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she-karev · 3 months ago

Text

Breakdown (Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev’s Sister PTSD Imagine)

Age Rating: 18+

Chapters: One of Two

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

Canon Episode: Season 17 Episode 10

TRIGGER WARNING: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Flashback, Nightmare, Depression

Mental Health Resources: https://www.ptsd.va.gov/, https://adaa.org/understanding-anxiety/posttraumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/resources, https://www.nami.org/, https://www.aacap.org/, https://www.dbsalliance.org/, https://afsp.org/

AN: Hey guys so I felt angsty and wanted to showcase doctors that suffered from PTSD during the pandemic. PTSD from this trauma is very real and it makes it clear that healthcare workers deserved better back then. So I wanted to show that with my main character, Amber Karev, who realistically would crumble at the pandemic and her relationship problems as well as her childhood trauma. I want to show that asking for help is nothing to be ashamed of, it’s okay not to be okay.

Summary: Amber has nightmares and flashbacks from being overwhelmed by the pandemic with her struggles being noted by her best friend, Jackson Avery, and her boyfriend, Andrew DeLuca, who try to help her. She makes a mistake that almost harmed a patient causing Jackson to step in and help. Later he tells her that she is slipping at work and tries to encourage her to get help but Amber refuses citing that she will get over it.

Words: 4724

“Push one of Epi!” Amber feels the ribs under her hands break as she applies CPR to her dying covid patient who is crashing. The exertion is making the resident breathe hard under her mask that feels hot against her mouth with the goggles around her eyes tight enough to leave bruises. Amber ignores her own feelings of being suffocated to focus on saving the elderly woman under her care.

“Epi is in.” Amber sees the monitor is still flatlining despite combined Epi and CPR. The sound is deafening to her as she has heard it for the last two months from her time in the covid ward. It is a ringing in her ears that is a constant reminder of the death and suffering that is spreading worldwide.

She looks back down at the patient who changed before her eyes. Instead of an old woman under her fist it is her oldest brother, Alex. The sight makes her want to stop but applying CPR is integrated in her and is instinct to never stop. She closes her eyes to shake the image away while pressing down his chest with all her might.

Amber opens her eyes to find Jackson Avery on the bed instead. The sound of the monitor flatline raises Amber’s heartrate as her breathing begins to thin feeling like the air is not getting in her lungs. Every blink she takes the person on the bed shifts to Jo, and then April, and then Carina and finally Andrew DeLuca who is still lying there no matter how much she blinks or closes her eyes.

Instead of the warm and lively man that she loves she sees a pale imitation that is cold to the touch. Amber stops breathing as she registers this before her hands stop compressions. She wants to keep going, make sure he’s alive but her shock is making her freeze in place.

It is like she is dying in that room along with Andrew except unlike him, her heart is beating in her chest like a jackrabbit. The pain in her chest feels like her heart is trying to beat out of her body. Normally she would react to this by clutching her chest by right now except her limbs feel like their made of concrete.

The only sound that is heard in this dimming patient room is the monitor flatlining. Amber can’t discern anything else except the flatline that starts to ring in her ears. She stands there frozen with the nurse not even lifting a finger to help Andrew who is dying in front of their eyes. Instead the nurse speaks to Amber in a neutral tone. The words from the nurse are muffled to Amber due to the ringing in her ears. However she can discern what the nurse is saying, even muffled these are words she has heard so many times it is every doctors unofficial mantra.

“Time of death…”

May 18th, 2020

Amber wakes up with a gasp desperate to breathe. Instead of the hospital she is in bed with Andrew beside her sleeping. She looks at him relieved to hear his light snoring that indicates it was a nightmare. Her heart is still beating fast, she rubs her own chest desperate for relief. Amber inhales deeply and exhales slowly until her chest soothes the constrictions that followed her from her dream.

Once her heart rate decreases to normal limits, Amber notices her shirt sticking to her chest and back. She swipes her forehead and feels a layer of sweat that is covering her entire body. Amber groans at this disgusting fluid before checking her phone to find that she only slept for three hours. After her back-to-back shifts yesterday, she tried to fall asleep but found it difficult to keep her eyes closed. Instead, she spent two hours tossing and turning until she finally felt tired.

Now she is fully awake again in the middle of the night because of another nightmare. For the past few weeks she has been plagued with dreams of being in the covid ward and losing a patient. This, however, was the first time her patients were her loved ones and it’s what made her decide that sleep will only make things worse, and she needs to keep busy, so her boyfriend doesn’t get concerned once again and watch her like she’s going to break like glass.

Ever since Andrew was discharged and she moved back into his apartment, Amber has tried her best to take care of him while he’s recovering. She helps him with wound care, PT, cook’s meals for him and makes sure he remembers to take his medication. All of this was relatively easy except for when she sleeps in the same bed as him.

The nightmares started the night she came home, and it’s gotten worse since. She has thrown herself into work and Andrew’s post op care to appear stable and active. However, he was quick to figure this out two weeks ago when a dream of her brother attacking her during his psychotic episode made her wake up screaming and he held her in his arms while she cried.

Every night since he begs her to go to sleep with the help of melatonin. Amber tries to lay by his side and sleep peacefully but the most she gets is four hours before a nightmare wakes her up in a pit of sweat and anxiety. Even when Andrew is lying down and holding her Amber does math in her head to stay awake until his breaths evened out and she could sit up without waking him.

Amber sighs at this lack of sleep but knows she’s not gonna go back down so she opts to go for a run before heading into work. She finds running in the park to be relaxing as it’s the one place besides home she can breathe without a mask. Amber grabs her workout clothes from the drawers and quickly changes inside the bathroom before exiting to put on her shoes.

The sound of the bathroom door closing wakes up Andrew in bed. He groans tiredly before sitting up waking up his dog Jazz as well who slept in bed with them again. Amber is in her workout clothes putting her hair up in a ponytail before sitting on the couch to put her running shoes on.

“Good morning.”

Amber responds numbly without looking up, “Morning, sorry to wake you I wanted to go out for a run before work.”

Andrew turns on his phone at his bedside table, “It’s 3:30 in the morning your shift doesn’t start for another 4 hours.”

“So?” Amber asks snappishly, “The hospital is too overrun, they need all the help they can get so I’m going in early.”

Andrew sighs at this rubbing his eyes, “You finished a double shift 6 hours ago, Did you have another nightmare?”

“God not this again.” Amber remarks annoyed, “Yes I slept, I had a great dream last night where my boyfriend wasn’t nagging me about my sleeping schedule any other questions or do you want to attach me to a lie detector test too?”

DeLuca sighs at this insult but keeps calm, “Amber I am not the bad guy here I am just trying to help that’s all. I know you’ve been through a lot and you work to numb the pain and I get that. I get it but there’s a limit to how many hours you pull before exhaustion gets to you even in the middle of a pandemic.”

Amber scoffs dismissively, “You know why don’t you tell that to the thousands of people that are dying in our hospital each day? Tell them a resident can’t work to save lives because she would rather lay back in bed and keep her boyfriend company, I’m sure they would understand.”

Andrew’s face falls at that but Amber is unmoved walking to the door, “I’ll see you at work.” The door slams closed with that statement causing Andrew to groan and collapse on the bed in frustration.

Four Hours Later

“MVC and abdominal pain coming in 2 minutes out.” Jackson announces at the ambulance bay where Amber is already gowned up and waiting, “I can page Parker if you want to nod off and drink this very expensive coffee I got you.”

Avery is carrying a cup of coffee that he hands out to Amber who rolls her eyes. She knows that her best friend is taking shifts when she does because he’s looking after her. Amber is annoyed at this overprotectiveness that has increased after Amber came back to work following Andrew’s attack. She finds people babysitting her to be insulting and degrading but takes the coffee as the caffeine calls to her.

“You’re lucky I like caffeine.” She sips the coffee that makes her gag, “What is that?”

“Vanilla brown sugar latte, it’s my favorite, it’s sweet.”

“It’s disgusting.” Amber throws the coffee away hurting Jackson, “How do you have a six-pack drinking that swill? And I don’t need to sleep I’m great so you can back off and go back to your pretty little plastics floor where nothing bad ever happens.”

“Wow and here I was hoping a good latte would make you less cranky.” Jackson teases before noticing his friend closing her eyes for a moment before opening them again and shaking her tired head causing him to worry, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I know what you’re doing.” Jackson raises an eyebrow confused, “You’re mothering me or babying me and it’s pissing me off.”

Jackson is startled by this outburst, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re a world class surgeon and you’re coincidentally working at the pit when I am, not to mention the covid ward, the check in desk, the testing tent, this is stalking.”

“Amber despite what your ego is telling you my entire world does not revolve around you.” Jackson states sternly, “Every world class surgeon in this building is going where they’re needed because specialties and surgeries are on pause. It’s not stalking it’s having our wires crossed, now are you gonna accuse me of boiling your bunny or are we gonna save lives?”

Amber turns to the ambulance coming in and rushes over with Jackson where the paramedics open the back door. There is a heavy-set black man on the gurney groaning in pain.

“What do we got?” Jackson asks the paramedic who explains.

“Paul Wilkins, 45-year-old male with new onset right side abdominal pain.” Amber helps Jackson wheel him inside the building, “No meds, no past medical history, allergic to Zofran.”

“Okay you got this Karev?” Jackson asks Amber.

“I’ll run tests and give him Phenergan for the nausea.”

Jackson pulls back, “Okay I’ll take the MVC page me if you-”

“I’m fine Dr. Avery.” Amber proclaims causing him to leave her with the patient and paramedic “Paul your our first patient today so you get the luxury package, bed 1.”

She and the paramedic lift the groaning patient on the bed before Vic Hughes and Travis Montgomery come in uniform wheeling a black woman who is on a gurney. Amber groans but approaches the firefighters ready to take in the new patient.

“What do we got?”

“Irene Davis, 35, complains of severe abdominal pain.” Vic outlines, “She has a history of MS and an Rx for steroids.”

“Any numbness or tremors on scene?”

“No, she didn’t show symptoms beyond the abdomen.” Travis answers, “Although she was complaining the whole ride over and insisted on not going to a hospital.”

