#hurt-comfort

[inquisimer]

i carried my own ashes to the mountains

for day 1 of @zevraholics' Zevwarden week 2023, tradition and trying new things - some pre-ship Nika and Zevran, a discussion of what will come of her return to Orzammar.

pairing: f!Brosca & Zevran word count: 1200 rating: general audiences tags: hurt/comfort, platonic relationships, fluff, a hint of pining if you squint

Nika stared at her reflection, warped and hazy in the frozen puddle outside their camp. A few hundred yards back through the trees their tents formed a half-circle around the fire. Beyond that loomed the peaks of the Frostback Mountains and within them, the gates to Orzammar.

Orzammar. Nearly three years gone since she’d left and going back now felt as intimidating as leaving with Duncan had then. Her fingertips traced over the faded brand on her cheek, newly bisected by a long, fresh scar. One of three—souvenirs from their battle with the dragon in Haven. Between that, and the weight on her shoulders, and the harsh cynicism regret had etched into her, she wondered if anyone in Orzammar would recognize the rebellious little casteless who dared defy their laws.

Part of her hoped they wouldn’t. Then she wouldn’t be alone in seeing a stranger in her face.

“Reminiscing, chapparita?”

A twig snapped under Zevran’s weight and Nika’s hand fell from her cheek as she glanced at him over her shoulder. She shrugged.

“Something like that, I suppose.”

Zevran hummed his doubt. Of all her companions, he would know. When they stumbled across his ill-conceived trap, she was still fresh-faced and sun-blind, lost without the cavernous Stone to ground her. She'd nearly shanked him in her anger. But his eyes shone with the wild desperation of someone who had absolutely nothing left to lose—he would have welcomed her blade, and it was a look so familiar that to see it in another shocked the rage right out of her.

He repaid her mercy with a curious devotion, sitting up with her through the coldest, darkest watches and fording paths when their inane quests took them through wilderness where even the smallest plants stood well above Nika's head. Bit by bit, he came to know her history, wheedling it out of her as none of the others had even tried to.

Things weren’t so different between the Carta and the Crows. Antiva's operation was larger and more storied, of course, but both were ruthless and cutthroat to a fault and you were only worth as much as the success of your last job. Nika didn't know many assassins, but she knew how they worked, and nothing builds trust like a mutually assured dagger in the back.

Zevran leaned against a tree and regarded her with a knowing look.

"You are apprehensive about returning to Orzammar."

"Am not."

He huffed, an aborted laugh that fogged the air around his mouth. "Dear Warden, there are at least seven paths that could have gotten us here sooner. And don't tell me you don't know of them," he added, for she'd opened her mouth to do exactly that. "I showed you how to read the map myself."

She rolled her eyes. "And?"

"And I think you should know that you do not need to run off into the woods with your woes." Zevran squatted at her side and tilted her face toward him with a knuckle on her chin. "You do not need to hide from me, chapparita. Not after everything."

"I know it's just..." Nika pursed her lips. "It's stupid. I just need a few moments to get it together."

"If it causes you distress, it cannot possibly be stupid."

"Yes it can," Nika grumped. "I get distressed by stupid things all the time. Rain and wagons. Broken lockpicks. Alistair."

"While amusing, this deflection won't save you." Zevran caught one of her hands and traced the calloused lines of her palm. "What troubles you so about returning home?"

"Home?" Nika scoffed. "Hardly a home. A place of origin, perhaps. But there was too much anger and never enough food to really call it a home."

"But you have family there, yes? Your sister and the young man...Lester?"

Nika's gut twisted. "Leske. And Rica, yes, they're still there. Or at least, I think they are. Some of the rumors coming up from Orzammar make me think there may well be nothing but carnage when we get there."

"Is that what troubles you, then?"

"Mmm not really. The city can tear itself to shreds for all I care, 'slong as Rica and Leske got out."

"Not worried about the city, not really worried about your family." Zevran tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Your reception upon return, then?"

Nika scrunched up her face. She really was quite transparent these days—if Behraht had been able to read her that well, she'd've never been allowed in the Carta, no matter how well Rica cleaned up. She glanced down at her griffon-stamped chestplate and sighed.

"I'm not the same person who left Dust Town," she finally said. "You know—you were there for most of the changing, the struggling, the growing."

"Not too much growing," Zevran teased, waving his hand over her head. She swatted at it and stuck her tongue out at him.

"The thing is, the time and the experience and even being a Warden—it won't matter to the people down there. You can't change your lot in life in Orzammar, so..."

She brought her fingers back to her marked cheek and Zevran’s gaze followed. "Once a brand, always a brand," she said bitterly. "I'm not even sure they'll listen to the treaties, not if I'm the one asking."

In the silence that followed, Nika stewed. She could feel Zevran considering her, but she didn’t want his comfort or his pity. Not when she had to walk back on the way the surface had changed her perspective. Not when she needed to be as cold and cruel as she’d ever been, to survive a return to Orzammar.

Gentle fingers caught her chin once more and this time the pad of Zevran’s thumb ghosted over the raised skin of her brand.

“They know you by this, as you were. But that is not who you are any longer so: have you considered…changing it?”

“How can I? It’s as much a part of me as my nose.”

“You misunderstand. I am not suggesting you attempt to remove it, anymore than I would suggest expunging your history before the Wardens.” Zevran dropped his hand to her shoulder and gently squeezed. “But the rest of you has changed on this venture. Should your face not change as well?”

Nika went very still. Her eyes darted back to the frozen puddle and the stranger reflected there. She imagined dark ink spiraling out around the blocky lines of the brand, weaving in and around the scar tissue, softening the hard border of the burden she’d worn like a prize all her life, just as this journey had softened all of her sharp edges.

In her heart, the idea slotted into place, so right that it immediately drew her out of her anxious melancholy. With eager eyes, she grabbed Zevran by the wrists.

“Can we do it now? Right now?”

A soft, warm smile crinkled the corners of Zevran’s eyes, a hint of wistfulness keeping it from catching at his mouth proper. But it swiftly gave way to his usual grin and he lifted her small frame effortlessly, swinging her onto his back.

“Of course, chapparita. We can begin whenever you like.”

#zevwarden week 2023 #zevran x brosca #zevran x f!warden #fanfic #hurt-comfort #pining #fluff #oc: nika brosca #zevran x nika #dragon age fanfic #dao #zevwarden

[elitadream]

I thought of a really, really angsty scenario and I absolutely have to share it with you

It’s a seemingly normal evening in the mushroom kingdom when suddenly the castle is under attack. Enemies barge in left and right, going after the guards and council, even poor civilians that happened to be nearby when it happens. Peach is petrified by fear, she doesn’t even have the chance to process what’s going on. Just when it seems things can’t get any worse, one of the wretched intruders finds her standing paralyzed and ceases his opportunity. Peach looks up to see a spear coming down in her direction. She panics, she tries to run but she just can’t. All she can do is shield her face, bracing for impact.

But instead she feels nothing, and is startled by the sound of someone shouting in pain. Peach opens her eyes to find Mario laying in front of her, spear pierced right in his stomach. She cries in terror and manages to snap out of her frozen state to carry him to safety. (Don’t hate me, he lives! But I have no doubt if Peach were in a life or death situation Mario would absolutely take the hit for her without a second thought. And then later she begs him to never do it again which he just can’t promise bc he loves her too much to let anything happen to her)

Why must you make me suffer??! 😫💔 (says I, indignantly, while adding dramatic concept number 1,738,294 to the ominous pile of sketches filling my work desk-💃✨️)

All joking aside though, I have a huge weakness for scenarios where a character willingly takes the hit for someone else. And I mean huge. 🥺 Hands down one of my absolute favorite twists in storytelling, and one of the most eloquent demonstrations of love and bravery there is imo. 🌅 ALSO ALSO having the addition of an unholdable promess (yet another one of my favorite tropes! 😭) only makes the scene all the more heartfelt and ties everything together brilliantly. 🙏

Thank you for simultaneously hurting and restoring my feels. ❤️‍🩹🥲

#well tear my heart out and stomp on it why don't you! #but omg Mario absolutely WOULD indeed #we both know it - everyone knows it 😣 #he would do it again and again #the man has 'self-sacrifing' plastered all over him ;_; #and there's NOTHING he wouldn't do for those he loves #aurjhdhd my heart 🙇‍♀️💓 #asks #mario #princess peach #mareach #concept #angst/drama #hurt-comfort #headcanon #story idea

[jahayla-parker]

Hey so I was wonder if you could write a story with either kaz brekker x ADHD reader or freddy Carter x ADHD reader where the reader is struggling and ends up with haveing breakdown and is in tears with the fact that they can't stay focused and everything is slipping into a mess and they are struggling and they just comfort the reader .

