#her brother again and hidden him somewhere they think she cant fond but she will. she will if it kills her. and that doesnt mean anything t

[linisen]

If you are still taking prompts how about 40 + Naruhina (I cant help but think sunshine fam cuteness!)

Ah! I definitely am! Im so happy, I love writing prompts. I hope you like it! 

Somewhere in the blank period - the kids are still pretty small, I’m thinking like one and three?40. “The kids, they ambushed me!”

It’s been a long day at the Hokage office, helping Kakashi getting thru the endless stacks of paper. It had been tedious work, getting through all of the reports, admissions and the new ninja teams needing to be set up. By the time half of them were done, it had been time to rush home. It was early evening, earlier than Naruto usually managed to get himself home from training to be the head of one of the hidden villages, but the early evening has its reasons. Tonight, there was some sort of traditional - gala? Party? Naruto really hadn’t been paying attention to the functions specifics, only knew he had to be there. Dressed up and ready to continue to be The Hokage prodigy. Naruto sighed as he made his way through known streets towards his home. He was so proud over accomplishing so much, so close to his childhood dream, but right now he wished he could just drop the chase and crawl into Boruto or Himawari’s bed, smell in the soft child smell and fall asleep; only to have Hinata wake him an hour later to make sure he ate before falling in to their bed. Social events was not on the wish list. He sighed again. Luckily Hinata would be with him. One of the few perks of getting out of the house, being able to spend some time with his amazing wife. They would probably not be able to talk much, but at least he would be able to hold her close to his side as they made pleasantries, Hinata whispering who they were meeting and what he could talk to them about. Always knowledgeable and kind; Hinata was one of the reasons he had managed the social aspects as well as he had. She always had such a great handle on things.He fully expected the house to be quiet, kids tucked into bed, Hinata already dressed, his traditional Kimono placed on the bed. So when he came in hearing wincitin of his house and a loud crash rang through the quiet evening air all of his senses heightened as he threw himself towards their home. Shit shit shit. Was it an attack? Were there someone who was trying to hurt his family? Why had he taken such a long time to get home? What if it was already too late? He crashed in through the front door, pulse beating fast as he scanned the home for the intruder. What he was meat with was, not what he expected. Hinata, dressed only in her purple underwear, was running after Boruto who was wearing a white hat on his head and a red blanket as a cape, fabric trailing behind him on the floor. On her hip she held Himawari, giggling with a toothless grin. The floor was littered with toys, clothes and a crashed plate, food splashed on the floor next to it. “Boruto! Stop this instance!” Hinata scolded as Boruto jumped up to one of the couches, laughing as he slipped out of Hinata’s grip. “You can’t catch me mommy I’m the Hokage!” Boruto shouted as he used the couch as a stepping stool to get up to higher ground on one of the shelfs.“Kage bunshin no jutsu!” Boruto shouted as he jumped off, Hinata pulling in a sharp breath as she lunged forward to catch him, managing just before he fall to the ground. “Aw, MOM! No fun!” Boruto pouted as Hinata caught her breath. Boruto squirmed in her grip, only to spot Naruto by the door, still holding it open. “Dad!” He called, trying again to squirm his way out of his mother grip to get to his father. Hinata’s eyes grew big as saucers as they locked eyes and Naruto could almost see the apologies forming in her mind. Before she had the chance though, joy bubbled up in Naruto, the fear he felt for a few seconds exchanged for relief and joy in the absurdity of the situation rushed through him and he started to laugh.“Is this what happens when I’m not home?” He asked, laughter bubbling out of him as Hinata’s eyes grew even bigger, bright flush on her cheeks. “Naruto! The kids, they ambushed me!” Hinata said as he flush spread up to her ears. Adorable. So freaking cute. “You sure about that Hime?” He asked, knowing the pet name would make her flush even more. As he expected, the blush traveled down to her neck, cheeks burning bright. “I-I.” Hinata stutterd and Naruto laughed even harder. It was so rare these day that he got her flustered, not like when they were younger when she blushed just by looking at him. Feeling nostalgic and bold, he went for the kill.“You don’t walk around in just your underwear all day? You should.” He said, voice dropping a little lower as he stopped laughing, smiling big. Hinata squaked, ams moving  as if to cover herself up, which of course was impossible since she was holding both kids. Boruto saw his chance and successfully squirmed free, darting forward to get to his father.“Daddy! Look! I’m the Hokage!” He said as Naruto took the few steps inside, capturing the blond child before he stepped on the broken porcelain scattered on the floor. “I can see that.” Naruto laughed, looking back at his wife who seemed to have composed herself a bit, blush still on her face but with a fond smile on her lips. Naruto smiled back, shifted Boruto’s small frame to his hip before summoning four shadow clones who immediately started cleaning up. “That’s cheating” Hinata scolded without any bite as Naruto stepped closer, wrapping his free arm around her as his lips found her forehead. “Ew! Gross!” Boruto called as Himawari giggled, trying to grab her brother. “Nothing gross about loving your wife Boruto” Naruto said before leaning in and placing another kiss, this one on her lips. A soft knock rang through the house startling them all as the door slid open, revealing Konohamaru, ready for babysitting. “Hi guys! Ready to get going?” He called before stopping completely, mouth falling open as he took in the scene. Naruto dropped Boruto softly onto the floor, before him and the four clones darted forward, pushing Konohamaru out.“Stop eyeing my wife!” The clones and Naruto all shouted at the same time. “I-I wasn’t I swear!” Konohamaru stuttered as he let himself be pushed out of the house, hands coming up to cover his eyes.