“Because that worked out so well for my sister.” Irene bitterly states, “Came in for a hysterectomy and went out with terminal cancer.”

“I’m so sorry Irene but we need to check you out and make sure there’s nothing serious.” Amber points to a room, “Get her to trauma 1 and I’ll page general for a consult, is there anyone we can call for you? Family or friends?”

Irene chuckles, “That won’t be necessary, my brother-in-law works here, and he’ll come marching in when he gets whiff that I’m here.”

“That’s good.”

“You say that, but you’ve never met my brother.”

Amber chuckles lightly, “I have two brothers, so I share the feeling trust me. Okay get her inside and a doctor will be with you shortly.” The firefighters take Irene to trauma 1 leaving Amber to go to the station to page Jo. She is about to return to her patients when a familiar song stops her in place.

Avril Lavigne’s Complicated plays from the nurse’s phone while she is charting. Amber’s feet stop moving, they feel like cinderblocks stopping her in place with an unblinking catatonic face. When this song is recognized by Amber the next sound she hears is ringing in her ears and her surroundings are incoherent to her as her mind takes her to the moment she first listened to this song.

2002

A nine-year-old Amber Karev is sitting at the table of her house working on her homework. While she is writing her English paper, her CD player is attached to her headphones that she is wearing. The music blaring in her ears is Complicated by Avril Lavigne.

She is peacefully doing her schoolwork while her brother Alex is at college and her other brother Aaron is hanging out with his friends. A loud clank startles her causing her to remove her headphones and put them around the back of her neck.

“Why are you here?!” Amber can discern is as Helen having another episode making the young girl’s fear skyrocket, “Get out! Get out or I’ll kill you, I swear to God, I’ll kill you!”

The little girl quickly grabs the home phone before going inside a closet out of view from her frantic mother who keeps tearing the house apart. She crouches in a dark corner in the back of the small space before dialing Aaron’s number.

While she does this Helen grabs the pans and throws them around screaming nonsense just five feet from Amber who hopes her schizophrenic mother doesn’t open the door and try to kill her again. The phone against her ear is answered with her teenage brother on the other end.

“Hey kid what’s up?” Amber is too afraid to make a sound and give herself away so she holds the phone out to the door that is a weak barrier for their mothers frantic actions.

Helen is throwing cups out of the shelves, “Come out here now! Come out here so I can kill you!”

Amber holds the phone to her ear as her brother responds calmly but with a veil of panic, “All right I’m leaving right now, just stay in there, don’t open the door, and don’t make a sound. I’ll be there as soon as I can I promise.”

Her brother hangs up leaving Amber all alone in the closet where she follows his instructions and keeps quiet like her life depends on it. Even through the screaming and glass breaking the little Karev keeps herself curled up inside the closet while her life is in danger from the person who is supposed to protect it.

Present

“Amber.”

The resident snaps out of her flashback at the call of her name and turns to find it coming from Jackson who is tending to Paul Wilkins instead of her. He doesn’t look bothered however he looks worried for Amber. For a solid minute he saw her standing by the station frozen looking on like a statue. He called her out twice until she finally responded to his relief but his concern for her escalates after this catatonic episode.

Amber approaches them normal trying to ignore her flashback, “Did general come by?”

“Not yet. Trauma took my MVC to the OR so I’m stepping in.” Jackson answers before doing a physical test on the abdomen causing the patient to groan in pain, “I know it hurts but I’m almost done. We’re gonna do a CBC and kidney panel to see what the source is, it’s most likely anemia which is very treatable don’t worry. Karev, can you do the workup while I get a CT for bed 5? And make him more comfortable while the labs are running?”

“I got it thanks.” Jackson leaves her with a nurse. She quickly does the blood draw and helps him to the restroom where he pees in a cup for her. Amber hands the bag to an intern to hand to the labs. She yawns as her exhaustion starts to creep up on her but she persists and turns to the nurse while Paul is too busy curled up in bed holding his stomach that makes him groan in pain.

“Okay Taylor let’s give Mr. Wilkins something for the nausea while his blood work is being done.” She briefly closes her eyes while giving orders, “Give him 4 mg of Zofran and I’ll be back once the results are in. Page me if anything changes thanks.”

Amber walks away groaning tiredly as she heads to the trauma room to check on Irene. She is inside the hall when a realization stops her in place. Amber remembers the paramedic telling them that Mr. Wilkins is allergic to Zofran…the same medicine that she just prescribed for his nausea. Amber gasps at this before running out and bursting the doors open back to the pit. The PPE she is wearing doesn’t stop her from running at full speed back to bed 1 where the nurse is about to insert something into Paul Wilkins IV.

“Stop!” Taylor stops in place looking up at the panicking resident, “Taylor are you giving Mr. Wilkins-”

“Phenergan?” Amber turns to Jackson who stands six feet behind her looking at the nurse and patient calmly, “I told nurse Taylor we were out of Zofran and to use Phenergan instead. That’s what you were gonna say right? Before I came over.”

Amber pauses at that explanation before looking at Paul who is responding to the medication. She knows Jackson was with her when the paramedics told them about Paul’s allergy and as a result saved her from making a mistake that could have killed the patient. Amber swallows the lump in her throat before nodding and following his lead.

“Right, I was gonna say that.”

“…Right.” Jackson says coldly with a stern face that Amber discerns as disappointment. It makes her guilt grow and sees she’s not gonna get away Scot free from her friend. Amber leaves for her previous destination. Jackson sighs as he watches her walk away with his disappointment shifting to worry.

Later

Jackson is outside the ambulance bay leaning back against the building with his mask off breathing in the air he and everyone else has taken for granted. Normally it would be a hard day working in a pandemic that would warrant his brooding but now it’s added by his friends declining mental state.

Ever since Amber came back to work after Andrew’s attack, Jackson noticed that she was snapping at coworkers more, working at the covid ward beyond the limits for residents, easily startled by random events and dragging her feet at work that affects her performance. He keeps his distance because he was certain she was just reacting like a doctor working during covid. But after Paul Wilkins he knows now it’s more than that, he knows now that Amber is teetering at the edge and needs to be pulled back before she falls.

“Hey.” Amber appears six feet in front of him with her mask off and a remorseful expression.

“Hey.” Jackson keeps a blank face knowing he needs to be upfront with Amber and help her when she’s not helping herself, “We need to talk.”

Amber inhales looking down in shame, “I know I figured we would after what happened with Mr. Wilkins, what I did with Mr. Wilkins that was…that was unacceptable. I was there when the paramedics told me he was allergic to Zofran, and I prescribed it anyway. I came back from a double shift last night and I haven’t gotten sleep since. I’m tired and my mind is in a fog but that is no excuse I know that.” Jackson sighs at this with a stern look that effects Amber, “Are you angry?”

“I’m not angry.” Jackson says pulling himself off the wall to stand up right in front of Amber with arms crossed at his chest, “Truly I’m not, I was but now I’m worried about you.”

“And I appreciate that, and I so appreciate what you did for me this morning. You came through huge for me and if you hadn’t…” Amber’s face darkens at that scenario running through her head, “I would never have forgiven myself.”

“I know that.” Jackson says with a frown, “Why do you think I was keeping an eye on you all day?”

“Well lucky me that you decided to baby me today.” Amber half teases that Jackson doesn’t find amusing causing her to become serious again, “Jackson, you know me, you know I’m not that kind of doctor. I swear this is the first and last time something like this happens from me.”

“It’s not.” Jackson states making Amber look confused, “It’s not the first time this has happened. The reason you don’t know this is because I have been watching you closely and cleaning up your messes.”

Amber is taken back by this new information. For so long she has prided herself on her analytical skills and her ability to double-check her work. So, to hear her boss tell her that she has unknown skeletons in her closet makes her pause for a moment before prying for elaboration.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Jackson almost wants to stop; he almost wants to spare his friend the pain of finding out how she looks to others. But he knows he can’t watch her 24/7 and next time there won’t be an attending to stop her from making a fatal error like with Mr. Wilkins.

“Ever since DeLuca was discharged you haven’t been 100 percent at work.” Amber furrows her eyebrows in confusion, “You look exhausted, you’re dragging your feet. I chalked it up to exhaustion and taking care of DeLuca at home and burn out but then you started slipping at work.”

Amber scoffs at that, “When have I ever made mistakes like today? Tell me.”

“You want the list? I correct your EMR’s, put patient notes on the right charts, order rapid tests when you doze off.”

“Okay that’s just paperwork.” Amber defends herself, “That is not malpractice that’s normal. I mean you can’t tell me you didn’t make mistakes like that when you were a resident, and you weren’t in a pandemic then. I screw up some red tape once or twice big deal.”

“It happens all the time.” Jackson informs her in a low voice, so they don’t attract attention, “And it’s been getting worse. You prescribed Zofran you forgot a patient was allergic to after you had an episode and stared off into space for a minute. It was like your brain was somewhere else, like you were caught in a flashback.” Amber pales at that reminder causing Jackson to ask cautiously, “What did you see before you prescribed Mr. Wilkins the Zofran?”

Amber shakes her head not wanting to be pulled back into that dark hole, “I’m tired that’s it; it comes with the job I’ll get over it I always do.”

“Amber…” Jackson sighs gathering the courage to make his point to his friend looking at her in sympathy, “I think you need help; more help that any of us realize and I’m sorry for not seeing that until now, but I have and I’m here to tell you…you’re not okay.”

Amber shakes her head at that suggestion immediately as her face shifts to frustration, “I already have a live-in boyfriend pointing out all of my flaws I don’t need you doing it too.”

“Amber-”

“And you know what I am a big girl Jackson I don’t need an overpaid babysitter attached to my hip.” Amber snaps at Jackson who rubs his eyes as he knew this wasn’t gonna go smoothly, “I can take care of myself I have done it my whole life. I’m not some side piece for you to control like April and Maggie, my entire life doesn’t depend on your hero complex and another thing-”

“If I didn’t give half as much crap about you and babysit you a patient would be dead right now because your too exhausted to remember important medical information.” Jackson reminds her in a low harsh tone accompanied by a furious glare that appeared when Amber insulted April. This dark progression stops Amber’s rant, and she looks at her friend silently as he continues.