I haven't been feeling very well lately and begin feeling overwhelmed and I love your work

Over It All : Freddy Carter x Reader

Hi! So sorry for just getting to this! Ironically enough, I was experiencing this myself over the last few months. I hope you’re feeling better! 🖤

I did both characters/people, but I broke it up.

In this one you’ll find Freddy’s version. Kaz’s version is coming soon (I’ll tag you in it)

Description: 1.9k wc, reader struggles with her ADHD to the point of breaking into tears, prompting Freddy to come to her aid. Hurt-comfort, angst-fluff

Warnings: ADHD symptoms and experiences discussed, neurodivergencies mentioned, mention of crying and sadness, negative thoughts of self, some angst but fluffy ending/comfort

Y/n sniffled as she aggressively wiped her face with the back of her hand. She couldn’t stop crying. Her ADHD paralysis had flared up and left her feeling hopeless and ashamed of herself. She knew it wasn’t anything she did nor a true flaw, but she could help the misery she felt.

She’d been trying to finish this project for her job since the early hours of this morning. Yet, she’d gotten practically nowhere with it. It was as if there were a million other things her mind would rather focus on. She had lost all control over her flickering thoughts hours ago.

Meaning she was now crying alone in her home-office as her latest attempt to start the project failed. Her husband Freddy was on set filming today, meaning if anything she should’ve had less distractions. But, instead her mind had begun thinking of different tasks she should do for him since he was out. She knew she was screwed when even those self-created tasks weren’t ones she could force herself to do.

Everyone thought ADHD was silly and fun. Sure, some of the behavioral ‘symptoms’ of the condition could be taken that way. But, most of the time one was either overly engaged or under engaged. It was a constant pendulum that caused havoc when it swung too far in either direction.

Today it had swung too far towards the direction of executive dysfunction. Executive dysfunction was a hard concept for many neurotypical individuals to grasp. As such, many neurotypicals saw neurodivergents who were experiencing the effects of executive dysfunction as lazy or inconsiderate. This of course didn’t help the fact that those with ADHD often struggled with their self image already.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to do the work project, and she certainly wanted to do the caring tasks she’d thought of doing for Freddy. Yet, she was stuck. Y/n was not able to get herself to even begin any of the tasks. Instead, she’d wasted the day away in her futile attempts to start them only to fall into self-directed frustration over and over again.

So it came as no surprise that once she’d officially given up on trying to complete anything she had wished to do, she begun crying. She felt like a horrible wife and employee even though she wasn’t. But the frustration she had towards herself and her predicament clouded everything else. Hence why she was willing to sit by herself at her desk as she shook from crying.

Freddy had been home for only a matter of five minutes when he noticed the absence of his wife’s presence. She always seemed to greet him when he’d return if she’d been working from home that day. He recalled having said goodbye to her in their home-office this morning, so why wasn’t she greeting him?

He slowly made his way to their office space to try and see if she was still working. As he entered the doorway, he noticed the way her shoulders were hunched over her desk. He furrowed his brows as he checked that the lights were all on and therefore not the cause of her face being so close to the table.

It was in that moment that he watched her body tremble and heard her faint cries. Once he’d recovered from the sudden sinking in his chest, he took a deep breath and rushed over to her.

“Darling?” Freddy panicked, his hand placed on her upper back delicately.

Y/n’s head snapped up but she didn’t turn to him. Instead, she wiped her face again and took a loud breath. It was clear she was trying to compose herself before she’d face him.

Freddy knelt beside his wife, his worry evident in his features. But he knew not to push her. She’d respond once she felt steady enough to do so.

It took a few moments of silence but she eventually did turn to face him, a fake smile on her face. Freddy shook his head at her blatant coverup and grasped her hand in his tightly. Y/n sighed softly when she realized he wasn’t falling for her pretend happiness.

She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. Nor did she want him to know she hadn’t been able to accomplish anything today. She felt like a burden. Despite knowing how much Freddy loved and cared for her, she didn’t want him to see her in this state. But she also wouldn’t lie to her husband.

“I… I did not get the project done” she admitted shyly, her hand shoving the planning sheets across the desk towards him.

Freddy’s eyes briefly left her frame to scan the documents she was showing him. He noticed she had a bunch of stray marks and squiggles on the paper. However, nothing else had been added since he saw the sheets this morning.

She didn’t need to tell him what was happening. He knew of her ADHD and the highs and lows that came with it. As such, he knew how to best handle this situation on his end.

“That’s okay love, sometimes ideas don’t flow as easily as they normally do” he encouraged, neatly stacking the papers.

“It wasn’t just the ideas, I couldn’t even start the rest of it. I also…” she sighed as she trailed off and looked away.

Freddy sighed quietly as his heart sank further upon seeing her continued distress. “Y/n, it doesn’t matter what you did or did not do today, you-“.

“I was going to make you that soup you like” y/n interrupted, fiddling with her fingers, “but I couldn’t. I wanted to, but…”.

“But you weren’t able to get up and get started on it” he finished to her, tugging her hand back to him to calm her nervous fidgeting.

She nodded and sighed, “I wanted us to be able to have that soup, but then I began thinking about each step. Washing the dishes to get the ladle clean, getting out the ingredients, chopping the vegetables,..”

Freddy stood up quietly, prompting her eyes to snap upwards to see him. He wasn’t sure why there seemed to be a sense of panic in her y/e/c eyes. But he wished it weren’t there. He didn’t have to wait long to find out the cause behind it as she soon blurted out her worry.

“Please don’t leave” she begged.

Freddy gave her a sympathetic shake of his head, “‘m not, just standing to help guide you to the living room, my love”

Y/n visibly calmed but then began listing off the tasks she still needed to complete.

“Darling, those can all wait. You deserve to rest” he stated.

She shook her head, “no I don’t. I didn’t get anything done today. It’s embarrassing and I-“

“You don’t need to be ashamed” Freddy told her, stroking her cheek as he towered over her seated form.

“I don’t not what I’m doing anymore” y/n exclaimed, “I can’t do anything right”. She glanced up at her husband before continuing to try and explain what she was feeling. “I’m worthless, I can’t even focus on one thing for a mere second” she pointed out.

“Don’t put yourself down like that” Freddy pleaded, his heart clenching. He watched her sigh but nod as if accepting his request. As such he gave her a soft smile and tugged on her hand, “let’s go to the living room. What do you want to do tonight? Don’t worry about how we’ll do it, I’ll handle that. Just tell me what you’d like us to do”.

“I just want to be held for a bit” she admitted quietly as she rose to her feet before him.

“I like this” y/n told him as she snuggled further into his embrace.

Freddy chuckled lightly, “me too. I never want to let go, my love”.

Y/n let her husband hold her and offer her comforting words and back rubs while she tried to silence her mind. He had helped her not feel the deep despair she’d been feeling moments before he arrived. Yet, she still felt she should’ve done so much more today.

Freddy seemed to notice her quietness, his grip tightening ever so slightly. He placed a soft kiss to the top of her head as he hummed. “You don’t have to do it all” he whispered.

“But then people will be let down. If I don’t-“ she began, making Freddy notice the way her pace quickened from her emotions.

“They don’t matter. You matter, my love” he cut her off, carefully brushing his fingers through her tangled hair. “You’re all that matters, and right now you need rest. It doesn’t matter what they need or want” Freddy stated definitively. He smiled to himself as her muscles visibly relaxed.

Freddy was attempting to give her a long thoughtful compliment, but y/n was hopelessly distracted. She’d been staring at his dimples and then at the freckles on his face instead of focusing on what he was saying. She’d tried to listen, truly, but his face was just so beautifully distracting to her.

She broke her gaze from the patch of freckles on his cheek when she noticed she no longer heard his voice. Y/n glanced up at him as she silently hoped he hadn’t asked her a question. Fortunately, she could read his facial expressions and knew he wasn’t awaiting any response. However, she could also tell he had noticed her lack of attention.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, “I was listening.. at first. But then I… I wasn’t listening to you, I’m sorry babe”.

He shook his head, “it was I that wasn’t truly listening. If I had, I’d have remembered to use shorter sentences”.

Y/n watched him cautiously as she tried to let his words erase her guilt. It wasn’t until he smiled softly at her and placed a delicate kiss on her cheek that she accepted that her guilt was unfounded. Having realized this, she let her mind wander back to where it was before.

As such, she soon found herself tracing imaginary lines between his freckles with her pointer finger. She was acutely aware of Freddy’s eyes watching her do this. But her attention remained stuck on this unimportant but intriguing task.

“Are you playing connect the dots with my freckles?” Freddy grinned, his cheeks heating up.

Bashfully she nodded and giggled, “yes”.

He smiled widely, “see you focused and completed something”.