#naruhina #Naruto uzumaki #hinata hyuga #blank period #sunshine family #cute cute cute #sometimes parents just get overwhelmed #trust me I know #writing prompt

[silent-of-spirit]

Tagging @ladylike-foxes by request

Introducing a new OC (Well, not new to me... she’s been around for a long while, just never announced. New to you though!) 

This piece is heavy on the emotion, like... heavy. Also I am INSANELY proud of it and the way I was able to convey a lot of abstract concepts that I usually can’t articulate. (Also the fact I wrote at all is kind of a fucking miracle.)

Please please PLEASE let me know what you think of this. I have a LOT of feelings for these two, and if you like them, I would LOVE to write more of them and their incredibly interesting dynamic.

Trigger Warnings: PTSD, Dissociation, very brief vague mentions of suicidal thoughts, unhealthy coping mechanisms, annnnnd I think that’s it? Just wanted to be safe.

Faye Amell x Fenris - 4,870 Words

When first he meets her, he assumes she is Hawke – and looks to have been bested by a bear. She sits quietly in the foyer of the Amell Estate, hands clasped primly in her lap while Bodahn fusses over a basin of water nearby. She is caked with dirt and filth, limp branches tangled in her dark hair, and he thinks to comment on how uncharacteristic it is of her to care.

That is, until Hawke herself storms through the front door behind him, tailed closely by Anders and her brother. She greets him by way of a curt nod and breezes past, wrapping the woman he now knows as a stranger in her arms.

“Faye,” she breathes, relief and concern making the name feel heavy in the air. The woman does not react; she merely gives Hawke a blank stare that seems to be weighted with sorrow and uncertainty – as if she is not even sure the woman holding her is real. He cannot pretend to guess why.

Anders and Garrett had been huddled in some secret correspondence, but now the former stepped forward, signaling Hawke to step away. She does so, albeit reluctantly, and Fenris is left wondering why they treat this girl like a wounded animal. He watches the scene unfold in confusion, book forgotten in his grasp. He looks to Garrett, to Marian, seeking some sort of clarification – but they have eyes only for the dirty woman in their foyer and the mage who looks upon her with fondness.

It is different from the way he looks at Marian. There is no heat or reverence lingering beneath, but instead what appears to be a brotherly affection. Odd, Fenris notes, but he finds himself unable to muster the curiosity to ask why, his disdain for the man tempering any words he may have uttered.

“Well, if it isn't a lost Amell that found her way home,” Anders says. The words are gentle, careful, but hold an unmistakable familiarity. The mage offers her a warm smile – one of the few Fenris has ever witnessed from the man. “Did you finally sprout wings and fly away from that awful place, little sparrow?”

The words seem to spark something within her, turning her from placid statue to a woman with life and fire, a myriad of emotions crossing her face in the span of a breath. Confusion seems to be at the forefront – and fear – but they quickly fade as she surges from her chair and wraps her arms around Anders' neck, a choked sob tearing its way from her throat. He returns her embrace, stroking her hair while whispering soothing nothings.

Fenris again looks to the twins, questions plain in his eyes. Hawke finally meets his gaze, nodding toward the door to the library. He follows with a furrowed brow, hesitant to speak amid the strange tension hanging around them like a shroud. She closes the door behind them, leaning her head against the wood as she exhales a shaking breath. She is so rarely rattled, ever the pillar of strength and snark that keeps them all afloat. It bothers him – a strange sort of unsettling itch that rests in his mind.

“Explain,” he says, the word more clipped than he intends. He clenches his jaw against the brief flash of guilt. He does not know what is going on, and he hates not knowing.

“Our cousin,” she whispers, “We grew up together. Her parents were... unkind. She stayed with us often – became a treasured member of the family.” She turns, but does not look at him, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Amells are not known for their family values. One summer when we were ten she just... didn't come back. Her parents had her carted off to the Circle.” She pauses, searches his face as if gauging his reaction to yet another mage in their midst.

“She is in a sorry state,” he says instead, crossing his arms.

“I'm surprised she's not worse off, considering the circumstances,” Hawke says, brow furrowing at the blank look he gives. “Y-you don't know what happened at the Ferelden Circle Tower, do you?”