“I am trying to save you before you self-sabotage yourself until you get your license taken away. You and I both saw it with Jo when she came to work drunk and again with DeLuca when he became manic. It’s happening again only this time you’re the one who is getting worse, and I can’t stand by and watch you deny what is right in front of you and kill patients as a result. You would do the same for me and don’t even try to deny it.”

Amber is frozen by this for a moment before Jackson rubs his jaw and his fury shifts to concern and empathy, “I’m being your friend right now, I am helping you because you need it. You helped me when my mom was sick and when I was going through a question in faith and the universe. You were my ear and my shoulder to lean on so I am telling you I will return the favor. This pain you’re feeling you can’t keep it bottled up forever because eventually it’s gonna blow up and you won’t come back from it. I just…I just want you to tell me what you’re feeling so I can help you, please talk to me.”

Amber looks taken back by this heartwarming confession. Her best friend had been there for her time and time again whether it’s relationship or professional problems. Even when she was mad at him for leaving unexpectedly, she knew he would be in her corner. And she knows he wants to hear her honest response to his offer.

Amber inhales deeply taking a moment to gather her thoughts, “I feel…I feel off.”

Jackson looks at her in sympathy over this morose statement as she continues, “One minute I feel like there’s no hope left, no love, no happiness just…nothing. And then the next minute I feel like screaming at the world and never stopping. Even when my boyfriend makes me a gourmet dinner it’s like ash in my mouth. I get mad at him for every little thing, it’s like I live on anger because there’s no hope left. It-It’s like I hate everything and everyone until I hit a wall, and I don’t feel hate or anything at all. I can’t sleep at night because I always have nightmares that feel so real I am afraid I’ll never wake up. It feels like…it feels like all of the worst feelings of everyone in the world has somehow entered my body and I can’t get it out.”

Jackson sighs at this feeling sad for his friend who has so much more turmoil than he even realized. It’s taking everything in him not to break protocol and hug her. She looks broken and small like a lost child and for the first time he can see her walls breaking down and her true feelings coming out.

Amber inhales to regain her composure and barriers, “But I’ll get over it and deal with it my own way that includes working.”

Jackson frowns at this while Amber puts her mask on, “I gotta get back in there, excuse me.”

Amber goes back inside without objection from her friend who looks grim at this confession. He knew she was in rough shape but not to this extent. He wants to help but he doesn’t know how to help with this. Instead, he stands there feeling just as hopeless as Amber just told him she feels.

Next Chapter Here

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sirthisisa-wendys · 2 years ago

Note

I’m the one who asked about the flashback for Ran! Just sending it back as you asked :) I’m so excited to see what you came up with, I was racking my brain for something and I couldn’t come up with an exact scenario. I just love the way you write his raw emotions and how much he loves the reader, and is tortured by what happened to her, and them suffering through the aftermath even though Mikey’s gone.

I actually found a plot point I missed when reviewing the old parts of the story! FLASHBACK FLASH BACK (you'll get another "flashback" after this one that rounds them out. I'm taking this concept and running with it.)

Hand Her Over (Part 7 - A FLASHBACK): Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

wc: calculating...

tw: flashback, angst, drinking

masterlis

Hand Her Over Megapost

The cap to the wine bottle comes undone with a loud pop. Ran tilts the glass just so, intent on catching every single drop left in the almost empty bottle. He's not sure when he started drinking again, but on nights like these, he doesn't give a shit.

No, he knows when he started drinking again. He remembers the exact moment the bottle reappeared in the fridge. That morning, he found you standing in the front yard, letting the freezing breeze and snow into the foyer.

"Sleepwalking," Ran had said at the time, excusing your behavior as a machination of your nightmares. He wasn't sure how long you'd been out there or how many times you'd done something like this. But it startled the shit out of him so bad he had to drink to ease his nerves.

Ran waits for some semblance of the dulling effect to take over. He needed to forget how you stood there, feet covered in snow, cheeks flushed bright red, and shivering. You'd been so cold and--

Ran's grip on the bottle falters. He watches in slow motion as the bottle crashes to the floor, resulting in shards of glass skittering about the wine-slicked tile. Ran feels his head loll, and he stares at the mess, wondering how he'd pick it up now. His feet are bare, too.

You come ambling toward the kitchen moments later, your eyes taking in the scene with alarm. But you don't say anything. Well, save a soft "ow".

"Shit," Ran bites out, finally reacting to the scene, spurred into action due to your injury.

And that's how things started, isn't it?

He knew Mikey was no good. He knew things had gone too far. He knew... he fucking knew and yet... He hadn't done shit about it until you'd gotten hurt.

"Piece of glass in your foot?" Ran wonders, still stuck to his stance in the middle of it. You nod. Ran picks his way around the mess, narrowly avoiding a shard himself, and scoops you into his arms. His senses are slowly dulling, but he had enough time to get you some help before he crashed.

The trip to the bedroom is short, and Ran sits you on the bed, whispering, "Don't move." You don't, and he pads toward the bathroom where the first aid kit awaits him. As he rifles through the box, memories come back to him of you doing the same thing: patching up his scrapes, putting ice packs on his bruises, disinfecting the scabs and gross knife cuts...

When had he ever done that for you?

Never.

He reappears with tweezers and a few large band aids, placing them on the floor before sitting down. He spots the offender almost instantly, though it's not large. Ran takes the tweezers and gently pulls the shard free without much difficulty. You whimper in pain, but it's momentary. Fingers work at patching your wound up with two band-aids and then Ran pats your leg with as much affection as he can muster.

"All better." The statement is punctuated with a gentle kiss against your ankle, and when he rises, he sees the fat tears that have rolled down your face. You wipe them away just as Ran feels the effects of the wine take hold. Things are a little hazy, but he has just enough strength to put you back in bed comfortably.

"I'm going to pay for this for the rest of my life, aren't I?" he whispers to no one, his mind rolling with scenarios as he stumbles into the recliner nearby.

The world is swimming but Ran grips the edges of the recliner before easing himself into it while gritting his teeth. All of his life he'd been the one to watch as someone else handled the messes, handled the delinquents, handled the repercussions of his own actions. Hell, until he raised his gun and fired six bullets into Mikey's chest, he hadn't handled shit for himself. Not really.

Bonten's undoing came as quickly as Ran had told Mikey to fuck himself, to which Mikey's haunted face replied, "You wife would know something about that, wouldn't she?"

The squeezing in Ran's chest started just as soon as he pulled the trigger, clickclickclickclick-ing until the gun itself was empty, and then some more for good measure. By the time Rindou had found him slumped against the desk beside a very dead Mikey, Ran had fired seven blanks and sixteen shots.

Money had changed hands, faces disappeared, people forgot who they were and where they lived and who Ran was, the news ran only one cycle talking about Mikey's death. The rest had been lost to time. And yet, here he is, sitting and stuck in that same spiral he'd allowed himself to get stuck in.

All for you.

Ran's eyes slide to his prize, your face turned towards him and eyes blinking in the dim light of the bedroom. "Hey," he whispers softly, trying for a gentle smile. "I'm alright. Get some sleep." You continue to stare at him and Ran knows instinctively that he's drunker than he ought to be.

"I'll get off the bottle soon," he murmurs, looking away in shame. "Promise."

You turn over to the other side and sigh but Ran can't bring himself to promise you anything else. He'd already brought so much pain into your life, and here he was, doing it again.

The image of you standing in front yard catches him off guard again. Maybe you were trying to get away from him. You'd walked so far--

Ran looks back over at you and feels the black hole in his chest yawn. It stings. The thought of you trying to escape from him burns like hell and he can't--

Ran stifles a gasp for air.

He can't bear the thought of you trying to leave. You had every right - you really did - to run away and find someone who would make you happy. He wouldn't blame you if you did want a divorce and wanted to leave his name. He killed for you, but that meant nothing in the face of your happiness.

It meant--

Ran's mind slips.

He'd count it all up to his payment for so many years of shit and terror and chaos. Surely--

The black hole opens a little wider and the world tilts.

You would be happy.

Ran grips the chair with both of his arms, hearing Mikey's voice in his ears.

"But you don't really love her, do you?"

I do, he wants to shout back at the ghost, challenging it.

The wine... it's the wine that's addling his mind. He's not normally like this - not so insecure, not so needy, but--

She'd be better off without you.

Ran jolts up and hurries out of the bedroom, running his hands through his hair and feeling the panic rush through his veins. There's only one way, one way to alleviate this.

This crushing guilt, the shame, the damn agony he feels at having to do all of this over and over and over again. Reliving his worst nightmare is like driving a stake through his skull, and he can't fucking take it anymore.

The front door swings wide and Ran bursts through it, his body propelling him to run. The urge rages through him, and his breath comes out in bursts of white air. If he had asthma like Rindou, he'd already be winded, but he's got tears freezing against his cheeks, the wind biting at his skin, and--

Ran comes to a stop at the end of the street.

What the hell is he doing?

He bends over, trying to catch his breath, and sees himself through his neighbor's eyes. Here is Ran Haitani, in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, running in the dead of winter with no shoes on. And he laughs.

Ran laughs and laughs and laughs.

He laughs so hard he has to sit down in the snow and hold his sides like a maniac.

Suddenly, he understands Sanzu. He understands the way he copes with things. He can't run; not now. Not when you're at home, needing protection. Ran ambles back up the driveway, still chuckling to himself out of disappointment more than humor.

He couldn't even outrun his own problems. A shame, he thinks, shutting the front door and latching it. What a shame I've turned out to be.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #ran haitani #ran haitani x reader

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ejzah · 7 months ago

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A/N: A random little dive into Deeks’ thoughts as he returned to NCIS in season five and tried to pull himself together. I’m not quite sure this is as cohesive as I’d like.

***

Survivor

Deeks had told Nate he wasn’t sure why being tortured by Sidorov sent him into such a spiral. Why he suffered from nightmares, flashbacks, and insomnia from this incident and not another. With a bit more distance, he knows the answer.

