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turtletaubwrites · 4 months

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Bend Until You Break ~ Part 1

Thank you for this request from the lovely @anemptypuddingcup for a Yandere!Law that the Reader goes to for help with a serious health condition, only for Law to take a liking to her... I swear I will write sweet Law one of these days, but for now please enjoy Yandere!Law. This contains !!DARK CONTENT!! so please check the warnings, and skip this one if it may be triggering or uncomfortable for you. This one's for us hypermobile baddies out there. 🥄

Pairings: YANDERE!Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist

Word Count: 2679

Ao3 Link

Summary: You have struggled with mystery pains and injuries for most of your life, and had resigned yourself to suffer after every doctor told you there was nothing wrong. But when a world renowned doctor/pirate comes to town to offer aid in exchange for supplies, you decide to give hope one more chance. Maybe you'll finally find a doctor you can trust.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Dubious Consent, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Yandere, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Hypermobility, Medical Examination, Medical Trauma, Medical Conditions, Chronic Pain, Injury, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Doctor/Patient, Abuse of Authority, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to be Added, (Reader is described as having hair "above her shoulders" that she can brush)

A/N: This chapter is SFW, but I'm adding in many tags to start out with since this mini series will contain heavy/dark content. PLEASE heed the tags, and do not read this fic if you aren't comfortable with these topics. Some of these medical issues may or may not have come from personal experience 🙃

Extra A/N: I am not a doctor, and this is not meant to be educational, or to contain any health advice. Please seek a health professional. Hopefully you'll have better luck than Reader 🙄

I should just leave. He’ll just tell me the same things. It’s a waste of time.

You were close to convincing yourself to walk away, especially as the discomfort and pain of standing in one place for so long started radiating up your body.

The line got shorter, and you stretched and bounced, trying to hang onto a sliver of hope.

“Hello, how’s your day going?”

A talking polar bear in an orange jumpsuit waved at you from behind a small table, handing you a clipboard.

“I-I’m well thanks. How…”

“Good! It’s always nice when the captain can help people. He’s the best! Just fill that out, and he’ll be with you soon.”

Looking at the form brought you out of the shock of speaking to a bear. Instead, it filled you with intense frustration, until you were practically boiling in your skin.

‘Rate your pain from 1-10.’

How the fuck am I supposed to rate all the different types of pain I’m in on any given day?

‘Circle the parts of the body where you are experiencing pain.’

I could put circles over so many things. Might as well circle the whole fucking chart, and have them call me a liar.

‘List your diagnoses, and family medical history.’

I don’t have one, doctors never find anything. Mom has some similar symptoms, but they're so mild that she's never tried to get a diagnosis. You’re the one who’s supposed to figure this out!

You resisted the urge to vent your anger onto the page, bullshitting your way through instead. You tried to write in the most convincing way to get this new doctor to take you seriously.

This new doctor. “The Surgeon of Death.” A fucking pirate.

But he was supposed to be the best, and he was here on your shitty little island for a couple of weeks, trading medical treatment for the town's supplies. You had already heard reports of “miracles,” that he could perform surgeries in an instant, that he could fix anyone.

Please fix me.

This was it. You couldn’t take anymore trying after this. Just trying to get a doctor to listen to or believe you was almost worse than the daily pain. Almost.

“Miss Y/N? The captain is ready for you now. My name is Bepo, by the way,” the bear grinned as he took the clipboard from your clammy hands. At least you hoped it was a grin.

He handed the form back to you as he led you through the dimly lit hallways of this strange submarine. It felt like you’d entered some other realm, an underworld, on your way to strike a deal with a demon.

As long as he can fix me…

“Here you are,” Bepo motioned as he opened a large metal door. “You’re in great hands.”

Hands.

Hands were the first things you noticed as you entered the examination room.

Those hands were tensed over the back of a rolling chair, gripping the thin padding as if waiting for you so he could sit down.

Long fingers mesmerized you, tattoos etched along the back of each hand. And as you stepped into the well lit room, you saw the word “death,” spelled out across both sets of those fingers.

The sound of his throat clearing snapped your eyes to his, your skin flushing as you realized he’d been speaking to you.

As you realized how fucking gorgeous he was. His black hair looked a bit mussed, but it only added to the effect, along with his goatee, and his dark, pretty eyes.

Already more useful than my other doctors. Easy on the eyes.

“May I look at your form, miss?”

‘Oh, of course,'' you stuttered, thrusting the paper toward him. “I’m Y/N.”

“Dr. Trafalgar. You can take a seat.”

Well, his bedside manner seems pretty standard, you thought with a small sigh, sitting down on the familiar crinkly paper covering the exam table.

He circled behind you to close the door, and what sounded like a lock clicking into place had your heart rate spiking.

“Stand up, please,” he said firmly, your form still unseen in his hand.

“Oh, sorry. I thought you said–”

“Walk to the corner, and sit back down, please.”

His voice was unreal. You would have jumped through hoops for him anyway, praying that any doctor would listen.

But his command seemed to curl into your brain, and you followed it immediately.

“Why are you favoring that hip?”

“Oh, it…”

Here’s where your credibility would fall apart. Your nails dug into your palms as you willed him to believe you.

“Sometimes if I stand too quickly, it feels loose. Sometimes it pops, and is so painful that I can’t put any weight on it.”

He stared at you for a moment, and you fought not to recite a list of excuses, to try to explain why it hurts when you’d never been injured before.

“And your right knee?”

“Oh, it’s not bad right now. It used to swell sometimes, and was really painful. But it’s not as bad as it used to be.”

“Did you sustain any injuries?”

“N-No. None that I can recall.”

His lips quirked a bit before he reviewed your chart.

Believe me. Believe me. Believe me.

“You’ve reported your shoulders as being your most pressing concern. Why is that?”

His eyes were almost painfully sharp as he scanned you, focusing on your face as you answered him. He’d sat backwards on the rolling chair, his arms folded across the back with his legs spread wide to either side.

“They’ve been acting up recently. They often feel… loose. That’s how it feels to me. Sometimes if I move a certain way it almost feels like they pop out of place. But I can still move them after, it’s just incredibly painful. And then it’s weak, and I can barely hold anything.”

“What are some of the activities that have caused this to happen?”

He was impossible to read. But you couldn’t lie. He wouldn’t be able to help you if you lied.

“Um, brushing my hair. Taking off a jacket. P-Putting a sports bra on.”

“Did you used to have longer hair?”

“What?”

“Do you keep your hair above your shoulders to prevent shoulder pain? Or does brushing it still cause issues at this length?”

“Oh. Yes, actually. I used to have much longer hair.”

“I imagine you’ve adjusted many aspects of your life to cope with this pain.”

Warmth flowed into that deep voice, and you shivered as you watched him steeple his fingers against his lips for a moment.

“If you are comfortable, I would like to run through a few simple movements to check your flexibility. Many of which you can do on your own, but I will check in again if you are comfortable with me touching you for the others. You can always let me know if you would like to stop.”

“Okay.”

The doctor dug through a drawer to pull out a clear measuring device, almost like two rulers connected at one end. He adjusted it, creating an angle before setting it aside.

He never picked up the device again, and you fought not to shake. He looked at your elbows, your knees, your thumbs, your pinkies, frowning slightly as you followed his instructions.

“Now, please bend over, and try to touch your toes. Just go as far as you– hm.”

Your palms were flat on the ground, just as they’d always been able to go. You could even put the back of your hands down, and stretch them along the ground behind you if you wanted to.

“Doctor?”

“You can take a seat.”

Wincing as you sat, you shook out your legs, feeling his eyes as he watched your every movement.

He stood, towering over you as he came close.

“For this next part of the examination, I will be touching you with my hands, and in some cases leaning or holding parts of your body against mine so that I can check the range of motion in your joints. I may also massage certain tight muscles to help you relax as we move through the problem areas. You have quite the list for us to get through, but if at any time you wish for us to stop, just let me know. Do you understand?”

