#Visions of Disfigurement | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mariasont · 5 months ago

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Could you do a story where Y/N Is taken in a hostage situation and we see more of a dark hotch? like that early episode where hotch and reid are hostages in the hospital?

TOO EMOTIONAL - A.H

a/n: thank you so much for requestin <3 i hope this is what you were wanting!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: honestly yall i feel like this is way darker than anything i've written so far, not sure if its good or not but alas, mentions of blood, violence, unsub threatens reader with a knife and a lighter, mentions of sexual assualt (it doesnt happen just mentions of it), unsub cuts open readers shirt, hotch is a dick for a plot, hurt/comfort

wc: 1.4k

Your vision was blurred, you fought to focus as dried blood flaked from your lashes with each heavy blink. You swallowed a cough, the floor's cold concrete punishing your knees. The ties around your wrists and ankles were merciless, digging into your flesh. You tried to focus on the sounds around you—the drip-drop of water, the soft wail of distant sirens.

In the dim light, you caught glimpses of Hotch, his distinct cologne mingling with the warehouse's musty air. He was agonizingly close yet not close enough to touch. The unsub's footsteps were barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Panic fluttered in your chest, unwanted and insistent. Only three cases in, and it seemed the universe was conspiring to reroute your career choice.

Frantically, you attempted to wipe your face on your shirt, pulse roaring in your ears as the footsteps ceased before you and Hotch. The man was a ghastly figure, burns cutting from one side of his face to the other. You couldn't breathe.

"What a day to have feds come knocking." His voice was hoarse, fingers absently playing with a lighter.

"You know, they say the most intelligent criminals are the ones who don't get caught, yet here we are," Hotch said, his chin defiantly up, words sharp and calculated.

Suddenly, the unsub was right there, his disfigured face uncomfortably close, the heat from the lighter singeing your skin. His breath was a hot, sticky assault, and you fought the instinct to flinch.

"Smart men don't leave witnesses, and I intend to be very smart about this."

The foundations of your training flitted across your consciousness, the methodologies for keeping control of the situation, but they sifted through your fingers like said, rendering you paralyzed.

"Take her then. She's new, inexperienced. Probably more trouble than she's worth." Hotch's voice was cold, jarring like a slap to the face, his expression empty of emotion.

You strained to keep your face impassive, your eyes darting to Hotch, pleading for his attention. Your breaths were shallow, scarcely there. He had to be bluffing. You felt sick. The unsub shifted his weight, scrutinizing you both, edging closer to hotch, no doubt with suspicion.

The unsub laughed, a cold and calculating sound as he circled around Hotch. "You expect me to believe you'd turn on your own that quickly? I'm not a fool."

"Look at her and tell me what her worth is to me." Hotch's voice was even, almost bored. "She's a liability. Too emotional, too soft."

His words were flung carelessly, yet they landed with precision, straight into your chest. Your teeth punished the inside of your cheek.

The remarks were like sharp barbs to your chest, instilling a hollow feeling as you attempted to convince yourself that the wetness on your lashes was anything but tears. His assessment was not unfounded. Your empathy, your sensitivity, traits deemed too tender for the harsher realities of your job, were now being used against you. Hotch had always been an exception, until now.

"Well, I could see her worth in other ways." The man's words oozed contempt, his gaze crawling over you in a way that threatened to turn your stomach. "I bet that's how she got the job in the first place, huh?"

"What do you think?" Hotch's laugh was a sinister match to the unsub's. He tilted his head in your direction. "Look at her. That's all she's been good for."

Your breath caught in your throat, your body turning as much as the ties would permit in Hotch's direction. You could almost hear your heart shattering, could feel it in Hotch's inability to face you. Was this a plan or had he truly discarded you?

You never deluded yourself into thinking you were Hotch's favorite--his reserved interactions with you made that abundantly clear. In fact, you were probably his least favorite. He had kept you at an arm's length, while seemingly forging bonds with the others that didn't seem to extend to you.

This was all within reason, given your inexperience and younger age, but the disdain lacing his words was unexpected, shredding through any pretense of professional detachment.

Hotch had never wanted you on the team, it was Rossi who had vouched for you. And now, look where that got you both.

Maybe this was all deserved.

"Then you won't mind if I try her out for myself?" The unsub's insinuation felt like a perverse validation of Hotch's doubts.

A low hum escaped the unsub as he closed the distance, his gaze predatory. You stilled, breath caught as he produced a knife from his pocket, skimming your cheek just shy of cutting. You were scared and you were scared to show it. Desperately, you looked to Hotch, the blade now hovering precariously close to your sternum.

Hotch wouldn't look at you. You wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something, but that was all shoved to the bottom of your throat as the unsub sliced down the middle of your shirt, exposing your chest and compelling your gaze to it. Tears of humiliation prickled your eyes. How could Hotch let this happen to you?

The unsub's clammy grip clung to your waist, your lips trembling as you prepared for the worst. You closed your eyes, escaping to your house in your mind—tea brewing, fireplace going—anywhere but here.

A sudden splatter to your face jolted you back, eyes opening in alarm you saw Hotch's eyes, not the unsub's.

"You're okay, you're okay," Hotch murmurs.

The words did little to comfort you, his hands moving blindly to release the binds at your wrist and ankles. Looking down, you see the unsub, knife through his back, blood pooling around him. Hotch's hands are on your wrists, his thumbs massaging away the sting.

When your hand touches your face, you feel the splatter from earlier, coming back away with a smear of blood on your fingertips.

Your voice felt like it was a prisoner inside yourself, words and sounds slipping past you like ghosts. A persistent ringing in your ears muffled all but the pungent scent of the warehouse, which clawed at your senses.

You felt the jostle of hands, the motion of being lifted, a sensation so distant it barely registered. The world was a smear of lights and faces--the team showing up, the paramedics--until it slowly came into focus.

You barely registered that Hotch was speaking to you, his words indistinct and muffled.

"What?" you asked, your speech slow to form and blurred at the edges.

You had a jacket over the front of you, his jacket, covering your exposed chest.

Hotch's eyes were pools of worry as he grasped at your hand. It was weird, the feeling of his hand in yours. You realized that was the first time you had felt it.

"More water?"

You could only nod, and he promptly fetched a bottle, twisting it open and placing it in your hand. You took a small sip.

"It's too loud," you mumbled, you were aware you weren't making sense. You shifted to face him, your knee grazing his thigh. "Did you mean those things you said?"

"Of course I didn't mean it," Hotch replied quickly, his gaze intense. "You thought I meant that?"

Your gaze dropped to your lap, voice faltering. "I don't know... I wasn't sure, I mean, no, but I just... I don't feel very useful, and this whole mess, it's because of me and I--"

Tears interrupted you, your hands fumbling to hide them. Hotch reached out, gently turning your face to his, thumb brushing away the tears.

"Hey, look at me. Don't say that. This isn't your fault. Nothing I said back there was true. I needed to distract him, had to make him concentrate on you."

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm crying like this," you stammered between sobs.

"You don't have to apologize. You're crying because you've been through a lot. Just breathe, take your time."

You managed a wobbly smile. "You hit the nail on the head with the too emotional part," you sniffled.

Hotch gave a small chuckle. "Your compassion, your sensitivity, it's what sets you apart as an agent--in fact, it makes you an outstanding one."

You were close now, your gaze inadvertently drawn to his lips. You could kiss him if you wanted. Not that you were in the right headspace or that it was appropriate. But you could've.

"Oh, my goodness, I'm so glad you're okay!" You were barreled into a hug, the familiar voice and blur of color of Penelope enveloping your senses.

Hotch cautioned, "Watch her head."

With Penelope's hands around you, you found yourself looking over her shoulder, locking eyes with Hotch. His gaze held a new light, a recognition that maybe, just maybe you weren't Hotch's least favorite agent after all.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme

join my taglist here!

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner hurt/comfort #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #criminal minds angst

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 24 days ago

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@steddie-spooktober day 29: sweater | T | wc: 1,394

“It was meant to be for your birthday, but I didn't get it done in time… obviously.” he tacks on at the end.

Just like how crochet was meant to be a hobby, a relaxing one at that, but all Steve’s been is stressed about trying to make something for Eddie’s birthday… then about how it was late… and then about how the vision he had of it in his head was nothing like how it was coming out.

The thing was horrid. Absolutely wretched. Steve had no clue why he was even still giving it to Eddie, newfound crush on the long-haired dork besides the point.

Eddie just stares at it. The sad lump of yarn Steve dared to call a sweater.

“You can— Look, I’ll just take it out back and put it out of its misery.” Steve grimaces, reaching for the Thing with one hand and gesturing back toward the backyard where the fire in Hopper’s fire pit was still steadily blazing.

Eddie unfreezes and snatches It out of reach, “Fuck off with that, I’m gonna wear this sweater every damn day.” Then, as if to prove his point, tries to put it on over his already bulky hoodie/leather jacket/battle vest (a new one, since his old one was lost somewhere in the aftermath of Spring Break) combo.

“Waitwaitwaitwait—“ Steve hurries to pull Eddie's arms back down, “It barely fit me when I tried it on, you’ll end up ripping it if you try putting it on over all that.”

Eddie lowers his arms, squinting suspiciously at Steve as he does. Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to take it back if you really want it that damn much.”

“Yeah you better not.” Eddie sniffs, folding the sweater up then shoving it safely under his hoodie. Steve barely has enough time to think about the implications of that, about how scratchy that must be, let alone voice how that ugly lump of granny stitches is going to end up on the ground if it stays there, before Eddie is pulling him in for a hug.

“Thanks Stevie,”

Steve lets out a sigh, and wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist. “You’re welcome Eddie.”

- - - - -

Even with how ungodly lumpy and disfigured the crochet sweater was, Steve was still bummed he didn’t see Eddie wearing it the next time he saw him. Or the next time. Or the third.

One week after the Hopper Halloween Hbonfire, when Steve is feeling particularly mopey and planning on tossing all his crochet hooks when he got home from work that night, Eddie waltzes into Family Video an hour before close… still sans sweater.

Kicking himself for having so many big feelings about a sweater that no one should be caught dead in, he manages a smile. “Hey Eddie, what’s up?”

He leans onto the counter in front of Eddie, feeling his face tingle slightly when the other man does the same, his face coming in close to Steve’s.

Thank god it’s nearly midnight.

”Nothin’ much Stevie Darling,” Eddie grins, “What’s going on with you? You seem a little bummed.”

Steve opens his mouth to reply, say something random that has nothing to do with the sweater (or lack thereof), when his eyes flick briefly down to Eddie’s torso.

”Just ready to go home, I guess.”

Eddie grins wider, his eyes crinkle up at the corners. God, if Steve hadn’t already been head over heels..

”You sure, big boy? Sure it’s got nothing to do with the lack of lovingly twisted yarn upon my person?”

“… Well yeah. But did you have to say it like that?”

Eddie laughs, his eyes sparkling. “I knew it, “You don’t have to wear it..” my ass.”

Steve sighs, hangs his head momentarily, then picks it back up to meet Eddie’s mischievous eyes. “At least it’ll bring some color to the dump.”

There’s a moment’s pause, then Eddie says, “I didn’t throw it out.” In a tone that implies that should’ve been obvious.

”Well I haven’t seen you wearing it.” Steve grumbles, then kicks himself internally again. “Wait, sorry, forget I said anything.”

He stands straight, nervously running a hand through his hair. Eddie looks up at him from his spot at the counter for a breath, then stands up to meet Steve’s gaze.

”I didn’t throw it out.” he repeats, firmer this time.

”That’s good, I guess, not up to me what you do with it, right?”

”Well, I did try it as a sweater first.”

”…It fell apart, didn’t it?”

”It did indeed.”

Steve huffs another sigh, this one resigned. “I’m already planning on throwing away all my hooks,” he laughs. It comes out strained. “No need to inflict my piss poor crochet on other people, right?”

Eddie smirks, “I wouldn't do that if I were you.” Eddie smirks, then fixes Steve with a look, “And don’t piss on the poor, Steve, we don’t like it very much.”

Steve snorts out a laugh, and Eddie continues. “The boys saw your work and would really appreciate some of their own for Christmas,” He reaches forward and takes both Steve’s hands in his. "If you’d be so kind as to put those beautiful hands of yours to work again.”

Steve wants to laugh at the gesture, initially, but there’s something serious in Eddie’s face.

”You’re— you’re serious? The first thing I crochet falls apart as soon as you try to put it on, and you want me to make more for your friends.. Is this some kind of prank you’re trying to pull on them? Because I’d be all in with you normally, but that just seems like you’re making fun of m—“

The gentle press of a finger to his lips cuts off his rant.

”You gonna let me explain, sweetheart?”

Steve nods, and for a moment, feeling like someone stuffed his head with yarn.

Eddie takes his finger away, and his hands too, Steve clenches his own at his sides to keep from reaching back for Eddie’s.

”Yes, most of the sweater you so lovingly crafted for me did, in fact, fall all the way apart BUT!” he emphasizes, holding up a finger to stop Steve from saying the nothing he was going to. “Some of it did not.”

Before Steve can ask what survived, Eddie spins on his heel and holds his arms out.

The back panel of his vest, the spot that big Dio patch had been on the old one, had been cut away completely.

Two squares of Eddie’s sweater have been stitched into the space.