“On something minor, for short time” she argued.

“It’s still focus and you need to respect yourself for doing that. Today is just one of those days in which we need to have a more relaxed atmosphere” he stated as if it were the most simple thing in the world.

Y/n was so beyond grateful for her husband. He always seemed to know how to help her when she was in one of her downhill moods. She couldn’t understand how he comprehended her struggles with such ease and patience. But she was eternally thankful for it.

Unbeknownst to her, when y/n first struggled with her ADHD paralysis/executive dysfunction, Freddy had looked into it. She had tried to explain it to him but kept getting too emotional to effectively do so. Not that he minded. But, he took it upon himself to research the issue and see what ways to best offer her help. Clearly, the research paid off.

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#freddy carter x you #freddy carter kaz brekker #freddy carter fluff #Freddy Carter angst #Freddy Carter hurt #Freddy Carter hurt-comfort #Freddy Carter angst-fluff #hurt-comfort #angst-fluff #adhd fics #freddy carter x yn #freddy carter x y/n #freddy carter #freddy carter x reader #freddy carter x wife!reader #freddy carter x reader fluff #Freddy Carter x reader angst #freddy carter x wife #Freddy Carter x fem!reader #original post

[shivunin]

Ferelden Silver

(Arianwen Tabriz/Zevran | 2035 Words | AO3 Link | CW: blood, implied canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort)

“I say the name and what it means until the meaning blurs. The wind blows through the goldenrod like death flows through a crowd. Nothing is accomplished and the world is changed by it.” —Ian Parks, “Goldenrod”

“Honestly?” Zevran said, resisting the urge to clutch at the awful ache in his shoulder. “I’d rather take my chances with you.”

The Warden crouched before him, twisting a bloody knife between her knuckles. Zevran could not tell if her goal was intimidation or if she was simply thinking. He was hoping for the former, to be honest. It would be somewhat flattering if she still saw a point in trying to intimidate him after she’d stabbed him in the chest and knocked him to the ground. 

“Can I expect the same loyalty from you?” she asked, voice disinterested. 

Silver, red, silver. The dagger and the blood coating it flashed in the merciless sunlight. He wondered whose blood it was, then decided he’d rather not think too hard about it. The Crows lying dead in the Ferelden dust around them had not been his friends. Rivals, perhaps, if even that. No—Zevran did not care whose blood coated her blade, her cheek, her armor, so long as it was not his. 

How odd, to realize on the edge of a knife that one did not wish to die after all. 

What to do, what to do? The Warden—the woman, the one clearly in charge here—had not so much as blinked at his offer to warm her bed, nor any of the other things he’d offered. She had to want something. Didn’t she? Everybody wanted something. 

“I happen to be a very loyal person,” he assured her, “up until the point where someone expects me to die for failing.”

She cocked her head, eyes suddenly intent on his. She had looked like that before she stabbed him, he seemed to recall—like a cat who’d seen a bird on the other side of a window. Braska. 

“That’s not a fault, really, is it?” he went on, pointedly not looking at her dagger as it flashed end over end between her fingers. “I mean, unless you’re the sort who would do the same thing. In which case, I…don’t come very well-recommended, I suppose.”

Too much; he was talking too much. He had been told plenty of times that he did not know when to shut his mouth, and this was no exception. 

Except—except she spoke almost before he’d finished his sentence. 

“Very well. I accept your offer.” 

“What?” the other Warden asked, rounding on her. 

The one who’d been speaking stood slowly and met the man’s eyes as he spoke. Even then, the dagger twisted on between her fingers

“You’re taking the assassin with us now? Does that really seem like a good idea?”

“We need him,” the woman said. 

Zevran might have said she sounded disinterested again, except there was a layer of steel beneath the words that made him want to sit up straighter. Need him, she’d said. Well—there were worse things to be than needed. 

Zevran hauled himself to his feet while the second Warden went on grumbling. He tried to dust himself off to little avail. Ferelden dust did seem to enjoy clinging to one’s skin and clothing, to say nothing of the blood caked onto his skin. When his boot scuffed the earth, she turned to face him at once. 

He did not miss the way her fist curled tight around the blade she’d been playing with. One little noise and she was already prepared to fight again. He would remember that, he decided, and recalled the way her eyes had sharpened when he’d spoken of loyalty. Perhaps this was something Wardens were especially interested in, being mysterious fanatics. He had been looking for leverage, for something to move her with.  

“I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you,” he told her, managing only the slightest of bows given the wound on his shoulder, “until such time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation.”

The Warden looked sharp again, no longer removed from the situation. Her eyes, he realized, were neither brown nor green, but neither and both at once. Zevran decided that she was not like a cat at all. No; she reminded him of nothing more than a wolf peering into the night, the flash of gold in the shadows that let one know that the hunter was allowing itself to be seen. She looked like a warning given hands with which to fight and teeth with which to bite. He needed to be very, very careful if he was to turn this into something better than the Crows had been. He needed leverage, every piece he could grasp, if he was going to make it out of this in one piece.

“This I swear.”

One of her hands drew a cloth from a pouch at her belt and ran it over the blade quickly and thoroughly. Nobody else said anything at all.

“Come on, then,” she said, sheathing the dagger at her belt. No words of acknowledgement, not so much as a nod. Zevran hardly knew what to think. 

“Wait,” he said, when he companions turned to follow her. The Warden half-turned, red and white cloth held in her hand. 

“Having second thoughts?”

“No—no, of course not,” he said. It took more effort to be charming right now, when the throbbing in his skull had spread to the knife wound in his shoulder. “I wished only to learn the name of the lovely Warden I’m to be traveling with.”

One dark brow arched at the words. He rather got the feeling that she was unimpressed with him. Ah, well. He supposed he couldn’t win everyone over in ten words or less, and truly he was not doing so poorly when she’d been on the verge of killing him at first. 

“Arianwen,” she said, and her knife made a soft snick when she slid it home in her belt. “Tabris. Not that it matters. Come on, Crow. We’ve miles to go yet.”

|

“If I had realized what lengths it would take to get you back to my motherland, I would have gotten myself captured years ago,” Zevran informed his lover—no, his betrothed now, impossible as the epithet felt. 

Arianwen cast him a look, which he chose to interpret as harangued adoration. Despite the amount of healing that had been applied to his body, moving still hurt a great deal. For now, he contented himself with lounging against a pile of pillows and watching her. A dagger twisted between her fingers now, flashing silver in the noontime sun. She sat on the windowsill and had done so for the past half hour, watching the street outside. Zevran knew that she was watching for any pursuers, but he saw the faint smile at the corners of her eyes now and then. She liked it here. He was certain of it. 

“Or you could have asked,” she told him. 

“I could have,” he allowed, shifting on the pillows. Something tugged beneath his ribs, but he hid the wince behind a smile. It did not help; his Warden was far too canny to miss his discomfort. The knife slid back into its scabbard soundlessly. She slipped from the windowsill, landing almost soundlessly, and prowled closer. 

“But it would have spoiled the fun of watching you drop from the ceiling like some sort of vengeful wraith,” Zevran went on, moving the sheets aside so she could check the bandage around his ribs for the hundredth time today. “Truly, you were like something out of a tale.”

“How flattering,” she said flatly. She checked his bandages nimbly, neatly dodging the worst of his hurts. “Have you ever heard of flirting, Zevran? You might give it a try sometime.”

“Bah,” he said, glancing down with disinterest when his wound was bared. “You fell for my charms eventually, did you not?” 

“Please,” she muttered. Her hands were sure on a jar of salve, careful over the place where the bruises were darkest on his chest. Zevran waited, brows raised, and she cast him an irritated glance. 

“It wasn’t charm at all. It was you, you fool.” 

“Ah, but I am your fool,” he told her, wincing when he leaned forward enough for her to wind a fresh bandage around him. Her breath stirred his loose hair when she reached around him for the other end of the gauze.

“And I am yours, it would appear.” 

Zevran coughed around the thickness in his throat and settled back onto the pillows when she’d tied off the last of the cloth. She lingered, one hand resting on his shoulder. All at once, there was something horrible in her expression. Zevran recognized it—had turned the same on her more than once, had seen her like this only a day before when he’d woken. 

Mortal fear—the gripping conviction that that which one held most dear had almost been lost in an instant. Yes, he knew it very well indeed.

“Do not, mi vida, do not,” he said, and his hand found hers over his shoulder. “I am here, yes? And I will remain your fool for some time yet, as long as you will have me. There is no need to storm through the streets of the city again, I promise you that. ” 

Zevran thought she would tear herself away, would dart back to the windowsill and put herself out of his reach. Instead, she took a sharp breath and bent to him until her forehead pressed against his. 