He scoffs at the question, feeling almost insulted. “I do not make it my business to keep up with the affairs of mages,” he nearly spits.

She purses her lips, giving him a sour look. “It was overrun by demons. Mentors, friends, templars – those who survived were made to bear witness to their horrifying transformations into abominations. To kill people they cared for, even while they struggled with keeping the demons out of their own minds.”

He cocks a brow. “Demons that were no doubt invited by one of their own. They were weak.” She reacts so quickly that he doesn't even have a chance to defend himself before her fist connects with his cheek with enough force to send him staggering back. The pain blossoms a moment later, leaving him breathless with its intensity. He spits a bloody glob onto the floor, eyes filled with fury and shock as he clutches his cheek.

She glares back, unrelenting even as her knuckles swell and color. “I do not argue your stance on mages, as it is justified,” she pauses, seems to take a breath meant to collect herself, “but do not dare diminish what she had to endure. The horrors she was forced to face – within and without – very likely would have broken even me. You claim to respect my strength, so let that sink in.” Her gaze would cow a lesser man – likely make them lose their bladder – and though he stands his ground, even he has to admit that he hopes never to be on the receiving end of it again.

But he is too angry – too proud – for her chastisement to fully take effect. His cheek throbs, and he feels the blood well in his mouth again.

“You should go,” she exhales, seeming to shrink in the wake of it. She moves to reach for his face, but reconsiders and draws back, pain and guilt plain in her eyes. Just as quickly, her mask snaps back into place – the one she wears to hide her vulnerability. For some reason, it hurts more than the blow she struck.

He watches her retreat into the foyer, ushering the girl toward the washroom. He sees the way she reaches for Hawke, such wonder and reverence in her gaze amid the tears. Distantly, he wonders how long it has been since she could trust her own mind. He dismisses the thought and stalks out of the house.

***

When next he meets her, she is propped against the dog in the foyer, nose in a book as Marian and Garrett discuss plans over the table. Varric is already there – as is Anders, he notes with great distaste. They all discuss their next moves, the state of the city, reports from Aveline, and through it all Faye is silent. Even when directly addressed, she responds only with a nod or shake of her head.

And it is the same over the next several months, bordering on a year. She is silent, small, and prefers to remain unacknowledged, nose always in a book.

So she startles him the first time he hears her speak. She is in the library when he arrives, scribbling something onto parchment at the desk. Hawke won't be here, he knows, away on some mission. But his empty mansion seemed to press in on him, prodding at memories and thoughts he would not have see the light just yet. Independent study, Hawke called it, with her usual cheery smirk. Gives him something to do, she said. So, here he was, leafing through books in search of something close to his skill level.

He forgets he is not alone when he huffs in displeasure at yet another manifesto hidden in the pages of Hawke's library. He lets it flutter to the ground, heart leaping to his throat at the voice that suddenly sounds behind him.

“You dislike Anders.” Her voice is whisper-soft, but with an underlying grit that tells of her long silence, throat struggling around the words as it tries to remember how to speak. He isn't expecting the melodic cant, almost resembling the tinkling of bells. Then again, he didn't expect much of anything, so used to her silence he naturally assumed she was mute.

He clears his throat, tries to quell the shock. “I dislike mages,” he corrects. He waits for her to turn, to spew vitriol and anger like Anders – or to brush his misgivings away with jokes and humor like Garrett. He expects her to react like a mage, and the last thing he expects is for her to react like Marian – solid, reasonable Marian who sees both sides, then tells everyone to stop fucking bickering, Maker have mercy. I'm surrounded by children.

But she does.

“That's understandable,” she says without ever turning around or otherwise acknowledging him at all. She continues her scribbles, and he is silent – unsure how to handle the situation. She must register his confusion, because she continues, her words sounding heavy and forced – out of practice. “You are surprised I think so?” The quill clicks as she lays it on the desk and finally turns to face him. He realizes he's never truly seen her before, nose always tucked in a book in a corner somewhere.

Why he mistook her for Hawke that first day, he doesn't know. They share only a passing resemblance. Hawke is all sharp angles and smirks, mischief forever present in the quirk of her mouth, raven hair sloppily cut close to her head and out of the way. Faye is softer, lacking the distinctive edges in her face that the Hawke twins share. Her lips do not hold the same mirth – settling in thought instead of mischief – and her raven hair falls in thick waves down her back, streaked through with thick lines of grey that don't suit her age. She is thoroughly freckled, spots lightened from the lack of sun, but still obviously present – and likely the most striking difference between the two. Though perhaps it could also be their eyes. Both the same shade of that bright Amell blue, but Hawke's are bright and fierce, resembling glittering ice and holding the same chill. Faye... hers resemble the ocean – boundless, deep, a well of emotion and memory that thoroughly unsettles him. He feels like she is peering into his very soul, and he has to fight the urge to hide from her quiet scrutiny.