Steve even recognizes them, two of the last granny squares he’d done for the right sleeve, one blue and green, and one red and black.

He reaches out to poke at the center of the bottom one, not believing what he’s seeing, but no. They’ve been stretched a bit to fit correctly, but they’re there.

Eddie turns back around to face him, and gone is the cool calm he’d been holding to since walking into the store. Instead, he looks a little wary, like Steve’s going to be mad at him for doing this.

”You— Ed— Wh—“ Steve looks around the store, empty. Has been for the last two hours too. “You know what-“

Steve spins around, flicks the lights off, hops the counter, locks the door and flips the sign, then is grabbing hold of Eddie and pulling him across the store to Keith's office.

He tucks Eddie into the small space, closes the door, and leans back against it for good measure.

Somehow, Eddie’s taken this worse. He stands with his back to the dingy filing cabinet and picks absently at a nail while he watches Steve with all the wariness of a feral cat.

And that just won’t do.

Steve surges forward and catches Eddie’s face in his hands, kissing him soundly. Purposefully.

He pulls back before Eddie can react.

”I can’t believe you did that to your vest.” he kisses him again, this time Eddie’s ready for it.

Steve pulls back again, Eddie cuts in with “I can’t believe you tried making me a sweater.” before Steve can say anything.

Eddie pulls him in this time, and Steve pulls back almost immediately, “Hey, I did make you a sweater. It’s not my fault it fell apart.”

Eddie just laughs and pulls him in again.

family video is open until midnight on fridays and halloween was on a friday in 1986 :o)

divider from @saradika-graphics!

#steddie #steddiespooktober #steve harrington #eddie munson #steveddie #eddeve #steve harrington x eddie munson #noelle writes

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cripplecharacters · 8 months ago

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The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media

[large text: The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media]

If you followed this blog for more than like a week, you're probably familiar with “the mask trope” or at least with me complaining about it over and over in perpetuity. But why is it bad and why can't this dude shut up about it?

Let's start with who this trope applies to: characters with facial differences. There is some overlap with blind characters as well; think of the blindfold that is forced on a blind character for no reason. Here is a great explanation of it in this context by blindbeta. It's an excellent post in general, even if your character isn't blind or low vision you should read at least the last few paragraphs.

Here's a good ol’ tired link to what a facial difference is, but to put it simply:

If you have a character, who is a burn survivor or has scars, who wears a mask, this is exactly this trope.

The concept applies to other facial differences as well, but scars and burns are 99% of the representation and “representation” we get, so I'll be using these somewhat interchangeably here.

The mask can be exactly what you think, but it refers to any facial covering that doesn't have a medical purpose. So for example, a CPAP mask doesn't count for this trope, but a Magic Porcelain Mask absolutely does. Bandages do as well. If it covers the part of the face that is “different”, it can be a mask in the context used here.

Eye patches are on thin ice because while they do serve a medical purpose in real life, in 99.9% of media they are used for the same purpose as a mask. It's purely aesthetic.

With that out of the way, let's get into why this trope sucks and find its roots. Because every trope is just a symptom of something, really.

Roughly in order of the least to most important reasons...

Why It Sucks

[large text: Why It Sucks]

It's overdone. As in — boring. You made your character visibly different, and now they're no longer that. What is the point? Just don't give them the damn scar if you're going to hide it.

Zero connection with reality. No one does this. I don't even know how to elaborate on this. This doesn't represent anyone because no one does this.

Disability erasure. For the majority of characters with facial differences, their scars or burns somehow don't disable them physically, so the only thing left is the visible part… aaand the mask takes care of it too. Again, what's the point? If you want to make your disabled character abled, then just have them be abled. What is the point of "curing" them other than to make it completely pointless?

Making your readers with facial differences feel straight up bad. I'm gonna be honest! This hurts to see when it's all you get, over and over. Imagine there's this thing that everyone bullied you about, everyone still stares at, that is with you 24/7. Imagine you wanted to see something where people like you aren't treated like a freakshow. Somewhat unrealistic, but imagine that. That kind of world would only exist in fiction, right? So let's look into fiction- oh, none of the positive (or at least not "child-murderer evil") characters look like me. I mean they do, but they don't. They're forced to hide the one thing that connects us. I don't want to hide myself. I don't want to be told over and over that this is what people like me should do. That this is what other people expect so much that it's basically the default way a person with a facial difference can exist. I don't want this.

Perpetuating disfiguremisia.

"Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk

[large text: "Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk]

It's quick when compared to my average facial difference discussion post, bear with me please.

Disfiguremisia; portmanteau of disfigure from “disfigurement” and -misia, Greek for hatred.

Also known as discrimination of those mythical horrifically deformed people.

It shows up in fiction all the time; in-universe and in-narrative. Mask trope is one of the most common* representations of it, and it's also a trope that is gaining traction more and more, both in visual art and writing. This is a trope I particularly hate, because it's a blatant symptom of disfiguremisia. It's not hidden and it doesn't try to be. It's a painful remainder that I do not want nor need.

*most common is easily “evil disfigured villain”, just look at any horror media. But that's for another post, if ever.

When you put your character in a mask, it sends a clear message: in your story, facial differences aren't welcome. The world is hostile. Other characters are hostile. The author is, quite possibly, hostile. Maybe consciously, but almost always not, they just don't think that disfiguremisia means anything because it's the default setting. No one wants to see you because your face makes you gross and unsightly. If you have a burn; good luck, but we think you're too ugly to have a face. Have a scar? Too bad, now you don't. Get hidden.

Everything here is a decision that was made by the author. You are the one who makes the world. You are the person who decides if being disabled is acceptable or not there. The story doesn't have a mind of its own, you chose to make it disfiguremisic.

It doesn't have to be.

Questions to Ask Yourself

[large text: Questions to Ask Yourself]

Since I started talking about facial differences on this blog, I have noticed a very specific trend in how facial differences are treated when compared to other disabilities. A lot of writers and artists are interested in worldbuilding where accessibility is considered, where disabled people are accepted, where neurodivergence is seen as an important part of the human experience, not something “other”. This is amazing, genuinely.

Yet, absolutely no one seems to be interested in a world that is anything but cruel to facial differences. There's no escapist fantasies for us.

You see this over and over, at some point it feels like the same story with different names attached.

The only way a character with a facial difference can exist is to hide it. Otherwise, they are shamed by society. Seen as something gross. I noticed that it really doesn't matter who the character is, facial difference is this great equalizer. Both ancient deities and talking forest cats get treated as the same brand of disgusting thing as long as they're scarred, as long as they had something explode in their face, as long as they've been cursed. They can be accomplished, they can be a badass, they can be the leader of the world, they can kill a dragon, but they cannot, under any circumstances, be allowed to peacefully exist with a facial difference. They have to hide it in the literal sense, or be made to feel that they should. Constantly ashamed, embarrassed that they dare to have a face.

Question one to ask yourself: why is disfiguremisia a part of your story?

I'm part of a few minority groups. I'm an immigrant, I'm disabled, I'm queer. I get enough shit in real life for this so I like to take a break once in a while. I love stories where transphobia isn't a thing. Where xenophobia doesn't come up. But my whole life, I can't seem to find stories that don't spew out disfiguremisia in one way or the other at the first possible opportunity.

Why is disfiguremisia a default part of your worldbuilding? Why can't it be left out? Why in societies with scarred saviors and warriors is there such intense disgust for them? Why can't anyone even just question why this is the state of the world?

Why is disfiguremisia normal in your story?

Question two: do you know enough about disfiguremisia to write about it?

Ask yourself, really. Do you? Writers sometimes ask if or how to portray ableism when they themselves aren't disabled, but no one bothers to wonder if maybe they aren't knowledgeable enough to make half their story about their POV character experiencing disfiguremisia. How much do you know, and from where? Have you read Mikaela Moody or any other advocates’ work around disfiguremisia? Do you understand the way it intersects; with being a trans woman, with being Black? What is your education on this topic?

And for USAmericans... do you know what "Ugly Laws" are, and when they ended?

Question three: what does your story associate with facial difference — and why?

If I had to guess; “shame”, “embarrassment”, “violence”, "disgust", “intimidation”, “trauma”, “guilt”, “evil”, “curse”, “discomfort”, “fear”, or similar would show up.

Why doesn't it associate it with positive concepts? Why not “hope” or “love” or “pride” or “community”? Why not “soft” or “delicate”? Dare I say, “beauty” or “innocence”? Why not “blessing”? “Acceptance”?

Why not “normal”?

Question four: why did you make the character the way they are?

Have you considered that there are other things than “horrifically burned for some moral failing” or “most traumatic scenario put to paper”? Why is it always “a tough character with a history of violence” and never “a Disfigured princess”? Why not “a loving parent” or “a fashionable girl”, instead of “the most unkind person you ever met” and “total badass who doesn’t care about anything - other than how scary their facial difference is to these poor ableds”? Don’t endlessly associate us with brutality and suffering. We aren’t violent or manipulative or physically strong or brash or bloodthirsty by default. We can be soft, and frail and gentle and kind - and we can still be proud and unashamed.

Question five: why is your character just… fine with all this?

Can’t they make a community with other people with facial differences and do something about this? Demand the right to exist as disabled and not have to hide their literal face? Why are they cool with being dehumanized and treated with such hatred? Especially if they fall into the "not so soft and kind" category that I just talked about, it seems obvious to me that they would be incredibly and loudly pissed off about being discriminated against over and over... Why can't your character, who is a subject of disfiguremisia, realize that maybe it's disfiguremisia that's the problem, and try to fix it?

Question six: why is your character wearing a mask?

Usually, there's no reason. Most of the time the author hasn't considered that there even should be one, the character just wears a mask because that's what people with facial differences do in their mind. Most writers aren't interested in this kind of research or even considering it as a thing they should do. The community is unimportant to them, it's not like we are real people who read books. They think they understand, because to them it's not complex, it's not nuanced. It's ugly = bad. Why would you need a reason?

For cases where the reason is stated, I promise, I have heard of every single one. To quote, "to spare others from looking at them". I have read, "content warning: he has burn scars under the mask, he absolutely hates taking it off!", emphasis not mine. Because "he hates the way his skin looks", because "they care for their appearance a lot" (facial differences make you ugly, remember?). My favorite: "only has scars and the mask when he's a villain, not as a hero", just to subtly drive the point home. This isn't the extreme end of the spectrum. Now, imagine being a reader with a facial difference. This is your representation, sitting next to Freddy Krueger and Voldemort.

How do you feel?

F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]

[large text: F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]]

As in, answers and “answers” to common arguments or concerns.

“Actually they want to hide their facial difference” - your character doesn’t have free will. You want them to hide it. Again; why.

“They are hiding it to be more inconspicuous!” - I get that there are elves in their world, but there’s no universe where wearing a mask with eye cutouts on the street is less noticeable than having a scar. Facial differences aren’t open wounds sprinkling with blood, in case that's not clear.

“It’s for other people's comfort” - why are other characters disfiguremisic to this extent? Are they forcing all minorities to stay hidden and out of sight too? That’s a horrible society to exist in.

“They are wearing it for Actual Practical Reason” - cool! I hope that this means you have other characters with facial differences that don’t wear it for any reason.

"It's the character's artistic expression" - I sure hope that there are abled characters with the same kind of expression then.

“They’re ashamed of their face” - and they never have any character development that would make that go away? That's just bad writing. Why are they ashamed in the first place? Why is shame the default stance to have about your own face in your story? I get that you think we should be ashamed and do these ridiculous things, but in real life we just live with it.

"Now that you say that it is kinda messed up but I'm too far into the story please help" - here you go.

“[some variation of My Character is evil so it's fine/a killer so it fits/just too disgusting to show their disability” - this is the one of the only cases where I’m fine with disability erasure, actually. Please don’t make them have a facial difference. This is the type of harm that real life activists spend years and decades undoing. Disfiguremisia from horror movies released in the 70s is still relevant. It still affects people today.

"But [in-universe explanation why disfiguremisia is cool and fine actually]" - this changes nothing.

Closing Remarks

[large text: Closing Remarks]

I hope that this post explains my thoughts on facial difference representation better. It's a complicated topic, I get it. I'm also aware that this post might come off as harsh (?) but disfiguremisia shouldn't be treated lightly, it shouldn't be a prop. It's real world discrimination with a big chunk of its origins coming out of popular media.

With the asks that have been sent regarding facial differences, I realized that I probably haven't explained what the actual problems are well enough. It's not about some technical definition, or about weird in-universe explanations. It's about categorizing us as some apparently fundamentally different entity that can't possibly be kind and happy, about disfiguremisia so ingrained into our culture that it's apparently impossible to make a world without it; discrimination so deep that it can't be excised, only worked around. But you can get rid of it. You can just not have it there in the first place. Disfiguremisia isn't a fundamental part of how the world works; getting rid of it won't cause it to collapse. Don't portray discrimination as an integral, unquestionable part of the world that has to stay no matter what; whether it's ableism, transphobia, or Islamophobia or anything else. A world without discrimination can exist. If you can't imagine a world without disfiguremisia in fiction... that's bad. Sad, mostly. To me, at least.

Remember, that your readers aren't going to look at Character with a Scar #14673 and think "now I'm going to research how real life people with facial differences live." They won't, there's no inclination for them to do so. If you don't give them a reason, they won't magically start thinking critically about facial differences and disfiguremisia. People like their biases and they like to think that they understand.

