably mean it will be a long journey full of discouraging story beats that might make readers depressed,” because that’s definitely going to discourage some readers to do that. I don’t see it that way, though. The people that want to do it should go in knowing it’s going to be hard, and let that strengthen their resolve, and put the best creation they can forward. The opposite is also true. Not every prospective author has to want to include any number of difficult subjects in their works, and that’s perfectly fine. Content creators must be free to shape the craft that they so desire without the need to be obligated to tackle every difficult issue, and so no content creator should be thought of as lesser or inferior because they opt not to include it in their works. I think that’s honestly stronger than handling an important topic poorly, or even worse, frivolously. Neither should anyone think that a content creator not including PTSD in their works means that they don’t care about those who suffer from it or for those who care about them or who simply don’t care about the subject in general. That’s just a terrible way to treat someone, and in the end, this entire excursion was about the opposite

Ultimately, this essay is a chance not only to help improve creative works involving PTSD, but to reflect on the creative process. Those who still want to proceed, by all means, do so. Hopefully this essay will help you create something that can reach someone. If every piece of work that helps portray PTSD can reach someone somewhere and make things easier, even if ever so little, well then, that’s what it’s really all about.

Hoping everyone has a peaceful Memorial Day. Be good to each to other.

SLAL

#essays on writing and worldbuilding #ptsd

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whisperlullaby · 3 years

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Just Say It And I’m Yours-Ch.1

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Language, stalking ish themes

Words: 1490

Summary: Steve is considering retiring from being Captain America. He doesn’t remember why he took the shield or what it means for him anymore. Then he met you.

A/N: First and foremost I am SO SORRY FOR BEING SO SHIT AT SUMMARIES. I just don’t want to give anything away. Second, this is my first series! So like, comment, reblog, let me know you want to see more of this. This story is going to start in Steve’s perspective and switch to the readers. I’ll let you guys know when the POV is shifting so no worries. So, this first chapter is told through Steve. Third, if I missed any warnings please let me know. Last but most CERTAINTLY not least, a very VERY special thanks to @river-soul for reading through this and assuring me it was a good first chapter. I am so grateful for you. Let me know what you think! (Gif by @navybrat817 )

“Steve, she's getting married tomorrow,” Bucky solemnly states as he puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “If you’re going to do something you better do it soon.”

“I know Buck, but what could I say to her? I haven’t been able to tell her how I feel about her for years.” Steve looked out over the lake, his eyes pricking with tears. “She made her decision.”

“You’re an idiot. You’ve been in love with her since you first saw her. If you don’t tell her, she’s going to make the biggest mistake of her life. We both know that,” Bucky sighed, raking a hand over his face. “I know she loves you. You need to talk to her. She can’t marry him Steve, you know the second she does she’ll be gone forever. The person you knew reduced to, whatever this shell of a person is.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck and looked down where the water was gently lapping against the shore. After a few moments, he heard Bucky make his way back to the lodge. As the small waves ebbed and flowed against the shallow shore Steve thought about you and how he was an absolute coward back when you were a big part of his life.

One and a half years ago

Steve was sketching at Marine Park in Brooklyn during golden hour when everything seemed to glow. He needed a break from his Captain America responsibilities and every time he put his charcoal to the paper everything seemed to melt away. The world was vastly different since he came out of the ice and he felt his heart swell thinking about all the fights he had to endure in order to restore some semblance of peace in the universe. He was happy that he had his best friend back, cleared of the mind control Hydra put in him and he made so many new friends and a family in The Avengers. Yet, as he drew out the skyline on the thick white paper, he couldn’t help but feel like he was still missing something. He knew he needed a break from his duties to figure it out constantly being pulled into a fight was a great distraction, but he knew he needed to figure out what brought meaning to his life. The decision to take time off gnawed at Steve like a dog to a bone, who was he if he wasn’t Captain America?

Steve heard you before he saw you, picking up the fierce tone you were using made him glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of your reprimand. Steve looked up to see you wedged in between a woman and her dog and a man probably twice your size towering over you, trying to be intimidating. The fact you stepped forward refusing to back down made Steve smile, oddly fond of your bravery. The commotion you were making drew a small crowd and Steve felt a strange pull to join the group to be close to you.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Following this poor woman around like a stalker,” You yelled, poking your finger in his chest. “Did you think she was being coy when she told you to stop following her? Was that some deranged invitation to keep on top of her the rest of the world is unaware of?”

Steve could tell that you were not about to back down as you protected the other woman. The fire in your eyes was something Steve was familiar with in himself before he went into the ice. He noticed the man ball his hands into fists and before you could react he had pulled back to hit you. Steve jumped in and caught the punch, inches from your face.

“You’re gonna want to walk away pal before you make things worse for yourself.”

Steve’s voice was low in warning. When he glanced over at you, you looked up at him almost offended that he had stepped in. Before Steve could say anything you returned your gaze to the other man and swiftly kneed him in the balls.

“Stop following women you fucking asshole,” you admonished as the man crumpled to the ground in pain. “I know you probably have a hard time listening to women when they say no because there is just a bunch of empty space where your brain is supposed to be, but maybe take this as a warning.”

Steve watched you slack jawed as you flagged down a police officer to give a statement to. He observed you as you spoke with the other woman, who was visibly shaken by the incident, with such genuine concern and kindness. He couldn’t stop looking at you as you soothed her with gentle touches and quiet whispers. Steve waited for his turn to speak with the officers regarding the incident, after which the man was taken into custody. When Steve turned around you were walking towards him.

“Umm thanks for catching the punch,” you said with a shrug. “I could have taken him though.”

Steve let out a soft chuckle.

“Well I wouldn’t be much of a superhero if I stood around and let a civilian get clocked for defending someone.”

You cocked your eyebrow at him and crossed your arms.

“Yeah but you’re not in the suit, which means you’re off duty. Either way I’m grateful, I have a job interview tomorrow and can’t really show up with a black eye. It wouldn’t really say ‘hire me I’m even tempered and have a keen ability to moderate conflict in a calm respectful manner.’ ”

Steve smiled, letting out a sigh as he cast his eyes to the ground.

“Oh sweetheart I’m always on duty, comes with the territory.”

He looked up to see you watching him with kindness and understanding.

“I’m sure that must be a very heavy burden to carry,” You sighed. “I hope you can take a vacation or something soon. It looks like you might need one.”

To say Steve was enamored by you would be the understatement of the century. In the brief time he had spent with you, he had noticed that you were fierce, kind, honest, compassionate, and absolutely stunning. He found himself physically having to shake his head to keep from staring at you.

“I’m Steve,” he blurted out. “I feel like you already know that though. It was really nice of you to say that. Sometimes I only see myself as Captain America, no vacation days in sight.”

Steve chuckled as you rolled your eyes at him.

“Y/N, and I mean it. You shouldn’t feel like you’re always on duty.”

You pointed your finger at his chest.

“Besides, I’m a tough girl, I can handle myself. You should trust people a bit more Rogers.”

You gave Steve a cheeky grin and started walking away.

Steve scrambled to follow you, not ready to have your conversation end.

“So, job interview? What do you do?”

Steve easily kept your stride. When you chuckled Steve swore his heart skipped a beat.

“Would you believe I’m a victim advocate? I have an interview with the state prosecutor. I make sure anyone who has experienced trauma of any sort is represented and protected during court cases and criminal trials,” you stated proudly.

“After what I just witnessed, I would have been more surprised if you told me you were an accountant.” Steve joked. “Would it be okay if I walked you wherever you’re going? I know you can handle yourself but I’d like to make sure you don’t leave a trail of broken men in your wake.”

You snorted out laughter.

“Yeah wouldn’t want to get put away for attacking more skeezy men. That sounds great Captain, thank you.”

Steve smiled and kept asking you questions on your walk. He had this need to know everything he could about you since you blew into his life like a sunshower. When Steve got you back to your apartment the sun was just setting.

“Well Rogers, it’s been an interesting day,” you say, nonchalantly fiddling with your keys.

“I’ll say, I didn’t think my day would consist of watching someone stand up for another woman who almost got punched, then kneeing the guy in the balls.”

Steve smiled.

“I am pleasantly surprised with the way my day turned out,” he told you.

“Well there’s a lot more where that came from if you stick with me Cap.”

You smirked at Steve grabbing his sketchbook.

“Here’s my number, if you ever need a little extra adventure in your life, call me,” you said.

With that you turned the key in the lock and pushed yourself inside the apartment. Steve was left to stand staring at your closed door. He didn’t know what force drove you into his life but knowing you for those few hours made him feel more alive than he had in years.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #marvel fic #marvel #captain america x reader

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boom-bakugou · 4 years

Text

‘Wherever You Are’ - Shoto Todoroki/Eijiro Kirishima

A/N: This piece is for my @bnhabookclub bingo card! I’m crossing out “Be Quiet” and ‘Heated Argument’. I would also like to thank @honeytama @shoutogepi and @dragonhrte for beta reading <333

Pairings: Pro Hero!Todoroki x F!Reader / Pro Hero!Kirishima x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, mutual masturbation, minor temperature play, minor angst!

Summary: Todoroki already broke your heart when he said he was leaving for 6 months, but Kirishima can glue your broken heart back together before he returns...right?

Word Count: 5.2k

masterlist

“6 months.”

The words stung more than they should’ve. Half a year of not being able to see his face, hold his hand, sleep together in the same bed.

“Does it have to be so long? Do you really have to go?”

God your mind ran at a hundred miles a minute. Searching his face for any semblance of wanting to rethink the offer about heroing in America. But the sympathetic glance in his eyes was enough to tell you what his words could not.

Of course you were proud of him, of course you were. It wasn’t a minor thing in his career and not many heroes would be selected for such an astounding opportunity. Top heroes in Japan touring around America to show their quirks and how different cultures portrayed their heroes. A bit flamboyant for Todoroki but you presumed he was only following as Deku and Ground Zero were also picked for the once-in-a-lifetime gig.

“I’ll be back before you know it baby, I promise.”

So you took that promise to heart.

In the following months leading to his departure, there was a heavy air between the two of you that wouldn’t be mentioned. As if you both knew the inevitable was coming. How would you two manage a relationship from thousands of miles away? You had read every article on the internet, even bought books and followed tags that allowed you to know how to keep the fire burning between the two of you.

Shoto was typically quiet, he always was. But as he began packing his bags for the long tour, he was deathly silent. The guilt of leaving you by yourself in your shared home burning him up inside. He knew he had to say something to you about this whole ordeal, but how could he? He was taking this life changing decision and ruining what you two had perfectly here. But you two could survive right? Or was that the right decision overall? Was prolonging you two the right decision?

It all came down to the day he had to leave. Helping him pack the last of his necessities into his very packed suitcases which had been neatly placed upon your shared bed.

“I completely forgot to ask, how’re you getting to the airport?”

“Bakugou and Midoriya are dropping me off.”

Oh. You had hoped you could get those final moments of couples bliss before he left, but you couldn’t not indulge in having the two young heroes watch in jealousy of you and your boyfriend.

“Can I come? See you off before you leave?”

Your tone was so bittersweet. Not really wanting to see him leave into the airport gates.

“Of course you can.” Todoroki zipped up his final case before pressing a chaste kiss upon your forehead, lingering for a moment to then head to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for you both.

The familiar ring of Todoroki’s phone signified that Bakugou and Midoriya were outside. Bakugou had convinced Kirishima to drive them to the airport (which he did not appreciate as it was far too early for him) and he was the one to head up to help Todoroki with his cases.

“I’ll get that for you Y/N, no worries.” His toothy grin glimmered to you as he picked up the heavy case with ease. It must be fun being a pro-hero.

The ride to the airport was sweet, despite being squashed in the back with Bakugou and Todoroki. It was mostly filled with inside jokes between the four boys and Bakugou screaming for the aux cord because ‘Shitty hair’s music is shitty’. You’d miss the small moments like these.

After checking the three men and their bags to the plane, Todoroki and you parted from the group to have a few last moments together before it would only be facetimes and snapchat stories in seeing each other’s lives.

“Y/N you know this will be difficult right?”

“I know, but I’ve planned everything out! We’re gonna be fine.”

“I’m going to be so busy though, I’ll barely have time for calls and I’ll be so tired at the end of my day and-“

“That’s why when we do call, it’ll be so much more special! We have date nights planned and-“

“Y/N, look I just don’t think I want to push this.”

You could have almost spat your coffee out at his interruption. He wasn’t even looking at you, springing this up on you in your last moments before not seeing him for 6 whole months.

“Wh-what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that… I don’t know, maybe you should see other people. I just don’t think- with how busy I am-it willon’t work.”

You hadn’t even realised you were crying. Your glare towards him basically begging for him to look you in the eyes. Coward.

“So you won’t even try?”

“I just don’t see the point-“

“The point in us?” The daggers in your voice finally made him look up at you, the snivelling mess he had made you into. He had gotten your hopes up that it would work, that you’d still be there for him and support him. “Have fun on your tour Todoroki.”

You left your coffee half drunk, not even wanting the takeaway cup with his name on it. It wasn’t worth your time.

“Hey Kirishima could I have the keys to your car? I just wanna sit down for a bit.” Your eyes were practically glued to the floor, as a means to not show him that you were seconds from fully breaking down.

“Sure, but, aren’t you gonna say goodbye to Sho?” He reluctantly pulled his keys out from his sweatpants pocket, dangling them in front of you in hopes that he could see your expression.

“He just did.” You try your best not to snatch them from him but your attempt fails. You just wanted to be out of there. Even pushing past Bakugou and Midoriya to exit the building and sit alone with your thoughts.

Selfish bastard. If he’d been thinking about this for so long why not just break up with you when he first told you? Why wait so fucking long for him to just break your heart when you did so much to salvage anything if things got bad? You hit your hand on the steering wheel so hard that the horn beeps and you sob more from the fright. You must’ve looked insane.

Kirishima arrived back at his car about 10 minutes later. Sliding out from the driver’s position to the passenger seat silently, you had at least cleaned yourself up a bit in the thought of knowing that he would soon be back.

“So, he told me.” Kirishima breaks the silence. Hands gripping the wheel with a nervous intent. Knowing it’s a very touchy subject.

“Yeah?”

“It’s gonna be fine y’know? At least he’s not like in your face or anything or you can’t awkwardly bump into him in the street.” His attempts to pick up the mood fall on deaf ears.

“He didn’t have to drag me along for the ride though.” Your tears slide down your face and pool on your neck, not even having the strength within you to wipe them away.

“Well we’re all here for you no matter what Y/N-“

“Can I go to yours for a bit? I know it’s early I just… don’t want to go back to the flat just yet.”

“Course you can.”

Staying at Kirishima’s became a regular thing. Not really being able to confine yourself to the four walls of the apartment you used to share with Shoto.

He’d let you sleep in his spare room, his gym equipment keeping you company in the night. It was a fine arrangement. Kirishima was always so nice to you when you were with Todoroki, and since your abrupt breakup; you had an inkling that Kirishima wasn’t on the best of terms with him anymore.

The barren walls and blankets kept you safe from old memories, but your mind followed through with the nightmares.

Your body shook from the antagonising scowl upon Todoroki’s face, it was terrifying but mostly upsetting. You couldn’t help but sob yourself awake. Your pillow a wet mess and your throat dry from screaming.

“Y/N?”

Kirishima stood in your doorway, the light from the hallway pooling around him and the sympathetic gaze in his tired eyes.

“Nightmares?”

You nodded, sitting yourself up in bed and wiping the wet from your cheeks. Kirishima sat on the edge of your bed, rubbing your leg comfortingly over the duvet.

“Do you need anything?” The tired croak in his voice broke your heart further. You felt like such a burden.

“No I’m okay; thank you.” With a small smile, Kirishima got up to go back to bed before you intervened. “Wait- will you stay with me?”

There’s a small glimmer of confusion that passes over Kirishima’s face, but in the end he accepts. You’d known each other for many years and had many sleepovers in each other's dorms that this was nothing new.

Taking off his dressing gown, Kirishima was dressed in a slightly ripped top of his own ‘Red Riot’ merch and loose-fitting boxers. It took you a few moments to drink him in, this really was the most intimate you’d ever seen him.