“I do,” you breathed, your face angled up to meet his.

“Do you consent to me touching you?”

His voice came out softer once again, and you couldn’t hold in a shiver as you consented.

Those fingers…

His long fingers were so gentle as they crept across your body, testing, pushing, pulling. You fought to listen to his commands, pushing against or holding your body how he told you.

“I imagine that seeking treatment has been challenging for you,” he rasped as he leaned over your face, his fingers gently massaging your shoulders.

The pain and pleasure of his hands testing you had brought up a strangely emotional pressure, almost like tears in your throat.

“It has.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It must be incredibly difficult to suffer so much pain, and not be believed.”

You started to nod to keep your voice from cracking, but he pressed his fingers into your skin just a bit.

“Can you keep still for me,” he whispered, and it sounded so close that you opened your eyes.

“Just relax,” the doctor soothed as he stepped away, pulling a few tissues out to press against your cheeks and temples, catching the tears that had spilled when you’d opened your burning eyes.

“I’m sorry, doc–”

“No need to be sorry, Y/N. You have been suffering, been living with pain for years. It’s all those doctors that left you like this that should feel ashamed.”

His fingers had returned to your body, still relaxing, and testing.

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Please, call me Law.”

He was pressing gently along your collarbones as his name rolled over you, a small sound escaping your throat as you melted beneath him.

“Do you have a good support system? People in your life that can help you with this?”

“I mean, my mom and my boyfriend help me. They’re supportive.”

He took those fingers away, and you mourned them, wishing you could feel that soothing touch forever.

“I’m going to test your hips now, Y/N. Please tell me if you experience any pain.”

“Okay,” you agreed, feeling self conscious of your breathy voice. His words just kept pouring over you, his voice so relaxing, so good.

“How does that feel, Y/N?”

“Fine.”

He had your leg stretched along his torso, your foot dangling over his shoulder. You clamped your eyes shut. The sight of him between your spread legs, pushing your leg toward you, had you biting your lip, trying not to make any more embarrassing noises.

“How’s this?”

“Fine.”

He hadn’t gotten close to your limit, but he went agonizingly slow. You could feel his firm abs warming your thigh through your clothes, his thin shirt not doing much to keep the press of him at bay.

“You said that your mom and your boyfriend support you. How do they do that?”

“Oh, uh,” you shook your head, trying to focus on the question, and not the gentle rocking motion he’d started as he pushed you even further.

“They help me when… They help me when I’m having bad days. They listen. They both do little different things when things are bad.”

“How’s this?”

“Still fine.”

“You can go further?”

“Yeah, I can–,” you had reached for your thigh, planning to pull it toward your chest to show him, but his eyes above you stopped you before his voice did.

“I’ll get you there, Y/N. You can hurt yourself if you rush. Can you take it slow for me?”

“Perfect,” he praised when you nodded, still gently rocking your body forward and back as he pushed, finally reaching the limit.

“That is quite the range of motion,” he noted, carefully laying that leg down to move to the other side. “May I?”

He set himself up again, moving slow as he used his body to stretch you.

“You said that they help you on bad days, is that right?”

Meeting his sharp eyes, you took a minute to understand.

“Yes, they do.”

His face tilted a bit as he pressed closer. He started that gentle rocking motion, almost thrusting against you to help your body relax.

“But Y/N, from what I’ve seen today, it seems like all of your days are bad. Aren’t they?”

“I…”

“All these years with no one to believe you. It must be hard to believe yourself sometimes. Do you think they really believe you, Y/N? Do they believe how much pain you’re in as you struggle through each day? As you stand up too fast, or brush your hair? Do you think they understand?”

He’d pushed closer, looming over you as he held your thigh against him.

“Why are you–”

“I need to make sure that my patients have the support systems they need.”

His voice had smoothed back now, from almost heated to cool and detached.

He’s the only person that’s ever seemed like they understand. He must believe me. Of course he would be passionate about it, he’s a doctor. A doctor that believes me.

Closer and closer, his eyes watching yours.

“Do they believe you?”

“I think,” you started, eyes wide as you fought more tears, “I think they try to believe me. They just… They don’t know what it’s like. They don’t understand.”

“How’s this?”

“It’s fine.”

“Alright, last push.”

Your thigh was pressed between your bodies, and he stayed there.

“Does this hurt, Y/N,” he rasped, his breath warming your face.

“No.”

He helped you stretch your leg out on the table, sitting backwards in the rolling chair before he told you to sit up.

“I believe I understand the cause of your pain, and why you’ve had a difficult time obtaining a diagnosis.”

“Can you fix it?”

Your thrill of excitement got caught in your throat at the look in his eyes, his palm up to halt your questions.

“I believe it may be a connective tissue disorder, which would explain your hypermobility, as well as the complications you’ve had with many parts of your body. You've already met the criteria for one type based on our examination today. I would like you to come back tomorrow so that we can review more of your symptoms to be sure, and to discuss treatments.”

“You can do surgery, right? Can you fix it?”

You had gestured to him, your body panicking with failing hope. A gasp left your throat as those tattooed fingers caught your hand, his thumb rubbing over your skin as his voice went low.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. This is not a condition that can be cured,” he confessed, squeezing your hand as your body slumped. “Connective tissues run throughout our entire body, and if I am correct, yours may be weaker than most. 'Loose,' as you said. Unfortunately, there is no known way to repair or replace those tissues.”

A weight fell over you, and you found yourself not quite in your body. Your body that you’d fought so hard to fix.

That can never be fixed.

The doctor pressed your hand between his, smoothing over and warming your fingers until you were present enough to meet his eyes.

“It may not be curable, Y/N, but it can be managed. You don’t need to suffer alone in such pain like you have been. I’ll do everything I can to ensure that things are better for you. Do you trust me?”

There was something so intense about his face. The way he looked at you felt heavy, like he really did see the weight you’d carried all these years. You sank into those gray eyes, and realized you did.

“I trust you, Doctor.”

“Please. Y/N,” he hummed, releasing your hand, “call me, Law.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Welcome to my frustration with the health care system 😅

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel

Part 2

#cw dark content #cw yandere #cw doctors #trafalgar law smut #eventual smut #trafalgar law x reader #one piece smut #reader insert #fem!reader #x reader #turtletaub fics #one piece x reader #trafalgar law fanfiction #fic requests #use of y/n #cw chronic pain #cw medical #smut

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angelbaby-fics · 6 months

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i was just wondering if you would do one with (little reader with cg!stucky) being sick with covid ? because i have it right now…fever, cough, horrible body chills, body aches, struggle to breathe….it would mean a lot 🤍

Sick Day

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: My darling, I'm so so sorry this took so long!! Hopefully you've gotten all better by now but for anybody who needs it I hope this can provide some comfort!

You woke up coughing, every muscle in your body contracting as you tried to catch your breath but to no avail. Steve and Bucky came rushing in as soon as they heard a change in your breathing pattern, their enhanced hearing tuned specifically to you. They were at your bedside and soothing you before you’d even opened your eyes. Bucky sat you up and rubbed your back while Steve fluffed the pillows up behind you.

“Easy baby, easy,” Steve whispered.

“We’ve got you doll, just breathe.” “I can’t!” You choked out.

Bucky held your arms up above your head, breathing deeply and encouraging you to follow his lead. Steve fished his phone out of his pocket and texted Bruce. Living in a big compound with all your coworkers definitely had its perks when it came to times like this. Your on-call doctor and beloved family friend was already in your room by the time your cough had quelled. Each breath you took was shallow, the hot air scraping through your lungs like sandpaper.