And, even if you're explaining it over and over ;-) (winky face) there will still be people who are going to be actively resistant to giving a shit. To try and get the ones who are capable of caring about us, you, as the author, need to first understand disfiguremisia, study Face Equality, think of me as a human being with human emotions who doesn't want to see people like me treated like garbage in every piece of media I look at. There's a place and time for that media, and if you don't actually understand disfiguremisia, you will only perpetuate it; not "subvert" it, not "comment" on it.

I hope this helps :-) (smile emoji. for good measure)

Mod Sasza

#mod sasza #disfiguremisia #face difference #mask trope #writing trope #writing resource #writing reference #writing resources #writing advice #writeblr #writing tips #long post #burn survivor representation

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megalony · 10 months ago

Text

Did I Fall?

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, requested by anon, I hope you all like it. Feedback is always amazing and boosts me to carry on.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff

911 Masterlist

Summary: While out in the storm, (Y/n) gets struck by lightning and her husband, brother and family gather round to try and save her.

Enjoy.

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

"Are you ready baby?"

(Y/n) turned around so her back was facing the ladder and a smile crept onto her face when she realised how close her husband was standing behind her. She watched the way he clamped his hands down on the handrail of the ladder, pinning her in front of him with no escape.

He leaned forward, arching his bum out as his lips rolled together and his eyes darted down to her lips. Despite the rain clattering down around them, Eddie's vision focused in on those dark lips he was desperate to touch. His tongue darted out across his lower lip when he felt (Y/n) drag her hand across his jaw and tilt his chin up so their eyes were level again.

They were on the job. He couldn't have wandering eyes because they would lead to wandering hands and they promised to be professional if they were joined up on shifts together.

"I think so." (Y/n) tilted her head back and squinted up at the sky. Why did it have to be raining and thundering when they were on shift? Couldn't this weather have waited a few hours? Their shifts ended at midnight, the rain could have held off until then.

"Alright then, Mrs Diaz, here you go." His sultry voice sent shivers running up and down (Y/n)'s spine and her lips parted when he reached up for his helmet. He took it off and slumped it down on (Y/n)'s head instead. She had cracked her helmet earlier on in the day and if she was going up the ladder, Eddie wanted his wife to have a bit more protection. Just to be safe.

He slanted it on her head a little to annoy her and when he clipped the buckle onto the harness around her waist, he used it as leverage to tug her closer. Her hands clamped down on his shoulders and her waist bumped into his as he curved an arm around her middle.

Her eyes landed on the red cable clipped onto her waist that reached down to the winch at the bottom of the ladder. Safety first.

(Y/n) leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips, feeling the salt water rain down over Eddie's nose and drip down his lips. She sunk her teeth into his lower lip and gave a little tug which earned her a slap on the bum and quiet murmur of 'be professional' against her lips.

It was a good job the night was as dark as this with the rain morphing and disfiguring their image for the rest of the team below. The last thing they wanted was for anyone to say they weren't being professional. And they both knew how Evan hated them putting on a display when he was around. It had taken Evan a while to get used to the fact that his little sister was married to his best friend.

"Go get 'em cowgirl."

(Y/n) kissed the tip of Eddie's nose before she turned around and curled her fingers around the ladder.

Her eyes rolled and she supressed a smile when she felt his hand on her bum again before he reached his foot out and clicked the lock off the winch so the rope would extend.

Eddie kept his hands on the ladder and stayed arched forwards, keeping his eyes on his wife as she slowly ascended up the ladder. The plan was for (Y/n) to climb onto the balcony, evacuate the fifth floor and Evan and Bobby would go in through the lobby and make sure everyone got out. While Chimney and Hen were working with the hose, Eddie was operating the winch and standing by in case he had to follow up the ladder too.

It was hard to see anything through the thick downpour. The rain was so heavy that (Y/n) couldn't see the ladder in front of her with the torrential downpour that made Eddie's helmet jutter on her head and drop the rain down onto the tip of her nose.

Her lips were drenched, her lashes were fighting off the rain and every inch of her skin was starting to shake from the low temperature.

"Bloody rain," She muttered to herself as she reached the end of the ladder and took a quick glance around.

(Y/n) tilted her head over the side of the ladder and let herself look over the edge.

She found Bobby rather easily despite being high up near the fifth floor and she smiled. He had been a father to her and Evan since they first joined the team. Bobby and Evan were hanging back, they were waiting to guide everybody out and they needed Hen and Chimney to put some of the fire out first before they went in. (Y/n) nodded when she saw Bobby give her a thumbs up, the silent go ahead sign she needed so she could proceed into the building.

But her body tremored and she slumped forward and hunkered down when a horrid noise tore through the sky. Her eyes lifted and her head snapped up towards the sky but all she could see was thousands of white droplets raining down from the heavens. The sky was a misty blue mixed with swirls of black like a canvas with only a few swirls of clouds to be seen through the rain.

"Was that lightning?" (Y/n) curled her fingers around her radio and leaned her head down.

If that was lightning they needed to be careful or pull back. The truck was a magnet for lightning and electricity, they had already been down to the beach yesterday when lightning struck the sand. They didn't need it getting closer to this scene and causing problems.

Eddie straightened up and tilted his head up towards the sky before he looked back at his wife.

The sky looked unforgiving, full of darkness without a single glimmer of light to guide them tonight. It made the building look like a beacon in the sheet of blackness, shining a vibrant burgendy with melted orange flames flickering at the sides. Leaking brown ash clouds up into the night sky.

"Baby, do you need a hand?" Eddie gripped his radio and raised a brow, keeping his eyes on his wife. It wasn't strictly professional but Eddie hardly ever used (Y/n)'s name anymore, even on shift he was so used to using nicknames. No one on the team minded, as long as they weren't handsy with each other, nicknames didn't cause a problem.

"I don't kn-"

Lightning broke through the clouds, a true act of God right before their eyes and Eddie swore he could see a hand throwing the lightning bolt down at them like an act of vengeance.

Eddie heard her scream. It was the howl of a banshee that tore through his heart and set off an explosion in his chest.

His eyes snapped closed and a mimicking sound left his own lips when sparks flew from the ladder and seemed to set the truck alight. He couldn't keep hold of the ladder and the force sent him backwards until he was falling through the air. All the air burst out of Eddie's lungs when his back hit the ground and the jolt it sent through his system made him shake on the floor.

Oh God, he had broken a rib, he could feel it.

His eyes couldn't focus when he managed to open them and his arm bound around his chest as he rolled onto his left side with a guttural groan. His knees felt weak and his back burned when he tried to sit himself up and take a look around.

"What the fuck was that?" Evan's voice tore through the air and he reached his hand down for Eddie's hand so he could hoist him up to his feet.

Eddie shook his head to rid the static from his ears and the pounding pain in his head. He grabbed the back of his neck and tilted his head round to click his neck into place, but once he lifted his head and looked up, his body went rigid. All the blood drained down to his feet. His arms dropped at his sides. His jaw went slack and his pupils took over his chocolate eyes that couldn't look anywhere else but up in the sky.

Eddie didn't realise he was screaming until his lungs started to burn for oxygen and he felt lightheaded.

His hand reached out and he gave Evan a shove towards the truck, pointing and gasping for him to grab the winch. His wife was hurt. Evan's little sister was in peril. The girl Bobby thought of as his daughter was hanging in mid-air, lifeless.

The buckle clip was the only thing stopping (Y/n) from plummeting through the air and crashing down on the concrete below. It suspended her in the air, four stories high above them like an omen of death. Her legs and arms dangled limp and lifeless at her sides and when Eddie looked close enough, he could see them swaying in the breeze. Her head was snapped back enough that it looked like her neck had been broken.

The helmet Eddie had plonked on her head less than five minutes ago was now laid on the floor, most definitely cracked and probably broken just like (Y/n)'s helmet had been this morning.

"Lower her down! Get her down to me she's not moving!" Eddie stumbled through the rain, crashing his boots down into puddles that splashed up as high as his shoulders. He barged past Bobby and waved his hand out at Evan who was already on top of the truck, screaming as he started to lower the winch. Eddie ran until his chest was heaving and he was stood directly beneath his wife's suspended form.

"Hen we need a gurney! Chimney back up the ambulance let's go." Bobby shouted out as he waved his hands for them to hurry. They were now in the golden time zone and if they didn't move fast enough, they could lose (Y/n).

"Faster!"

As soon as (Y/n) started to sway and jutter as the red rope lowered her down, Eddie pushed up on his toes and stretched his arms high up into the rain to reach for her. His hand pressed between her shoulder blades and his other hand cupped the back of her thigh as Hen pushed a gurney directly beneath her.

"Unhook her." Eddie took (Y/n)'s weight when Bobby unclipped the buckle and he laid (Y/n) down and slid his hands from beneath her.

He ripped off his gloves and scrunched his fingers around her florescent jacket. Without thinking twice, Eddie wrenched the jacket apart and tore the zipper that wet flying through the air. He threw the loose sides apart and moved his hands to (Y/n)'s shirt which he had no problem tearing away like it was a tissue he was discarding.

It left (Y/n) in her crimson red bra and exposed her chest and stomach that were soaked. Rain continued to patter down on her skin like fingertips drumming out a beat but her body didn't react at all. No shivers, no spasms, no goosebumps or hairs standing up on end. Nothing.

Eddie's upper lip curled when he noticed red, bubbling streaks slithering across her right arm, up her shoulder and down over her chest like a horrible rash spreading like wildfire.

But it was her stomach that made bile rise in the back of his throat.

Her scar.

The scar she got from Masie's C-section six months ago. She had only come back to work little over two weeks ago after having Masie. (Y/n) shouldn't be laid here like this. That scar was a reminder that she had people counting on her. They had two kids waiting at home for them. Eddie couldn't be the only one to walk back through that door, he had to get (Y/n) through this and get her home to their kids. She couldn't leave them, not now, not like this.

"Baby… oh God, mi amor." Eddie cupped her face in his hands and kept her head and neck straight. Her skin felt lifeless. There was no colour, no heat, not a single muscle moving or twitching beneath his touch. His right hand moved down and his fingers pressed against her neck deep enough to try and feel for a pulse.

When he felt nothing, Eddie shifted his hand lower and pressed his palm down hard on her sternum. Her chest wasn't moving.

"(Y/n)! (Y/n), fuck- tell me she's breathing."

Evan jumped behind Hen and Eddie and fell into Bobby who held him up before he collapsed down onto his sister on the stretcher. His hands fought to grab Bobby's shoulders, unsure whether he was actually trying to hold Bobby or move him out the way.

"She's not breathing… I can't find a pulse we need to move!"

Evan screamed and pushed forward against Bobby who held him back. Evan was too emotional, he could barely see due to the tears streaming down his face and he was shaking from shock. At least Eddie was somewhat composed and was ready and able to look after (Y/n).

Hen placed the medic pack down beside (Y/n)'s left thigh and opened it up but before she could even attempt to grab the defibrilator, Eddie reached out first. He slapped her hand away and gave the bag a rough shove until it almost toppled off the side of the gurney.

"You really wanna send more electricity through my wife? Look at her she's drenched! You're not frying her to a crisp."

(Y/n) was covered in rain from head to toe and their suits weren't water proof. Now Eddie had ripped apart her clothes, she was getting consumed with water. Lightning had already shocked her heart once but if they tried to do it again when she was wet, they would be executing her with no chance of revival.

Eddie wouldn't let her do that to his wife.

"This is Captain Nash, we have a firefighter down. Repeat, firefighter down who has been struck by lightning. Requesting medic team on standby at Mercy hospital, we are on our way."

"Get her in I have to start CPR or I'm gonna lose her." Eddie all but growled until people started to listen and they helped him wheel the gurney up into the ambulance Chimney had backed right over to them.

As soon as the gurney was inside, Eddie climbed up onto the metal frame and shed his jacket like a second skin. Evan jumped up in the back along with Hen and they both slumped down into the seats opposite Eddie and Bobby hopped in the front with Chimney. The other station could finish up here and get the building evacuated and the fire put out. They had to protect one of their own and rush her to the hospital before they lost her.

"You are not allowed to do this. You hear me? Don't go anywhere, mi amor."

Eddie locked his fingers together, straightened his elbows and pressed his fists against the middle of (Y/n)'s chest. He gulped and choked when he started to push down on her chest.

He'd never done anything like this on one of his own family before. He'd never given CPR to his wife.

Why did it have to be (Y/n)? Why didn't Eddie go up the ladder instead of her?

(Y/n) couldn't die.

She couldn't die here and now. Not when the whole team was here to bring her back and Eddie, Evan and Bobby would give their souls to the devil if it would bring (Y/n) back. She wasn't allowed to leave them, there was no way Evan or Eddie could cope in a life without (Y/n).

Eddie stopped his compressions when he reached thirty and slumped over the stretcher to reach into one of the drawers opposite. He didn't give Hen the chance to help and when she tried to talk, Eddie's firm expression told her not to even try. She watched Eddie place the air bag over (Y/n)'s mouth and nose and manually squeeze two breaths past her lips before he put the mask down and continued his compressions.

Evan lowered his eyes down to the gurney and reached out to curl both his trembling hands around his sister's limp hand. Her skin felt like rubber against his touch, taut and cold and lifeless and it made Evan choke. He pulled her hand to press his lips against the back of her knuckles and his blurry vision zoomed in on her eyes.