And that’s how it went for 5 months, just you and Kirishima periodically sleeping in each other's beds to just be with each other. Nothing explicit or sexual, just sometimes touching feet or waking up near enough in each other’s arms.

Until 2 weeks before Deku, Bakugou and Todoroki were meant to come home.

Whether it was the heat of the night or just an off day from not having been intimate for so long you couldn’t help but just need someone to touch you so badly. Thankfully Kirishima was in his room so you at least had some alone time to run your fingers against your slick folds, fingers sopping wet from just how aroused you actually were.

It was infuriating about how you could barely get yourself off, and stifling your moans with a weak lip bite was getting you absolutely nowhere. You knew how thin Kirishima’s walls could be from that night he brought a girl home once. You barely got a lick of sleep just from the noise… or from the slight twinge of jealousy.

Because it had become such a norm to you both, you hadn’t even noticed Kirishima enter your room with your eyelids pressed shut trying to picture any sort of scenario to get the edge off. So when you felt him tugging at your covers; your whole body turned to ice.

“Kiri wait-“

But it was far too late. He had no choice but to see the bottom half of you completely naked and drenched in your own slick.

“Oh fuck Y/N- I-I’m so sorry look I’ll go I should’ve knocked- fuck I’m sorry.” Even in the darkness of your room you could clearly see the blush on his face as if it was illuminative. You also couldn’t peel your eyes away from the rising tent in his sweatpants. You could’ve licked your lips at the sight.

“It’s alright- I’m sorry I didn’t notice you sooner.” You tried your best to catch your breath, with no real success as your tone was so ragged. You covered yourself up and place your hands on top of your covers; allowing for some form of minor stimulation to yourself without Kirishima noticing.

“D-Do you want me to help?” He sounded so innocent but the way he licked his lips sent chills to your spine. Could you really sleep with your best friend?

“I-I don’t know, but- you obviously need some help yourself.” You do your best to joke about the awkward situation, something that was rather natural for your friendship. Kirishima couldn’t help but slyly place his hands over his crotch despite you already noticing the dark grey patch of pre-cum staining the fabric.

“Well… we could just… masturbate together?” The thought hung in the air for a brief moment as it washed over the both of you, Kirishima gulping as the silence lasted longer than expected.

“Okay…” Your tone was hesitant but he could tell by how dilated your pupils were that this would probably be something neither of the two of you would mention in the morning. He’d be okay with that… maybe. Maybe not.

Sliding to his usual side of the bed, he leaned against the headboard and you sat yourself up a bit further. Pulling the covers to the side so everything was fully out in the open again. You could hear Kirishima hiss between his teeth at the sight of you even more drenched at the thought of you two doing this together. You watched with the same anticipation as him as he pulled his sweatpants down to let his cock spring free. The sight of it so red and flush couldn’t stop your hand from sliding back down to your heat.

Seeing the two of you like this was enough to get you both off, the room was filled with an air of silence but it wasn’t heavy. No, it was littered with the soft moans of you and your best friend.

Your eyes traced each other’s bodies as if you needed to discover every inch of each other with just your eyes. You’d seen Kirishima without his shirt many timesa time but you could practically beg for it just to see the way his muscles move as he pumped his cock. Kirishima gave you the same attentive look as he studied the way your fingers slid in and out of yourself.

After a few minutes of pleasure filled and moan ridden ecstasy; your hand began to cramp and the frustration of still not being able to get yourself off had tears streaming down your face.

“Fuck Kiri-“ You whined, hearing his name come out of your mouth was a sinful kiss to his ears. He wanted to hear it all the time.

“Yeah, me too princess.” He sounded so low it was basically a grunt of a sentence. “Do you want me to-?”

“Please.” He didn’t have to wait, you lifted away your tired hand from yourself and he slid along the bed to run his fingers up your slit. Just the feeling of another person touching you so intimately was enough to release the tension from your sore head, the scream released from your throat could’ve made him come undone right then and there.

“Just like that baby?” Kirishima’s calloused fingers danced delicately along your folds, squeezing ever so gently at your clit making your back arch. Your hand drifted along his midriff until it found the way to the bottom of his cock. He hissed at the feeling of your hand around him and his fingers stuttered against your core.

“Please, mmmf… need you in me.” You managed to choke out. Kirishima didn’t need another sign as he plunged two fingers into your wet self. He set his hand just above your head, leaning down on you as you fisted his member at the same rate he thrusted his fingers in and out of you.

You both silently knew that it’d be too weird if you two actually had sex. You were just helping each other in a time of need.

Kirishima pressed his knuckles down on the spongy part of your insides, making your hand falter aagainst him before finding your way to pick up your pace again.

“Fuck fuck, Y/N- I’m so fucking close.” Kirishima forced the words out of his mouth as he watched you writhe in pleasure underneath him.

“Me too Kiri oh fuck-“ You could feel the coil tightening within you ready to burst and you felt him twitch beneath your hand.

“Fucking hell fuck Y/N I lo-.” The sound of him moaning as he came into your hand and parts of your stomach drowned out his sentence and the way he curled his fingers while inside of you was enough to also tip you over the edge, grabbing his shoulder with your free hand for a reason to ground you to reality.

Catching your breath, Kirishima slid away from above you. The reality of the situation almost settling in for the two of you. He lifted the waistband of his sweatpants up before pressing a chaste kiss on your head. He wished he would have lingered longer.

“I’ll get something to help you clean up.” He returned with two hot flannels, rubbing wherever his come had landed on you and using the other to wipe any sweat or where your slick had coated your thighs.

“Thank you Kirishima.” Your throat croaked from the pleasure of it all, Kirishima couldn’t help but give a short chuckle as he crawled into bed with you after throwing the flannels in the washing machine.

“I should be thanking you too.”

With that you both fell asleep, a little closer to each other than usual. But, what was he going to say before he got interrupted? You didn’t have time to think of that now.

Within two weeks, you and Kirishima had become a lot closer after your little ‘sexual altercation’. Your social media was flooded with photos of you and him going out to eat and going to the movies together and just dumb stuff you’d do at his apartment. So after 6 months of living on and off together; you two decided that you’d officially become roommates. Not a couple just… roommates.

“You gonna need any help or anything?” Kirishima smiled as you opened the door to your old apartment you used to share with Todoroki. Thankfully for the last time.

“Just go to work silly. I'm just grabbing the last of my stuff. It's nothing big, just clothes and ornaments.” You waver him off with a shake of your hand. “You gotta head to work and finish that paperwork.”

That earned a groan from him.

“I’d rather be manly and helpful to you.” He leaned his arm against the doorframe as you unlocked the door.

“Yeah? Well you can go and be manly and helpful to the public, I’ll see you later Kiri.” You smirk, he rolls his eyes. You parted with a small hug and you began to get started to clean up the final things in your old apartment with Todoroki.

It looked almost barren now, you didn’t realise how much of you was in this house and not him. He was always reserved, unlike Kirishima. Even though it was never a fully agreed upon thing that you were living with Kiri as you’d come back to this old house for most of the week- it didn’t feel like home. But it did with Kirishima.

You placed old bedcovers and old clothes into a cardboard box, humming to yourself at the glee of not being alone in the birdcage of your ex. You didn’t even hear the keys go in the door. It wasn’t until you were exiting your old shared bedroom with the box in hand did you notice him. You couldn’t help but drop the box as there was Todoroki, unchanged from the day he left you at that airport cafe.

“Y/N?”

“I was just leaving.”

“Leaving where? Where’ve all your things gone?” He couldn’t not help but notice your decorum missing, it brought life into the modern studio apartment.

“I don’t live here anymore Todoroki. I’m just getting my things and going home.” You attempt to save yourself the embarrassment of already dropping the box by spitting back with venom.

The look of confusion on the bicoloured man’s face was evident. You had no time to play his games.

“I live with Kirishima, I’m getting the last of my things. I didn’t even realise you’d be home today.” You sigh. Though, maybe you subconsciously did. Maybe you knew that he’d be home today and that’s why you decided today was the day you’d get the rest of your things.

“I thought you were getting a bit close.” Todoroki grumbled under his breath, but he knew you heard him. “Always on dates together, always at his house.”

The loud ‘hah’ you let out of your mouth was a jutter in the conversation, Todoroki was obviously taken aback.

“What’s it even to you? Why should you give a shit about my life when you just up and disappeared for 6 months on your own volition huh?” You spat despite your whole body shaking, you couldn’t have missed him right? “You left me alone even when I supported you, did all that shit to make sure we’d stay in contact and now you have the nerve to be jealous?”

His eyes scanned your face before watching you intently, crossing the space between you to finally stand in front of you. You could smell his cologne, citrus and sharp. You’d forgotten how much you missed that smell.

“I didn’t know how much I’d missed you Y/N.” You could feel his breath fan your face catching your own ever so slightly. “I missed you so fucking much baby.”

“Todoroki-“

“Come on baby tell me you didn’t miss me too.” His voice was so soft and sweet to your ears, you couldn’t even stop him from leaning in so close to your face.

“I-“ But before you could speak his lips had encapsulated yours, the box in your hands losing grip.

God had you missed his lips upon yours, you sunk into the kiss as if you had never slept and he was the comfiest bed on earth. He pushed the box from your hands and it landed to the floor with a large thud, taking you by surprise. Yet despite you breaking the kiss from the surprise he swooped you back to having his lips against yours once again.

Kicking the cardboard from the separation of the two of you, Todoroki pulled you close. Taking you in his arms and furthering the kiss. He’d gotten more toned in the months that he’d been gone, your hands dancing over his muscles which were taught against his jumper.

“I should’ve never fucking left you baby girl.” He moaned against your lips, hand to the back of your neck as he drank you in. “Never. I missed you so fucking much.”

Sliding his hands from your neck to your lower back until he reached your thighs, Todoroki pulled you up and you gripped onto his waist as if it was clockwork. How could you have ever thought about anyone else but him? Todoroki walked with ease with you around him to your old bedroom, and when he lay you on your bed it didn’t feel so small anymore.

Buzz Buzz

“Fuck- Shoto my phone,” You whined as Todoroki left nipping kisses down your neck, you shifted beneath him to grab your phone from your back pocket to only see Kirishima’s name flash before you. You could feel Shoto’s heterochromic gaze as the photo of you and Kirishima lit up the screen.

“Answer it-“ Todoroki’s voice was a commanding growl and by the way he squeezed your breasts roughly you couldn’t help but coincide. “Answer it, but be quiet.”

With a gulp you shakily clicked to answer the call and put it on speaker as Todoroki began to slide down your jeans.

“Hey Y/N! Look I know this is out of the blue and I’m at work but- I can’t just stop thinking about us and you know… what we did.” Kirishima’s voice rang through the phone and you feel that Todoroki’s eyes could have pierced through you right then and there.

“But I just think you know with everything we’ve been through together- god this is so not manly asking over the phone but… do you wanna go on a date sometime? I’ll take you out somewhere nice and proper.”

Todoroki rolled his hips into your clothed core after taking off your jeans and a moan threatened to erupt from your throat. Sliding your underwear down his fingers pressed against your wetness and slid down before he bent his head down licking a strip against your sensitive clit. He knew your body like the back of his hand- you missed his gentle touch.

“And I know it might be weird because of Todoroki but he broke up with you so it’s understandable right?” Todoroki’s grip on your thigh became tighter as he lapped your pussy you thought that if you bit your lip any harder it would surely bleed. “I talked with Bakugou about it and he didn’t exactly give the best advice but… I like you… a lot Y/N.”

You couldn’t help but let out a whimpering moan as Todoroki slipped his tongue inside of you and moved in and out of you slowly, relishing the small moans you made.

“Y/N? Are you there? You okay?”

Todoroki’s hand left your thigh and he sat up, allowing for his bulge to once again grind against your core. You gasp at the friction of his jeans against your sensitive clit.

“Y/N? Hello? Please tell me you’re alright?”

With a swift grab of your phone and a hand pressed to your lips; Todoroki began to basically growl back at Kirishima.

“She’s busy.”

Making a scene of pressing the end call button, Todoroki through your phone to the carpeted floor where it thankfully didn’t smash.

“Shoto!”

“So you’ve been messing about with Kirishima, baby?” You whimper at his words as he harshly presses his bulge against you. “Also, didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”

He grasps your chin with his forefinger and his thumb, placing a gentle kiss against your lips before bringing his other hand and slapping your ass hard. You wail at the contact which only gives Todoroki a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

“It was only once Shoto I promise-“

“Shh shh shh, your filthy mouth needs to be quiet baby girl.” Todoroki leans up from you and begins to unbuckle his belt painfully slowly. His hand gestures afterwards as if telling you to finish disrobing yourself by yourself. “I should’ve never left you, no one else gets to know that this pretty little pussy is mine and mine alone. Got that princess?”

He brings his belt to slap against your thigh when you don’t give him a reply immediately, to which you soon nod your head.

“Let me hear your words baby girl.” His hands slide down to his boxers, jerking himself off as if to tease you as you couldn’t fully picture how he was fisting his cock right now.

“I’m yours Shoto, nobody else’s. Only ever yours.” You’re a whimpering mess and you try to cling to him desperately. He lets out a low chuckle before pulling his boxers fully down and letting his cock spring free.

Todoroki settles himself in between your legs, savouring a taste of your slick before angling his body back up so you were face to face, leaving wet kisses down your neck but biting at all the sweet spots he knew too well.

“Gonna mark you so that everybody knows that you belong to me.” His voice whispered against your skin, the tip of his member prodding against your folds; sliding up and down against you for some friction.

Shoto made his way back up from your nipples to your mouth before pressing his lips against you hungrily. He settled his hips neatly against yours and you instinctively wrapped your thighs around him as he pushed inside of you. Moaning into the kiss with each thrust until he completely bottomed out inside of you. You felt so full and right, you were Todoroki’s.

“God princess I forgot how much you felt like you were made for me.” Todoroki grunts as he begins to set a pace for himself, entangling his hands in your hair and tugging slightly so he has free reign over your neck for every bite and mark he saw fit. “Isn’t that right baby?”

“Yes- fuck me Shoto I’m all yours.” You dig your nails into his back, hard enough to leave marks tomorrow. Shoto starts pistoning his hips into you and you both can’t help but groan at the friction of your two bodies melding together.

Shoto slides his hand up your body until he reached the small of your back, arching you at a deeper angle into him as he fucked you directly into the bed. The sound it made only added to the erotic symphony of your bedroom combined with your moans and the wet skin slapping together. You fist your hands into the sheets in fear of clawing Todoroki’s back any more and you swore you could’ve torn the covers.

“Does that feel good princess? Am I the only one who knows how to make you feel as good as this?” Todoroki’s laugh is almost sinister as he brings his right hand to your clit, making it drop in temperature just to see you squirm.

“You make me feel so fucking good Shoto- so full I only want you- I only need you. Fuck I’m gonna-“

“You gonna come for me princess? Gonna come all around my cock? Good girl, come on come for me.” He whispered into your neck, feeling you tighten around him. Your back arched even further as you came undone around him, pushing himself even further into you to feel you convulse against his cock.

“Shit Y/N!” He groans, absolutely exasperated as he comes inside of you. Letting hot spurts of come dribble out from your pussy. His hands slide from your sides and into your hands as intertwines your fingers together. Shoto catches his breath, his bicoloured hair stuck to his forehead with sweat as he leans into your chest- the two of your synchronising your breathing together.

“Did you miss that my baby? Miss me taking care of you like that?” Todoroki showers your fluttering body with kisses as he pulls himself out of you. Your heart raced but also the pang of guilt was there from the phone call from Kirishima.

“I missed you Sho.”

Todoroki took care of your heavily bruised body, apologising for the bruises upon your waist where he gripped you too tightly and covering you up tightly into your old bedsheets to lay together just like the old days.

However Kirishima was just glad he had a lock on his office door. He gripped his phone tightly in his hands after hearing your orgasm brought him to his own. The pretty profanities that fell out your mouth drove him insane. He’d have to seriously clean himself up after jacking off to your explicit moans from over the phone. Did Todoroki mean to hang up? He didn’t care right now, he just cared about good he could still make you feel.

He was going to make you his. Todoroki or not.

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attack-on-kiwi · 3 years

Note

Hi! I really enjoy your writing and your characterization. Could I please request the rest of the fluff alphabet for post-timeskip Reiner? (whichever point is easiest for you to write from)

Check my master list for letters F, H, N, & R!