He’s been battling traumatic events his whole life. From his dad beating him and his mom, to shooting Gordon in self defense, to dozens of near misses in the undercover unit, it makes sense that his mind finally gave in.

He remembers when he was eleven and at one of his mandatory counseling sessions. His therapist, a nice enough woman who in retrospect seemed a little too emotionally effected by his story, told him how brave and strong he was. At the time he’d wanted to tell her that he didn’t feel brave, or strong, or dangerous, or any of the attributes people had applied to him in the weeks since he shot his dad.

He’d felt scared. Guilty. Angry at times.

Over the years, he’s gone to therapy more times that he can recall, but it’s never really worked. You had to have trust for that to happen. Even with Nate, he knew his deepest fears and revelations would likely be reported back to Hetty.

So yeah, it was only a matter of time before the cumulative trauma broke him. He’s actually a little surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

His return to NCIS post surprise dental work and the subsequent summer spent piecing himself back together has been uncertain at best. Callen watches him to see if he’s going to freeze and mess up. Kensi watches with thinly veiled concern, hyper-attuned to every little change and new quirk, every potential sign of PTSD. In a way, he’s grateful that he finally has people concerned about him, even if it goes back to his ability to shoot a gun and root out bad guys.

For the first few weeks back, every morning is a fight to get up and go back to the place that caused the most recent pain instead of crawling into bed and shutting out the world. He forces himself to play the clown as expected, threaten when needed, shoot that damn gun again. He does it every day, and eventually it becomes more natural again. Because fighting back is all he’s ever known.

Sam tells him he’s never met anyone stronger than Deeks. He shot his dad to save his mom. He endured torture to save Michelle. Because he’s a survivor.

He’s not brave, he’s not strong. He just survives.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #angst #season 5 #Deeks deserves all the hugs #ejzah fanfiction

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mrleomonade · 2 years ago

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Thinking about making a Percy Jackson Fanfic where I just write all the solangelo whump and angst I think ab 🤔🤔

Pls like this list if you like any of these ideas so I know if anyone would be interested!!

Mainly Will Whump bc I don’t see that enough but here’s what I’m thinking of:

Sensory overload Will with Nico there to comfort him

Will using the supersonic whistle and accidentally hurting himself, Nico helps him

Will overworks himself and gets very sick out of nowhere, Nico nurses him back to health

Will has a seizure

Nico can shadow travel, and Will discovers he can light travel in a panicked moment and it takes so much out of him and leaves him very messed up, Nico cares for him and comforts him after

Will refuses anything is wrong with him mentally, because he needs to be seen as strong to be a successful head medic, but then has a flashback of the battle of manhattan and convinces himself everyone around him is a monster and almost hurts Nico

Solangelo cuddle session where Nico discovers some scars and asks about them, Will finally opens up about the dark parts of his past

Will has a severe asthma attack

Nico helping will set his broken bone

Will has a horrible nightmare and seeks Nico out way past curfew to get comfort

Injured Will, who got injured protecting Nico from a freak attack at camp, so hurt and delirious from blood loss that he doesn’t even recognize Nico and Nico has to be taken away by other Apollo cabin members so they can work

Will has chronic pain from a previous injury that he’s never mentioned to Nico, but he can’t hide it anymore during a really bad flare up

Will suffering from borderline frostbite after passing out during the winter from lack of exposure to the sun

Something bad happened to the Apollo cabin and Will has been strong for too long and breaks when Nico asks how he has been doing, because he’s so drained that he just holds onto Nico and doesn’t let go and it’s the only way Will feels safe in the moment, evolved into a panic attack

Will acting as the camp therapist while working in the infirmary and getting triggered when someone tells him something while he’s off work, he ends up freezing and breaking down, only Nico is able to calm him down

Will and Nico fight, and Nico gets so angry he starts grabbing Will, shoving him, yelling at him, and it’s only after a moment of silence for Nico to catch and calm himself he realizes Will’s eyes are glazed over and he’s only half hiding his sobs

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soullikethesea · 5 months ago

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Tw: mention of suicidal ideation

Feeling a bit melancholic. There is so much good around me and yet I find it so hard to be happy. **spoiled whining below**

It's a weird kind of flashback-like thing that's happening. Things felt disconnected with the friend who came to stay over and it was nice, but sometimes it just also felt really sad or annoying. Which makes something in me freak out, and then I feel like I should just end my life because I can't do normal people things and the loneliness will probably always be there.

It's very much black and white thinking.

I think my lack of happiness is also annoying to other people. I totally get that. It's just a bit unfair, I think, if I'd have to mask it further away than I already do automatically.

And this makes me feel spoiled as well... and it's also tied up with that feeling around people thinking I'm younger than I am. Like I'm inadequate and small and lost. Like I'm freezing in place and it makes people think that I can't do things or am not worth respecting.

I've been reading/watching more stories lately and I feel really drawn to the ones about witches and vampires - where they have to hide who they are and that is the central theme. I feel like I have to hide who I am, because I am simultaneously too much and not good enough.

Even though I turn 30 next year, it will probably take 10 more years before I'll actually look 30. And some people would see this as a blessing and laugh about it. It's just, it pairs with not receiving respect. It sucks that most advice to look older is "be very comfortable in your own skin and with taking up space". Great. The other advice is to dress up more, which clashes with Fox and Mae's wishes to be quite androgynous. Lucas is fine with it, which is interesting to me. He said: "I think wearing a skirt could be elegant and masculine, even though others may not perceive it that way."

At some point I showed my friend my full-make up face and asked if it helped, but he couldn't see a difference between that and my normal face. -_-" (Trust me, there is a difference). Putting on very bold make-up is not exactly helpful, I think. But apparently I need to go bolder - or it's really just hopeless. My face just looks so young & I'm short, athletic and androgynous, so my body looks that way too. I also need a lot of sleep every night and enjoy eating healthy foods. Never really smoked or drank, avoid the sun because it's sensory hell. And my mother and grandmother also always looked young, so it's definitely also genes.

One of those situations where I should just say fuck it, and not care so much. Enjoy the good things that are there. "Ring the bells that still can ring, there is a crack in every thing..."

I also contacted my old T and we'll meet up sometime in September. I'm not sure why I asked for that. Maybe it was just to test whether her promise that I could always come over for tea was an actual promise.

Current T made me think of her when she commented last time that when I write her emails, they are "fascinating" to read. (Gross). She said that when you are further removed from the pain and suffering - it gets fascinating. My old T also used to say things like that. It's weird to me. Current T said that it's also about *how* I write, that the style is very pleasant to read. Which makes it perhaps even weirder?

But that is somehow connected to this flashback with the suicidal ideation - one of the wishes has always been to write or draw a book (before being gone from this Earth). So strange how it's all connected in a weird web.

#i hope to feel different soon #and I'm fine #and not-fine at the same time

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jaeyleo · 1 year ago

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LOCKS OR KEYS: PART 8

YOU CHOSE: OPEN THE DOORS- CONTINUE WITH CHASE.

Your decisions allow buried memories to resurface. This is overwhelming for your character, and his mind suffers from the weight of it all.

cws: flashbacks, dehumanization, non human whumper, whumper is also caretaker, electric shock, force feeding, eye trauma, mentions of a seizure, sick whumpee, mentions of hypnosis. lmk if i should add more!

. . .

Screaming, screaming, screaming.

Chase's head feels like it could explode. Too many sounds, too many colors, too many voices and commands and knives and soft touches and- and-

Pseudo hushes him, raking fingers through the puppet's hair. "Pink, dolly, take a deep breath."

But Pink isn't there. Chase falls into the hands of his monster, and finds himself in a new place. Somewhere deep inside his head.

. . .

Cellar.

"Please, p- please!! I can't do it, please!"

"Shhh. It's just a pop quiz, Pink. You'll do just fine."

Chase's arms are chained behind him, with ankles cuffed to both legs of the chair. Hot tears pour down his cheeks, soaking into clothes that are already soaked with blood. He shivers, freezing in the cellar air, terrified of what he sees in front of him.

Just a few feet away, Pseudo holds a stun gun. He sits in a foldable chair, relaxed and comfortable in his position of power here. He owns Pink, and that's a wonderful feeling.

"Tell me your name," he says.

"Pink!" Chase doesn't hesitate in saying it. He may as well be saying please. "It's Pink, Pink, I'm P- Pink!"

"Good," Pseudo praises. "Now tell me your age."

"T- twenty seven..!"

"Mhm. And how about-" Pseudo covers his eyes with his free hand, "the color of my eyes?"

"Brown!"

"Very good!"

Pseudo returns to his original position, with both hands placed leisurely on the stun gun.

"Now, last question, dolly. If you get it right, I'll put this away, hm?"

Chase nods, eager and afraid in the same shaking breath.

"What time is it?"

The puppet freezes. There are no clocks and no windows to tell the time in here. He wasn't told when they got down here, and he wouldn't know how much has passed. It all feels like an eternity of pain and blood.

He trembles, searching his mind for answers. What time was breakfast? How long did it take to clean the kitchen? When was lunch? How long did washing the sheets take? It isn't dinner time yet, is it??

"N- nn-" Chase begins to panic. His breath halts in his chest and he has to shake the terror off himself, like a puppy emerging from falling into a swimming pool.

"Can I have a h- hint??"

Pseudo sighhhhhss, lulling his head to the left, the right, the left, up straight again..

"Mmm.... it was about 4:30 when we came down here."

"A- and how long have we been down here??"

Pseudo chuckles at him, his stupid doll. "That's not a hint, dolly, that's just the answer."

A breath escapes the puppet's mouth. "R- right," he says, defeated. "Okay..."

Think, think, think.

He rocks back and forth, clawing at his mind to provide the answer. How long has it been? How long does it feel like? What time is it? What time is it? What time is it?????

"Um, u- um..."

"Come now, Pink. We don't have all evening."

A soft sob bubbles out from his neck. There's no way he's getting this right.

"Is- i- is it... i- is it um.... s- six- no, no, seven, is it seven?"

"Let's see.."