He couldn't look anywhere else.

Her shirt was ripped open, exposing her chest which wasn't a sight Evan wanted to see and he truly didn't want to watch his brother in law press down on his sister's chest so hard it looked like he was going to crack through her ribs. And Evan couldn't look at (Y/n)'s face. Not when she wasn't moving, breathing, twitching or even opening her eyes.

Tremors rattled through Eddie's chest as he tried to keep himself calm. He could feel the rain and sweat rolling down his skin, sinking beneath the collar of his shirt, beneath his arms and even through his trousers. His skin was flushed red and radiating heat despite the cold night air and goosebumps prickled over his arms as his numb fingers continued to press down into his wife's chest deep enough to feel her ribs creaking beneath his hands.

Hen silently leaned over and found some towels and flannels from a drawer. She started to wipe the cloths over (Y/n)'s chest in frantic motions to clear up as much of the water as possible. CPR wasn't going to be enough. Her heart had been shocked, she would need another shock to get it going again and soon.

She clipped a monitor onto (Y/n)'s finger and grabbed the white plastic sticker, planting it down firmly in the middle of (Y/n)'s chest before she patted Eddie's shoulder.

"Stand clear."

Spit rolled down the corner of Eddie's mouth and he heaved each breath until stars danced across his vision. He let go of (Y/n)'s chest and took a step back while Evan dropped her head and braced his hands on his knees. Evan pressed his back up against the wall and closed his eyes.

Both men winced and made gurgling, horrified sounds when the shock ignited through (Y/n)'s chest and arched her back up from the stretcher before she flopped back down; lifeless.

"Go again." Evan wiped his sleeve against his eyes before he slammed his hand down on the gurney. They had to do it again, she needed another shock. Her heart wasn't beating, the monitor was flatlining.

"No. Her heart won't stand much more. Starting compressions until we get to the hospital." Eddie braced one hand on the roof and the other on the stretched before he swung his leg over and climbed up. His knees clamped down into (Y/n)'s damp legs and he sank back onto her thighs, with a grimace. He wasn't used to doing this in such a panicked, horrid situation.

They couldn't risk shocking her heart more than necessary or else it would give out completely. She had already endured a violent shock that had likely affected her heart, lungs and probably her liver too. More shocks would only crucify her heart and ensure she was dead.

Eddie started compressions again, blinking away the tears that dripped down onto (Y/n)'s cheeks as he started to growl and gasp each time he pushed down.

He didn't feel the ambulance rolling to a stop until the back doors swung wide open and he tilted his head over his shoulder. Locking eyes with Bobby whose heart visibly dropped to his stomach when he saw that they hadn't managed to get her rhythm back again.

He and Chimney tried to be careful when they lowered the gurney down to the floor and Evan kept tight hold of (Y/n)'s hand, pulling her arm until it was pinned across his chest. He kissed the back of her hand repeatedly, freely crying as he and Hen followed them all inside.

As soon as they were inside the doors of the ambulance entrance to the hospital, Eddie held his hand out to get them to stop. He clenched his hands down on the gurney beside (Y/n)'s shoulders and climbed over the side to jump back down to his feet.

"Go again. Everybody stand clear."

On Eddie's word, Hen set the defibrilator up again and everyone held their breaths and watched the jolt rush through (Y/n)'s chest.

No one knew who made a sound when her heartbeat suddenly came back.

"I've got a pulse… but she's still not breathing. I need to intubate." Eddie pressed his palm against (Y/n)'s chest but she still wasn't breathing. Her heart wouldn't last long if she wasn't taking in any oxygen.

"We can-"

"Get the Hell off my wife! I'm intubating."

His arm flung out to the right and slapped into whichever nurse tried to pull him back. He wasn't having anyone else bustle in and waste more time. (Y/n) hated hospitals and she was his wife. Eddie was the one she trusted the most to look after her when she wasn't well so he was going to be the one to intubate her and get her breathing.

Everyone stood silent as Eddie rummaged in the medic bag Hen had left on the side of the gurney.

He cupped (Y/n)'s chin, brushing his thumb across her lower lip as he tilted her head back and wedged a tongue clamp into her mouth. He held his free hand out, keeping his eyes focused on (Y/n)'s parted lips and he clicked his fingers until someone placed an intubation tube between his fingers. The thin, clear tube slid easily down (Y/n)'s throat and as swift as the lightning that hit her, Eddie attached the air bag on the end.

He finally let a nurse get close enough to start squeezing the bag to give (Y/n) each breath until they could get her on a ventilator.

"What have we got?"

"(Y/n) Diaz, female, twenty-two, struck by lightning."

Eddie leaned to the right and suddenly took Bobby's wrist in his hand so he could check Bobby's watch. His eyes then raked down to his own watch, squinting to see through the broken glass of his watch.

"She's had no pulse for three minutes and seventeen seconds," Eddie could barely hear himself huff but those times rattled around in his head. His watch had broken when he fell off the truck and that had roughly been the exact time (Y/n) stopped breathing, give or take a few seconds. It was the closest estimate they had and it made Eddie want to be sick. He didn't want to know the exact amount of time his wife's heart had given out on him.

Eddie ran his fingers through his hair and tugged so harshly he winced and felt a few loose hairs become stuck between his fingers. What were they going to do? How were they going to take care of his wife? What did someone do for a lightning strike? Did people usually survive this kind of thing- had this ever happened before?

"She's allergic to naproxen." Bobby clamped his hands down on his hips as he watched them barely nod along with him.

"We'll take her from here," One of the nurses placed a hand on Eddie's shoulder, but she let him lean down and hastily kiss her temple.

"No, no please-"

"Buck come on, they'll look after her."

A wave of hurt washed over Evan's face and torrential tears flushed his face when Bobby held his biceps to pin him back. He didn't want them to take his sister away. If she lost her rhythm again and they didn't bring her back, that would be it. Evan wouldn't get a chance to talk to her or tell her how much he loved her. He wouldn't be able to say goodbye.

Bobby wrapped his arms around Evan and pulled him back, letting Evan press into his shoulder and start to gasp for breath. "Take care of her."

"We'll do our best."

"Do more!"

Eddie didn't want their best. He wanted everything possible and more to be done to look after his wife. He wanted to go with her and hold her hand and oversee what they were doing to make sure they did whatever they could. Eddie wanted to make a deal with the devil to save her if he could.

No one stopped Eddie when he turned around and pummelled his fists into the wall. He kept going until a dint started to form in the plaster and his knuckles split, spraying blood across the magnolia wall while a roaring scream erupted from his lips.

He couldn't lose her.

***

"Do you want to take a break, maybe go and get a drink?" Athena tentatively laid a hand down on Bobby's shoulder as she leaned against his chair. Her head tilted down so she could kiss the top of his head and her other hand moved to hold his other shoulder, but it was as if he didn't even register her touch.

He had been sat here all night, rosary beads clenched between his fingers and pressed against his lips. He was chanting something so quiet Athena couldn't be sure whether it was a prayer or a memory he was trying to retell to himself.

"No, thank you."

Bobby didn't bother to look up as he spoke, but he did finally open his eyes that instantly locked onto (Y/n).

"You need to rest. When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't remember." He wasn't sure what day it was. He didn't know if he had been sitting here all night, all day or for a whole week. All Bobby knew was that if he left and something happened, he would never forgive himself. This was his child laid here, someone he thought of as closely as his own kin and he couldn't go anywhere.

"Bobby…" That tone of voice made him sigh, but not in a horrid kind of way.

He leaned his head back into Athena's chest and dropped his hands down to his lap. He rolled the rosary along his leg but his eyes still wouldn't move away from (Y/n).

"She's my kid," He could feel his lower lip wobbling and his voice came out barely more than a quiet whisper. "She said that… that she thinks of me as her dad. She wants Masie to be my grandkid, how can I- how can I go when she might die?"

How could he leave her now?

(Y/n) told Bobby a few months ago that she thought of him as her dad, that she wished somehow, that it could be possible. He had always let Evan call him pops and more and more, Bobby acted like a father to the siblings whether they were on shift or not. They came over to his house, they went out for meals together and spoke through problems and dealt with their problems together.

When she and Eddie had Masie, (Y/n) asked Bobby to be her grandad because her parents weren't going to be involved. She thought of Bobby and Athena as her parents.

They couldn't go anywhere when she might die. If the worst was to happen, Bobby wanted to be right by (Y/n)'s side to comfort her and ease her through the transition. He wanted to hold her hand and kiss her goodbye and tell her he would keep her in his thoughts every single day. And that he would look after Evan and Eddie and Chris and Masie.

Bobby couldn't leave.

He didn't notice Athena move one hand from his shoulder to pinch the bridge of her nose. She didn't cry often. Her job hardened her exterior and made it hard to express much of anything, even joy. But all those years of experience did nothing to stop the tears from falling right now.

She had two children of her own, but when she married Bobby, she gained another two. Losing (Y/n) would feel the same as losing May and it would break Evan and Bobby completely.

"We're not leaving, okay? Do you think she would let you sit and wither away in this chair? She has some special visitors coming up so you can let me take you for some food, then we will come right back."

There was no use in arguing, Bobby knew this and he figured Eddie and Evan would want some time alone with (Y/n). They had been gracious enough to never comment on how long Bobby stayed for and they seemed grateful for his company. But he knew as much as they were thankful he stuck around, they both needed some time alone. She was Evan's little sister, he needed some time to talk to her and beg her to be okay. And she was Eddie's wife, that certainly qualified him some time to be alone with her and sit vigil by her bedside.

He figured the special visitor might be Maddie and Chimney.

Bobby pushed up from the chair and rested his hand over (Y/n)'s. He forced himself to smile as he leaned over her and kissed her temple, whispering a quiet 'I'll be back soon' before he followed Athena out.

They didn't walk far before Athena pressed her hand into Bobby's chest and stopped him just as a few people rounded the corner.

"Are you sure about this?" Athena looked across at Eddie when he rounded the corner with Chris in front of him and Masie in his arms.

His hand moved up to cradle the back of Masie's head and he pressed his lips to her temple, brushing his nose against the little wisps of hazel brown hair tufting along her head. Eddie hitched her higher against his chest, relishing in the weight she applied to his chest like a calming weighted blanket easing away his anxiety and preventing a panic attack.

But it was Chris his eyes kept going back to. The little boy was walking determinedly in front of him, keeping a slow pace in case they had to stop and wait for any nurses to walk past. Kids weren't allowed in the ICU, but that wasn't going to stop them. Chris wanted to see (Y/n) and Eddie couldn't persuade him otherwise, so he gave up.

"Yeah, we are. Could you watch Masie for a while… I don't wanna take her in with us,"

"Sure." Bobby wasn't sure whether it was the look Athena gave Eddie that made him ask or whether he truly didn't want to take Masie in with them. But Bobby answered immediately and he could feel his heart lifting in his chest when he looked at the six-month-old.

This was probably a diversion, a tactic to get Bobby to leave (Y/n)'s side and try to recooperate before he went back in. And he would accept this because he could do (Y/n) a favour and watch over Masie until she was better again.

"Go to grandad," Eddie cooed quietly against her temple as he eased her into Bobby's arms where she happily cuddled up and started to pull on his shirt.

He watched them disappear down the corridor before he opened the door and let Chris walk in ahead of him. He had prepared Chris for what he was going to see. (Y/n) wasn't going to be alert, responsive or able to communicate with him. She would effectively be asleep with monitoring stickers on her chest, a breathing tube down her throat and wires and tubes stuck beneath the covers into her body.

Eddie was surprised that Chris didn't seem affected when they walked in. He moved over to the chair Eddie knew Bobby had been in all night and sank himself down and let his crutches drop to the floor.

"Can mum hear me?"

Chris had taken to referring to (Y/n) as his mum since she had been in his life for the last four years. He couldn't remember much about Shannon, she hadn't been in his life since he was four and a half but (Y/n) had been there since he was five. She was all Chris knew and he loved her and thought of her as his real mum.

"I don't know, I hope so. The doctor said talking can help." A big part of Eddie hoped that (Y/n) could hear them, however deep her subconscious had been hidden away. He hoped she could hear them tell her how much they loved her and how badly they needed her back.

Eddie leaned against the window and folded his arms over his chest, staying in the background to give Chris some space.

"Mum, it's me. Uncle Buck said you'll wake up soon," He leaned forward, flopped his elbows onto the mattress and moved around until he could hold (Y/n)'s hand. "I want you to wake up soon… dad will look after you and make you better."

Eddie tilted his head back into the window and scrunched up his nose while he wiped his eyes. He didn't want to burst out crying and upset or worry Chris and make this harder for him. But Eddie didn't know if (Y/n) was going to wake up. He had no idea if she was ever coming off this ventilator, if he would hear her voice and kiss her lips and see her get out of that bed.

The unknown made Eddie afraid. He didn't do well being alone. He couldn't go back to being a single dad. He couldn't bring up two kids on his own. He hadn't been there for the first part of Chris's life and Eddie was doing his best to be more present in Chris's life and be there for all of Masie's. He wasn't bringing them both up without (Y/n).

"You'll be okay. I love you."

