#ptsd isn’t just flashbacks

[shallowrambles]

Prequel thoughts - some good, some bad

I have always found Robbie T’s writing at its worst to verge on being kinda verbose and occasionally smug. Sometimes, too many characters sound word vomitey in a distinctly *Sam* way, or they just sound cartoonishly *feisty.* But he has also done episodes I genuinely love. I think the prequel had those same issues in the writing but it was mostly okay.

- It was waaaay too fast-paced, but maybe they want to crank out as much as possible for fear of cancellation. But yeah. John’s character suffered the most from the rushing. He didn’t even have time to really react to the world of hunting so soon after coming back and it felt very off. Let us have some dread!!!!

- The MoL info dump would be ok in a novel but doesn’t make great tv. Slow the fuck down, guys.

- Imho Mary actress is excellent. She feels like Mary. Her voice is the right voice for Mary. She seems to pull the best performances out of the other actors. I’m most looking forward to her push-pull with her parents. Her personality reminds me mostly of what we saw out of original Sam Campbell if I’m honest! Bit prickly and more aloof than Dean. More abrupt maybe, at baseline.

- desperately wanna see Mary’s large hunting family and cousin Maggie!

- I think Lata was ok. Her moments with Mary were the best and felt the most organic to me.

- The trauma bonding with John and Mary in the car and about life after hunting was second best

- I liked Millie scene with John ok. I didn’t feel too much because they didn’t really set up for the viewer the Henry stuff all that well imho.

- Carlos felt feisty and rushed, but the actor is good, has so much presence and charisma, and he had a nice moment with the guitar and getting out the “doomed hunters” theme. His other scenes needed more room to breathe.

- For example, I’d have preferred not spelling out his crush on Mary but showing it through his hackles being raised about John or jealousy allowed to come out stronger imho. That’s the kind of stuff that tends to feel ham-fisted about Robbie to me.

- But I do like that no one is a carbon copy of Sam or Dean. The fandom’s obsession with mirrors being stand-ins for whole ass characters can be a Chuck-coded nuisance. (I love parallels and themes but spn fans tend to equate characters with mirrors or characters, and that had gotten so stale. Robbie tends to let his characters be individuals, and use themes more cohesively instead of teasingly, and I like that.)

- In general, I’d love to see more genuine grouchiness, anger, and pissy attitudes in his characterizations. Too often it comes off plucky/feisty instead of truly negative. (Dude, road trips get dramatic!)

- I do think the broad strokes are good and the actors have so much chemistry that they’ll settle in. I wasn’t expecting so much chemistry tbh. Good for them. I like that John and Mary are interested in each others’ emotions. That feels different than so many romances because they’re simply curious and interested at this point.

- It also had some audio balances issues and hazy lighting (it’s difficult to do dingy 70s) that I’m sure will even out.

- last thing: Mary called a guy who watched his friend blow up, went to a graveyard with his friend’s mom earlier, and cut shit out of his arm, and was pretty suicidal during a hunt…she gave him coffee and remarked he had a sweet worldview? I was so thrown by it, and it seemed so *plucky.* 😭 Smdh. Have you ever talked to a veteran, Robbie? John just came back from Nam, the unpopular, hated war. Maybe Mary is just trying to say “you’re sweet / I’m sweet on you.” Secret dorky Mary.

- as for the show in general… we already know my feelings on taking the word of cupids and angels to be the end-all, be-all canon. They’re manipulative/unreliable narrators. That’s canon. It you’re basing canon on the word of an angel and chuck’s messengers, you missed the tfw theme. (as I’ve said, I’m cool with degradation and tragedy if they go that way, too.)

[just-rogi]

.

[chronic-invisibility]

I’m having a very low spoons day and just a whole verbal shutdown and my parents are Concerned and not happy about it. Which like i get, but the way i see it, either i don’t talk and i can mostly function otherwise, or i push myself to talk and end up having a meltdown or being otherwise completely nonfunctional. At least they’ve both gone out to work for the next several hours and i can try to just chill so i can be ok later when they come home

[iwatcheditbegin]

I know I have had severe traumas throughout my life. But it is so hard to look around and see Kids who are like half my age doing more than I will likely ever be capable of.

It’s so defeating.

[samcarter34]

Since people seem to once again be having trouble remembering the order of operations, let me just remind everyone:

The ability Laudna possesses to feed Delilah is Hunger of the Shadow. In the fight with Bor’dor, Laudna used that BEFORE Orym’s head nod. Bor’dor attacked them and her response was to do the thing she knew would give power to Delilah. Matt even makes the sound of Delilah’s heartbeat.

The spell she used after the head nod? Whither and Bloom. The same spell she later attacked Orym with, which isn’t even a warlock spell.

And speaking of the head nod, you want to know what’s it’s prefaced with? ‘Laudna you can do whatever you want.’ And Marisha responds by saying that Laudna is ‘barely present’ because she’s having ptsd flashbacks to all of the times something horrible happened to her and she couldn’t do anything about it. So she kills Bor’dor because it makes her feel in control of the situation.

And yeah, the 4SD where Liam says Orym thought Delilah might come back. Except y’all somehow took that and made it seem like he’s the one who shoved Laudna over the edge when what actually happened is that Laudna flung herself off it because betrayal is triggering to her.

And the sword. The sword which apparently wasn’t triggering enough that Imogen contemplating whether the Vanguard were good guys didn’t cause any reaction. Or for that matter, make her object to Ashton’s ‘this is permission statement.’ But she saw Orym wearing it, got uncomfortable and then all it took was one sentence from Delilah for her to decide to steal it. Delilah, who mutilated her, murdered her, has been possessing her for decades, and who basically held her soul hostage when BH wanted VM to resurrect Laudna. But what Delilah didn’t do? Tell Laudna to steal the sword.

I wasn’t around for campaign 1, but in campaign 2 I definitely noticed a trend that people who were all ‘I love women! Female characters rock!’ would, the second one of their alleged faves did something controversial (or just something they didn’t like) would find a way to shift the onus onto someone else so she could remain blameless. And that is definitely continuing this campaign, and if anything is getting worse (which, not to get into speculation, but I wonder if it’s because all of the female characters this go round are more traditionally feminine than last campaign.)

I think the reason Orym’s been getting raked across the coals so hard by certain parts of the fandom is actually because of this. Because Imogen’s repeatedly gone ‘what if the Vanguard have a point’ and Laudna agrees with everything she says, whereas Orym’s been pretty consistently ‘no, the murder cult that murdered my family are bad guys.’ And well, can’t go around admitting that our faves did something wrong.’

And so we have a situation where Laudna attacks Orym, but somehow that’s Orym’s fault because the possibility of Laudna doing something wrong ruins people’s lesbian cottegecore fantasy. But the thing is, that whole thing was all Laudna. She chose to listen to her first murderer when Delilah said ‘maybe it’s cursed’ and then she chose to blanket the room in magical darkness (sorcerer ability, not warlock) chose to cast an area of effect spell to destroy the thing Orym was using to sheath the sword (sorcerer spell, not warlock) and, upon hurting Orym, chose not to drop said darkness, which meant Orym couldn’t see who attacked him. And when she got caught, she tried to downplay what she did, tried to say that because she didn’t mean to hurt him it didn’t count, refused to apologize for actually hurting him, kept shifting her argument (and even low key got called out on it by Imogen when she asked Laudna why she’s want its power inside her if she thinks it’s so evil.)

There is an alternate universe where Laudna wakes Orym up and they have what probably would have been an intense discussion about the sword (and that might even have been what Marisha was aiming for before Delilah got involved) and THAT truly would have been the ‘both sides are equally right’ scenario, but that’s not what we got. And you can say Orym shouldn’t have taken the sword unilaterally (but somehow Laudna’s allowed to unilaterally steal and absorb it?) or that she’s being manipulated by Delilah, but the fact is that Laudna’s an adult and is responsible for her own decisions. Yes, Delilah is a powerful and malign presence that they all downplayed/ignored, but, to use Marisha’s addiction metaphor, making amends with those you’ve harmed is a part of recovery for a reason. Because ultimately, you are the one who did that. Yes, it does immensely suck for Laudna that she’s been handed the cards she has been, but it’s up to her to make the best play she can.

Wow this got long, but my overall point is that Laudna is a character with her own agency and makes her own decisions (well, Marisha makes them, but at this point y’all should know she’s not conflict averse and is willing to have her characters make controversial character choices). And really, take all that away, what’s left? How much onus can you take from a character before you might as well go look at a painting?

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 7

part 1 | part 6 | chapter 1 on ao3

cw: panic attack, ptsd flashback to minor character death, graphic depictions of… food? lol

Dinner is exactly as chaotic as Steve expected it to be. He and Claudia take opposite end seats with a glass of red wine each, and the kids take the middle and start acting like a pack of caffeinated raccoons: talking over each other, scraping forks against plates, stretching their entire upper bodies across the table and dragging their sleeves through the side dishes instead of just asking someone to pass them the butter; Steve’s starting to wonder if any of these kids have ever eaten at a table before, or if they maybe just wandered in from the surrounding woods. Feral asses.

When they do start asking for things, he regrets wishing they would, because Lucas goes “Erica, can you pass me the salt?” and Erica sneers “I don’t know, can I?” and Mike jabs “Whatever; nobody says ‘may’ anymore, you dork” and Claudia gasps “Michael!” and it all escalates from there until Dustin tries to catapult lasagna off the end of his fork and hits Steve in the side of the head with a glob of warm cheese.

Silence falls around the room.

The cheese plops onto his plate.

“Sh-ii-it,” Dustin breathes, face stuck in wide-eyed shock.

Steve gives Claudia an imploring look.

“Why don’t we clear the table for dessert?”

The commotion starts up again in double time, everyone scrambling to clean up and clear the room before Steve starts bitching about them messing up his hair (and his plate, and his clothes, because the cheese splash sent a spray of little tomato sauce droplets splattering all over him, and isn’t that just perfect; he’s gonna have to hand-scrub the stain out of his khakis), so it’s just him and Dustin left when Dustin’s elbow catches and tips over his wine.

The liquid spills onto his plate: dark, and red, oozing into the uneaten scraps of sauce and cheese and pasta to form a viscous, fleshy sludge. Red like his dad’s office, like his father’s mangled thigh, and it’s just food it’s just food it’s not blood it’s not blood but he can’t fucking breathe, can’t hearing anything beyond the wet, gasping sounds his dad made the night he died, and then he realizes that he’s making them, mouth moving fruitlessly around air that won’t pass, trapped in the bottleneck of his choked-off windpipe.