“I’d do it a thousand times over,” she said, her voice low. Their hands twined together. “I’d do worse to keep you safe.”

“I know you would,” he told her, all joking set aside. He lifted his arm, ignoring the pull at his wound, and rested his hand over the curve of her skull. “But I am perfectly safe. I am here with you now, yes? Come—let me show you.” 

“You are not well enough for that,” she said sternly. Zevran laughed until it hurt too much to keep doing so—not very long at all, if he judged correctly. 

“I ask only to hold you,” he told her. “You have my word.” 

She unfolded herself from the edge of the bed and rested against him for a time, her breathing even. He could feel the attentiveness in her body even as he began to doze. Always alert, his Arianwen. He could not think of anyone he’d rather watch over him while he was incapable of protecting himself. She would do worse than fell a building of Crows to see him safe and she wouldn’t regret it later. Zevran knew this without needing to ask. 

“Arianwen?” he murmured, when he could no longer ignore the tug of sleep. 

“Hmm.”

“I am going to be the best husband. I swear it to you. You will see.”

The Warden snorted. Her head rested more fully against his shoulder. Usually, she would wrap an arm around his waist or simply lie atop him. Zevran already looked forward to feeling this again, when they had been apart for so long. As soon as he was healed, he reminded himself, fighting a yawn.

“Do not laugh. I have made a…most solemn oath.”

“Not yet, you haven’t.” Her lips were cool when they pressed against his neck, but they warmed him nonetheless.

“I have,” he dragged his eyes open and tilted his head to look down at her. “I will again. I hereby pledge—”

“Shush,” she said, untangling their fingers to press a finger to his mouth. Zevran kissed it. “Go to sleep. You need to rest.”

“I am your man,” he told her, half-smiling when she growled in response. “Without reservation.”

“And I am yours,” she said. “Yes, yes. Save it for the ceremony. Go to sleep, Zev.”

His limbs felt heavy, but Zevran lifted his hand to find hers again. She caught his palm and kissed it, exactly as he’d wanted. Safe—yes. He was safe so long as he could feel her there. Without reservation indeed; the years had stolen any that might have remained to him. There was nothing left but trust as deep and integral as his bones. If she was here, he was safe; he knew that as well as he knew his own hands, his own heart.

“If you insist,” he murmured. “My Arianwen.”

(For Zevwarden Week Day 3: Fear and Safety. Thanks again @zevraholics for organizing this!)

#zevwarden #zevran x tabris #zevran x f!warden #blood cw #hurt-comfort #arianwen tabris #zevwarden week 2023 #shivunin scrivening #da fanfic #canon-typical violence

[boygiwrites]

Living the Vida Loca  P.4

• Jesse Pinkman & Reader. (Platonic)

(Here’s part one.)     (Here’s part two.) (Here’s part three.) (Here’s part five.) (Here’s the epilogue.)

• (Find this story on Ao3.)

Summary — A short story about how a young teenaged girl gets wrapped up in Jesse's life.

Notes — We've had a Jesse chapter, a Walt chapter, a Saul chapter, and now I give you a bit of a Mike chapter.

.

The point of no return.

One evening, while you're walking your neighbour's dog, two men try to kill you.

They leave you with a black eye, a purple cheek, and a red lip, crying next to a dumpster.

All you can think about is how you let the dog run away into the night.

You shuffle to the nearest bus stop, bleeding, and call out Gizmo's name the whole way.

You huddle on the metal bench.

When you find yourself staring at your contacts list, you hesitate.

The white phone light illuminates your wet face.

Jesse has tried to call you fourteen times in the last five minutes.

His unanswered text messages haunt your phone like little ghosts.

Where r u???

come home rigjt now

man i'm sorry ok

come home

i made toast n eggs for dinner

scrambled

pls

ill make waffles if u want

we can watxh tinkerbell

or whatevr

i wont be mad pls just come home

dinners getting cold

please

hello??

A five minute gap.

Get ur ass back in this fking house rn i'm not plauing

Your thumb hovers over the call button.

One last message from Jesse; ur in so much trouble. come home.

You don't even realise you've called Jimmy until his sleepy voice picks up on the other line.

The emergency room is weirdly busy at this hour. For some reason, you imagined it slowing down sometimes.

In the lobby, wearing eye bags but looking more awake than ever, Jimmy calls Walt while he rubs your back.

Then, Walt must call Jesse.

Then, Jesse tries calling you.

A single text appears after you don't pick up; im on my way baby ok

Jimmy walks you through everything that's going to happen once the police arrive, in an attempt to make it all a little less scary.

The nurses stitch up your cheek.

They give you a lollipop that you don't eat.

When two officers come in with tiny notepads and big badges to talk about the assault, Jimmy does all the talking.

All you have to do is nod at random intervals to confirm he's got the story right.

Which he does.

( When you first gave him a detailed recount, he went pale and lost his words. You've never seen him like that before. )

For the sake of yours, Jesse's, Walt's and Jimmy's safety, you agree to leave out the part where the two men claimed Gus Fring's associate sent them.

( Jimmy, who's Gus Fring? )

( Don't ask, sweetie, okay? We'll sort it out. Let me go grab some more tissues. )

The fact they were willing to put police eyes on them for this made you cry harder.

When you're released, you see Jesse waiting for you both on a curb in the parking lot, jittering like crazy.

He runs up to you and hugs you like it's his last chance.

He says he's sorry.

Sorry for everything.

He's sorry for being a shitty dad-brother, he's sorry for yelling, and fighting, and slamming doors on late nights.

He's sorry for coming home at midnight, not saying a word, and then leaving before breakfast.

He's sorry for not killing Derrick when he had the chance; sorry for not doing it sooner.

He's sorry for dragging you into this.

He's sorry for not being there.

And he's sorry that, out of everyone back at that skatepark, you ended up with him.

You hug Jesse back.

Jimmy coughs wetly and tells you guys to break it up, I'm getting misty-eyed over here.

They take you to a 24-hour diner.

It's 11PM.

You cuddle into Jesse's side and eat a big, pink, puffy Krispy Kreme donut.

He wipes away your tears.

Then, Walter finally shows up, apologizing for taking so long. He's out of breath and he has a revolver in his pants line.

He orders a lemon curd donut with cookie crumble on top and eats it with a quaint smile on his face.

Jimmy asks him if he's just happy to be here, or if that's a fucking loaded magnum under his jacket.

Walt explains that he may or may not have taken a midnight stroll.

It may or may not have taken place in a particular neighbourhood.

He may or may not have...

Well, let's not get into all that jazz right now.

He uses a napkin to wipe a speckle of blood off his palm, and stuffs it in his breast pocket.

Jim and Walt talk about a man named Mike, while you and Jesse make paper swans together.

Walt hugs you for the first time ever when you all go your separate ways at 11:46PM.

Jesse lets you know that it's okay if you want to go home with Jimmy tonight.

You called him first, after all.

Jesse tugs on his beanie.

He does that when he's anxious.

You sniff and tell him shakily; No, you idiot. I'm going home with you.

Jimmy hugs you, pats you on the back, and tells you to come over any time you want.

He also promises you that if this goes to court, he's going to have those guys locked up for so long that their grandchildren will be serving life sentences in orange jumpsuits.

He hands you back the lollipop.

You fall asleep in the back of Jesse's car on the way home.

He puts his hoodie over you.

The radio is quiet.

It's cold tonight.

When you wake up sometime around 3AM, you're tucked into Jesse's bed and he's snoring next to you on top of the blankets.

Out of everyone at that skatepark, you're glad it was him.

The aftermath.

Here are all the reasons it does not, in fact, go to court.

The first man turns up missing on the news.

His name is Rico Perez, and you recognise his black goatee and marble-y eyes.

Jesse changes the channel quickly.

Eat your cereal, baby.

You get the feeling that Rico Perez is fizzing away in a Costco bucket somewhere.

That same day, Jesse and Walt install alarms and locks all over your house.

For about a week, you stay home from school.

Jesse calls you baby a lot more now, and sings you to sleep most nights.

He's conscious of not making any loud noises around you.

He keeps a gun on him, even if he's just frying bacon.

He plays videogames with you in your bed, and draws with you, and plays frisbee in the driveway.

He rents DVD upon DVD to watch on his laptop with you.

( They're all Tinkerbell. )

( You've both seen them like a hundred times. )

It feels like you're in witness protection.

The week goes slow.

The second man turns up dead on the news.

His name is Kennedy Adams, and you recognise his wonky teeth and bloated gums.

Jesse lets you watch this time, because Kennedy was the one that did most the damage.

There's a live video of his body bag being zipped up.

Jesse punches the air and shouts, yes bitch, like he's watching the Superbowl.

He has a very long phone call that night.

The aftermath of the aftermath.