Bruce held a device to your head, some sort of Stark invention that scanned your body inside and out with a nearly magical ease. Your temperature was skyrocketing in your daddies’ very hands, and it broke their hearts. When your diagnosis came up on Bruce’s screen, he tried his hardest not to change his expression, but Bucky immediately noticed his facial features make the tiniest shift. “What is it? What’s wrong?” He asked, hoping his desperation wouldn’t scare you and make your breathing worse again. Bruce shifted the screen over to show Steve and Bucky, who were thankful you were too small to read right now. Even though it had been obvious to them what you were stricken with, the symptoms all too telling, they had naively hoped it would be something easier, something mild, a 24 hour bug you could power through with the aid of the best medicines money could buy. But the five letter word across the screen confirmed their fears.

You weren’t like Steve and Bucky. You weren’t genetically enhanced like them, you weren’t at the pinnacle of health like them, and you weren’t invincible like you believed they were. They felt that right now more than ever, with you shuddering in their arms, glancing between either of them with baleful eyes, suffering in the place you should feel safest. Bruce tried his best to calm their fears, and thus, yours.

“Hey don’t worry you guys. According to my chart here, we’re all up to date on vaccinations.” Then he turned to you, grabbing your warm hand in his. “Besides, you’re a tough kid. You’re gonna fight this off like a champ!”

You smiled for the first time that morning.

Steve looked down at you, mirroring your gentle smile. Bucky, however, kept his eyebrows furrowed. He’d spent his entire childhood helping Steve whenever he got sick, but he felt so helpless now.

“I’m gonna head back to the lab real quick and get the medicine, shouldn’t be more than two minutes.” Bruce said, getting up and leaving.

You started to suck on your thumb before Steve took it out of your mouth and replaced it with a pacifier. He smiled at you, his blue eyes crinkling, and looked over to see Bucky scowling.

“You couldn’t have stopped it, Buck. Babies get sick, that's how it goes sometimes.”

“I know,” Bucky replied, “that doesn’t mean I have to like it though.”

A minute later, Bruce knocked on the open door as he reentered the room. He shook a bottle of pink colored liquid in his hand.

“A teaspoon of this at breakfast and another before bed oughta do it. You should start seeing a reduction in symptoms within the next 24 hours.” Your face scrunched up at the thought of yucky medicine twice a day.

“I know, right?” Bruce smiled at you. “They say it’s ��strawberry flavored’ but I think whoever said that has never eaten human food before.” That cheered you right up. You always loved the way Bruce laughed and joked with you as if he were one of your peers instead of your daddies.

“Thanks, Bruce.” Steve said, and Bucky finally broke his scowl to give the doctor a tight smile. Bruce didn’t mind, he knew how protective your Baba could get, and that it wasn’t a reflection of the quality of his medical services.

“Always, Cap.” Bruce replied to the both of them, and he began to head towards the door again. “You know the drill, call me if you need anything.” Then he turned to you. “Get well soon, superstar!”

Now that it was just the three of you again, the excitement of a friend’s visit wore off, and you suddenly became aware of the deep ache in your bones. You slumped back against Bucky’s torso, and he snaked a protective arm around you.

“Don’t wanna be sick,” you mumbled, your energy draining by the second.

“I know, babydoll.” Steve replied. “The sooner you take your medicine, the sooner you’ll start to feel better.” “Don’t wanna take medicine either!” You said slightly louder, anxiety twisting your voice into a whine.

“Shh… I know, baby.”

“No you don’t! Daddies never get sick!” You cried out with a pout.

“That wasn’t always the case.” Bucky said, a mischievous grin breaking through his gruff mood. “Your daddy used to get sick all the time! And guess who used to take care of him.”

Bucky pointed a thumb towards himself.

“Really? Baba was takin’ care of Daddy?”

“It’s true!” Steve said. “Before we met Bruce, Buck was the best nurse I ever had!”

“And just like you, he’d have to take yucky medicine, even when he didn’t want to. Sometimes it took a lot of convincing.”

“How?” You asked, the discomfort in your body taking a backseat to your delight at being regaled with stories from your Daddies’ past.

“Well…” Bucky glanced over at Steve, waiting for an affirmative nod before he went on, “I would keep peppermints in my bookbag, so Stevie could always have one to get the taste of the medicine out of his mouth.” Just as expected, your eyes went wide.

“So if I takes my medicine I gets a candy?” You asked excitedly, making both the men smile and laugh.

“How about this,” Steve offered up, “Every time you take your medicine, you can have a piece of candy, as long as you’re honest and tell Daddies if it makes your tummy upset, okay? And when you’re all better and have no fever, we’ll take you for a special day out with just the two of us as a prize for being so brave!”

#little!reader #stucky x little!reader #agere fic #bucky x little!reader #daddy!stucky x little!reader #daddy!stucky #daddy!bucky #daddy!steve #steve x little!reader #cg!steve #cg!bucky #cg x little!reader #chloe's fic

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ms-fandomgirl · 1 month

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BBHG: Okayu (Ch. 6)

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Words: 3,581

Summary: A chance encounter in the Shibuya Train Station leaves you with a sore shoulder and a mysterious bento box. You’re willing to write the incident off and move on, otherwise preoccupied with navigating a new city and a new job, but a bombastic blond, meddling friend, and fate itself seem to have other plans.

Genre: Pro Hero AU, fluff, strangers to lovers, medical setting

Links: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Cross-posted on Ao3!

Warning: Sickness (not life threatening)

Okayu - A simple Japanese rice porridge made of only water and rice. Known as a healing food, it is a staple to serve when someone is sick as the mild porridge is both easy on the stomach and supposed to restore energy.

Previously…

“Did I die and go to heaven? Because you look like an angel.”

The voice was weak, barely a whisper, but it sent a shock through the room nonetheless. It wasn’t Bakugou who had said that terrible pickup line, and it certainly wasn’t yourself.

You pivoted on your heel so quickly that you almost fell over, gripping the side of the bed for stability. Bakugou was just as fast, appearing at the bedside in an instant. You peered down with your mouth slightly open in awe, and electrifying yellow eyes stared right back at you.

Pro-Hero Chargebolt was awake.

He grinned up at you despite his weak state, relentless and seemingly oblivious as to why you had yet to say a word. His eyes darted over to Bakugou, and his smile broadened as he directed his next words toward the stricken blond.

“You look a little pale right now, Bakubro. Maybe you need some vitamin me in your life to feel better.”

Bakugou spluttered in indignation, opening his mouth to no doubt berate his friend, but another voice beat him to it.

“I can’t believe the first thing I hear after waking up in this hospital is your cringe pickup lines, bro.”

You snapped your head over toward the other side of the room, eyes widening as you took in a groggy Red Riot crossing his arms in his bed.

“Kirishima!” Bakugou cried, immediately making his way over to him.

“Oh, so he gets a ‘Kirishima’ but I don’t even get a response to my amazing opener? What am I, chopped liver?” Chargebolt grumbled.

Without missing a beat, Bakogou responded. “Yes.”

“Rude, bro. So rude.” He turned to you then, lowering his voice as though he was confiding in an old friend. “If I’d known this is the welcome I’d get, I might as well pass out again.”

You reached out to touch his forehead on instinct, glancing at the monitor beside him as you did so. “You don’t actually feel like you are going to, do you?”

He chucked at your reaction, slightly shaking his head before wincing. “Well, I feel like I got slammed into a building, but other than that I’m just peachy. I don’t really remember how I got here though. Could you help me out, beautiful?”

You nodded over to Red Riot, catching his eye before beginning your explanation. As he turned your way, you subtly reached toward the pager clipped into your pants, pressing the button on the side of it before focusing your attention on the boys once again.

“Both of you were attacked during a public hero parade about two weeks ago by a villain, now dubbed ‘Basilisk’ by the media. His quirk allows him to inject unknown toxins within his victims which, at the very least, cause the body to shut down into a coma. However, more recent attacks have caused more severe symptoms, such as seizures and vomiting.”

