#on the one hand - living with a loud reminder of one's trauma that one must learn to nurture | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rougepancake · 11 months

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Hello! I saw that your request are open, can i make one? About genya and sanemi(separate and with nothing of yandere themes, i just want comfort) with a reader who is very similar to yui komori from diabolik lovers, that is a girl very gentle, kind, sensitive, shy and positive that had suffered in the past kidnapping(even could make a little drabble about the reader seeing again one of his former kidnappers in the street) and has post traumatic stress disorder because of that, basically a cinnamon roll that not deserves the cruelty of this world.

Its okay if you don't want to make this request, if youre busy ill understand and have a nice day/afternoon/night

Your wish is my command 🙏

Ft. Sanemi Shinazugawa and Genya Shinazugawa

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping and ptsd, angst with comfort I promise just bear with me I like building up the trauma. I would not recommend if you aren’t good with the idea of living with trauma or anything like that. BUT IT DOES GET FLUFFY I SWEAR. Not proofread!!

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA

He had found you in an abandoned village, with not a single bit of light in your once shining eyes. It was raining, and destruction had surrounded you, a reminder of the pain that had led to this nightmare. Your village was gone and you seemed perfectly content to just sit there and wait for death to find you.

However, something in him just wouldn’t let you die. Typically he’d leave a scene like that and allow the person to move on and grow up on their own.

But he just couldn’t leave you behind.

There was just something about you that drew him in, and he couldn’t figure it out.

So he took you back to Shinobu’s estate and let her take care of your shock and minor injuries. Once those were taken care of, he brought you back to his home and showed you around.

“This is your new home.” He paused and slowly looked over at you. “What is your name? I’m Shinazugawa Sanemi.” It was unlike him to be so caring- so soft towards another person.

“I’m Y/n.” You said simply as he showed you around. You were so quiet, so shy.

Within a few weeks of living with him, the light that once shined in your eyes returned, and you were studying wind breathing under him. You were now beginning to enjoy life once more, having been given a second chance to do so.

“Hey. Are you ready to go out?” Sanemi stood in front of you, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was worried about taking you with him on missions. But he didn’t really want to leave you alone either.

“Of course.” You smiled and ran over to him, giving him a thumbs up before heading out to the path.

You thought it would just be simple demon slaying, with a few weak ones here and there and then one at the heart of it. But you were so wrong.

There you stood, separated from Sanemi as you stood before the very demon that destroyed your village. The very demon that had taken you from your family because you were different. The destruction that had devastated your life and the monster that was responsible for it all.

It all came flooding back to you, washing over you in violent waves as you tried to hold your own.

“I missed you so much.” The demon spoke, slowly slinking towards you. And you froze. Unable to say or do anything as you fought for the mental stability you needed to get out of this. You felt nothing but fear, your legs shaking as you gasped for air.

“Now we can be together for-“ The demon choked, an all too familiar blade piercing through its throat. You screamed and stumbled backwards, watching as Sanemi lopped off its head mercilessly.

“We’re leaving.” He growled, grabbing your hand and rushing you out of the forest. He was trying to forget how afraid you had looked, and he was failing. That damned demon must have been the one to take everything from you, and it deserved its cruel fate.

You were so kind, so sweet, so why did you keep suffering? Why were you constantly being put through such pain?

It made no sense to him.

Sanemi continued to run along, dragging you behind him wordlessly until you came to a clearing. The sun was beginning to rise now, so any demon that had been following you two wouldn’t be able to attack now.

“Come here.” He whispered harsher than he wanted, pulling you into his arms. He wasn’t good at comforting- hell he wasn’t good at making anyone but himself satisfied- but he did his best for you. He held you tightly and said nothing as the world awoke around you.

You didn’t need to say anything, because he knew. He knew more than he should, but he didn’t care. You deserved nothing but happiness, and that was final.

Maybe he’d stop taking you out on missions after all.

He just couldn’t afford to lose you so soon.

Or at all.

GENYA SHINAZUGAWA

“Excuse me. You’re in my way.” He pushed past you, but immediately stopped upon seeing the light in your eyes. You seemed too happy to be a demon slayer, and it boggled his mind.

“Hiya! I’m Y/n!” You grinned and stuck out your hand for him to shake, but he just ignored you and continued on. He wasn’t about to be caught slacking on his tough guy act.

You chased after him though, and just wouldn’t leave him alone. You were determined to speak with him, and he wasn’t interested in the slightest.

Or maybe he was.

Who knows.

“What the hell do you want?!” Genya eventually snapped, turning around and glaring into your eyes. He was hoping that it would intimidate you into leaving, yet you didn’t seem phased by it.

You only giggled and continued to follow him down the city’s streets, curiously observing everything around you.

You were like a child in that aspect and it annoyed him even further.

“Hey can you sense that?” You stopped walking and grabbed his sleeve, tugging on it gently to get him to stop. Your smile had fallen and you looked serious, your eyes scanning the crowd of people before you.

“Yeah…” He spun around and pulled his arm away from your grasp, taking a step out into the crowd, seemingly unfazed by the amount of people that were in sight. He pushed against the current, leading the way towards the strange aura that had just washed over you.

“Wait-!” You called out, quickly following after him and nearly tripping in the process. You stopped when you felt a heavy hand land on your shoulder.

Instinctively, you froze and looked over your shoulder, your fearful gaze meeting the hungry one of the man you knew too well. The face of a man that you swore to never forget.

And here he was.

“G-Genya!” You called out, taking a step back and accidentally bumping into someone else. You muttered an apology and began to panic.

Where the hell was Genya?!?

BOOM!

There he was. And there was your former kidnapper. Lying dead on the ground with a bullet in his brain.

The crowd around you screamed and cleared out, quickly leaving you and Genya alone as the police made their way through the streets towards you two.

“Thank me later.” He grumbled and grabbed your wrist, dragging you away from the scene. He knew you were too happy, and for good reason. You didn’t deserve whatever that man had done or what he was going to do.

The sounds of the police whistles echoed in the background, horrified screams following as they looked at the sight.

“Don’t tell anyone about this.” You panted, looking up at Genya with wide eyes.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” He huffed and pulled you up into a nearby tree to take shelter in. “However…” he looked over at you and raised an eyebrow. “I do have some questions.”

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absolutelynooneaskedforthis · 1 year

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CLEAN

Trevor Zegras x reader

synopsis; reader has struggled with self harm since high school, and in the face of a relapse, Trevor supports them with everything he has. based off of the bridge mostly, the ten months sober, i must admit, just because your clean don’t mean you don’t miss it section specifically. fun fact. i cannot listen to this song without crying 💪😔

a/n; this is for all my bitches who have struggled with s/h in the past or are currently, i love you all and i’ve been there, it does get better. please tell someone. please at least find an outlet for that anger. it’s hard. please please please help yourself. you will thank yourself later for letting you find yourself.

warnings; self harm, mentions of trauma, daddy issues (same💪💪), mentions unsupportive family, established relationship, flashbacks are in italics unless it’s a highlighted word, y’all know how to read fics

HEY! IF YOU ARE DEALING WITH SOMETHING THAT INVOLVES SUICIDE OR SELF HARM PLEASE TALK TO SOMEONE ABOUT IT. I know it seems hard, but you will find help and hope. I love each and every one of you. i know where you are, and you will feel better once you tell someone trusted.

You don’t know what it was that brought you back to that day.

One second you were enjoying your boyfriend’s current hockey game, the next you were in the bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror. Waiting. For what, you didn’t know. Something. Anything. To set you off. To have it begin again. All the words. The scars.

The scars.

They were like physical reminders of all the things he used to say to you. All the “you’ll never be good enough”s and the “why are you the way you are?”s. Even the little things, anytime he told you to settle down, shut up, sit still. You used to bite your nails, but your dad thought that was an issue too.

“Stop chewing your nails, you look like a toddler. Immature and stupid. Wouldn’t be a stretch.” he mumbled the last part, but you heard. Loud and clear.

“I’m going to trevor’s.” You raced to the kitchen table to grab your bag and hurried to Trevor’s house.

You knocked on the door and texted him to let you in. It was around 8:00. You were 17.

He opened the door to see tears welling in your glassy eyes.

“What do you need?”

“Can I just, stay here? For the night?”

“Yeah, we were just about to watch a movie. I’ll ask my mom to let you choose.” He brought his arm over your shoulders and closed his front door.

“Hi cutie! Are you alright?” Julie brought her hand to your face in a greeting as you nodded as enthusiastically as you could.

“What did you want to watch?” she immediately caught Trevor’s gaze and grabbed the remote.

“Mamma Mia?” you suggested. It was summer and you had been aching for a Zegras family movie night.

Julie nodded curtly and selected the DVD from the shelf in their living room.

“Hey kiddo. Popcorn?” Gary sat down and passed you the bowl.

“Thank you, Mr. Trevor’s dad.” You’d called him that since you were little and you didn’t know his name. You practically inhaled the handful and turned to your left to see Ava and Griffin in the kitchen.

“Y/n!” Ava rushed to the couch and immediately wedged herself between you and Trevor. His hand still lingered behind you heads as he rubbed small circles into your shoulder.

That was before it all happened.

Every little comment was like a new open wound. A new knife to slice your self esteem. Everything made it so much worse.

Trevor knew about all of the shit your father put you through. He was always there. At school, when he let you stay the night, sneaking out to go get ice cream when either you or him were grounded, he was your person.

When he moved in with Jack, you moved with him, against your father’s wishes. He disowned you on your birthday over the phone, and Trevor and the Hughes were there for you.

All of this brought you back to your bathroom mirror, and the reflection staring through it.

You looked at your wrists and hands in the mirror. The lines. Creases of melancholy seared into your tired veins.

You glanced at your razor on the glass shelf next to the mirror.

Ten months sober, I must admit

Just because you're clean, don't mean you don't miss it

“I’m home babe!” Trevor called to you from the kitchen, you were assuming.

How long had you been in here?

“Bathroom,” your voice tried to reach him, but failed as it cracked and turned thin.

Your frail voice must have given you away, as immediately after you heard fast footsteps up the hall as Trevor swung the door open, but not in a hurried manner. He examined the counter and you.

“Don’t do it. It’s not worth it, not after you’ve made this much progress.” He enveloped you in a hug and you couldn’t help but crumble into him. Your t-shirt slowly began creeping up as Trevor’s hands traced circles up your back.

“Why did he do it Trev? I haven’t spoken to the man in years and he still haunts me.”

“He’s not here, that’s all that matters. And i’m here, pretty girl. I’ve always got you.” he kissed the crook of your neck lightly as he tapped your hip to signal for you to stand up fully. His arms still wrapped around you, he whispered to the air between you,

“Jump.” but there was nothing romantic about his tone. He was ever sweet and caring in your moments of need.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to your shared bedroom. He sat you down on the edge of the bed and nudged your arm up to help you take your tear stained shirt off.

There was nothing sexual about his actions, just you and him. In that moment. A necessary action for the both of you.

Once you were changed into a more comfortable shirt, and Trevor changed out of his game day suit, the two of you laid under the covers, holding each other in exhaustion and love. You had nothing but the latter for him. Love.

Ten months older, I won't give in

Now that I'm clean, I'm never gonna risk it

#trevor zegras x reader #anaheim ducks #trevor zegras

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je-suis-fromage · 2 years

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My Reddie Fic Rec

A Reddie fic rec list in the year 2022, lessgetit! 5 canon-ish faves, 5 full-on AUs.

Feel free to rec some Reddie fics for me in the replies, I’m always looking for new ones :))))

Canon-ish. EddieLives! is implied, some StanLives! cause I love that guy and he deserves good things >:|

1. in the heat of the summer (you're so different from the rest) by kaboomslang

109k. Explicit. Post-IT Chapter 2. This fic got me into the IT-fic world, my favorite characterizations. Love!

There’s a heatwave in L.A., the first time Richie sees Eddie naked.

One very hot year in the life of two idiots in love, working shit out.

2. love how we've been carrying on by camerasparring

59k. Explicit. Canon-Stan Lives AU. Eddie-works-through-shit is one of the core fanon-IT themes and this is one of the best.

Do anything, says a voice in his head, harsh and loud; his younger self screaming at him; Richie putting a hand to his arm and reminding him: he can be brave.

Do anything to let him know you want this. That you want him.

So he keeps moving until he’s touching Richie, grabbing his wrist, sliding his hand up the sticky curve of Richie’s arm, and Richie—he must know. Eddie’s never been this bold with him, never touched him so intentionally or deliberately and all he can hear now is you’re braver than you think and it’s like everything is suddenly clicking into place.

And then, as soon as it came on, everything is eclipsed by a churning, painful nausea roiling angry through his stomach.

3. Humble Pie by avocadomoon

24k. Teen and Up. Post-IT Chapter 2. The awkward-ness of rediscovering your best friends after 27 years apart (and lots of trauma). Richie and Eddie learn to navigate being in love with each other on top of everything else. So beautiful.

Eddie often felt like he and Richie were two magnets, repelling each other fiercely until one of them twisted the right way and suddenly they were slamming together brutally, yelling (and laughing, or yell-laughing, or what was the difference anyway?) at the top of their lungs. Eddie wanted to be around him all the time, just like when they were kids, but the feeling felt violent. Like when you see a cute baby or a puppy and you feel so savagely endeared that you want to take the adorable little thing in your hands and just fucking crush it.

4. here in your arms by kaspbrak_kid

82k. Teen and Up. Canon-Stan Lives AU. Stan and Patty have a baby, Richie is the best godfather ever, Eddie has feelings, Richie works through shit, The Losers are a beautiful found family.

Richie had no idea what to expect when Stan and Patty asked him to be their daughter's godfather, but it definitely wasn't becoming the part-time dad to a newborn.

5. Eternal Flame by HeckinaHandbasket

21k. Explicit. Post-IT Chapter 2. This fic happens within the span of a little over 24 hours, the aftermath of Eddie learning Richie has been hiring escorts that look astonishingly like him. It’s so so good. It features one of my favorite fic versions of Richie, lovely emotional man <3

The available data was this:

Richie had a history of hiring escorts. Male escorts. Like, for sex. For gay sex, with men. [...]

Short, brown hair, big brown eyes, polo shirt, small build. Bitchy face.

The inevitable conclusion was that Richie wanted to have sex with guys that resembled Eddie, but not Eddie, himself. This could be for any number of reasons, not the least of which was Eddie’s horrible, abrasive personality. Or multiple disfiguring scars.

AU. (no clowns to be found)

6. the year of the goat and your kid back by derryfacts2

14k. Teen and Up. POV Eddie’s Dad (who is gay). Frank lives in the same apartment building as Richie. This fic is more about Frank Kaspbrak and his relationship with Eddie than Eddie & Richie - it is truly excellent.

The day you get the most important email of your life, there’s a new black skidmark on the wall of the stairwell, and you know exactly whose fault it is. “Margaret,” you intone to the harried, wild-haired woman in the lobby. She sighs at you as she tries to jimmy her mail key loose. “I know.” It wouldn’t even be that bad if the kid would just skateboard outside. Or get good at skateboarding. Either of those things. Maggie’s a nice lady, though, and she’s had “trying my best” scribbled all over her since they moved into 6B maybe eight years ago. So you try not to be a dick, even if her son is a gold-standard pain in the ass. He’s good for three things: smells, noise, and reminding you how big Eddie must be by now.

7. The Meaning of Questions by avocadomoon

29k. Teen and Up. Academia!AU. I love tortured academic Richie <3 There’s a lot of beautifully written pining in this one.

Dr. Kaspbrak shook his head in visible amazement. "The only son of Dr. Wentworth Tozier, who casually spent ten years goofing off on television, only to roll up at Yale University with a fully-funded six years to study whatever he wants? Okay. Sure. You didn't know." He shook his head, this time in a very familiar sort of disdain. "Like I said. Everyone's either in love, or terrified. There doesn't seem to be much of anything in-between that I've noticed so far."

Richie bit back the urge to ask: and which are you?

8. walk alone or run away by tozier

46k. Explicit. College!AU. Eddie pines for (lusts for?) Richie and covers it with sweet, sweet loathing. They are kinda sorta friends with benefits and love each other a lot.

Richie Tozier is Eddie Kaspbrak’s rival. At least, that’s what Eddie says to everyone who will listen—including Richie most of the time.

Richie Tozier is a man, not of lies, but of half-truths and truths said too plainly out in the open that they sound like lies to the untrained ear. He does not lie—he lets others lie for him.

or, a college au where lots of things go wrong and some very important things go right.

9. a different boys heart to chew by fcngs

39k. Teen and Up. College!AU (Theater Kids Edition). Eddie writes a play and starts dating someone Richie-shaped. Richie and FakeRichie are cast as the leads in the play. Richie is jealous! Lots of misunderstandings ensue, but the pining is really wonderful.

Eddie fills the Richie-sized space in his life with someone unmistakably not-Richie. Despite him being a drama major, pretending to be okay about it is the hardest acting gig Richie's ever gonna get.

10. The Exploding Boy by bellbawttoms *WIP*

62k. Teen and Up. Teen!Losers Club. One of the best fics I’ve ever read from any fandom!! [Really hard to explain, check the tags]. Desperate for the update, but the writing makes it so worth the read even though it’s not finished.

If Eddie Kaspbrak shows up after 3 years of silent treatment with a Patrick Swayze haircut and a joint to share, you’ve kind of just got to ask for a hit and go with it. Even if your mom’s just kicked the bucket (gastroesophageal cancer). Even if there’s something awful in the woods (possible phantom serial killer).

Life’s short, and all that shit.

#reddie #reddie fic #reddie fic rec #it #it chapter two #the losers club #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier

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biocrafthero · 2 years

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So you prefer Omori being good despite what he is?

?? Idk what you mean by “despite what he is” but I’ll explain why as best I can:

Sunny created Omori to protect him, and used him as an empty vessel to inhabit to shield himself from things like Black Space. Think of Omori like a suit of armor, with Sunny being the one wearing it.