“Steve?” Dustin asks, and his voice sounds far away. “Shit, shit, Steve! Can you hear me? Are you choking? I know the Heimlich, just- just hold on!”

He snaps out of it when Dustin pulls him halfway from his chair, gets his fists under his ribs and all but punches the air from his lungs. It sets off a nasty coughing fit that leaves Steve snotty and ready to hurl, and he braces himself with his forearms on his knees and stares hard at the ground until the hacking finally stops.

There’s a scuff on his sneakers.

He can’t replace them any time soon.

A moment to catch his breath, and Dustin’s shaking him by the shoulders. “Are you okay??”

Steve keeps his head bowed. “Yeah.” He needs to get the fuck out of here. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He rises from his chair, grateful that everyone else already cleared out before they could witness his little moment, that the blare of the TV from the family room covered the sound of his retching coughs; more grateful still that they won’t notice him now, scampering out of here with his tail between his legs. “Hey listen, man, I’m not feeling so well,” he says absently, fishing his keys from the pocket of his jeans. “Can you get your mom to drive everyone home?”

“Shouldn’t you stay?” Dustin frowns in concern. “If you’re sick? You can go lie down in my room or something, it’s—”

“—Nah, man; I mean, thanks, but…” His hand trembles around his keys, the muscles in his calves screaming bolt, bolt, bolt. “I just- I gotta go.”

He makes a break for it, rushing out the side door so no one else will see him leave (and he knows it’s fucking rude to head out without saying goodbye, but he’s also pretty convinced he’s going to combust if he doesn’t go right now.) “Tell your mom I said thanks, okay?”

“Tell her yourself!” Dustin chases after him, clumsy and slow across the darkened yard. “Dude, will you slow down? Talk to me!”

Steve throws himself into his car like there’s a demodog on his heels. “I’ll call you!”

“What the fuck!” Dustin shouts, but Steve’s already gone.

—

part 8

tagging a few people i know have been following along 🩷 @slowandsteddie @paintsplatteredandimperfect @stevesbipanic @pennyplainknits @ledleaf @hellion-child @formosusiniquis @missjashin @runninriot @xpaperheartso @steddieas-shegoes

[dragcnbreak]

AHHH THE AGE REGRESSION ONES R SO CUTE I NEED MORE!!!!! maybe one where reader is having like a breakdown/ptsd flashback which results in them regressing involuntarily and mike comforts them? could be headcanons or a fic idrc :3

IM SO GLAD PEOPLE GET THE CG MIKE VISION… here is my attempt at writing something along those lines!!! I hope u enjoy nonnie <3

◞♡࿐

The Schmidt household was practically a second home to you. You crashed on the couch more often than not and even had a drawer full of your things in Mike’s room for easy access. Your living situation was less than ideal and you felt more comfortable with Mike and Abby than anyone else so it just worked out.

That’s how you found yourself outside their door one morning, knowing it would be just Mike at the house as Abby had already left for school. You used your key and offered a shaky smile to the sleepy man on the couch. “Hey.” He says at first, taking a few seconds to look up at you. When he finally does, his eyes widen at the tears running down your cheeks and he rushes towards you.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Mike asks, using his thumb to wipe under your eyes. You don’t answer but instead, you start to sob loudly. He’s definitely awake now, all his attention on you. He helps you the best he can to the couch so you can sit down. The second he sits down with you, you fling yourself into his arms and continue your breakdown.

Mike is quick to hold you, rubbing your back softly and whispering soothing things like “it’ll be okay” and “I’ve got you”. It helps more than he knows and the both of you sit there for what seems like hours.

When you begin to quiet down, you detach yourself from him and rub at your eyes. “Are you feeling any better?” Mike asks you and you nod lazily, a sudden tiredness washing over you. “T’ank you, Mikey.” The slurring and the nickname alerts Mike to the fact that sometime during your crying session, you slipped into littlespace.

You didn’t age regress too often, specifically around Abby. But Mike was always more than happy to take care of you when you did, especially when you were sad. “Of course, baby,” he uses his favorite nickname for you when you’re in that headspace, “how about we get you something to eat and drink and then you go take a nap?” He continues.

You nod again, “m’kay.” The idea of eating doesn’t sound too bad and you know you need to stay hydrated, even more so after crying. Mike grabs the television remote and turns on Abby’s favorite channel with all the cartoons. He gives you a kiss on your forehead and then hurries to the kitchen.

He and Abby had just had breakfast so he heats up the remaining pancakes and bacon, periodically checking on you. He slathers the pancakes with butter like he knows you like it and also cuts them up. Mike then delivers them to you on a plate.

You lighten up a bit at the food, starting to dig in as he goes to get you a glass of water. He comes back and sets it on the table in front of you. Before too long, you’ve finished your food and water and are back rubbing your eyes tiredly again.

“How about that nap?” Mike offers with a knowing smile. You nod and make grabby hands, indicating you want to be picked up. The man isn’t the most built but he works out enough to easily pick you up, knowing how much you like it when he does. You wrap your arms around his neck while he holds your thighs not too tight.

In a few seconds, you’re in Mike’s room and he deposits you carefully on his bed. He tucks you in so you’re nice and safe and comfortable. He’s about to turn away when you stop him. “Can we cuddle, please?” You ask and he already knows he’s not going to say no. He hums and slips into the bed, fortunately already in comfortable wear.

In the bed, you turn to face the wall opposite the door and Mike catches on, wrapping you up in his arms. Before he knows it, you and him fall asleep even with the sun peeking through the blinds at you both.

◞♡࿐

this was kinda therapeutic to write because ive been going through a tough time myself :( tysm for the request <3

[theshipden]

How would the main 6 react to finding out Mc has ptsd?

Cracks knuckles oh baby as someone with C-PTSD this is my JAM

Julien;

He listens to your explanation, never breaking eye contact. He understands, he’s a doctor, he talks you through it

When you’re having an attack, he’s quick to ground you and help you seek a good therapist

Protective asf, he will not let you do anything alone since it makes you nervous.

Learns every one of your triggers so he can prevent them, whether that’s stopping himself from doing it or someone else

Holds you and cries about what you’ve been through, promises to never let it happen again

Portia;

Post-traumatic- down-syndrome? (Tiktok reference)

Nah but she isn’t certain what that is or what it means, but she DOES read about it and teaches herself what it all entails

Asks julien for further knowledge and how to help

Asks if you need space, to talk, advice, or just her company

In the middle of your attacks, she rubs you. Whether it’s your hand, your back, carding her fingers through your hair, she’s anchoring you back to the ground again

Asks what you need from her when you’re anxious

“Reassurance? Quality time? A listening ear—a shoulder? I have two of those!”

Muriel;

He understands you more then anyone. And funny enough, your anxiety seems to go hand in hand with his own

You’re damn right people are scary!! And loud noises are overwhelming!! And you’re angry and scared and just want to feel safe!! Him too!!

He isn’t the best at staying grounded, honestly he’s still learning healthy coping mechanisms

But when he sees you struggling, he finds himself in the clearest state of mind. He listens, he’s nurturing, and very intuitive.

Smiles so soft and so warm when you calm down from an episode, never pushes you to talk

Sometimes, you panic together about the same thing. Something about seeing someone you love feel the same way as you do….feels like home. You’re not dramatic, you’re more in control then you originally thought, and you’re cared for. Just as you care for him, he cares for you

Nadia;

She’s very good at rationalizing your racing thoughts, using logic to soothe your panic when it seems to be becoming too much

Uses her hands to massage the tension out of your muscles and help you process and work through the feelings you’re having

Aromatherapy, 100%

Reserved a spa day for you, just you and her, no one else. She knows the company of the servants would make you mask

Probably offers to buy you an exotic animal just so you have someone at your side if she’s away when you spiral

Lucio;

This man probably tells you to calm down, not realizing that’s making it worse.

Blubbers an apology immediately after, stuttering wildly as he waves his arms frantically

“No! Don’t cry—-! Hey, darling, it’s alright! What’s happened? My love, can you look at me? Show me those gorgeous eyes, there you go, wonderful. Now, what’s gotten you so upset?”

Thinks someone’s responsible, fully plans on lynching them as soon as he’s figured out the culprit

If your trigger is an inanimate object, he WILL destroy it. And yell at the servants not to trigger you

Drapes his cape over you so you feel sheltered and calm, so you can hide if you don’t want to be seen but don’t want to be alone

Definitely glares at anyone who attempts to call you emotional or puts you down for a natural reaction to trauma

Showers you in compliments, covers the mirrors in little affirmations with lipstick

Asra;

He knew. He’s always known. Even before you did.

He’s very patient, extremely passive and cautious

He educates others on your behalf so you’re never in an unwanted situation or triggered on accident

Reminds you to take medicine, eat, drink water, etc

Asks the arcana to guide you and offer you wisdom and clarity

Constantly ensures you’re never in a night terror/flashback

Can immediately tell when your anxiety spikes, doesn’t even ask before he brings you into the shop in a controlled and familiar environment and asks to talk

Admires you and your courage, he tells you everyday how strong you are and how proud of you he is

[astarlightmonbebe]

the appeal of yeojeong as a normal guy who’s just a little bit off. not enough that you would notice when talking to him, of course, but it’s just there, under the surface. a disturbance. and i think it’s interesting because typically you have two types of guys somewhat adjacent to this: guy who seems totally normal but is secretly sadistic/a psychopath, and then guy haunted by a traumatic/troubled past, who has that secret layer of torment running beneath the surface of their image. but yeojeong breaks through these archetypes, and i think part of it is because he’s just so...calm. it’s not that he’s living a double life (kind doctor by day, killer by night) or hiding part of his past (everyone he worked with knew about what happened to his father, and watched his downward spiral during his college days). he’s not the typical male character who is, at every attempt, trying to outrun his tragic past (even though he does run once or twice); he’s not haunted by flashbacks, or suffer from PTSD in the way that is usually portrayed in dramas. and i think part of that is because the glory is a story about victims. it’s dongeun’s story, first and foremost, even though it is also yeojeong’s story, and hyeonnam’s story, and sohee’s story. but it’s a story about dongeun’s pain, and when it’s not about her pain, it’s just about the pain of victimhood - unlike other dramas, this isn’t a show where male pain outweighs the rest.