The two heroes stared at you in shock, not quite believing the news you dropped on them. They briefly glanced at Bakugou, who agreed with your summary. It was then that the weight of the situation fully sunk in, and the room was left in a heavy silence. In fact, it was so silent that you easily heard the patter of footsteps rapidly echoing down the hallway. The door burst open, revealing a flustered Dr. Hiyashi.

“What’s wrong?” he gasped. Four pairs of eyes stared back at him.

“Ah.” He straightened his coat, donning a professional demeanor before slowly walking into the room. “Pro Heroes Red Riot and Chargebolt, let me first offer you my sincerest relief that you are awake.”

Red Riot and Chargebolt accepted his statement graciously, although you noticed Chargebolt suppressing a chuckle at the doctor’s dramatic entrance.

“How are your memories? Do you know how you got here?” he asked.

Chargebolt answered first.

“Nurse-” he paused for a second, eyes filled with guilt as he realized he had no clue what your name was. You laughed it off, softly telling it to him so he could continue once he repeated it. “-filled us in on the situation. I can’t really remember much of the parade or how I got injected unfortunately, but I remember everything leading up to it.”

“Good, good.” He turned to you then, addressing you directly. “I contacted Hina to let her know of this new development. She should be here shortly, but-”

He paused his sentence to look at you, really look at you, and you felt like an organism squirming under a microscope. You straightened your spine, but you knew for a fact that you hadn’t fixed your hair since the park, and you belatedly wondered if your face was still puffy from your breakdown earlier.

“You’ve had a big day. I think you should go home for the afternoon.” His voice was gentle, taking on almost a paternal tone. You would have been mildly offended if you weren’t so exhausted.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make things more difficult-” you began, but a gruff voice interrupted your weak protest.

“You should go. You look dead on your feet.”

You glared at Bakugou, but his gaze remained firm as he stared you down. Sensing that this was a fight you wouldn’t win, you looked away, shrugging your shoulders lightly. You had to admit, now that the adrenaline of Chargebolt’s awakening had worn off, you were left feeling even more tired than before. As Bakugou’s friends began to heckle him about his rough words, you turned to Dr. Hiyashi, thanking him for the opportunity.

You were just wondering how you could quietly leave when Hina, your savior once again, walked through the door with an anxious Suneater behind her. Taking the opportunity, you managed to slip behind them as Dr. Hiyashi filled her in on the situation. You tried to be relatively sneaky in the transition, but if you had turned around, you would have noticed a pair of ruby eyes trailing you until you shut the door behind you.

When you finally made it home, you were barely able to change out of your work clothes before collapsing onto your bed. The beginnings of a headache pressed against your forehead, and even the diffused light of your room felt too bright for your eyes. Certain that a nap would fix your problems, you easily drifted to sleep.

However, when you woke up at dusk, the weariness hadn’t gone away.

In fact, everything had gotten worse. Your favorite soft blanket was shoved to the far side of the bed, its presence creating a constrictive furnace with the heat radiating off of your body despite the chills running up and down your arms. The small headache had turned painful, your skull feeling like it was being split in two as you curled up into a miserable ball on your bed. You knew you needed to go to the bathroom to break out your ibuprofen, take your temperature, and grab a cold rag, but the thought of moving made you shudder, the task insurmountable.

Instead, you pulled out your phone, first texting Hina about your situation and then Shiozaki. The action was small, but it had cost you a large amount of energy. You let your phone slip out of your grasp as you collapsed back onto the bed, hearing the small chime of a new notification but not bothering to respond. You had begun drifting off into a slight doze when a sudden noise startled you awake.

Knock.

Your eyes shot to your door, but your body refused to move even an inch. You let out a unintelligible groan in form of greeting, and the person seemed satisfied at your response. A slight shuffling could be hold, and the clink of something ceramic against hardwood, and then silence once again descended around you.

Somehow, you eventually found it within yourself to shuffle over to the door, carefully opening it to reveal your offering: a packet of rice crackers, a bottle of water, a thermometer, and a bottle of ibuprofen. Meager fare, but you were extremely grateful for anything that would save you an extra trip outside of your room.

Returning to the comfort of your bed, you went for the thermometer first, sticking it into your mouth quickly to read out the inevitable results. While it loaded, you fished out your phone to send a quick text of thanks to Shiozaki. At this point, you knew she would be out of the apartment and checked into a hotel, so this would be your last contact with her before the message proclaiming you better. She had a fear about getting sick, which you had learned very quickly upon getting the flu after moving in. You were just thankful she had been willing to help you before fleeing.

The electric beep of the thermometer pulled you from your thoughts, and you grimaced as you read 101.2 degrees Fahrenheit. Expected, but definitely not good. You turned your attention toward the ibuprofen next, popping two in your mouth quickly followed by a large gulp of water. After all but inhaling the crackers, you settled down once again, content to stare at the ceiling as you let your drowsiness overtake you, this time hopefully to carry you through the night.

The good news was that you slept through the night, morning, and well into the afternoon. The bad news was that your whole body felt sore, and you thought you might be dying soon, if not from illness then from the commotion outside your door. The voices were indistinguishable through the walls of your apartment, but they were increasing in volume and based on the intermittent bangs on your front door, you were pretty sure they were aimed at you.

Fumbling around in your nest of blankets, you grabbed your phone as quickly as you could before slipping down to the floor and crawling your way into the closet. Sure, you were on the twelfth floor, but people could fly these days, and in your fever-addled brain, this seemed like the smartest option. Swiping your phone open, you immediately began dialing the police, only to pause before clicking the call button. What if you were blowing things out of proportion? What if you were hallucinating? But you still wanted someone to check on you; someone who would be able to take a fight if necessary too. You clicked out of the keypad, thumb scrolling through your contacts until it landed on your person of choice.

The phone only rang once before he picked up.

“It’s about damn time you answered your phone,” Bakugou snapped.

“Bakugou, you’ve got to help me,” you whispered, ignoring his greeting. “There’s someone banging on my apartment door and I think they’re out to get me.”

“Huh?” Bakugou exclaimed, sounding genuinely taken aback. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“There’s someone trying to Break. Into. My. Apartment.”

“What-no there’s not!”

You groaned in frustration. “And how would you know that? I know what I’m hearing!”

“And I know what I’m seeing!” he argued. “The only people in this hallway are me and an old lady in a bathrobe.”

“How dare you have the gall-” a shrill voice cut through the speaker, and you froze. You knew that voice. It was your crabby neighbor, Mrs. Fukigen, who would bang on the wall if you even vacuumed too late in the day. And wait, did he just say that he was in the hallway? That statement, plus his strange greeting, finally helped you connect the dots. You quickly swiped over to your unread messages for confirmation, only to see fifteen unread notifications.

Oh no.

Ice ran through your veins, but for a completely different reason now than before. You no longer feared a home invasion, but you did fear whatever Mrs. Fukigen and Bakugou could get up to if they were left alone any longer. You didn’t know what types of hero codes of ethics Bakugou was bound to, but you could easily see a world where Bakugou would swing on an old lady, especially one like Mrs. Fukigen who even made you daydream of resorting to violence from time to time.

You shot to your feet in a panic, which proved to be a very big mistake as you stumbled into the wall. Nevertheless, you persisted, making your way to the door as quickly as you could. After all, the fate of your apartment complex depended on it.

Finally making it to the door, you wrenched it open, only to be greeted with the sight of Mrs. Fukigen’s bony finger pointed centimeters from Bakugou’s nose. At the sound, both parties stopped their fighting in order to gape at you. It was only then in the sudden silence that you realized how you must have looked: disheveled clothes, messy hair, and on death’s doorstep.

Immediately Mrs. Fukigen retracted as though she had been attacked, hands covering her mouth and nose as she backed away towards her door. All notions of arguing abandoned at your appearance.

“Stay back now,” she snapped at you, as though you were no longer her neighbor but some diseased final boss. “And open your windows, while you’re at it. I can’t afford to catch whatever illness you have through the vents.”

And with that closing statement, the door to her apartment slammed shut.