Mike Ehrmantraut says you remind him of his granddaughter.

He's got two heavy eyes, a life's worth of scars all over his hands, and the patience of a Saint.

While the two men's deaths were pending, Mike had watched your house from 4PM to 7AM, every day, with a gun in the glovebox.

Apparently, it was him who killed the second guy.

Before one of his shifts, Mike skewered his neck on a police-standard bullet and then paid some shady officers to take the credit for it.

He sounded very bored when he told you the story.

Suffice to say, he fulfilled his duty.

The morning after his last shift watching your house, you find a little teddy bear with a pink bow on the welcome mat.

The note attached reads;

In the hopes you sleep a little easier.

You do.

The night light is still permanent.

Sudden noises still reduce you to hysterics in Jesse's arms.

You'll never visit that neighbourhood again.

Instead of sitting with the other kids, you spend breaks in Walt's classroom while he eats his chicken salad.

You avoid the alley next to Jimmy's building, and instead take up graffitiing his whiteboard with his dried-up markers.

Jesse holds your hand out in public all the time, now, and he bunks with you every night.

His texts don't go unanswered, and they look more like this, now;

miss u 2 see u l8er :)

im at walmart u want ramen??

call me ok we'll do the 4 7 8 breathing thing

yo that looks dope u like picasso n shit

mondays kicking the shiz out my ass

home in 10 :)

u having a good day bby?

yo com downstairs im puting mario cart on 

love u

You don't dog-walk anymore.

You don't sing randomly in the kitchen.

You don't talk.

But you sleep a little easier.

When Gizmo is found by an old lady five miles from home, you sleep even better.

When Gus Fring turns up dead on the TV one month later, you sleep like a god damn baby.

.

End Notes  — I couldn't find a suitable place to squeeze this in, so I just implied it, but Walter killed Rico right before showing up at the diner. I imagine he wrapped him in a tarp or something and locked him in his trunk, ate his donut, and then he and Jesse liquified him the next day. Fun times!

#breaking bad #breakingbad #jesse pinkman #jesse pinkman x reader #saul goodman #walter white #mike ehrmantraut #angst #hurt/comfort #hurt-comfort #reader insert #reader

[flowersonpebbles]

Day 4: Work and Pleasure

CW: canon typical swearing & blood, angst, character death implied, shirtless(no description though, only implied), tattoos, violence

Word count: 681

~

Dallas was assigned the Warden-Commander and had to kill the remaining darkspawn, get new recruits and investigate darkspawn... Things. 

9:35 Dragon, 5 Wintermarch

When the Crows made their next move on Zevran though, when Dallas wasn't by his side? Zev took care of it without a hitch. And he just told Dallas he was going on a trip, he would visit again soon.

But that already took a few years to come up, so, Dallas assumed he sought more adventure and let him go! He wrote letters to Zevran every month though. Zev always responded with his own but only once a month. 

~

9:39 Dragon, 4 Wintermarch

One letter made Zevran very happy it arrived after killing the mad, raving Templar of Kirkwall. 

"Dear Embrium, 

I know you only answer me once a month, so I will wait patiently for your response. 

I've missed you this past year since your last visit. I wish to reunite again though. You won't have to come back to the cold, dull Ferelden this time though! I wish only to join you on your own journey. I am taking a break from my duties and I'm currently heading to Kirkwall.-"

That last bit made Zevran wince in a panic. He does not wish to be scolded... Hm.. 

"It will take me about two weeks to arrive there though. I do not know where you are, but maybe if you're close by we could meet there? If not, we could meet at Ostwick perhaps, or Bastion, maybe Hasmal? Or are you in Antiva? Oh, I'd love to visit your homeland.

I have much to tell you but most should be said in person. I eagerly await your response.

Ever your loving half

Dallas Surana"

Zevran grins, immediately writing his response to send at once. Dallas won't know of his part in the great battle! Not on his watch! 

~

9:39 Dragon, Cloudreach

Dallas was amazed by Antiva, Zevran showed him everything that was beautiful and unique. Let him taste all kinds of drinks and foods! Dallas experienced sights, sounds, smells and tastes he's never even dreamt of! 

Dallas stares at his and Zevran's new matching tattoos. 

"One of my finer ideas, yes?" Zevran muses with a warm smile. Dallas smiling fondly, pressing his arm against Zev's. 

"Mm... I can't argue." Dallas jests gently. In awe of the design that finishes and completes one another by only keeping the arms together.

~

9:40, 10 Drakonis

Dallas had woken with a start... Whispers he's been dreading... His mind often wanders when he's awake as well. When he visited Jowan before leaving, he found Mouse again. He's been helping Dallas with questions of the Blight. 

In 9:37 Dragon, Dallas took that concoction and let Avernus continue his research. But there's been nothing to cure the taint. 

He only knows of Fiona, a fellow Circle elf, who was cured and they don't know how! 

He blinks back non-existent tears, packing his things. 

Mouse has grown quieter against the Calling... 

But he's seen that black spot on Zev's back. 

He's tainted the other half of his soul. 

He won't let Zevran die a Blighted creature. 

He's going to search for a cure now. Morrigan offered hints a long time ago before going through the mirror. He still has the notes. Now is the time to go. Before it's too late. 

~

9:?? Dragon

Dallas stares up at... He can't tell, honestly... 

He's just so tired and the singing is so loud. 

He can't get to it though - too tired... 

Zev... Its not Zevran's singing though. 

He shouldn't go to it then. 

Zev needs him. 

He needs to go back... 

Zev... 

~

END OF DAY 4

#dragon age #Dragon age origins #Zevwarden week 2023 #Zevwarden #Zevwarden day4 #Work & pleasure #Work and pleasure #Dallas Surana #Warden Surana #Zevran Ariana #Zevran x Surana #Fanfic #Death #Blood #Shirtless #Pining #Fluff #Hurt-Comfort #Angst

[imaginationtherapy]

Appalachian Lullaby (2) Denton's Ghosts (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/365121359-appalachian-lullaby-2-denton%27s-ghosts?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=imaginationtherapy Li Beckett and Ian Maynard have gotten together and are slowly exploring their relationship. As Li integrates into Ian, John, and Sara's lives, RRIA is hired to investigate a series of "hauntings" at a local abandoned ski lodge. Denton State Park has recently hired a private contractor to refurbish the ski lodge and equipment. However, the hauntings -- purported to be a band of teens -- have proved costly and frustrating to the contractor. Since money is not an obstacle, Pete Messeney hires RRIA to look into the issue. What follows is not what anyone expects, and threatens the lives of both Li and Ian. Will they get to the bottom of the hauntings? Will they survive? Read on to find out! The second book in the Appalachian Lullaby series. Check out Hold on to Me, the first Wattpad published book in the series. Marked M for mild violence and language. Suitable for 18+

#action #adventure #angstwithhappyending #appalachia #aromantic #asexual #hurt #hurt-comfort #polyamory #transgender #books #wattpad #amwriting

[theautisticfroglord]

Stay with me

pairing - william x reader

Fic type - angst to fluff hurt comfort ig

Warnings - william has a panic attack :( also he's clingy

notes - Sorry I haven't posted fanfics in a while andbsorry about this one being sad ALSO SORRY FOR BEING MEAN TO WILLIAM THEY LOVE EACH OTHER IN THE END :(((((((

William is your boyfriend. You regularly see him and spend time with him while he does paperwork in his office. You love being with him. You and William rarely had any disagreements or arguments. Sometimes, you did, but it was never too serious. This time, though, was really bad. You and William start arguing louder and louder, and you wanted to resolve this with him, but you were both so angry. You can tell that he’s frustrated and hurt by you yelling at him, just like how you feel about him yelling at you. You’re too overwhelmed to keep arguing with him.

“Bye. I’m leaving, I can't argue with you anymore,” you sternly growl as you walk towards the door. You suddenly feel William’s arms wrap around you. You push him away and he immediately wraps his arms around you again, this time more desperate. You push him away once again, knocking him to the ground. You look behind you angrily.

“Why are you doing this!? Just leave me alone!!” you yell at William. You then notice him trembling and hyperventilating. He weakly hugs your leg.

“Please… d-don’t.. Leave… please, Y/N, I’m so sorry, p-please,” he begs with tears in his eyes. He looks up at you desperately, tugging at your shirt. You get angry again and push him off of you, and he whimpers as he falls to the ground. The way you’re looking down at him brought back awful memories from when he was a child. William starts to cry really hard. He keeps desperately trying to apologize and hug your leg again, but you continue to push him off. He starts crying even harder and panicking as you try to walk away from him again. He grabs your leg with his branches and tugs you back towards him.