Pseudo pulls his phone out from his pocket, and flips it open.

He stares at the clock, and Chase stares at his monster. Pseudo lets the tension hang in the air, drinking in the sounds of his puppet's pounding heart.

"Is it seven??? I- hh??"

The monster shuts the phone with a click, and places it back inside his pocket.

"Six fifty- three."

He raises the gun, pointing at Chase's shoulder.

"N- no, no!! No!! I was so close, please!! Please Pseudo!! Plea--!"

Chase's words are cut short. He wails, tensing and then falling limp as the pain takes over his entire body.

. . .

Kitchen.

"Open up."

Chase's mouth stays glued shut. Each hand curls a fist into his sweatpants, a desperate attempt at keeping them down. Any minute now, he swears, he's going to take that stupid spoon and shove it down Pseudo's throat.

In his reply, Chase only shakes his head.

"Oh, come now, don't be difficult. You haven't eaten since yesterday."

When he speaks, Chase keeps his teeth clamped together. "I'll eat if I can feed myself."

"Nooo, you'll eat if I tell you to. Now open up.."

He presents the spoon to Chase's mouth, gently tapping the food against his bottom lip. The puppet finally accepts, opens his jaw, and spits it in the monster's face.

For a moment, they only look at eachother. Chase knows what he did is bad. He knows he'll be punished, but he doesn't care. He's going to be hurt anyway, right?

Still, this hurt could've been avoided.

Pseudo's hand comes around to slap the toy hard across the face. It's enough to almost send him reeling out of the chair, gripping onto the table and stomping the floor as not to go flying to the ground. Before he can bring his own hands to cup the sting across his cheek, Pseudo grabs the collar of his shirt, and yanks him to the floor.

Chase yelps, losing his breath as Pseudo climbs on top to straddle him. He hunches over the doll like an animal, a feral spark running around inside his pupils. Chase feels so small beneath him, like a worm under a bird's claw, ready to be swallowed whole.

The spoon comes to meet Chase's lower eyelid, still hot from the food that was so rudely spat back out. Pseudo presses the spoon down, ever so slightly, and Chase feels his eye shift in its socket.

"Do you need to learn your table manners again, pet?"

The puppet's hands clamp around his monster's wrist. "Get off!!"

Pseudo does not relent. He presses the spoon down further, causing the puppet to start seeing double, triple, a black spot where his eye contacts the top of the socket.

"You should answer me, you know. I could do some terrible things to you."

He presses further, and Chase digs his nails into Pseudo's skin. He feels as though his eye could pop right out of his head.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!"

"That isn't an answer."

More pressure. More pain. Chase feels air in places he shouldn't.

"Ah! No!!! Nono I don't, I don't, I'm sorry!"

"You don't what, Pink? Show me you understand."

"I--!" Pink digs his nails deeper into his monster's wrist. "I don't-- I don't need to learn table manners, I'm sorry! Nh- please!"

"Good," Pseudo croons, and slowly, slowly, releases the pressure on his puppet's eye. He lets a few moments pass before reaching a hand to caress Pink's face, thumb stroking gentle across the cheekbone that was hit. The doll shrinks away, closing his eyes.

"I want you to prove it, now, Pink. Otherwise..." the spoon draws a line, following the curve of Chase's eye socket. He speaks soft, higher pitched, like talking to a child. A puppy, a worm under his claw. "Do you understand?"

"Y- yes, Pseudo.."

"Good.."

Pseudo moves off, and Chase climbs back in his chair. He holds his eye and stinging cheek in his hand before Pseudo swats it away, reminding him table manners include no hands above the waist.

Pseudo sets himself down, too, and presents the food to Chase's mouth once more.

"Open up."

Chase opens his mouth. Food is placed inside, but he doesn't chew.

"....Eat."

The puppet obeys, avoiding his monster's eyes throughout the rest of the meal.

. . .

Home.

The house is happy.

Chase cradles his daughter on the couch, running soft hands through waving blond hair. A cartoon drones on in the background, capturing the little girl's attention completely.

She giggles at the characters, and Chase's heart swells with love.

"They're silly," she comments, turning her head to her father. A wide smile takes her face over, with one missing tooth to top it off.

"Yeah, they are silly, aren't they?"

He smiles down at her, and plants a kiss on her forehead. A small hand reaches up to tap the end of his nose.

Chase smiles wider. He is so full of love he can barely stand it.

. . .

Somewhere in Denmark.

Somewhere far away. Somewhere, where old love and safety and sanity aren't a guarantee. Somewhere deep inside his head, Chase is pulled up, up into reality.

He feels like he's trapped underwater, and Pseudo is the one to drag him out. Up, up, up, through swamps and moss and dirt, through water that's thick as clotted blood. His eyes droop, his bones fall limp, Chase cannot breathe with the pressure in his chest. The water tastes of soap, and a sourness that makes his teeth chatter.

He wants to sink again, into memories good and bad. Wants to be anywhere but here. Anywhere, somewhere, somewhere deep inside his head.

Chase groans, a migraine holding him hostage. The lights are too bright, even behind closed eyelids. His blanket is so warm. Is he comfortable? Too tired to tell.

He opens his lazy eyes, seeing his small attic room surround him. He feels sick. Horrible. Tears wet his eyes but he doesn't remember why.

Beside him, Pseudo watches him rest. The puppet startles when he sees his monster, and he tries desperately to sit up. He can only claw the sheets.

Pseudo tilts his head as the puppet shoves himself into the wall. The blanket provides a shield of false protection, and he holds on as if life depends on it.

"You had some scary nightmares, huh?"

Chase only stares.

"Mh. Well, you slept for a while. You even had a seizure."

The puppet's brows furrow. "Really?" he croaks.

"Mhm. Does your head hurt?"

Chase nods. Pseudo reaches out his hand, slow and steady. Even so, the puppet shrinks away, closing his eyes as if expecting to be slapped or clawed or scratched.

But the monster is gentle, brushing away pink hair to feel the doll's forehead. The coolness of his hand is comforting. Chase can't help but relax a little in his touch.

"You still have a fever..." Pseudo runs his hand over the puppet's hair, petting softly. "... Are you hungry?"

"No.."

"Liar."

"I don't wanna eat."

"It'll make you feel better."

"Will it?"

Pseudo gives a soft smile. He helps the doll sit up, gently hushing him as he whimpers and whines about his head swimming, his muscles hurting, ow, Pseudo, please-

"Shhhhh. It's okay, Pink.."

On the end table, a bowl of warm soup waits to be eaten. The monster takes a spoonful, blows, and presents it to Chase's hesitant mouth.

"Come now... eat. You'll feel better."

The puppet frowns, and accepts. Bite after bite, it feels warm and heavy in his stomach, warm and heavy and delicious. Pseudo was right. He does feel better.

They wash it down with cool water, and Chase breathes a sigh of relief at the taste. He may still feel sick and afraid, but he's not thirsty, not hungry, and not cold, and that's more than enough right now.

Pseudo pushes the empty dishes aside, and returns his hands to playing with Pink's hair. The puppet sinks into the feeling, sleepiness pulling down his weight. He feels comfortable. Sick, but comfortable.

"You've been anxious lately," Pseudo says gently. "You're trying to get back into a headspace that's not good for you."

Chase opens his eyes.

"I hate to see you suffer like that, Pink. It breaks my heart."

"I don't wanna be your toy.."

Pseudo sighs, stroking the doll's cheek with his thumb. Sweet thing.

"I need to run to the store again. I forgot my sugar."

"I- I can't, I don't wanna-"

"No, shhh. You're staying in bed."

Chase relaxes again, falling victim to the gentle touches of his monster.

"Can I trust you to rest?"

The puppet nods. He's too sick to get up anyway. Everything hurts, especially his head.

"Good doll.. I'll be back soon."

He plants one gentle kiss on Chase's forehead, and leaves him to rest alone.

. . .

As the minutes pass, the puppet finds himself unable to sleep. His head hurts, his body aches, oh, God, he feels horrible. He almost wishes Pseudo hypnotized him before he left.

While he lays there, Chase begins to wonder. He heard the door close, but no keys, and no starting car. It's no secret that Pseudo can travel long distances without transport, as part of his magic allows him to do so. Could he have left the car keys?

"No, no, don't think like that," Chase says allowed. He runs his hands over his face, and tries to get comfortable again. But the thought plagues him.

Did he leave the car keys?

Even if he won't escape, he could still check, right? Then at least he knows, and he can get some sleep. Yes, yes, he'll just check and see..

Chase drags himself up, groaning as a dizziness swirls the entire room around. A chill takes over him as well, and he reaches for the smaller blanket on the bed to wrap around his shoulders. God, he feels like shit.

Eventually he makes his way out of his room, leaning against walls and railings as not to go tumbling to the ground. Walking is a chore, and his feet ache with every step. Pins and needles climb up his legs like leeches, and he finds himself in pain with every. Single. Step.

Down the stairs, into the living room.

The car keys hang on the wall by door.

Chase freezes. He can only stare.