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

There isn’t much Reiner genuinely likes doing. He’s more than happy to just take part in whatever activities his s/o wants to do. At this point he doesn’t feel like he’s allowed to have an opinion or have any strong wants. This does bother his s/o, so they need to try and coax an answer from him.

They find out he enjoys going for walks. Reiner specifically likes going on long hikes where no other people are around. Sure, he enjoys walking around the marketplace, but there’s always a pressure that he’s going to be cut down at any given moment. Therefore, private hikes are more his scene. He’s able to relax and will be more willing to open up to his s/o during these hikes.

If he had to pick another activity, it would be training together. He’d want to do something physical, such as sparring because it gives him an easy and familiar way to tease them in a more lighthearted manner, such as play wrestling. It’s one of the few times his s/o gets to see Reiner act his age and not put up walls.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Resilience. The fact that his s/o is able to push through being with someone like him and still see the good in this terrible world has him weak. He feels undeserving of someone so good, but he’s too attached to even consider letting them go.

To Reiner, their laugh is the most reassuring and calming sound. No matter if their laugh is a gentle chime or a crashing wave, he can’t get enough of it. He swears to himself whenever he makes them laugh, he falls more deeply in love with them than he thought could be possible.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Reiner wouldn’t really know where to start. His mind is racing with thoughts such as “Is there an attack?” and “Did they get hurt?”. He lacks tact when calming them down, gripping their shoulders and forcing them to look at him as he near demands them to spill what’s going on. When that doesn’t work, he tries to rethink his approach. He’ll breathe and calm himself before smoothing his palms over their arms and gently asking them what’s wrong.

He’ll hug them tightly and wait as they relax. Whether they just cling to him until their breathing calms or they ride out their panic, he’s pressed his lips to the top of their head, mumbling “everything is fine” even if he doesn’t believe it himself.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Reiner, like other warriors, doesn’t entertain the idea of having a future. This man has already resigned himself to the idea that he will be dead within a few years, so what is the point of him imagining a future?

If he could have his way, he’d want a family. At least one child. Though, he wonders if his child would need a friend since he has no siblings that could provide cousins. Maybe two children, then, so they don’t get lonely. He thinks about how he wants a small, comfortable home away from the bustling of the towns. The seaside sounds ideal. Sometimes he imagines what it would feel like to have those children tucked between him and his partner while he told them exaggerated stories of the animals that lived in the forests.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

He’s physically dominant when it comes to most situation. He’ll put himself before his s/o and make sure they are always in his view. When it comes to intimacy, he teeters between being timid and overbearing. It’s difficult for him to find a balance between wanting to be careful and wanting to have his s/o to himself, and they often find him coming on too strong then becoming reclusive for a few moments after due to the fear of having possibly crosses a boundary.

Reiner sees himself as a natural guardian, so it’s only to be expected that he takes on more traditionally protective roles.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Reiner is extremely touched that his s/o would stay with a coward such as himself. He thanks them often and brings them gifts. Most of the time it’s food that would otherwise be difficult for them to get their hands on.

He has a hard time getting out of his head but is able to see that his work and attitude does affect his s/o to a degree and tries to be as mindful as possible. Most times, this mindfulness is chalked up to a simple, “I don’t know what I’d do without you” which needs to be interpreted depending on the context of the situation and his emotional state.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

His s/o grounds him, but they haven’t made huge steps in affecting his personality. He is lost and needs to figure out how to depend on others, and unfortunately, he’s unable to do so credibly at the moment. His s/o hopes Reiner will one day be able to share his burdens with them, even if just a little bit. Reiner definitely teaches them to be patient.

On the other hand, Reiner is happy to help them overcome their fears. He’s always got a solution and steps to help them get to their goals.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Yes. He’s insecure and is easily provoked by other people giving his s/o attention. If he sees them giving others intimate attention, he will become extremely suspicious and angry. Reiner tries to ignore it since he doesn’t want to cause a scene. Image is important to warriors, after all. He does cling to them more as he tries to calm himself, often holding their hands or hugging them close in private.

If he’s in a situation where he is allowed to make a move, he’s more than willing to use physical force to scare off anyone he sees as trying to get with his s/o.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Reiner’s a good kisser when it comes down to it. His kisses are hot and nearly suffocating. He always has a strong hand behind his partner’s head and another firmly on their back pressing them into him as deep as he can. His skin is warm and being so close to him increases that heat.

His first kiss with his partner was desperate. Whether it was during an episode back in Paradis or when he got back home, his s/o found him uncharacteristically quiet. Serious.

Their voice surprised him, causing him to jump as they made their presence known. It was an unusual sight- to see Reiner hunched in on himself. When they got close enough to sit next to him and ask what was going on, he simply told them that he wanted to kiss them at least once since he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to again. After their initial shock, his soon to be s/o agreed, letting him take lead. Reiner licked his lips and placed one hand gently behind their neck while the other rested on their thigh. He leaned ver, finally inviting them to his lips and as the two sought one another’s touch, he found himself pinning them down and nearly unclothing them. Whether his s/o allowed it to continue or stopped is up for debate.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Reiner would never consider confessing.

He would need to be near death or in an extremely stressful and dire situation to blurt it out.

That, or during more recent manga events, Reiner would try to find a moment of peace where he and his s/o could speak in private. During a conversation where he finally explains his past, he would likely refuse to make eye contact and stare at their feet. His voice is shaking slightly as he steels himself for whatever the outcome may be. It’s his s/o who turns his cheek to look him in the eye, confessing they are in love with him. It’s overwhelming and as he’s embraced by them, he reciprocates it over and over in shaky whispers that are muffled by their neck.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He likes the idea of marriage. Being with someone who is completely his and building a life together that’s peaceful and without pressure would mean the world to him.

Reiner’s proposal is private. It would be during camp before the climatic battle. One evening, he’d take his s/o to a private area and reminisce their experiences together. He’s unsure why he’s bringing it up until his s/o asks what he wants to do after they win. He’s taken aback, wanting to say there’s not much left for him once the world is saved. “Will you marry me, Reiner?”

Reiner’s heart stops at that moment. It’s not a proposal, more so it’s just gauging his desires. He can’t help but nod. If they survive, even if he has little time left, he wants to spend it with them.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Reiner’s love is subtle. It’s not common for people in Marley to outright be romantic in public, so displays are limited. Though at some point when he was younger he would have taken great pride in being overly affectionate in front of others, he now takes solace in being a quiet and helpful lover. It’s difficult for him to really express his love verbally, so he takes action. He’s good with fixing appliances, running errands, and comforting them in private. To most others, it seems Reiner is distant with his s.o, but this is untrue.

He’s skilled in loving them. His holds are firm and comforting. His kisses are deep and true. His actions express his care more accurately than his words ever could. The way he puts himself before them is in itself his ultimate display of love.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Reiner prefers to keep his romantic involvement private due to fear for his s/o’s safety. Being Involved with him makes them a target which is something he’s unwilling to look past. This does not mean he is ashamed of them by any means.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

His hugs are all consuming. Something about being in his embrace helps wash away all anxiety. It’s truly difficult for his s/o to be upset for long when they’re in his hold. This becomes especially useful during high stress events, and it helps Reiner calm down.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Reiner’s focus isn’t on helping his s/o achieve any goals. His fixation is his mission to save humanity, so he doesn’t actually think too much about if his s/o has any goals they wan to achieve.

If his s/o shares a desire with him, he’s happy to help them map out a plan of attack. There’s not much he can do in ways of helping them if it doesn’t pertain to training or military affairs since most of his time is dedicated to his work.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Reiner prefers having a routine above all else. With how erratic his life is, a sense of peace is important to him. He suffers from PTSD and anxiety among other issues, so knowing where his s/o is during a certain time or having a specific ritual at a certain time every day helps him ground himself. He wouldn’t want to deal with any destructive routines when he has free time. It’s extremely important for him to focus on his healing, so a routine is best.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Reiner... does not know his s/o well. He knows what bothers them and knows about them from what they share. However, he doesn’t make an effort to learn more. He’s got too much on his plate, and the relationship is reliant on the physical intimacy to help each other blow off steam. He could stand to be more emotionally present. It’s something he’s aware of and feels like it’s too late to do anything about it. If he survives, he wants to build a stronger relationship where the two can equally rely on one another for the support that they need.

He’s empathetic to a degree. He listens to their problems and tries to offer the best support he can, but he’s not necessarily equipped to help someone deal with their own problems when he barely has a handle on his own shaky mental state.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Reiner is ridiculously obsessed with keeping his relationship. He knows he’s not the best partner that he could be, but he wants to selfishly keep his s/o because they make him feel human. They make him feel worthy of being alive, and he’s too scared of letting that go for who would he be without a purpose? His mission does come first, but he’d be more than willing to throw himself in front of his s/o if it meant securing their escape.

He’s a natural protector as mentioned before, and couple that with suicidal tendencies and you have someone that’s problematically self-sacrificial. It’s not a good mixture, but it goes to show how dependent he is on his s/o for a sense of stability and how far he’d go to make sure they were safe.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

He likes lying face to face when the two are in bed. When Reiner is especially tired, his cheeks and nose flush a dark pink. It’s always embarrassing when his s/o decides to tease him about it. Don’t you dare call him cute or coo at him because in his tired state he will have no methods of coping. He might even turn around to try and escape their compliments, but if they cling to his back and try to pull him back around, they’re somehow always successful.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Reiner doesn’t kiss often. He does like to hold his s/o’s hands. Clasping their fingers with his own and holding their hand sto his chest in moments of quiet vulnerability will be the most stripped down, vulnerable acts he will ever commit.

He’s not opposed to his partner kissing him and holding him, he just doesn’t feel worthy of starting the act himself. Once they initiate, he’s more than eager to soak up as much touch as he can. He never wants to let go, meaning they can be in one another’s embrace for hours if they’re lucky.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Reiner is good at compartmentalizing his feelings, so he will run on autopilot and just hope that his s/o is alive so he can see them soon.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

As mentioned earlier, Reiner is more than willing to put his life on the line for his s/o. He would run into a head on attack if it meant giving his loved one a moment longer to breathe.

#reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #attack on titan headcanons #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan x reader #snk #aot writing blog #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin headcanons #shingeki no kyojin imagines #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #fluff alphabet

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teamxdark · 3 years

Text

They say the pen is mightier than the sword...

My Dearest Arthur,

Today, as I was heading back to the castle, Galahad stopped me. He pointed out a bird, small and blue like the sky, drinking from a puddle on the ground. We both stopped, watching it as it drank its fill, stretched its wings, and flew away.

It made me think of you.

My love, you try so hard to be the best leader for us all. You do it without complaint, struggling with the problems of a populace, making the decisions that a lesser being wouldn't dare consider. I know how much this burden crushes you, but all the same, I cannot for the life of me think of anyone more worthy than you to hold such power.

I have heard the complaints of those who disagree with your choices. They throw about opinions without care for consequences. They know nothing of the thought you put into every decision you make, and every time I hear some scoundrel run their mouth about how they would do better than you, I feel the urge to silence them, with my words or my blade, I care not which.

The things you do to me, my love...

Yes, you are the most worthy king, of that, I am certain, but you are also the most deserving of the freedom you crave. I see it, Arthur. I see the way you stare out the window, into the sky, beyond the clouds, with such profound longing that I know and understand all too well. It is enough to make a man weep.

...I have wept, I must admit. For you, and over you. If I could grant you your freedom, I would do so in a heartbeat, even if it meant that you would be gone, leaving like that bird, flying away without a backwards glance and never looking back. My grief at your absence would only be assuaged by the knowledge that you are finally unburdened. That you are happy.

Sometimes, I like to imagine that you take me with you. I imagine your hand in mine, and your smile reaching your eyes, the portrait of joy that should never have left your face, and I follow you, just as I have vowed, to the ends of the earth and into the world beyond this life.

I know it is selfish. I know it is impossible. You, Arthur, are the most selfless man I know. I have seen you grow over many years, becoming more and more responsible with time and experience. It is I who has become selfish. It is I who indulges these fantasies of taking you away to bask in your brilliance that I can never get enough of. But you could never betray your people. You could never say yes to a premature freedom. You will not be king forever, and this we both know, and you are willing to wait for the end of your reign while I still imagine ripping you from this life without a care for those that remain behind.

My desires are inconsiderate, not just to you, but to everything you've worked for. To everyone who needs you. To those who need me, too.

I shall never be worthy of you, Arthur, but my heart shall never beat for anyone else in the way it does for you.

Forever yours,

Lancelot

...

Darling Arthur,

Do you remember when we were young? Do you remember when we were but boys, training until we were collapsed on the ground, day after day?

Do you remember the first time you called me 'Lance'?

I hated it back then. I warned you to never call me anything but 'Lancelot' again, for it was my name. It was the name my mother had given me, my mother who saved me and chose me before I even knew how to walk. My name was my link to her, an important part of my identity and my proof of being wanted.

I was, truly, a stupid child.

Now, I treasure the name you gave to me. I do not allow anyone else to use it. 'Lance' is the name you bestowed upon me, a name to signify our own link, our bond... one so close that it makes me dizzy with happiness when I remember just how much we mean to each other. I now hold that name close to my heart, next to my mother's 'Lancelot' and my son's 'Father'.

It pains me that I do not have such a name to give you, my love, save for the endearments in these letters that I shall never send. Yet I never miss how blissful you look when I call you by your given name. You appear unhappy by 'Your Majesty'. You appear troubled by 'my liege'. You appear vexed by 'Sire'.

And so, when I am able, I call you by your name. I call you my friend, so that you know that I love you and that you mean the world to me. You always have, even before my feelings shifted into what they are now.

I see you smile and it is as if I have been struck by lightning. I hear you laugh and I fear I might swoon. If I do even one thing to make you happy, I feel as though I am walking on air, and I wish to do it again, and again, and again, over and over, endless until you never know pain again.

Arthur, the way I feel for you consumes me, like a fire that will never go out. My feelings scorch me, leaving burns and scars that will never fully go away, hidden on the inside where you will never see them. You will never truly know just how deeply this arrow from Cupid's bow has pierced me... I dare say he's emptied his quiver on me, for the mere thought of life without you, without your smile, your warmth, your brilliance, your bravery, your understanding, without you and everything that you are...

I don't dare tell you about these newer feelings of mine. I know you, and I know you will not treat me any different if my particular type of love for you does not match that of yours for me, but my head is clouded by fear. I cannot stop imagining that you shall become uncomfortable in my presence, that you will hold me away at arm's length, that you will look for someone else to court in an attempt to help me move on... All the possibilities are so painful, Arthur. I would rather nothing changed, even though I know my fear is irrational. I should believe in our bond, trust in our friendship, rely on the knowledge that you would never push me away...

I am a coward, my love. To be called the Ultimate Knight feels like a joke, for I am so afraid that I cannot listen to the logic in my own head. My strength of body means nothing if my strength of mind is as fragile as glass.

Yet, even as I long for something different in my relationship with you, I cannot say that I am unhappy with what I do have with you. Perhaps this, too, is why I will not speak these words nor send these letters, for what I already have with you, such a close, personal friendship, is more than I can ask for.

You have always been enough for me, Arthur.

Eternally yours,

Lancelot

...

Glorious Arthur,

I must apologize. I must, for I fear my mind is spinning out of my own control.

Every day I think of you. Every morning when I wake up, every night as I go to sleep, in every spare moment of my life, you are in my waking thoughts.

You haunt my dreams, too. At all moments, it seems, my mind conspires against me. All I want is to be happy with what I have with you, but it appears my desires are only growing, not fading, with time, and they eat me alive with every passing day.

I imagine your forehead against mine, with your hands on my waist. You lift your head, kissing me once on each eyelid, and I feel weaker than I ever have in my life.

I imagine your hands, removing my armor so that they may rest upon me, touching my back, my shoulders, my chest, all areas that I keep guarded under steel and promises. You disarm me, and I allow it. My foolish heart wishes to be vulnerable before you, for I know I will always be able to trust you with myself.

I imagine the lightest touches on my arms, spreading like trails of fire as your fingers slide along my person, and I let myself be consumed.

I imagine your lips pressing to mine, and I lose the ability to breathe.