Eddie's shoulders quaked and he brought his hands up to smother his face, forcing himself not to breathe or make a single sound. He didn't want to gasp for breath or scream or cry out but he didn't know what to do with himself. He could feel a cry bubbling up and gurgling at the back of his throat.

Why hadn't it been him that went up the ladder?

***

"She's breathing fine without the ventilator now, all her vitals seem good. We just need to wait and see if she will come out of the coma okay."

How long would they have to wait? How long did they have before they knew if she was ever going to wake up? What would happen if she woke up and she couldn't speak or move or even remember any of them? What if she was changed, somehow, permanently, from this?

Eddie wouldn't be able to go through life if one of those things turned out to be true.

"Y-you're rather heavy baby… you know that?"

A quiet grumble left Eddie's lips and his eyes twitched behind his eyelids while he nuzzled his head further down and tried to keep his mind in a dreary state of sleep. But once those words- and that lullaby voice, registered in Eddie's ears, his eyes shot open and his head snapped up so fast he cracked his neck.

His hands planted down on either side of the bed and he bolted to sit up, swaying back and forth when the blood drained from his head and he couldn't see straight.

He was imagining things. He was hearing voices. He had to be. That was a voice Eddie told himself he was never going to hear again. A voice he saved for when he closed his eyes and cried until he finally blacked out, listening to that voice in his memories.

His heart started to pound against his ribs like it was trying to bruise his chest and he could barely see when tears flooded his face.

(Y/n) was awake.

She was trying to blink enough to clear her blurry vision and she hummed quietly to try and clear her throat that felt croaky and dry and hoarse and scratched. A tremble set in down her arm when she tried to curl and bend her fingers and her head hurt when she turned to see who was clenching her hand so tightly the blood couldn't reach her fingertips.

Bobby was holding her hand. Evan had his feet propped up against hers as he slouched down in the other chair. Eddie had been laid on the bed with her and had shuffled in his sleep until his head was on her chest and his arm had been draped around her waist.

"Oh my God."

Before she knew what was happening, (Y/n) gasped and closed her eyes when Eddie's hands moved to cup her face and his lips planted down on hers. Thousands of kisses fluttered against her lips as his thumbs rapidly brushed across her cheeks and his arms squeezed into her shoulders to pin her beneath him.

"You're awake, you're awake," Was the only thing Eddie could fathom to say on repeat, over and over against her lips he was going to bruise.

When (Y/n) managed to squeeze Bobby's hand, she felt him push Evan's legs off the bed to jolt him awake before all of them were leaning over her. Eddie pulled back enough for Bobby to lean down and kiss her temple and she felt Evan grab her hand and drag her arm up until the back of her hand was pressed up against his cheek. He kissed her wrist while Eddie leaned forward and pressed his temple down into her shoulder to try and stop himself from blacking out.

"Did I fall?" (Y/n)'s quiet, meek voice took them all by surprise and for a few seconds, none of them could find an answer.

Bobby perched down on the side of the bed while Evan scraped his chair along the floor until his knees were wedged under the bed frame and he could lean his head near her arm. And when Eddie pulled up to hover over her, despite the tears staining his face, he was smiling.

"No, sweetheart, you got struck by lightning." Bobby kept tight hold over her hand and smoothed his free hand up and down her arm, minding the rosary beads he still had curled around his fingers and tangled over his wrist.

It was almost endearing to see the look of wonder and surprise that pooled within (Y/n)'s eyes and how her lips parted in a round shape of shock.

"Where's Chris?" Her words took Eddie by surprise as she tilted her head forward to press her temple against his and nudge his nose.

"Maddie took him to school, mi amor. Why?"

"I thought I heard his voice…" (Y/n) trailed off and closed her eyes as a smile graced her lips. She pecked Eddie's lips and squeezed Evan and Bobby's hands. It was the strangest feeling, like she was waking up from a very lucid dream that was now fading right before her eyes. (Y/n) had heard so many voices while she had been asleep and some of them were ringing in the back of her head.

She guessed she hadn't really heard Chris after all, he must have been playing on her mind as she recovered and woke up.

But (Y/n) could of sworn she heard Chris.

#eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie x reader #eddie diaz #eddie imagnie #imagine #911 imagine #evan buckley #bobby nash

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morbidology · 4 months ago

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In 2004, Ameneh Bahrami was a 24-year-old university student in Tehran, pursuing a degree in electronics. Her life took a tragic turn when Majid Movahedi, a fellow student whose romantic advances she had repeatedly rejected, attacked her with sulfuric acid.

The attack, which occurred in broad daylight, caused catastrophic injuries, leaving her face disfigured and her vision severely impaired.

Following the attack, Ameneh endured numerous surgeries in Iran and Europe, facing immense physical and emotional pain. Her struggle for justice began as she sought retribution against her attacker through Iran's legal system. Under Islamic law, Ameneh demanded Qisas, or retributive justice, which would allow her to seek an eye-for-an-eye punishment by having acid dropped into Movahedi's eyes.

After years of legal battles, in 2008, an Iranian court ruled in favor of Ameneh's request for Qisas, sentencing Movahedi to be blinded with acid. However, in a surprising and profound act of mercy, Ameneh chose to forgive her attacker at the last moment.

In 2011, just before the sentence was to be carried out, she publicly announced her decision to pardon Movahedi. Ameneh Bahrami's story did not end with her act of forgiveness. She continued to raise awareness about acid attacks and advocate for the rights of victims.

Her memoir, "Eye for an Eye," provides a detailed account of her harrowing experience and her journey towards recovery and forgiveness. Through her advocacy, she has worked to bring attention to the prevalence of acid violence and the need for stricter laws to protect women.

#history #morbid

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yarafic · 2 months ago

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Preference~ Meeting Klaus in New Orleans

"Don't worry, mom. I'll keep my doors closed." As you pick up your purse from the floor, "Yes, I'll close my windows at night. Mom, I have seen the documentaries, and let's not forget criminal minds. I promise, I am not that ignorant."

You opened the door to your modern house and locked it. You have to say that Criminal Minds or any cop show in existence has proved to you what not to do when you're living alone. You never comprehended why people would foolishly leave their windows open at night. Which is terrifying as fuck for many reasons. For example, someone could enter your house and slaughter you in your sleep. Bloody insects could be swarming around you. Let's not forget that a fucking bird barged into your apartment last month.

When you were trying to head to work, you wouldn't leave your room. Until your co-worker came. She helped you get rid of that damn bird.

"I have to go now." You replied to your mom as you closed the door behind you.

"Please take care! Love you! Be safe and call me when you are off work."

"Yes, mom. Don't worry, nothing bad will happen. Like I told you before, I only live about ten minutes away from work. Love you."

As you hung up the phone, you had this weird feeling. Like you were being watched as you stood in front of your building. Already making your way to work. As you were getting nearer to where you work, you noticed there wasn't any music playing, and it seemed eerily quiet.

As you pushed open the door, there were blood splatters on the walls. Bloodied bodies are all over the place. The worst is seeing all the disfigured corpses on the exposed floor. In the center of the room, there were piles of bodies scattered around the floor. In the center of all those bodies stood a man with blonde hair, covered in blood from head to toe. His arms stretched out.

You noticed that he was holding something in his right hand; you couldn't make out what it was. Then you notice the liquid is dripping from the object. You distinguish it as a heart. You gasp and take a step back. Idiotically, you bumped into a table that was on the way out.

The murderous man turns around to see your small, quivering frame trying to leave the establishment. You had to find a way to get out. But you couldn't move. It felt like you were stuck. You could hear your heart thrumming in your ears. Crime shows didn't prepare you for this current situation that you are in. How were you going to make it out of life? He steps towards you; you stumble back to get away.

You turn around fully to run out of the building, but out of nowhere, he was already in front of you. Your thoughts were racing to find a way to get out of here. He places both of his hands on your shoulders and forces you close to him. Your breathing is uneven, and you have noticed black spots in your vision. The last thing you notice are these piercing blue eyes.

_____

Klaus p.o.v

"Who is she?" I hear my sister, Rebekah question as I go through our home.

"What has he done?" Hayley replies as she leans against the door frame.

I ignore them both, I honestly to do not have time listening to there banter about how I am a monster. I place the unconscious woman on my bed and walked out then closed the door.

I turn around to see my sister with her arms crossed above her chest waiting for me to answer her question. From done below we hear the rest of our siblings enter our home.

"Why is everyone so tense?" Freya question as she sees her you her siblings glaring at one another.

Rebekah twirls around to face Freya and says, "Klaus brought an unknown unconscious woman to our home."

You could see Elijah whip his head around to look at his brother. Klaus shook his head that he will explain to him later what happened. Elijah understood his brother. Therefore, he kept his mouth shut and turn to tell his dear sister to knock it off. But as usual, Rebekah ignores her older brother and kept on insisting that Klaus was going to hurt the poor girl that was in his room.

Klaus walks down the stairs to go into the kitchen, to find himself a drink. If he has to deal with his family, he would need something to calm his temptations on murdering his own siblings and the mother of his child.

Elijah walks in and sits down at the end of the table, he glances at his brother and says, "What happen?"

"She witness me murder our enemies then she fainted. It did not feel right of me to leave her there." Klaus pours himself more bourbon.

Elijah is amazed that his brother decided to take care of a woman that he scared to death. Maybe she will also help his brother, maybe she will help him change to be better for himself and his child.

Klaus then turns around to go back to his bedroom. He sit down at a near by chair, he wasn't going to lie to himself; if he did thought that you were attractive. The moment he sweep you from your feet due to you going to unconsciousness, Klaus removes the strands of your hair that were covering your face. He admired in awe, on how you can look so pure and innocent. Somewhere deep inside of him, he did not want to let go of you. The blonde man needs to make sure to keep you in his life one way or another. He will do whatever he needs to do to keep you with him.

Slowly you open your eyes, you took a glance from your surroundings. You did not recall where you were. Panic rose from your chest and you sit up; you try to push the blankets off of yourself.

"You should be careful, love." a voice calls out to me. I look towards the corner where the voice was coming from. In the left side of the room, sat the very man; who killed all those men at your work place. You push yourself up and try to run out of the room. It was no use, in a blink of eye, there he stood before me. You gasped in fear and took a step back, he had a smile on his face. If you had not known what he had done moments a go at the bar. You would find him an angel, so innocent and gentle. Like he would not seem to hurt anyone.

"Why did you bring me here?" you stuttered out as you kept on walking backwards to keep a distance between the two of you. Klaus brings his hands up to show that they were empty, a way to ease the shaking woman before him. He did not know if he should move in closer but noticing how she was backing away he decided against it. He lowers his hands to his side and replies, "I could not leave you there."

Your face showed confusion, you did not understand at all. Is he keeping you here to kill you? Or is he going to lock you away? (honestly you start making up scenarios in your head about what he could possibly do to you. Not going to lie you were scaring yourself to death, I believe it is time to stop watching crime shows).

"What do you mean?" as your legs hit the bed. Klaus moves in forward and chuckles softly; he now is standing in front of you. He looks deep into your eyes and tilts his head to the side and whispers to you, " I have been watching you. The first time I met you was at the plaza, you were sat at the nearby benches with a book in hand. I couldn't keep my eye away from you, you put me in a trance. Like a siren becoming to come near you. I wanted to go up to for a talk but I couldn't I did not want to taint you from you innocence."

Now you understood those times that you felt someone was watching your every move. For some odd reason you felt your heart flutter. He has always been there in the shadows taking care of you. Your mind was telling you that this by far the most weirdest shit ever but your heart was saying that this is the most beautiful thing someone has ever told you. Your heart was telling you that it is okay to have someone stalk you and be obsessed with you.

"So it shocked me when I saw you walk through those doors. I did knew your work schedule due to your co-worker name Cami. She has been the one giving me information about you. My surprise that you were there, I thought she was the one that will working today", He raised his hands to cup your cheeks and gentle caresses them with his thumb. " So don't be afraid of me, love."

____________

Years later

"That is how I meet your father, Hope." you took a sip of your coffee and smile towards Hope, who has a look of confusion.

"You stayed with him even though he scared the hell out of you." She questions, still not understanding how you, her stepmother could fall in love with her dad due to that introduction.

"Please do not judge me, sweetie. I know I am weird but I did truly found your dad terrifying but now, he is the most sweetest and adorable man that I know." Hope sighs and looks to see her dad leaning on the doorway.

He scoffs of the words that his wife utter and walks inside the room that they were in.

"Please do not let anyone else hear you." Klaus says as he wraps his arms around his wife's shoulders.

"What that you are fluff ball or that there is a soft side of you? Maybe I should open the doors to the balcony and scream them" You questioned playfully whiling sending a wink to Hope.

Hope giggles and shakes her head, "Maybe I should help you as well."

"Knock it off you two." Klaus points at you both. You and Hope snicker to one another.

"You know I love you." I lean to give him a kiss on his cheek.

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causeimhappinesss · 7 months ago

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His baby mama, part 1 (Corey Cunningham x reader)

Plot: Corey Cunningham gets his girlfriend pregnant. But since he's too scared of his mom, he doesn't tell her and doesn't fully take his responsibilities. Because of this, the reader breaks up with him, but… Did he really forget about her?

Pairing: Corey Cunningham x reader

Warning: stalking bitch (Corey), pregnancy(?)