“Why won’t you let me leave, you disappointment!?” you accidentally say to him. You didn’t mean it, and you start to feel bad for how much you’re stressing him out. WIlliam practically collapses, wailing uncontrollably and hardly able to form a proper sentence. He manages to hug your leg again, also binding your legs more with his branches.

“Please… I… I l-love you… Y/N… I’m sorry… please, Y/N…” he sobs.

“Baby… I’m so sorry, honey,” you sigh, picking him up. You secure William in your arms and kiss him. You’ve never seen him so stressed before. You feel really bad for him.

“P-please don’t hurt me, Y/N… I didn’t mean to disappoint you,” he sobs, clutching your shirt.

“Will, I didn’t mean that, hon… you’re so pretty,” you whisper to him, petting his soft white hair. His branches start to let you go. He continues to softly cry into your shoulder as you calm him down. When you can finally walk, you bring him to bed and cuddle with him.

“I’m so, so sorry, baby… I didn’t mean to do that to you… I love you so much…” you sulk, kissing his soft lips.

“I… love you too,” William sniffles, his cheeks red from crying. You keep kissing him and cuddling with him so he stops trembling. You still feel awful about arguing with him and yelling at him. William continues to hug you close to him.

“I’m sorry, honey bun… I love you,” you murmur with tears in your eyes.

“It’s okay… I know you didn’t mean it…” he whispers back, kissing you. You both continue talking and cuddling until you both fall asleep together.

#black clover #anime #william #manga #william vangeance #my writing #my fanfics #my fanfic #black clover fanfiction #writing #Fanfic #clingy #stay with me #crying #sad #angst #hurt comfort #hurt-comfort #angst to fluff #angst to comfort #angst with fluff #angst with a happy ending #black clover fanart #kawaii #help #im crying #cute #arguing #tw arguing #tw panic attacks

[possibility221]

Fic Rec: So, so good! Beautifully written with intense emotions, getting to the heart of the matter. Worth reading every chapter.

#Elementary #fanfic #joanlock #hurt-comfort #slow burn #sorry I missed this when it was first published

[imogenlefay]

Chapters: 20/20 Fandom: Glee Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Sebastian Smythe Characters: Blaine Anderson, Sebastian Smythe Additional Tags: Christmas Compilation, The Great Seblaine Christmas Extravaganza, Fluff and Sweetness, Occasional hurt/comfort, probably, But mostly fluff Summary:

A collection of Christmas-themed oneshots about Seblaine.

#glee #fic #seblaine #the great seblaine christmas extravaganza #final day: christmas eve #blaine anderson #sebastian smythe #colette says hi #as does her boyfriend #season 4!au #with canon divergence #blaine's christmas new york trip was stupid #and burt was irresponsible for taking him #yeah you heard me #i'm coming for burt hummel #sue me #super self-indulgent #hurt-comfort #sebastian is good with hugs #which is good #cause blaine needs them #this is the last one #thank you guys for reading

[dumblemonchickenwing]

#my stuff #tw body horror #comic #badly drawn #vent ish #oc #demons #monster #hurt-comfort #self indulgent art

[monmoss]

"Greenie." A John Frusciante/Anthony Kiedis story - Chapter 15 (on Wattpad) 

Well, this is it. Thanks to everyone who supported this story <3 Hope you’ve enjoyed!

#angstwithhappyending #anthonykiedis #bands #bi-curious #first-time #frukiedis #gayaf #hurt-comfort #johnfrusciante #love #music #oneshot #redhotchilipeppers #selfharmawareness #selfinjury #smutwarning #romance #books #wattpad #amreading

[izzy-fic-recs]

Above All Else

Written by kaelleid. Word count: 3430.

AO3 Link

Author's summary:

Izzy takes a punishment meant for Ed. Written for the OFMK prompt: "Izzy sacrifices himself for someone else." *** "Are you fucking stupid? I'm Blackbeard." Behind them the Swede opened his mouth, but Lucius stomped on his foot before he could say anything. Badminton's officers paused and glanced uncertainly between Izzy and the man they were hoisting up. "I'm pretty sure our descriptions said—" "He doesn't even have a beard, you daft twat."

Mod notes/warnings (contains spoilers):

There are hints towards steddyhands towards the end but it can be read as gen. Izzy's intense devotion to Ed and his angst about that plays a big part here and there's a pretty graphic depiction of torture. The toe thing is briefly referenced.

#our flag means death #ofmd #fic rec #steddyhands #gen #izzy hands #stede bonnet #edward teach #violence #whump #hurt-comfort #post-canon #wc: 3k-10k #author: kaelleid

[heniareth]

ZevWarden Week 2022

Day 3: Fights and Reconciliation - The Terrible Business of Fighting with your Spouse

Words: 2360 | Rating: General audience | Zevran x f!Tabris

WARNINGS: This bit is about a big argument born out of very silly “I was bent on only considering my point of view”-ness and features a lot of frustration and giving each other the silent treatment. Other things to take into account: one character gets sick, another is disabled with chronic pain, there is a brief mention of the racism against elves in the Dragon Age setting and both characters can be read as having a case of seasonal depression.

I hope you enjoy this one ^^ Happy third day of 2022′s ZevWarden Week!

Read on AO3 or continue under the cut

Astala lifted her head from her book to watch Zevran march past her toward the door that led out of their private quarters at Vigil’s Keep. He ignored her. His expression was still dark with anger and hurt.

“I love you,” Astala called after him, doing her best to make it sound like it always did.

The door shut forcefully with no word of reply.

Well. He was angrier than she thought he was.

Astala sighed and turned back to her book. He’d come around. It was such a stupid argument too, but he had to understand that she couldn’t possibly leave her post right now and go with him to Antiva, warm as it was.

Five minutes later she caught herself staring out the window into the cold, wet and quickly darkening Fereldan afternoon.

Winter had been unexpectedly rough for them last year. Their tempers had shortened in pace with the days and their moods had become dark and damp. Thus they had fought for the first time since Zevran had returned to her side to stay. Presumably. And it seemed this winter, which was only in its first month, would be no better than the last.

When she looked back up from her work, it was pitch black outside. The fire in her study was burning low and the chill of the evening air was starting to creep through the keep’s thick stone walls. Astala heaved herself out of her chair and bit back a groan. Maker damn it to the Void and back, her hip was acting up again. And her cane was leaned against her desk—out of arm’s reach. Astala sighed once again.

Astala sighed again, this time in exasperation, shut her book and returned to her study for an evening of work. It was far better to occupy her mind with the potential construction of a second city wall around the city of Amaranthine than with their quarrel. The city had grown much, was an important trade post, and the darkspawn incursion at the beginning of her tenure as arlessa had shown just how vulnerable it was. And on her pile of reports still lay the letter of yet another bann claiming her policies were seducing all his elven workers away. Really, that this man had managed to keep them in the first place was nothing short of depressing.

-

It took a fair bit of heavy leaning against her chair and stretching her arm as much as she could to retrieve her cane without putting too much pressure on her hip. But she managed. Once she had it, she hobbled to the door and stepped out into the hallway. As she did, cold air enveloped her.

Astala cursed and limped back into her study to fetch the woolen blanket ever positioned on her chair. So armed she made her way to her and Zevran’s quarters, only to slow down until she came to a stop hallway through. She had wanted to talk to Mistress Woolsey about the arling’s finances for over a week now. She had left her study early today. She might manage to catch her before she left for the night.

Astala sighed, turned around and made her way through the dark and cold corridor towards Mistress Woolsey’s study.

Her steps and the clacking of her cane echoed through the empty keep. She didn’t encounter a single living soul on her slow walk. Even the main hall lay silent and empty, the fire in its center reduced to glowing embers. She really had been the only one daft enough to venture outside the smaller, more easily heated rooms.  Astala wrapped her blanket tighter around her shoulders and buried her hand in the folds of the fabric to keep it warm. Her right, however, which was holding the cane, had to be left to freeze.

Mistress Woolsey was no longer in her study. Astala didn’t even curse or sigh this time. She sinply turned around and began the slow, painful walk back to her quarters.

 She awoke to shifting next to her and turned around to find Zevran climbing into the bed. He froze when he saw her awake. They stared at each other, a sudden tension and awkwardness in the air, until Zevran pulled his shoulders up to his ears in a shiver and crawled under the covers.

When she opened the door, she found the rooms dark and empty. Zevran was still gone. But the fire was still going decently and on the mantelpiece stood a tray with some kind of stew that was still warm. Kind of. Astala warmed it up, ate alone and in silence, left Zevran’s plate closer to the flames and went to bed. The bed was cold and too big for her.

-

“Are you cold, love?” Astala asked quietly.

Zevran shuffled around for a bit, firmly on one side of the bed, before he answered: “I am, yes.”

Astala stretched her arm out towards him. “It’s warmer over here.”