Sunny, canonically, has two vessels to inhabit, one being Omori and the other being the weird monster Sunny we play as in the Truth Sequence (for simplicity, I’m going to call him Hellsunny for this post). Omori is the preferable vessel; despite Hellsunny and Omori both being suits of armor, it’s all about what they represent to Sunny in particular.

Sunny, which is how he appears without inhabiting a vessel, is how he is normally. Nothing too special about him, because that’s literally just him on the most basic, human level.

Omori is the person Sunny wishes he could be. Omori is perfect, and his friends (and everyone, for that matter) accept him wholeheartedly despite his quirks. He’s strong and can put up a fight—he can never feel afraid and is willing to take on any challenge if he feels up to it. He cannot fall in battle (“Omori did not succumb.”) and has an array of abilities in a pinch. But most importantly, there is no trauma or pain. Omori is numbness, in a way—a way to survive, but not to live, just like White Space.

Hellsunny, on the other hand, is how Sunny views himself. Hellsunny is a monster, both inside and out. He bears the weight of knowledge of the truth, aware of his actions—he knows what he did, he killed his own sister. His body is mangled and he can’t do much other than pathetically walk around and interact with the world around him on only a surface level. He has no mouth to speak with, and his eyes are unblinking, lacking the eyelids to even do so. But, despite being I credibly physically mangled to the point where he is constantly bleeding, he can never die. He’s in a perpetual state of torment and suffering, and there isn’t any fixing him, his body much to grotesque to even attempt to repair.

Now the question is: Which vessel is preferable?

A Stranger in Black Space comments on this, saying that it doesn’t like the form Sunny has taken (and lost himself in, chasing after impossible dreams of perfection and innocence), but that Omori is the preferable vessel to inhabit out of the options Sunny has.

Omori can protect Sunny, while Hellsunny only acts as a reminder of his trauma and pain.

At the end of the game, the Omori fight comes to represent both of these vessels. Sunny, having decided to face reality, now must confront his pain and suffering directly, and it really isn’t easy. A lot of his internal agony is reflected by Omori in the fight against him (there’s a reason why mirrors are so symbolic in this), with Omori saying the quiet parts about Hellsunny’s existence in the context of Sunny’s trauma out loud. Sunny hates himself for what he did, and believes he deserves to suffer and die for his actions. Omori reflects Sunny in the fight, which is why you can’t beat him with force. Sunny must push himself to accepting his pain and agony, which is why the fight ends in a hug.

If Omori was truly as evil as many say he is, he would’ve gone down kicking and screaming—there would be no hug at all, and that’s not what this game is trying to say here. One can only begin to move past their pain by accepting it, not running and hiding from it. Sunny hugs Omori, and Omori accepts it, because he doesn’t hate Sunny at all. He lets Sunny let go, in the end.

“But what about Hikikomori Route?” When Sunny is rescued by Omori, they hug because Sunny wanted someone to help and save him, and so Omori reaches out and serves that purpose for him. Omori was made to protect Sunny, after all.

“But what about the Bad Ending?” Omori is a vessel for Sunny, and if Sunny wanted something and Omori could help, then Omori will help him. When Sunny and Omori hug in the Bad Ending, it’s important to note that the following sequence takes place in Headspace before Sunny finds himself on the roof of the hospital. It completely cuts out walking up the stairs, cutting out any chance we get to think and walk away, because Omori is helping Sunny commit to the choice. We, as Sunny, choose to jump off of the hospital roof. Whenever we control Omori, we are playing as Sunny with Omori as a proxy, if that makes sense. Whenever Omori acts separately, we aren’t controlling him, and therefore Sunny isn’t controlling him.

There is never and ending where Sunny dies that we don’t choose to die, because only Sunny can make that choice. Never Omori, only Sunny. Only the player is capable of pulling the trigger. If it was Omori killing us in the neutral and bad endings, we would not be in control of Sunny. We would not be able to choose to jump off of the rooftop. We would not be able to choose to stab ourselves. It’s always a choice, and only Sunny chooses, never Omori.

Fun fact on that, actually, you can stab yourself at any time after you complete Black Space on the Hikikomori Route, as long as you’re awake and in the real world. Sunny still hates himself, and he’s very aware there’s no saving him. Omori helps Sunny kill himself on the true route’s neutral ending, because it’s a mental barrier thing like what I explained with the bad ending. It’s like assisted suicide but Sunny is assisting himself by dissociating, basically.

Omori is really just… trying his best if you want to put it simply. At his core, he is just a vessel, but if he were to develop a consciousness of some kind, he’d still protect Sunny because that’s what he was created to do. Of course, he’d have other hobbies and interests as an intelligent, independent entity, but his goal would remain the same.

Since Omori is more of a vessel for Sunny in the game, in the Omori fight Sunny is simply seeing his reflection in the armor. Omori is whatever Sunny wishes he could be, and since Sunny wanted to see himself as Omori, he saw his own self-hatred during the fight because that’s what he was seeing in the mirror after remembering the truth.

I hope this makes sense. It’s a very nuanced thing and I’m not great with words sometimes (even though I’m a writer…), I just think about it a LOT. It’s something I’ve always understood, but never have had the right words when explaining it.

#Omori #discourse #writing #my silly Omori hot takes #asks #rambles #ask

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strawberrymilk4k · 9 months

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MUSIC ASKS

I’m bored and I thought this would be fun to fill out

I don’t know who to credit this to because I found this on Pinterest

^ If you know who originally did this, then please reblog and credit them ^

also one more thing- I’ll be using this “🖤” emoji to indicate my favorites

______________________________________________________________

1. a song you like with a color in the title:

“Black Hole Sun“ by Soundgarden 🕳 ☀ (< I’m hilarious) 🖤

2. a song you like with a number in the title:

“7 Weeks & 3 Days″ by yungatita (it’s 2 numbers so I hope it counts lol)

3. a song that reminds you of summertime:

“Can’t Do It Without You” by Austin Moon (yes- the “Austin and Ally” theme song)

4. a song that reminds you of someone you would rather forget about:

“Because Of You“ by Kelly Clarkson (my dad 🗑)

5. a song that needs to be played LOUD:

“AMERICAN HORROR SHOW“ by SNOW WIFE 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ 🖤

6. a song that makes you want to dance:

“Magic Dance“ by David Bowie (from the soundtrack of “Labyrinth“) 🖤

7. a song to drive to:

“Those Eyes“ by New Coast (I can’t drive but I’d imagine it's nice to drive to) 🖤

8. a song about drugs or alcohol:

“Medicine“ by Daughter (this song fucking kills me-) 🖤

9. a song that makes you happy:

“In a Week” by Hozier & Karen Cowley (Hozier my beloved-) 🖤

10. a song that makes you sad:

“Lithium” by Evanescence (it’s so powerful yet so sweet and sad)

11. a song that makes you angry:

“Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve“ by Taylor Swift 🕛 🖤

(GIVE ME BACK MY GIRLHOOD- IT WAS MINE FIRST)

12. a song that you never get tired of:

“Breathe“ by Anna Nalick (it’s so- 😫) 🖤

13. a song from your preteen years:

“More Than a Band“ by Lemonade Mouth 😭🖤

14. one of your favorite 80s songs:

“Come on Eileen” by Dexys Midnight Runners 🖤

15. a song you would love to be played at your wedding:

“But I Do Love You“ by LeAnn Rimes (from the soundtrack of “Coyote Ugly”) 🖤

16. a song you like that is a cover by another artist:

“Lovely“ by Lauren Babic & Seraphim (originally by Billie Eilish) 🖤

17. one of your favorite classical songs:

“Für Elise” by Ludwig van Beethoven

18. a song you would sing for a duet at karaoke:

“Dead Girl Walking“ by Barrett Wilbert Weed & Ryan McCartan 🎤🎤

(^ from the musical version of the original 1980s “Heathers” ^)

19. a song from the year you were born:

“Hey Ya!“ by OutKast (my birthday is February 4th, 2004)

20. a song that makes you think about life:

“Slipping Through My Fingers“ by Meryl Streep & Amanda Seyfried

(^ originally done by ABBA ^)

21. a song that has many meanings to you:

“We’ll Never Have Sex“ by Leith Ross 🖤

(the different meanings I see in it are: pure affection, asexuality, and TW-

trauma from sa and dealing with that during a relationship)

22. a favorite song with a person’s name in the title:

“Thérèse” by Maya Hawk 🖤

23. a song that makes you want to move forward:

“The Show Must Go On“ by Queen (and it never fails to make me cry)

24. a song that you think everybody should listen to:

“That’s A Woman” by Celtic Thunders Ryan Kelly & Paul Byrom 🖤

(I recommend watching the performance- if you decide to look it up)

25. a song by a band you wish were still together:

“I Want To Hold Your Hand“ by T.V. Carpio (originally by The Beatles)

(^ from the soundtrack of “Across The Universe” ^)

26. a song by an artist no longer living:

“You Send Me“ by Sam Cooke 🖤

27. a song that makes you want to fall in love:

“Home“ by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros 🖤

28. a song that breaks your heart:

“Pretty” by Korn (it’s a ROUGH song so please listen with caution)

29. a song by an artist with a voice you love:

“Songbird“ by Naya Rivera 🕊🖤

30. a song you remember from your childhood:

“Little Wonders“ by Rob Thomas (from the “Meet The Robinsons” soundtrack)🖤

31. a song that reminds you of yourself:

“Eye of the Tiger“ by Survivor (I played a lot of Guitar Hero 😂)

(I went to a drag race when I was little and don’t know what happened but there was a long intermission between rounds, so I stood up on the bleachers and sang “Eye of the Tiger” for everybody’s entertainment. I got a “Cars” poster to color in, by a guy who worked there and I was SO happy- to this day I don’t know if he did it because he thought I was funny or to get me to shut up lmao)

______________________________________________________________

okay! this took a lot longer than I planned but I’m all done :) I hope y’all enjoyed

if you want to check out my Spotify it’s “strawberrymilk4k” 🖤🖤

#music asks #music questions #music #this was super fun #I'm sorry I couldn't give credit

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psychiatricspecialists · 1 year

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What Is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? (PTSD)

Post-Traumatic stress disorder, also known as PTSD, is a psychiatric disorder that may occur in someone who has experienced or witnessed a traumatic event such as a natural disaster, a serious accident, a terrorist act, war, rape, or who has been threatened with death, sexual violence or serious bodily injury.

PTSD has been known in the past as “shell shock” during World War I and “combat fatigue” after World War II. However, PTSD is not exclusive to combat veterans. PTSD can occur in all people, of any ethnicity, nationality, or culture, and of any age. PTSD affects approximately 3.5 percent of U.S. adults every year, and approximately one in 11 people will be diagnosed with PTSD in their lifetime. Women are twice as likely as men to have PTSD. Three ethnic groups; Latinos, Blacks, and American Indians have higher rates of PTSD than whites.

PTSD is characterized by disturbing thoughts and feelings related to the experience that lasts long after the traumatic event has ended. There are flashbacks or nightmares; they may feel depressed, fearful, or angry; and they may feel detached from other people. People with PTSD avoid situations or people that remind them of the traumatic event, and have strong negative reactions to something as ordinary as a loud noise.

A diagnosis of PTSD requires exposure to a traumatic event. The exposure could be indirect or first hand. For example, an individual witnessing a robbery or a shooting. It can also occur as a result of experiencing or witnessing trauma such as first responders.

Symptoms of PTSD are found in the following categories:

Intrusive thoughts which include repeated, involuntary memories, bad dreams; or flashbacks of the traumatic event.

Avoiding reminders of the trauma which include people, places, activities and situations that may trigger distressful memories.

Alterations in cognition and mood: Inability to remember important aspects of the event, negative thoughts and feelings leading to ongoing distorted beliefs about oneself or distorted thoughts about the cause and consequences of the event leading to self-blame; constant fear, anger or shame. Decreased interest in activities previously enjoyed; feeling detached or estranged from others and unable to experience happiness.

Arousal and reactive symptoms include irritability, anger, behaving in a self-destructive way, being suspicious, easily startled, and having problems with concentration and sleep.

For a person to be diagnosed with PTSD, symptoms must last for more than a month and must cause significant distress or problems in the individual’s daily functions. Many develop symptoms within three months of the trauma, but symptoms may appear after and often persist for months and sometimes years.

PTSD often occurs with other psychiatric conditions including depression, substance abuse, anxiety, memory problems and other physical health issues.

When you have PTSD, it might feel like you’ll never get your life back. But it can be treated. Short- and long-term psychotherapy and medications can work very well. Often, the two kinds of treatment are more effective together.

PTSD therapy has three main goals:

Improve your symptoms

Teach you skills to deal with it

Restore your self-esteem

Most PTSD therapies fall under the umbrella of cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). Group or family therapy might be a good choice for you instead of individual sessions depending on your situation.

These are some therapy modalities:

Cognitive Processing Therapy

CPT is a 12-week course of treatment, with weekly sessions of 60-90 minutes.

You talk about the traumatic event with your therapist and how your thoughts related to it have affected your life. Then you’ll write in detail about what happened. This process helps you examine how you think about your trauma and figure out new ways to live with it.

Prolonged Exposure Therapy

If you’ve been avoiding things that remind you of the traumatic event, PE will help you confront them. It involves eight to 15 sessions, usually 90 minutes each.

Your therapist will teach you breathing techniques to ease your anxiety when you think about what happened. Later, you’ll make a list of the things you’ve been avoiding and learn how to face them, one by one. In another session, you’ll recount the traumatic experience to your therapist, then go home and listen to a recording of yourself. Doing this as “homework” over time may help ease your symptoms.

Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing

With EMDR, you might not have to tell your therapist about your experience. Instead, you concentrate on it while you watch or listen to something they’re moving like a hand, flashing a light, or a sound.

The goal is to be able to think about something positive while you remember your trauma. It takes about 3 months of weekly sessions.

Stress Inoculation Training

SIT is a type of CBT. You can do it yourself or in a group. You won’t have to go into detail about what happened. The focus is more on changing how you deal with the stress from the event. You might learn relaxation and breathing techniques and other ways to stop negative thoughts by relaxing your mind and body. After about 3 months, you should have the skills to release the added stress from your life.

Medications

The brains of people with PTSD process danger signals differently because of the imbalance of neuro-chemicals. They have an easily triggered “fight or flight” response, which is what makes you jumpy and on-edge. Constantly trying to shut that down could lead to feeling emotionally cold and removed.

Several types of drugs affect the chemistry in your brain related to fear and anxiety. Your doctor will usually start with medications that affect the neurotransmitters, serotonin or norepinephrine (SSRIs and SNRIs), including:

Fluoxetine (Prozac)

Paroxetine (Paxil)

Sertraline (Zoloft)

Venlafaxine (Effexor)

It should be noted that the FDA has approved only paroxetine and sertraline for treating PTSD. Your doctor may prescribe other “off label” medications due to people responding differently to certain medications. (That means the manufacturer didn’t ask the FDA to review studies of the drug showing that it’s effective specifically for PTSD.) These may include:

Antidepressants

Monoamine oxidase inhibitors (MAOIs)

Antipsychotics or second-generation antipsychotics (SGAs)

Beta-blockers

Benzodiazepines

It’s OK for you to use an off-label medication if your doctor believes there is a reason to do so. Medications might help you with specific symptoms or related issues, such as prazosin (Minipress) for insomnia and nightmares.

Which one or combination of meds is likely to work best for you depends in part on the stressors you’re experiencing in your life, what the side effects are like, and whether you also have anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder, or substance abuse problems.

It takes time to get the dosage of some medications right. With certain medications, you might need to have regular tests. For example, to see how your liver is working you need to check in with your doctor because of possible side effects and to monitor response.

Medications probably won’t get rid of all your symptoms, but they can make them less intense and more manageable.

In conclusion PTSD can be life altering. However, with the right combination of medication management and therapy, you will come back to enjoy a safe, fulfilling, and satisfying life.

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yanderenightmare · 4 years

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Hello, I have been looking at your content and I must say that I really like the way you write and I hope you are doing well.I don't know if your applications are open now but I want to give you an idea, how would the yanders react if their beloved has depressive periods and low self-esteem?It may be a bit of an anguish at first but I would like how they would react, use it on purpose or go soft on their beloved.

yandere ! BNHA headcannons

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

goodiebag WARNINGS: depression, self-harm, abuse, manipulation, abuse, profanity, amnesia, anxiety, panic-attacks, arson, bipolar disorder, blood, death threats, eating disorder, guilt, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, mental illness, mind control, paranoia, noncon, dubcon, starvation, suicidal ideation, trauma

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

MELANCHOLIA –

She’s always biting her tongue, the inside of her cheek, her lip. So much so, he doesn’t even know what her lip normally looks like without it being bloated and swollen and red from having her teeth sink into to it. He’s okay with her chosen silence as long as she answers when she’s spoken to, which she does, lacking the will to refuse, knowing it will only cost her valuable energy, energy she needs in case Bakugo decides he wants to rip the breath from her lungs while he hunches over her, his hips snapping into her again and again, ramming at a pace so rough she both dreads it and welcomes it, for on the one hand it’s exhausting and she always wakes up with aches in the morning, yet on the other hand he makes her appreciate breathing which is always a nice reminder when she often times wonders what tranquility would be found in not breathing whatsoever.

He doesn’t want to confront her about it, sensing how she might not enjoy confrontation all that much, and not really wanting the whole ordeal to result in making her cry at the mere sound of his voice. He won’t alter the volume or the roughness of his tone, no matter how many times she cringes at how loud he’s being, but he does try being gentle, at least with his criticism. He showers her in compliments, which is a huge contrast to how he would usually handle fixing things. But, he finds using softer methods benefit him as well, loving the blush that adorns her face each time he does so, his own confidence probably boosting more so than hers.