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lupaeusmoved · 9 months ago

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headcanon : the basement / ptsd . ( @razorfst exclusive verse i . )

for the first few days she fought . by a few weeks in , her stamina began to fade . by a few months , she was in a state of active , constant panic each minute of the day . by month fourteen in the basement , emma had pretty much given up all hope of ever seeing the light of day again . she was a hollow shell , constantly drugged with wolfsbane and mistletoe , half starved , used repeatedly ( up to fifty times a day on the worst of them ) and rinsed off haphazardly with a freezing , high pressure hose before being left to rot in a dark room . by month twenty six she was all but dead inside .

when andrei found her emma was emaciated ; even her lycan body could only do so much to heal with the poisonous plants running through her bloodstream . she was terrified of human touch , jumpy around people in general - particularly men - and praying for the release of eternal sleep . she was half conscious when he picked her up ; she jumped , she trembled . . . and then she threw her arms around him and allowed him to carry her out of there . because even then she knew that after all this time , he was going to be her salvation .

falling in love with him came hand in hand with her recovery . for a while , andrei was the only person on earth who could touch her without triggering a full blown panic attack . she'd wake him up with nightmares , pulling his attention from down the hall with the volume of her cries . each time she'd apologize , curl in close to him , and breathe through the flashbacks until he'd grounded her enough to fall asleep . as they grew closer , as they developed a connection deeper than savior and saved , she finally began to open up :

since her teen years , emma has fought to prove herself at every turn . she's pushed to make herself heard and rise above any challenge that comes her way . and if she couldn't , then her pack would step in and boost her up until she could . but when she was taken , veins injected with mistletoe and scent masked to pull her from the street in the night , she simply wasn't strong enough . her abilities were muted from the moment the needle entered her skin , several men restraining her as she'd thrashed and growled and her irises glowed blue . at first she thought they were hunters , come to make an example of her for the other wolves in beacon hills . but in reality , it was so much worse than that .

she hates herself for that ; hates herself for not being strong enough to prevent this from happening . she hates her wolf for not being strong enough . when the flashbacks come , the first thought is always : i should have fought harder . all her life , her biggest fear has been being perceived as weak , as vulnerable , as less than . and for two years and two months , she was made to be all three over and over and over and over . for two years she had the worst beliefs about herself drilled into her head every second of every day until she no longer recognized who she was or what she could be . she was made into an object , cursed to be trapped in a time loop of her own waking hell .

it is only with andrei's guidance , love , and care that emma finally begins to move past her trauma . he allows her to talk through it , holds her when it becomes too much to bear , and never has a judgmental word to say about any of it . he respects her mind and body , cherishing rather than abusing her . he makes her feel safe enough to begin to open up to her family and to her friends . and when they marry and have their own children , he eases her mind every single time that she questions whether or not she deserves it . there are still lingering affects of the pain and suffering inflicted upon her , but it is only with him by her side that emma is once again whole .

#tw ; sa mention #{ lol lol lol lol }#{ this wasn't supposed to be this long but here we are }#{ anyway he's her literal soulmate and the love of her life and in this essay i DID - }#୧ ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ › razorfst › ⌗ emma and andrei .#୧ ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ the intersection got a target and they’re calling it downtown ⌗ headcanon .

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druidshollow · 1 year ago

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does phrases realize they’re losing water? how fast is the freeze? does rivers realize? is the collapse the first time it clicks for rivers?

rivers has already been collapsed for a long, long time before phrases begins to succumb to the cold. yes they realize it, i imagine it is quite painful. its basically the same experience as moons collapse, and she expresses it was painful so oopsieeee

i havent thought about how long! moon refers to being without water for "a cycle" as a very serious thing so it mustve been pretty quick all things considered

rivers loses most of his power through sibling intervention and loses control of the consuming monsters he was growing in his structure (his siblings didnt know they were there oops but they also didnt really check tbf). they all get loose and tear shit up in his insides. they mess up one of his legs and he falls and basically stays conscious as long as his messed up structure stays warm. when he collapses the glacier below him shatters and massive spires of ice stab up through his superstructure, rendering him half conscious and very unaware unfortunately. but hes not suffering anymore and i think he stops having his flashbacks to flowers and is able to finally forget about him and move on in a sense

#oc posting #main story

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stanislawkowalski · 6 months ago

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PTSD.

Nastka, a formidable mafia leader, is a man feared by many but known intimately by few. Behind his steely demeanour and ruthless efficiency lies a deeply scarred psyche, haunted by the ghosts of a violent past. Nastka suffers from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), a condition that relentlessly gnaws at the edges of his sanity, even as he maintains an iron grip over his criminal empire.

The Triggers

Nastka's PTSD is most acute when he is alone, away from the distractions of his criminal operations. These moments of solitude often trigger vivid flashbacks, transporting him back to the darkest chapters of his life.

Late-Night Inspections: Nastka is known for his nightly rounds, inspecting his territories under the cover of darkness. These walks, while a demonstration of his control, often leave him vulnerable to the memories he tries to suppress. One night, while walking through a deserted alleyway, he is suddenly overwhelmed by a flashback of the attempted assassination. The sound of a distant gunshot in the real world blends with the memory, causing him to freeze. His vision blurs as he is momentarily transported back to that fateful night, seeing his own terrified eyes and feeling the coldness of the gun. He grips the wall for support, struggling to pull himself out of the past and back into the present.

Solitude in the Study: Nastka often retreats to his private study, a room lined with old books and relics from his past. Here, the silence is almost deafening, amplifying the echoes of his memories. On one occasion, as he sits alone, staring at a photograph of his younger self, a memory surfaces—one of the first men he ever killed. The blood on his hands, the dying man’s gurgled last breaths, and the look of betrayal in his eyes haunt Nastka. He suddenly feels the weight of the gun in his hand, though it’s long gone, and the room begins to spin. His heart races, and he struggles to breathe, gripping the edge of his desk until his knuckles turn white.

Nightmares: Sleep offers no respite for Nastka. His dreams are often invaded by nightmarish scenes that leave him waking in a cold sweat. One recurring nightmare involves a scenario where he is back in the abandoned warehouse where he was once tortured by a rival gang. In his dreams, he relives the suffocating feeling of being bound, the sharp pain of every strike, and the helplessness of knowing no one would come to save him. The phantom pain lingers even after he wakes, leaving him on edge for hours, sometimes days.

Coping Mechanisms

Despite the severity of his PTSD, Nastka refuses to show weakness to anyone, even his closest confidants. He copes by immersing himself in his work, drowning out the memories with the noise of his operations. However, the more he tries to control his environment, the more his past seems to claw its way back into his mind.

Nastka's PTSD is a constant reminder that no matter how powerful he becomes, he cannot escape the shadows of his past. It is a battle he fights alone, in the quiet moments when no one is watching. The nightmares, the flashbacks, and the panic attacks are his true enemies—ones that cannot be silenced with a gun or bought off with money.

#re: biography #tw ptsd

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csa-survivor-confessions · 1 year ago

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You've probably answered this before, but do you think a survivor of SA can safely engage in consensual non-consent play without hurting themselves mentally or romanticizing the abuse they suffered? Asking for meeeee, I'd really like to experiment with varying forms of this type of play but I'm wondering how cautious I should be or if there are any precautions I should take?

Hello,

Being cautious is the key word here. We have a general policy that just straight-up saying "do" or "don't" participate in terms of kink is not particularly helpful. Why people are interested in certain sexual activities has a complex place in psychology, sexology and sociology. There is the social context people grow up in, family situations, inborn tendencies/temperament, how people are educated about sex, early experiences around sex and trauma people have been through. Because there are layered reasons people might be interested in something like CNC how one ought to participate in a practice like that is going to be complicated.

What I can say certainly is that extreme caution is a must. In general high caution in participating in something like CNC is hugely important, but even more so for survivors of past sexual violence. Some survivors say that CNC and BDSM in general was healing for them. There are also people who did so and found themselves more re-traumatized and further hurt. Being careful is so so important so that it doesn't cause more pain.

Generally, you must find a partner(s) you trust that will respect your boundaries and check in as you go. I know checking in might not be a typical part of every practice but I think it is something to take into account the trauma history. Make sure the dialogue and communication are fully open and that they are listening.

Make sure you have a good tool kit of coping skills and that you have worked on being connected to your body. Because staying aware of yourself is super important. If you start to feel yourself dissociate, panic, have flashbacks, pain or any other trauma response (any of the stress responses freeze included) please stop the scene. It's incredibly important to not push yourself. Pushing yourself when you feel trauma responses will lead to re-traumatization There should be more along the lines of releasing the traumatic stress not reactivating it and enforcing it.

It could be good to talk to your partner about the way you experience trauma responses so you can make sure you're working with each other. And if they have trauma that might be re-activated you can be helpful and supportive of them.

If you ever feel like you're not being listed to, feel pressured to do something you don't want to do or they ever do something that was not agreed upon do your best to try and leave. I know if this is a relationship important to you getting stuck in an abusive relationship is so common and even more so for survivors of childhood trauma. I know it's hard and you are never at fault for being hurt and abused and not weak if leaving an abusive partnership is hard. But please consider the lines and boundaries you have set up and know being respected even if you are doing a scene surrounding non-consent is so so important.

Do your research. Make sure you are knowledgeable and have an understanding. Try and be aware of how your body feels when reading different aspects that could be involved if there is stress consider if this particular thing is something you might want to do.

Another thing to be aware of if you do this is how you feel afterwards. If you feel are feel disgusted with yourself or your partner, if you are left with more anxiety, if other trauma symptoms seem worse or other painful things take this into account. If it is not something bringing you excitement, pleasure or other good feeling then it might not be worth it.

If you are stuck in a cycle of feeling more hurt then it can become more along the lines of self-harm instead of something you enjoy.

When it comes to romanticization it can be complicated to look at. I think fo housing on the above would be more helpful than dealing with this slightly nebulous concept. I do have personal feelings on the topic but I think making sure you are not being harmed by the practice in more direct traumatic-centered ways than the more cultural space. Do be aware though if you are falling into a place where you are making more excuses for your abuser or dismissing it as good or not really abuse. That I know has happened for some people.

I really hope this is helpful for you.

Be Blessed,

-Admin 2

#ask #advice #cnc mention #kink mention #childhod trauma #trauma

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soarinsugar-homerblog · 2 months ago

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I don’t know if this is what you meant but I interpreted this as when Odysseus returns, he’s physically alive but psychologically and metaphorically dead, due to the trauma he suffered. Like he’ll never be the same person again as he was before he left.

And now I have this image in my head of Odysseus watching everyone in Ithaca go about their daily lives, all unbothered by terrible memories of war and monsters, of the metallic odor of fresh blood and the fear that always stays with him, even when he knows he’s safe.

He nearly trips as a young boy runs out in front of him and up to his father, and Odysseus feels a longing in his heart, wishing that it could have been him, playing with his son and raising him to be a man. Of hearing him say his first word, of seeing him take his first steps, of the joy that comes with taking him on his first hunt and the fatherly pride of watching him make his first kill. And all Odysseus can do is wish for something that never happened, thinking of every milestone he missed.