More shuffling on Zevran’s side. Then: “I would prefer to sleep over here tonight.”

Astala lifted her head off her pillow. “You still angry?”

Her husband was turned away from her, curled up, and didn’t say anything.

“Zev, come on.” Astala propped herself up on her elbow. “We can at least huddle together for the sake of warmth. You had the whole afternoon to get over it!”

Zevran stiffened. Then he flung the blankets aside and jumped out of the bed.

“Zevran?”

Astala stared. Then she scrambled after him, or rather tried to. The sudden movement made pain spike through her hip joint and by the time she’d regained her balance Zevran was already out of the door.

“Zevran!” Astala called after him. “Zevran, where’re you going? Zevran, it’s cold!”

A sudden gust of cold air slammed the door shut.

 She awoke alone, cold and miserable. Her hip was crying up a storm. Astala grit her teeth, stood up and went about her day.

Astala stood alone in their room and stared after him.

-

No sign of Zevran.

She worked through her ledgers, determined how much money would need to be funneled into the construction of the new city wall and sat down to work out where all that money would come from—an eternal problem that always renewed itself—until her growling stomach and the bells at the keep signaled the lunch hour. Astala stood up and made her way to her and Zevran’s quarters. She hadn’t done her exercises this morning and now she was hobbling around like a grandmother. When she reached their quarters, she discovered that she was once again going to eat alone; Zevran wasn’t there, and the main hall where the Wardens and all of her people ate was too far away for her to walk there. Astala decided then and there that the day couldn’t get worse.

In the midafternoon the pain in her hip had gotten so bad that she couldn’t focus on her work. Astala sat her paperwork aside and let herself cry for a short while, then pulled herself up and asked the first person that crossed her way to help her get to the keep’s physician. There at least she’d get something for the pain.

It was at the physician’s office, which had been Ander’s once and lay across the courtyard, where she found Zevran.

He was sitting on a couch. Just sitting there, as if he hadn’t disappeared the whole day and had left her to wake up alone and eat alone and- Before she knew it, anger was already running out of her moth, along with words.

“Where were you?”

And Zevran felt the anger. He had a sixth sense for it.

“Away.”

“No fucking shit,” Astala snapped. “What were you thinking, running away like that? You know perfectly well I can’t follow you!”

He clenched his jaw and looked somewhere else.

“That was rather the point, was it not?” he said quietly. “Some alone time to get over myself.”

“I didn’t say that!” Astala protested.

Zevran finally looked at her, accusingly so, and raised an eyebrow.

For a moment, they sat and waited in icy silence.

“Why are you here?” Astala finally asked.

As if on cue, Zevran sneezed.

“A cold.”

Astala huffed. “I told you to come to the warm side of the bed.”

“You know where it would be even warmer?” Zevran snapped. “In Antiva.”

“This again?” Astala leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. “How many times do I have to tell you? I can’t just go to Antiva. I have work to do here!”

“You could work just as well and much better from Antiva,” Zevran answered.

Astala scoffed.

“Stop doing that!”

Suddenly, Zevran was on his feet, staring at her with anger and frustration in his eyes.

“You said yourself that you hate the winter here. Yet when I come with a solution all you have to give is- is this?” He imitated her scoff.

“Zevran,” Astala said, in a dangerously calm tone, “I would love to go to Antiva. But, like I already told you, I cannot go. What is it about that that you don’t understand?”

Zevran shut his mouth and abruptly turned away from her.

“And don’t you dare end this conversation by running away again.”

“I was not planning to,” Zevran hissed, sat down where she had found him and crossed his arms.

Astala sat down on a chair on the opposite side of the room. Silence descended over them once more. The pain in her hip was now making it difficult to sit, and she turned this side and that in search for a position that might ease the pressure. She shouldn’t have bothered. She found none.

“Does it hurt?” Zevran asked quietly.

Astala looked up at him, surprised, then nodded and found tears in her eyes.

Zevran sighed and stood up.

“Lie down,” he told her. “I will take the chair.”

 When the physician arrived, Zevran got something for the cold and Astala got something for her pain. Zevran then walked her back to the keep again before he disappeared. Astala found herself walking towards their chambers. Which was fine. She wouldn’t do much more today anyhow. She did her exercises, set some water on the stove in case Zevran came back and was cold, and crawled into bed.

Astala accepted it with a quiet ‘thank you’. Zevran even helped her lie down, and she could’ve cried of relief as the pressure on her hip eased. Zevran took the chair she had previously occupied, and they resumed their silent wait for the physician. Outside, it was already dark. In the light of the lantern at the physician’s door, Astala could see heavy snowfall.

-

Once again, she woke up in the middle of the night as Zevran crawled into bed.

“Sleep, my Warden,” he said quietly.

“`M already awake,” Astala muttered and sat up.

She hadn’t closed the blinds, dark as it had been, but now the clouds had disappeared, and the almost full Luna, the bigger one of the two moons, shone brightly on the freshly fallen snow. Inside their room, it was chilly save in the fireplace or under the blankets. She should close the blinds. It would keep more warmth inside. Next to her, Zevran sneezed. He had a very peculiar way of sneezing, quiet like nobody else she’d heard. He cast a cautious glance in her direction and saw her looking at him.

“Perhaps I should sleep someplace else so you don’t catch it as well, no?” he offered.

“No!” Astala would have been shocked at how raw her voice sounded if she wasn’t so intent on having him stay. “No, please, I- I don’t care about the cold.”

Zevran’s gaze softened. “That does not sound like the wife I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Astala whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Zevran sighed, propped up his pillow against the headboard and leaned back.

“Zevran, I’m so sorry,” Astala repeated. “I shouldn’t have said those things and least of all like that.”

“I am sorry as well,” Zevran said, gaze lowered to his hands. “You were in pain.”

“I was a bitch.”

“Now, now.” Zevran tutted at her. “Why do you insult my wife so?”

Astala laughed despite herself, and that laugh untethered the tears she had been holding in. Now she was sniffing alongside with Zevran, which made her laugh again and feel terribly ridiculous.

Zevran carefully shuffled closer and laid his head on her shoulder. Astala wrapped one arm around him and pressed her nose into his hair. She felt the tension melt out of his shoulders. It was the best thing that had happened in the last few days.

“Did you miss me?” he asked quietly.

Astala nodded into his hair.

“I did as well,” Zevran said. “Fighting is such terrible business.”

Again, Astala nodded.

“Maybe we should fight more often!” Zevran said with all the sudden enthusiasm of someone who’s had a grand idea. “Small disagreements every second day for breakfast and one big fight every month. We could even add weapons or a point system to make it more fun! What do you say?”

For some reason, this made Astala cry harder. Zevran sat up in alarm.

“Amore? Was that the wrong thing to say?”

Astala laughed, still crying, and cupped his face with her hands.

“You are ridiculous,” she managed. “Ridiculously awesome.”

“Only for you,” Zevran said as relief chased over his face.

Tentatively, he placed a kiss on her hand, and then pulled her into a hug. Astala buried her face in the crook of his neck and clung to him, only now becoming aware of the weight these past days had settled on her as it slowly dissolved and melted away.

Maybe a few days off would do them good. Or a few weeks.

“Zevran?”

“Hmmm?”

Astala further hid her face in his shirt and had to give herself a mental shove to speak on.

“How long is it to Antiva?”

Zevran had been idly drawing his finger over the nape of her neck. It stopped.

“A week or two of travel by ship, depending on the weather. Why?”

Astala bit her lower lip. “Will you get very angry at me if I tell you that… that maybe we should go? Just for a bit?”

Zevran held still. Astala was already fearing for the worst when he gently untangled himself from her to look her in the eye.

“You are a stubborn one at times, my Warden,” he said with a sigh and a shake of his head.

His gaze, however, held fondness.

“I’m sorry,” Astala whispered.

“Hmm, no, no, enough apologizing, I think,” Zevran said and laughed. “We are going to Antiva, then? Shall we pack and set out in the morning?”

The rest of her worries rumbled off her chest like stones off the mountainside and Astala laughed as well.

“Let me settle some things with Mistress Woolsey,” she said and pressed a kiss into his skin. “And then we can pack.”

“That is good enough for me,” Zevran said. A wide smile was slowly stretching over his face. “We are going to Antiva!”

A spark of excitement settled in her chest as well. Last winter had been rough. Maybe Antiva would help them be kinder to each other.

#zevwarden week 2022 #zevwarden #fanfic #fights and reconciliation #zevran x f!warden #zevran x tabris #fantasy racism #hurt-comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #winter #seasonal affective disorder #disabled character #chronic pain #chronic injury #silent treatment #arguing #seasonal depression

[watercolor-hearts]

Here I am, again, with a quote from a (yet) unfinished story. (As always. Sorry.) I really like the idea of this one, it's mostly focused on the comfort George provides to Daniel when Daniel feels like he can't do this anymore, he doesn't want to go and race, he just wants it to end.