Hawke watches and hears, but Faye sees and listens. He finds he does not like this revelation – doesn't... trust her, or anyone really. Marian is the one exception, and even still he has his limits.

He watches, wary, and finally remembers to answer. “Perhaps,” It is spoken so simply, but the edge is undeniable. She does not waver in the face of his distrust, merely tilts her head as she regards him.

“You have faced much anguish at our hands.”

He clenches his jaw, unbidden. Of course Hawke would talk to her family, but he finds he does not want this woman – this mage – to know. She is an unknown in a tumultuous sea that already threatens to drown him at every turn.

He hates not knowing.

At his silence, she turns back, and the scratching of her quill fills the room again as he leaves.

***

She is in the library again, and apparently tearing it apart. There are books stacked on every conceivable surface, with barely enough room between the piles on the floor to navigate. Simple perhaps, for her... tiny little thing that she is. The shelves are nearly bare, and he is both shocked at the sheer volume of pages in the room and thrilled that the shoddy organization finally seems to be receiving a solution. She does not look up when he enters, though she never does. He supposes he is the only one to visit the library regularly enough that she just assumes it is he.

“Marian left a book for you by the fireplace,” she says. Her voice is stronger now, more practiced in the months since she first spoke. The gentle melody of it is soothing in a way, though that can be said for her entire countenance. There is nothing brash about the woman. She always seems to carry a quiet serenity that he envies. He burns hot and fast, quick to anger, quick to retaliation, ever seeking control. Hers seems as effortless as a stream – gentle and ever flowing, impossible to provoke.

But beneath it she seems hollow and fragile as cracked glass. He knows it to be there, having seen the same in himself. Fear drives them forward, keeps them alive, but it also keeps them from living.

He hates that he can see their similarities. It seethes beneath his skin, forms into anger; anger at her, at Danarius, at Tevinter and magisters and mages and circles and his Maker-damned life. He burns with it.

“We are nothing alike,” he hisses, seeking a reaction, something, anything that will allow him to lash out – to feel something – anything besides fear and uncertainty.

She does not even look at him.

“Are we not?” Her voice is level... unafraid of his fury. She continues cataloging, as casual as if they are speaking of the weather instead of the storm that threatens to break from him.

Anger... anger is easy. It can be used, controlled, molded to purpose. He craves the burn of it – craves the way it buries his fear, even if only for a time. He wants this, and she simply carries on as though it does not even matter. He wants to scream, to hit, to destroy, but he feels his anger slipping from grasp in the face of her ineffable calm. What reaction could he get? She would give him nothing.

Nothing.

“We are both slaves, Fenris. We may be borne of different masters, but the chains that bind us are the same.” He meets her eyes for only the briefest moment, but that is all it takes to see everything. The emotions she carries, the fears, the doubts, the horrors, the memories... what he sees is a direct reflection of the tumult that rages inside him also.

He doesn't want it – want this – common ground with a woman he can barely tolerate, and most definitely doesn't trust. He shakes his head and denies the camaraderie she offers, quashing the rising feeling in his chest that tells him he does not have to suffer through this alone. Alone is what he does best. Alone is where he is safe. No one can see the pain that haunts him. To allow them would be to dig his own grave.

Not even Marian knows the depths of his damage. His best friend knows nothing and this... this mage presumes to offer him solace.

Faye, a distant part of his mind gently corrects. He quashes that too.

Her face does not change as he leaves, but he knows how empty she feels. He doesn't want to.

***

Another year wanes, and Hawke's library, that mage, begin to become permanent fixtures in his life. He finds he prefers the days she is at Anders' clinic, away from her prying eyes that see too much. He revels in that quiet solitude, and yet at the same time he notices her absence in a way that confuses and infuriates him. He can count on one hand the amount of times they have spoken in this last year – since that day his anger failed him.

She never pressed, seeming as content in her silence as he, but occasionally he would walk through those doors, and she would be waiting with a book in hand. She would hold it out for him to take without a word, the intent clear in what remained unsaid.

I think you'll enjoy this.

And he would take it with a strange sense of begrudging gratitude, settling into the chair he claimed as his own. She seemed to be the only one in his circle who did not push him to speak or act, but merely let him be... and the comfort he found in that simplicity terrified him. They would sit in their opposite ends of the room and lose themselves in the words that danced across the pages, and occasionally she would write, the scratching of her quill as she modified Hawke's replies to correspondences or worked in a battered journal the only reminder of her presence with him.

He didn't – doesn't – like it, the feeling that settles into his bones. He cannot find a name for it, but it is unnerving, the way it stirs.

He begins to notice how uneasy her serenity truly is – sees how she uses it to hide from herself. An errant thought months ago made him wonder if she was tranquil, so many of her mannerisms reminiscent of the few tranquil he met. He sees now that it is an effort on her part, not to feel. He sees the way she tries to train herself to imitate it, to block out the world, to block out her heart and mind and commit with single-minded focus on whatever was requested of her. He wonders if she truly desires tranquility, and feels something stir at the thought. Do her demons torment her so?