He glances over at a husband and wife sharing a kiss, and regrets all the years he and Penelope missed out on, of how now, when she so much as touches him, he freezes. She remarked once that he acts as if he’s never been touched with a loving hand, and he hates that she isn’t exactly wrong. It’s been so long since someone has touched him so gently with no intent to harm him, so used to being grabbed or hurt. So used to the seven years he spent being firmly pulled to a strange bed where unspeakable acts were done to him. He’s starved for affection, and yet he flinches at his own wife’s touch.

He spends his days attending to his duties with no excitement or enthusiasm, his voice either grumpy or monotone. Some Ithacans avoid him when possible; they know he’s short-tempered and his behavior unpredictable; everyone is well aware he is prone to violence. The bodies of the slain suitors are testament to that. It doesn’t matter if the weather’s sunny and warm, the world around him feels dull and cold. He’s been angry and frustrated and exhausted and sad and terrified for so long, and yet he feels so numb to it all.

It feels as if the world is just a dream, like he floats just outside of his body, like nothing is truly real.

Some days he can’t even get out of bed, too overtaken by depression and exhaustion to move. Those days are the worst, for there is no distraction from the pain that has long infested his mind. His brain, the one thing he has relied on to survive, the source of his cunning and intelligence, seems to have turned against him. The thing that helped him survive his torment is now tormenting him, and he is powerless to stop it. He wastes the hours crying silently, his mind racing with thoughts as he tries to process it all. By the time the sun sets, his pillow is stained with his tears.

He hardly eats anything, skipping meals and ignoring the hunger pangs in his stomach. He has little appetite, and his body has long since adapted to surviving off what little he could find. He feels like a little boy again as his father encourages him to eat more, Laertes resting his wrinkled hand on his son’s back, concerned that he can feel Odysseus’ vertebrae through his flesh.

He’s always vigilant, keeping a hand near the grip of his sword at all times, ready to draw it at any moment. He jumps if approached from behind, shoves those who touch him without warning or permission. It seems any small action can trigger a flashback, and the humiliation and stares of confusion are more than enough for Odysseus to stay out of the public eye. He hears the clanging of metal as a serving boy drops a pitcher, and suddenly he’s standing on the battlefield again, the shrieks and dins a cacophony in his ears as he struggles to breathe. Is that the sound of children screaming as they play a game, or the sound of Trojan children crying as they stare upon the bodies of their slain parents? Is that the sound of a victorious cry when a man bests another in a friendly competition, or is that the death throe of his crew member as one of Scylla’s mouths close on him and whisks him away to his doom?

He is a paranoid man, trust issues as deeply rooted within his psyche as the olive tree that makes up his bed frame. His trust must be earned, and it is broken as easily as breaking a twig. He is suspicious of everyone who has not earned back his trust, and any bit of disobedience or disrespect toward him, real or perceived, is reason enough for him to believe they wish to assassinate him.

At night, while everyone else is asleep, Odysseus lies awake, terrified by the nightmares that haunt him nearly every time he succumbs to sleep’s sweet embrace. He gets four hours of sleep on a good night, his average being closer to an hour or two, if he even sleeps at all. His nightmares are vivid, not always having to do with his trauma. Some do, some are amalgamations of whatever his mind can put together, some are combinations of both, but they are consistent in that they cause him to shoot upright in bed, soaked in sweat, biting his tongue to stop himself from screaming. Penelope does her best to soothe him, to slow his heart rate, to get him to breathe before he attempts to sleep, but she has her own trauma, and each night is a gamble to see who wakes up who with their nightmare. Most nights they lie curled up together, praying that their mental scars leave them alone for at least one night. The fatigue wears on Odysseus’ health, and he finds himself ill often, leaving him sick in bed, alone with his thoughts, and there is nothing and no one else he would rather not be left alone with.

And everywhere around him there’s happiness, the couple announcing they’re expecting a child, the group of men cheering over a good hunt, of children chasing each other through town, of friends chatting and laughing together, and Odysseus stands away from them, their king now almost an outcast in his own homeland. His entire crew is dead. No one on this island has gone through what he has. No one could ever understand what happened to him, and that leaves him isolated and alone.

Of course, there are families mourning too, those that lost a father or brother or nephew or son, one who sailed with Odysseus or was murdered upon his return. The latter glare at him coldly, but are smart enough to not stir up trouble, the former split with those who blame their king and those who curse the Fates. Odysseus wishes he could grieve alongside them, but he has spent too long with a tight leash around his own mourning, always with a need to stay strong for his men, to assure that they kept their confidence in him, yet it came at the cost of hiding his own pain.

He isn’t sure he knows how to grieve.

His friends from the olden days try to cheer him up, his family tries to offer him support, but there’s so much he has lost within those twenty years that he will never get back. There is an empty pit inside of him, as if someone reached into the very depths of his being and tore out a piece of him, or perhaps a creature bit him and sucked out everything that made him who he was. In any case, there’s something he lost a long, long time ago that he will never recover, and perhaps accepting that is traumatic within itself.

Odysseus kneels over a pond to look at his reflection, and he can hardly recognize the graying hair, the battle-scarred skin, the hollowed, dark-circled and red-tinted eyes as his own. If it were not for the knowledge that it would be impossible for it not to be him, he would think it a stranger.

He remembers when he was disguised as a beggar, testing those around him, how many of them spoke of his kindness and gentle take on leadership. How he ruled like a father, even before he was actually one. How many would speak of him like that now? How could anyone look at the bodies of his own people he’d slain, see the blood on his hands, and trust his leadership?

Perhaps he never should have returned. Perhaps they would all be better off without him here.

In the twenty years he spent away, Odysseus had longed to see even the smoke rising from his homeland again. Ithaca had represented an end to his suffering, the place he could finally find relief. The place where he could be happy again. He had never suspected that, even now, he would be so haunted by his past. Perhaps he should have considered that, he is a man used to suffering after all, but that had been a source of hope for him, something that he lacked so deeply. Now that last hope had been dashed.

He sees a girl gifting her mother a hand-picked bouquet of flowers, and thinks back to when he saw his own mother in the Underworld. He misses her, and the grief still stings, but something else stands out to him in that moment. All the ghosts he saw seemed so miserable, each giving the story of their own sorrows. The afterlife they had, so devoid of comfort, had been one of the few reasons that held off his suicidal ideation. Now it seemed there was no difference between life and death in that aspect. He was alive, and yet he was still so miserable, stuck in a deep depression that seemed impossible to escape from.

His life had been saved, but he was still dead.

His physical being was alive, his heart still beat, he still drew breath, but his spirit was dead, crushed beneath the weight of twenty long years of trauma.

What difference did it make then, if his body had been saved, if everything that made him who he was gone? What did it matter, if he was not the same man that left two decades ago?

The thoughts haunt him day and night, as he eyes his sword pressed against his hip. It would be easy, just one slash across his throat and it would be over, but something keeps him from acting on those thoughts. What that something is, he cannot be sure.

What living man thinks of ending his own life? What living man who clawed tooth and nail to return back to his homeland wonders if he should have returned?

How is he truly alive if he feels dead?

Perhaps, in a way, he did die after all.

Odysseus traveled in the Underworld; Living among the Dead

He returned to his homeland; Dead among the Living

#sorry this was much longer than originally intended #I have. thoughts about this #odysseus #penelope #telemachus #laertes #the odyssey #homeric epics #greek mythology #tw suicidal thoughts

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casspurrjoybell-28 · 1 year ago

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Alpha's Temptation - Chapter 11

*Warning: Adult Content*

[Flashback]

The room is dark. So dark it's suffocating. I'm lying on the cold cement floor, weakly breathing and stomach growling.

I've been locked down here in the basement for more than a day, only given a bottle of water so I won't die.

I move slightly, the chain around my ankle clinking as I do so. I regret it immediately, the movement sending a jolt of pain through my bladder.

I have to pee so badly. But Alpha Ferix hasn't come down in hours to let me out to use the restroom.

So I desperately try to wait it out. I sob weakly, tears streaming down my face, leaving trails through the dirt on my cheeks.

A small puddle has formed on the cement under where my cheek meets the ground. This is all my fault.

If only I'd taken a different route to the market I wouldn't have to suffer through this.

On the way there three guys had jumped me and stole the money Alpha Ferix had given me to buy groceries.

So I returned to my stepfather empty-handed and penny-less. And this is the consequence.

I can only cry a bit more before I cough, my throat dry and strained from how much I've cried already.

My eyes flutter closed and I swallow, trying to resist the urge to drink more. Because if I drink more the need to pee will only get worse.

Thirty minutes later I can't take anymore. I'm so thirsty. I struggle to sit up, getting on my elbows to crawl over to where the water bottle sits.

Just a sip. One little sip. But a wave dizziness hits me as I try to rise from the ground. I bend one of my knees to catch myself but that's a big mistake.

The movement puts pressure on my stomach and by then it's all over. Warm liquid starts streaming down my legs without any warning.

The dam breaks, there's no way to stop it and my eyes start to water out of the relief I feel. But as soon as it's over I start to panic over what I've done.

I've wet himself and made a mess. I can't see the mess but I can smell it and I know Alpha Ferix will too. I rub my hands over my face, hyperventilating as I try to think about what I can do.

I feel so gross and uncomfortable from the wetness. But the room is barren. There's no way to clean it up. And it's freezing cold, evident from my numbed hands and feet, so there's no hope of it evaporating.

Just then I hear the heavy footsteps of my stepfather approaching the door, keys jangling as he twists the lock. There's no time left.

I curl into myself fearfully. The door cracks open and artificial orange light streams in, revealing me huddled in the corner, pants wet.

Alpha Ferix's nose crinkles as the smell of the pee reaches him, glaring down at me.

"You disgusting mutt. You pissed yourself?" he snarls, pulling out a knife.

My lip trembles and I cry at the sight of the blade, shaking my head as he comes closer. It's the sharpest blade this time, not the regular one and I recoil, remembering how it cuts into my skin and makes me bleed everywhere.

But I'm spared no mercy as he kicks me to the ground, sending me crashing into the wall. I scream out in pain, shielding my face with my hands from the assault.