Disclaimer: English isn't my native language (I'm french), so you can correct me if you spot some mistakes :) + it’s gonna be a short story, so don’t seek a full development as you would in a novel + read my author's notes at the end

PART 2

---

“Are you sure? Maybe it’s a mistake, maybe the test isn’t working…”

“Corey, I took a blood test. I’m pregnant.”

Your boyfriend’s face decomposes before your eyes. Corey stands there, his shoulders hunched under the yellowish light of the bedside lamp. Fear and indecision disfigure his usually more serene face.

“It’s too soon for us to be parents,” he replies, his trembling voice betraying his dismay. “We’ve only been together a year, and my mother… If she finds out about this, she’ll kill me.”

You watch him, your throat tight and your heart beating wildly.

“I didn’t choose this, Corey. I’m under birth control, I’m taking all my pills, you know that. But now it’s done. Maybe… Maybe it was meant to be.”

Your hands instinctively rest on your belly, a natural protection against the uncertainty of the moment. You’ve just found out about your two-month pregnancy, only the day before. Why weren’t you worried before you missed your periods? For the simple reason that you’ve never had a regular cycle, due to the stress you’ve been under all your life.

He swallows loudly and drifts his eyes elsewhere to avoid your gaze. Obviously.

“What if… What if we thought about abortion? The money I earn will go to my engineering program…” he murmurs, almost ashamed. Yet you know very well I might not be accepted in any university, given his criminal record, even if it was an accident.

The room seems to shrink around you, the walls lined with old floral wallpaper absorbing every word like a secret to be buried. Actually, this conversation was draining all your energy and you felt like it was burying you alive.

“What about the accident with Jeremy? You think that’s just going to vanish from my life? This town… They hate me. And with a baby, they’ll target you when our relationship will be exposed.”

As his voice breaks, he remains unable to finish his sentence.

The air between you becomes electric, charged with unspoken words. Your fists clench to hold back the trembling of your hands, as do your jaws. Tears burn your eyes and fog your vision. Your heart beats painfully. His words feel like a stab in the chest.

“Then go away!”

The words spurt out, sharp and irrevocable. You breathe hard, your lungs struggling against the dense air of the room. He frowns, his eyes on you, in which a glimmer of distress gleams.

“If you can’t handle it, get out! Get out!” you insist in a sharp tone.

His eyes cloud over with tears and sparkle with pain, as if he’s looking for something on your face… Perhaps a retraction on your part? A final confirmation for him to leave without looking back? He seems to be looking for something in your face, a reason to stay or perhaps permission to leave. But he finds nothing, just a reflection of his own distress.

Corey takes one step, then another, moving slowly toward the door. Each movement is heavy, as if he’s carrying the full weight of his choices and fears on his shoulders. He places his hand on the handle, his white knuckles betraying the strength of his grip.

“I…” he begins, but his voice is lost in an inaudible whisper.

With one last look, a mixture of apology and regret, he opens the door. The creak of the hinges seems to underline the finality of the moment. You stand still, staring at the empty space he’s left behind. The door slams behind Corey, a dry, final sound, bringing in the smell of impending rain this October 2021.

If only he could stand up to his crazy mother Joan. If only he could gain confidence in himself! If only he could understand that he was betraying you! After all, right from the start, you’d always opened the door of your house to him so he wouldn’t have to go back to his mother and hear her screaming, belittling him, even slapping him at times. You were the only woman in all of Haddonfield who agreed to give him a chance after the accident, even though you knew about the child’s death. You never judged him. You gave him all the love he needed, building a relationship of trust and pure love. True love.

Yet he’s just proved to you that he’s not worthy. Like father, like son, after all, since his father abandoned his mother when she was pregnant with him.

And as long as he doesn’t rebel and become a real man, no longer a scared teenager, he won’t move on with his life, you were certain. You, however, couldn’t stay stuck at this dead end.

Alone in the silence that followed, you closed your eyes, finally allowing your suppressed emotions to rise to the surface. Silent tears roll down your cheeks, each a promise of struggle and resilience. You breathe deeply, smelling the familiar scent of your great aunt’s house, mingled with the fresher scent of the rain to come. Here, in this house that is now yours, you will find the strength to face what lies ahead. Alone, but free.

In the weeks that follow, Corey tries to get back to you with numerous messages and calls, which you reject every time, but also by coming to your house. You never open the door for him. And as soon as you spot him in the town, in the stores, you make sure you avoid him. Better still, you’ve changed garage for your car repairs. In any case, none of his messages or voicemails indicate that he will assume his paternity, oh no. He wants you to understand his point of view. Like a little boy, he’s terrified. He doesn’t want you to stay mad.

As the months go by, his texts become rarer and rarer, until you don’t receive them anymore. From time to time, however, you find a wad of $100 bills in your mailbox, in an envelope signed “C.C.”.

You face your pregnancy and the birth of your child alone, without a father. Yet your few friends are there for you, and when your parents can, they visit you in Haddonfield. When the baby is born, you hesitate, but decide to leave an envelope with the baby’s photo and her name in your mailbox, knowing full well that Corey will pick it up. Did you do this to make him take responsibility? Out of simple kindness so he knows your daughter’s name and what she looks like as a newborn? Perhaps.

Again, the months go by and your daughter is only a few months old. Thanks to a friend, you learn that Corey has found love again in the arms of... Allyson, Laurie Strode’s granddaughter. The news hurts and stabs you in the heart. Deep down, maybe you were hoping he’d come back and finally become a real dad, not just a biological father. Especially since the older your daughter gets, the more she looks like him, with her natural kind of pout, her silky brown curls with golden highlights. Sometimes, she even seems to have her father’s eyes.

What you don’t know is that Corey never completely abandoned you.

He spied on you.

Over and over again.

You became his obsession, despite your many rejections during your pregnancy.

The room is plunged into darkness, subdued by half-closed shutters. Only a trickle of light from the street sneaks in through the slits. You gently cradle your daughter, her cries gradually subsiding under the effect of your comforting caresses. Her steady, soothing breath calms you, as you lay her gently in bed. An exhausted sigh escapes your lips, then you let yourself fall onto your own bed, letting fatigue fall on you like a leaden screed. Your heavy eyelids barely lift to glance at the clock, which is blinking mercilessly: 3:30 a.m. How long has it been since you’ve had a decent night’s sleep? You don’t even remember, but the dark circles under your eyes testify to the many nights of sleep cut short and the incessant preoccupations flooding into your brain. Being a single mom was hard as hell.

As you drift off to sleep, reality suddenly catches up with you. You jerk open your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest like a panicked drum. A man stands over the cradle, frozen in the half-light like a shadow, a sleep paralysis demon. He wears blood-stained overalls, his face hidden behind a white mask devoid of human expression…

Michael Myers.

Your eyes widen. Your breath freezes in your throat. A shiver of fear runs down your spine. You panic, but you force yourself to remain calm so as not to wake your sleeping daughter a few yards away. Without taking time to think, you try to throw yourself on top of your daughter, whom you try to press to your chest. Faster than you, the man pushes you away and presses his body against yours, still on the bed. His hands slip around your neck, ready to strangle you… One of the serial killer’s habits, as everyone knows, when he’s not stabbing his victims with a kitchen knife.

You try to scream, to fight against his relentless grip. Your throat tightens, unable to produce the slightest sound. Panic takes hold of you, a burning sensation that consumes every part of your being. Gradually, your strength leaves you. Suddenly, a wave of familiarity washes over you, a fragrance that takes you back to distant memories, forgotten moments of happiness. The sweetness of this reminiscence is swept away by the implacable terror of the present situation.

You try to gather your thoughts, to find a way to free yourself from the grip of this stranger who holds you prisoner in your own bed. Before you can articulate a single word, a brutal shock hits the back of your skull, a blinding explosion of pain that overwhelms you and engulfs you in darkness. Then, it’s pitch black.

“We are finally reunited…” whispers the husky male voice.

[Author’s notes]

Should I write another part? If yes, what do you want to happen next?

Sorry if it’s not developed enough. I would totally do it if I was writing one of my novels… But this story is mainly to satisfy myself lol

My Ko-fi: betrayedwriter

My AO3: BetrayedWriter

My Instagram: carolinemertz_

Want to read my novel if you know some french? Find them in my bio 😉

#Corey Cunningham #corey Cunningham x reader #Corey Cunningham x you #Corey Cunningham imagine #halloween 2018 #halloween kills #halloween ends #Halloween 2022 #corey cunningham headcanons #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher imagine #slasher headcanons

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aaaaaaallljffourrhodri · 8 months ago

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Thanks to @fungifanart for giving me the ok to use the promt

Yuu loved his friends they were rowdy sometimes sure but that didn't stop them for being friends.

Yuu loved his friends even when they were rude with him.

Yuu loved his friends even when they called him out for having no magic

Yuu loved his friends even when they freeloaded at his dorm

Yuu loved Grim even if he would exchange Yuu's soul for some tuna

Yuu... didn't know if he actually loved his friends anymore.

It was draining for him to deal with them.

Time passed and Yuu barely couldn't stand them anymore.

Yuu was tired to be used over and over and over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVE-

By the headmage... or for his friends... even willing to give up his living place for their well being. But if that was true why were the photo's of them taken by the ghost camera moving less and less everyday... maybe... just maybe he could...

The first photo Yuu ever took was the first one to come alive. And as he took it out of the photo album 3 of the five people jumped out of the photo. Ace, Deuce and Grim the only two remaining in the figure were Yuu himself and Crowley.

"Yuu... what's wrong? Why are you crying?" Yuu didn't even notice he was crying.

"Hey! I can't have a sad henchman cmon smile!" Said the Grim

"Prefect don't cry... you know that crying is lame when you smile it's better!"

One by one copies of their so called friends jumped out of the photos.

They were all... so nice to Yuu... Yuu wanted to be never apart from them.

Grim was preoccupied. The Prefect exited less and less put of his room nor to lesson. The whole dorm wrapped in a inky smell. Grim sensitive nose couldn't andle it. He himself was passing more and more night at other dorms than his own.

Grim looked around in class: their henchman wasn't in class... again.

Grim was terrified of Yuu... everyone was...

As Grim and the first year group (minus Yuu) was walking to Sam store they saw the prefect searching from something.

"Prefect long time no see!" Said Epel approaching Yuu. Epel was scared when he saw the look the prefect gave him "oh hi Epel as I was saying last night-"

"Last night? What do you mean last night?" The realisation hit Yuu in the face he was talking to the wrong Epel.

Epel backed away as the magicless boy began to laugh holding his head left eye twitching while looking around in desperation. Only to run away minutes later.

The other first year's whatced the scene unfold looking lost and with a newly gained fear of the magicless prefect.

Yuu returned to his room to his RƏaŁ friends he looked happily around the room recognising the now disfigured silhouette of Vil and Rook. He couldn't here anything as the ringing in his hears got louder and his vision blurry...

A crazed laugh sounded trough the whole campus.

Riddle Roseheart was going to the library to do a quick rewiev of alchemy for the test that was happening the day after. When the laugh reached his ears. He felt goosebumps.

Trein was displeased and worried. The prefect didn't show up to class anymore. He needed to confront the prefect about this!

As he came to the door of Ramshackle Lucius meowed (Trein be carefull there is something wrong with this place) opening the door Trein found sight of no one only a black liquid dripped infront of him. Noticing the familiar liquid, Trein ran back out before calling the professor emergency line.

"Trein I swear if this is another of your lectures about hygiene I'm closing this call." Said Crewel sounding annoyed "Not this time I need all of Yuu at Ramshackle now!" Trein closed the call.

After a while the professors arrived (and Sam too) "Trein what's happening why call us at the pup's dorm!" Asked Crewel amused "Come after me" the old history teacher said firmly

After that event, even the staff was afraid of Yuu.

Idia had never found a blot concentration bigger than ramshackle dorm. So much blot that it was scary. Even if the blot couldn't make the prefect go overblot it still affected his behaviour and healt. It was also strange how all of the blot came from an objected that didn't produce blot.

The prefect was taken by S.T.Y.K.S in a cage... like a beast without reason.

The prefect was not himself anymore.

The real prefect was living in an idilliac world were everyone was always nice with him and nothing did go wrong. Then he noticed something...

Wasn't Grim tail pitchforked? Why is it normal? The world started spinning around when suddenly Yuu found himself locked in a cage with cushion walls... was he? In an asylum?

What had happened? Where did all of his friends go... then he started to remember...

That day after he met Epel, the pictures stopped moving. No more of his friends were there... only distorted figures of them. After that, the memories were a fuzzy mess. All the good things that happened... was it all a sick dream? What was he doing in the real world while dreaming of such perfect place.

Black tears streamed down his face as he started to call for somebody... anybody...

A figure appeared at the door of the cell. Idia Shroud. The look in his face was full of dread and esitation, but he still entered the cell.

"Yuu... how are you feeling?" "Idia, why am I here? I don't know where I am. I'm scared. What's happening?"

Idia expression softened before running towards the prefect, hugging him: "Yuu I'm so glad you're back... the others are also gonna be so happy..."

Little did Yuu know that no one except the shroud brothers would see him as before for the others. He would be from that moment the human who turned in a beast. Yuu wasn't told that he had MURDERED a student during his beast like state... Idia covered it up... Yuu would live from that moment encased in a piercing depressing reality in eternity searching that idilliac word he once lived in...

From that moment Yuu would fear to death the ghost camera and the dangers that come with it.