I imagine your eyes, looking into mine, glowing with care and love and happiness, and I drown without a second thought.

Sometimes I dream of things I dare not write down here, my sweet, for it makes my face burn and my heart race and all I want to do is apologize for thinking of you in such a way. It feels terrible, as though I am taking advantage of you in my thoughts, and I fear that one day you will discover the fantasies of my mind and feel discomfort or disgusted by me.

If I ever lost you, Arthur, I know my world would shatter, and I would never become whole again.

Apologetically yours,

Lancelot

...

Arthur,

I can't stand it. Today, I cannot stand it at all.

I feel desperate, like a caged animal. I feel my soul clawing at my body from within, needing to come out and indulge. My composure is in shambles, my mind is in disarray, and though you are not at fault, it is all because of you.

Arthur, I burn for you. My heart screams and cries out and it's painful. Every inch of me aches for the smallest touch, I long for the basest of acknowledgement from you, a look, a word, a smile, Chaos, anything! Just the thought of you giving me your attention sends me into a fit, and I know that even the brush of your arm against mine as you pass me in the corridor would be enough to bring me to ecstasy!

My head is pounding, my ears playing and replaying the sound of my name coming from your lips, and I crave it. I crave you, my love, and it has never been so powerful or so consuming before. I don't know what is wrong with me. I don't know why today is the day that I might go mad. I am afraid, Arthur. I am afraid that my need for you is pushing me to the brink of madness and that I will not be able to stop myself from jumping down into it.

Arthur, the love of my life, how can I even begin to fully describe this? I've written so much and yet it is only a crumb of what is flaring inside me. I think of you and I burn up. You are not an inferno, for that is a small candle compared to the one that burns inside me. You are nothing less than the sun in the sky, approaching me to incinerate me in an instant, but even that feels like a pale comparison today.

Arthur, I am deeply sorry, but I fear writing this is only making things worse. I must stop before I

...

My love,

My upcoming mission to Acorn Kingdom is fast approaching. Soon it will be time for me to depart. I hope that, when that day comes, you are not too busy to see me off.

I will miss you terribly while I am gone, but I take peace in knowing that I am doing this for Avalon, and for you. To make this world a better place, and for you to have one less thing to worry about.

It's pathetic, is it not? As a knight, I should be focusing on the best for my kingdom, as I vowed to when you first let Caliburn descend upon my shoulders and gave to me my title, and yet I know the truth.

It's for you, Arthur. It's always been for you.

...

In his study, the king shoves away the stack of letters, his face burning as a chorus of emotion swells within him, unable to take the guilt at having read so many of Lancelot's secret letters. His hands tremble as he searches around his desk for something to write with.

...

Dear Lancelot,

My wonderful Lancelot,

To Lance,

My dearest

Lance,

Please come see me when you have a moment to yourself. Do not be afraid.

Yours,

Arthur

#I wrote this on a note app while on a train so it is what it is.#Arthurlot.#Avalon Series.

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quirklessidiot · 4 years

Text

Title: coward :: coming clean Pairing: Y/N x Miya Atsumu Genre: angst, romance, and very slow burn [ex to lovers au] Warnings: Cursing, alchohol, mentions of unprotected sex, unplanned pregnancy, and mentions of abortion

Synopsis: You try to push him away from you but he isn’t taking any of it, the much long-awaited confrontation is there but you’re still finding a way out.

notes:

have yall seen the new season?? mY FUCKING HEART MAN NSNDNND it got me so stoked i literally wrote something about kita after that trailer skdjjdm kita is so underrated. I love him.

also, a huge thank you for the 200+ followers. Ma’am i literally only had this tumbler a month ago and im already celebrating a lot of milestones, hence i present you a more angsty chapter! I hope you’ll love it <3

previous next masterlist

“You’re on gossip sites.”

“Tsum-tsum, why are you so close to L/N-san? I thought you hated her.”

“Riku-chan’s calling me-”

“Everyone shut up.” The setter throws the ball on the ground, “It’s not what it fucking looked like.”

“Can we talk, ‘tsumu?” Osamu’s voice resonates the most and Miya Atsumu knows where this is going already by the sound of it. He was surprised to see his brother come by today but when he sees why, he takes it back.

No wonder.

He follows him to the quieter side of the gym, he notices the tense air between them and he knows what's about to follow. He hopes that Osamu does this quickly, he has to practice well since he needs to impress those brats when the game comes up and try to let them have their eyes on him and not on Tobio and Shoyo.

“What the hell are you thinking?” His brother growls, “You have a fucking girlfriend. Y/N has kids and is very much in love with the dead guy who isn’t yo-”

“Why the fuck are you all getting up my ass when its about Y/N?” he suddenly cuts his brother off, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, “It's been that way since you met her eight years ago. Just tell me that you didn’t like her from the start. You didn’t like her because she was different.”

“I didn’t like her because she wasn’t good for you.” the grey-haired twin barked back in reply, “In case ya don’t remember, You were a fucking mess after she left, Atsumu. You were almost not able to make it into the jackals because of what she did!”

Osamu wasn’t calling him by his nickname anymore, it seemed that the weight of the situation was too serious for him.

“Well, I’m here now aren’t I?”

“And you’re getting involved with her again. Can’t you give it a fucking rest already?”

“No.”

“Miya Atsumu.” He glowered, grabbing his brother by the collar of his jersey, “Don’t throw a good woman and your career away for someone like her.”

“I’m not throwing shit, ‘samu.” He hissed, slapping his hand away but before he could walk out, the younger twin grabs him and yanks him back, swinging a fist right at his face. The team members of the black jackals are immediately thrown into panic and chaos with what’s happening. Hinata and Bokuto grabs onto Osamu restraining him from damaging the setter even more while Shion and Meian hold back the blonde setter from throwing a punch, “Stop acting like a fuckin’ brat, ‘tsumu.” The twin yelled while Atsumu flipped him off with a middle finger, clearly showing no signs of restraint.

Sakusa remains far from them and snorts underneath his breath, completely indifferent, “Fuckin’ idiots.”

The twins end up at the infirmary right after, Atsumu lets out a heavy sigh as he recalls the feeling of his brothers fist. They’ve never fought this bad since high school and Osamu was never one to be triggered easily.

This just showed how grave the situation was.

A curtain separates them both as they lay on their separate beds, “You’re stupid, ‘tsumu.” Osamu calls out his twin as he lays on the bed of the infirmary, a patch on his forehead and a bandaged hand. Atsumu, on the other hand, has a busted lip and swollen cheek.

“I’m not fucking five, ‘samu and whatever you saw in that picture wasn’t what it looked like.”

“But you still love her very much.”

Silence ensued between the pair and Osamu breaks it off with a long sigh, “Ya gonna be some scrub that chases after her again or something? Break off with your girlfriend right now who looks and acts better than her-”

“Stop.” Atsumu cuts his brother off, sitting up to open the curtain to face him head on, “so, so what if I still like her? So what if I want to break off with Riku and be with her and try to take that bastards place?”

“Yer outta your mind.”

“It’s my fuckin’ life.”

“It is but I’m not watching you throw yourself away for that woman.” Osamu paused, “Just what the fuck do you see in her? She feels nothing for ya, even when you dated-”

“Now that’s a fucking lie.” Atsumu defended you, eyes glowering right at his twin, “You didn’t see how Y/N would take care of me whenever we were alone. You don’t see how selfless she was most of the time and how she doesn’t expect me to be some character that everyone expects, shit, you don’t even see how she’d patiently sit down and just listen me babble off about how bad my day was when I didn’t even know she was from a fucking bad family with a bad life back then!”

Atsumu is panting from that long explanation and he’s shaking because why couldn’t they see it? Why couldn’t they see how much you tried back then? How relationships were so out of your comfort zone but you force yourself to try it because he asked you too. He feels sick, he feels sick that they couldn’t see. That they could only see the tip of the iceberg.

“Yet she doesn’t feel the same for you.” Osamu points out, “Not anymore. So stop clinging onto her with those past memories of yours and move on, ‘tsumu. Fuckin’ suck it up, life isn’t fair.”

“Nope, don’t wanna.”

“ ‘tsumu-”

“I-I’m breaking up with Riku. I want Y/N back in my life, I want her. I-I’ve never wanted anything so badly since volleyball, ‘samu. If I have to wait again, shit, I-I don’t fucking mind.”

Osamu sees the glint of conviction in his eyes and lets out another hefty sigh, god, he feels like he’s aging faster because of his twin, “I know you won’t listen to me.” he settled, he knew that if Atsumu wanted something, he wouldn’t stop until he got it, “Just know that I fucking told you so.”

You’re wary.

After that little stint your mother had pulled, she kept calling you and bothering you. It also didn’t help that you ended up on tabloids because someone had caught wind of that little moment you and Atsumu had. If it weren’t for your kids' over-excitement on Atsumu’s promise, you wouldn’t be here, “...Y/N-san? Are you alright?” Sugawara asks, tilting his head in curiosity as you enter the arena.

Some people seemed to have recognized you and the kids that you had to hold onto them tightly in case anyone did try to approach you.

“I’m good.”

“Kaasan, kaasan, I saw a super big picture of Hinata-san!” Youta called out, pointing at a rather big banner of the orange-haired blocker.

“I think I saw Kageyama-san buying milk, can I follow him, kaasan?” Yuuto adds, blinking innocently as he looked at one of the stalls.

Sugawara is absolutely in awe by your calmness in this situation, he knows that you’re probably feeling far from alright after all those gossip articles came out. Atsumu, of course, tries to lessen your burden by letting out a public statement that you were his good friend back in college but it didn’t really help since someone tweeted a picture of the both of you back in college with the caption that you were exes.

“Could you do me a favor, Sugawara-san?” you turn to the man, “Do you mind switching seats with me? Stay with the boys in front while I just stay at your seat?”

“Sure but wouldn’t Atsumu be-”

“Please.” You frowned, giving your ticket to him, “I’ll take the kids right after the match.”

The boys looked at you in complete wonderment when you didn’t follow them to the front row. You maintained a good distance as the game started, the players being introduced on the big screen. Your eyes narrow when Atsumu gets out of the dugout and gazes at your kids in confusion then around the crowd as if he was looking for someone.

“Don’t be silly.What feelings would there be but hatred?”

“It’s anything but that, L/N-san.”

You felt your fists clench as soon as the game started, you wanted to direct your focus to the game but Inunaki’s words kept bothering you and pestering you throughout the whole thing. Why did Atsumu like doing this to himself? Was this some sort of premonition? Were you going to have to tell him?

What if it ended up like your parents?

Would your kids end up like you?

Cold, untrusting, and anxious?

Would you end up like your mother?

A borderline alcoholic, desperate for a man’s love?

Would Atsumu wake up and realize one day that this was all a mistake and call you one too? Blaming you for every single bad thing in his life?

You held your doll tightly on your hands as you held your breath behind the pillar, you had just come home from Daiki’s house as you heard the loud voices of your parents arguing again. For the past years, it seemed to have worsened and you spent more time around your friend’s house rather than this cold and big empty place you called home.

“...are you doing? It's the middle of the day! Stop drinking!” you hear your father bellow.

“What’s it to you? Shouldn’t you be around with that young woman? That whore you proudly call your business associate?”

You flinch as you hear those harsh words and the sound of a bottle breaking, it seemed like the argument was particularly bad today. You shakily make your way up to your room, wanting to avoid this ordeal and skip dinner but fate wasn’t on your side today.

Despite your light footsteps, they seem to have noticed your presence.

Your father’s eyes soften just a bit while your mother’s remain cold. As much as possible, you grew up wanting to avoid those scary and expressionless eyes. At the young age of five, you feared your mother and loathed your father at the same time but that didn’t stop the fleeting feeling of wanting them to change. Wanting to feel the warmth and youth that every child craved for.

You suck in a deep breath, “I-I’m home, okaasan, otosan.”

“You’re always out these days, Y/N.” her voice is cold, far from the warmth that a mother should have.

“I-I was out with Daiki.”

“With that boy again?” a frown immediately paints her features, a small tsk under her breath to signal how disappointed she was of you yet again, “Aren’t you supposed to be studying? You said you wanted to skip a grade this year.”

“I-I am.” you replied, “B-but Daiki-”

“All you need to do is study and get good grades, Y/N.” she cuts you off, walking close to you, the smell of alcohol growing stronger, “Is that something too hard to do? Are you being ungrateful now?”

You turn to your father for help but he remains unmoved, was he really going to watch your mother do this to you? You hold onto your doll tightly, trying to control yourself. You shouldn’t cry, especially not in front of them.

“N-No, okaasan…”

“Then why are you crying, Y/N?”

Your eyes widen as you feel the wet substance flowing down. No, no-

“Answer me.” she repeats, you feel the tears flowing down faster, “Why are you crying, Y/N? Are you feeling ungrateful? Is that how it is-”

“(M/N) That’s enough!” Your father finally says but your mother continues to ignore your father.

“Don’t you think we should tell her that she shouldn’t feel sad?” she expressed, telling your father as if you weren’t standing there, “After all, we didn’t have her aborted, she should be grateful we let her live well with three meals a day and expensive clothes and belongings. Even if she was a mistake.”

You're shaking so hard at the moment, you didn’t like where this was going at all. Your father can’t respond to your mother’s blank tone, did he agree too? Were you, were you really just a mistake? Countless questions flooded your head as she walked close to you, her cold presence looming over you even more so today. With the same blank and expressionless tone, she says, "if you probably hadn't been born, we would've been happier. We'd have better lives, Y/N. So don't go around and cry and think you got it bad, you hear me? Your sadness is nothing compared to ours. It's nothing, Y/N. So stop being ungrateful."

You watch as the game comes to an end. You had zone out for the most part, the fleeting memory of your past and your anxiety bubbling up couldn’t keep you still. You texted Sugawara that you’d meet him and the boys at the front.

You were about to leave your seat when you saw the blonde approach the kids after the game, ruffling their hairs and pinching their cheeks with a huge smile. Why couldn’t you be as open as Atsumu? Why couldn’t you express yourself well?

You shut your eyes tight and turn to the exit, right, you were a coward. You didn’t face things like this head-on, you ran from them because in all your life, the only thing you knew was fear from people you expected love from.

“Y/N…”

You turn to find Atsumu standing there, still in his jersey and a towel hung on his shoulder like he had just ran out to chase you. Where was Sugawara and the kids? Why weren’t they here yet? What is he even doing here? You grab his wrist and immediately pull him towards a private area.

“Are you out of your mind? What are you doing? You have a girlfrie-”

“We broke up.” he cuts you off.

“W-what?”

“We broke up.” He repeats, “I couldn’t stay with her anymore, Y/N.”

You clenched your fists, what was he even thinking? Wouldn’t the rumors worsen if he broke up with her now?

“I-I can’t let you go again.” Atsumu confessed, throwing all his pride out the window again for you because damn it all, you are worth it, “I can’t keep pretending that I’ve moved on when I’m clearly hung up on you.”

“What are you doing?” You spat, anger slowly creeping in, all the pent up emotion towards him being released, “Why would you do that?”

Atsumu notices the change of emotion, you’re getting angry. It’s a complete contrast to what he was expecting, he’d expect the calm and cool exterior, even expected you to cooly reject him like the past but this, this was new, “Why can’t I?”

“Are you out of your mind?” You exclaimed, “I left you! I have kids from another man-”

“So?” He asks, walking closer to you. The familiar smell of perfume and sweat invaded your senses, something you were accustomed to when you were dating him back then. He traps you between the wall and him. You can see the busted lip, what happened to him? Did he got into a fight? You feel like your mind was turning blank by the sudden events. You want to say something, anything but he’s rendering you speechless again, “What if I tell you I don’t care? What if I tell you that I still feel the same even after all this time?”

“Y-You're insane...I-I’m in love with someone else-” you tried to lie but you remember this is Miya Atsumu, he doesn’t give two shits and was willing to work as hard as he could to get what he wanted.

“Y/N, your kids told me that the bastard left. Why didn’t you tell me?” he cuts you off, this time, his voice seemed disappointed and angry yet you didn't know if it was towards you.

“W-what would you have done then?”

“If you’d come back to me then,” he paused, voice turning soft, “I would’ve helped you. I would’ve been there to stand in as a father if you even needed one.”