He does nice things, not really knowing what or which way to help. He doesn’t make her do any chores, ignoring the nagging feeling that keeping her busy would probably help more so than having her sit and look cute all day, but… he’s afraid of admitting it, but… he quite likes taking care of her. He quite likes hugging her throughout the night, feeling her small tremoring sobs against him while stroking her back. He likes comforting her on those same nights where she wakes abruptly from some nightmare, stroking glossy diamond tears away from her cheeks, loving her bloated lips and that cute red wet irritation flushed on her nose and cheeks.

The only times he gets upset with her is when she refuses to eat. He tries so hard to make things she might like, but it’s scarce he sees her taking more than a few bites, if she makes a move to eat at all. He doesn’t want to make her cry, despite it being a constant hobby of hers, he doesn’t want to be the reason to her crying, but… he can’t have her starving. He finds the fear-tactic surprisingly effective on someone who spends most their time fantasizing about death. A few sparks in his palms has her all but quaking, scared half-way into catatonia or even comatose, so much so he has to pull her into his lap and spoon-feed her. Not that he minds that either, he comes to enjoy it quite a lot actually. How her small frame melts so perfectly against his chest, legs swung over his lap, head on his shoulder, remnants of her fear-stricken cries still evident as small spontaneous jolts run through her, being slowly comforted away with the same hand that caused the trouble in the first place.

DABI - TODORKI TOUYA

ANXIETY –

He couldn’t be happier with his little ball of blue wrapped up in soft-tinted crushed dreams with a heart made of honeycombs and dandelion-fluff. Whereas his misfortunate lack of happiness stems from a place of violence, where violence breeds violence, she’s nothing but a tender trauma. Such a soft despair, such a sweet despair, such perfection found in something so devastating. It’s artwork really. How she can cry herself to sleep, trapped in his arms, feeling as though she’s dying, yet wake up the next morning all velvety and soft in his arms, her heart finding comfort in what her mind rejects, what her mind fears.

He tries being a source of comfort for the most part, but teasing and haunting and poking fun at her is such a delicious past-time he cannot simply just refrain from. He’ll be a real villain about it at times. Having her as a complete blubbering pathetic hiccupping mess, poking fun at her crybaby-face as he licks the tears from her cheeks and gorges himself in her panic, his fingers dancing small patterns on her stomach as she wiggles beneath him.

She used to be so scared of him. So skittish and paralyzed, cold-sweating and eyes constantly leaking he had to imagine what her eyes would look like without being rimmed with red. She used to shiver and shake and quake and reel in on herself, curl up until her limbs ached from how small she was trying to make herself become, backed up into the corner beneath his shadow, his leather-boots looking like the onset of everything horrific as she coward in front of them. But wild untrusting childlike beings such as her is quick in nature to tether themselves to the first or only source of light. And though the transition was slow, her anxiety soon shifted from being directed at him and soon for him instead.

It was too easy, and it benefitted him so undeservingly as well it was cruel. How he simply took all those fears of hers, all those fears for everything residing in the new foreign room she’d been taken captive in, manipulating them into becoming paranoia for everything found outside the bedroom door instead. He went from being the source of her dread, of her panic, of her misery, of her pitter-patter heart and shattering teeth to her savior. Soothing her in her frenzied quakes as she spluttered on sobs containing what hellish monsters and dangers found outside, begging him to be careful, to come back to her, to stay.

She will hug him close throughout the night, hanging almost like a noose around his neck when he needs to leave in the mornings, tracing his scars with a stream of endless worried thoughts blubbering in her groggy voice. And he’ll humor her worry and tame the oncoming panic-attacks by giving her a little light-show of blue flames in his palm, words of his own coming to assure her how nothing will ever happen to him and how he will never let anything ever happen to her, assuring however many times he has the time for.

She’s too cute it’s unfair. Unfair that small creatures like her exist without anything to protect them from hungry wolves like him. And though he was never the type to fantasize about clingy things, he has to admit… coming home to someone who lunches at him in the most secure yet clumsy and desperate embrace, he feels as though that feeling of coming home is all he’ll ever need in the world, that she’s all he’ll ever need.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

INSOMNIA –

It’s nice. He knows it shouldn’t be the word he describes it with, but… that’s what it is. It’s nice. It’s nice to stay up with someone who expels the same type of energy as him, and not to mention the same amount of energy as him, or… lack of thereof. It’s nice living off of fumes together. It’s nice slipping to and from consciousness and how it almost turns into a game of who can survive the longest before collapsing, with the other shortly following, too tired to even bask in their victory.

It’s nice irritating over the same sharp sounds that attack their sensitive ears, not at all like the familiar sound of soft clicks of the controller in their hands. It’s nice communicating almost purely through mellow moans and groans and croaks, always understanding what the other is emitting despite it being but shapeless sounds.

It’s nice finding agreement in how the lights should always stay off, how it’s turned into some religious rule never meant to be crossed. It’s nice annoying over the same crisp bright light of the sun that violate their eyes those times they forget to shut the blinds before passing out after having counted stars and eating in the dead silence of night like nocturnal beings ignoring the light of day as though it were the plague. It’s nice how they can both find comfort in the glow of the moonlight or computer screen, leaching off of the energy like flies.

He’s found kinship in her presence, and despite it merely being himself and her in the darkness of his room, with flying specs of dust decorating the air and their computers the only windows to the world beyond their four walls, he feels as though the whole universe is looking at him when the softness of her glinting, beaming, sparkling eyes set their gaze and lock with his. It’s strange, but he always found angel-bright smiles and supersonic eyes to be too intrusive and annoying and scary to stand before, whereas her sunken dark eyes, ringed with shades of lilac contrasting her otherwise pale porcelain skin, kept almost albino in the darkness of his room… she couldn’t be more perfect.

Come to think of it, it’s perfection. Her in all her sleep-deprived glory, all her drowsy silliness, her sloppy harsh movements, tripping and stumbling with her droopy-eyes, in her soft giggling fits, where she’ll catch her stupidity just a moment too late and roll around on the bed, trying to shrug off Tomura’s teasing judgement as he pokes fun at her idiocy. Giving up on forming complete sentences as she almost always ends up toppling over her own words, settling for whining or sighing as she turns her head to bury it in his chest.

Utter perfection. Never bothering to get dressed, walking about like a little tease in only underwear and Tomura’s ill-fitted hoodie, hair pulled up into a messy-bun too messy, always defeating the purpose of keeping her hair from out of her face. Her unstable movements, disconnected to the ground as though she’s floating. Too grabbable and easily defeated in her weariness when being pulled into his lap, simply humming and moaning in response as he plants soft kisses down her neck, his fingers coming to destroy whatever’s in the way of him and her body.

HITOSHI SHINSO

HYPERSOMNIA –

She sleeps so soundly, like a little couch-kitten. All soft and cute, playing in her dreams. She’ll sleep whole entire days, only opening her eyes in small flutters every now and again and moaning ever so softly once he wakes her, though quickly scrunching her nose and twisting to fall asleep again. Her drowsiness rendering her pride invalid, causing her to pull at him to better comfort herself against his body, whining when he shifts, his warm presence leaving the bed when he needs to go to work. Her little unconscious protest making his heart twist in his chest, tempted to stay in bed with her all day long, yet comforting himself with the fact that he’ll probably come home to find her in the exact same position.

She’s so cute. She’ll curl and stretch, resting anywhere she finds comfortable: in bed, in the sofa, in the armchair, on his chest, his shoulder, his lap. Adorable with her little snores, all knotted up, remnants of her dreams spilling out from her sleep and coming to life in her limbs as she kicks and shakes her head, delving further into the pillow and twisting intricately in about the blanket. Eyelashes fluttering, eyes skittering beneath her puffy eyelids, caught up in whatever hurricane her mind has conjured up.

She seemed unfazed once she woke up in his room for the first time, and even then, she only gave him enough time to explain himself before nodding with heavy eyelids, laying her drowsy head back on the pillow. The situation dawning on her gradually over the first month, and if whether she was startled or angry, he couldn’t tell. If anything, sept for sleepy, he’d say she seemed confused, but alongside the confusion was the look that told him she couldn’t find the energy in herself to think too much about it without her fuzzy head hurting. Settling for eating breakfast with him in the mornings, and even thanking him on those occasion where she would forget the circumstances that led her to live there.

She doesn’t struggle when he pulls her limp body close to his own in the dead of night after he’s done for the day. He’s only mildly concerned, but it’s not his affection that shakes her from her sleep. He’s a selfish person, and he’s not one to hide those ugly aspects of himself. He’s selfish, greedy, controlling. He has to use his quirk on her sometimes… often times. Though she’s cute when she’s sleeping, he wants to do more than just watch her. He wants words, conversation, he wants to know what’s going on in that dark dreary head of hers, he wants to know what eerie things she’s been dreaming about, where she escapes to when her eyes slide close.

What more: he wants those eyes on him, those puffy, sleepy beautiful doe-eyes. He wants her to pay attention as he touches her skin and not simply to moan in response to it, he wants her to hang onto every single moment his skin touches hers. Telling her to focus reaches a long way. Those otherwise sleepy doe-eyes widening in such moon-bright curiosity, slaving at the hands of his quirk. Her otherwise limp and soft body shaking under his overwhelming touch, goosebumps springing to the surface under his tongue, a wicked glint evident in his lilac eyes.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

BIPOLAR –

She’s fragile on most days. Whether that fragility is in the shape of a daisy or a bomb is impossible to say until she either falls apart or blows up. It’s all rather uncertain, sporadic, spontaneous, where he’s given only a few signs where which he can predict what state of mind she’s in and how stable that structure is.

Most things depend on sleep, and upholding a balanced sleep-pattern has become one of the most important things in Keigo’s life after having taken his little darling. But, she manages to slip past his schedules more times than he would like to admit. When she refuses to go to sleep, his mind drifts to all the fun things they can do if they weren’t sleeping, and when she’s sound asleep and drowsing far beyond what time she should have woken up, he can’t find it in himself to wake her, not when he is the reason as to why she was so spent and sore and exhausted from the events and methods he used to make her fall asleep in the first place.

On little sleep one of two things can happen. She can either have the energy of a hummingbird or be tired to the point she almost looks sickly. On her lack-of-sleep-high she’s confident, cocky more so than Keigo, where she’ll test her luck on how far Keigo’s willing to bend his rules when she misbehaves, calling him all types of names, laughing in his face when he snaps and cackling even harder even madder when he decides to punish her, as though it’s all a game to quench her boredom.

With the absence of sleep causing her exhaustion she becomes irritated, seething with boiling rage, red in annoyance, whatever energy she has left focused on making her discomfort known as she scowls at him each time he smiles too loudly, but being too drained to physically act on her frustration or to even make up a snide comment without evoking a headache, left to simply snarl. He thinks it’s cute, where he knows well enough that if he pushes her limits too far she might just break. Break, and therefore let him gather her up into his arms and hush and tut at her to stop crying while he strokes her back, feeling her tremble with unparalleled frustration weighing down on her shoulders.

Then there are the days she sleeps too much. The same options are present here too. She’s either too energetic or too well rested. Either black or white. No grey. But with too much sleep she isn’t ever hostile, but still wild. Wild and enthusiastic and self-destructive and prop-full of ideas and insane in her passion. She’ll be unable to focus on anything, she’ll forget things seconds after they’ve been said or done, but… she’ll laugh and she’ll smile, and it won’t be one of those haughty nasty smiles she gives him when she’s feeling spiteful, but genuine in its playfulness or even bliss.

Then on other days sleeping half the day only results in her being even more drowsed out, yet accompanying her exhaustion isn’t irritation, but soft-tinted melancholia, where all she does is stay wrapped up in her blanket, quiet and still, silent tears dripping down her cheeks as she focusses on how hollow her chest is, as though caving in on itself, where she’ll fall all limp and snuggly in Keigo’s embrace, humming appreciatively as he wraps her up in his wings. All the while a treacherous smile of satisfaction on his face.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

DESPOND –

When Izuku chose his darling it was done without compromise, without fault, it was done with perfection. Meaning, he fell for all of her, invested in all of her, determined to preserve all of her. Even her inexplainable unfounded absurd plethora of self-doubt that make her delirious and hopeless with anxiety and guilt. He let himself fall hungrily in love with her little terror-wide heart. He fell viciously in love with how desperate in need of him to come help ground her she was.

It was as though she’s made for him, he would argue. It was as though he’s made for her. Some breeds of people are just too vulnerable to take proper care of themselves. Some people just aren’t meant to take care of themselves. Whereas others are made to help, other people need to help.

Emotions are abstract fundamental tools meant to be used. Lesser minds might look down on his methods, yet Izuku came to understand quite early in life that things such as morals are chains meant to keep you from achieving your goal. He has no quarrels with using and abusing those tools presented to him, where her irrational feelings of doubt, hopelessness and worthlessness are a delicious opportunity to achieve his goal. Besides, her emotions are too easily abused and give such great unshakable responses, and even though he doesn’t want to tamper too much with her instability… they’re just too in-reach for him to ignore, too tempting for him to stay away.

The feeling of responsibility sits like an extra organ inside him, where his toes curl each time he sees her large doe-eyes look at him as though he were the sun, as though her whole life revolves around him. She’s just so dependent on him, so in need of his guidance and advise and praise, where he’s afraid she might just drown in her own guilt if she senses she’s displeased him. She makes sure she wears what he likes, has her hair the way he likes, letting him play with her like putty in his hands if he asks it of her. How can he be expected to not exploit what is so clearly offered?

Besides, he spoils her as well. He returns the favor so to speak, even though he knows she has given herself no choice but to worship him in her mindset of inadequacy. She’s so sweet he nearly feels undeserving, because she’ll blush so preciously when he compliments her, bashful and adorable and too good to be true, he wonders how such a creature can ever feel like less. He adores her, yet that doesn’t stop him from finding such satisfying bliss in the fact that he’s infinitely stronger and faster and not to mention smarter. Whereas she’s gullible and too eager to please, another attributing factor as to why he loves her, despite it is also being the cause of her demise, or maybe even because of it

The truth is she’s lucky that she belongs to him. Lucky that he won’t ever let anything happen to her, no matter if she’s the source of her own harm. She’s lucky to have him to anchor herself to as so to avoid floating away in her hopelessness. This is safer for her. Despite him sticking his bloodstained inky fingers and twisting her heart in his deadlock of a fist, she’s safe, safer than she could or would ever be on her own.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

AMNESIA –

It’s cute. He won’t deny that it’s cute, because it is. It’s adorable and unbelievable and annoying all the same. She’ll forget the rules, she’ll wander too far from her confines, not greeting him at the door, not kissing him on que, leave questions unanswered despite him having told her to always answer him when she’s spoken to, all things he feels he’s made blatantly clear through threats and countless reminders. But, not only will she forget his rules, but basic living necessities, she’ll forget to eat and drink, forget to get dressed, forget where she is.

She’ll say the strangest things sometimes. Mild and mellow passionate thoughts regarding the clouds and stars and moon and gods and how pretty his snake-eyes are, like great big lakes of molten gold. It’s strange but he finds such great comfort in her little philosophical blubbering, her soft voice kissing his ears like gospel. It’s a tender type of relief or resolution found in listening to nonsense as opposed to the serious matters he has to deal with in his position in the underworld, her view of the world somehow painting everything, even the ugly and the dangerous, in beauty.

Sometimes she’ll drift a bit too far away though. She’ll daydream more than sleep, absentminded when he’s speaking to her, unable to focus on him or anything for more than a few minutes at best. All dizzy and fuzzy, as though she’s just woken from some dream or as if she’s always dreaming. Irritation festers in his chest when she doesn’t answer, but as she turns her head, expression all soft and oblivious, his chest caving in at the sight of those doe-eyes, all anger simmering into nothing, rendering his annoyance nonexistent, replaced by a sense of hopeless forgiveness and somehow appreciation.

When it comes to her for once actually remembering what she’s supposed to do she’ll weigh each task as though one wrong decision would cost her life. Greeting him at the door in nothing but underwear, already having failed at picking out an outfit and resorting to wearing the lingerie Kai picked and laid out for her on the bed in the morning. The simple task suddenly becoming a battle where she’ll spend much too much time deciding whether to take his jacket first or give him a kiss or welcome him home. Too many decisions with too faulty statistics and unsure outcomes she ends up merely standing there doing nothing but hold her head in her hands and whimper slightly at all the noise that suddenly crowded her head, tears already threatening to fall as she stands before him, all guilt-ridden and trembling.

He can be patient as long as he knows she isn’t disobeying him on purpose, especially when he sees how guilty and how terribly sorry she is each time she fails on acting out simple tasks such as those he gives her. She’ll cry and apologize for the mere act of breathing on some days where she’s extra fragile, where she seeks nothing but his praise, his comfort, his hand stroking through her hair as she sleeps restlessly in her sobs on his chest, unaware of the mild smile of satisfaction and endearment displayed on his face.

TODOROKI SHOTO

SELF-CONSCIOUS -

She’s always hiding. Like a little mouse, she’s always squeaking and squealing and hiding. Hiding her face, burying it in the pillow when he compliments her gorgeous eyes, begging him to stop, small timid hands pushing ever so slightly at him. Hiding her chest, her nipples, when he admires them, his hands playing with the soft and supple flesh, whimpering as she tries to twist away. Her knees trying their best to wrench shut, to hide and protect what sensitivity find between them from Shoto’s hungry fingers and tongue.

She’s always hiding… but he likes to hunt anyway. If she drapes herself in pitch-black hoodies he’ll gladly rip them off, or scorch them off and expose her delicious artful body. If she refuses to leave the bed he’ll gladly attack her where she’s sleeping. She’s always hiding, but she quickly comes to understand that there will be no hiding from him.

He doesn’t understand why she would ever want to hide divinity, and therefor doesn’t respect the wish. Having made it his mission to expose every little piece of her, licking up long lines of bumpy purple and white scars, sucking and biting at those pointy cherry nipples strutting at the coolness of his breath, kissing those plump lips of hers despite her cringing to cover herself up in thousand layers of clothes, dark clothes, where only the very least of her skin is remaining on display. He won’t have it.