so yeojeong is just a normal guy. he’s handsome. he has a good career. he’s a plastic surgeon, an interesting choice when both his parents were/are hospital directors, and his father seemed to have worked in the er or something of the sort prior to his death (or at the very least wasn’t a plastic surgeon). something could be said here of yeojeong choosing the ‘safe’ path as a doctor, a path where he cures pain and makes people happy without the added risk of being attacked by one of his patients. there’s no proof of that in the show - why he chose to be a plastic surgeon - but it’s an interesting thought path to travel. 

dongeun says he must have lived a good life. that he’s never had to worry about the path that he’s on. and that’s true, to a certain extent. to everyone, including her in the beginning, yeojeong is perfectly friendly. he’s perfect, but not the perfect that people perceive as too perfect (i.e. the guy who’s hiding things); he has his moments where he spazzes out, gets into fights, goes crazy over dongeun texting him back, teases his mom. he’s perfectly well adjusted (a perfect contrast to dongeun’s ‘maladjustment’). he wears flip flops to work and gets the same coffee order daily. he plays go with old men in the park.

he likes to listen to the fizzing of vitamin tablets in water because it calms him down. is this a strange thing? only because he thinks it’s important enough to mention to his therapist. he does it at work too - drops the tablet in, closes his eyes, rests his head. he does it at home - drops the tablet in, opens the drawer, draws a knife. it’s about the noise. bubbles rising to the surface, like bubbles rising from underwater. he stays underwater until the last possible moment, when he has to break the surface in order to breath. dongeun makes him feel like he’s at the eye of a storm - a deceptively calm center, while everything else rages outside. and i think it’s kind of important that he makes that comparison, when he’s someone always seeking that calm. the soothing noise, that makes him feel lonely.

so he’s just a normal guy. a normal guy who receives letters on a regular basis from the prisoner who brutally murdered his father. he doesn’t like letters, he tells dongeun. who knows what he does with the letters - does he keep them? does he throw them away as soon as he sees them? he must have read some of them; maybe you only need to read one to know what is in the rest. maybe he’s still reading them; maybe he keeps them without reading, an invisible torment. it’s not what he does with the letters that matters, but that he receives letters at all. 

can you still call it a haunting if you’ve almost made your peace with it? if you’re living with it? 

he’s just a normal guy, who looks his therapist right in the eyes and tells her that she couldn’t fix him. he diligently attends therapy for years on a regular basis, even though it doesn’t work. he finally abandons it when he moves to semyeong, because he chooses to embrace dongeun’s revenge. he chooses his own revenge, too, in a way. the dark part of him that he can’t escape. the one that makes him pick up the knife, who asks dongeun who to kill before she even tells him she wants any of them dead, even when he’s a doctor from a family of doctors, and doctors don’t kill - they save lives instead. 

you couldn’t fix me, he tells his therapist calmly. so calmly. as if there’s not a bloodied man sitting next to him, a man he dreams of killing. the man is just life to him, just like the letters are life to him to. a dulled numbness. an acceptance of it. 

is your son going through hell? can you even tell it’s hell, if it’s what you’ve become used to? is it hell when you’re a doctor dreaming of murder? is it hell to no longer be tormented by dead men and living murderers who send you letters? is it?

[testingthewatersss]

Three Nights Night one Trigger warnings for PTSD and nightmares, mentions of war, torture, phantom limb etc, wintersolider flashbacks in future parts. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Part One of three 2300 words fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI Apparently it takes three days to form a habit, you decide to see what three nights can do.

Falling in love had been easy. Easier than breathing.

So easy in fact that Bucky hadn’t been able to stop himself from worrying about it all for at least 10 hours a day.

Worrying about being so dependant on another person, when he’d lost everyone else that he’d ever cared about, aside from Steve.

Steve who had laughed at his concern, a quick “That’s why they call it falling, Buck— It’s not meant to be difficult, and if anyone deserves something nice like this, it’s you.” being the end of their conversation on the matter.

Truthfully, he isn’t that dependent on you. Not yet, anyway.

But, fighting to not fall is definitely not easy, and right now, he’s clawing onto everything he can, just so that he won’t let himself go too far too fast.

But God knows he’s in over his head already. He spends every waking second thinking about you, and when he can next see you, and talk to you, and maybe hold your hand for a moment-

Yeah, it’s like you hung the damn moon.

and now, you're standing in front of him, looking lovely as ever, in a towel fresh from the shower you've shared, and just like you do every night, you're offering to let him stay the night in your room. "Where you might actually get some rest for once"-

-and he’s trying not to say yes. He’s fighting against every fibre in his body that wants to curl up beside you right now, this second, and it’s— It’s... It's much harder than it should be.

“…Sweetheart…” you murmurs, voice concerned, “…You tell me every mornin' that your bed's too cold. I'm just reminding you that mine is very warm, and if you want to, you can start spending the nights here, you leave late and come by early as it is…”

He wants too. He really, really wants too.

And it shows.

His face is so easy to read.

You thinks absentmindedly that it’s no wonder HYDRA kept him masked so much. You wouldn't have wanted to look into his eyes all day if you were them, either.

He’s just watching you silently. Jaw ticking as he argues with himself about how to reply to your repeated offer. Not wanting to pressure him, you decide to laugh it off and kiss him goodnight, but then, you sees his eyes drop to the floor.

The expression that’s on his face now is so hopelessly forlorn that you can’t help but reach out to stroke his cheek-

His whole head snaps sidewards in an automatic bid to protect himself from a slap and you feel a dagger slice through your heart as you realise what's happening.

“Oh, Sweetheart” you whisper, fighting to keep your tone calm, “You’re tired, huh?”

He gets jumpy when he’s tired.

He gets quiet, too, and teary on occasion, and now, he looks like he’s on the verge of something new.

When he drags his gaze back to your face, he looks like a cornered stray. Like someone who’s about to be beaten half to death for flinching without permission.

“You don’t have to stay” you remind him softly, “Bucky, of course you don’t— just try and get some rest okay? I'm gettin' a little worried...”

Your hands are back at your side, and your face, he notices, your face is nothing short of adoring.

And that… God, oh, god, that is what is going to make him lose his grip;

“I, god, doll I’d love to stay with you…”

He’s said it now, and he knows that just like that, that it’s over.

That he’s giving up to the free fall and that the best he can hope for is a better landing than the last time he fell and ended up at someone else’s mercy.

“I… I just, I- I- I wanted to do it different.”

Your head tilts curiously to the side as you watch him ringing his flesh hand in his metal one.

"Different how?" you ask, a genuine quirk in your brow.

Bucky hears himself huff as his cheeks flush hottly, "I'm a lot to deal with at night" he confesses dryly, "I- I was hopin' to make it easier on you, doll- give you more time to back out"

"Back out?" You echo, almost offended by the idea, "That's-"

"I.. I really can be a lot, doll..." he cuts in, voice gruff with embarrassment, "...I know you love me, and you've always been real patient with me, you're... you're a damn angel, and I've always wanted to spend the night, I've always hated leavin' but I- I just couldn't put all of that on you, because I know it's too much-"

“-I don’t think I know what you’re talking about” you say, interuppting him with a smile, “Buck, you’re gettin’ awful flustered”

He scoffs at the playful lilt in your words and reaches up to paw at his chin, grateful for the way you'd stopped him from rambling.

“Yeah” he agrees after a breath, “You do that to me, sugar, haven’t ya noticed?”

Slower this time, you reach out to stroke his cheek again.

This time, he lets himself keen into the feeling of your fingers against his face, almost purring in delight at the contact.

“I have an idea” you say softly, “why don’t we try three nights”

“Three nights?” he echos quietly, “Three nights of what?“

"Of sharing" you tell him, beaming now, "Tonight, tomorrow and the night after, if you want to stop before then, then we will..."

I wont, Bucky thinks instantly, I won't ever want to stop, thats the problem. "If you want to keep going after that, then that's what we'll do"

"It's not me I'm worryin' about" he murmurs gruffly.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "I've been inviting you for half a year, Barnes. I'm not going to be the one kicking you out."

"But if you do want more space, doll- then you'll tell me, right?"

You look at him, seeing the stubbornness already setting on his features, and then you nod in agreement, knowing any further argument would be pointless.

"During the three nights" he pushes, "You'll tell me, if I do anythin' that is too much for you, then you'll tell me and give me chance to fix it- promise me"

And then, you lean in and kiss him. Your palm flattens out against his jaw, and before he knows how, his own arms have laced around your waist, holding you against his chest as you pull away to nod, your free hand reaching down for his metal hand, so that you can twist your pinky around his. "Promise” you murmur, “and, will you please try remember that I love you, and want you here... don't worry too much, okay? nothin's goin' to change that”

Your tone has shifted now, you're not playful, you're genuinely asking because you care about him, and it shows.

"Promise" he says, smiling as he squeezes his little finger gently around yours before bringing your hands up to his lips, where he can kiss against your knuckles, hiding his clear emotion for a second.

Before you can get suspicious about the way he's trying to bury his face in your fingers, he’s throwing himself into your front, grabbing you into such a tight hug that you have to gasp for air in between a bout of surprised laughter. You flex your newly freed fist and waste no time in squeezing him back, trying and failing to return the strength that he is putting into the embrace.

Bucky’s not laughing, though. He’s just holding you.

He’s just clutching you as tightly as he can without hurting you, and burying his face in your shoulder, while he tries to convince himself that he won't end up doing something that makes him lose you forever.

You give him a minute, not wanting to try and break free from the stifling position when he so clearly needs the closeness;

and then, you realise that his pulse is racing. You can feel it thrumming against your front, too fast to be your own.

“Sweetheart” you murmur, voice betraying your concern, “You okay?”

Your breathlessness jars him. He remembers himself instantly, and releases his grip with a flush of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry” he bursts, “Shit- doll, I- I’m real sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“What? Hug me?”

“Crush you” he corrects, grateful for the playful tone you're using, “I didn’t—”

He looks so bashful. His eyes are firmly set downwards and he’s wringing his flesh hand in his metal one in an obvious display of awkwardness. and because he wants to reach out and hold your hand, again-

“I’m fine” you tell him calmly, reaching out to stroke his cheek, “you look exhausted though, huh? Shall we turn in?”

Silently, he looks up at you, and you can physically see a layer of bravado falling away.

This is difficult for him, you realise, being vulnerable doesn’t come easy to him, especially not right now, and sleeping next to someone? It doesn’t really get much more vulnerable than that.