#twisted wonderland #idia x male reader #implied relationship #disney twst #twst yuu #yuu angst #epel felmier #ace trappola #deuce spade #twst grim #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #mozus trein #divus crewel #twst sam #writing prompt #twst angst #going crazy #drug reference

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prying-pandora666 · 9 months ago

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Who is Izumi’s Mom? Copium Edition

So we all know that Bryke have refused to confirm who Izumi’s mother is. Even when they released family trees, the conspicuously left Izumi’s mom blank.

So incredibly frustrating!

So since Bryke insists on baiting us and not giving us closure, here’s a dose of copium for all shippers.

First off! Izumi’s name means “spring fountain”. Remember that.

Secondly, she looks like this:

REASONS WHY YOUR SHIP OF CHOICE COULD STILL MAKE SENSE!

Mai - She looks the most like Izumi. She canonically dated Zuko (until they broke up AGAIN). The former comics’ writer believes they will make up. She and Zuko have a history surrounding fountains. Even with all the drama, she remains the most likely candidate.

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Katara - It should be self explanatory why a child named “fountain”, as in water, may be a reference to the one water bender Zuko dueled with most. The two of them clearly developed a connection by the end of the show, and Katara once even offered to heal Zuko’s scar. This one is all but debunked due to Kataang being canon, but it’s still nice to dream! And no one can deny they look great together.

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Jin - Zuko and Jin shared lovely chemistry on their one date. Zuko was even willing to risk getting outed as a firebender in the Earth Kingdom and imprisoned, just to make her smile. This scene is also significant because it involved a fountain. Considering the bulk of Zuko’s redemption happened in the EK and the plot continued into the comics dealing with the blended FN/EK colonies, I can see why this would be a good thematic choice.

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Toph - A rarer pair but one that one storyboard artist snuck in a reference for! Toph and Zuko have a lot in common. They both come from families of status that abused them for their failure to conform. Toph was born blind while Zuko has a disfiguring facial scar that realistically should affect both his vision and his hearing to an extent. Toph also has a friendship with uncle Iroh and was the first member of the Gaang to successfully understand and comfort Zuko as well as she did. Some point out that Zuko’s daughter Izumi has vision problems (like Toph) while Toph’s daughter Lin has a facial scar (like Zuko). The name Kanto, the alleged father of Lin, can also be written with the characters for “crown capital” so some speculate it’s an alias for Zuko. Spring fountain could be a reference both to the Earth element’s season of spring as well as to a volcano, which is like a fountain combining fire and earth. This scene is the most telling, with two doves representing Zuko and Toph. When Zuko walks away from Toph, the two doves kiss, signifying that perhaps a romance between them is destined for the future. Luckily, Toph knows how to listen and wait. Everything that applies to Jin about making peace with the EK applies even more to Toph since she’s actually from a noble house.

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Suki - A bit of a wild card since she’s dating Sokka! But the comics showed Zuko and Suki getting much closer. When no one else was on Zuko’s side during the conflict in the colonies, and even Mai dumped him over his desperate visits to Ozai, Suki stayed by Zuko’s side. She never lost faith in him and tried her best to be there for him. The two have clearly developed a close friendship and bond of trust. Some even see it as romantic, which spells bad news for our boy Sokka. However, seeing as the book Legacy implies Sokka and Suki broke up, perhaps Zuki shippers have more evidence to stand on than originally thought! Everything that applies to Jin about making peace with the EK would also apply, since Suki is also from the EK. Perhaps she could fan the flames of his passion?

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Sokka - Okay we all know it’s not going to happen but they’re really cute and I get it. The fountain claim applies to Sokka same as it does Katara! Hey there’s always a chance! Korrasami proved that!

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Ty Lee - Not a lot to go off here but it’s undeniable that the two have a weird, unspoken tension. Why is Zuko quietly beefing with his sister’s bff? It’s never explained. Something is definitely going on there! We just don’t know what it is. In the comics, Zuko does lament not playing with Ty Lee and the other girls more as a kid.

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Azula - I mean… okay I get it. The features that Izumi has in common with Mai, she also has in common with Zuko. So it’s not impossible to see why some would think she looks like Azula too. But can we please not make ATLA into Game of Thrones? This certainly isn’t helping:

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Jet - He’s dead now so it’s not possible. But did Jet actually have a thing for Zuko? You know… it was really unclear.

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#atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar #Zuko #maiko #zutara #toko #zutoph #Jinko #zukka #Zuki #ty zuko #Jetko

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samrut · 1 month ago

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So, I came up with an AU awhile back - decided it suited CanLiet

[CW: Implied gore | psychological horror]

MC is an upcoming model who has recently started gaining a big following. His life is going well, and he is about to sign a major contract deal with a big name in the fashion industry. However, at a press conference, he is attacked with acid by an unhinged fan, who unfortunately escapes without being caught.

MC is blinded by the attack, and his face will need a lot of surgical procedures to repair the damage. Even after getting the work done, his face will always remain disfigured. He is devastated, his future seems bleak, and he falls into a deep depression.

MC is moved to a care home to stay while he recovers and receives mental health therapy. There, he meets the love interest of the story, who is a nurse at the facility. ML is seemingly kind, charming, and optimistic.

They fall in love gradually, and MC moves in with him after being discharged from the care home. Things in their relationship are going fantastically, and MC is happy despite not being able to see, but he wishes he could see his lover's face even once.

While at a routine doctor's appointment, the doctor asks if he would be interested in a drug that could possibly restore some of his vision. Enthusiastically, MC agrees to participate in the trial. Because he doesn't want to jinx things, he does not tell his lover.

After a month on the drug, MC begins to be able to see little by little. He waits to tell his partner until he is able to see better. One day, MC wakes up and is able to see his lover's sleeping face for the first time.

He excitedly wakes his lover to share the news, but when his eyes open, MC's heart stops. The only thing he can remember about his masked attacker were their eyes, and they were looking back at him in that moment.

His partner is the unhinged fan who assaulted him.

Then, like - ML discovers that MC found out the truth, and his vision is returning, causing ML to snap. He confines the MC and plans to remove his eyes entirely because he doesn't want him to be able to look at anyone else.

Ye-

#tw scars #tw injury #sigh - okay I'mma retreat back into the void #canliet #hetalia au #my art #hetalia #hws canada #hws lithuania

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cutieeva · 16 days ago

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Snow and Rose

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 Female reader

Warnings : Murders. Violence.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

❛ 愛 ❜

He was filthy. Made to be discard and dislike and disgust hence the reason he even did not dare utter the pure words of love to the one he grew to not dislike however it all changed when he saved a woman. An peculiar one with taste of adressing herself as a snow and him, a disfigured man—rose

It was the first night of the winter. Crimson petal of rose slowly fell atop of the untainted white snow. To be honest the blush fall on the snow looked breathtaking. So beautifully vast yet together by nature almost seem like the destiny also choose in the harshest winter will bear the most adored rose to be seen.

The first time she saw them, it was unsuited together yet now if this was her last image of the world's beauty before withering away. She is thankful enough, smiling under the cold whiteness where she lay, drenched in her blood surround her and pain numb little by little. Now that her vision fading she wish to indulged the nature of destiny more. She wish to find her own rose in the snow, a lover she meant and perhaps children too. ? How odd of her to even question of her own wish to bear children when she knows no rose is there for her.

As the roses always wirther, unsuited to the snow like she thought, no one likes snow. Even those who believed to like only do for few weeks, months not years, certainly not decades.

Snow as beautiful is cold, far cold she realize after embracing in the ground, blush of her skin drying and tears gather to flow silently.

How she wished to see the sunrise for the last time. One last time before passing to void of nothing, she knew heaven and hell were only words for fear to do good despite being surround by hell. One last tear roll down as she embrace the death when a crunch of foot earned her sight.

Eyes rolling to see the demon, the culprit of her death towering surprise to feel the drop of crimson. Not one from the rose petal rather of blood along stench of someone's death coloring the sliver sword he holds. He who is not the demon her mind knows at least, however an stranger wrapped in black cloth like the void of night and white cloth wrap around his mouth with snake rest upon his neck. His eyes, Unusual she ever seen one teal and another yellow.

His gaze bore at her, laying on the snow and blood circle around her like an painting of death with petals of rose fallen near her forehead almost seem like an crown of farewell flowers. She looks utterly and hauntingly beautiful he is afraid to say the rose suit her with the snow. Even her tears of sorrow paint her beautiful. His eyes locked on those (E/C) eyes that he forgot it's close and pale hue cover her entirity.

Like a bleak of a man his knee bend down, fingers almost curl refuse to taint the body by brushing his filthy touch yet with gentle he never grace one with did he hold her, cold sweep into his warmth and her body in his hand vulnerably he embrace her clothed part more to begin walking the path of his home where many also lives.

Pain greet her awake, her sight met with the white ceiling of a house than the void of nothing she expected. The pain in her body told her the answer of her life. She is alive and the beautiful nature of rose met snow was not her last image of mother earth's beauty nor the man she viewed.

The man in question is none where to seen when the door slide open stand a beautiful woman, smiling gently. "She must like butterfly". (Y/N) judged from the hair pin of butterfly to her dress print.

"Ara, Ara, you are awake. I see". (Y/N) bow to the woman despite the pain in her stomach yet her face remain unchanged. Stoic as before. "Do not distress yourself further. I fear your present state is one of considerable pain." The woman came closer to find indeed the blood taint the white again.

(Y/N) apologize softly.

"No apologies necessary, I assure you." Her laugh was melodies that the man almost slip her mind.

"Oh. A man, with snake around his neck ?" She continue, her eyes as if reliving the time. "Have you seen him ?" The actions of that woman's hand pause and staring at those purple eyes oddly seem empty and lost.

"I do. He is one of the demon slayers". Strange words. Demon slayers and demons. Both belonged to monstrous fairytales she never liked to read and now very real to see, one was eater almost pushed her to the edge of life and another an savior, retrieve her life yet both interwoven with one another.

"Oh. Would you be so kind as to inform me of his whereabouts, that I may pay my respects ?" The woman stare at (Y/N). No human she ever seen so indifferent to the word demon. One must bear some hatred or kindness or any emotions linked. Never indifference. Perhaps the lack is what present her so different however naïve to the laws of world.

"You may, he will be found next door, precisely where the wounded gentlemen resides." Her finger point to near the door of (Y/N)'s right and she nod.

"Thank you". She stood to the woman's surprise and walk with difficulty to the next door, sliding open to find three young lads on the bed with another beautiful woman with pink hair and that man. That man's soften gaze saw her bend her body to bow and utter the words she truly felt from the core of her heart.

"Thank you for saving me" . The tone and the face remained unchanged however those eyes he notice was pure, clearance with courage Obanai swears. Courage he won't be rewarded, not with the blood in his veins.

"It was my duty". He replied, turning away from her and she left quietly. All were too suprise to intervene the tight tension darting from the unknown to the cold demon slayer. He who thought their first words exchange to be the last.

However here she is, sitting beside Tanjiro, applying herbs like the gentle caress of a mother to his wounds he receive from Obanai during their period of training. A furrow appear in his brows, why is she here ? His eyes slide to the stomach cover by her cloth and by movements of her body she appears to be healthy.

Soon he learnt after she recovered did she request to dedicate herself to nursing she was by experience and Shindou welcomed her. What a play of destiny he thought watching intently how with unchanged poise she clean one gruesome wound than previous.

"How calm". He wonders, how can a woman be so devoid of expression ? Even Shinobu plaster a smile and here she is, and was at her last breath crafted the same expression.

"I offer my sincerest gratitude, your expertise is truly remarkable." Tanjior in his cherry voice smiled large and she returned only with a nod. He narrow his eyes, was she also poise in front of the culprit of her death ? Or did she cried, begged or perhaps— .

"The gentleman is cleared to depart." Her words directly to the older demon slayer and he nod, averting gaze with someone first because of how unashamed they were. He took him alongside and wish to never view her.

What a foolish thing to pray when she is at his each sight. One time brooming with the little girls despite them playing, laughing and joining her hands to round each other she only played along unchanged as if her soul was not present while her body was.

Another time dusting and cleaning the injury manor and he was there, yet not once she glanced or tries to word with him. Not that he desired so rather finding her like an puzzle. So locked unlike Mitsuri who is like the sun, bright and bathed in pureness and free like an open book he can read. Even that butterfly demon slayer seem easier to understand than she. A lady with unfamiliar origin, name he didn't care to learn and expression never change.

Upon another occasion, a youthful trainee, gravely injured, was brought forth, his face snarl in pain and half his form scorched by the ravages of fire yet she didn't so little flinch. She beheld the charred flesh, and with unflinching resolve, set about healing the wounds. It made him wonder again would she grasp, be horrified or pity the demon slayer if she shown her the scar in his— shaking such filthy words, he walked down that time.

"(Y/N) hurry, the Serpent Hashira and the Wind Hashira needs help !" She pause in her hurried steps. Her savior was in need and the thought to return the debt come to her mind. Her feet went to the room watching the two strongest demon slayers swallowing pain as they lay on the bed. "One of the demons poisoned them so the little wounds are deadly".

Her trembling hands took the medicines and herbs, as being advised she about to touch the Serpent Hashira, he wield his sharp sword to her chin, little inches away and his snake hiss. "Don't come near me". His words tender yet the sentences chilling sharp and she can not help ponder why.