He has to tie her up on most occasions where she’s too difficult and shy to listen and let him play with her beauty. He’ll have to tie her up like a starfish on the bed, limbs spread in each direction, scars running along them, quite like the ones he receives in battle, only precise and matching and purposeful, his hands coming to touch them in reverence, worshipping every little altercation she’s added to her skin, further pushing its ever-changing perfection, watching as she hopelessly struggles to hide herself, yet the both of them knowing how she’s fully his.

He can’t allow her hurting herself anymore though, not with the fear that she one day might slip up and kill herself just a little bit too much, but he’s happy to help her through the tools of fire and ice. Frostbite flowers look even more as though they belong on her body, as well as blotches of burns, his markings, his teeth. He’ll never forget the moan he received on his first indulgence branding her body with his elements, how she purred in gratitude, small blissful squeals and mewls following, further egging him on.

Once she grew more comfortable with his hands and his stare… or rather… once the need for his hands outgrew her discomfort, she became somewhat addicted. And now, she can be wild in her cravings on some days, demanding it of him, threatening him, fighting him. She’ll bite and claw, begging for him to retaliate, longing for him to push her into the bedsheets and teach her what it’s like to feel alive by teasing her with the promise of death.

Without him she’s left to pick at scabs, counting the seconds until his return. She’ll pull at her hair until her scalp is screaming. She’ll ball her fists, creating those blood-red crescent moons in her palms, biting her nails until they bleed and then some. Then bask in relief upon his return.

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

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extasiswings · 3 years

Text

MORE finale-spec because I hadn’t written a Buck POV yet. Also, wow, I need the new episode so I have something else to think about...

There’s a moment that happens sometimes before disaster strikes.

The world slows, and everything is thrown into stark clarity—Buck can remember it right before the ladder truck, the tsunami, Eddie’s well collapse—that feeling of being outside of his own body for a few seconds knowing suddenly that something terrible is about to hit. He remembers.

They’ve just finished a shift when it happens. Buck’s walking out to the parking lot with Eddie when Bobby calls him back—

“Go ahead,” Eddie says. “I told Christopher I would pick up ice cream on the way home anyway, so—we’ll see you at the house?”

“I’ll be there,” Buck promises. “I—I’m glad that—that we’re doing this. I’ve missed—” You. Both of you. “—him.”

Eddie’s lips curve up and his eyes soften.

“He’s missed you, too,” he replies quietly.

Buck’s heart flips in his chest.

Bobby calls him again. He turns away. Eddie continues walking to his truck—

Buck glances back over his shoulder when he reaches the garage—

The world slows. Everything goes cold.

A gunshot rings out.

Across the parking lot, Eddie collapses like a puppet with its strings cut.

Buck’s moving before he can even think, only to be abruptly yanked back into the safety of the garage. He fights the grip—everything around him is white noise, his focus narrowed to Eddie’s prone form on the ground—

His throat is raw. He thinks he might be screaming.

“Buck. Buck!” Bobby shouts right next to his ear. “It’s not safe—”

“Fuck safe,” Buck spits out and finally wrenches free, sprinting across the parking lot and dropping to his knees when he reaches Eddie. Eddie’s breathing is labored and blood slicks his hands where he’s holding pressure on the gunshot wound.

“Buck,” Eddie chokes out. “You shouldn’t be—sniper—”

“If he wants to shoot me, he can shoot me, but I’m not leaving you here,” Buck replies. He covers Eddie’s hands with his to help hold pressure, barely holding back a shudder at the unhelpful reminder his mind offers up that he isn’t trained for this, doesn’t know what he’s doing, and if Eddie dies—

Fuck, it would have been better if their positions were reversed. And Buck would do it if he could. Would take a bullet, a hundred, a thousand bullets if it would make Eddie magically fine, if it would send him home safe and sound to Christopher.

“Was supposed to get the ice cream,” Eddie murmurs, and his eyes are distant, focus slipping in and out. “Chris has been—been looking forward to tonight—all week.”

“Eddie, look at me,” Buck demands. There’s ice in his stomach and Eddie’s blood is warm on his hands—the contrast makes his head swim and his throat tighten. “Look at me, okay? Focus.”

Eddie makes a small, hurt noise and closes his eyes when Buck presses down a little harder, but when he opens them again Buck can tell he’s more present. Over in the ambulance bay, there’s shouting, and an engine starts up, but Buck’s gaze doesn’t leave Eddie’s.

“I promised—promised I wouldn’t leave him again,” Eddie says. “I promised—”

“And you’re going to keep that promise,” Buck replies fiercely as the ambulance pulls up right next to them, the doors opening and providing the faintest amount of cover. Hen jumps out with a backboard and together they get Eddie onto it and loaded inside.

“Buck,” Eddie tries to say again, except then his face pales rapidly, a terrible choked wheeze leaving him, and his eyes roll back.

“What’s happening?” Buck asks, his voice high with panic.

“I think one of his lungs collapsed,” Hen says, her own voice painfully controlled as she sets to work. And Buck just keeps holding pressure and lets her go.

When they get to the hospital—

Buck stands frozen in the ambulance bay outside the emergency room doors staring blankly after the gurney as the doctors and nurses wheel Eddie inside and into a trauma room. There’s blood rushing in his ears, he’s freezing—

And Eddie’s blood is on his hands, drying, staining his skin—

He gets sick in the nearest trash can.

“Buck.” Hen’s voice is quiet, her touch gentle when her hand curls around his shoulder.

He’s shaking. He can’t seem to stop.

“You’re in shock,” she says, and Buck realizes he must have said that out loud. “Come sit down.”

“I should be doing something,” Buck replies, even as he lets her lead him back to sit on the edge of the ambulance. His voice is distant to his own ears. “I should—I should call Isabel—Christopher—”

“You don’t have to do anything right this second.” Hen presses a water bottle into his hands. “Except drink that.”

Buck picks at the label instead. His mind is racing too quickly as well, skipping from thought to thought and not really processing any of them.

“He’s going to be fine, right?” He asks. “He has to be. Because I can’t—I can’t—”

Fuck, he can’t breathe. It’s like he gave Eddie his own lungs to keep him breathing. If he’s numb it’s because his heart is beating in Eddie’s chest, keeping him alive, and that makes sense to Buck because if Eddie dies—

He lost him to Ana. He did. Months of barely seeing each other outside of work. Months of barely seeing Christopher. Months of feeling like he couldn’t pick up the phone or drive over and use his key to just drop in because it suddenly felt...intrusive. And then Eddie broke up with Ana and they were finally supposed to get back to being them again, and now—

Buck would rather lose Eddie to a hundred Anas than lose him like this. At least before he still had physical presence, the half-life of proximity a few times a week at work. He could live with that, no matter how much it felt like hell.

“He has a great team working on him,” Hen says. “They’re going to do everything they can.”

It’s not an answer. Or it is. But not quite. But then, Buck’s pretty sure Hen doesn’t want to lie to him.

He shudders again. His eyes blur.

There are words trapped in his throat. Words that he hasn’t let himself say, has hardly even let himself acknowledge in his own head. But he’s fraying, fraying, fraying at the seams and his heart is in a trauma room and there is still blood on his hands—

Buck hunches forward, elbows on his knees, curling into himself.

“I’m in love with him,” he whispers. Just to say it. Just once.

Hen wraps her arm around his shoulders, gently encouraging him to lean against her.

“I know,” she admits.

And Buck turns his head into her shoulder. And breaks.

#chapel writes #buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #this is really about to be the twelve days of christmas except it’s the 15 days of different ways to hurt eddie #yes I'm choosing violence yes I'm sorry

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keilemlucent · 3 years

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: iii

(Mostly SFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii (epilogue)

word count: ~2.2k

Nothing ever really ends. It just grows in different ways with different parts.

warnings: description of post-injury, reader and hawks being traumatized but coping, a soft epilogue

the ending folks :’^) thank you for reading this far. here is something gentle for all of us, with some future, past, and the present for sweet starshine and keigo :’^)

enjoy loves 💞!!

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Keigo doesn’t break promises.

He loves white lies, the silly kind where he can rib you for a minute or two before soothing any ruffled feathers with quick kisses. He never leaves big wounds, nothing gaping or jagged, just loving pokes in your sides to get you to laugh and quip back at him.

He never goes back on his words that count.

His journeys out of the house remain short and rarely surprising. He never leaves without a goodbye, whether that’s a sleepy fuck or two, or a hand-written, tooth-rotting note on a scrap of paper next to a steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen island.

Keigo’s used to the open skies, rolling forever. The curve of the horizon is his primordial friend that he never got to say goodbye to, but he still chases it a few times a week. Little drives he takes by himself, hikes, and things that he let him feel a bit of that free wind in his shaggy hair.

It takes you a while, but you don’t look forlornly at the door anymore.

The awareness that of his absence from your little bastion lingers as you move throughout your day, but you know he’s good for his word. He always returns, bearing a toothy grin, and usually an armload of snacks or takeout.

It’s better, and you’re both a bit more alive.

...

Spring in the mountains reminds you of something you can’t place.

The memory of it is foggy, far-off and untouched. Probably a bit dampened from, you know, a year of trauma, but the feeling of it makes your quirk burst to light without fail.

It comes when you notice the little patches of wildflowers that spring up in new grass that rings around the porch. Heat flares in your eyes when you see the little seedlings you and Keigo planted into the window boxes begin to bud and flower.

The days get longer, sweeter, and the summer comes easily.

...

The bad days never cease, but you both learn to cope to some degree.

Your scar... cracks one day. You’re doing some half-assed stretches in the living room (mostly arching your back so Keigo gets a good peek of your ass) when it happens. Your right leg bends at the knee, and a resounding ‘crack’ and shatter echo off the walls of the cabin.

You both panic.

Keigo instantly urges you on the couch, trying to soothe your own panic with little coos from the back of his throat. You feel numb as Keigo shoves up your pant leg, looking for any damage.

The scar looks relatively unchanged. It hasn’t writhed since your days at the hospital, and its edges have only faded a shade or two with time. It’s long, obtrusive, and something you still avoid looking at.

All the same, Keigo traces the gnarly flesh, nimble fingers searching for the source of the sound. Any bit of pain he can identify and soothe, ideally, remove. The pads of his fingers drift to the crook of your knee, pressing against the shiny, black seam of the scar.

His eyes go wide before awe shines through, without a lick of fear.

He warns you to take a deep breath, ‘breath with him’, before pinching at the glassy center and pulling. There’s a bit of resistance as he pulls, you’re not sure what he’s doing, and you see ‘it’ before you really put it together.

Keigo holds ‘it’ up for you to see.

The inky glass of the scar.

Literal rock. Inky obsidian pulled from your flesh, about the size of your pinky and painfully jagged.

“W-what is that?” You asked, grabbing his wrist to examine the bit. “That’s... the scar?”

Keigo nods his head, scrutinizing it with you, pinching at it, “Weirdest scab I’ve ever seen.”

Scab.

You have never thought about calling the ugly root of the scar a ‘scab’ but looking at the way it so easily was pulled away, it makes sense. After a bit of examination and tender prodding, the tissue around it looks healthy, albeit thick and burned. The scar goes deep into your flesh, feels raw to the touch, but the skin that’s beneath it is somewhat alive. Maybe too alive, given how sensitive it is.

Nonetheless, you marvel at the little piece of volcanic glass that Keigo had pulled from you like it’s the most precious stone in the world.

...

It takes a long time to convince both of you.

Keigo never receives another call from Suits, ‘president’, what the fuck her name is. Thank fucking god. His snap seemed to have scared her and her crumbling organization away. You can only hope that it was for good.

The potential return comes from kindness rather than demands.

Calls from both Endeavor and Miruko, ‘Enji’ and ‘Rumi’ as they insist you call them. Rumi chatters on the phone for hours with Keigo every few weeks, puts the phone on speaker, and has you give your piece as well. You like her, she’s funny and loud and Keigo smiles when he talks to her.

Enji actually visits.

Once or twice, maybe more. You stop counting when the extra bodies in the cabin don’t have you breaking into a cold sweat anymore. It had taken a great bit of coaxing, but you opened your cabin up for the former pro and his entourage.

He brings along his daughter and the ‘Three Musketeers,’ as the media calls them. The boys train in the mountains nearby, never lingering too far based on the shouting from the blond one that echoes against the hills.

The rest of you settle into the walls of the cabin whenever they come to visit. It feels warmer than normal; it makes sweat gather under your arms and in droplets on your forehead. Even if you wanted to attribute the heat to the old flame hero’s presence, it wouldn’t account entirely for your thumping heart.

You work through it, slowly.

You like watching Keigo and Enji. They both look worn. Keigo’s a bit too young for grey hair, but Enji has more than his fair share around his temples. The beard around his jaw glints silver in the lowlight of the cabin whenever he tilts his head to sip at his tea.

They smile like old friends, talk like it too.

You end up in the kitchen a lot during their talks, distantly cooking and observing. You’re always listening to their stories, the banter. It’s hard to keep up with, a lingering vestige of Keigo’s old persona that clings to him and his mannerisms.

You don’t mind it, even if it feels foreign.

...

“Can you pass me that honey, dear?” Fuyumi asks, voice sweet and close.

You nod, sliding her the jar across the corner top. She carefully spoons a glob of the thick liquid into the four waiting mugs, humming just under her breath.

The cabin feels warm, and it’s not just the ambient heat Enji gives off.

The ‘three musketeers’ plan to camp in the mountainside and ‘rough it’. You couldn’t imagine the freshly-greened hills giving them too much trouble. They bicker, you have found, constantly. Blunt jabs from Enji’s son, met by explosive remarks from the blond one (why is his hero name so long? You can never remember it well.) Consider your growing aversion to loud noise, you like Deku the best. He seems like the peacekeeper (and peacemaker) of the trio and compliments your cooking. What a gem.

The guest room has been polished into an actual guest room. Fuyumi takes it, and Enji, bless his heart, takes the creaky fold-out couch. He doesn’t mind, he tells you, something about enjoying tending to the hearth at night.

Keigo calls the nights where they fill the house ‘sleepovers’, and he adores them.

They’re a bit overwhelming for you if you’re being honest. But Enji is far less intimidating now that you’ve seen him nodding off and slack-faced on your couch. Fuyumi has patience you’ll never fully understand, and babies you a bit, which you don’t welcome but don’t refuse either.

She does just that, scooping up three mugs after pushing your own toward you. You regather and sit next to Keigo at the kotatsu, slipping your legs under the thick blanket and sagging with the heat. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he presses you into his side, pressing a few kisses to the top of your head. It’s an idle action, habitual and welcomed as the conversation flows.

(Something about one of Keigo’s old sidekicks. Another about Endeavor’s agency, still chugging along with him at the helm, albeit not as an active hero. The new hero charts, the new rules established, legislation. Things are getting... safer, a semblance of order being re-established now that much of the League has been apprehended.)

(Things are settling, as horrifying as the change is.)

The thought of so much makes you sleepy, long-standing exhaustion heavy in your bones. You nod off at some point to the kind, safe voices.

Keigo coaxes you awake once the conversation dies down.

“Love,” he purrs, rubbing your side, “let’s get up now and get you to bed.”

You follow him, the way he rises and guides you to the bathroom to help you ready for bed. Enji is settling on the couch, tugging a few throws over himself on the futon. You give him a shallow wave with half-lidded eyes, meeting his own.

Eye contact feels hard, but you manage to hold it for a few seconds.

In the bathroom, you pop onto the counter and slowly brush your teeth. Sleep clings to you, and you know it’ll return quickly, but the process of moving and interacting wears you down so easily. Your toothbrush almost slips from your grip.

“Just a little more, and then you can rest, dove,” Keigo urges, reverent as he finishes his own routine in tandem. You watch as he splashes water on his face, wetting the tufts of hair that fall around his face.

The cabin feels warmer.

You notice it as you enter the bedroom, Keigo already hopping into bed to assemble the ‘nest’ as both affectionately refer to it. The old throw, a few extra soft blankets, and a buttery soft duvet must be arranged just right before he is satisfied.

Keigo knows it’s a remnant.

He carries plenty of them, little chunks of him that are old and worn, old and unused. He can shake them, can’t bury them, they just simply are.

The birdish ones are nice, he thinks. He likes that he can preen you. He loves that you can preen him. That you’ll indulge him in that way, running your hands through his overgrown hair. You detangle any knots, soothe the snarls and rub at his neck until he’s liquid in your lap.

He likes nesting. The cold of the cabin can be almost forgotten in the little nests he makes. The mountains of bedding and pillows that you both can settle in. It’s peaceful, and it's shared, and things are okay.

It’s all slow, and a bit tedious, things that the remnants of ‘Hawks’ scream and thrash at. But, really? Keigo has no reason to listen to a ghost. He tries not to let himself be haunted.

He indulges himself for the first time in his life, probably.

As Keigo nestles you into the sheets beside him, he gives you a bit of room to get comfortable. Adjusts your pillows how you like, tangle your legs together in the comfiest way. Your own version of nesting that makes his palms sweat and his words turn to mush.

You settle together, chest to chest, Keigo’s chin hooked over the top of your head.

“Did you have a good day?” You ask, soft and sleepy.

Keigo nods easily, “I did. Enji doesn’t seem to quite as much of a square as he was a few years ago.”

You snort, muffling a giggle into his chest, “He’s definitely a little bit of a square. But I like him.”

“He offered to host us at the estate if we ever want to go back.”

You swallow, thick and slow, and try to bury yourself deeper in him, “... Do you want to go back?”

“No.” He pauses. “Maybe. Not yet, and not anytime soon. But the offer is on the table. It’s nice to have, even if we don’t take it.”

It’s insurance, somewhere else to tuck yourselves away if the mountains stop favoring you.

The thought of the future makes your head spin, as it tends to. The scar aches, but maybe it’s a tad duller than it was a few months ago. The pains only last a few moments, only stab so deeply. The place where the little chunk of obsidian fell out doesn’t feel quite as tender.