“I love you” You decide to say, disregarding how often you've already said it, “It’s going to be alright.”

And then you're reaching out to take his hand, and he’s letting you, because he's yours, and he doesn't want to pretend not to be, not now he thinks it might all work out, and then, the next thing he knows, he’s in bed.

The journey there, and getting undressed is a blur.

He’s so nervous that he’s in a daze.

He thinks that that's ridiculous.

You've been intimate, more intimate than just getting undressed and being under a blanket together, anyway. But for some reason this feels much more intense than all of that.

And then, he’s back to starring.

He’s on his side, a few inches away from where you are, and he’s just looking at your face. Trying to drink in the sight of your features, trying to memorise the curve of your jaw, and your cheeks, and your mouth—

“C’mere, sweetheart”

Your voice is like honey, and he’s blushing like a teenager;

“How do you like sleeping?” you ask, genuinely curious, “Cuddled up? or with some space?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but then he closes it. Swallowing dryly and reaching up to paw at his jaw while he thinks of a way to tell you that he honestly doesn’t know anymore without it sounding tragic.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve had options” you say for him, “Did you ever share a bed with a girl before?”

A crease forms between his brows as he tries to force his mind back;

“Does my ma count?”

you laugh at that, soft and airy as you reaches out to stroke his temple.

“No” you murmurs, “No, I don’t think so…”

“Then no” he sighs, “I never did more than kiss the dames I courted, doll”

“This is ‘more than kissing’?” you tease softly, “We’re barely touching, Barnes.”

“Barely” he agrees, voice almost a breath, “But back then, things… things were different.”

“I know” you say, sympathetic now, “I’m sure you were a perfect gentleman”

“I wouldn’t say that” he murmurs, edging his front towards you, “a gentleman wouldn’t have been kissing them either”

“Well I’m sure they weren’t complaining” you sigh, “a handsome officer like you, they could’ve done worse.”

You're beaming at him as he scoffs, small and shy under your consideration.

“Want to try gettin’ closer?” he hears you offer, “You can always go back to your side if you get too warm.”

It’s almost too good to be true. The idea of being curled up in your arms. Of being able to sleep tucked up against your chest, of maybe, just maybe, being able to drift off without his thoughts spiralling into panic because everything is too quiet and he can’t convince himself that he’s not back in some awful cell—

“C’mere…” You purr, adjusting your position to receive him, “…It’s alright…”

It’s more than alright.

He's pressed against you. He can feel your arms wrapped around his back, holding him close and the skin on skin is so soothing that he has to bite back a moan of delight as he settles into position. His flesh arm is bent up, with his fist under his chin, and his metal one is draped over your waist so that he can feel your pulse thrumming through the censors in his palm.

It’s stable, and calm, and he is so, so in love that his chest feels like it could burst from the pressure, and he wouldn't have a single complaint—

“I don’t want to speak to soon” you murmur, “but I think this might be a winner, huh?”

“Yeah” he agrees quietly, “I— I think so.”

The idea of tearing himself away from the embrace is heinous.

The idea of going back to his own room in three nights, knowing what heaven feels like is worse.

This, is the closest to calm he’s felt in a life time. This, feels a lot like the mercy he used to beg for, back when mercy hadn’t been something he understood.

And then his eyes are closed.

And he’s falling asleep, and he thinks dreamily that he should be trying harder to stay awake. That he shouldn’t be giving in this easily—

but then, he hears you.

He hears you hushing him, exhaling gently into his hair as you stroke a slow circle across the bare skin of his back, and he decides that if he is going to fall, then he’s glad it’s with you. The fact that he's deeply asleep in minutes doesn't really surprise you.

The fact that he stays that way does. You'd been prepared to soothe him for hours, if that's what he'd needed, but then again, you think, as you start to drift off yourself, he probably has a lot of actual resting to catch up on.

x | night 2 | night 3 Masterlist

[daydreamsandcrashingwaves]

Keeping It Close To The Chest Pt 4

Hi Friends! Part four is here for you first!

General warnings for ya'll

Big sads, panic, PTSD, flashbacks/traumatic memories, Danny should come with his own warning, canonical plus one death but it's Danny, guilt (does it classify as survivor guilt? idk)

Anyway! I hope you enjoy! The Ao3 version will be up soon too!

Stay safe, take care of yourselves please, take your meds if you need to, water yourself, eat some food, get some sun! Much love to you all

~Ren

Danny hadn’t woken up this comfortable in a long time. Fingers dragged through his hair carefully working out knots before scratching at his scalp. He was curled into someone’s side. His automatic thought is he crawled into bed with Jazz after patrol. He grumbles a reply as he tries to bury his face deeper into the shirt? Blanket? Whatever it was, it was soft against his cheek. His core is purring in contentment. He feels safe. Something he hasn’t truly felt in a long time. He melts, even if Danny doesn’t understand why the logical part of his brain is begging him to be suspicious. He pushes the thought away and wants to revel in being close to his sister, just for a moment. 

A voice breaks the silence. “Are you awake Danyal?” It comes out hushed, but warm and fond. A distinctly male voice. Danny jerks so harshly the boy he’s resting with begins fussing, worried Danny pulled something.

Danny’s eyes shoot open and he tries to rear back to get a good look, something pulls in his chest but Danny ignores it. His brother’s arm tightens around him keeping him nestled into his side. His brother is staring back at him. Danny looks him over for the first time since he died in the League all those years ago. 

Short dark hair and a face like his own. Danny wants to weep gazing into his emerald eyes. How often had he transformed just to see green eyes instead of blue. Even if doing so brought his memories of the lazarus pits to the surface. 

(He doesn’t really remember, it was a wisp of a memory. His Mother carefully hiding their presence as she rushed his limp body to the pits. It was just nothingness… for once. No more harsh shouts and bruises just the soft transition from alive to dead. His heart had stopped, his lungs refused to bring in more air and then nothing changed to screaming pain searing him down to his bones, or maybe he was the thing screaming as he could feel what little air he had escaped into the toxic water he had been tossed into. He remembers the frantic way he swam upwards, breakinging the surface with hacks and coughs, only to see an unfamiliar landscape around him. This water was actually water, some sort of lake as far as he could tell. A little girl sitting on the dock had reached over and pulled him out of the water by the scruff of his shirt. When Jazz would recall she had always fondly said she had fished out her rabid kitten that day. The rest was history.)  

Danny couldn’t help himself. Kept going back to his mirror to stare into toxic swirling green, trying so desperately to see his brother reflected back. Only to swallow disappointment when the reflection always fell short. For all his genius, for all the solid, crystal clear memories he does have of Damian they are few. All the more Danny hoarded them cradled in between his ribs, mapped them along the many scars that he gained before meeting the Fentons. He had spent so many nights tracing them trying to remember just how he had gotten the mark, Danny instinctually knew that they would lead him to remembering the boy who’s shadows haunted him. Desperate and determined to hold onto any connection to his older brother.

Danny takes a moment to really look at Damian. Damian looks healthy, a bit tired maybe, but his clothes are casual and clean. Nothing like what they wore in training. Damian isn’t as tan as he was as a child, but it was a small difference. There is a faint scar by Damian’s left eye that catches Danny’s attention, it trails down his cheek and under his ear. His hand moves to cup his twin’s face without thinking, softly tracing the mark. Danny aches at the thought that Damian could’ve lost an eye while they were apart. A few more inches down or over and his brother wouldn’t be alive in front of him like this. 

“Damian” The name comes out broken, filled with reverence and awe. Danny can be certain at least in this moment they are safe, together now after a decade. Damian wouldn’t allow himself to be truly relaxed if they were still in danger. 

The world resettles around him. Danny remembers his escape, the portal that ripped through reality to reunite him with his twin. There was so much blood, Danny was sure he was gonna die for good on the floor of some dirty warehouse. Shame floods his system and settles beneath his lungs. Danny grips his hair in frustration as he tries to fill in the yawning blank spots of the last twenty four hours. His delirious panic yesterday is mostly a blur, he can remember soft whispers of Arabic and careful touches. How far he has fallen. He should know better. He should be better. 

He sees the questions that Damian wants to demand answers for behind his favorite pair of green eyes, the frustration that builds under his skin the longer his brother waits to ask. He wishes Damian would just ask him. Danny takes a trembling breath. Danny is confused why he would hesitate, his brother was never one to hold his tongue. A quick glance around some sort of medical room. It seems for now they are alone, proof Damian has some sort of regard or leverage here with their Father. With slight amusement, Danny catches the slight glare of wire and is sure part of the peace came from his twin having trapped any entry points into the room. 

As Danny takes more in the room uncertainty takes root as he starts catching sight of more of his brother’s traps, he was very thorough. Like he was trapping his bedroom in the League from those who would want to cull one of the young heirs. 

Perhaps Damian is also uncertain about his family’s reaction to Danny since he felt the need to defend them in such a way. Truth was Danny had no idea what any of the Bats were truly like. A few rumors about how metas weren’t welcome in Gotham had circulated but other than his childhood stories about their mysterious father Danny was going into this blind. His mother’s opinion was one thing, but Danny refused to be blinded by his feelings again so soon. Mother had said their father loved them, but what assurance was that? Mother wasn’t exactly a good standard to judge others on. The Fentons had said they loved him, they had taken him in as one of their own and raised him. After watching him grow up they didn’t flinch once strapping him to that table. Danny wants to ask just what about his existence is such a threat he must be wiped from the Earth, his memory squashed and scattered. Singular snapshots in time that are taken as the whole of his being. He could run again if he had to, if things go south and Batman also believes Phantom is a threat. If the vigilante wants to turn him over to the GIW...  

A shiver works its way down Danny’s spine and he pulls Damian closer. He can be untouchable and invisible in seconds, Danny reminds himself. The thought of leaving Damian so soon after their reunion makes him pale and his core protest in his chest. His form shutters for a brief moment. Danny tried to shove down the sudden desperation and panic he felt. He had nowhere else he wanted to be, together they could figure something out. Danny wouldn’t have to run. 

His brother is watching him carefully, goes to say something but Danny needs his older brother to just listen for a moment and pushes closer, a gentle hand over Damian’s mouth to silence him. “You said we were with Father. Do you trust them? Are you safe here?” The Arabic stumbles out of him in a hushed whisper. 