He hates not knowing, but when it comes to her, all he wishes is to never see deeper – to never know what the depths of her soul hold. With her, he doesn't want to know.

But that tiny niggling part of his mind that seems to only react insofar as she is concerned tells him that he does. He doesn't like it. Her. It. This.

***

Another year passes, and he finds something that resembles contentment. He tries not to delve deeper, ignores the writhing mass just beneath it. There is routine. He goes on missions with Hawke, allows his rage to cleanse itself with every body he cuts aside, he plays cards at the Hanged Man and drinks too much and laughs, but it is always hollow. He finds himself in Hawke's library more and more often, unable to fight the draw he feels to the woman who practically lives on those shelves.

He hates that.

He ghosts through the days, waiting, seeking, coming up empty, even his rage unable to fill the void that yawns within him any longer. He has buried his hurt and his fear, refusing to look upon them. He is numb.

And when finally - at long last – he plunges his fist into Danarius' chest and clutches his still beating heart... he feels nothing. He has wanted this  far longer than he can remember. He should be elated... he is free.

But he isn't, and he feels nothing as he stares at the organ in his palm.

He doesn't like it.

His allies celebrate his freedom all around him with drinks and wild cheers, and the Hanged Man is bustling with life and noise but as he stares into his mug, there is nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

He falls into Hawke's bed seeking release, connection, something he does not have a name for, but he does not find it. He loses himself in her body, in that moment, and then so suddenly he remembers, and the pain that rips through him makes him long for that numbness again. Marian is confused and hurt, but he leaves anyway, unable to face what she had awoken. He tells himself it would have been crueler still to stay, to let her believe he feels something for her that does not really exist.

The darker voice tells him that using her was the most cruel of all.

He allows it to tear at him, allows the anger and fear and pain back in, and he screams. He destroys what little remains in Danarius' – his – mansion but finds no relief. He cannot bring himself to go to Hawke's home, cannot face his guilt at what he had done. He lets the pain rip him apart over and over and over again, agonizing over what he saw, what he knew, what he believed, what he lived. He welcomes it, and yet even after denying its existence for so long, the release of it does nothing to soothe his soul.

He wastes the passing days in his mansion, screams, allows his rage to blind him. He keeps asking himself why, why, why. Why can he not heal? Why can he not move forward? What is the point of this hollow existence, void of genuine connection and feeling. He is so angry.

And he is numb.

He doesn't know how to face the demons that plague him, buried now so deeply he wonders if he will ever be able to dig them out. He doesn't know how to allow the breaking of his walls, how to shatter through the forged steel they have become. He buried everything for so long as he ran, and now that it was finally over, now that he was free, he was unable to dismantle his own defenses. He is still a slave, bound by chains of his own making and he hates it.

He is hiding and he knows it, ignoring the persistent knocks at his door because how can he explain to people who will never know how he suffers?

No one knows how he suffers... save one.

He is restless, pacing for hours as he tries to decipher the need inside that he can't name, aware only of the aching loneliness that plagues his steps. He curses, throws a bottle at the wall, finds no pleasure in how it shatters, and finds his feet leading him down a familiar path of their own accord. He pauses before the door of the Amell Estate, cursing himself for ending up here, wonders how to answer the questions he know he will be hounded with. He almost turns, but his body seems to act on its own, chasing a need that he could not find. He watches as though at a great distance as his hand reaches and raps thrice. It opens immediately, Hawke standing on the other side with a look that suggests she had simply been waiting for him to knock.

A lump rises in his throat, and he can't breathe, can't think, he can't, and he doesn't know how to respond when she simply wraps him in her arms. But his eyes catch movement over her shoulder, and he raises his gaze to meet one of striking blue, deep and boundless as the sea. In her eyes he sees it...

Understanding, true and pure, the kind only one who has suffered as he has could ever give.

Somewhere within him he feels that wall crack, and it is enough to flood him with feeling – anger, sadness, fear, hopelessness, loneliness – and he finds that he can answer all of Hawke's questions, steeled by a force he never knew he needed, found in the person he least expected.

He finds that Hawke is not hurt by the circumstances of his parting, says she knows it would never go further, that she is in love with Anders – and he feels biting relief at the knowledge of it, so stark and profound – a keen reminder of how long he had not felt anything of the sort. She is hurt that he stayed away, she says. She was ill with worry, and when her questions threaten to overwhelm him, he finds her eyes. They anchor him and hold him steady, give him the strength he needs to respond in a way that Hawke could understand. He cannot tell her everything – doesn't want or need her pity and the confusion his words would cause. He cannot understand what roils within him, much less attempt to find the words to describe what he feels. Feels. So long he had been numb, that just this crack that allowed emotion to trickle threatens to consume him. He is tempted to seal it back, to revert to safety and familiarity, but again he looks to Faye and remembers the different sort of hell that lack of feeling had prompted.