You lay your cheek on Keigo’s chest, your breath coming in time with his.

“‘M tired,” You murmur into his chest. “Can I sleep?”

“Of course, starshine.” He pushes back your hair, clears your forehead to press his lips to the skin, lightly. Little kisses piling up on top of each other. “Get some rest.”

“You too, pretty eyes.”

You both need it. For more than just a day with the folks who stuck around. You and Keigo need more rest than a being can responsibly accumulate during a human life. There are things to be stitched, worn parts of you that need tending to, and burns that’ll need salve until the day you die. It’s not any less than it was in the month’s past.

But it’s easier to manage.

You snuggle into Keigo’s chest, drifting off to the thought of fresh coffee and crackling heat.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

thank you for reading!!💞

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #my hero academia #mha fanfic #mha x reader #hawks imagines #wow :'^)#thank y'all for reading

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annie-blackhill · 3 years

Text

Aight, I know that I've been away for awhile but now I'm back and I have ideas babes!

____________________________________

Warnings:

Depression

Anxiety

Past panic attacks

Mentions of past domestic violence

Abusive childhood

Post traumatic events unconscious coping mechanisms

Unconscious flinching out of instinct

Sudden panic when hearing fighting between a man and a woman screaming very near

Loss of breath

Domestic violence

Blood

Panic attack

____________________________________

Dazai Osamu

________________

Safe and Sound

________________

Dazai and (Y/N) have been in a relationship for two years now. They're so in love with each other that everyone at the ADA are questioning the fact as to why they weren't married yet.

Dazai really loves (Y/N) and she loves him just as much back. They both really love each other and they both understand each other the most too.

But there were still some things that Dazai didn't know.

The main reason why (Y/N) and Dazai weren't married yet was because Dazai wanted to get her parents' blessings first. He was so excited to get their blessings, to meet the people who brought his perfectly imperfect lover into this cruel, tainted world.

He was eternally grateful to them for bringing her into this world, although the cruel world had tainted her and made her the broken person she is now, he still loves her for her. She's the only reason he has to live now. And he loves her for that.

Whenever Dazai asked (Y/N) about her family, she would tell him stories about when she was a child and how her dad would bring them to the beach every weekend because they lived near to the beach or when they went back to school shopping together.

But that was it. Her dad never really appeared in her other stories much. He would pop in at some point of the tale and then disappear. Her mum, was mostly the one to witness her achievements.

But (Y/N) has never described her parents' proud expressions whenever she achieved something.

At times, when Dazai did pry lightly, she would turn the story somewhere else, mostly to her friends.

He knew that she didn't really have a good primary school life, seeing as she's told him before that she's been bullied at that time. She's described them as the loneliest years of her life and how much she's hated herself those times.

Whenever (Y/N) talked about friends, it would be about her friends from her high school life. Her high school was much more on the better side.

She had been a prefect in her high school years, since her first year to her last year.

The only bad memories she had was when she realized that being in the first class and being the top of the class meant the other students would sabotage her and the two times in her senior years where she had to fight back as self-defense when she tried to break up a fight and they started to hit her too.

Dazai wasn't daft. Of course, he picked up on all the signs she showed that she wasn't really fond of her parents.

At first, he thought that it was just because of a small fight they had. But two years have passed in their relationship and (Y/N) hasn't cracked even the least to tell him why her childhood stories are only until a certain age or why she's never told him how proud her parents were of her.

Dazai was worried. In the end, he decided that maybe her parents just have a slightly tight relationship with each other.

Dazai decided to not ask. He let it slide and slip past them. He never touched the subject of her parents for the half of the second year of their relationship.

As the other half year of their relationship rolled in, Dazai and (Y/N) had saved enough money to buy a cozy little apartment near the ADA and move out of the ADA's hostel.

The day they were moving in, the couple were greeted by the middle aged woman who lived next door with her husband and 4 year old daughter.

She had been a very sweet auntie that welcome the sweet couple to the apartment complex with open arms and a sweet smile.

More than once had she cooked good food for the duo since they always returned late from work.

"You two kinda remind me of how my husband and I used to be when we were younger and so in love," the auntie would say to the duo all the time.

The little 4 year old would also come by and play around with the loving couple whenever they were on leave.

Auntie would always try persuade her daughter from "disturbing the lovely young couple" as she would always say to her daughter.

"It's alright, auntie! I love kids! (N/N)-chan and I are planning to have a few little munchkins like this when we're married too!" Dazai would assure her, while playing with the little girl.

But there was always something about how (Y/N) would send the auntie knowing looks as though she knew something that he didn't all the time, so he decided to pay more attention too.

When Dazai did start to notice more, he noticed the dark bags under the auntie's eyes and he noticed how tired she always was.

The more he noticed the more concerning she looked to him day by day.

"Auntie, would you like to join us for tea, today? Osamu and I wanted to play with that sweet little angel," (Y/N) invited the auntie.

"WHO'S THAT AT THE DOOR???!!!" the booming voice of the male from inside the auntie's house shook (Y/N) to the core and it ignited old memories that she didn't have to remember.

"Auntie, you really should come. Osamu insists! You know how he gets when he doesn't get what he wants! He'll be whining all day long like a little baby!" (Y/N) tried to convince the auntie discreetly.

"I ASKED 'WHO'S THAT AT THE DOOR'! ANSWER ME YOU USELESS WOMAN!!!" the man shouted from the bedroom again.

(Y/N) flinched. She was regretting sending Dazai to the store now. They had been running low on groceries and she had sent Dazai to the store, as she would say "please contribute you're lazy arse to do something in this household, my love" and he had carried his lazy arse to the store near the apartment complex.

After Dazai had left was when she started to hear the shouts and yells from the next door auntie's house.

Even as the bad memories plunged her being, she had forced herself to go and at least try to save the auntie before anything bad happened to either her or her daughter.

But even then, if you looked closely at (Y/N) you could see that she was trembling badly and that she could barely stand on her two feet.

"Auntie, come on please!" (Y/N) begged in a mutter exclamation.

"I'm sorry," the auntie murmured before closing the door on her with an apologetic smile.

"Auntie, no!" (Y/N) exclaimed.

And that was when she heard the terrible screams and the yell. The cries of the little 4 year old teared her soul apart into the smallest of pieces.

"NO, NO, NO!!!!" (Y/N) yelled as her mind turned blank and the memories flooded her brain.

Her mind turned so blank that she forgot that she was slamming her fists onto the door and that she had an ability.

The memories of how her father would come home drunk and lay on the sofa. Of how her mother had found out that he was having an affair. Of how, he would beat the living daylights out of her mother.

(Y/N) never told Dazai any of that. She felt ashamed to tell him that her childhood was the most terrible thing to ever happen to her.

A blood curdling screamed pierced the air along with a loud cry and that was enough for (Y/N) to snap out of her traumas and remember that there were lives on the stake right now.

She finally regained her senses fully and remembered that she has an ability.

Using her elemental abilities, she bent the wooden front door so much that it broke it half and broke off of it's hinges. The lower half flew to the side of the corridor almost hitting her while the other half flew into the house and hit the middle aged aggressive man that was about to beat his wife over the head with a glass flower vase.

The auntie stood in shock as the younger woman ran to her and hugged her.

"Auntie! Are you alright?! Are you bleeding anywhere?! Do you have any fatal injuries?!" (Y/N) questioned quickly as she held the shorter's woman's face in her hands and looked her over, making sure that she wasn bleeding anywhere majorly.

"Why you little freak show! You must one of those freak shows that are born with those little abilities! How dare you interfere with someone else's family problems?! Youngsters these days don't know how to respect their elders! Let me teach you then!" the man yelled at (Y/N) as she stood in front of the trembling woman, making sure that the older woman was perfectly hidden behind her.

(Y/N) slipped a hand into the back pocket of her jeans. She clutched the holster of her gun.

"Step away, right now before I seriously hurt you," (Y/N) warned as she held her left hand out to stop him from coming any nearer to them.

The man took off his belt and folded it into two, straightening it out with a snap, which caused both women to flinch as more dark memories flooded into (Y/N)'s mind.

"I said STOP RIGHT THERE!" (Y/N) warned yet again. It was against the law for her to shoot him and she couldn't even use her abilities against him as he was a normal civilian.

She was trying her best to not hurt anyone here and let the civilian authorities handle the ruthless man.

The moment the man raised his arm was the same time (Y/N) slipped her gun out of her back pocket and shot his arm.

The man let out a cry of pain and fell back from the sudden pain. He looked at the younger woman, wide eyed as she held the gun tight and pointed the barrel to his forehead.

"Armed Detective Agency member, (L/N) (Y/N)," (Y/N) announced as she showed him her ADA card.

The man backed away more at that. His eyes wide as he realized that she was a member of the authorities.

"(Y/N)?!" Dazai shouted as he entered only to see the bloodied situation of the man and the two trembling women.

"Where's the child?!" Dazai asked immediately.

"Sh-she's in her room," the auntie answered meekly.

Dazai nodded. He looked down at the man, disgust, venom and a desire to kill clear on his face.

The man even then, still tried to gain Dazai's pity as Dazai was a fellow man too.

"S-sir! All I was trying to do was educate my wife to be more better and obedient! I wasn't trying to do anything other than that! I swear!" the man said.

That only made Dazai even more disgusted as he spat on the man's face in disgust. He stomped his foot harshly on the man's hand that was holding the belt.

"You disgust me you old fool! You're an utter disgrace of a human being! I'm disgusted to see people like you are still alive! Terrorizing women's lives! Making them only feel like obedient dolls that should only do whatever you say!

I'd rather kill you then let you go to jail and then get back out after a few months! People like you shouldn't exist at all in the first place!

Your wife is supposed to be your life partner! Not some maid or toy that would do everything you say! You're supposed to live life and do everything together!

I can't believe you even had a child with her only to state your dominance over her and make her unable to run away from you!

You disgust me!" Dazai yelled at the man as he twisted his foot on the man's hand more and stomped it over and over and over again, intent on breaking it.

(Y/N) shielded the auntie's sight form her lover's rage as he broke the man's hand and rendered it completely shattered under his shoe.

"Osamu..." (Y/N) called out for him.

Dazai raised his head to look at his lover, tears streaming from his eyes from utter pure white hot rage.

"Are you alright? Are the two of you alright? Is that little angel injured?" Dazai's voice turned so soft that (Y/N)'s heart broke at the mere sound of it. He sounded as scared as she was feeling.

Dazai went over to the two women and squeezed them into a light hug, he buried his face into the crook of (Y/N)'s neck. (Y/N) hugged his waist, her arm practically limp, but her hand still clutching the gun tight just in case the man tried anything, her ear was placed against his frantically beating heart.

The older woman had wrapped her arm over his back and was hugging him tight, scared out of her life and grateful for the presence of the two youngsters at the moment.

"Osamu... We need to call the police and the ADA, specifically Kunikida-san. We need to explain a hell load to them all," (Y/N) murmured lightly to the shaken man.

Dazai nodded lightly at her statement before pressing a light kiss to the crook of her neck and removing himself from the hold of the two women.

"Auntie, do get your little girl and wait outside of the house. (Y/N) and I will call the police and our co-worker to handle the mess here," Dazai informed the older woman.

She merely nodded, not trusting her voice to be strong enough to answer him as she went to the little girl's bedroom to get her out of the house.

Once the child and woman were safely out of the house, Dazai dialed Kunikida while (Y/N) dialed the police station.

Both at had arrived at the house. The man was brought away on a stretcher by the paramedics as (Y/N) was explaining to the police as to why she had used her gun.

Kunikida and Dazai, both standing on either side of her, trying to justify the reason as to why she did so and the police accepted the reasons in the end.

Dazai said his end of the story and then they moved on to ask the wife and the child about their ends of the story.

"(Y/N), you know you shouldn't have used your gun. I'll have to confiscate it for now. You'll only be allowed to use it on missions. I'm sorry but those are the rules that you need to follow after that little act of 'misusage' as the police says," Kunikida sighed as he took the gun lightly from her slightly slackened grasp on it now.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I was scared and he raised the belt above me, ready to hit at any moment---" her voice cracked and she couldn't continue the sentence anymore.

Kunikida held her hand softly as Dazai brought (Y/N) into a soft side hug, holding her softly and rubbing her shoulders.

"I know and that's why I'm the one that's supposed to be saying sorry for taking away your gun, (Y/N)," Kunikida said.

"Hey, hey. It's alright, the both of you. I'll pull some strings here and there and make sure, (Y/N) gets her gun back, alright? Easy peasy!" Dazai lightened the mood up a little.

"Sigh, thank you, Dazai. For making this easier for all of us," Kunikida said before excusing himself, saying that he needs to fill out a few more forms at the police station and make sure that neither Dazai or (Y/N) get accused for anything that they didn't do.

Dazai proceeded to lead (Y/N) back to their little home as the auntie and her daughter were led to the second ambulance by the new paramedics.

(Y/N) leaned into Dazai as she curled up onto him. He held her close and tight, knowing full well that she was shaken up from the encounter.

"Osamu... Remember how you always asked for the truth about my childhood... What you witnessed today that was happening to that auntie and her daughter? That's the real truth to my childhood.

But no one saved us. And as I grew and my dad lived his other life with his little affair, he would come and go to let off steam on my mother and my mother started to blame me for how miserable our lives were.

That's why I never had a past occupation like everyone else. I had been working with the ADA ever since I was 18 and I ran away from her.

The president helped me. He helped my mother by providing her safety and a new home.

My father is still out there, somewhere with that other woman.

And I... I've never seen my mother since the day I ran away. She must be happier now," (Y/N) said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Dazai hugged her closer and kissed her forehead.

"It's alright, love. You have me and the other ADA members for you as well now. Hell, even the Port Mafia is with you right now after how much you helped them out when we were all having trouble with The Guild and Fyodor. You have all of us here for you.

Most importantly, my love, you have me. I won't let anyone so much as hurt you even a little bit and go off the hook.

I swear," Dazai murmured softly into her ear and she snuggled closer to him, their feets touching and their hands interwined with each other's.

____________________________________

"Port Mafia strikes again as a man who was arrested yesterday due to commiting domestic violence was murdered by them brutally in his own jail cell much to the surprise of all the police officers present.

Police officers were considering requesting the Armed Detective Agency to further an investigation at first, but has now decided against it as the chief of the police station has deemed it as a waste since the man was a criminal," the news reporter announced on the morning news as (Y/N) sipped her (bitter/sweet/neutral) (coffee/tea) and Dazai adorable chewed his crab sandwich.

"Who did you ask to do it?" (Y/N) asked immediately as soon as Dazai swallowed.

"Chuuya was more than willing after I told him the story. I didn't even have to tell him which police station and cell that scum was in, he ran off and figured it all out himself and finished the job," Dazai answered before continuing to adorably eat his crab sandwich.

"That scum deserved it," (Y/N) agreed as she continue sipping her (coffee/tea).

____________________________________

Awareness Note:

Stop domestic violence. The pain lingers on even after the relationship has ended. No one should have to be bounded to a spouse that only views them as an object and an inferior instead of a human being and an equal. No one has to go through physical and mental pain with a monster that prefers to take control of everything. No one has to go through such pain.

Marriage isn't pain! Marriage is a bond of two people who love each other!

If it hurts both physically and mentally, then it's not love.

Know the difference.

#stopdomesticviolence #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x y/n #dazai x you #dazaibsd #dazai oneshot #dazai x reader #dazai x reader fluff #comfort

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moonagedaydreamohyeah · 3 years

Note

Hi!! Welcome back! I saw you'retaking prompts, so I hope it's okay for me to send a lil one 🥺 I have this idea where Bucky has nightmares constantly, and they get so bad he can't wake up. So after a couple of weeks, he's barely holding on, Steve tries something though. And now wherever he has a nightmare, he grabs his hand, to soothe him while telling him various memories of them, their wedding, their childhood. It works, Bucky calms down eventually and then wakes up. Telling Steve his dream shifted at a certain point and stopped being scary. I had this idea but I truly cannot write at all, if you choose to do it (it's totally fine if you don't though) I know you'll do a great job! Tysm

Hii Nonnie! Thank you soo so much for your prompt, I’m sorry it took so long! Here it is though, it turned out pretty long but I hope you like it!!🙏🌼💗

Trigger warnings for some angst and trauma related stuff and a close-to panic attack - I promise it gets fluffy before long☺️

_____________________________________________

The first thing Steve registered as he slowly became aware of his surroundings was the darkness of their room, suggesting that it was nowhere close to being morning yet.

He slowly blinked his eyes open and as he reached his hand out he came in contact with heated and sweat-clammy skin at the same time as he heard the tell-tale whimpering sounds from beside him, which instantly alerted to the cause of him having woken up in the first place.

As he sat up and turned the lamp at his bedside on, Steve looked at the distressed face of his boyfriend, at the way that his hands are opening and closing around the sheet in tight fists as if battling through a pain that was only a memory, but probably felt just as fresh and real as the approaching dawn.

Running a hand tiredly over his face, Steve suspected the bone deep exhaustion which is the product of almost two weeks of sleepless nights, for the fact that he didn’t realise what was happening the moment he stirred into wakefulness.

Steve took a deep breath in a lost effort to gather himself for what appeared to be another sleepless night with Bucky reliving the worst moments of his life while Steve sat helplessly beside him, unable to wake him up from the horror he was reliving and bring him back to reality.

When this specific brand of night terrors had first started, Steve had gone through any and all means that he and Bucky could come up with to wake him up, finding that not one of them was enough to tear Bucky from the deep sleep he was caught up in and the painful memories that came with it.

It wasn’t like nightmares were any kind of new experience for either of them, which of course couldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. They had both experienced stuff that would bring anyone nightmares, and Bucky’s mind especially only had to dig through what seemed like a bottomless pile of more than 70 years incomparable trauma and replay it, whenever it wanted to procure night terrors of the kind that would have most people opt for never sleeping again, if it meant they didn’t have to relive it - which is what Bucky would have preferred too, if it wasn’t for his therapist having put him on a strict sleeping schedule and medication to ensure that he would actually sleep within those set times, in a sympathetic voice ensuring him that the only road to recovery was through.