You’re trembling at his confession, were those words really from the heart?

“Y/N, I don’t know what happened between you and that guy.” he laughs, he didn’t expect it to be like this, that even after six years he’d still be pinning over the same woman who repeatedly broke his heart, “I don’t know what happened between you and your fucked-up family. All I do know is that I’m still in love with you and I’m willing to wait here until you’re ready. I won’t ever leave, Y/N. I-I don’t think I ever will.”

“You’re crazy.” You shakily point out, you’re in a fit of rage. You’re angry at him, you’re angry that he still lowers himself to you when he could do so much better, you’re angry that he still feels the same after all the shit you put him through, most of all, you’re angry at yourself because you couldn’t own up and tell him about everything.

Atsumu slowly holds up his hands, wanting to cup your cheeks but it is immediately swatted away. He notices that you’re trembling now, your facade, slowly crumbling.

“What made you think that I’d come back to you?” Your voice was trying to maintain it’s cold and emptiness tone yet your eyes showed the complete opposite, “Please be selfish for once, Miya-san. Just because you give your all to me, does not mean I’ll return it. I hope I really don’t see you again.”

taglist [taglists are sadly closed now, thanks guys <3]

@fortheloveofiwaizumi ; @svtbitch ; @kiyoomile ; @lovedanii ; @juno-multifandom ; @gyubit17 ; @saeranoppa ; @nixxona ; @kyomihann @shorttstackk ; @intoomuchfandoms ; @yammmers ; @mx-minxx @itsmattsunshinehere ; @missingmystogan ; @volleybloop ; @imcravingyou ; @yams-wants-that-booty ; @liathachcapricious ; @pinknugget @seikamuzu ; @marigoldthoughts ; @sillykittt ; @baejinoffcl ; @alluring-akaashi ; @bnhasstuff ; @intheawks ; @bokuakadaily ; @agaassi ; @yams046 ; @dope-squish ; @chrisrue15 ; @vermillionwaves ; @demursv1ogs ; @just-snog-already ; @angmarwitch ; @angmarwitch ; @simpingonothers ; @woo-youngs ; @cowward ; @chaelysian ; @sempiternal-amour ; @jungshookmeup ; @jovialnoise ; @karlitabi-rrito ; @iwaizluv ; @sugarandsoft ; @tspice283 ; @ohshirabu

@misosamu @Etherynaw @ryaaaax @differentballooncollection @keniloveshaikyuu @allysasteaparty @syzygymai [hi, i can’t seem to tag u guys, i think you need to open your tags uwu]

#haikyuu imagines #haikyu!! fanfics #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu angst #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu imagine #atsumu x reader #atsumu imagines #miya atsumu scenarios #miya atsumu fanfiction #miya atsumu #coward series #haikyuu atsumu #miya twins

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16woodsequ · 3 years

Note

Weekly headcannon ask!

Do you have any headcannons or opinions on Steve and his dads relationship?

Hi! Sorry this took a bit, but here we are!

I do have some headcanons about Steve’s dad, and because I’m me, a lot of them are pretty angsty, so be warned!

TW: discussion of child abuse, ableism, and alcoholism

So first off, we have to talk about whether or not Steve’s dad is even alive. I’ve discussed this a little in a previous headcanons post, but Steve’s dad is technically dead in the mcu. Steve says he died of mustard gas. In the comics of course, Steve’s dad makes it home from the war, and is generally a terrible person.

I usually headcanon that Steve lied about when exactly his dad died. If Steve’s’ dad made it back from the war, then I headcanon he was a gas casualty at some point, and had lung issues afterwards. If he then died from something like influenza, then Steve could technically claim he died from mustard gas, without it being 100% a lie.

I headcanon that Steve does this, because I headcanon that Joseph Rogers (if he survives the war) is abusive. I imagine Sarah Rogers told Steve that he came back from the war a different person, and I can see Steve thinking to himself that the mustard gas killed his dad, just slower.

So anyways, that is an easy way to work around Steve’s claim that his dad died from mustard gas. If Joseph was abusive I can see Steve sort of wishing his dad had died in the war like he claimed.

Joseph Rogers’ A+ Parenting

I haven’t read the comics, so I am not sure if any of them expand on why exactly Joseph is abusive, but I imagine it has a few layers to it. For one, he is a veteran who is no doubt dealing with trauma in a time period when the effects of shellshock are not fully recognised. Alcohol is a common self-medicating tool, and I can see Joseph turning to that for relief.

Add onto that Joseph being a gas casualty, I usually headcanon that it is harder for him to breath after the war. PTSD and difficulty breathing would be a frustrating loss of control for someone like Joseph, and that isn’t even taking into account the daily stress of living in poverty as an Irish-Catholic.

And then there is Steve himself. Steve is chronically ill. He wouldn’t be the ideal son. His illness would cost money, and his breathing problems would probably remind Joseph too much of his own issues.

Ableism would be an easy thing for Joseph to latch on to. Eugenics was popular in that time period, and I can see Joseph seeing Steve as the embodiment of a lot of his anger. He went to war and barely made it back to his wife and child, but his child is sickly and can hardly breathe, and when he gets sick he uses up money that they don’t have.

Of course, Joseph wouldn’t be helping anything. I imagine he would have worked as much as he could, but it is debatable how well he could hold a job. I usually headcanon that he died right before the Great Depression, so he didn’t have to deal with that, but even if jobs were more available in the 1920s, I think his alcoholism would be his worst enemy and lose him jobs every couple of years or so, if not more frequently.

Sarah would be working too, since working class women would be more likely to work than middle class women, but I can see Joseph being sore about that too. I imagine every time he lost his job he was extra bitter about the fact that he had to rely on his wife’s work to survive. Toxic masculinity was deeply entrenched in that time period, so feeling emasculated would not have helped Joseph’s mood at all.

As for how often he drank, it is kind of hard to say. Technically prohibition was going on, but it was easy enough to drink in speakeasies most of the time. I’m not sure how easy it would be for him to buy alcohol and drink it at home, but it would be realistic for him to come home drunk.

Even if he had work that could be the case, since I imagine his work buddies would often go out for a drink after their shift. Of course, Joseph’s drinking would do nothing to help the financial situation of the family.

Joseph and Steve

I imagine Joseph was abusive and was a violent drunk, but while I think he hurt Steve, I don’t think he regularly beat him to a pulp. This is mostly because if he did that, then Steve would die. Steve is sick enough that I don’t think he would survive regular all-out beatings.

Of course, that doesn’t mean Joseph didn’t grab, push, hit, etc. But I think his anger tunnel-visioned on things, so if he were distracted away from it, or Steve managed to get out of the general area, then his focus would be taken elsewhere.

I think Joseph did a lot of damage with his words though. I imagine he yelled a lot about Steve’s inadequacies and how Steve is a waste of money, etc. That kind of thing would stick with Steve for a long time, and I can see him trying to be the least of a burden possible in response.

In general, living with Joseph would put anyone on edge. Even when he wasn’t actively hurting people, he could still get mad over basic things that remind him of his helplessness. Being around him would be like walking on eggshells. I imagine young-Steve flinched at loud noises and slamming doors, and yelling, but also tried not to show it, because his dad didn’t like him ‘being a coward’.

Also, I headcanon that adult Steve never really liked the smell of alcohol, especially on other people. I think part of him was a little glad that the serum made it so he couldn’t get drunk, because that means he can never get violent like his dad. I think Steve was always a little afraid of letting his temper get the best of him after the war, and so he tried to bury his feelings instead of dealing with them, because he didn’t want to turn out like his dad.

Good times

As all humans, Joseph would have his good days. Maybe he found a new job, or maybe something else put him in a good mood, but sometimes he would come home without being angry.

Those would be hard days too, in a way, because Steve and Sarah wouldn’t know if something would set Joseph off—and some days, acting worried that he will get mad would be enough to make him mad.

But I think Steve must have at least a few good memories of his dad. Maybe his dad being proud of him for a good grade in school, or maybe even being proud of him for facing off against bullies and telling them what’s what.

I think sometimes Joseph would try to treat Steve as though he were the son he wanted. He would chat with him about things they could do together ‘as men’, or he would tell him stories of his own boyhood days...but then, inevitable Steve would get sick again, and Joseph’s good humour would wash away.

Others and Joseph

I don’t think Joseph’s abusiveness was a very well kept secret. Tenement building walls are thin, and I imagine the neighbours knew what was going on. But I doubt Joseph was the only loud/violent drunk in the building.

Bucky might not have known the full extent of what was happening—because he was a kid—but he would have seen some of the bruises, and maybe Steve’s initial cautiousness around his own dad, and he would come to the correct conclusion. I don’t think Steve talked a lot about what was happening, but he would probably talk about his dad getting angry about certain things, or breaking stuff sometimes.

I imagine Bucky’s mom knew more about what was going on, and would do her best to help Sarah out, but Sarah would be in a tough spot. Divorce and single-motherhood were generally frowned upon, and her poverty would also make it harder to leave Joseph.

As for Steve’s teachers etc. I think most of them suspected too. But I don’t think much came about from it. Interesting fact, doctors were not legally required to report child abuse cases until the 60s.

Joseph death

This is a headcanon I’ve had laying around that I haven’t been able to put anywhere yet, but I headcanon that Joseph died of influenza when Steve was between 8 and 10. Given their poverty, I think Joseph would have died at home, which is kind of horrible, since that would mean Steve was around to watch his dad get sicker and sicker, and then eventually die.

As an extra cruelty, I think Joseph would be pretty peeved at dying this way, and I can see him vindictively telling Steve that he will die this way too one day, since he gets so sick all the time. I can just see Joseph being spiteful and saying something like that while Steve is trying to look after him while Sarah is working.

MCU canon Joseph

I also have a few thoughts for if Joseph did die in the war, and didn’t come back. I’ve seen content speculating that Steve wanted to join the army because his dad was a soldier. I don’t know if the comics say that anywhere, but I usually headcanon otherwise.

I think having a father who died in war (or having an abusive one afterwards), and seeing what that did to Sarah, Steve would know all too well what war could do to people.

No doubt Steve’s father would be on his mind while he tried to enlist, but I think saying he wanted to join mainly because his father was a soldier takes away from the heart of the reason Steve wanted to join—he felt like Hitler needed to be stopped, and he didn’t have a right not to do something about it.

Well, that got longer than I thought it would, but I hope you enjoyed!

Headcanon masterpost

#tw child abuse #tw ableism #tw eugenics #tw alchoholism #asks #headcanon #headcanons #steve rogers #joseph rogers #joseph rogers a+ parenting #marvel #mcu #long post #tw death #tw illness #tw alcohol #tw drinking

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oncefutureemrys · 3 years

Note

18. "I'm afraid."

hello, my friend! thank you for asking me this!

If you want to know what prompts we’re talking about, it is @night-faye’s incredible list of prompts that you can find here. If you would like for me to write another one, send me an ask and I’ll write it!

Anyway, I was honestly a bit nervous about this because I didn’t think it came out great, butttt there’s a thing called positive thinking which I’m working on so I’m going to say it’s not bad. (This is exactly how to get people to read your work haha) no but seriously, there are many Tumblr posts about writing bad fics are okay if we can learn something from them, and so here is me, writing some bad fics.

Hope you enjoy!

(It was also posted on my ao3. The link is here).

Merlin gazes at the darkening sky and the flickering light from the dimming campfire. He feels the breeze brushing his skin gently and hears the way the trees rustle like whispers in his ear.

It’s here, in this peaceful moment, when Merlin closes his eyes and thinks:

I’m not ready to die.

Five simple words, strung together to create one sentence Merlin’s more afraid of than anything else.

He’s not ready to die.

And yet he knows he must, for it is his destiny and his alone to always sacrifice his needs, his wants, his morals, his life for Arthur.

He knows this, he’s been told this since the beginning, and yet suddenly he feels so… unready. Unsure. Nervous, worried, afraid.

It was… odd, to say the least.

Before, when he was staring death straight in the face, when he was envisioning a world without his friends, Gaius, his mother, Arthur – it was easy. Merlin’s never been one to think his life was somehow more meaningful than others, that he was worthy of life more than anyone else.

Which is why he now finds it strange that he’s having second thoughts.

Maybe it’s because there’s more time to think about his inevitable death, more time to fixate on his fears and insecurities that plague his mind, haunting him with lingering thoughts he wishes would disappear.

Maybe because he’s reminded of his destiny, as this overwhelming burden that clings onto his shoulders, that beats down on his skin whenever he tries veering off course. This ever-hanging cloud that keeps him in constant darkness, the shadow that constantly reminds him, over and over again, how foolish he is, how ungrateful he is, how selfish and weak and useless he is.

Maybe because he’s sitting here next to his king, his best friend, the one man he has sacrificed his entire life and more for, unsure how he’ll be able to say goodbye. Not sure how to explain to him that he won’t be dying tomorrow, how Merlin’s planning on taking his place.

As if sensing his thoughts, he looks over at him in that moment, the warm glow of the fire dancing across his face. “Everything alright?” he asks.

Almost out of habit, he nods, not meeting his gaze.

Arthur studies him for a moment and Merlin swallows, afraid he will push. Thankfully, he simply nods and drops the subject, letting the silence sit still.

Except the silence almost feels unbearable, this guilt clawing at his skin and threatening to suffocate him. Merlin knows that he needs to say goodbye, in a roundabout way if possible, but the words are sticking in his throat and he’s having a hard time finding the right ones.

He’s reminded of an earlier time, years ago, when he was willing to sacrifice his life for his mother and had to say goodbye to Arthur. It had been a bit difficult – his throat had felt try, his hands had been shaking. But it was different back then. While they were far more comfortable with one another than when they had originally started, they weren’t as close back then. Now, they had been through everything together – from evil sorcerers to betrayals, to friends dying and dead knights walking, they had seen and experienced so much. If it was hard for Merlin to say it then, it was even harder saying it now.

And yet, he knows that he must, knows that he doesn’t want to be another person that betrays Arthur. And so, he opens his mouth, about to let the words through – words he hadn’t planned yet – when Arthur sighs loudly, turning to look at him. “So… this is it.”

Merlin’s quite confused – he’s not exactly sure where this conversation is going – but decides to go along with it. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Well,” Arthur says, taking a sip of water. “I’d like to say I made the most of it, but I’m not sure I have.”

Merlin’s eyes widen, stunned by his declaration. How in the hell could he think that? Well, sure, not all of Merlin’s hopes and dreams were panning out the way he had wanted, but to say that Arthur had not tried, had not given his all for his people, was baffling. He says as much when he finally finds the right words to say.

Arthur simply smiles but Merlin notices it’s devoid of any mirth. “I appreciate that.”

“Arthur—“

“Merlin,” Arthur says abruptly, cutting him off. “You’ll make sure to let the others know, right?”

And there it is again, that guilt that twists in his stomach, reminding him of the many lies he has told this night, and every day since he’s met him. He forces himself to take a deep breath before finally choking out, “Yes. I’ll tell them.”

Arthur nods, turning to look at the fire in front of them. Merlin realizes this is his chance to finally tell him of all the secrets, everything that he has bottled up over the years. To finally release all of the remorse he has felt throughout the years.

But he’s selfish and a coward, so he keeps it bottled in, throwing it into the ocean and hoping desperately for the tides to wash it all away.

It’s during Merlin’s slight panic that he’s brought back to the present by a small chuckle. He’s surprised to almost see a smile lingering on Arthur’s face. “What’s funny?” he asks.

“Huh? Nothing.” When Merlin gives him a look he sighs. “I was just thinking… how strange this all is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that… seven years ago, so many things were different. We were such different people.” Arthur shrugs, scratching at his neck. “It just feels crazy looking at how far we’ve come.”

Merlin remembers his journey to Camelot, his inexplicable wonder when he first entered and saw bustling crowds and the large castle. Now, years later, he finds no new wonder in the bustling crowds or even the wondrous castle. Merlin smiles to himself, memories of those days coming back to him. We were so innocent back then, he thinks to himself. I wish it had stayed that way.

“Yeah,” Merlin says when he’s managed to return to the conversation. “Yeah, it’s pretty crazy.”

“Did you ever expect to end up here?”

“Not a chance,” Merlin responds immediately, chuckling at the thought. “I certainly never thought I would have to deal with a pompous, arrogant, supercilious, prat like yourself.”