Now, only Bakugou remained, taking in your state wearily as you leaned against the door for support. However, unlike Mrs. Fukigen, he was a hero, not a coward. Instead of commenting on your appearance, as you were expecting him to do, he merely held up a large brown paper sack as a peace offering.

“Can I come in?”

You shrugged, stepping back into your apartment.

“At your own risk.”

He huffed out a laugh, crossing the threshold without hesitation. You should have asked him why he was here. Even better, you should have asked him how he knew where you lived. But just having that brief interaction at the doorway of your apartment had winded you, so you instead curled up into the corner of your couch, peering at him as he sauntered around your kitchen like he owned it.

“Bowls?” he asked, opening cabinets and drawers at random.

“Cabinet to the left of the stove,” you supplied.

He nodded in satisfaction as he continued whatever mission he had set his mind to. You reached behind you, wrapping yourself in the dark green woven throw on the back of the couch. The room filled with silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it felt surprisingly natural, Bakugou’s presence having blended naturally into the atmosphere of your home instead of invading it, as so many might assume. The low whir of the microwave provided a gentle white noise that had your head nodding, and it wasn’t until a gentle prod of your shoulder that you realized you had fallen asleep.

“Here, eat this.”

Bakugou’s manners were as lacking as ever, but the food on the tray he had thrust in front of you more than made up for it. Two steaming bowls paired with a mug of matcha made your previously uneasy stomach rumble in hunger. The larger bowl was filled with a golden miso soup, cubes of soft tofu and delicate pieces of torn seaweed floating in the broth to create a mouthwatering aroma. The other bowl held a simple okayu, although the slightly congealed state of the rice told you that it had been cooked to perfection.

Your arms shot out faster than you could think, only for Bakugou to quickly back away in response.

“Are you crazy? You’ll spill everything on yourself if you move like that,” he snapped.

You weren’t sure whether he was more concerned for you or the food, but he did have a good point regardless. You settled back into the couch, patting your lap for him to set the tray onto. He eyed you apprehensively, as though you were playing a trick on him, before carefully setting the tray on you.

As expected, the food was absolutely delicious. You blamed your semi-delirious state for the moan that escaped your lips after your first bite. You sheepishly glanced at Bakugou who rolled his eyes at your display, although you swore his cheeks were slightly pink.

“Out of all of the food I cook you, this is your favorite?” he grumbled, although it wasn’t truly a complaint.

You cracked a small smile, eyes closing in satisfaction as you spooned down more of the okayu. “What can I say? I’m a simple woman.”

He scoffed in agreement. “Apparently so. I barge into your apartment in the middle of the day, and you don’t at least question it a little? A normal person with a brain would wonder how I got here.”

You shrugged, unaffected by his small jab. “I figured you probably got the address from Shiozaki, or maybe even Hina. Or through your super secret hero files.”

It seemed logical to you, but the stunned expression and slight part of his lips painted a clear picture of Bakugou’s shock.

“And you don’t care?”

“Why would I?” you questioned back. “At this point, I’d hope to have at least considered us friends. But the real question I want to know is why you’re here, not how.”

The words sat heavy in the room, so much so that you almost regretted saying them. Bakugou had kept the conversation lighthearted until now, and you felt like a fool for ruining it. Yet you were curious, and that curiosity only grew as you watched his response. His eyebrows drew close in concentration, and it took several times of his mouth opening and closing before words were eventually forced out.

“It was my turn.”

You tilted your head, urging him to continue with a wave of your spoon.

“Today was my turn to make lunch, but when I showed up at the hospital, you weren’t there. I found your nurse buddy and she told me you were out, so I adjusted accordingly.”

You gave him an incredulous stare. “You hunt down my address, make me homemade miso soup and okayu, and brave Mrs. Fukigen all to stick to routine?”

He glared at you, and you playfully stuck your tongue out in response.

“And here I thought it was because you cared,” you joked.

But Bakugou didn’t laugh. Instead, he turned his face away and began mumbling out a string of half-hearted insults. Yet it was unmistakable now: the blush you thought you saw earlier now extended to the tips of his ears, growing in intensity as you couldn’t contain your giggles at the state of him. He lightly shoved your shoulder in an attempt to get you to stop, but it only made things worse. His petulance and pouty demeanor was the funniest thing you had ever seen in your state of sickness, and it wasn’t until you were gasping for air that you were finally able to settle down.

“You done?” he grumbled, although you could tell from the sparkle in his eye that he wasn’t truly angry at all.

You nodded, both in regard to your meal and your hysterics, shoving the tray in his general direction. He shook his head as he retrieved it, but he dutifully took your dishes to the sink. You stared unabashedly as he did so, marveling at the fact that Pro-Hero Dynamight was currently washing your dishes. It sounded so absurd, yet at the same time, it made complete sense. Maybe it was because you had only ever seen him as “good-smelling asshole” or Bakugou, but you much preferred this version of him to whatever was projected on the news channels.

The tap shut off with a soft click, and the room was once again blanketed in a soft silence that made your eyelids begin to droop. You hadn’t realized you had curled up onto the couch until your head rested on the arm rest, and you hadn’t realized your eyes had closed until a warm palm pressed against your forehead.

“Still got a bit of a fever,” Bakugou tsked.

“Feel better though,” you muttered in response, quickly fading like the rays of orange sunlight illuminating the apartment. “Thank you.”

You heard an affirmation, and then silence, before two strong arms wrapped around you, pulling both you and your blanket up into the air. Fully-conscious you might have screamed, both out of surprise or embarrassment, but semi-conscious was completely focused in on the warm that radiated from the chest you were gathered into. You were further pleased to note that the scent of warm caramel and expensive smelling cologne only strengthened as you burrowed deeper in your makeshift cocoon, resting your head on his chest. Just as you had settled in, the short trip was over, and you were being gingerly set on your bed.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, so you better open your door this time.”

Your eyes squinted open, taking in his broad silhouette in the doorway. A sleepy reply slipped from your lips before you could even think about it, quiet yet full of confidence that left no room for doubt.

“Always.”

A/N: I bet you thought I had given up! I'm sorry it's taken so long, but life got super busy, and I also took a breather from writing for a bit as I focused on other projects. However, what I said in the beginning still stands: I will finish this story. Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with me so far, and welcome to any new readers!

As always, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated, but please do not repost here or on other platforms. However, fan arts, edits, or anything like that are beyond amazing and totally welcome! If you have a question about it, just ask me.

Tag List: @lavender99, @gold24fish, @bqkuho3, @satorulicious, @cringeycookies, @summrwalkr, @nyxmania, @poopoobuttsy, @st1rvoid, @kitzusune, @nindevorak, @stxrrielle, @cax-per, @kisskissshutmydoor, @kazuumii, @nnubee, @neutralevilxx, @idk-sam, @berryvioo, @hoothootreiber, @sikuthealien, @boopjuice, @crazypersonrandom, @aecarstairs, @andysdrafts, @xenasolos, @dndmell,

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments! Also, if the tag list DIDN'T work, please let me know as well. I think I figured out the problem, but we'll see. Hyperlinks are not my specialty.

#ms fandomgirl writes #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katuski #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bbhg #bakugou fanfiction

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dirtytomatoedwrites · 8 months

Text

ONLY HUMAN

Summary: Changes are happening. Rafe can feel it.

Paring: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Dub-Con/Non-Con, "Blood-Drinking", Character Death, Smut, Horror.

Word Count: 2k words

Author's Note: Wanted to contribute to Kintober but also wanted to experiment with how and what I write. Hope you enjoy and Happy Halloween 😈

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

It was the headaches that first hinted something was wrong.

Not just mild, fleeting headaches, but relentless migraines. They were excruciating, bouts of pain that seemed to originate from deep within his skull, right behind his eyes and radiating outwards in waves.