They stay like that, staring at each other. An assessment. Danny wants to shrink under his twin’s steady gaze but won’t look away. How Damian responds is important, Danny might be out of practice reading his brother’s expressions but if he tries to placate him, if Danyal isn’t safe here, Damian won’t be able to fully hide his unease. A soft grip pulls his hand away and Damian looks exasperated as he leans forward to bump their temple’s together. “Yes. Our Father adopted many children that despite their overdramatic behavior, they are reliable,” Damian says it begrudgingly but he also sounds incredibly fond. Well, fond for Damian. His brother had never given out meaningless praise before Danny was sure that hadn’t changed in their time apart. He can picture the way Damian’s face softens as he whispers between them, “Father allows me to care for a handful of animals and last Christmas Grayson and Pennyworth presented me with a Studio to create my art pieces in. ” 

A soft awed sound leaves him as Danny tips his head forward onto Damian’s shoulder. It’s just like Damian to know exactly what Danny was searching for even after all these years. Damian can indulge in things that once were decreed by Grandfather as weak here. He can be vulnerable and is with enough regularity that he has a special studio that was made specifically for him to use and a multitude of animals to care for. Danny is suddenly so happy Damian can spend his days petting animals and creating art on canvas instead of training. His brother could hold a brush in his hand instead of honing himself into a weapon to be wielded for the benefit of their Grandfather and his legacy. This was what they whispered about in the dark as children.

Relief is sweet, his body sags into Damian’s. Danny’s smile is so big it almost takes up his whole face, he’s almost drunk with how the release bubbles through his veins. His brother wouldn’t lie to him. If Damian would now just ask the questions they both know he’s itching to, Danny can answer them. Danny will trust his brother, if he trusts the family he is with now then he will too. Likely feeling Danny’s rising nerves Damian leans to catch his eye. “What happened to you, Danyal?” 

Danny can’t help the bitter laugh that leaves him as he sags back into the bed. This conversation will be long and he’d prefer not to go over it twice. “You wanna gather the Bats? I don’t want to go over this a million times.” He can’t help how sad and tired it comes out. 

It’s not the reaction Damian was expecting, unsure what sparked the change in his twin as he just blinks at Danny for a moment before smoothly replying. “ No one but me has access to the Recovery Room at this moment, although Pennyworth has successfully pleaded for his access to be temporarily reinstated when your bandages need to be changed and wounds assessed. I have stayed close to you since we brought you back since we were unsure if you would recognize any of the others and I refused to risk you panicking and reopening your chest wound again.” The hard glare at Danny’s chest makes it clear that Danny will not be escaping the care now that he is conscious and that Damian was aware of the possibility Danny pulled something earlier. He prayed he didn’t pop a stitch, half-ghost or not Damian was still very scary when upset. 

With a huff Damian adds, “Though the family is sure watching through the cameras as they are both worried and incredibly nosy, especially when a new sibling is involved.”  Danny could barely breathe, his gaze bounced about trying to spot the glint of a camera lens. The room felt smaller. How long have they been watching them? Why wouldn’t they confront him? When would people stop impersonally observing him? Were they scared to be close to him? Worried about contamination?

Before the fear could settle Damian caught Danny’s attention. “I simply meant you only have to tell me, once, here. I.. We had thought you would prefer what privacy we can afford while we determined who had done this to you.” The uneasy lit to Damian’s words was matched by his restless need to play with Danny’s fingers. “The family while well intentioned, can be overwhelming. It is difficult gathering everyone and having them sit quietly for extended periods of time and our family is… large.” 

Danny sat stunned. He would never say his brother was mean or cruel in their childhood but consideration of another person was frowned upon outside of ensuring the success of team missions. More often than not those who couldn’t keep up didn’t return. It’s just how the League had worked. For his twin to shield him, possibly creating tension amongst his family just to make Danny feel comfortable. He wasn’t sure how to respond. 

It hurt to see how much his twin had grown in Danny’s absence but it also made Danny flush with pride. Damian’s behavior is proof to Damian’s claims that their father truly is different, maybe even safe for someone like Danny. Swallowing all the things he could say Danny clears his throat with a small but real smile, “Thank you Dami.” 

Once Danny makes a decision he throws himself in head first, this will be no different. Danny has to start at the beginning. He must tell them everything to have a hope of them understanding how Danny ended up dropping through a portal to his brother’s side. For… their family to understand what true danger hunts him even now. 

With a deep breath Danny goes back as far as he can.The terror of fighting to his first death, the enchanting embrace of the dark, his violent resurrection in the pit. How when he surfaced some strange red-headed girl was in his Ahki’s place to pull him soaking wet to the solid wood of the dock. How Danny knew their mother had defied the Demon Head and even if he knew how to get there, Danny could never go back. How when he had done his best to shake off his disorientation it had been childs play to integrate him into the strange family that found him. Danny was good at hiding, at adapting. 

Danny didn’t know how exactly but the Fentons had gotten their hands on a forged birth certificate and social security documents. He assumed through some government contract seeking their expertise on ghosts or weaponry. It was as if he had always existed in Amity Park, there was enough of a rotating population that not many remembered differently. Danyal Al Ghul son of Talia Al Ghul and Bruce Wayne, twin heir to the Shadow and the Bat fully became Daniel Fenton, only son to Maddie and Jack Fenton, younger sibling of Jasmine Fenton.  

Things had been great for a while! Easy even. He gained a sister in Jazz. As he got better at socializing, Jazz’s dedication to practicing with him paid off, he gained friends in Sam and Tucker. Their afternoons spent studying or hanging out at Nasty Burger. He had creative parents who knew so much about science, technology and the universe. Who would take Danny and Jazz camping so they could fish, and eat fudge-filled s’mores by the fire. School was boring but he liked going to the library and looking at their books on space. 

Danny could’ve never imagined how happy life could be away from obligation and duty. Away from his Grandfather. He could live happily while keeping his weakness from eroding the League further. Danny had tried so hard to forget, forget so his guilt about him alone getting all these soft experiences wouldn’t eat him alive. How dare he friviously enjoy a normal childhood when his brother was left behind with the course sand and suffocating expectations.

Things had been great until their obsession with completing the portal infected his new home. That kind of overwhelming happiness was simply too good to be true for someone who had done the things Danny has. His parents would spend days holed up in the basement building. Grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, and maintenance to the house it all fell to the side. House keeping wasn’t nearly as interesting as trying to build a bridge to another world. Eventually Jazz dragged Danny to the library so she could teach them how to do those things on their own. Danny could never tell her he already had learned to do most chores on his own by the age of 5 and if the debit card stopped working he could trap and clean something reasonably sized in the woods for them to eat. 

Danny had tried to convince himself after the portal failed to open at his parent’s big presentation things would soon return to their normal, as chaotic as that normal was. Sure they had been really upset, slipping into depression, but they always started up again. Gained their groove. They had gone on their vacation and… Then the portal turned on. Well, he turned it on and was electrocuted with the entirety of the town’s power grid. (They had done the math at some point to figure out the exact voltage but Danny had never wanted it written down, if Tucker thought it was important to know he could keep it hidden under his firewall in a secure file.) 

His second death was painful. The electricity had burned its way through his body, stopping his heart, only for the ectoplasm to force it to beat once more. He was sure his heart would burst under the strain. Or the ectoplasm would rip holes in the delicate tissue as it puppeteered it into the sluggish beating he has now. How does he put into words what becoming the gateway between two realities feels like? It was… An eternity hoping for the agony lighting up his nerves to end in the seconds it took for the ectoplasm to merge with him down to his DNA. He could feel his cells splice, die, stutter, and trip but life surged and evolved. He became something new, something unknown, something rare.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Book of Memories ~ Chevalier and Licht ~ Part 2

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. The translation for the flashback in the beginning is taken directly from the English version of Licht’s route.

tw: depression, suicidal thoughts

~~ Flashback ~~

Twin’s Mother: If you won’t kill each other, then I’ll kill one of you myself!

Nokto: Ahh—

Licht: No! NO!! Mama, stop! Please…please don’t kill Nokto!!

~~ End flashback ~~

Ever since that incident, one of the twins, who smiled and cried a lot, had lost his emotions.

He was emotionless regardless of what he did, never laughing or crying, or getting mad or sad.

However— “Something” he had witnessed caused the emotionless prince to change.

~~ Flashback ~~

Licht: Ah…

Clavis: What is it, Licht? Do you want to join me in bringing Chevalier down? I’m doing some sword training with Chevalier…

Licht: Ah…

Clavis: Hm? You look pale.

Licht: Ahhhhh!

Clavis: Licht?! Hey, calm down! Are you…hyperventilating? Chevalier, take a look at him—

Chevalier: …

Clavis: Hey, where are you going?

Chevalier: I’m not interested.

Clavis: What?

Chevalier: Leave him. He won’t die.

Clavis: Oh yeah… You’re that kind of person.

Chevalier: …

–

The silver-haired prince, who started screaming and hyperventilating at the sight of a sword, was diagnosed with PTSD—

The result of an incident that few knew about.

There was no cure, nor coping mechanisms.

Not only that, it was almost impossible to live without a sword in Rhodolite, a country of knights.

Knights and princes walking down the halls always carried swords, and even if one managed to avoid them, decorative swords were displayed everywhere.

Eventually, he began to shut himself away in his dark room with the curtains drawn shut so that he wouldn’t see anything representing the incident.

–

Sariel: Prince Licht…you need to leave your room once in a while. This isn’t good for your health.

Licht: …Leave me alone.

Sariel: But…

Licht: Don’t come in, Sariel. …Just let me die like this.

Why wasn’t I…at that time.

Why wasn’t I stabbed with a sword?

Sariel: …

–

Clavis: Now, what to do? At this rate, Licht will die.

Sariel: Isn’t it time for your traps that you’re so skilled with?

Clavis: Haha…You must be feeling tired?

Sariel: It would appear so, as you’ve calmly pointed out…

Clavis: *sigh* We have a genius who can do anything, but he’s utterly useless.

Sariel: It seems like Prince Chevalier, who has read every book in existence, from new to old, would know of some good treatments.

Clavis: Even so, does he look like a kind man who would be willing to lend a brother a hand?

Sariel: …

Clavis: That guy’s heartless. A beast that won’t care about what happens to Licht. I’ll do something about it…

–

Days, weeks, a month—It was a coincidence that the turning point in his life came during the days he spent in bed hugging his knees. Licht: What…is that sound?