He doesn't understand the hold she has over him, the way she can save him from drowning with just a glance, the comfort, the relief he finds he has been lacking. And looking at her, he realizes for the first time since his self-inflicted isolation that he does not feel lonely.

It is terrifying.

And more terrifying still when Hawke comes pounding on his door in the dead of night, eyes wild and scared.

“She's gone,” The words are barely out of her mouth before he is through the door.

“What happened?” He cannot hide the urgency in his tone, struggles with the residual confusion it leaves in his mind. He is panicked, unsure, something tugging inside of him with an insistence that leaves him breathless.

“Demons found a way into the house. We killed them, but they seemed to trigger something in her and she bolted. I don't know what to... I can't-” Her voice is tinged with desperation, tears welling in her eyes. He stops and grabs her by the shoulders, turning her to face him.

“We will find her,” And he says it with such conviction that the panic bleeds from her face, replaced with something like realization. He doesn't know what to make of it. She says nothing, but pulls away and runs toward the road to Lowtown. He watches her go, turning the moment she is out of sight. He ignores the thunder that rumbles ominously above, letting his feet take him to where he knows she will be.

Faye.

He doesn't recognize the feeling that swells in his chest, coupled though it is with fear. It is unsettling, though not unfamiliar. So often he had felt it in these last years, inexplicably drawing him to the mystifying woman who has ensnared his mind so completely. It was but an itch before - so long ago he can hardly remember – but now it tears through him like wildfire, threatening to consume him in the blaze.

I'm coming.

He does not heed the rain, ignoring the way it plasters his hair and clothes to his skin. She is alone. She is alone and breaking without knowing how to do so. He remembers the torture of it – how he almost ended himself simply to escape the pain of needing release and not being able to find it. He remembers how he could not crack that wall on his own – he needed her. Her understanding, her pain, her acute knowledge of the exact torment that plagued him. She gave him strength, allowed him to see that he was not alone in a world that seemed so very empty. With a single look, she reminded him how to feel, that he did not have to struggle alone. He doesn't have to. She doesn't have to.

And the fire blazes. He knows it's not real, but he swears it is guiding him, leading him, pushing him to her – the only other soul who can truly understand his battered heart, and the pain and fear that so damaged it. He can feel her.

He is rounding a hedge in the Chantry gardens, and there she is, tucked in a dark corner in hysterics. He doesn't pause, doesn't breathe, doesn't dare to think, simply moves until he is falling to his knees before her, pulling her into his embrace. She clutches him desperately, shaking and sobbing in his arms. He pulls her closer still, closing his eyes as he rests his chin on her head. His heart is pounding; he feels dizzy and sick but she's safe.

She is safe.

Somehow that is all that matters.

She is all that matters.

“I'm here,” he manages to say, choked though he is with emotion. He smooths his hand over her hair, presses his lips to her head. “You are safe. You can let go.”

And she does.

As she shatters in his arms, he feels that wall crack again. All at once he knows. He knows he can heal. He knows she can too. A day at a time, brick by brick, they can dismantle the walls that keep them trapped. He knows it will take time and pain – it would mean facing down the darkness and memories that torment them – but she is here, in his arms.

And that is all that matters. He can face the coming storm.

That's when he realizes what that consuming fire truly is – but he is no longer afraid.

#ignore me #sarah writes #fenris #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #faye amell #hoo boy #canon verse

[just-another-girl-with-a-bl-blog]

July 31, 17 10:37 PM

I didn’t want it to end this way. Tonight I did one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I broke up with the man that I thought one day I would marry; one day I would have children with. I broke up with the man that I loved. For real this time.

I just couldn’t do it anymore. I had so much distrust for this man. You know when people say go with your gut feeling? I did that tonight. And I hope I didn’t make a huge mistake. I don’t think I did. I couldn’t keep going with these feelings of anxiety. The hidden secrets, the lies about where he goes, what he does, who he’s with…

I guess I knew it was 100% over when I heard from his sister he was going to a music festival with some people I didn’t know for the entire weekend. Something he had briefly mentioned but then told me he wouldn’t go because I wasn’t fond of the idea. He sent me a text that he was going to check out a few bands, and then the next thing I heard he was gone until Sunday (which turned out to be the Monday). No heads up, no invite. I don’t know who he was with, where the festival was or how long he was actually going to be gone for. For the first two days I thought he was at the Festival of Beer, turns out he was at a different festival up North somewhere. I hope he had a good time. I truly do.