They were accompanied by disturbing visual auras—shimmering zigzags of light that swirled around his field of vision, making the world seem fractured and broken. He couldn't help but wonder if something sinister was taking root—something malignant, something deadly.

Over-the-counter pain pills and the heavy prescribed meds from his dad’s bathroom cabinet didn’t help. Being exposed to sunlight only made things worse; once a source of warmth, now felt like molten fire, forcing him to wear his sunglasses indoors. But after a while even that didn't work.

The only respite came when he submerged himself in utter darkness. And so his days became isolated, cocooned within the confines of his bedroom. The thick, heavy curtains drawn creating a sanctuary from the glaring sunlight that now felt like an enemy.

Cloaked in this artificial night, he clung to the few comforts that remained: scrolling through his Instagram feed to stay connected with friends. But even their mundane accomplishments made him feel worse, knowing the world carried on—while his was standing still.

Topper boasted about his championship win and how his dad was lending him the family boat to celebrate. Kelce posted pictures of himself at the golf club, scoring a suspiciously low 90. And then there was you. Sweet you. Pretty you.

“When did you get a puppy?”

He clicked on the video, showing you cradling the little fur ball. Despite the pain, a chuckle escaped Rafe's lips.

Ah, so it wasn’t your pup after all but a friend’s, he mused. He watched as you gently petted and cooed at it, your voice a calming balm soothed even his anxiety while his gaze drank in your contented features slowly, lingering just a tad too long on your eyes and lips.

Clearing his throat Rafe clicked off the vid.

RAFE- Yo can you guys quit posting this shit? You know I'm dying over here. Don't need to feel like killing myself too.

The boys' "lols" and your kiss and hug emojis, along with well-wishes, made him smile, giving him a glimmer of hope. "It'll pass in a few days," Topper responded. "Migraines can't last forever. You'll be up and about soon," you assured. And for a brief moment, Rafe believed it.

But then, the loss of appetite hit him.

Food suddenly didn't have the same appeal anymore, not after the headaches started. Bland, tasteless, gagging on his favorite meal—the texture of food itself seemed off somehow, like it wasn't going down quite right, like it wouldn't clear his throat when he swallowed it. And if the terrible texture wasn't bad enough, it tasted like it wasn't made for human consumption. Every bite seemed artificial, a blend of plastics and chemicals.

Drinking water only seemed to make things worse—every sip led to a lurching of his stomach, a violent uprising of nausea that ended with him hunched over the toilet, retching, even when it seemed there was nothing left.

Enough was enough.

He decided to video call Dr. Morris.

"Were you able to take your temperature recently?" She asked as she scribbled down his list of symptoms.

Rafe touched a hand to his forehead. "Yeah, it’s pretty normal. Checked it this morning; it was 98.6, or maybe just a touch below."

"Alright..." Dr. Morris murmured as she scribbled notes. "And the headaches, did they appear with the eye changes?"

"Eye changes? What changes?"

Dr. Morris gave a short laugh as if he was pulling her leg but stopped immediately when he didn't laugh with her. "There's discolouration around the edge," she said, her finger making a circle near her own pupil. "It's crimson. Haven't you noticed the color change?"

Rafe leaned closer to the screen, trying to see the reflection of his own eyes. They did seem different—possibly a bit darker around the edges? It was hard to tell in the dim light.

"I haven't noticed—no offense, doc, but I've had other things on my mind," he replied tersely. "So, what's wrong with me?"

"These symptoms can indicate many things: the flu, food intolerance, a bacterial infection. We'll need to run tests. But given your age and lifestyle, I suspect it's just a bug. I'll refer you to Claire for a blood test appointment this week, and in the meantime, I'll prescribe something for nausea to help you keep food and fluids down."

"Alright... doc." he nodded with a sigh of relief "That sounds like a plan."

Time bore down upon Rafe, its weight an oppressive force that enveloped each passing moment, shrouded in the inescapable cocoon of artificial darkness. The world outside seemed distant, lost behind the heavy curtains drawn across the windows.

Confined within his dimly lit room, the persistent throb in his head wove a malevolent lullaby, blurring the boundary between reality and hallucination. The antinausea pills only dulled the edges of his suffering, allowing sips of water to stay down, while he managed to eat small morsels of food. But a hunger unlike anything he had ever experienced before clawed at him from deep within, a gnawing emptiness that defied satiation.

Amidst his despair, his Instagram feed served as his bridge to the outside world, a bittersweet reprieve. Travels, festivities, sporting events—brief snapshots of lives that captivated him as long as it took to scroll. Yet, within those fleeting glimpses, you shone distinctly. A light in the darkness. With a magnetic radiance, your digital presence seemed more real than the dim walls surrounding him. He found himself irresistibly drawn to you, toggling between your Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook, silently observing every aspect of your life.

You were his friend and yet, with each photo and video, you unveiled new layers he had never noticed before. Were you always this serene? This happy? Your laugh that infectious? Peace seemed to radiate from you. And he found himself wanting to understand its source. Your digital presence had become a double-edged sword—offering him solace at one moment and then amplifying his torment in the next.

And then one night, the comforting yet painful ritual of immersing himself in your virtual world was interrupted.

Rubbing his eyes, aching from the screen's glare, he decided to splash some water on his face. Entering the dimly lit bathroom, he was startled by his own reflection. Leaning closer to the mirror, his eyes just inches away from the glass, he scrutinized the change.

The crimson around his pupils had grown darker, more pronounced, and now covered most of his pupil.

But what scared him more was the pulsing pattern. Every heartbeat seemed to send ripples through the shade, expanding and contracting with his pulse as if it had a life of its own. As if it were connected to some deeper, more sinister force within him.

"What the fuck?"

Panic set in, and Rafe fumbled to switch on the brighter overhead lights, hoping that maybe the subtle light from the bathroom bulb was playing tricks on him.

But under the stark, unforgiving light, the reality became even clearer. His heart raced, matching the rhythm of the ominous pulsing in his eyes. It was as though something was alive in there. A parasite. A silent watcher buried deep within, looking back at him from the mirror.

And just as that thought gripped his mind, another thought intruded, one that wasn't his own.

SLEEP

A dark siren echoed through his consciousness, promising peace and tranquility if only he gave in.

SLEEP

Its voice dripped with honeyed sweetness, promising it would make it all better.

SLEEP

Rafe felt its presence, an intangible force that clouded his thoughts, pulling him down into an abyss of darkness. He wanted to resist, to fight back against the compulsion that demanded his obedience. But fatigue suddenly weighed heavily on his eyelids, and the false comfort of the voice was impossible to resist.

SLEEP

With trembling hands, Rafe switched off the bathroom light, the shadows immediately lengthening and merging into one great expanse of blackness.

SLEEP

Suddenly, his steps were heavy, as if sinking into quicksand, his mind numb and zombified as he trudged along. Exhaustion made it a struggle to even reach his bed, and when he finally collapsed onto it, heart pounding against his ribcage, he began to sob because he knew he was surrendering to the unknown.

You awaken with a jolt, your heart racing and your eyes darting wildly in the pitch black. The air in your bedroom feels thick, an ominous heaviness that chills you to the bone. Your bed, once a sanctuary of familiarity and safety, now seems alien and cold beneath you.

Something catches your attention—a subtle but undeniable weight at the foot of your bed.

With trepidation, you force yourself to look down, and sheer horror grips you.

There, bathed in the eerie glow of the moonlight, is Rafe—or at least what remains of him. His posture is slumped, defeated, his silhouette a mix of lost and predatory.

Your throat tightens, and a scream gets stuck within it, but before it can escape, Rafe's voice—eerie and unlike him—cuts through the silence. "I had to see you... it commanded me too."

In a supernatural blur, he's suddenly upon you, his weight oppressive and suffocating. His skin is sickly pale, drawn tight over gaunt cheekbones. But it's his eyes, blood-red radiating pure evil, that hold you captive.

His icy fingers glide over your face, every touch searing your skin like a brand, a mixture of tenderness and threat that has you trembling.