[livyjh]

Eight Days (ch. 1)

Joel Miller x Reader (AFAB reader that uses at least she/her pronouns)

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+

Word count: 3.5k

Summary: You’ve known Tess for awhile now. When she asks you to come on a run and she isn’t able to go, that leaves you alone with Joel. Who you’ve never met before. Traveling through the wasteland with a complete stranger? This should go great.

Can be found on ao3 here

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Joel Miller Masterlist

A/N: I’m very excited to be writing my first multi-chapter Joel fic. Not a request, just an idea that popped into my head.

Chapter warnings: age gap, mention of guns, mentions of infected, wet socks and shoes, wet clothes, Joel sees your butt, Joel has nightmares/PTSD flashbacks

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

You’d known Tess for almost 6 months now. You trusted each other, helped each other get out of sticky situations around the QZ. So when she asked you to start smuggling with her and her friend Joel, you weren’t all that surprised.

She told you where to meet her, when to meet her. This would be your first time meeting Joel, you’d heard from others in the QZ about him. Just as a passerby. And from Tess. Everyone said he was hard headed, dangerous, and like a brick wall. Tess said he wasn’t as bad as everyone said he was, but you’d have to find this out for yourself.

This was a firearms run. That’s all you knew besides the basic rules of “be careful, don’t get caught, don’t get bit”.

It was 4am, raining, early spring air flowing through your lungs as you made your way to the corner of Prince and Salem streets.

FEDRA was currently switching shifts, which meant the three of you would have just enough time to make your way out of the QZ through a tunnel under a building that FEDRA hadn’t completely blocked off yet.

No one else was on the streets, you made your way carefully between buildings and down alleyways. When you saw a man standing exactly where you were supposed to meet Tess, you hesitated.

You watched him for a long moment, he kept looking around, like he was waiting for someone. Shit, is that Joel?

You quickly walk to the man and he immediately grabs your arm and pulls you into the nearest alley. “You’re late.” He grits.

“Sorry. Um, you’re Joel?” You ask shyly as the grip on your arm lets up.

“Yeah. You Y/n?” He raises a brow.

You nod. “Where’s Tess? I didn’t see her so I freaked out a little.”

“Broke her goddamn ankle last night.” He huffs.

“Fuck.”

“Just you and me, now.” He explains. “Hope you’re a good shot.” He hands you a black pistol. Nothing fancy, but it was heavy.

“I’m alright.” You say honestly.

“Consider this training day.” He sighs and walks further down the alley, beckoning you to follow. You perk up and walk closely behind him, trying to keep your footsteps light.

You follow him into a little shop, it now unrecognizable from being boarded up for so long. He shuts the door behind you both and you look at him, his hair and chin dripping with rain. You’re not lost on the fact that he’s a good looking man, although roughly 30 years older than you.

“Come on.” He meets your eyes and then continues on into a back room. You follow and he’s pushing a bookcase out of the way to reveal a huge hole in the wall that opened into a tunnel.

You got out your flashlight and the two of you entered the tunnel, you waited as he put the bookshelf back in place. He too got out his flashlight, leading the way.

The tunnel isn’t that big, something that was probably made after the main building had been built. You reached a ladder that led down and Joel went first. You went down after him, scanning the now larger tunnel for anything that might cause you harm.

“Are there infected down here?” You ask quietly.

“No.” He says shortly.

You don’t say anything else, letting him lead you through the tunnel until you eventually reached another ladder. He went up first, lifting the manhole cover at the top and sliding it away. He pokes his head above ground and waves you up, giving you the all clear.

You both make it onto the street and he puts the cover back in place before you’re both running, trying to avoid floodlights as you sneak away from the Boston QZ.

The sun is just coming up when you reach the freeway, glad you hadn’t come across any infected before dawn.

Before making it to Boston, you’d survived with your dad and your aunt since you were just a child. You were taught how to defend yourself at a young age, taught about cordyceps and how to avoid getting infected, taught about all the bad things in the world. You were no stranger to a warm gun, nor loss. Your aunt was bit and your dad had to end her life when you were 13. You and your dad were with a group when you were 15-20, but when raiders came through and destroyed your little settlement, your dad got shot and died while you were escaping.

It’s something you’d never forget, your father begging you to leave so he could stall the raiders while you ran. But he saved your life. You’d never forget that either.

You walked the freeway for a couple hours, not saying much to each other as you did so.

Joel was… pensive. Was that the right word? No. More like… frigid. Maybe he was just upset that Tess broke her ankle. Things were going to be harder with just two of you, rather than 3.

“Uh, where are we going anyways?” You finally think to ask him.

“Springfield.”

You wait maybe ten minutes before popping another question. “Did I say something wrong?”

“What?” He asks, oblivious.

“It just seems like… I dunno. You seem grumpy.” You say shyly.

“Fuck you.” He huffs a hint of a laugh and that’s the only indication that he may be joking.

You hoped he was joking or things were going to feel awkward for the rest of this run. “Shouldn’t have said it like that. I mean, is there anything I can do to make things easier for you?”

“Quit talkin’, for one.” Joel shrugged a shoulder.

“Noted.” You sigh and keep walking.

It’s another 6 or 7 miles (with a couple silent rests along the way) before he says anything. “This exit. We’ll camp here tonight.”

You praise god for the words coming out of his mouth. You’re tired, it’s been raining all day, and you just wanted to get inside somewhere and dry off.

You easily could’ve made it another mile or two before dark, but you were more than happy to stop for the evening.

Joel broke you two into an apartment building, checking doors to see if they were unlocked as you made your way through the building. It was fairly free of fungus, but there was grass growing through the first floor.

You made it to the third floor before finding a door unlocked. He held a fist up to you, silently telling you to stay where you are. He opens the door, flashlight in one hand, gun in the other.

You pulled your gun and readied it, just in case. But you stayed where you were told.

You hear him walking around inside the apartment slowly, boots sliding as he whipped around corners to check his surroundings. After a few minutes, he comes back out. “All good.” He nods and you both enter, Joel locking the door behind you.

It’s a modest studio apartment, bed tucked into a corner, couch on the other side of the room, pointed towards a TV in the middle of the room. The kitchen was small but the countertops were nice.

You prayed you’d get lucky, walking over to the faucet and turning it on. “Shit.” You curse as nothing comes out.

Joel just scoffs.

“What?” You look at him.

“You don’t really expect there to be running water in a place like this, do you?” He sighs.

You were sick of his attitude at this point. You were just gonna keep your head down, get through this run, and then tell Tess you can’t work with this guy anymore.

“I guess not… just thought I’d give it a shot.” You shrug, trying not to snap back at him.

You’re tired, you’re hungry, you’re now grumpy because Joel is grumpy… you just need food and sleep and everything will be better tomorrow.

You sat on the couch, digging in your bag for the sandwich you’d packed. You watched Joel sit on the bed, look through his pack and pull out a snack as well. Some nuts, it looked like.

You ate in silence, not looking at each other, not paying much attention to each other.

It’s only when you were both done eating, trying to figure out sleeping arrangements that he would finally start a conversation.

“Y’can have the bed. I’ll take the couch.” Joel says gruffly.

“Alright.” You keep yourself from offering other options, trying to be agreeable.

You switch places with him and although you wanted nothing more than to take off your wet shoes, you had to be ready to run at a moments notice in this world.

You put your gun under the pillow before laying down, resting your head on it. Joel laid on the couch, pulling a blanket off the back of it and covering himself with it.

It didn’t take long to fall asleep, tired from the walking you did today. Plus, you’re not sure how, but the rain really exhausts you.

It was the fact that you woke up only a couple hours later to the sound of Joel groaning about something that had you rolling your eyes.

You turn your head to look at him. He’s laid on his back, arms crossed over his chest, he’s mumbling to himself. If you’d known he was a sleep talker or whatever, you would’ve found some earplugs to bring with you.

“No.” Is the only thing he’s saying now, and the only thing you could make out.

“Joel.” You whisper loudly.

“No. No.” He repeats himself.

You pull your blanket off, getting up and walking over to him. “Joel.” You whisper again.

“Mm mm.” He hums in a negative tone.

“Joel.” You speak in a low voice and reach to touch his shoulder.

Your fingers are hardly on him when he yelps a “Sarah!” and swiftly grabs your left arm. His eyes snap open and he looks at you. You’ve never seen someone so terrified in your life. And you certainly never thought you’d see Joel this way.

He releases his tight grip on your wrist, you were sure there’d be some light bruising. He visibly gulps, his knitted-together eyebrows slowly relaxing as he stared at you for another second.

“Are you okay?” You ask quietly.

“Fine.” He nods, voice soft. He crosses his arms and closes his eyes once more. “Go back to bed.”

“If-“ you start.

“If nothing. Go to sleep.” He grumbles and turns away from you.

You sigh and turn on your heels, walking back to the bed and crawling into it. It’s the second time you try falling asleep that takes longer.

***

The next morning you’re woken up by the constant opening and closing of cabinets and drawers in the kitchen, the occasional sound of things sliding around on shelves.

You lift your head and turn to face the kitchen. “Joel?” You rub your eyes.

“We should go. Just lookin’ for supplies we might want.” He says plainly.

“Okay. Let me help.” You swing your legs over the side of the bed and walk over to him.

He holds his breath for a moment. “It’s easier if I jus’ do it.”

You step back. “What, I stink or something?” You sniff your pits. They’re not great, but not bad either.

“No, you- you smell fine.” He blurts out. “I’m almost done looking.”

You cross your arms and shrug. “Whatever.”

You walk over to the bed and grab your backpack, slinging it over your shoulders. Joel was done after a minute or two. You watched him put a couple cans of food and a pack of bandages into his pack before putting it on his back.

“Let’s go.” He nods at you and unlocks the door, checking the hallway before walking out.

You follow behind, going down the stairs to ground level and finding your way back to the interstate.

You and Joel walk for three or four hours before resting for a bit, glad you hadn’t come across any infected. When you asked Joel why, he explained the patterns of the infected, the way they combed through cities in dense packs because that’s most likely where they could find people to infect.

You’re not sure how it all worked, how smart an infected person could possibly be with mushroom for brains. But you decided not to poke the bear, leaving questions for later. To be spaced out, as not to annoy Joel.

You kept moving, going another five hours before approaching Worcester. Which meant you were about halfway to Springfield. A total of six more days with Joel if you were calculating right.

“There’s a small firefly settlement here. If I mention Marlene m’sure we’ll get a warm meal and a place to sleep.” There’s a hint of a smile on his face, if you’re not mistaken.