“Hm, no I suppose not.”

Merlin’s eyes widened, turning to look at Arthur. “Did you just admit to being a prat?”

Arthur attempts to play it off, but Merlin knows him too well. Huffing, he crosses his arms as if he were a child. “Alright, so maybe I wasn’t the best person back then.”

“Yes!” He says gleefully, clapping his hands together. “This is the best day of my life.”

“Whatever Merlin, at least I changed for the better!”

Merlin grins, recalling memories of Arthur risking his find a flower to save him, memories of Arthur leading his people when they needed him, memories of Arthur smiling and laughing and praying pranks and knighting commoners and marrying a servant and Merlin finds himself softly saying, “Yes.” Then, “Yes, I think you have.”

Silence hangs in the air and he tries to think of a way to rein in his words, add a joke in to rid them both of the tense silence, to erase those truthful words. But Merlin realizes that he won’t ever get to say these words to Arthur ever again and so maybe he shouldn’t. Just this once.

“Yes well,” Arthur says after a few minutes of tense silence, “I never would’ve done it without you.”

Merlin immediately shakes his head. “I don’t believe that.”

Arthur looks at him incredulously. “I appreciate the lie, but truly Merlin, it’s quite obvious. You don’t have to pretend just to make me feel better.”

“Arthur, have I ever, in the seven years you’ve known me, attempted to sugarcoat anything for you?”

He starts to speak and Merlin raises his eyebrows. “No,” he admits. “I guess not.”

“Good because I mean it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“…and everyone knows, I’m always right.”

Arthur huffs. “Sure.”

Merlin bites his lip worriedly before finally asking, “You know, I actually mean it right?” He makes sure to look straight into his eyes as he says this. “I know I mess around and call you all sorts of names, but the truth is, I am so proud of you. I know it may not seem like it, but you have done so much for your people and your loved ones. You are an amazing king, Arthur, and you will always be remembered like that.”

Arthur’s eyes hold so much insecurity and unsureness that Merlin wants to reach out and take it from him, take away the pain and the self-doubt that continue to torment his mind. Arthur takes a stuttering breath before asking, “Merlin?”

“Yes?”

Arthur swallows. “I’m afraid.” Two words that don’t need explaining, two words that Merlin understands perfectly.

Merlin finds himself nodding slowly, finding himself becoming more honest and open than he’d ever been before. “Yes... I think I am too.”

The silence following them feels freeing as if the words they had been struggling with had finally been released. For the first time that night, Merlin feels as if his last fears, his last bit of hesitation, leaves him. Merlin never thought he could be ready for such a heavy task, for such an enormous burden. But looking at Arthur now – his blue eyes of clear skies, his hair that brightens against the moonlight, the small scars, and cuts from the adventures they had been on – and realizes that he must. Realizes that he would do anything for him, not necessarily because of destiny, but because he was a good man and Arthur deserved much better than this. Arthur deserved everything and Merlin would happily give it to him if he could.

So, as they sit, the darkening sky now fully black, Merlin finds himself taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He feels the comfortable breeze against his skin and hears the familiar rustle of the trees as he thinks to himself:

I am ready.

#ambiguous ending #merlin #arthur #mentions of death #but no actual death #real real minor arthur/gwen #mainly just some bromance #and angst #which is the greatest thing life can bring #idk what im saying #its 5 in the morning #i have not slept #please someone help me

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shinydelirium · 3 years

Text

MLQC Season 2 Chapter 15 (Kiro’s Chapter) Part 4 [Double Courage] & [New Game] Translation [CN]

***SPOILERS*** DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE SPOILED!!!

I decided to combine 2 parts into one post since 15-5 was short. Enjoy~

For the previous translation of Chapter 15: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

[Double Courage]

There was no sound of footsteps coming and going outside the door and I was the only one left in the empty utility room.

I know he is still outside. Looking at the closed door, I slowly stepped forward and lifted my head.

It suddenly occurred to me, when I first arrived at the hospital after hearing that Kiro had an accident.

At that time, he was also on the other side, refusing me.

I turned around, leaned against the door, and sat down. Soon, the sound of footsteps quietly leaving came to my ears.

I have to admit, I really can’t help him. I am not strong enough to make him feel more at ease.

People need to accept their own weaknesses and limitations in order to think about what they can do from their own perspective.

The whole space is quiet and my heart is surprisingly calm.

I closed my eyes and replayed all the scenes of my time with Kiro over and over again in my mind.

If I were Kiro, why would I need to use another identity while insisting on solving the problem alone?

If I was admitted to the hospital and refused to see anyone, it must be because there is a serious illness and I don’t know how to deal with others.

And I act alone because it may be dangerous and I don’t want to be dragged down by others or….

MC: Drag others down with me.

My brain is spinning so fast. I always feel that there is something that has constantly plagued me and I have come to a conclusion.

MC:…Kiro’s illness has not been cured?

So everything makes sense now.

From beginning to end, he never said why he was admitted into the hospital.

If he was attacked because of what he did, then he abandoned the identity of “Kiro” and acted under the identity of “Helios” which made it even more logical sense.

It is precisely because the illness has not been cured. He cannot expose his weakness but at the same time, he will also worry that he will be a burden to others because of this.

MC: Kiro, are you trying to be strong again?

Secretly covering up his wounds and then create an identity of another person to carry everything on his back.

But this shouldn’t be a world where only superheroes get hurt.

MC: Kilo, display location.

Following my instructions, an electronic map immediately laid out before my eyes. I looked towards the center of the map and was shocked.

Next to the little bear wearing a small flower is another bear.

Helios hasn’t left. He was just outside the door.

I remember coming in, passing by the fire control room.

I thought for a while, not worrying about it anymore, I reached out my hand and touched the head of the little bear that was close to me, as if I could the person behind it.

MC: Kiro, can you hear me?

As I expected, there was no response.

I carefully tapped the microphone on the collar twice and then muttered to myself.

MC: Kiro, I know you are there. You can just treat this as me talking to myself but listen to me, okay?

MC: I know that I am very small and there are many things I can’t do and can’t help much.

MC: I don’t think it is shameful to admit that I am weak, because I know where to move forward after realizing this.

MC: For example, right now I’m thinking, do I have to learn some hacking skills or any combat skills?

There was a vaguely violent cough outside the door and I couldn’t help but smile.

MC: I know you must have encountered something sad.

MC: I also know that I can’t help you with this. You are afraid that I will only worry more so you choose to stay away from me.

MC: But Kiro, do you know?

MC: Sometimes you are a coward and then you make yourself look strong.

Kiro:….MC

Kiro’s dull voice rang in my ears as if it came from the collar and also from the door behind him.

MC: Kiro, you don’t have to be so strong.

MC: Difficulty is like a giant beast with its teeth and claws bared. A little bear will inevitably be nervous and scared when facing it.

MC: But it doesn’t have to force itself to fight alone because if it were two bears, the courage would be doubled.

MC: The weapon to defeat the beast is often not any sharp knife, but the power of courage.

MC: My courage can be lent to you at any time.

There was a small voice and I knew he was listening to me carefully.

MC: I know you are working hard for everyone so I hope I can also help you in some way.

Next, I started to tell him all the information about the hunter game, Joker and the little boy I learned about.

Rather than watching him fight alone, I will accompany the superhero in my own way.

After Helios closed the door of the utility room, he took out the hidden mini computer from under the console of the fire control room.

This is his temporary stronghold. It is located in the center of the city so it is convenient for his system to scan the entire terrain of Loveland City.

After he hacked into the opponent’s map program and was kicked out, he came to a decision.

He wants to build a brand new system to replace the other party’s authority and control over Loveland.

He opened the program on the mini computer and took out another device.

After the device started up, a beam of light projected into the air, showing an unfinished 3D map.

He sat down and flicked his fingers quickly in the air and the program projected in the air began to change with his movements.

This is a program he developed overnight to scan a map of the city and it is more intuitive than a 2D map.

At the same time, he tried to hack into the opponent’s system again, only this time, he did not bother to snatch the program they made.

He just wants to use their system to master the information of all players and all supply points so that he can enter the next step of the plan.

He quickly worked out a plan to end the game, with every step interlocking. And the first step of all plans must be that she can stay safe.

He knows that once Kilo is enabled, his identity will be exposed to the girl.

But in such a chaotic situation, he can no longer consider that much to ensure her safety.

After finding her, his ecstatic mood made him temporarily forget the anxiety caused by those recent events.

He forgot for a while that Kiro is broken, lonely and silent.

When she heard that she was looking forward to meeting the healthy Kiro, he suddenly recovered.

He is no longer the same Kiro, at least not the Kiro she was expecting.

He still couldn’t stand in front of her as Kiro.

The girl’s voice chattered endlessly, but it made him calmer than ever.

When she said that she wanted to learn hacking techniques or combat skills, he couldn’t help but cough.

At that moment, he was sure that she was serious.

She said that he was a coward.

She said that he doesn’t need to be so strong.

Helios tapped his fingers on the keyboard and gradually stopped.

Never compromise, never give up.

He feels his heart slowly being peeled off. There is a force pushing him forward.

She was right. As long as she was by his side, he would gain great courage.

This courage can support him to do many things and make him feel even more strength.

And the information she brought was really helpful to him.

Although he had investigated some information long ago, some of it was the first time he had heard of it.

The name Joker and Evol may be the main messenger of the game and the boy who can provide teleportation for him.

The so-called “ghost” to “human” transmission is actually done by this young man.

He frowned and began to think about what changes his plan needed to make as a result.

Fast fingers flew over the keyboard again and a “beep” came from multiple devices at the same time.

He raised his eyebrows slightly and his eyes showed unstoppable sharpness.

After scanning the three-dimensional map of the city, the player’s information points have been fully entered, the locations of the supply points have been disclosed to him, and the girl’s location information has also been erased from the game.

Helios: This game is mine.

[New Game]

I leaned against the door and suddenly felt a vibration from my phone. When I picked it up, I found that the phone had a black screen.

Before I had a chance to restart it, the screen automatically lit up and then a line of words were displayed.

“Welcome to the new hunter game.”

New hunter game? I was stunned for a moment, before I realized what had happened, the word “hunter” was marked with a red “X” by the animation effect.

MC: Welcome to…..the new hunter game?”

The red animation effect keeps flashing on the screen, seeming to constantly emphasize the concept of “new game”.

Did Joker change the rules of the game? Why cross out the word “hunter”? What does he want to do?

Unsettling emotions came to my mind. I subconsciously wanted to call Helios but I heard a familiar voice come over the phone.

??: Now, the game management rights will be changed.

??: I hereby announce, the new game has officially started.

This voice….is Helios!

I looked at the phone in disbelief and saw the screen change along with his voice.

“Hunter Game Is Out”

Helios: All the rules of the hunter game are invalidated.

Helios: There is only one rule you have to abide by—“No harm to anyone.”

I looked at the big words “NO FIGHT” displayed on the screen and faintly guessed what Helios wanted to do.

Helios: The communication method will now be opened, allowing all players to establish contact.

Helios: The game system adds a help platform and anyone who needs assistance can upload coordinates.

Helios: The map resumes normal use and all supply points will be publicly marked.

When he released these rules, the signal of my mobile phone showed full frame synchronously; a dialog box for help also popped up on the screen.

Then the phone automatically opened a brand new Loveland City map which not only showed the locations of all supply points but also a panoramic 3D map.

Helios: But don’t be too happy. My game will only be harder.

Helios: All of you, still have to follow my rules.

His tone was blunt, as if he was really the master of the game.

I was a little puzzled. Helios is clearly helping everyone to restore peace in Loveland. Why is he deliberately being so cold?

Although the fog has not dissipated, he can directly announce the end of the game. Why would he go the other way and announce the new rules of the game?

At this time, the screen switched to the surveillance on the streets of Loveland City and Helios seemed to have set up thermal imaging technology to clearly see colorful figures on the screen.

After seeing the contents of the surveillance clearly, my eyes widened unexpectedly—

Many people still pushed and scrambled for the aerosol at the replenishment point, fighting hard, and the scene was chaotic.

It seems that the so-called “new game” and “new rules” are meaningless to them.

Faintly, I seem to understand something.

Even if the game itself is stripped away, some people will still be dominated by fear or some kind of temptation and continue to dwell in the cold-blooded fighting.

So is this also Helios’ consideration?

I looked back at the closed wooden door waiting for his answer.

Helios: If someone insists on going their own way and continue to compete for limited resources…

Helios: The aerosol that you’re competing for will be ineffective at the moment.

Before he finished his words, everyone on the screen seemed to be taken aback. Several people raised the aerosols in their hands and panicked.

Helios: This is my game.

Helios: If you don’t believe me, you can try it.

The picture automatically zoomed in and the aerosol in the person’s hand was clearly exposed---the aerosol valve was automatically opened.

The crowd seemed to have finally realized the existence of the new game and stood there facing each other.

This is the meaning of Helios building a new game—

If the game is announced directly, everyone will continue to compete for aerosol if the fog is not effectively resolved.

That’s why he created another image of the game controller and introduced new game rules.

The purpose is to establish authority, let everyone follow his instructions, and get out of the mindset of fighting in a more orderly manner.

Helios: If you want to live, you must act according to my rules.

Helios: All players will be divided into three levels and displayed on your mobile phone screens according to the length of the remaining survival time.

Helios: Sub-level players need to help emergency level players to obtain aerosol.

Helios: The more people you help, the higher the ranking will be.

Helios: The highest-ranked person can still get a generous bonus.

Helios: Remember, “you are the game itself.”

Helios: Looking forward to your wonderful performance.

Helios completely changed the rules of the game.

If it can be executed smoothly, it will make the hunter game lose its original meaning.

It turns out that this is his “own way” to solve the hunter game?

While sighing, I was also a little worried.

The current situation is undoubtedly a huge change for Joker. In order to take back control, he will certainly not give up.

I was about to remind Helios to be vigilant but suddenly there was a slight noise outside the door. Helios opened the door in the next second.

Helios: Let’s go.

Helios: Someone has snuck in.

-End of Part 4-

Continue to Part 5

#spoliers #mlqc spoilers #kiro #helios #kiro spoilers #helios spoilers #mlqc season 2 #translations #cold badass helios is HOT #ME LIKEY!!!

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hysterialevi · 3 years

Text

Hjarta | Chapter 15

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

A FEW HOURS LATER

THE COAST OF BJORNHEIMR

The clouds rumbled with the drums of distant thunder, sending a subtle flash of lightning throughout the sky. Sea mist broke free from the restraints of its majestic waves, and gently tickled the skin of the warriors who sailed across its arctic tides. Meanwhile, the ocean rose and fell underneath their feet like the chest of a sleeping giant, and calmly guided the longship back to its home.

Life solemnly carried on with its infinite cycle despite the numerous souls that had just slipped free from its grasp, and offered no comfort to those left behind. The world remained entangled with the threads of endless stories that had yet to unfold, but even then... Eivor felt as if everything had come to a pause.

In his arms, Thora lay motionless beneath a layer of cloth, wrapped in her brother’s cloak to protect her from the elements. Her body was no more than an empty husk awaiting the fires of a ceremonial pyre, and yet, part of Eivor kept hoping that she wasn’t truly gone.

His mind still couldn’t quite fathom the idea that he would never see his sister again. He had gotten so used to having her company, that a world without her felt completely foreign to him. A fraction of Eivor even tried to convince himself that this was all a dream that would eventually come to an end, but in reality, he knew better. Thora would forever roam the halls of Valhalla from now on, and he’d have to accept it.

He just dreaded delivering the news to his father. Arngeir was already stressed enough due to Thora’s absence, and Eivor didn’t know if he carried the strength to inform him of what happened. His father was one of the most steadfast men in their clan, but even then, Eivor had seen the loss of a child break those he once believed to be invincible.

“...Eivor.” Sigurd whispered, lightly nudging the young man with his elbow. He waited until the Wolf-Kissed broke out of his thoughts, and then pointed to the land before them. “We’re home.”

Eivor peered at the battle-worn village with a deadpan expression on his face, barely shifting his body.

“Eivor?” Sigurd repeated, quickly taking note of the man’s empty nature. He leaned closer to his lover, wrestling with the urge to pull him into a hug. “Are you listening?”