Usually the other would be there to wake up whomever of them were unlucky enough to run into a nightmare bad enough to wake the other up, and they would be able to hold each other until they could talk it out and eventually go back to sleep, until they were ready to go back to sleep.

They even had a ritual set up for the really bad ones. They would put on a pot of coffee and have a cup each, indulging in plenty of cream and sugar and drink them while watching an episode or two of Steven Universe on the TV.

As none of that was something they’d gotten to enjoy before waking up in the 21’st century, due to rationing and what not, that usually brought them had suffered right back to reality, reminding them that they had both escaped the pain of the past, and were now back together in the somewhat peaceful life they had managed to create for themselves in this new time and place.

But since these particular nightmares had started, none of that had been of use anymore. No matter what Steve tried, Bucky simply wouldn’t wake up and all Steve could do was sit helplessly by his side while the whimpers and cries for help rose in volume,

That didn’t stop Steve from trying though. Reaching out to try and shake Bucky out of it, Steve tried to keep the desperation out of his voice as he spoke.

“Bucky, baby, come on wake up. You’re dreaming sweetheart, you aren’t there anymore, you’re right here with me, all you gotta do is wake up.”

As he’d come to expect though, it was no use. If anything, the nightmare only seemed to be intensifying, if the full body shiver and increasingly loud whimpers of pain was anything to go by. Steve could feel his voice wavering as he shook him a little harder while he tried to speak over the devastating sounds coming from his love.

“Bucky, please. C’mon, baby, wake up. Sweetheart.”

It was when Bucky, still not showing any signs of waking up, let out a loud, high pitched cry of ‘please, no, no more, no more please, it hurts!’ that Steve suddenly couldn’t take it anymore. His breath hitched as the sob he’d been trying to hold back suddenly tore from his throat and without thinking, he was throwing the covers off and leaping out of their shared bed and into the living room where he braced himself on the back of the couch and took in gasping breaths as he tried to control the sobs that kept coming.

As his breathing only picked up the pace, Steve felt himself steer into what would no doubt become a full blown panic attack if he didn’t get a hold of himself. He slid down to sit the floor and placed his between his knees while back and forth to eight in his in a last ditch effort to slow his breathing; ‘breathe in for eight, and then out for eight’ he recited in his head.

Finally feeling his breathing start to even out, he remembered something that Mary-Ann, Bucky’s therapist, had stressed in one of their shared sessions;

‘You can’t cure another person’s pain or trauma, and the minute you catch yourself trying or beating yourself up over not being successful in doing so, you’re only making the situation worse by creating more pain for yourself along side with the pain your loved one is already in. Working through this stuff is only something you can do for yourself. The best you can do is be by their side to support them through it and try to diminish the strain of negative thoughts and other practical stuff that takes energy away from the effort that it takes to get better.’

Bucky and Steve both had trauma to work through, and figuring out to best help each other without putting too much strain on themselves and taking on the other’s struggles as well, had been a difficult balance to achieve when they had first been brought back to each other. But through therapy and conversations they had managed to get into a pretty good rhythm when it came to balancing their relationship and everyday life which all the baggage they each brought into it, by being there for each other in the best way possible.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t still hard sometimes, and these nightmares had taken a serious toll on both of them, so it wasn’t any wonder that Steve was at his limit. Had it only taken out on the nights, that would have been a different thing. But Bucky had been restless and tired in the day too, often staring off into the distance seemingly caught up in his own head. Steve, having been kept up by Bucky’s nightmares, had slowly felt the weight of Bucky’s struggles and the overall gloomy mood in their shared home, become to much to bear with his sparring energy resources.

Reminding himself once again of Mary-Ann’s words, Steve tried to shake off the feeling of inadequacy as he slowly got up from the floor. ‘The only way to get past this is through,’ he thought decisively, ‘and we will get through it.’

Even though Steve suddenly couldn’t bear to not be by Bucky’s side for one more moment, he opted to take a quick detour into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water, before he braces himself and returned to the bedroom.

By now whatever Bucky was reliving had sent him into a state of thrashing around on the sheets, throwing the covers halfway off to reveal his sweat soaked shirt, accompanied the sound of pleading, painful sounding whimpers that bordered on sobs.

Sitting himself back on the bed, Steve used one hand to grab a firm hold of Bucky’s that was now clutching the sheet hard enough that it was a wonder he hadn’t torn a hole in it yet, and started rubbing soothing circles over the back while he smoothed Bucky’s hair away from his sweaty face. Steve took a deep breath to collect himself before he started talking in a soothing voice.

“It’s okay, Buck, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere sweetheart” He didn’t know if he was still talking to Bucky or mostly trying to convince himself, when he continued, “I can’t take the pain away, but I can at least be here by your side through it, huh? Just like your Mary-Ann told us: that’s all I can do, and I’ll do it sweetheart, I’ll stay right here. I’m sorry I had to leave for a little while, but I promise I’m here now, okay? Just like you were always right there for me.”

Thinking back to the first of those awful winters when Steve had been so sick that not one doctor dared reassure his ma that he would be sure to pull through, Steve continued in that same, low voice, mostly just thinking out loud by now. He almost didn’t notice that Bucky’s whimpers had toned down a little bit and the thrashing was starting to calm down again into those god awful full body shivers.

“I guess I know how you felt now, going though those winters back then, huh? Oh god, how awful that must have been for you, baby, I get that now, don’t I? Sitting there, unable to do a damn thing but always reassuring me that I would get through even when everyone else doubted it. You always stayed, and I swear baby, that must’ve been what got me through at least the half of it.” Steve had to breath in deep again to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“Remember that first winter? We can’t have been that old, maybe nine or ten I think..” Steve mused, caught up in the memories. “Yeah, that must’ve been it. I remember ‘cause we had been playing all day out in the rain and we didn’t even notice how cold it was. Your ma gave us such an earful when we came home, soaked through and teeth chattering. I remember her going at us while we stood in the bathroom, naked as the day we were born and shivering, while she got the bath ready. She had that voice on, the one she used when we’d been exceptionally stupid”, Steve scoffed quietly. “‘You boys, I swear,’ she would always say, ‘it’s barely forty degrees outside and you run around in the rain like that; you’ll get sick, that’s for sure. You boys don’t think we have better things to spent all our hot water on?’ and I remember her voice soften when she told us, ‘you gotta take better care of yourselves, especially you Steve, with how skinny you are.’ I think she was probably more worried than mad though. God, I miss your ma sometimes. She was such a wonderful woman. Always had a thing or two to say about the shenanigans we got up to, but you could always tell she wasn’t really all that mad. She was right too, of course. I spent the entire winter in bed, doing my best to cough up half a lung while you sat by my side with that determined look on your face, like you were prepared to fight off death himself if he ever even thought of bothering to show up.”

By now Bucky was visibly calming down, the only signs of distress being the furrow of his brow and the occasional clenching and unclenching of the fist that Steve wasn’t holding onto, so Steve kept talking in the hope that that was what was finally doing the trick.

“And you never let me go out after that, without being practically bunched up in a hundred layers, even if it meant you had to freeze your balls off.” Steve chuckled to himself, suddenly recalling a very fond memory. “Oh, and then when it finally got hot outside again and we were out playing - we were with that girl, what was her name again..” Steve thought back, trying to remember. “- Laurel? Loraine? You know, the one with the pretty curls you were always pulling at when her family sat in front of us in church and no one was looking. Anyway, you found that penny on the ground and decided you were gonna buy us ice cream cones, but of course one penny turned out to only be enough for one. And I remember the look on her face when you said I should have it, god, she was so disappointed. But I had lost weight from being sick all winter and I was even skinnier than usual, and you were all like ‘look at him, he needs fattening up, it’s only fair, here you go Stevie, you have it’ and you wouldn’t hear any complaints about it.”

Steve was brought back from his reminiscing by Bucky rolling over onto his back and letting out a small sigh, any signs of the nightmare having disappeared from his features. Steve was flooded with relief as he smiled down at him and continued softly. “It was all there, right in front of my face, even back then, wasn’t it? I can’t believe I spent all those years being jealous of all the ladies who were always keen on dancing with you when we went out. You only ever had eyes for me, huh?”

Steve startled at the sound of Bucky’s sleep rough mumble. “‘Course, you punk”

Squeezing his hand, Steve checked to make sure he had heard right. “Bucky? Hey, you awake honey?”

Bucky squeezed back, letting out a grumbled “Mmh.. wha’s going on, why’re you up?” but he seemed to quickly rise from his sleepy state at Steve’s choked “oh thank god”

“Hey, Steve what’s wrong, huh? Look at me, what happened? You have a nightmare or somethin’”? Bucky asked, wiping away a single tear of pure relief that had apparently escaped and was trailing down Steve’s left cheek. His look of worry turned into one of realisation though, when it dawned on him. “Oh shit, it was me having a nightmare again huh? It happened again, didn’t it? Aww I’m sorry Stevie.”

“No no, please don’t apologise,” Steve hurried to reassure him. “It’s not your fault Buck. I’m just so relieved you’re back with me. It’s just hard, you know? Seeing you in that much pain and not being able to do a thing about it,” Steve sniffled.

“Yeah, I know Stevie, I know.” Bucky expression briefly shifted to one of confusion. “How’d you wake me up? I thought we’d practically tried everything by now.”

“I didn’t, at first,” Steve said, “I just starting talking to you and then when it seemed to calm you down a bit I kinda just kept going with like, talking about memories that came up, you know from back when we were kids.”

“Oh yeah.” Bucky furrowed his brows in thought. “I don’t really remember what the nightmare was about, only that it was awful and then the dream sort of.. shifted. Something about my ma giving us an earful and then something about ice cream cones and brown curls?” Bucky’s face shifted, as if he’d remembered something funny. “God, you remember that time I found that penny? And that girl, Loraine I think, she got so mad when I bought you ice cream instead of her,” Bucky chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s the story I was telling,” Steve smiled. “To be fair, that was kind of dick move, Barnes. Ain’t no way to treat a lady.”

“Hey! You were so skinny! You clearly needed it more than her!” Bucky defended himself. “And by the way, it wasn’t exactly her I was trying to impress.” Bucky said, waggling his eyebrows.

Steve snorted. “Yeah, alright, you’re a real charmer.”

“Don’t you know it,” Bucky said. Smiling more softly, he leaned in so his forehead was resting against Steve’s. “I’m really sorry for waking you up honey. It sucks that you have to be here through all that Stevie, I know it ain’t easy on you.”

“Nah,” Steve answered. “I’m right where I want to be. Till the end of the line and all that, remember? Not planning to go anywhere”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed softly, and then in an almost whisper, sounding suddenly vulnerable, “I love you so much, Stevie.”

Sensing that Bucky was finally feeling some of the raw emotion that was left over from the nightmare he’d just endured, now that he knew that Steve was okay, Steve lifted up to plant a lingering kiss on his forehead. Rubbing a hand soothingly up and down Bucky’s back, he noted that his t-shirt was still soaked from sweat. “Me too, Buck. Me too. Hey, why don’t I go make a pot of coffee and turn the TV on and you come join me once you’ve cleaned up a little?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, burying himself a bit closer into Steve’s embrace before pulling away and offering a grateful smile. “That sounds good.”

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rhysismydaddy · 3 years

Text

Casual Ruin Pt. 3 (Elriel)

Elain’s part of the Damnation Series.

Part 1 | Part 2

God help yall this shit was a rollercoaster to write

________________________________________________

~Elain~

For a second, no one breathes, let alone moves.

Azriel’s hands are steady as he grips the gun, body lined with tension, eyes so cold I shiver. The barrel’s close enough that if I leaned forward an inch, it’d brush my forehead.

The man next to him holds a cigarette halfway to his mouth, looking at me like he’s never seen a woman before and has absolutely no idea what to do.

And me? I’m frozen in place, horror rushing through my veins and mixing with the shock to create a nauseating cocktail I’m not sure I’ll survive.

It’s the brutalized man in the chair slumping over and hitting the floor with a loud thud that finally snaps us out of our momentary haze.

Azriel blinks and throws the gun to the side so hard it makes a dent in the wall, the stranger drops his cigarette and reaches for me, and I sprint like my fucking life depends on it. Because at this point, I’m pretty sure it might.

What the hell did I walk into?

I race up the stairs toward the garage, where less than a minute ago, I’d heard Azriel’s voice and gone to surprise him. By the look on his face when he turned around, I’d at least succeeded in that.

I can practically feel the man behind me, can tell he’s reaching a hand out to grab me.

I’ve never been a violent person in my life, but with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me, I don’t even question the urge to use the wine bottle in my hands as a weapon.

It breaks over the man’s head, but unlike in the movies, he doesn’t go down immediately. However, he does lose his balance enough that with a firm shove to his chest, he goes crashing back down to the hellhole I’m running from.

I make it to the garage and slam the door to the basement closed, locking it for good measure. Then I drag the heavy workbench next to the line of pristine cars over in front of it for even better measure.

I refuse to let myself stop and think, because I’m pretty sure if I do, I’ll break down into a pool of tears and never get up. I’m running on nothing but adrenaline, and I know I’ll crash soon, but I force myself to keep going.

For a moment, I’m tempted to steal one of the cars to get away, but the sound of angry Italian shouts behind the locked door makes me hesitant to waste any more time.

I also definitely don’t have time to call the cab driver that dropped me off and beg him to come back.

The fear and terror don’t give me time to doubt myself as I take my heels off, take off up the driveway, and pray I’m fast enough to escape the devil on my trail.

~Azriel~

“Get that goddamn door open,” I shout at Luca, who’s dripping wine all over the place and has a gash on his forehead from where little Elain Archeron shoved him down the stairs.

I almost fucking shot her in the head. Her.

Dolcezza mia. The girl I’m stupidly obsessed with. The one who’s always quick to smile--the same one who sighs when I kiss her and lights up when I walk into the room.

I almost shot her between those beautiful brown eyes, almost snuffed them out forever.

I run a hand over my face, listening to the sound of Luca throwing himself into the door repeatedly. “I’m trying, boss, but I think she pulled something in front of the door.”

Smart.

Fucking annoying as hell, but smart.

If I wasn’t so damn pissed at myself for not locking the basement door behind me and allowing her to find us down here, I’d be mildly impressed.

Two of the most dangerous men in Italy, trapped in the basement like idiots.

I pull up the app to track her phone--which was originally for her safety, not because I’m a complete stalker--and see that she’s on foot, going behind the houses instead of down the road. She probably thinks I’ll drive by her while she gets away right under my nose.

“Fuck,” I mutter, sending out a text to all my neighbors to tell them not to shoot the beautiful young woman trespassing through their properties. She has no idea the people around us have security systems better than the President’s. “Luca!”

“Working on it,” he grunts back.

“If that shit isn’t open in the next twenty seconds, you’re going in the incinerator after this asshole,” I warn, nudging the dead body on the floor with a boot.

The threat must work, because a second later, there’s a loud bang and the telltale sound of the workbench from my garage toppling over. “Got it!”

I storm up the stairs and tell him, “Run interference with the neighbors and local police. Anyone talks-”

“Got it,” he interrupts, grabbing his phone to start threatening people.

Pulling up the app again, I track the path she’s on, curse when I see she’s headed to the bus station about a mile from here, and take off after her.

Technically, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she got away. She’d probably go to the police and tell them what she saw, not knowing that Marco, the deputy on duty, has been on my payroll since the day he passed the police entrance exam.

Having done her civic duty, she’d probably try to recover from the trauma of what she saw, eventually finish her classes and move on, and leave. Forgetting all about me in the process.

Technically, for her, this option would not be the worst thing in the world.

But in my head, it feels worse than being stabbed. In my head, there isn’t a question about it.

I’m going after her.

There’s this weird, itchy feeling in my chest I’ve never felt before as I run and run and try not to think about the look on her face as she saw the body fall to the floor.

I realize the feeling in my chest as panic, something I haven’t felt since I was a teenager getting booked for stealing my first car.

She knows.

She knows, and the look on her face... she looked at me like I’m a monster.

And fuck, maybe that’s true. Maybe I am beyond saving.

But having her look at me, and having her take away the easy smiles and bright eyes I’d grown strangely accustomed to... it feels like being robbed.

And it makes me panic.

So I’ll chase her, and catch her, and do whatever I have to do to get her back.

Because I need her, and damn if I’m going at this alone.

After a surprising amount of time, I see the thin outline of her off in the distance, sprinting like the devil himself is chasing her.

I take a deep breath and try to stay quiet, but it’s hopeless. Like she’s the one with the tracker on me, she can tell the second I’m close. I can see it from the way her shoulders go stiff and her pace increases.

“Elain!”

I call out again for her to stop, because I don’t want to tackle her and risk hurting her. She ignores me and keeps running, turning behind the coroner of one of my dealer’s house.

That sticky, awful, panicky feeling in my chest grows as she disappears from sight, and without thinking, I follow.

Which, if I had been thinking, I never would’ve done, because shit like this leaves you open to attack.

Which reminds me: I’ve now broken all three rules for this woman, because I don’t have a single weapon on me to defend us if something happens.

I hit the ground hard enough the wind rushes out of me and my stupid brain rattles around in my stupid skull.

Blinking through the blur, I look up to find Elain standing over me with an empty metal trashcan raised like a bat, ready to strike again.

I need to explain, need to talk to her, but all I can seem to say is her name.

“Elain,” I croak, trying to force air down my lungs.

As my vision clears, I notice she’s crying, beautiful face streaked with tears and dirt.

She pauses and looks at me, like the sight of me knocked on my ass hurts her just as much as it does me, then shakes her head to clear it.

She throws the trash can at me and turns to flee, but I know I can’t let her go, at least not like this. Grabbing her ankle, I yank her down to me, making sure she lands on me instead of the ground.