"What ? we don't have male—".

"Let me do my own". He cut the argue he finds not needed.

"However you have no knowle—". Kanao tries to change his mind for good.

"I can!" he asserted, the crimson-tinted the binding around his mouth and voice bending into whisper with his pale skin whiter. (Y/N) is afraid the poison rushing faster.

"By all means, proceed. But heed my caution: observe my movements, then replicate, lest harm ensues. Do you understood ?" Obanai who never thought her to spoke nod and took the medicines and clothes. (Y/N) note the wounds are in his arm, thigh and shoulder thus she walk beside him to another silent room—she assume his room and sat, turning face away to hear the shuffles of clothes unraveling and she begin to show on her clothed body while he remain silent, save for the occasionally groans and strainted huffs.

"Completed". She nod and he finally turn his eyes at her back, wondering why she is unmoved.

"May I see your work, that I might judge its merit ?" She hoped to have yes however deep inside the answer was spoken in silent already.

"No". No. As she expected and nod to maneuver towards his clothed self and about to stand at her feet when Obanai narrow his eyes in displease. That expression and lack of words. Always of few words, indifference and unafraid. All of the qualities he wished he had within himself. Indifference of other's eyes, unafraid of the past and courageous.

Implused by his deranged thoughts and in daze of his wound. "Would you be scared of this ?" Uncaring he rip the binding of his mouth, the cool breeze brush against the dreadful scar that is still fresh in his memory. His eyes close like the binding was a relieve of pain however he waited. For a strangling scream, disgust grasp, pity words or anything. Save for the errie silence.

Each muscle of his body tense at the feel of an soft touch at the corner of his lips and his hand shoot up holding her wrist and eyes wide to be face at her expression. And indeed it was not in vain.

Alas, the rosy flush that painted her entire visage, and the demure shimmer in those crystalline eyes, told a tale he had not expected to behold. Even her skin blushed from his touch alone.

A hatred twist his inside as he swing her hand and yelled harsh. "Get out !" She flinch and run out. His head buried in his palm, he did not intent to yell, however what could he had done if that bewitching woman's expression did not just brew a hope in his heart. A hope no one did and he himself dare not aknowledge.

"What was that ?" Bewildered he erased her image of blush.

He must have frighten her because the few days later she was none of his sight and it was unknown how he felt so he walked to his room when the moon's shine lighten on the letter slide to the gap of the door. His finger touch the paper and read. 'To the respected Serpent Hashira. From (L/N) (Y/N).'

An name he is unfamiliar could only belonged to that woman. "(Y/N)". The name roll down his flesh, sounding hauntingly pleasant. He grip the paper hard and went inside. First he sit and grab the candle near the paper he almost wish to burn, not read any words behind the paper. Still his curiosity drive him to open and unfold the smooth lines of paper.

'You might have forgetten what had occur to the day of your injury yet I do not and thus the letter was crafted, whether view it as an unworthful letter or cowardly one, it's your choice however I won't delay your time and say the words I had not courage to utter in front of you that the scar you showed me was in my view an scar of loathe, pain and sorrow of the past because the way it's craved could not be done willingly—' Obanai turn away from the paper, unwelcomed memories slit his mind and fill his vision.

"Useless". He deemed the paper and the fire of the candle so close however something, perhaps hope convince him to read further.

"My intention was not to recall your unpleasant memories however I had to because the next words I say might desire you to kill me even hate me I fear, because your wound blossoms red like the petals of rose, breathtakingly beautiful, so beautiful that I was mesmerized. I am wretched for holding dear and falling in love with the sorrow you might have, the very thing I am in love is the one you hate, so please it's not a letter of forgiveness because do not forgive me. Do not forgive me ever".

His hand fell limp as fingers still grip on the paper become tighter than ever and the candle's light illuminate his fiery blush face and the glistening rims of his eyes betrayed a depth of feeling he could hardly grasp.

"Is it not a confession ?" His other palm cover his face and brush upon the binding that for the first time did not evoke feelings of revulsion and disgust rather sentiments he had not felt for anyone, not even the love Hashira. Because the unpleasant memories dissipated the moment his scar made contact, replaced by her passion words, which floated in his vision like ethereal whispers.

At the early rise of the sun Obanai ran to the butterfly manor to find her not Kanon who raise a eyebrow and continue her duty.

"Might I inquire as to the present location of Miss (L/N) ?" His question made her confuse before sighing.

"Good heavens! You haven't heard ? She resigned, having met my elder sister in person and left a letter for us all, though, alas, it reveals nothing of her destination." Her voice somber reflections on the departure of the benevolent lady, whom she had not had the opportunity to bid farewell, a circumstance that pained her, much like her sister.

The words save for the resigned tune out. The sounds distant and dishonest. H-how could it ? How could it be ? When she confessed her love merely yesterday ? "The letter ? May I see it ?" She hand over the paper he unfold to read and yes, it's her farewell for eternal. How cruel, she left. He almost threw the paper in fit of rage but he knew better and did not.

She is one cowardly woman he ever met.

☯

A red rose.

The first single rose appear at (Y/N)'s doorstep was few weeks later she moved from the demon slayer's corps to a small village little further from the branch and the house she stay was bearable and decent food was nearby to attend. The real reason she left was due to the passion confession her heart forced her hand to give however when she comes to realize the man she was giving and his profession was, she decide to separate herself.

Because the man would never love her back and his profession was oath to death, no sense of life was guaranteed and she swears the heartbreak of future could not stitch the patchs of broken heart.

From childhood she watched her mother obedient like a pet to her father and never replied back and his father always remained gentleman and cold. Very different than the fairytales she dislike yet reads for the sake of befriending others.

Soon growing up she realize because of the unspoken law of marriage. A wife is a doll of his husband who married for the sake of duty. They were not in love instead tied down in duty where she, the child was a bond they had to create by society's pressure and sheding her innocence to adulthood, it's her time to take the role of doll for someone else.

And at first few men did choose her, some even confess their love but after few months they left, giving the ring of their betrothed away.

"Your demeanor is as frigid as the grave. How might I be expected to harbor affection for one so seemingly devoid of vitality?"

"(Y/N), I must confess, it pains me to consider the possibility that you do not return my ardent affections. Your demeanor suggests a certain...indifference towards me."

"Miss (L/N), though I have always held your beauty in the highest esteem and affection however our spent time leads my heart yearns for a deeper connection. I confess, I covet a love that stems from genuine attachment, not mere obligation."

"If your heart truly beats for mine, then demonstrate your affection through tender compassion ! Speak words of endearment, that I might be assured of your love !"

Some were good, some were spoiled and some greedy yet what common in them was their speech of words of how cold she is and like snow she is beautifully admired—not loved. To be honest she hated all the men that left her, even if some were really good she loathe them. Why ? Because none tried to know the dept of her love for them because she did love them, each and every one of them. Yes ! not as deep as the love of Zhi Nü for Niu Lang. Still she did, what she couldn't was to express them. She simply does not know. Words were not easy to utter as she wanted and affections never surface properly.

Also their love was not worth if they left so easily leading her to become spinster and out of roof as for her family's reputation she was a staint so she left, no cries, pleads or any attachment. What prevails her is that quiet tears still roll down.

Leading her at the first night to encounter a hungry demon and that man, she for and realize after viewing his scar. He awoke a whole world inside her she was hidden from and now she can not help wonder if she had known him better could she bear courage to court him.

Red rose on top of the snow. Her sight snap to the ruby hue and turn to the vase inside the house already had seven more red rose rest. Adding this will be seven. It's strange no one comes to mind who would give her flowers like a secret admirer. Like confessing secret love to her.

With steps that softly crunched above the winter's white blanket, she approached the flower, its beauty unmarred by frost's chill grasp. Her fingers enveloped its slender stem free of thorns. The rose errierly remind her of him. His beauty of an rose and sharp gaze of thorn to protect. Perhaps thus she collect the roses.

☯

Slap !

Embracing her new role as a cleaning worker in the village proved daunting for her. As both a woman and alone seen beneath of men after all.

"Your defiance has cost us dearly. You should have layed your body at the customer's whims equals to a king's demands, were left unfulfilled. Your stubbornness has turned gold to dust. You ungrateful witch !" The pain at her cheek throb and she lowered her head, choosing silence, closing eyes to feel the next and next until the wife of the owner hold his hand.

"Oh dearie, this is a noodle shop. Not a brothel, what she had done is right because imagine rumors spreading of our humble restaurant turning into selling women. How bad is it not ?" His wife in tender voice trap him in sprouts of nonsense and he, halting and debating the words.

(Y/N) gratitude the lady in mind and caught sign of her hand twisting towards exit. "Go out". With eyes darting in secretion (Y/N) bow to her and quietly walked away from the unfair abuse and her night shift.

☯

Chirps of bird and noise of hens awake her and ignoring the ache in her cheeks she walk to the door and her eyes wide and mind in confusion.

She blink once, twice and slowly, very slowly walk on the snow to the center where a folded man's cloth is layed above blood with a rose on the side. The eighth rose. Her (E/C) eyes stare at the cloth for moments before walking to the noodle owner's house that is few walks away and not long a cry of agony rip out.

Her walk slow down and she watched the crowd form and the wife's cries in her corpse husband's body that is naked and blood sweeping from the stabs in his stomach and dried blood from the hole of his either cheeks. Pity bleed within (Y/N) for the newly widow— not the man. He deserved it and a happiness bloom thinking how length of love her secret admirer bear.

She went to her yard again and the cloth vanish and blood buried leaving the rose and a letter. "Was he here ?" A shiver ran her spine, glancing around to spot only to be failed and she read the letter.

'I am not good with words however what I am good is at welding swords and that man deserve equally as the demon heads' Demons. Holding the rose at one and letter at another, finally one man comes to her mind. The serpent demon slayer.

And she is unaware what to do and if her thought is even true.

☯

"Leave me !" (Y/N) yelled to the previous customer of the noodle shop who she was beated for and now tormenting her at night of street. "I said leave me !" She screamed attracting heads of the crowd letting the man loose his grip and her chance to escape.

Ninth rose lay beside the cloth of a man painted in blood. She walked out of her yard at the early morning and roam to find his body calmly and the crowd forming told her already. She close the gap, catching glimpse of his naked body layed to be humiliated and stabs in his stomach and holes on his palms where the man grip her by.

And as she expected when she return to her yard, the cloth was erased, blood buried and rose with letter repeating the same words.

☯

"It must be you ! You wretched woman, you got my husband killed ! After being bewitched by you, was he killed ! It must be you". The wife of the man yesterday murdered she was not even aware married came to her doorstep at midnight, screaming and throwing scornful words she does not like.

"I do not, mam". Calmly and unchanged she answered, attempt at closing the door she mistake to open and when the wife caught hint of that, (Y/N) felt a rush of coldness at her face. Numb snow cold her warm body as (Y/N) part her lips to say she was thrown more snow and more and more.

Until a wet slick sound and sudden stop of snow lead her head to turn meeting the scene of a sliver sword pierced the wife's stomach and glide back gushing blood and her body limp at once revealing Obanai, the serpent hashira standing with a blank expression and when met with (Y/N)'s, did it sparkle the beauty of emotions.

Her eyes also saw in his another hand holding the rose. Tenth rose. "At the tenth rose I decided to finally meet you". Loudly he confessed. Both to being the secret admirer and the murderer however not a hint of fear he felt not because he considerate himself powerful rather at the mercy of her love. While he thought he loved the love Hashira, (Y/N) mold the very love to him. While the love hashira was the shining sun, pure and out of his reach stem from pure respect, (Y/N) plant the seed of love from the mere words of his scar he loathe, she turn the hatred and self-disgust of the scar marred his skin into a memory of their sweet love. With the words of her and blushful image of her touched his corner lips brew him the feel of worthy to loved and love. She made him feel human.

Now at each touch of his mouth, rather than ashamed and scared did his heart skip beats at her face, at each touch of his mouth reminds him of her words. The confession of her yearning and passion he never received from one before and she graced him so deep, he could not help fall deeper, running to every village from small to huge at search of her and when found the relieve of bliss remind him once again how unable of her he has no life of his own anymore.

"Forgive me, Miss (L/N). I could not force you to my will defying yours so all I could do was remove the obstacles and wait for your return to me as I have fallen for you deeply". At each step closer to her he said each word and finishing he give her the rose, waiting to see her accepting or throwing.

Fear gripped his heart to be honest a little— no, a lot, the fear of rejection from the woman he holds dearly to his heart will crush him however he will wait, as long as needed and continue removing the filth from her life. Flith that forced his hand and deserved to be united with the demons.

Oh, how sweet. (Y/N) couldn't believe. A man who go length beyond for her and love her to the end without leaving is an heaven. Even more when it's the same man she did not even dare dream of loving her back holding rose for her and bloody sword to others.

How could she resist such love. An love scary and undeserving at other's view is her everything.

Her finger grasp the rose and lean forward to press a kiss the man above his binding who's those unusual beautiful eyes wide only to soften. Her lips parted and said. "Forgive me not I am in love with you".

"Forgiven because I am in too". He returned blooming a smile on her lips. Language of love she heard once, love that not only utter from words alone however also from actions of service for their love. Perhaps this man has that.

FIN

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐨𝐟 ◸◜𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠��𝐬 ◞◿

61 notes · View notes