The lifeless viking kept his gaze nailed on the village, swaying softly with the longship’s rhythmic motion. He hadn’t uttered a single word ever since their departure from Kjotve’s Fortress, and yet, Sigurd felt as if he could see his very thoughts etched into his eyes.

“...What am I going to tell my father, Sigurd?” Eivor finally replied. “Or Randvi? What do I do?”

The prince bowed his head in sympathy, unsure of how to answer the question. “I... I wish I knew, Eivor.”

The younger man glanced down at his sister’s veiled body, placing a hand on her arm.

“Thora’s death will destroy them. There’s not much in this world that can rattle my family, but... I have no clue what they’ll do once they realize she’s gone. I don’t even know if I can tell them.”

Sigurd offered his help. “I could do it in your stead, if you wish.”

Eivor shook his head. “No. It should be a family member. I found Thora’s body, so I should be the one to deliver the news. But thank you.”

The older man nodded in understanding. “Of course. You know I’m here for you. I certainly don’t envy your position, though. You bear the burden of a lifetime. But don’t cast away your hope just yet...” Sigurd took a glimpse over his shoulder, glaring at the new captive sitting on their ship, “...we have Gorm now. And he will tell us what we need to know.”

Gorm struggled in his binds and let out a few muffled grunts, attempting to speak through the cloth that had been tied around his mouth.

“Be still, Kjotvesson!” The prince barked, his voice rough with spite. “Or I’ll hurl you over the edge and leave you to drown. Your cries mean nothing to the men here.”

Ulfar chimed in from the head of the ship, sharing Sigurd’s hostility towards the man.

“Indeed,” he added. “Normally, I’d say you’re fortunate to be alive, Gorm, but after everything you did to Thora, I imagine you’d be better off being swallowed by the ocean. Consider yourself lucky if the jarl doesn’t fashion wings out of your bones.”

The restrained viking tried to reply again, causing Ulfar to become even more irate than he already was.

“Osmund,” he said to one of his men, “silence this yapping dog, will you?”

The raider wasted no time in following Ulfar’s command and turned to Gorm, slapping him with a firm backhand across the cheek. The prisoner instantly fell silent upon the strike, and reluctantly complied with his captors’ wishes.

“...Anyway,” Ulfar said with a fatigued sigh, “we’re finally home, men. I know this has been an onerous journey for everyone, but you lot can rest for now. Tomorrow, we’ll bid farewell to those who have fallen, and raise a horn in their name. In the meantime, tend to your families. Odin knows they’ll need all the support they can get.”

Bringing his attention to the surrounding scenery, Ulfar remained quiet for the rest of their journey and leaned against the ship’s figurehead, doing his best not to linger on the thought of Thora’s death. He hadn’t felt this awful since Linnea first fell to Kjotve’s axe, and he grew increasingly restless as he pondered what to do with the rat hiding amongst them. He was more than positive that he knew who the traitor was by now, but the method he’d use to deal with them was a little less clear.

In the meantime, his men steadily shut the sails and lowered the mast, taking a hold of the oars as they brought the ship to land. Their bodies ached due to hours of huddling in the vessel’s cramped space, and their palms grew callused from the continuous toil of rowing the ship. They were eager to finally set foot on solid ground, and they longed for the warmth of a soft bed.

Eivor, on the other hand, dreaded their upcoming arrival. Much to his dismay, he spotted Arngeir waiting at the docks with Ingrida by his side as they anticipated their return, anxious to hear any news pertaining to Thora’s rescue. A glimmer of hope flickered in the jarl’s lost eyes, but the Wolf-Kissed knew it would soon be snuffed out. And it ruined him.

“Ulfar!” Arngeir called out, approaching the end of the pier. “You’ve returned safely, thank the gods. How do you fare, brother?”

The raider waited for the ship to come to a complete stop before hopping onto the docks, still somewhat wobbly from the ocean’s waves.

“I’m well, Arngeir,” he replied, “but I regret to inform you that Kjotve still lives. The bastard escaped.”

The jarl furrowed his brow in concern. “Escaped? How? Where is he now?”

Ulfar shrugged in annoyance. “No idea. He fled the fortress before we even arrived, the coward. I believe one of our own people warned him beforehand.”

Arngeir let out a breath. “...Is that so? Any ideas on how to track him?”

The other man glanced at the ship. “Yes, actually. Sigurd managed to capture Gorm alive. He claims to be unaware of Kjotve’s whereabouts, but with a blade to his throat, I’m sure he’ll sing soon enough. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Then there’s that, at least.” Arngeir paused for a second. “...And what of my daughter? Where is Thora? Is she with you?”

Ulfar’s expression dimmed at the question, and he found himself at a total loss for words. His silence alone was more than enough to plant a sickening fear in the jarl’s gut, but when the man saw Eivor stepping onto the pier with a blanketed body in his arms, his heart instantly froze inside his chest.

“Eivor...?” Arngeir said, mindlessly pushing Ulfar to the side as he strode towards the anguished boy. He looked down at the unidentified corpse and desperately waited for an answer, terrified by his own suspicion of who it was.

“Eivor,” he urged, gripping him by the shoulders. “Who... who is that?”

The boy met his father’s sturdy gaze, afraid to even speak. A million different thoughts swarmed his mind like voracious insects scouring a battlefield, and he stared at the jarl as if he were peering into the depths of Hel itself.

“...I’m sorry, father.” Eivor whispered plainly. “I couldn’t save her.”

Reaching down to grab his cloak, the young man slowly removed the sea-weathered fabric from Thora’s face and revealed who was hiding underneath, causing Arngeir to plummet into an abysmal pit of dolor. A sense of despair clouded his eyes like frost spreading across a lake, and his aura crumbled within a matter of moments.

It was clear that the jarl was one step away from completely breaking down, but for the sake of his clan’s morale, he simply reached out to Thora’s body and requested the solace of his daughter’s company, unable to fully process what was going on.

“...Give her here.” Arngeir said, gently taking Thora into his arms as if he were cradling a newborn infant. A single teardrop immediately streamed down his cheek upon touching her corpse, and he clenched his jaw in an attempt to stifle his agony.

“My daughter...” he lamented, “my sweet, sweet daughter.” The jarl glanced at his son. “What... happened, Eivor? How did she die? Did she die with an axe in her hand?”

The young man shook his head without saying a word.

Arngeir shut his eyes in disappointment and sighed, already overwhelmed by grief.

“...I see. Then may her journey across the Gjallarbrú be swift, and may she find her way into her mother’s embrace.” He pulled the cloak back over Thora’s face, bidding his daughter farewell. “Rest easy, skǫrungr. Your battles are over. We shall meet again someday.”

Trying to offer the mournful father some comfort, Ingrida quietly walked over to the man and placed a hand on his shoulder, beckoning him to follow her to the temple. The seeress’ appearance had changed significantly compared to when Eivor last saw her, and it was as if twenty years had been added onto the woman’s face.

“Come, Arngeir,” Ingrida said softly. “Let us bring Thora to the temple. I shall say a final prayer for her, and prepare her body for the funeral. She will not venture the Gjallarbrú alone.”

“...Thank you, my friend.”

Guiding Arngeir away from the docks, the seeress led the melancholic jarl through the village as the rest of his clan settled into their homes, practically falling into the laps of the nearest benches they could find. The ocean’s wintry chill had seeped into the marrow of their battered bones, and their movements had become sluggish with fatigue.

As for Ulfar, the raider simply stayed in place and watched the jarl vanish in the distance, heartbroken to see his old friend in such a state. He couldn’t imagine the man ever being the same again after a loss as great as this, and for the first time in years, even Ulfar himself felt helpless.

What would they do when they found Kjotve? If they found him? Would the strength of their alliance finally bring them the advantage they needed to win this war, or would they just end up sending more men to their deaths, and darken the shadow that already hung over Bjornheimr?

At this point, Ulfar no longer knew what to think. His ultimate dream was to witness Kjotve draw his dying breath, but he had also grown tired of ordering people into battle, only to never see them return. He may not have been directly responsible for their untimely demise, but he couldn’t deny that the casualties were starting to take a toll on him.

He just wanted this godforsaken war to end, and he knew exactly where to start.

Diverting his focus to Dag, Ulfar watched the man like a lion waiting to pounce and followed him off the docks, finally deciding to put this damned charade to rest. He hadn’t the faintest idea how this confrontation was going to unfold, but he was sick of keeping silent about his thoughts. Even if he didn’t get the outcome he desired, he simply wanted the people of Bjornheimr to be aware of the wolf hiding among their sheep -- and it all started now.

“Dag!” Ulfar blurted out, approaching the warrior as he wandered away from the longship. “Hold a moment.”

Despite having no intentions of doing so, the raider turned a few heads with his thunderous voice and attracted the attention of nearby onlookers, including Eivor and Sigurd themselves. They all stopped what they were doing to see what the commotion was about, and paused out of curiosity.

“Yes, Ulfar?” Dag responded, clearly not reflecting the man’s antagonistic mood. “What is it?”

Ulfar prowled towards the viking, unable to hide the glower now plastered on his face.

“The jarl’s daughter lies dead in a pool of cold blood... and you have the audacity to feign ignorance?”

Dag scoffed in a bewildered tone, shrugging innocently. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The older man halted in his tracks, keeping no more than a couple meters between them. “Do you think me blind and deaf, Dag? You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Ulfar began grumbling under his breath, pacing back and forth. “Damn it. I’ve been doubtful of you for a while now, but I never had anything to confirm my suspicions until today. I should’ve done something sooner.”

Dag rested his hands on his hips, growing impatient with their conversation.

“What is this about, old man? What are you getting at?”

Ulfar shot a glare at him. “You’re the rat. You’re the one who’s been feeding Kjotve our secrets, and you’re the one who told him to flee. You betrayed us.”

The blunt accusation caused a wave of murmurs to rush through the crowd around them, igniting a sudden spark of worry among the villagers.

“Is that truly what you think?” Dag questioned casually. “I know you’re short one eye, Ulfar, but even you can see how ridiculous that statement is.”

The raider refused to back down. “Give me one good reason why I should believe you. You sailed with me during the assault, Dag. I sent you as one of the scouts. Your job was to pave the way for us, and then give us the opening we needed to ambush Kjotve’s clan. But instead, you ran off to cower behind the fortress’ walls before our warriors could even reach the shore, and you lit the beacon far before we were ready. You forced what few men we had in the settlement to attack alone, and we lost a handful of people because of it.”

Ulfar’s nose crinkled in anger. “At first, I merely planned to berate you for your incompetence, but now it’s clear to me that you knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted the plan to fail.”

Dag did nothing but chuckle in response to the overwhelming accusations and waved a dismissive hand, reluctant to entertain the other man’s skepticism.

“You’re delusional, Ulfar. There is no traitor. We’ve simply been experiencing the horrible realities of war. People are going to die. Not everything is going to make sense. That’s just how it is, I’m afraid.”

Ulfar’s stare sharpened with wrath. “Oh, no. It all makes sense now. I stood idly by whilst you condemned our men to the pits of Hel because I wanted to find irrefutable evidence, but after what happened today, I’m done waiting for evidence. I’ll not allow you to endanger our clan anymore.”

Yanking out his axe, Ulfar brandished the weapon and raised it high in the air, making sure that everyone could hear his words loud and clear.

“I call a holmgang!” He announced. “Here, against the Raven Prince’s right-hand man.”

Sigurd froze upon hearing the challenge, and a stir of panic awakened inside his heart. Was this what Ingrida warned him about so long ago? Was this the betrayal his vision tried to convey?

The prince made haste to the front of the crowd with Eivor in tow, both of them now frightened to see how this would play out.

“You wish to duel me?” Dag asked. “Are you certain that’s wise?”

The raider aimed the blade at his opponent. “This is no longer something I can take back. I’ve made the challenge. What happens next depends entirely on you. So, either pick up your axe and face me with what little honor you have left, or scurry off to the snake hissing in your ear.”

Dag laughed at the absurdity of the situation and drew his blade, bowing in a smug manner. “...Very well, Ulfar. If that’s what you wish. You’ve made a foolish choice, but I will accept your challenge. We fight to the death.”

Eivor automatically lurched forward, reaching a hand out for the older man. “Ulfar--!”

Sigurd instantly grabbed his arm and held him back, preventing him from interfering.

“Eivor...” he said in a hushed tone, “there’s nothing we can do now. The holmgang is set in place. They must go through with it.”

The younger man hesitated, flicking his eyes back and forth between Sigurd and the warriors. Out of honor, he knew that Ulfar was compelled to cross swords with Dag in a fight to the death, but he also did not wish to see the man risk his life so soon after their return.

Eivor was already struggling to cope with the loss of his sister. If Ulfar were to perish as well... he didn’t know what he would do.

“I can’t risk losing him too,” he murmured. “Not after Thora’s just been killed. He’s my family. Sigurd, please.”

The prince kept his grip firm, giving him an apologetic look. “...I’m sorry, my love. But we can’t interfere. You know this.”

Eivor remained silent in response to Sigurd’s words and simply shifted his gaze back to the holmgang, uncertain of whether or not to heed his lover’s advice. Part of him wanted to throw himself between the two warriors and force them apart, but the other half knew that Ulfar’s honor would suffer if he did. The man would be relentlessly shamed if he backed down from his own challenge, and to some, that was a fate worse than death.

“...O-Okay, Sigurd.” He said, sighing in defeat. “I won’t interfere.”

Sigurd gently pulled him back into the crowd, trying to ease his nerves. “Thank you, Eivor. I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

Slinking into the prince’s arms, the Wolf-Kissed watched the holmgang from a distance as more villagers gathered around the scene, intrigued by the deadly spectacle. At this point, Ulfar and Dag were circling around each other like a pair of wolves and patiently waiting for the smallest sign of weakness, hoping to catch their foe off-guard.

Within a few moments though, Ulfar was already leaping at his enemy like a bear charging out of the shadows and swinging his axe with the strength of Fenrir himself, causing Dag to stumble backwards in an attempt to dodge the strike.

Regaining his footing, the bulky warrior countered the initial attack with a slice to the shoulder and thrust his blade forward, only to be blocked when Ulfar swatted it away with his axe. The older man whirled around Dag like a flame dancing in the wind and slammed his weapon downwards, aiming directly for the back of his foe’s skull.

Practically hurling himself out of the way, Dag evaded Ulfar’s attack just in time to save the skin on his scalp and sacrificed no more than a few strands of hair, giving him a second to catch his breath.

Dag had to admit -- he didn’t expect the old raider to be so agile after all these years. He assumed that Ulfar’s bones would have stiffened over time, but the man moved faster than many people half his age. It was clear to Dag that he had underestimated him, and now, he was starting to question just how big his chance of winning this really was.

But still, the man had to have a vulnerability. No one was invincible, after all. There had to be something that he could take advantage of. Something that could give him the upper hand.

Dag paused out of realization, suddenly noticing that Ulfar’s weakness was quite literally staring him in the face.

His wounded eye.

The raider’s vision had been cut in half thanks to his old injury, and Dag imagined that he would be able to slip out of his line of sight if he stayed at the right angle. He just had to be fast.

Flanking his opponent from the left, the dark-haired warrior crept into Ulfar’s blind spot and landed a strike on his upper arm, cutting straight through the sliver of fabric that sat between his layers of armor. Fresh blood instantly soaked the plain cloth hiding underneath, and for just a brief moment, Ulfar lost track of where his enemy had gone.

But a moment was all Dag needed.

In the blink of an eye, the larger warrior had bashed the hilt of his blade into Ulfar’s cheekbone and sent him tumbling to the ground, allowing him to shake the balance of the fight.

He relentlessly battered his way through the raider’s defenses and continued to pummel his weapon against Ulfar’s axe, fervently trying to disarm him before he could return to his feet.

Meanwhile, the older man backed away from Dag and slid across the dirt, desperately trying to put some distance between them before even attempting to get up. His arm was growing increasingly sore from having to endure the sheer impact of his opponent’s strikes, and soon enough, Ulfar found himself on the losing side of the battle.

Skirting around the edge of Dag’s blade, Ulfar just barely missed the last of his attacks and scurried back up to his feet, holding his axe out in front of him in a protective stance. By now, blood had leaked all the way down to his wrist, and a number of droplets even started to trail down his fingers. He was admittedly drained from deflecting the brute strength behind Dag’s swings, and with each passing minute, he could feel the energy fleeing from his body.