"You're scared," he rasps, his voice a deathly whisper. “I’ll make it so you’re not."

The moment your lips meet, everything fades—your perception of past, present, reality; memories; even the chilling dread that had consumed you. Suddenly you're floating in a void, a liminal space between desire and oblivion.

His lips are a potent elixir, and with every passing second they pull you deeper into a spellbound haze. Your body is electrified with the intensity of his embrace. Every inch of skin comes alive beneath his ice cold touch.

Every whisper of breath; moan; gasp emanating from your lips mingles with the steady beat of your pounding heart. Your thoughts evaporate like wisps of smoke as the kiss intensifies to lust that surpasses all understanding.

His fingers leave a trail of fire down your exposed torso, as his hands slip away your clothes and his own. You do not notice. You're too consumed by pleasure and need alone. The need to be taken. The need to be fucked.

Suddenly he's pushing inside you and moving against you with an impatient hunger, claiming you for himself until you become one entity with one pulse, one breath, one desire—to reach ecstasy together.

With an animalistic vigor, he thrusts into you again and again, faster and harder, each stroke more powerful than the last. Pleasure builds inside you until there are no boundaries between pain and pleasure, only bliss. Bliss consumes every fragment of your being, building into an orgasm so profound, so primal, mounting higher and higher until—

Cold fingers seize your chin, jerking your head to reveal the delicate skin of your neck. Your eyes widen as grotesque, razor-sharp fangs extend from Rafe's perfect white teeth.

With agonizing force, they snap onto your throat, synchronizing with the grinding of his hips, and the sudden, overwhelming orgasm that tears you into a million pieces. Your muscles convulse and quiver around his cock, while Rafe's grip on your shoulder tightens, anchoring you in place as he drinks deep.

"What's happening?" you choke, sensing your heartbeat slowing. Tears now cascade down your cheeks, mingling with the blood trickling from your collarbone, staining the once-pristine white bedsheets.

"Rafe... I'm scared," you whisper, your grip on his arm weakening as desperation fills your fading gaze.

A monstrous hunger gleams in Rafe's eyes as he briefly withdraws, crimson trailing from his lips. An unsettling vitality now surrounds him, no longer pale or sickly; he appears healthy and handsome, reminiscent of his former self – a picture of perfect health.

In a cruel mockery of tenderness, he raises your wrist to his mouth, his eyes gleaming with ravenous hunger. With savage grace, he sinks his bloodstained fangs into your vein.

The world seems to bleed into his mouth as your life force drains. Each beat of his heart grows louder, stronger, overpowering the diminishing rhythm of your own, which slows... slows... and finally fades into silence.

GIF by outerbankspov

HAPPY HALLOWEEN MY LOVES 🖤😈😘

--------------

Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please like/reblog/drop a comment would love to know what you think. Until next time ❤️

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 4 months

Note

How bout teen!reader and the other women in the ROR family humiliating the men for teasing the reader after practically passing out from period cramps? Idk which men you'd think of when I say that it'd be like, them thinking that reader was just being overly dramatic and that the pain wasn’t so bad, and then Brunhilde and Shiva’s wives make them go through this things that you plug in your abdomen to simulate period cramps? Well, yeah, that and then they kund of understand why reader nearly died. I'm just venting because my colleagues are so annoying about this when they don’t even know what it feels like, lol <3

-You were curled up in Parvati’s arms, a pout on your face as you held the hot water bottle to your stomach while Brunnhilde was yelling at the male gods and warrior, the ones who laughed at you.

-Your unwanted monthly visitor was never the same, and this month, she decided to mess you up with such bad cramps that you nearly fainted, which was worrying for your family, but as soon as they knew you were all right, they found out why and many of the men in your family were quickly laughing.

-This wasn’t funny to you- this was torture, and it was only when you started crying, overwhelmed with emotions, that Aphrodite, Shiva’s wives, and the Valkyries stepped in to discipline the men.

-Kali gave the men all a lesson on what happens during a woman’s shark week, on how the uterus is basically trying to kill itself since it didn’t get what it wanted, and how no two women’s shark weeks were the same and some, like you, sometimes had severe symptoms.

-Some did sympathize with you and other women, but it was Aphrodite who suggested a more hands on approach to this lesson and produced a cramp simulator for every single person who laughed at you.

-Once they were all hooked up, a few, like Loki and QSH, complained, asking if they really had to do this.

-You were given a bowl of ice cream as you curled up on the couch as Brunnhilde took control of the remote, “Laugh by the end of this and you will be forgiven.”

-Twenty minutes later, you were the only laughing, along with the other women, as many of the men were unable to even move, after going from level one to level fifteen in cramps.

-You were pretty sure a few had passed out themselves, while others were shaking, sweating heavily, and gasping for air- this was not fun! This was torture!!

-Once the devices were removed, Aphrodite smirked down at all of them, once they were all awake, “Now then- would anyone like to laugh this time?”

-There was nothing but silence as her answer before Apollo spoke, “You have to deal with that every month?!”

-Durga gave a small nod, “Almost every woman does, but it’s never the same, one month it might be mild and only last three days, others you might be crippled and suffer for a whole week!”

-Eyes went wide- this wasn’t natural before Loki spoke, not being rude, “How do you guys handle this!” a few glances between the women were sent around before Parvati spoke up, “It’s expected of us to continue going about our lives as if nothing is wrong.”

-Eyes went wide, like they didn’t believe before the ladies all started taking turns telling the comments that you and they have been forced to endure, “It can’t be that bad!”, “You’re just faking it to get out of doing stuff.” “Still gotta go to work!”, “Need to take care of the kids!”, “Gotta clean the house!”, “Need to go to school.”, “Don’t talk about that- it’s gross and unnatural.”, “Oh you must be on your period!”, “Not to mention we have to deal with things like breakouts, headaches, and bloating- just to name a few.”

-You were the one who then finished the argument, “Even if we’re in pain, or like me when I almost passed out earlier- we’re expected to pretend that we’re okay as society expects that from us.”

-You’re pretty sure that you all got the point across, especially after Buddha cuddled you, hugging you while you were wrapped in a fluffy blanket. Shiva was showering his wives with affection, apologizing to them for every incident that he was insensitive towards them.

-Now if you could just get every other male on earth to understand what it feels like to have a period- then maybe more things would change.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror loki #ror buddha #ror shiva

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zebulontheplanet · 4 months

Note

Hi! I have a question regarding your recent posts on catatonia. This is actually something I’ve been wondering about for a while now and I hope you have an answer. At first, it seemed like catatonia and autistic shutdowns where the same. I read that catanonia mostly occurred in people with schizophrenia, but could also be a symptom of autism, so I thought they were synonymous. Then I read that they weren’t, and I understood that the difference was in severity with catatonia being more severe and also lasting longer (hours to days). What you’ve described in your recent posts sounds a lot like what I thought were autistic shutdowns (which I’ve experienced in a similar way) and less like what I understood what catatonia to be. This isn’t me trying to tell you you’re experiencing a shutdown instead, I genuinely think I’ve misunderstood something and I’m hoping you could clear it up for me since I’ve clearly not had much luck with my own research. What is the difference between catatonia and autistic shutdowns?

Hey anon! This is a very good question that I didn’t really know the answer to for a hot minute.

So with my catatonia, I’ve been diagnosed with it. A doctor has confirmed it is indeed catatonia I’m experiencing and not something else. So there’s not really a doubt in my mind that it is catatonia. However, I do have autistic shutdowns as well, they’re actually more common than meltdowns for me so I can tell the difference pretty easily.

The difference for me, is that autistic shutdowns are caused by extreme emotions. They’re basically the opposite reaction of a meltdown. A lot of people refer to them as internal meltdowns cause they’re caused by extreme distressing things.