Friday and Saturday were anxiety filled days. I couldn’t eat; I had no energy. All I wanted to do was stay in bed and sleep. Sleep the weekend away. I knew I couldn’t feel this way anymore. His excuse was that he bought those tickets when we were on a break a few months back. But we got back together see, and he played it off as if he wasn’t going to go at all. I guess he wanted to go back to that feeling of living the single life… or whatever you want to call it. It’s crazy how a person can suck you back in and make you feel like you can forgive and forget everything with a simple “I miss u a lot” text. But I can’t let it get through to me this time. I just can’t live in this anxiety-fueled relationship.

July 31, 8pm. I told him to meet me at a driving park near by. Somewhere public because I know that if he were to come over or if I were to pick him up, he would not get out of the car or leave my home. I knew that was going to happen because it had happened a handful of times in the past. I met him at the driving park, I was reading my book, Buffering by Hannah Hart, waiting anxiously for him to arrive. Oh crap… he’s coming this way... quick pretend like you’re reading. I was staring at a page for about 30 seconds without moving my eyes. My heart was pounding through my chest, my hands started to shake. I knew what was walking towards me. This was going to be the end of our relationship and as much as I wanted it to be civil, I knew that wasn’t going to happen with him. He is not the civil type unfortunately.

“Hi, how long you’ve been here?”

“10 minutes about”

“Oh”

He sits down on the picnic table across from me but not directly across. More to the side. I guess he was scared of what was to come and didn’t want to be directly face-to-face… or maybe it was just humid that day. I don’t know.

“What did you do this weekend?” “Nothing really”

I was being very quiet. Just thinking in my head… how the fuck do I say this. The anxiety was kicking in harder… I’m gonna say it now - no not now... Every second I was going to say it, he tried to make small talk. I think he knew it was coming and he wanted to prolong / avoid it as much as he can. Until finally…

“I’m breaking up with you.”

Silence for what seemed to be forever but was probably about 10 seconds. No one said anything.

“Why?”

I knew this question was coming. I didn’t want to go into detail of what I thought should change. I didn’t want to tell him that I wanted to be a priority in his life. I didn’t want to tell him that I had such high feelings of anxiety every time we were around each other. I didn’t want to start an argument.

“I don’t want to go into detail about what I think should be different in our relationship. I just think what it comes down to is trust. I don’t trust you”.

These were the hardest words I had to say (besides the I’m breaking up with you part). But I practiced saying these words in the mirror. I had to be strong. I had to be strong for my future self. Sitting here writing this I feel like I made a mistake. No I can’t think like this. I did not make a mistake. I did not.

He went on to say that this is stupid. That I was throwing away three years because of my own insecurities. I blocked out what he said after that to be honest. Trying to get my mind off whatever he was saying. I looked down to the table where I found the back of my book and just started to read it so I can get my mind off of what he was saying. I saw on the book: “buffering (n) – The time you spend processing the data of your life”. How appropriate. In some way, this helped me get through this tough time. I was currently buffering. Anyway, I didn’t want his words to trigger something inside me to make me angry and want to talk back. I wanted to be the bigger person. I was doing this for the both of us. We both deserve to be happy even if that means it’s not with each other. I first heard that expression through a song I heard when I was about 17 - Boats and Birds. Its pretty much a song about a girl signing that she wants her love to be happy even if that means its not with her. I never understood that. I never understood how someone could fathom that. I do now. I truly do. When you love someone so much, you want him or her to be happy regardless if it’s with you or not. It hurts like hell to admit fuck. But it’s true. And that’s how I truly fell about him.

I felt his words getting angry. It was at that time when I grabbed my book and my keys and headed to the car. He got up. I knew what he was going to do. He walked straight to my car, and stood in front of it, preventing me to go inside. He stood there for about 10 seconds. I did not move from the table we were sitting at. He was walking back, cussing, swearing, he even punched the ground. This is exactly what I did not want. I did not want to cause I scene. I wanted things to be civil. But there is no civil with him. I stood up, he followed me. Got in front of me, grabbed my wrist and my sweater. Not in a hurting way. Just in a desperate way to plead me to stay and keep talking in hopes that I would change my mind. I saw in his eyes he didn’t want me to leave. I can’t look in his eyes.

“I’ve made up my mind. I’m sorry”.

“Please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me”.

He was going back and forth. One moment pleading, begging me to stay. The next he said he was going to “hang himself outside my window”. This was not the first time he’s threatened me with suicide. He threatened to kill himself three times prior. The first time he mentioned suicide was one month in the relationship. This should have been a sign. We had gotten into an argument on the phone over something (I cant even remember) and when we said bye, he forgot to hang up. I overheard him call me a c*nt and said suicide treats to whoever he was with at the time. This should have been a huge red flag. Why did I stick around? Why is love so complicated? My dad says it’s the Italian in me. When in reality I think its because I’m terrified to be alone. The second time he threatened to kill himself was a few weeks ago when I wasn’t even around. I was babysitting my younger brother for the week and I had to keep my cool. He said he was going to kill himself and let everyone know that it was because of me. When I told him I was going to call the cops, he said if I called the police he would never speak to me again. I was trapped. How am I supposed to deal with something like this? I didn’t know what to do. That night I sent a long text to his mom, explained what he said and begged her to take him to the hospital. I was taking care of my little brother that week. I felt helpless. And she never took him to the hospital. And now this.