Still, in spite of the exhaustion now overtaking his mind, Ulfar refused to give up. This was his only chance to eliminate the rat hiding in their clan, and he had no intentions of wasting it.

Lifting his axe in the air, Ulfar steeled himself and prepared to send a vertical slice down on Dag’s forehead, doing his best to ignore the fatigue now hindering his movements. Before he could do anything however, the other man suddenly swerved to his left again and escaped his field of view, attacking him from the same angle. He heaved his blade into the side of Ulfar’s abdomen, and within seconds, the raider had fallen still.

Coming to an abrupt halt, the old warrior simply stared into the space ahead of him and drifted off into silence, unable to suppress the terror that was now swelling in his chest. His entire mind seemed to be paralyzed with an unfamiliar type of fear, and before he knew it, Dag had buried the axe in his torso.

“Ulfar!” Eivor cried, still struggling against Sigurd’s hold.

The raider let out a pained gasp and clutched his chest in shock, horrified by the numbness that was starting to petrify his limbs. The only thing he could hear was the rasp of his own breath scratching against his throat, and by now, the metallic taste of blood had started to envelop his tongue.

Yet, in spite of all this, Ulfar soon felt his fear fading away from him. The ethereal voices of the Valkyries called to him like the gaze of the moon, and in the bleak grey sky standing above him, he could almost see the feathery strips of the aurora forming a bridge to the Corpse Hall.

He had been chosen by the winged maidens, and would soon join Linnea’s side.

The final challenge he had to face now, was saying farewell.

Collapsing to the ground with a thud, Ulfar fell in the center of the arena and landed on his back, sparking a series of gasps in the spectating crowd. Dag’s blade still protruded from his chest like an axe lodged in a pile of timber, and most of the color had vanished from his skin.

As for Eivor, the young man finally broke free from Sigurd’s grip and rushed over to the fallen warrior, kneeling down by his side as the prince solemnly trailed after him.

“Ulfar!” Eivor exclaimed, reaching for his hand. “Ulfar, can you hear me?”

The other man looked up at him, uttering no more than a few words due to his lack of strength.

“...Oh, forgive me, little cub,” he whispered. “...I’ve been a damned fool.”

Eivor examined the raider’s wounds, knotting his brow in distress. “Shit...! Why did you do it? Why did you have to call a holmgang? We just lost Thora, and now you’re dying too? We need you.”

Ulfar felt a pang of guilt prodding him in the heart. “...I know, Eivor. I know. I never meant to leave you so soon. I’m sorry.”

Catching some movement in the corner of his eye, the old warrior turned away from the young man for just a second when he noticed Sigurd joining them, gazing down in a sorrowful manner. He appeared to share Eivor’s grief over the death of his new friend, and his expression was laden with desolation.

“Sigurd...” Ulfar said, beckoning him with a weak wave of the hand. “Come here.”

The prince knelt down, leaning closer to the man. “Yes?”

Ulfar gestured to Dag with a subtle flick of the eyes, giving Sigurd a regretful look.

“...I hate to pass this burden onto you... but you and I both know what needs to be done.”

Sigurd lowered his head in understanding, reluctant to face the horrid reality of the new task he’d just obtained. He despised the idea of finishing what Ulfar started, but he knew it was necessary to keep the clan safe.

“Yes. I do.”

“...Good. I know Dag is like a brother to you, but I need you to promise me you’ll do everything you can to protect these people.” Ulfar reached out his arm, awaiting Sigurd’s response. “Promise me.”

The prince clenched his jaw in an attempt to maintain his composure, admittedly heartbroken by the idea of turning against his childhood friend. Even though their lifelong relationship had reached the point of war, Sigurd would’ve been lying if he said he was willing to kill Dag.

In fact, part of him had even hoped that Ulfar would’ve done the job for him. He secretly wished that the raider would’ve emerged victorious from the holmgang, and he wanted nothing more than to spare his axe from Dag’s blood. But it seemed the gods felt different.

“Alright,” Sigurd assured, shaking the man’s hand. “I’ll do it. You have my word.

Ulfar nodded in satisfaction, barely clinging on to life at this point. “Then my death will not have been in vain. Thank you.”

Letting go of Sigurd’s arm, the dying vikingr finally decided to let the Valkyries whisk him away and closed his eyes in peace, drawing his last few breaths. The environment around him had become nothing more than a massive haze by now, but even then, he could still recognize the muffled sounds of Eivor’s mournful voice.

Ulfar felt terrible for leaving the boy behind. He didn’t wish to abandon him in his time of need, but alas, the Nornir clearly had other plans.

Fortunately though, Eivor would not be entirely alone. He still had many people in his life who cared for him, and now, Ulfar would just have to trust that they would stay by his side. He hadn’t forgotten about Sigurd’s affection for the young man, and unlike before, he prayed that the prince wouldn’t shy away from it any longer.

As for Sigurd himself, he had become preoccupied with the new path the gods had lain out in front of him. For the first time in years, the road ahead was not obscured by uncertainty, or hesitance, or even fear. It remained clear as day, and yet, it would be the most difficult one for him to venture in his life thus far.

And so, with a heavy heart, Sigurd stood up from the ground and sulked away from Ulfar’s corpse, making a beeline straight for Dag. He laid a hand on the warrior’s shoulder and ushered him to a more secluded area, ensuring that their conversation stayed private.

“Dag,” he said quietly, “join me for a walk.”

The other man threw him a wary look, confused as to what the prince could want at this time.

“A walk? Now? Where are we going?”

Sigurd pointed to the waterfall in the distance. “The Tears of Ymir. Come with me. We’ll be back shortly.”

Dag clearly wasn’t interested. “Can this not wait, Sigurd? We’ve only--”

“--Just come.” The prince insisted, his tone hardening. “...We need to talk.”

Deciding not to question his friend any further, Dag simply went along with Sigurd’s mysterious plan and followed him into the surrounding wilderness, curious to see what the prince had in mind.

In the meantime, the rest of Bjornheimr’s villagers dispersed from the scene of the holmgang and left Eivor alone with Ulfar’s body, giving him space to grieve on his own. Neither Arngeir nor Randvi had returned to see what had become of their old friend just yet, but he dreaded the moment when he’d have to show them.

How could this be happening? It wasn’t that long ago that Eivor was holding his deceased sister in his arms, and now, Ulfar had taken her place. Just within a day, they had already lost two of the most important souls in Bjornheimr, and gained nothing in return.

Kjotve was alive. Gorm was alive. But somehow, the gods had deemed it necessary to rob Midgard of its benevolent warriors, and leave no more than a grave of ashes in their name.

They always preached about living a life of honor, and yet, they had stolen it from the few who were willing to try.

Well, no matter what happened in the future, Eivor didn’t plan on watching anymore of his loved ones die. He didn’t care what it took to get Gorm to speak, or how long the interrogation would last. He would find the answers he needed, and track Kjotve down before the bastard had a chance to flee.

He promised himself he would kill the man for good this time, and he wavered not at the thought of death.

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolfkissed #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd styrbjornson #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

Professors

No one asked for more of this AU and, truthfully, I don’t even know why I keep writing it. We all know I have other things to be doing. The Cancer AU, the PowerPoint, and other fics left unfinished. Yet, here I am offering garbage

WARNING FOR Reid whump, implied abuse

Growing up, Spencer Reid relished his escapism. Spending hours, days even, cooped into the smallest holes of his mother’s house with nothing but books and the ability to lose track of time and space. More importantly, his ability to ignore the obvious. Here it did not matter that his mother thought he was a spy. That she’d slapped him so hard he’d felt his teeth smack together and his eyes shake in their sockets.

Now, he’s a little too old for that. Escaping is so much harder to do.

“Reid?”

The lights of his office are off, the door shut firmly behind him. With every ounce of his concentration on steading his ataxic gait and forcing his trembling hands around the doorknob of his office, he would have remembered to lock the door on his way in. Unfortunately, his days of complete solitude are behind him. A toll often paid for in order to acquire friends. His fellow professors of-- whatever it is they all teach.

“Spencer--” Hotch. Thank god. “I’m going to come in okay?”

Now, Reid can remember the distinct tap of Hotch’s approaching figure. Closing his eyes and pushing his head further into his couch, Reid hears the door open. Tap. Hotch’s old shoes scuffing across the unforgivingly rough carpet. Tap, more muffled now. One more half-raised step and the sound of the real, thick wood of Hotch’s cane being hooked over the arm of the plastic chair painted to look wooden to his left.

“What can I do?”

Reid doesn’t answer, just keeps his sweaty palms pressing into his ears. If he moves, he’s certain that his body will explode. Little bits of genius coating all for walls. His books covered in gore. Another mess.

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

Hard, calloused fingers wrap around the back of his neck. The tips digging into the stiffened muscles until Reid lets out a whimper. Then, with certainty and reflexive habit, one hand remains kneading the muscles until they ease while the other plants itself firmly on his flank. Stilling his body. Well, to be as still as Reid can.

His body has been out of his control since he was nine. The maternal drive had not been enough to protect him. For years, his mother had been distracted with work and by his father. She made time for him amidst the books but he was spared her anger and confusion. Until his father left and she could no longer work reliably. Then, one night in a fit of paranoia, his mother had hit him. She’d hit him so hard that no amount of genius had sparred him.

His cerebellum is damaged.

Garcia could tell you far more about the reasoning behind how he is now. He can too but it’s far too taxing to recount each of his bodily flaws. His disabilities.

Their silence is interrupted by a soft knock at the door and peaking out from under the suit jacket Reid hadn’t realized Hotch had tucked around him, he can see Emily. Her dark eyes flash twice over the scene before her and immediately she sinks. That’s what he loves most about her. In all her hardness, Emily is easily one of the kindest people he’s ever met.

Raised by her mother’s hip, Emily had known too much about politics and little of the reflexive kindness of those around her. To be born good and to choose good is always a rewarded ideology. People like Penelope Garcia and Derek Morgan. Born good, surrounded by good, and only learning of the evil much later are fantastic people. They have their own struggles but they overcame them. To Reid, there is nothing more interesting than those surrounded by the cold curling fingers of the world but come out good. Emily wasn’t hugged as a child. Praise came at the expense of crushing her peers and never knowing what a good friend was. Hotch was raised by two abusive, domineering parents. For them to choose kindness, to willingly soften their edges is… it’s commendable.

But maybe that’s all the pointless rambling of a book nerd.

“Que pasa?” Spanish has always lent itself to be Emily’s most practice language. Perhaps, it has to do with the softened curls and rolls of the language. It’s never sounded rough, coarse coming out of her mouth. She sounds like the women who raised her. The maids who cleaned gravel out of her knees when she fell in the driveway and the calloused fingertips that ran under her eyes to quickly wipe her tears.

With a soft, tsks Emily comes into the room. “Get off the floor,” she whispers to Hotch. His long spider-like legs curled every which way. She has no way of being able to tell how he’s been on the floor but she knows any length of time will come with repercussions. “If you can,” there is an emphasis on his abilities. Not to push himself. “Get Penelope-- wait…” She realizes a moment too soon that won’t work. “She’s got a class. I need you to get Derek.”

Garcia is like their shady doctor. She went through all the training-- undergraduate, medical school, and interned. After a bit though, she realized that stitches, sutures, and contusions were not in fact something she loved. Not even a little. So, she went to computers. A huge financial burden to take on but that was her calling. Now she has tenure and spends her time balancing JJ’s art classes with her own class on programming.

Derek is an actual doctor but he only practice theoretical medicine. Too busy teaching know-it-all medical school students about ethics. Reid likes to joke that he’s just a philosophy professor. Being an english literature professor leaves him pretty open to any comebacks Morgan can think of in the moment.

Slowly rising to his feet, Hotch totters. Emily’s long fingers curl around his bicep, an unspoken order to hold still for just a moment. Long enough for his labored breathing to calm back down and his back to stop aching so feverishly. “You’ll be no help hurting yourself,” she comments, releasing him. She avoids his eyes, almost flushed having been caught touching him. Stepping into his space. It’s nothing for someone else but Hotch isn’t someone like Garcia and she’s not gentle like Reid. Turning her back, she’s stops any further comment. Any looks or reciprocation of that touch.

Hotch leans heavily into the cane curling into his right palm. The wood slick with the calmness of his hand. “I’ll be back,” he promises, feeling a sickening twist in his stomach. All too conscious of every step being measured out by the tap, tap of his cane on the cold tiled floor.

It’s that very sound that alerts Derek to Hotch closing in.

Unlike Reid, what ails Hotch is undetermined. People, like puzzles, are simple enough to put together with enough the edges put together. For Reid, the edge pieces are his mother’s schizophrenia, her bouts of aggression, and her love of books. From there, blossoms the genius of the youngest professor the school has ever had. His cerebral injury is accounted for by his mother’s illness. Her abuse. No matter how much Reid dances around the use of that word. Her love had taken him here, to this university and to his profound love of books. To Reid, that love, has always mattered more than the rest.

Hotch, though, he is a man completely lacking in edges.

What does Derek Morgan know about Aaron Hotchner? He used to work at the District Attorney’s office. There is a mark on his record but the matters of it have been expunged, he was about sixteen according to the date. Those are matter of public record. He likes orange juice better than apple juice. If someone else is making it, he takes his coffee black, but when he makes it for himself it’s a mess of gradually adding sugar and creamer until he’s content. And the cane. It’s purpose is clear. The why is more important. It’s not very typical of men not yet fifty to need mobility aides.

The tapping stops at his open door, he doesn’t need to look up from what he’s doing to know who it is or where he is. “You’re going to royally fuck your shoulder up if you don’t start using that cane on the other side.”

As it always does, his comment is ignored. The excuse is always the same. Hotch is left handed, he simply prefers to keep his left hand free. It’s a matter of convenience. “Reid is having an episode--”

Pushing himself up, Derek doesn’t need to hear the rest. For a moment he does falter. Unsure if should falter back with Hotch, allowing the older man to set their pace rather than making Hotch’s slow, zombie like lurches seem exaggeratedly slowed by Derek’s easy, long pace. Deciding Reid to be what he needs to focus on he simply walks around Hotch. “Use the cane on the other side,” Derek says, as he steps on. “Or I’m going to start emailing you articles about the damage you’re doing to your body.”

Hotch huffs.

“If that doesn’t work I’ll send them to JJ and Emily.”

Hotch curses softly, “you wouldn’t.”

Morgan just smiles, jogging on down the hall, and knowing by the paced tap, tap that Hotch is coming in behind him.

“Pretty boy.” Sinking to his knees with an ease Hotch could not afford earlier in his comfort, Morgan pushes Reid’s sweat soaked hair back from his skin. The fever and tension become immediately apparent. Reid’s brain, as genius as it is, often forgets that Reid and his body are one. Not two separate things in which one needs to be attacked to protect itself. Today, his entire body suffers with the attack. His stomach aching, brain swelling, and back in flames. His body often betrays him.

Emily moves away from the pair, untangling her own body to stand and leave the room. Reid won’t appreciate a crowd and Morgan can handle this. Plus, she’s a coward. She doesn’t want to see him in pain any longer.

“He’s okay.”

Emily steps out into the hall to find JJ and Hotch. Having found a seat in the hall, Hotch is failing to subtly rub at his aching side. JJ, covered in red paint, is only finding his pain as fuel to the fire. Obviously, she is taking his word for a grain of rice.

“Emily,” JJ greets. “How is he?”

Hotch just shakes his head, leaning his head forward onto his cane.

“Derek’s with him. He’s just having an… a moment.” Episode sounds too harsh. A thing that Reid can never be. His skeletole, looming gentleness is tender. Clammy, at times, but nothing but loving. “He just needs a moment.” None-the-less, JJ understands exactly what she means.

But that is, in a way, simply a lie. There is nothing that can be done for Reid in these moments. blinded by pain, he still will not cave. Never, not once, has Reid ever allowed them to give him something to manage the pain. He’ll take vitamins and ibuprofen for headaches but not for the other things. Not for this.

“Just breathe.”

All they can do is be there. Rub their fingers into the tension and hold his hand.

#spencer reid #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #david rossi #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds au

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