The simple pleasures in life. That’s what made Joel happy? Good to know. Next time he says ‘fuck you’ you’ll give him a hot can of beans and a bedroll, problem solved.

“Sign me up.” You grin at him and he actually returns a small smile. The longer you were with him, the slowly more tolerant and tolerable he became.

You made your way into the city, having to redirect a little when seeing a couple of infected roaming around.

You finally approached a tall fence, two people standing guard just inside. They raised their guns toward you. “Stay right there!”

You and Joel pause.

“Joel Miller! I know Marlene!” He yells to them.

The two men look at each other before lowering their guns. One of them speaks again. “How?”

“I’m a smuggler for the Boston QZ. Makin’ a run to Springfield. Need somewhere to stay for the night.” Joel responds.

“And who’s she?” The man asks, nodding towards you.

“This is Y/n. A trusted associate.” Joel glances at you for a second before looking back to the man.

The guards look at each other once more, exchanging a few hushed words. They look up to someone posted at the opening of the gate and nod to him.

The gate slides open as the two men beckon you inside.

Joel thanks them for their hospitality as you follow him into the settlement. One of the men, who introduces himself as Tom, takes you to what they’ve set up to be a mess hall in an old restaurant.

“We don’t have much extra room.” Tom explains. “May have to put you two on the floor somewhere.”

You and Joel nod, “Thank you. We just appreciate you letting us stay.” You smile.

Tom smiles at you two. “Go ahead and get something to eat. I’ll meet you back here in 20 to take you somewhere to sleep.”

You and Joel thank him once more before going to the counter to be served soup and bread. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was better than what you’d eaten the last couple of days. And warm.

It wasn’t particularly cold this time of year, but the rain always made it feel colder. Tonight, being in a safe place, you’d actually get to take off your shoes and let them dry overnight. You were rather excited for dry shoes.

You and Joel sat down and ate across from each other. You tried to make conversation. “They’ve got a nice set-up here.”

“Mhm.” Joel hums around the bread in his mouth.

You study Joel’s face for a long moment, the dimples hiding that would certainly show with at least a half hearted smile. They were cute. His worry lines on his forehead. The crows feet at the edges of his eyes.

His eyes. They’re looking right into yours. “What?” He raises a brow.

“N- nothing.” You shake your head and look down into your soup as you continue eating. Joel doesn’t say anything else and you’re happy to be off the hook.

Tom returns as promised after about 20 minutes, giving you more than enough time to eat firsts and seconds. It’s the fullest you’ve been in months.

Tom brings you two out of the mess hall and down the street to a small house. “Alright. Well, it’s not a room. It’s a garage. But it’s got a bed.” He says, lifting the garage door open to show a makeshift room made in this house’s garage. A full size bed, a dresser, a very old TV, and some shelves with action figures lined up on them.

“You can uh, share the bed.” He looks at you, then at Joel, who was scowling slightly. “Or- or,” Tom speaks again. “I see you’ve got sleeping bags. One of you could also sleep on the floor. I don’t- it doesn’t matter to me. But this is all we’ve got. Restroom is just inside the house, to the left when you walk in.” He points at the door connected the garage to the house.

“Thanks.” You nod at Tom and nudge Joel’s arm with your elbow.

“Thanks.” Joel finally says after a minute.

Tom smiles briefly. “I’m across the street. Come see me before you leave. We’ll send you with some food… goodnight.” He waves to you both.

“Night.” You and Joel say in unison.

Whoever was sleeping on the floor was gonna freeze their ass off. It was a concrete floor and you knew it probably wouldn’t be over 45 degrees until the sun rose the next day. You felt selfish, wanting the bed. But you decided to offer it to Joel anyways.

“Since I had the bed at the last place, you can have it.” You say to Joel as he closes the large sliding garage door.

“No. You take it.” He says in a soft tone.

“Or we could sh-“

“No, I insist.” He says a little firmer now, keeping you from finishing your sentence.

“Alright.” You sit on the bed and unlace your shoes, kicking them off before peeling your wet socks off.

Joel rolls out his sleeping bag not far from the bed, then takes his own shoes and socks off.

“I need to change into dry clothes.” You sigh, looking through your bag and grabbing a fresh, dry outfit.

“Me too. I’ll, uh, change in the bathroom.” He picks up his bag and walks out of the garage without another word.

You quickly peel off your jeans and shirt, then your panties. You leave the bra because it’s the only one you have at the moment.

You take a second to put up your hair before slipping into a shirt when you hear the garage door.

“Not done yet!” You pull the shirt down to your thighs and turn towards the door quickly, catching a mere glimpse of Joel before he’s turning away and closing the door again.

He had to have seen your ass. There’s no way he didn’t.

You sigh. Oh, well. Whatever. In a week you’d never see this guy again so what’s the point in being embarrassed?

You step into a new pair of underwear and cargo pants before calling to Joel. “Okay, you can come in.”

He hesitates but after a second he’s stepping back into the room and shutting the door behind himself.

“Sorry.” He quickly apologizes for having walked in on you.

“It’s fine.” You laugh it off.

You crawl under the three blankets that were on the bed, thankful your body heat would be well insulated overnight.

Joel turns off the light overhead before getting into his sleeping bag and zipping it up as much as he can with his head still poking out.

Over the next ten minutes or so, you hear his breathing get slightly heavier and you assume he’s fallen asleep. You pass out a few minutes later.

***

You’re woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of Joel’s teeth chattering while he sucked air through his teeth, shivering violently.

“Joel.” You whisper.

“H- huh?” He responds between his teeth clicking together.

“Come here.” You say flatly.

“What?” He turns towards you.

“Get up here. It’s warm.” You sigh, staring at the ceiling.

“M’fine.” He grunts.

“Joel, get in the fucking bed. Your shivering is keeping me up.” You order him, rubbing your eyes.

Once you hear his sleeping bag unzip and he gets up, you scoot over to the other side of the bed so he can get in. Your body had warmed the spot so you know it would warm him up at least a little to start with.

Joel lifted the covers and slipped under them next to you, sighing with relief at the change in temperature.

You roll to face away from him, he’s laid on his back, his shivering finally slowing down and stopping, letting you finally fall back asleep.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

I got you | Pt. 3

(A/N) Had a long break from Tumblr, sorry about that but Uni kicked my ass. Still, I hope you enjoy this!

Pairing: Simon x Reader (no Y/N)

Warning: lots of angst, death of a loved one, PTSD, civil war, flashbacks, injuries, description of death

Synopsis: You are back in Libya and realize that someone you thought you'd never see again is your enemy.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“We’ll be landing in five minutes, get ready.”

The voice is covered in static as it reaches your ears through the headset all of you are wearing. Your eyes quickly find Ghost’s, pure anxiety clear on your face. He nods reassuringly and you take a deep breath as the helicopter slowly starts to descent.

You close your eyes and try to focus on the people around you. Your team. Your best friends. Your family. They are all here with you, you are safe. With another exhale, you open your eyes and notice that Ghost is still looking at you. He opens his mouth to say something but is stopped as the voice of the pilot rings out in your headset again.

“Landing in thirty seconds. Hold on, guys.”

Everyone in the cabin instinctually grabs onto something as the helicopter starts to shake before it comes to a stop on the ground. Sand and dust are whirled around while the blades keep spinning above your heads as you jump out and follow your captain toward the base. Another soldier is already waiting and shakes Price’s hand before walking alongside him. You can’t make out what they’re talking about, but you see their lips moving. Probably just more details and updates about the mission.

You suddenly feel a strong wind against your back and turn around just to watch the helicopter lift back up and leave. Now there is no going back.

A lump forms in your throat as you watch your last source of escape leave. Suddenly your feet feel heavy and you can’t move. You can only stand there and watch. Stand and watch.

“C’mon love.”

Ghost places a warm hand on your shoulder, gently pulling you towards the tents, where the rest of your team is already waiting. You nod and turn to look at him.

“Thanks for waiting for me.”

You can’t see his face, but you get the sense he’s smiling at you.

“Always.”

Together, the two of you walk to the table, where the rest of your team is already being briefed. You tune it out to the best of your abilities, Ghost would fill you in on it in the car, but when a certain name falls, your head shoots up, eyes wide.

“What?”

Everyone stares at you. Well, not everyone. Ghost is actually looking at the soldier who had greeted Price earlier, the soldier who had been talking until you interrupted him. Wait, no. Ghost isn’t looking at him. He is glaring at him. Yet no one is answering you.

“That name…say it again.”

Now everyone in your team is glaring at the soldier. He quickly looks at Price, who just nods with a sigh. And then he says that name again. The same name that you had called out with a giggle whenever that man would come to visit, always with an ‘uncle’ before the actual name. The same name that your father had cursed after an argument. The same name that your mother had pleaded with to spare your family. The same name you never wanted to hear again.

You stumble back from the table as all these memories come rushing back to you. Ghost immediately reaches out and pulls you to his chest. Price says something and after a moment, only Ghost and you are left there. One of his arms is tightly wrapped around your waist, keeping you close and upright, while the other slowly strokes your head.

Images keep coming and you don’t know how to stop them. Your happy childhood. Evenings spent together as one big family. Your fourth birthday when your uncle got you the dollhouse you’ve been wanting for weeks now. The first argument between your father and his brother and how it slowly escalated from there. The evening when everything changed and your uncle led a small group of armed men to your house. The moment he shot your father and brother.

You keep spiraling until you hear your name and your head snaps up. There is Ghost, his brown eyes looking at you, filled with concern.

“Are you okay?”

You nod, lowering your gaze again, focusing on a loose thread on Ghost’s uniform. Without thinking, you reach up and start playing with it. A deep chuckle rings through Ghost’s chest as he watches you.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your fingers stop in their movement and you hesitate before you look up at Ghost.

“He was…is my uncle.”

Ghost nods. He already knows that.

“He killed my father and brother. Maybe even my mother and sister.”

He nods again. More information he is already aware of.

“I’m going to kill him.”

That gets his attention. But where you thought you’d find shock or maybe even disgust, you only find adoration and respect.

“We’ll make sure you do, don’t worry.”

You look at him confused and he quickly explains that the briefing contained an update. Your uncle, who was supposed to arrive within the next few days would arrive about 20 minutes before you would.

“Your chance for revenge.”

A smile starts to play on your lips as you gaze up at Ghost, the crinkling around his eyes, betraying his own, small smile.