I stayed calm. I said, “Please let me go. I’ve made up my mind, please don’t make this worse”. He walked away for a moment. Freaking out, cussing to himself. I had 911 dialed in my phone, ready to hit call. “What are you doing?! If you call the police I will deny everything! Are you filming something? I never said anything, you’re crazy!” In no way would I ever want to hurt this man. I would never want him to get into any kind of trouble. It was killing me to see him this way. It makes me feel so guilty. He came back again, grabbed my wrist and sweater and said “Please don’t break up with me” I was anxious. But remained collective and asked him to let me go. He walked away. I sat in my car locking the doors immediately. I was shaking, crying. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what he was going to do. I recently lost a friend to suicide and treats like this I take seriously. I had no choice.

“911- police, ambulance or fire?”

“Hi, um, I need help. I just broke up with my boyfriend and he told me he was going to kill himself.”

My voice was dry and shaking. Thinking about it, this reminds me a lot of my very first relationship with my very first boyfriend. When we broke up, I was devastated, so incredibly broken hearted at 14 I didn’t know how to deal with it. I told him I was going to commit suicide in a bathtub. I would never. But I guess I just said that in hopes that he would stay with me. A horrible plan. He did the same thing. He called the cops and I bet the conversation was similar. He was my first love at 14 years old and at that time I would do or say anything to keep him around. Maybe that’s how this man feels about me now. But then again, maybe it was his mental health. As I am older now I see this is a form of manipulation and is not fair by all means.

I explained the situation to the police over the phone. They said to stay put, because the police were going to arrive on scene. What I wanted to be a civil break up turned into two cop cars and a spotlight on me. However, I knew I wasn’t in trouble. They were on they’re way to ask me questions while the other one circled the park, trying to find where he went. I told the police that this was not the first time he threatened suicide. I told her every other instance. When she asked if he’s ever attempted, I said I didn’t know. But what I did know was that I’ve seen his hands destroyed from punching walls due to his anger. The officer understood and I could see in her eyes she was all business. She wanted to help me. Time was pressing, because he could of done something at any point. I was terrified. While I was talking to the police all I kept thinking about was I hope they find him. Where could he be, the restaurant maybe? Still walking? In a forest? The towns dive bar? No he wouldn’t go there. I looked down at my phone and saw 8 missed calls from his house line phone. This meant that he was at home. I told the police he is calling me off the hook and they went to his house to see if they could track him down and make sure everything is ok. I told the police, I don’t want any trouble. He is a good guy, I’m just scared he’s going to do something stupid and I don’t know what to do. She understood, and she said she would give me a follow up call to let me know if they were able to track him down and give me an update. I said ok and they left. I drove by his house to see if the police were there. They were. I hope I didn’t scare his mom. I drove home, took the dog out and here I am writing this down because all I can think about is did I make a mistake.

* * *

The police just called back. She’s was a very well spoken woman, strong, confident and so kind.

“Hello? … We were able to locate him. He is safe at his home with some family. He admitted saying some suicidal threats however did not mean them because he was just angry. He said that he appreciates you calling us for help and understands. We told him for now to give you some space and perhaps in the future if you want to reach out to him that you do so on your own terms.”

Thank goodness. I’m glad he was cooperative with the police. Or maybe he was playing stupid in hopes that he would make me look like the crazy one. I was scared he would throw a fit. But I know he has a record for public indecency and just got off parole. It was a very minor and dumb incident. The fact that he actually got charged is mind blowing. Anyway, I know he didn’t want to get in trouble with the police again. And I didn’t want him to get in trouble either. That was not the intention. The intention was to find him and stop him for killing himself. He can’t say shit like that. How am I supposed to know he was just saying that because he was mad? As much as I loved him this guy was a loose cannon with his emotions. I couldn’t keep up.

Where do I stand now? “We told him for now to give you some space and perhaps in the future if you want to reach out to him that you do so on your own terms.” I think I need to really just cut things off. As much as that hurts to say. I really did see him as my future husband. I wanted him in my life so badly. I wish things worked out so bad between us. But this is for the best. I need to stay strong. I need to keep my mind occupied. I can’t find myself not doing anything because it will be itching away at me to get in touch with him. And I just can’t do that. Remember – read in your phone the note titled “Read when times get tough”. This is a reminder of all the terrible things he has said to you in the past. I keep this to remind myself that you deserve better. Please do not forget that. “The woman you’re becoming will cost you people, relationship, space and material things. Choose her over everything” – 1foxybitch’s Instagram post.

#breakups #anxiety #buffering #hannahhart #heregoesnothing #myanonymousdiary