(Yeah, I know I post too many times about my stories but never really the actual stories or links to them. I promise I'm working on them but it's a little bit difficult sometimes because of the school. But I'll try to finish all of those I mentioned before or showed a quote from it.)

tw self-harm, tw blood (not that graphic but still)

“Hey, Danny,” says George as he sits down in front of the Aussie. “I'm here, I'll help you. Tell me, what happened?” asks the Brit as he opens the first aid kit and gently holds Daniel's arm to take a look at it. The Aussie lets him without saying a word. He always lets him. And George is grateful for that.

He counts five cuts. Last time there were three. They're longer than the ones before, but fortunately not deeper. George looks at Daniel for a moment before he starts to clean up the blood.

Daniel's tired. His face tells it. He doesn't speak, his eyes are shut, tears running down on his cheeks.

#daniel ricciardo #george russell #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #hurt-comfort #forcing laughter faking smiles #riccussell

[boygiwrites]

Living the Vida Loca  P.2

• Jesse Pinkman & Reader. (Platonic)

(Here’s part one.) (Here’s part three.) (Here’s part four.) (Here’s part five.) (Here’s the epilogue.)

• (Find this story on Ao3.)

Summary — A short story about how a young teenaged girl gets wrapped up in Jesse's life.

Notes — So excited to be posting more of this story! Also, like always, I’ve made some small changes to the way things play out in the show. Enjoy reading!

.

The Beginning of the End.

It's 8PM and you're in the driveway, playing basketball; alone.

The stars are out.

It's warm.

And there's a man.

Oh.

He's just sort of... standing there, watching.

He's a silent shadow against the moonlit strip of sidewalk.

He tells you not to scream.

You drop the ball, and it rolls away into the bushes.

He tells you he needs to know if Jesse Pinkman lives here.

He starts coughing, quietly.

Then Jesse comes powering around the side of the house with a crowbar in his hands, yelling at the shadow to leave; right now, asshole, or else.

Jesse grabs the front of your hoodie, pulls you behind him, and keeps on shit talking.

So help me God, I will beat you down, old man, Jesse puffs himself up real big and lowers his voice. Just say the word.

Methamphetamine, The shadow says, and you swear Jesse flinches. Is that the word, Jesse? Methamphetamine. Nice house. Guess it pays well, hm?

Jesse whirls on him and the crowbar clashes into the metal gate, but the shadow behind it doesn't budge.

Let me in, Jesse.

Then you're all sitting at the garden table, in the dark, like some sort of eerie family gathering.

Teacher-student gathering, even.

Mister White.

Chemistry teacher.

Jesse's chemistry teacher.

Your... chemistry teacher.

He wants to make meth with Jesse.

He says if Jesse talks, he'll turn him into the police, and CPS will take you away.

He says if you talk, he'll turn you into the police.

Jesse shoots you a baffled look.

That's how Jesse finds out you've been selling weed at school.

What the Hell, he asks through his teeth.

Jesse's a drug dealer.

He acts like life is wasted on him, anyway, and if one of you has to do it, it's gotta be him.

Every fucking day he walks out that front door and throws one more piece of his life away on the streets, like breadcrumbs.

You begged him, it's not worth it, Jesse, please.

He never listens.

So if he goes down, so do you. If he's a piece of shit, so are you.

So you started selling weed.

Jesse didn't notice.

But you guess Mister White did.

Not good enough, he always scribbles on your school work. Do better, apply yourself, terrible grammar.

Mister White smiles pleasantly and leaves you to sit with the consequences of his arrival.

I'll be back tomorrow.

He reminds you to do your homework as he leaves.

The night is quiet.

The stars are out.

Jesse's seething silently beside you.

You just got played by an old man.

Get in there, Jesse yells at you, gesturing to your bedroom door. Go to sleep. I don't wanna see your punk-ass face ever again.

For an hour, you hear him outside your window on the porch, smoking and muttering and tapping his foot.

Jesse never yells at you.

Suddenly, for the first time in years, it becomes obvious that Jesse is not your equal.

In the morning, Jesse isn't there.

He doesn't come back for two days.

The Murder.

You're in CostCo with Jesse, trying to find the best type of bucket to melt bodies in.

When he came back this morning, Mister White and RV in tow, it was with two dead bodies and a pound of meth.

You haven't spoke much.

That one's pretty big, you comment awkwardly, pointing at a blue container.

Yeah, he mutters.

It looks like the two of you are browsing the bread aisle, trying to find the best type of grain.

That one's got a lid, though, you say. Could be useful.

Yeah, he mutters.

Selling weed and hiding bodies. You're moving up in the world.

Maybe we need a thicker one, you muse.

Yeah, he mutters.

You pull a hefty tub off the shelf and sit in it like it's a play pretend race car.

You smile up at Jesse. Look, you giggle, They can play bumper cars in the afterlife.

He's looking at you funny.

The only thing you end up buying is hydrofluoric acid and two snickers bars.

The car ride home is silent.

You eat the snickers while your chemistry teacher loads a gun in your kitchen.

You've just finished wiping Emilio off the floor.

Thanks for telling Jesse about the weed, you sass him.

He asks what the deal between you two is, anyway.

You tell him it's none of his business, but Jesse's your kind-of-dad.

More like my brother, you think out loud, 'cause he lets me eat ice cream and I don't have a bed time.

He tells you you're the strangest pair he's ever met.

When you ask him if he's gonna kill that guy in the basement, he fumbles one of the gold bullets.

He says, yes, he's going to kill him.

You consider this.

Don't miss, you settle on. I'm sick of mopping.

You find him smiling a little.

Jesse would not be smiling.

You find yourself smiling, too.

You share the snickers and later that night, he shoots the man in your basement.

He does not miss.

What's Changed.

Nowadays, everything has changed.

Two weeks ago, you'd never spoken to your chem teacher. Now you talk every day.

You'd never seen the inside of a dead body, which you know now, actually smells like pennies.

And you were on good terms with your sort-of-dad-brother, Jesse, who doesn't really talk to you anymore.

In the mornings, instead of being there to pack you cheese-itz for lunch and help you find your missing socks, he's off somewhere, throwing his life away, and going on strangely long walks, and randomly deciding to clean the windows even though they're not dirty.

In the evenings, he makes dinner and then fucks off again. You eat hot ramen in the empty dining room and watch the clock tick.

At night, he smokes on the porch, mutters, and taps his foot.

You go through a list in your head.

Is it because of the weed?

Is it because of the meth?

Is it because of the bumper car joke?

Is it because he hates me?

But then he'll drop by your room to kiss your hair, and it's just enough to hold you over to the next day.

Rinse and repeat.

Rinse and repeat.

Rinse;

And repeat.

Mister White's real name is Walter.

You know lots of things about him, now.

You know he wears ugly beige clothes outside of school, and that he hates crunchy peanut butter because of his bad tooth.

You know he gets a double loaded burger, extra pickles, from Los Pollos Hermanos.

He hates when Jesse cracks his knuckles, which is very often, recently.

He likes to call you an imbecile when you try come in the RV while they're cooking. The fumes, he squawks, The fumes, you imbecile.

He fucking hates the noise of the basketball punching into the driveway while he's trying to concentrate.

His wife is called Skyler, and she's pregnant, which makes him anxious.

He grumbles and whines and complains, but in the end, he'll always help fix your jacket zipper when it jams, and lend you the little travel tissues he keeps in his pants pocket when you get little scrapes on your knees.

At school, he's become a total homework Nazi.

You think that Jesse told him to lay it on thick.

You're still selling weed.

That's about the only thing that's stayed the same.

You spend the money on gum, videogames, and polaroids for your camera.

One night when Jesse finds your stash of crumpled money, he burns it all on the grill and you slap his face.

See?

Everything's changed.

You get nightmares, now.

You have a bedtime, and a curfew.

You're not allowed to ask about Jesse's day.

He makes you empty your pockets every time you come home.

He searches your laundry for baggies of weed.

He hates you.

It's Hell.

At least Walter's still a bastard.

That never changed.

Then top spot for world's biggest dummy is challenged, by one Saul Goodman.

.

End Notes — Let me know what you think! Also, I feel the need to explain myself for using the word Nazi. I don't use that word in real life because it makes me uncomfortable to say so casually, but for the sake of this story's tone, I used it. Sort of crude, I know, but what is Breaking Bad if not offensive amounts of crude? Thanks for reading.

#breakingbad #jesse pinkman #walter white #angst #hurt-comfort #daddy issues #reader