“Let’s go find the others.”

You nod as Ghost lets you go, before taking your hand and leading you towards the big tent.

By the time the two of you reach the tent, the team has finished the briefing and all of you started to prepare to leave. Everyone starts going through their gear, making sure that everything is in order and they have enough ammunition for the mission. By the time you were done, it was time to go.

You all file into the truck, yourself squeezed in between Ghost and Gaz. Thankfully the journey wouldn’t take too long and before you knew it, it was time to walk.

You leave the truck hidden behind a large rock and begin the track to the base. While walking, you grow more anxious. Anxious about seeing the man who is responsible for all of your trauma. But also anxious to finally see him dead.

Suddenly, Price raises his hand, making all of you stop in your tracks. You reached the outskirts of the base. With well-practiced hand signs, he tells Ghost and you to head west and start clearing from that direction. Soap, Gaz, and Price would do the same on the other side.

With practiced stealth, Ghost and you manage to infiltrate the base, killing anyone who’s in your way. Once inside, Ghost lets the other three know before you continue toward the office where the document should be located.

The base itself is surprisingly deserted, not a guard in sight as you slowly stalk through the hallways. The sinking feeling in your stomach starts to grow as you stop Ghost.

“Something’s not right.”

He nods, agreeing with you. But still, you have your mission and you have to complete it.

You continue on your way until you catch the sound of voices coming from an office in front of you. You signal to Ghost and he nods in acknowledgment, quickly moving to one side of the door. You press against the wall on the other side and carefully peek inside. And there he is.

He is fatter than he was all those years ago, and he definitely lost a lot of hair, but you would recognize his face everywhere. Ghost catches your attention with a gesture, implying that he will start the countdown for a breach. You nod, watching his fingers with your gun in your hand. As soon as the last finger lowered, you pushed open the door and stormed inside, yelling for everyone to get to the ground.

And then…a shot rings out.

@pagesfalling

Next Part

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Call of Duty - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Linked Universe AU where Dink tortures the Chain by locking them in a room mini-boss style and forcing them to face their most difficult challenge yet…

…playing their own video games.

Time just straight up gets PTSD flashbacks the instant he starts playing either of his games and is like “nope we’re doing my games last I need time to mentally prepare for this nonsense.”

Warriors is laughing his butt off while hacking and slashing at armies “holy Hylia if I could actually kill twenty bokoblins in one swing that would have been AMAZING”

Twilight keeps forgetting to use the “wolf sense” button and missed literally everything because to him it’s just automatic, so if he doesn’t immediately see it when he becomes a wolf in the game then clearly it isn’t a thing. Wild has to keep reminding him ti hit the blasted button or the game will never progress.

Sky thinks his game is really fun until he remembers that everyone is going to find out about the curse and then he starts finding increasingly more insane ways to get his character killed just to delay the inevitable.

Legend straight up smashes Link’s Awakening to pieces before they can even play it.

Hyrule is just awed that he even has a game, but when everyone starts playing it they all just die over and over again. Wind starts flipping tables the twenty-seventh time.

Four loses his mind because the intro literally gives away his secret of the four sword.

Wild spends his entire game exploring instead of doing the main quest because “what, the pictures are pretty besides I have all the time in the world now!! I can learn all the recipes!!”

Wind thinks his game is clearly the coolest ever, even though no one will let him hear the end of it over the cartoon style (Sky thinks it’s nice). Then they all meet Tingle and break the TV in horror.

[babyyweebbitch]

Helping simon with a panic attack

:3 the flashbacks are dark btw 🧍🏾‍♀️

content warning : female reader , childhood trauma , panic attack , crying , flashbacks ,

simon gets panic attacks and flash backs a lot — sometimes it’s just one and most of the time it’s both at the same time. it’s PTSD from his childhood and he never got help for it because he didn’t wanna be looked at as “weak” or “a sissy” in people’s eyes. he was always told men deal with their stuff by themselves and he now knows that’s not true after dating you for so long and you takings him to the doctors every so often and signing him up for therapy. he usually has you schedule the therapy sessions for when hes home for long periods of time. they even gave him medicine that he forgets to take alot

simon was home for about a few months since he had a pretty bad injury and he needed to heal. you somehow got your job to let you work from home so you can take care of him and work at the same time. recently he’s been doing pretty good on his own, he’s been able to walk himself, eat, bathe and he even started working out a little bit just to get some strength back slowly.

one night you were working in your office, typing away at your laptop and going through paperwork. simon was left in the bedroom trying to sleep and he knew you were working later tonight so he tried not to bother you, but he wasn’t feeling well — mentally. he was alone so his mind wandered. at first it wasn’t bad. he was thinking about innocent things at first that slowly turned into dark thoughts and then he got flashbacks of his childhood… to when he was being hurt by his father and how he made him do things he hated.

simon tried his hardest to not think about it so he got up and went to go make a sandwich. on his way he passed by your office seeing a glimpse of you working made him feel slightly better. he almost went in to check on you and start a conversation but he again didn’t wanna bother you. while he was getting out all the stuff to make a sandwich he looked down at a slice of meat and got a flashback to a dead animal his father made him kiss. he closed his eyes and shook his head before slowly backing away from the counter and leaning against the fridge. he heard his father’s voice

“c’mon simon! it’s just a dead snake! wont do nothing to you” the voice said. simon put his hands over his ears trying to block out the sound but it didn’t work. he started breathing heavy and felt tears form in his eyes

“go away…. go away — fuck go away!” simon yelled out and his yelling alerted you in the office. you got up to see what was happening and when you entered the kitchen area you saw the sandwich stuff laying out and then as you got closer you saw simon against the fridge in a panicked state. he slid down the fridge and put his head on his knees as if trying to protect himself from something. you know it’s never a good idea to touch him unless he asks or does it for if he’s having a panic attack so you speak instead, inching closer to him

“simon? what’s happening?”

“h…he won’t leave! he won’t go away! please make him go away!” he looked up to see you and he was full on crying now. when he got like this he felt like a kid — a defenceless child, not the big scary man with military experience and has killed hundreds. in the state he was in right now he didn’t know the difference. you immediately went over to him and once you were close enough he grabbed onto your arm as a way of protection.

“simon, nobody but us are here right now — what you’re seeing isn’t real, my love. you’re having a panic attack and it’ll pass by soon” you used that kind voice you’ve used with him over the years. he wrapped his arms around you and placed his head on your chest. he started crying — full on sobbing into your shirt and you held him as tightly as you could without suffocating him. and honestly at this point he probably wants to be suffocated

after a few minutes of him crying and saying how he was being hurt but you immediately put him back on track and told him nobody was hurting him he calmed down a bit. he obviously didn’t let go of you though

“what’s on your mind now, honey?” you asked rubbing the back of his head with one hand and making little circles on his back with the other

“you have to get back to wo—“

“work can wait, Simon. you’re more important”

“but i — your boss will get mad at you”

“and? i don’t care — you are the only thing on my mind right now. you are the most important thing to me. i will always help you and make sure you are okay before ever thinking about anything else” simon looked up at you and then he hugged you once again. these are moments he feels he doesn’t deserve such a nice person like you. he took a deep breath before he sat up all the way and you wiped his eyes for him “now — i can make you something to eat and drink and you can sit in my office until about 1:30 or i can stop work early and we can go sleep”

“the first option sounds nice…” he said. you smiled and helped him up from the floor. you went to make him a sandwich and made him some tea the way he likes it, simon kinda just lingered around you until you were finished. you put everything back in the fridge/cabinets before you and simon waddled back to your office like little penguins. simon had the tendency stick around you for a long time after a panic attack because you made him feel better. he also didn’t want to sleep because he was scared of having a panic attack mid sleep. it’s happened before and he hated it because he wasn’t home around you (he lingered around soap for a few hours after because he was the only one he trusted besides you)

during the rest of the night you and simon talked about random things as you worked to ease his mind. he was staring at you every time you spoke about something from work or mumbled something on your computer/paper to yourself during moments of silence. he was admiring you and he still thought he didn’t deserve a person like you. you were literally the definition of perfect to him and he couldn’t trade you for the world. he honestly wonders what you saw in him to be this nice to him

✨Bonus✨

the next morning you ended waking up before simon. he had the habit of sleeping in pretty late and he was also a deep sleeper at home, so unless you were in danger and he sensed it or the house got broken into to or the house is literally burning to the bone — he’s not waking up. he also sleeps hella heavy meaning he’s like a sand bag, if his arm is over you while he sleeps your fighting demons trying to get him off and if he senses you’re moving his arm off you, he’ll plamp it back on you and somehow it’s heavier than last time

after you were done wrestling his arm for about 20 minutes you got up, took a shower and went to go make breakfast — but not any breakfast his favourite breakfast. you had the tendency to baby him after a panic attack — you both don’t know why but simon likes it, even though he pretends he doesn’t but we all know he does.

simon woke up to the smell of bacon and the sound of you singing to yourself. he got up dragged himself to the kitchen, he was rubbing his eyes and saw you dancing around in the kitchen, singing and waiting for the toast to pop up from the toaster. he literally felt like he was in a movie and this was the opening scene.

“whatcha makin?”

you jumped at the sound of his voice randomly behind you and you turned to see he was standing there. he chuckled at your getting startled and he went to sit at the table

“your favourite breakfast — also you gotta give a girl a warning!” you joked as you got the toast from the toaster and went to make his plate “how’d you sleep?”

“good — but you were wrestling my arm for 20 minutes”

“you were awake?!”

“yep — i gave you a hard time on purpose”

you stood there with your hand on your hip and one hand on the counter tapping it with your finger

“what? it’s funny” he said half laughing

“hmph — maybe you don’t get breakfast today” you said with a fake attitude

“that’s rude — i was shot… seven times”

“guilt tripping?”

“and it’s working”

you both stared at each other for a second before you laughed and gave him his plate

“dork, eat up and eat as much as you want — i made alot because i’m gonna have to go to the office today for some stuff and i’m not gonna be home until one.” you said grabbing your bag and putting your shoes on “if you need anything call me and i’ll change your bandages when i get back”

“you just changed them yesterday”

“simon, i changed them monday”

“what day is it today?”

“friday”

“ahh….”

you went over to give him a kiss on the cheek and you went off to the office. simon watched as you left and he got up to try and clean up a bit so you came home later to a clean house

in conclusion — he big boi and he loves you