He kicks me a few more times before he pins me so I'm crushed up against the ground, face and stomach to the cement.

I struggle and cry as the blade pierces my skin, carving into my back. Fiery agony envelops me as slice after slice comes down on me, leaving my body bloody and cut.

He laughs cruelly, slicing over the same spot and leaving me shaking in agony at the torture.

"I'm painting a picture, runt," he grunts. "Maybe you could recreate it on paper some day."

As scream after scream rings out I realize there's no one coming to save me. He's in total control here, with the advantage of being an adult and an Alpha.

And he'll hurt me until he's satisfied. And he does, beating and cutting me until I pass out. I thought that day was the worst of my life but Alpha Ferix made sure there would be many more days like this.

I wake up screaming and sobbing, jolting out of my slumber. I gasp for breath which eventually turns into another sob as I peer into the dark.

I can't see anything. I'm back in that horrible basement and Alpha Ferix is going to kill me.

[end of flashback]

"No. No," I scream, struggling in the heavy blankets that hold me down.

Suddenly the door bursts open and someone comes rushing in.

"Ash. What's wrong? What's wrong? I'm here."

But all I can see is the silhouette of an Alpha in the doorway, menacing and coming to hurt me.

"Help. Help," I cry, scrambling to other side of the bed.

Then the light clicks on and then he's gripping my shoulders, holding me down.

"Ash. Tell me what's wrong."

I look up at the man, cheeks wet from tears as I hiccup. No... this isn't the Alpha that hurts me, I realize. This is... Lucien. Not Alpha Ferix.

Once he sees that I'm calming down, realizing it's him, he lets go, sitting on the side of the bed as I sit up, sniffling and wiping my face.

"I'm sorry. I... I..." I try to speak but my throat chokes up and I let out a sob.

"Hey, hey. There's no need to be sorry, okay? Everything's okay," Lucien tries to comfort me.

I only cry more at that because no not everything is okay. In fact, nothing is okay.

"Shit," Lucien seems to realize he's only added fuel to the flame.

"Do you... Do you need a hug? Would that be alright?"

I can only shake my head. I don't want anyone touching me right now. It's okay usually, when I've locked these memories deep inside my brain but right now it's too scary, especially because he's an Alpha.

But he doesn't ask any questions which is for the better because I don't feel like talking at all. So he can't really do anything but be there for me.

I feel guilty as I peak at the sorrowful look on his face, knowing I'm making it difficult for him. I just want to close my eyes, hide myself from the world and try to forget the horrible nightmare.

But it wasn't just a nightmare... it was a flashback. I'd only been thirteen at the time.

And four years later my back still burns from the ghost of the injuries my stepfather inflicted, a painful reminder that my scars will always stay with me, even though my wounds have healed.

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tennessoui · 2 years ago

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🌹 for the cheating au maybe?

ok so a couple of thoughts on this: this year i want to a) give yall the climax of the cheating au, 7-9k of obikin suffering the consequences of their actions in high res

and b) put some amalgam of the cheating au ficlets up on ao3 like a story in the form of a long one shot---idea is being workshopped on how that would look (i think it'd be cool to do it in flashbacks with the present being padme finding out and the aftermath but im not sure)

but this is all to say that basically i have about 4 google docs open as i try to mix and mash shit together for the best combination of cheating au for ao3. until then, here's a lil bit of the much awaited for climax:

“And the children? What about the twins?”

Padmé looks carved from marble, dramatic lines of her make-up freezing her face into place. Only her eyes are alive, burning with all the feelings she has yet to vocalize. Betrayal, pain, fury, scorn, heartbreak, love. Love still, despite it all. “Now you think of the twins?” she asks, voice wavering and tone bitingly brutal.

Anakin swallows and shakes his head. He has half the mind to tell her that that isn’t fair, but he knows that won’t go over well. He knows she could probably say anything in the entire galaxy, accuse him of anything, and her sins would pale in the face of his own.

Yet there is something incredibly and surprisingly freeing about this, about sitting across their dining room table and facing the very thing he’s feared for the past five years. He’d been running from this confrontation for far too long, and now that there’s nothing to do but face it and watch the love in his wife’s eyes burn itself into disgust, he feels…strangely free.

The truth of the matter is that Padmé knows. She knows.

And even though it won’t help anything or anyone to pull the curtain back from her eyes completely, he can’t stop himself from opening his mouth. From saying, “When I first asked Obi-Wan Kenobi to kiss me, there were no twins to think about.”

#asks #thank you for wanting to know :D #cheating au #cw: infidelity #obikin

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buckysswinter · 3 years ago

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right where you left me

18+ minors dni

warnings: large age gap(implied; lee is late 30s reader is early 20s), angst

not edited or beta'd- do not repost oe translate!

lee bodecker x f!reader

word count: 1,172

help, i'm still at the restaurant;still sitting in a corner i haunt

the familiar scent of the diner hangs around the air, as y/n sits at the corner she watches everything unfold. she sees families smiling eating the food, couples either happy or arguing or the group of old ladies chit chatting and exchanging gossip drinking their third cup of coffee. y/n smiles at the vision in front of her, the noise distracting her from the pain- this diner had meant a lot to her a few years back. this was where the man that she loved so much took her to on their first date, this was the diner where they had their first kiss and this was the same very diner he broke her heart in.

she sits in the corner with her lilac sundress with her cream cardigan and her pinned up hair. she sat in the corner, notebook opened and surrounded by books. y/n was trying to study, she aspired to be more than what this town offered to young girls like her. the book on anatomy staring directly at her as she remembers why this plan of hers was stalled.

she could still feel his lingering kisses on her shoulders, his deep voice whispering on her ear, professing his constant love for her. it seemed forbidden at first but as it went on she let herself be indulged in the love and she loved it. y/n loved being loved by him, by the one person this town thought was incapable of such thing. and just as the thought of him vanishes in her brain, she hears the diner bell ring his laugh rings throughout the establishment and y/n freezes. her brain short circuits as she hears him, her heart beating faster, breathe shortens and suddenly everything she sees slows down.

she hears him demand the corner booth, the one where she's currently sat at,

-"i'm sorry sheriff bodecker, someone is currently sat at the corner booth," she hears lee scoff and as she looks up to see his reaction, he looks up to see who is sat there. the brief eye contact makes her hands shake and she looks away as fast as she could. y/n closes her eyes, she could not believe this was happening. it was to happen sooner or later but right now y/n would have preferred for this to happen later. y/n shuffles uncomfortably in her seat as the hostess lead lee and the woman he's with to the booth two spaces over. only then does she notice that the woman was carrying a toddler. another breathe gets stuck in her throat and y/n's heart aches. y/n wants to leave, she wants to run away yet something in her mind convinced her to stay- to focus on the anatomy book staring at her and that's what she does.

-"lee! not here, not in public!" the woman yells and she couldn't bear to not look up, only then she sees lee attacking the woman's neck with kisses. a tear rolls down y/n's cheek and she sniffles, wiping it and she gets up. y/n should not be suffering this much pain, she doesn't deserve the hurt that's haunting and plaguing her heart and mind. packing her things in her bag, y/n makes her way out of the dinner to only be met with the toddler lee was with to crash into her. her books spill onto the ground, the toddler also falls down on his butt. before y/n could think, she rushes over and helps the child, tears starting to form on his eyes as she tries to pick up the child, calloused hands collide with hers. flashbacks of his calloused hands on her body flash in her mind as she quickly takes her hands back, turning to collect her books.

-"'m sorry didn't mean to bump into you," she apologizes to the kid, who is now staring at her with kind eyes.

-"'s okay! mommy pretty!' the child points to her and she smiles as he appreciates her beauty.

the woman speaks up, berating her child for pointing in such a crude manner to a lady he doesn't know and whilst all this was happening lee stares at her- she couldn't decipher the feeling behind it, although for him it was pure adoration, the fact that y/n had put the child before her items, it warmed his heart. as y/n smiles at the child, lee's heart jumped, he missed her smile even more her laugh which was mesmerizing.

lee remembers the pain he caused her- her glossy eyes and wobbling lips as he tells her his news.

-"can't do it anymore sweets, need to break this up" her eyes flash to him, first with adoration the realization of what he had just said.

-"what are you talking about lee?" her pity attempt of a laugh to cover up her almost broken voice. and he stared at her, almost hearing her heart break as he repeats it again.

-"y/n i can't be with you anymore." the firmness in his voice makes her hand flinch, knocking the glass off of the table, the shattering noise of it scaring everyone around them, bringing the attention to the events unfolding between lee and y/n.

she nods at him, tears melting the makeup she spent so much time putting on- she wanted to plead with him, ask him for an explanation but she couldn't voice out any reason. she thought lee was proposing to her- the hole in the bottom of her stomach widen and everything started crashing down.

y/n walks out of the diner, peering into lee laughing and smiling with the woman he was with along with the child- she had hoped that image for their future two years ago and now she's left picking up the pieces of herself, persevering to make something better of herself because if she had let the sadness swallow her she would've drowned in them, stuck in this godforsaken town that she didn't want to be in longer.

lee gets up, helping his new girl and her son- a piece of paper catching his attention, he could only assume that it fell out of y/n's bag. he picks it up and his breathe hitches, the train ticket to new york staring back at him- she was moving and he was frozen in the position until he hears dorothy asking if he was ok, nodding lee tucked the ticket into his front pocket- leading her and her son back into his black deville cadillac.

y/n gets home, her luggage staring at her and she takes them to the station, yet when she got there, her train ticket seemed to be missing- the ticket was last seen in her bag tucked into one of her books. buying a new ticket, y/n boards the train and she sees all of meade disappear. calmness surrounds her as she falls into a slumber in her cabin.

a/n: this felt very rushed idk but i wanted pure angst. lmk if a part two should be written :)

shameless tags: @extremelyblackandwhite @tharros-auris-black-asimi @turbolisedcomet @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @elbell20-blog

#sebastian stan #daddy sheriff lee #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker #lee bodecker angst #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky x female reader #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan x you #bucky barnes #sebastian stan one shot #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x y/n

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