She screams, the sound scraping away another layer of the trust we’d built, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate in my life. Elain flails around, but I use my weight to pin her, trying not to hurt her.

She has to let me explain. She has to.

I hate what I’m about to do, but the only other option I have is making her pass out the old fashion way, which I know I could never bring myself to do.

The second the needle goes into her neck, she goes stiff underneath me, looking at me with wide, panicked eyes.

“You drugged me,” she sobs, the betrayal in her voice making my chest hurt.

I brush the hair off her face, press my forehead to hers, and start telling her things I haven’t told another living soul.

I’ll never hurt you.

I’m sorry.

~Elain~

Am I dead?

Why does it feel like I got hit by a bus?

Where am I?

These three questions rattle around in my brain at the same time, all demanding answers, as soon as I open my eyes.

And the weird part is... I don’t have any.

I have no idea if I’m alive or dead, but the headache I have that seems permanently settled behind my eyes points to the latter.

I blink the haze in my brain away and realize I’m at my house in bed, but my extend of knowledge seems to stop there.

There’s a voice in my head whispering something, but it’s too quiet for me to understand what she’s saying. All I know is that I feel like I need to do something, need to get out of here.

I rub my sore eyes and see there’s a note on the bedside table, written in precise, calm handwriting I recognize better than my own.

Come downstairs.

He’s here? I thought I went to his house, not the other way around.

The blinds are closed, but when I make my way to the window and peak out, I see a dark night sky, the moon reflecting off the water and making everything seen calm.

What the hell happened to me?

I start to leave the room, intent on going downstairs and asking Azriel that very question.

Except as I’m passing by my closet, I see something.

Something small and so inconsequential, I almost don’t think anything about it.

Like I’m in a dream, I feel myself walk over to the corner of the room. I feel my knees hit the floor, see my finger extend to the floor and touch the tiny drop of liquid that caught my eye.

I pull back and look, and somehow, I’m not surprised to see that it’s blood.

The floors are dark enough I shouldn’t have been able to see it from so far away, but it’s like a part of me was looking for it.

And that’s when it comes back to me.

Coming to surprise him, seeing the door in his garage, going downstairs... I press a hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the tidal wave of nausea washing over me.

I remember seeing the blood first and wondering if someone was hurt, then coming further into the room to find myself in the middle of a nightmare. If I wasn’t so strangely sure it had been real, I would think it was a horror movie.

The man strapped down had been so brutalized, I doubt I would’ve recognized him even if I’d known him my whole life.

I remember running without a thought more, giving into the fight or flight impulse to get the hell out of there.

I remember hitting Azriel, seeing him fall to the ground and looking up at me with those deep, wounded eyes that will haunt me more than the torture he inflicted on that poor man.

Eyes that told me everything and nothing at the same time.

I remember looking into those eyes and crying at the pain in them that was surely reflected in my own.

And then nothing.

Why don’t I remember? How did I get back here?

I’m sorry.

I finally recall that last whispered promise, and if I hadn’t already been sitting on the floor, I would’ve fallen to my knees as I realize what happened.

He drugged me.

Azriel, the same man who slow-danced with me in an empty restaurant and drove me along the coast and held me in his sleep, drugged me.

And he’s downstairs.

I start to hyperventilate, because I don’t know what to do or what he’s planning to do. Why is he still here?

What am I going to do? Should I call the cops?

I realize I don’t have my phone, probably a countermeasure on his part.

I also realize there’s no way for me to run. I remember how fast he’d caught me, how easy it had been for him to render me useless.

There’s no escaping him. Not if he’s already down there waiting, evil plan cooking in his mind.

I have no other option, unless I want to stay in this room for the rest of my life.

So with confidence I don’t feel, I walk downstairs.

I find him sitting at my breakfast table, leaning back casually and sipping a cup of coffee despite the late hour.

The moonlight clings to him like it loves him, playing off of his sharp cheekbones and illuminating his features. His face is carefully blank, but there’s a flicker of something as he looks at me, something that seems almost like relief.

He’s calm and collected and everything I’m not, and it pisses me off. My world’s on fire, yet he’s sitting here like nothing’s wrong? And he’s drinking my coffee?

I stomp over to grab the stolen drink, then sit across from him and cross my arms.

And wait.

Because I sure as hell am not talking first.

He stayed because he has something to say. I don’t have anything to say to him.

For a long time, we just stare at each other, because he’s apparently playing by the same rules.

Then he accepts his defeat, sighs, and asks, “Why did you come to my house last night?”

I purse my lips, narrow my eyes, and try to stop myself from throwing the coffee in his face.

Because he said that almost like an accusation.

Like the problem is that I came over unannounced, not that he was torturing someone.

“I’m not justifying that with a response,” I eventually tell him.

He gives me a hard look. “Answer the question.”

Something about the entirely male way he demanded that, like he expects a response immediately, makes me tilt my head and ask so sweetly I almost choke, “Why? Are you going to torture me if I don’t?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, showing the first sign of imperfection I’ve ever seen from him. “What you saw-”

“Was horrifying, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

He acts like I didn’t even speak. “-was something I meant to keep private from you.”

I don’t tell him that’s pretty fucking obvious at this point.

Instead I ask, “Why?”

I’m not sure why I want to know, but it suddenly feels important.

He doesn’t takes his eyes off of me as he says, “Because you’re you. You shine so brightly it should be illegal, and you look at the world like it isn’t a terrible place. I didn’t want to take that from you.”

My throat feels uncomfortably tight all the sudden, but I clear it and say, “Well, you did.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks down. “I know. If I could go back and walk away, I would. Shit, I told myself I would more times than I can count. But I just... couldn’t. And I couldn’t tell you either. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, Elain.”

The sound of my name on his lips makes my heart finally start beating again, but I still call him on his lie. “That isn’t why you never told me. You never told me because you knew I’d hate you the second you did.”

“Maybe,” he admits, looking back up at me. “But now you know, and I’m glad you do. You know everything now.”

It’s my turn to look down, because while I’d wanted to know the real him, I’d never imagined I’d find something like this.

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything, because you haven’t explained anything.”

He tilts his head. “What needs explaining?”

I ask the obvious question. “Who do you work for?”

“Myself.”

Once again, I don’t feel like justifying that with a response. He still isn’t saying anything that explains what I saw or why he’d do that to someone.

If he isn’t going to say anything meaningful, I’m not having this conversation.

Eventually, he seems to realize this. Because he says, “I’m Capo of the Sicilian Outfit of the Cosa Nostra, Elain.”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know how to feel, other than confused and angry.

“Any other questions?”

“Why did you drug me?”

If he just wanted to talk, he could’ve dragged me back to his place or maybe just say that. Not chase me down like a rapid animal.

“You were panicked, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I needed time to explain, needed to tell you this was never the plan.”

There’s something else there, and I narrow my eyes in a silent demand for him to continue.

Azriel sighs and admits, “My neighbors are business associates-” aka fellow criminals, “and I didn’t want them to hear you yelling and come to... investigate-” aka kill me, “or watch me get knocked unconscious by a twenty-four year old woman with a trash can.”

I give him a smug smile, more than ready to give him a repeat of that show, and try to decide what else to ask.

But before I get the chance, he says, “I don’t see why this changes anything.”

My mouth falls open.

He doesn’t see- is he serious? “You’re joking.”

“I’m not known for my humor.”

I’m still stunned into silence, so he tilts his head and asks, “Why does it matter? Why does what I do make me a different person?”

When I don’t answer, he says, “It doesn’t. Nothing I do will ever come near you. You won’t ever have to see it again. I promise.”

“It’s not about seeing it! It’s about knowing what you do when we’re not together. You kiss me goodbye, then go home and... there is absolutely no way I can go back to what we were doing before. You killed someone, Azriel.”

He straightens his cufflinks and shoots back, “He deserved it, Elain.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“First off, murder is illegal. So is torture, which from the way that man looked, you’d definitely been inflicting on him. Not only is it illegal, it’s wrong! He was an innocent human being-”

“He wasn’t innocent.”

I keep going. “You aren’t judge, jury, and executioner! You-”

He’s on me before I can finish, sliding a hand over my mouth and leaning over my chair.

God, the man is fast. Has he always been that fast, or have I just never noticed?

“Let me explain something to you, Elain. On this island, I am. I decide who’s guilty, which he confessed to being. I decide the punishment, which was a bullet to the brain. I’m the executioner, and I pull the trigger myself, because I’m not a fucking coward.”

I fight his hold, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t even budge.

“I play by different rules, bellissima. Just because you’ve never been exposed to them, or my world, doesn’t mean it hasn’t always existed. I’m the judge, jury, executioner, and the goddamn king.”

A shiver goes down my spine at his words.

He pushes my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And it doesn’t matter.”

I shake my head, bite his finger, push at his chest. But it doesn’t do any good.

“It doesn’t matter, because like I said, we live in two different worlds. I’d never let mine impact yours.”

I want to tell him that isn’t the problem, but his hand is still on my mouth.

“Have you even asked yourself why you’re not afraid?” he asks out of the blue, surprising me.

I stare blankly at him, no longer fighting, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.

“You’re scared of what I do, but you aren’t scared of me. Not really. If you were, you never would’ve come down those stairs.”

That’s why he looked relieved, I realize. He was worried I’d be scared of him.

Everything he’s saying makes sense, which makes no sense at all.

Because if he’s right, and he certainly seems to think he is, it begs the question... why aren’t I scared of him?

He seems to see my ask myself that, because he answers it a second later.

Eyes growing softer, he murmurs, “It’s because you know I’d never hurt you, nor would I let anyone else.”

I remember him whispering that right before I passed out. I’ll never hurt you.

He comes so close I can see the individual flecks of green in his dark hazel eyes. “I may do terrible things, and I’d do terrible things for you, Elain, but I’d never do them to you.”

“So you aren’t afraid. Just angry,” he concludes. Then he looks at me like he did the other day in the sea behind his house, right before he called me his. “Do you know why you’re angry, Elain?”

Currently, it’s because he’s explaining my emotions to me, which has to be the most male, obnoxious thing that’s ever happened in all of history.

But I have a feeling that isn’t what he’s talking about.

And I have another feeling that I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

I take another glance at the look in his eyes and realize what he means, starting to fight again. I push at his chest and hands and try to get him to not say the words I know he’s going to.

It doesn’t work.

“You’re upset,” he says a moment later, slow and sure like always, “because I lied to you. You feel betrayed, like you don’t know me. But that isn’t why you’re angry.”

One hand on my face, the other in my hair, he holds me perfectly still as he whispers, “You’re angry because you were falling for me.”

I press my eyes closed, trying not to hear the words he’s saying as if that’ll make them any less true.

But it doesn’t, because they are true.

Every easy smile, midnight whisper, and lingering kiss he’s given me in the past month has given him a permanent place in my heart, and it hurts to have that all feel like a lie.

It hurts to look at him and not know if I recognize the person holding me.

A sob escapes me, which seems to confirm what he said, and he takes his hand off my mouth to wipe away a tear.

His brow comes to rest against mine, and I breathe him in, unable to stop myself.

There’s a war happening inside me, and it distracts me enough I don’t stop him from pulling me closer.

My heart plays me a montage of the past month, showing me countless moments where I’d been so positive I’d found paradise, so positive I’d found someone I could trust completely. It tells me Azriel has always felt like home, like something so inexplicably right I don’t even know how to describe it.

But my brain reminds me the hands cupping my cheeks softly are covered in blood and gunsmoke and victims’ tears. It tells me I’ve never really known the man I’m currently begging myself not to have feelings for.

The battle inside of me rages on, and I cry harder, not even knowing who I want to win.

It only gets harder to choose as he murmurs, “Ance io mi sto innamorando di te.”

I’m falling for you, too.

I don’t know what to do or feel or think, and I’m so helplessly confused it makes me want to scream.

Yet even though I’m confused, something about this makes sense. Something about knowing what he really does for a living makes everything in my head just click.

The way he’d redirect the conversation whenever I asked about his job. The way I’d always suspected him of hiding something about himself from me. The way every movement he’s ever made with me has been lined with restraint.

He could hurt me, has had the opportunity for months, but he never has. He’s always been careful with me, has always held and looked at me like I’m something precious to him.

My brain starts shifting to his side of the argument, and I can feel my morality ripping to shreds under his hands.

Before I can think, I shove him away, getting to my feet to point at the door. “Get out. You lied to me. You’re a murderer. A monster.”

Feelings or not, I know I can’t do this. I can’t just ignore what I saw, what he’ll continue to do. So he needs to leave.

He doesn’t.

Azriel just leans against the kitchen island counter and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he watches me for a long moment.

“Maybe I am,” he says eventually around a mouthful of smoke. “But just because I’m a monster, Elain, doesn’t mean I can’t give you what we both know you need. Nothing has to change.”

It already has.

“I don’t need anything from you.”

“No?”

“No.”

He prowls toward me, the intent shining so clear in his eyes I take a step back for every one he takes forward. My back hits a wall, and he traps me between it and himself, caging me in with strong arms.

The line between right and wrong, good and evil, seems to blur as he gets closer and closer, and by the time we’re sharing air, I don’t know which way is up. All I know is him.

He takes a deep inhale of his cigarette, tips my head back with his thumb, and then breathes the smoke into my mouth.

It should be disgusting, considering I don’t smoke and make it a point to avoid cancer-causing products in general.

It should be. But it isn’t.

It’s the opposite of disgusting.

There’s a buzz in my veins that has nothing to do with the nicotine, and I realize too late that he’s the vice I can’t quit.

I’m too far gone, too addicted already.

He pulls back slightly, tucking the still-burning cigarette behind his ear. His eyes burn with intensity, and his dark hair and shoulders are surrounded by the smoke clinging to his shoulders like a shadow.

He looks like the villain of a movie I never even knew I wanted to watch, and it physically pains me to have him this close and not be touching him, so I put my hands on his chest, fingers fisting in the expensive material of his suit.

His are on the wall by my head, bracing himself as he leans in and slowly licks a line across my lower lip, like he’s tasting me.

My want for him is a tangible thing, and I have to ask myself if he’s right. Does it matter what he does, when he makes me feel like no one else ever has? Do I care enough to stay away from him?

“You don’t need me?” he asks again, so close his lips brush against mine.

I shake my head, even though I know it isn’t the truth. I do need him, and that’s why this hurts so damn bad. Why this betrayal cuts so deep.

Even though we’re so close he’s nothing but a blur, I can feel his eyes on me, burning a hole through me.

And then he says something that changes everything.

“Well, I need you,” he whispers, so softly it breaks my heart.

I’m lost.

I’m so goddamn lost in him, I forget everything we were talking about, forget everything he’s done.

My knees go weak, and I cling to him, pulling him into me as I slip down the wall.

His lips crash against mine, and I know instantly that this is him. This is all of him. I finally know exactly who he is, and he doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It’s probably our hundredth kiss, but it feels like the first, and I’m drunk on it, drunk on him.

Hands in my hair, he kisses me like he wasn’t lying--like he needs me.

My hands pull tighter, until there’s not an inch between us, and he makes a low sound in his throat. His are on my waist, gripping me tightly and telling me he wants this just as much as I do.

The restraint from before is all but gone, and I tremble at how much power is in his grasp, how small and fragile it makes me feel in comparison.

My willpower crumples further, like a napkin in his fist, as his tongue teases mine, making me chase him for more.

Azriel pulls my lower lip between his teeth, pulling it between us as he draws back. It’ll be bruised tomorrow, but a sick part of me likes that he’s leaving his mark on me.

“Say it,” he say roughly, voice deep and scratchy with lust.

I don’t get a change to say it, or anything else, before he’s kissing me again, running his hands up my back and into my hair.

“Say it,” he demands again.

Maybe I’m not as lost as I thought, because I know what he wants but stay silent, refusing to give it to him.

Because I can’t.

Everything he said tonight makes sense, but I just... can’t.

He kisses me again, a lingering kiss that makes my chest ache, and almost pleads, “Say it, Elain. Say it doesn’t matter. Say you need me.”

The air grows thick as I stay silent, because it’s response enough.

His eyes narrow, and even though everything inside me begs me to, I don’t stop him as he steps away.

“Only two more months here, and you want to spend them lying to yourself?”

I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’m leaving so soon, but I don’t let myself get distracted. “I’m not lying to anyone.”

Except it feels like I am.

A smile pulls on his lips, but it isn’t friendly. “You’re fucking lying, and you know it. You know it doesn’t matter, you just can’t admit it, because then you’d be like me.”

Heart pounding, I shake my head, but he keeps going. “Fucking a monster would be condoning the devil’s work, right?”

He takes a step in, catching my wrists as I try to push him back, pinning them above my head, and laughing.

“You saying you don’t want me is the most pathetic lie I’ve ever heard, carro. ”

“Azriel-”

Mouth next to my ear, he growls, “You’re really telling me if I slip my hand between your pretty thighs, I won’t find you wet and ready for me?”

I push against his hands and look away, all the confirmation he needs.

He tsks, feigning disappointment.

I close my eyes and fight my response to him with everything I have. I try to tell myself it matters, that what he does disgusts me, but it doesn’t sound believable to even myself at this point.

“I could prove it to you, make you come right here and now, but I don’t think I will.”

I’m breathing heavily, two seconds from passing out at the intensity and violence in his voice.

“I think the next time I fuck you, Elain, you’re going to have to tell me you need me just as much as I need you. You’re going to tell me you want me, and you’re going to beg me for more.” He licks up the side of my neck, and I press my lips together to hold in the moan that wants to escape. “You’re going to tell the goddamn truth, and you’re going to fucking apologize for lying to me in the first place.”

I glare at him, silently conveying that that will never happen. He lied to me. I’m not apologizing for shit.

He sees that and everything else in my gaze, and he shakes his head slowly.

“I’ll get your confession, Elain,” he promises, going to the door and almost ripping it off its hinges as he opens it. “I always do.”

___________________________________________________

Part 4

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @bamchickawowow @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nahthanks @highqueenofelfhame @autophobiax @rowaelinismyotp @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @elorcan-trash @loosingdreams @januarystears @emikadreams @swankii-art-teacher @thedarkdemigod @full-tilt-diva @biggestwingspan-az @bookstantrash @mari-highladyof-feels @pilesofriles @teddytdr

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #elaine irwin #azriel #elriel #elriel fanfiction #elain x azriel #elain x azriel fanfiction

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solinarimoon · 3 years

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Fields of Wildflowers, Chapter 12

Fields of Wildflowers

Chapter 12

A Sihtric x OC story

AN: My timeline for events during the siege in Winchester is different from the show. I almost combined this chapter with the events for the next one but they would have been too long. The moodbaord was made for me by the lovely @serasvictoria. You can find my master list here.

Warnings: Trauma from past rape.

Word Count: 3666

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eight days. Cwen and Eadith had been inside the walls of Winchester for eight days. Without any success in finding their people.

The ladies had been able to narrow down the possibilities and were almost entirely certain they were being held somewhere in the palace.

It had been relatively simple to slip in among the kitchen maids and find odd jobs and help that was needed there. A large Danish woman, Frig had taken over commanding the kitchens and she barked orders around to anyone who would take them.

When asked where they had come from or who they were, Eadith would reply that they were former kitchen maids for a saxon lord and only sought to be of use to avoid being taken as a slave.

Various of the other women in the kitchens had similar stories, seeking to avoid becoming a Dane’s property so instead found usefulness in the kitchens. Quiet, useful, and out of the way.

This was how both women found themselves bringing stale bread and water to the armory.

The jail cells at the armory were full with low born Saxon’s now to be sold as slaves.

Cwen and Eadith had quite the time ferreting their way around there to discreetly check faces and make general inquiries.

“They haven't put any royals in here with the likes of us, girl.”

The old crone had shifted her eyes up and down, taking in Cwen’s appearance.

“You’re quite lovely. Don’t look like you’ve had too much wear and tear on ya. Haven’t needed to live the hard life have you, missy?”

The woman’s words were cruel and her tone scornful.

Cwen shifted her gaze towards Eadith who was speaking to another prisoner down the hall, “nor her neither. What are you even doing in here? Asking about this for?”

Cwen searched for an answer to the woman’s prying.

“I… we…” she stammered feeling herself begin to panic.

“We need to be going. We’re wanted back in the kitchen before long,” Eadith swooped in to take Cwen’s arm.

Leading her friend away from the woman’s hard stare, Eadith quieted her friend's worries.

“It will be alright. That old woman was just being rude. She doesn’t know anything about us. Not a threat. It’s ok.”

Cwen sighed, frustrated. “I know. And we shouldn’t need to go back to the cells any longer now we know they’re not there. But still, she could tell someone we have been asking questions. That two kitchen maids are nosing about. Then they figure out it is two imposter kitchen maids.”

Cwen sighed, scanning their path for watchful eyes as they walked before she continued. “Did anyone you spoke with seem to have any ideas where they might be keeping them?”

“One man told me his lips might release information if they were reminded what a kiss felt like…”

Cwen stopped in her tracks to look at Eadith with a shocked expression. As her shock faded, both women let out loud guffaws, feeling some of the tension and worry ease from their shoulders.

They continued their walk towards the kitchens in the rear of the palace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The women slowly walked the perimeter of Winchester, looking for any sign of a way in, not guarded or any news of the location of their friends.

The weather had grown hotter in the past week since they had gone inside the walls.

Most of the inhabitants of the town were finding shelter underneath roofs and in shade to try and stay cool. Tensions had been building and occasionally Cwen and Eadith would see squabbles break out among the bored and sweaty Danes.

“So Cwen,” Eadith started as they slowly meandered along the wall, “was Sihtric not happy with you for coming with me into the city?”

Cwen stopped in a huff, placing her hands on her hips and looking at the ground before meeting Eadith’s eyes.

“No. He was not. But…,” pausing, Cwen shifted on her feet and searched for the words.

“But…?” Eadith prodded.

The women continued their route, eyes scanning the wall before Cwen found the words she wished to speak.

“It was odd. When I said I could not sit by and do nothing, his reply was to say that may be better than doing something foolish. His words were harsh. His tone, I mean. But so were my own. I pulled away from him. But he did not argue further. Made no pleas. Just gave me a knife and showed me how to use it.”

“Would you rather he had argued? Made more of a fight against our plan?” Eadith had stopped to look down an alley before looking forward and taking more steps to catch back up with Cwen.

The question caught Cwen off guard.

The way that they had left, with the last words spoken between them being bitter and harsh had been weighing heavy on Cwen’s heart.

“In truth,” Cwen looked at Eadith as she caught back up with her, “I do not know what to think about it. On the one hand, yes. I wish he had fought with me. Argued with me. But it would not have changed anything. I would have still come. So maybe I am glad he did not?” Cwen’s voice questioned the thoughts running through her own mind. “I think he knew his words would not change my mind. So is that not better then? That we did not argue, say things that are hurtful only to then be separated?” Cwen looked to her friend for some guidance.

“Possibly. But now you are left with this weight hanging over you. As I am sure he is too. Are there words that have been left unsaid, Cwen?”

Cwen did not immediately reply. Instead the friends continued walking in silence.

Suddenly, a loud commotion resounded to their right at the north gate of the city.

Cwen and Eadith ran along to meet a cross street seeing Danes come from across the city to meet the sound.

Shouts could be heard from many of the passing men, “It is their king!” “It is Edward!”

Cwen glanced at Eadith to see the woman staring at the tumult.

She placed her hand on her friend’s arm, “Now is our chance, Eadith!”

Her words startled Eadith and she turned to look at Cwen.

“Chance?”

“To slip inside the palace, try to find them.”

“You mean while everyone is distracted by this attack?”

“That is exactly what I mean. Let’s go.”

They slipped through the side streets, avoiding the wave of movement towards the gate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Using the kitchen entrance, Cwen and Eadith followed along corridors, glancing in rooms and keeping eyes out for any sign of a room being guarded.

Cwen sighed when they rounded a corner to find another long hallway with no guards.

“Why do they need so many hallways!” Eadith grumbled.

“We’re going to run out of time,” Cwen worried. “Wait! Oh I should have thought of this first! We need to check the chapel! I bet that is where they would hold them!”

“Why there?” Eadith questioned as Cwen began leading the way along another corridor.

“For one, it is situated near the center of the palace so they’d not easily be able to slip out.”

“Or us slip in, I imagine then.”

“Yes, unfortunately. And then two, it would be rather upsetting to be held captive and have lost Winchester only to deal with that while literally staring Alfred in the face.”

Eadith watched Cwen, expectantly as they marched along.

“Alfred’s entombed there. His remains are enshrined.”

“Oh,” the redhead nodded in understanding.

Their footsteps echoed as Cwen navigated old passages from her girlhood.

Rounding a corner, they stopped short seeing a lone guard leaning against the wall across from a large door.

They slowed their pace as they approached, Cwen whispering, “That is the chapel. They must be in there. Follow my lead.”

“Hey, what are you two doing here?”

The Dane’s voice was rough, clearly surprised to see the two women approaching him.

“Oh, we were sent to collect the tray and plates from the prisoners. See if they need more water. Frig sent us. From the kitchens. But what are you still doing here?” Cwen questioned the man, not a note of uncertainty in her voice.

The guard stared at Cwen and Eadith, clearly not understanding the woman’s final question.

“And where should I be, if not here on duty?”

“Well everyone, all the men are rushing to the north gate. We heard something about all men needing to assemble. That Edward was here and mounting an attack on the walls. I just assumed any man, any warrior would have gone. Apologies.”

Just at that moment, another Dane appeared on the opposite end of the hallway, marching at a quick pace.

“Leiv, Edward’s at the gate! We’ve got to go!”

“But the prisoners,” the guard, Leiv, protested. His nose had wrinkled and he gestured in frustration towards the doorway across from him.

“They’re locked in tight. And they don’t have anywhere to go. Come on!”

Groaning and clearly conflicted, Leiv pointed his finger at Cwen, “If you need to get their plates, you’re going to have to come back later. Door’s locked and it’s staying that way until I get back.”

With that final word, Leiv ran off to join his friend down the hall. Within a few seconds they were gone, out of earshot.

Cwen and Eadith glanced at each other before moving to stand in front of the doorway.

“Aethelstan! Lady Aelswith! Stiorra! Are you in there? Can you hear us?”

They waited. Then after several moments, they heard something on the other side.

Muffled and hard to understand, but clearly a response.

“We’re going to have to be loud to hear anything through that heavy wood,” placing her hand against the door, Eadith chewed her bottom lip. “I’ll go to the end of the hall and keep watch. They’ll want to be speaking to you,” She placed her hand on Cwen’s shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze before moving along the way Leiv and his friend had disappeared.

Cwen watched her friend retreat before she turned back to the door. Scanning the door before her, she crouched down to peer at the keyhole.

“Hello! Lady Aelswith? It’s Cwen! Eadith and I are here.”

“Yes, yes we’re here. Cwen! Thank God. Thank you, God!”

Cwen rested her forehead on the door and breathed a sigh of relief before she brought her mouth back, close to the keyhole once more.

“Are you alright? We’ve been looking all over for you. Uhtred and his men are outside the walls of the city.”

“Yes, Cwen. We’re fine. Our feathers are ruffled and these heathen brutes insist on demeaning and belittling us. But we are alright. But Cwen,” Aelswith paused.

Cwen strained her ears to listen.

“They took Stiorra.”

Cwen froze as she felt the breath catch in her throat.

Shaking her head, Cwen managed to pant out, “took...took her? What? Where? Where did they take Stiorra?”

Lady Aelswith’s voice came back tight and measured. “We don’t know where they took her. Lord Aethelred’s man, Eardwulf is here. With the Danes. He recognized her and told them she is Uhtred’s daughter. So they took her and put us in here.”

A pulsating buzzing sound began to rise in Cwen’s ears. She stepped back from the door staring but not seeing.

She was startled back to her senses by Eadith running to her side.

“I'm starting to hear people. We need to move.”

Cwen stared for one more second before she shook her head and brought her mouth back to the keyhole. “We have to go. But we will try to get back and check on you all. And we’ll find her.”

Eadith took Cwen’s arm and the two women quickly retraced their steps back to the kitchens.

“Find her?” The hushed question left Eadith’s lips as soon as they rounded the corner of the hall.

“Stiorra. They know she is Uhtred’s daughter. They separated her from the others.”

“So we’ve found Aethelstan and Lady Aelswith but now we have no idea where Stiorra may be?”

“That’s right. But Eadith,” Cwen paused, placing her hand on the friend’s arm to slow her. “Your brother is here. He recognized Stiorra. He gave her up to the Danes.”

“Eardwulf is here?” Eadith grasped onto Cwen’s hand holding her arm..

Taking a shaking breath, Cwen met Eadith’s eyes and nodded.

“Alright,” Eadith spoke while formulating what their next course of action should be. “Alright, we’ve found two of our three people. Now we must continue the search but remain even more hidden unless my brother find us. Do you have any ideas where Stiorra might be?”

“No. And I don’t dare keep looking right now. We have to try again another time.”

“Let us return to the kitchens then and figure out a plan.”

The two women continued on to the kitchens where they casually made themselves useful amongst the other kitchen maids.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a few days later when the chance arose for one of them to find Stiorra. The Dane woman in charge of the kitchens barked an order out at Cwen, who happened to be closest to her, that Sigtryggr had ordered food and ale be brought to the prisoner girl being held in the war room.

Cwen immediately knew the girl must be Stiorra, but had no idea what room the war room would be.

Carefully, she questioned the woman further. “Pardon, but which room is the war room? I've not brought that prisoner food yet.”

“It’s the room with all the scrolls and maps. Large room at the end of the hall in the south corridor. Now get to it, girl.”

Cwen grabbed the tray of food and ale jug while making sure she caught Eadith’s eye.

Eadith had been pulled into kneading dough for the next day’s bread. Cwen gave her a short nod before leaving the room.

It must be King Alfred’s old study. It was in the south corridor and had mountains of scrolls and books. Cwen mused to herself as she walked the halls.

When Cwen found the room, the set of double doors was closed, but not latched. One door easily swung open when Cwen pushed on it with her hip.

A young woman was sat at a long table facing away from the door, most of her long brown hair hanging down her back while some of it was piled at the back of her head in braids.

Hearing the door and Cwen’s footsteps, Stiorra turned and then gasped with shock to see her friend.

Quickly, Cwen placed her tray down and embraced the young girl.

“Oh thank the Lord I have found you,” pushing Stiorra back by the shoulders, Cwen took in her appearance, looking for any sign of distress or maltreatment.

“Are you well? Why have they separated you from the others? We’ve been looking for days.”

“We? Who has been looking?” Stiorra questioned.

“Eadith and I,” Cwen replied. “But are you alright?” Raising her voice to talk over the older woman, Stiorra spoke, “I’m ok, Cwen. Really, I am. They’ve treated me kindly. Sigtryggr removed me from the others so he could speak with me freely. He has treated me well.” She finished with a small smile.

Cwen, albeit shocked, smiled back and embraced Stiorra once more. “Your father and his men are outside.” “And Edward too. I know,” Stiorra interrupted Cwen once more.

When Cwen stared at her questioningly, Stiorra replied, “Sigtryggr has told me. He does not tell me all things, but,” smirking again, Stiorra continued, “we talk often.”

Cwen searched her friend’s face and saw no lie or hesitation. “I am glad to hear it. The others, I fear, are not treated as kind. Whenever the walls are breached, know that your father will find you. We will find you.”

“I do not think Sigtryggr wants a fight, Cwen!”

“What do you mean he does not want a fight? He has besieged us and…”

“Sigtryggr is different, Cwen. He thinks. He wants to understand Saxons. I think he wants to be at peace with them.”

Cwen scoffed, “Well this is a strange way to go about bringing peace.”

Stiorra chuckled lightly while taking a seat, pulling Cwen to sit alongside her on the bench.

“I know, but would Edward have sat down with him before this?” When Cwen did not reply, because the answer was obvious, Stiorra continued, “I believe he wishes for land to settle and a peace to be reached. He is trying to do something good for his people. He does not seem to seek glory.”

“Such is your assessment of him?” Cwen asked. Seeing Stiorra nod, Cwen paused to observe Stiorra once more. “And he has treated you well. I can see it. And I am glad, my dear.” Cwen rose to stand and Stiorra rose with her.

“Now I must go before I am missed. Eadith and I are here. One of us will try to come back in a day or two to see you again. Stay safe, Stiorra.”

“I am, Cwen,” Stiorra spoke while hugging Cwen once more tightly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been three days since Cwen had rejoiced with Eadith after finding Stiorra and learning she was safe.

Another opportunity to speak with any of their companions had not presented itself though. Cwen and Eadith had needed to be content with helping out in the kitchens and continuing to look for weaknesses from within the walls.

It happened while scouting along the southeast corridor for the third time. Cwen’s hair at the nape of her neck had stood on end and her heartbeat had become erratic before her eyes had even registered what they were seeing.

That pulsing buzz returned to her ears and she had to sink back around a corner and slide down a wall, clutching at her legs and pulling them close.

Luckily Eadith had been several paces behind Cwen and saw her collapse in fear.

Dropping to her friend’s side, she did not even have time to ask what had happened before Cwen was clutching at her and whispering, “Hide. We must hide.”

“Hide? From what?” Eadith replied in equal tones of panic.

“Eardwulf. He comes this way.”

At that moment, footsteps and a lone voice became more pronounced approaching from the street.

“Come,” Eadith clutched at Cwen’s arms and stood, pulling her to stand and turn, abruptly walking back the way they had come. “Come now, just walk away. That is all.”

Cwen allowed herself to be led away, but her breathing became more ragged.

“He has not seen us. We are just two more souls walking the streets. Keep moving and breathe, Cwen. We have to breathe.”

Eadith had begun talking to herself as much as to Cwen.

They did not stop until they reached the courtyard outside of the kitchens where they both sat against the wall of the palace. Crouched small and low. Breathing hard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Cwen dreamed while she and Eadith lay huddled together in a small alcove of the kitchens.

She dreamed she was back in the fields outside of Saltwic.

The golden and orange yarrow were waving in the breeze and purple and blue coneflowers joined the dance. Small insects flitted about in the setting sunlight. Dusky shadows were slowly stretching their arms across the field.

A man was standing watch over her, his shoulders broad and his feet firmly planted. His head continually turning and searching, scanning the surrounding woods.

Sihtric turned to meet Cwen as she approached him, leaning her body into his and gripping tightly to his tunic. Her fingers fisting into the material, Cwen felt her teeth grind together and her shoulders tense. Her brow furrowed.

Turning her face up to look at him, Cwen could not hear a sound. His lips were moving and he was speaking to her but the sounds never made it to Cwen’s ears. His eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

The crease between Cwen’s brow deepened and she began shaking her head, pushing on Sihtric’s chest.

He brought both of his hands up to gently hold her neck and Cwen stilled as Sihtric rested his forehead against her own.

The gesture, one that was so intimate, so meaningful for Sihtric, would usually bring her peace. Calm the raging bird, beating against the cage in her chest.

But this time, the dread and insecurity did not dissipate.

Cwen pulled back to find his eyes.

But was met with the dark, menacing eyes of Eardwulf.

His face was haggard and whiskers grew on his cheeks. His eyes held the most danger. They were tormented. And they held anger.

Cwen felt the hands at her neck slowly shift to grasp her throat.

Eardwulf sneered through his teeth as he choked the life from her body.

Cwen’s sobs woke Eadith and the woman shook her friend awake, cradling her and whispering soothing words while feeling her friend shiver.

It took a long time before Cwen was able to regain control over her breathing and allow her body to relax. Sleep did not come easy for the remaining hours of the night.

To be continued...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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