For me, catatonia can literally happen at any time. I could just be sitting there and boom, catatonia. Although it’s very common for me to have it when I’m starting a task. When I’m starting a task, I don’t feel every which way, it just sorta happens. My brain gets stuck.

Catatonia CAN get worse with intense emotions, and it can happen if you’re having an intense emotion, but that doesn’t mean you have to be having an intense emotion to experience catatonia. My catatonia gets worse with stress, but that doesn’t mean that my catatonia is a shutdown. Also to me, my catatonia is far more frequent than a shutdown. While a shutdown I have maybe once a week, I have catatonia maybe a few times a day.

From my understanding some doctors believe that shutdowns can lead to catatonia, but they still have a very distinct difference. Catatonia also comes with a variety of other symptoms, like no reaction to mild pain. While in a shutdown, I will personally react to mild pain.

Catatonia also comes with other issues, and my catatonia is really complex. From having semi-catatonic states that make me feel like I’m going through quicksand, to mutism, to so many other things. The lasting affects of catatonia are also not the same. While someone with a shutdown will eventually come out of their shutdown, catatonia can be more complex then that. From lasting hours to not being able to talk even after your catatonic episode.

I hope this explains some things! I’d also google “autism catatonia” there’s a few articles that explain it well! Many autistics with catatonia have lasting effects, like diminished social interactions and social isolation, and diminished ways that the person just behaves in general.

They’re very different and I hope this explains some! Im still not sure and my psych isn’t even sure if my catatonia is caused by my autism or by my Schizoaffective so we’re just shrugging our shoulders. Have a lovely day anon!

#zebrambles #autism #actually schizoaffective #catatonia #autism shutdowns #long post

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drill-teeth · 11 months

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I’m not gonna get too into this topic because it’s genuinely extremely nuanced and this is the “I love to completely misinterpret posts” website. But it’s disabled pride month, and I think this is extremely important.

But I think there’s a genuine discussion to be had about doing more thorough mental health research. More thorough than watching tiktoks and reading tumblr posts (including more research than reading this one). Because I keep coming across people who say they have memory loss, and then they’ll literally describe being forgetful in their day to day to me. Or someone will tell me they had a flashback and then what they describe to me is not anything close to what that means.

Like. My thing is that I do believe them. I do believe what they described to me is something they experienced and that they’re distressed by that experience. But the thing is like. Words mean things. Memory loss and flashbacks are fucking terrifying and specific symptoms. And it troubles me that more and more people are actually not understanding the severity and debilitating nature of those symptoms.

I’ve seen this happen with physical disabilities too. People will use the terms chronic pain and fatigue wrong all the time around me.

And look. My goal is not to fake claim. Fake claiming is extremely unhelpful. And I also think able bodied and neurotypical people generally shouldn’t be the ones initiating these sort of conversations with people. Because people not believing symptoms, especially invisible symptoms is a MASSIVE issue.

And what I’m talking about isn’t about not believing people, actually. It’s about people who do bad research (intentionally or most often unintentionally) and then meet correction with hostility. It’s not ableist for me to point out the experience you described to me does not match the words you’re using for it. And it is dangerous, actually. It’s dangerous when there is a widespread misunderstanding of what a symptom or condition is like. People already don’t take many many many symptoms seriously. It’s extremely dangerous to then spread around a watered down version of a symptom uncritically.

There are people who understand “chronic pain” as something extremely mild and essentially as day to day aches and pains that go away fast. And then those same people will turn around and be extremely mean to someone who has so much trouble with their pain they need help walking. This misunderstanding of what symptoms are like is DANGEROUS. And especially dangerous for the most vulnerable people. If you redefine mental or physical disability terms as less disabling than what those terms are supposed to mean, you are endangering people most at risk. You are setting an even worse precedent for ableist behavior.

So please. If one of your friends tries to correct you about a word you’re using, listen to them. Do more research. Some people are wrong and unhelpfully gatekeeping, but some people are trying to tell you that you’re spreading misinformation about certain experiences. And it’s important to be open to changing if you’re wrong.

#otto thoughts #tw: ableism #disabled pride

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stormblessed95 · 11 months

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Storm hihihihihihi

The other day me and my friend had a whole debrief about jikook😭 and I mean hours long conversation but we also had other conversations in between and we talked about how they pretty much have nothing platonic going in between them, and how literally her words “they’re each others comfort place and they’re so comfortable with each other”, we also joked around about denying them because we were a bit jealous like imagine being young and in love and rich it’s wonderful obviously.

Well this is the part I wanted to mention honestly was when I brought up that (being eos comfort) I think jungkook may show signs of neurodivergence (specifically autism)(well I do believe he does since a lot of the things he’s done are traits of neurodivergency) and I don’t mean it in a bad way at all because well I too am neurodivergent but I don’t mean to try and diagnose him either because obviously only professionals can do that. But I kinda wanted to see your take on it (I’ve come to value your opinion quite a bit😭). I’ve also seen that jungkook possibly being neurodivergent is a topic that’s been discussed quite abit and have seen a lot of other neurodivergent people say they relate so much to him in terms of neurodivergency and I can say I am one of them too. So to my original point of this paragraph was that when I mentioned that to her <my friend> she was quite surprised and she also said it explained a few things about him and it made sense (in a non rude way) and I agreed but I also had this conversation with her because she also has a brother with severe autism and i too with a cousin who has really severe autism so I was familiar with these things based on being surrounded by it and personal experiences I go through but as someone with a lot less severe and mild symptoms. So eventually we got to the point where we discussed how people with autism have superfications on things they really really like and how they get so absorbed they tune everything out (a major sign of autism) she said that’s probably why he always watches jimin content and how he tends to constantly mention him, how he is always so fixated on jimin because he is a topic of interest and importance to him that he can go hours with watching his content and not move at all and how he constantly seeks him out for attention, comfort and play. (Jungkook had mentioned that he wouldn’t pay attention to comments during the 28.03.2023 live wanting to focus purely on jm and literally wanted us to watch him react to his baby) And when she mentioned that it was very fitting of him to have a fixation on someone he probably always sees and he values so highly but along with that he wants to show everyone that he supports jimin and he loves him and also wants people to know he does, whether anyone believes it’s romantic or not.

But I thought it was really cute and it melted my heart, I turned into a puddle of jikook joy😭

I've got neurodivergent siblings, a sibling with autism, a neurodivergent husband, a likely neurodivergent child and I'm neurospicy myself (those hyperfixations hit us all.... I say with a bts blog here and a book blog I should use more on the side) lol so yeah, I mean. I see it in Jungkook. It would make sense to me. It's something that gets mentioned every few months because it DOES make sense. Who knows if it's true or not. Only JK and those he would share it with. But I do see what you are saying. Also the rest of your little rant was adorable and so cute and I loved it. Your conversation with your friend sounds fun!

#jikook #kookmin

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wolveria · 1 year

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The Raven’s Hymn - Ch 29

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: "You... you have to stop doing this, 049."

Additional Fic Rec: The Corvid Paean

AO3

049 remained silent as he worked to untie the rope binding your hands together. You also didn’t speak, trying to catch your breath and slow your heart. Your limbs shook, your mind a scattered mess, and you suspected you were more upset about this than 049 was.

Perhaps he noticed.

“You are angry with me.”

You pressed your lips together, waiting for 049 to finish pulling apart the rope, rubbing your wrist once it was free. The skin was irritated, chaffed from the force of his lunge at Dr. Puli.

The SCP’s eyes softened as he reached toward the mild injury.

His arm hung in the air as you backed out of reach.

“You… you have to stop doing this, 049.”

“Please, specify.”

Still rubbing your wrist, you frowned at him.

“You know what I mean. You have to stop forcing your cure on people.”

049 gathered himself, head raised at a dignified angle.

“It is my duty as a doctor—”

“No!” You took a step forward. “That was not a duty. That was an assault! You-you have complete tunnel vision when it comes to the Pestilence, and you see nothing else!”

049’s head tilted, his own gaze searching yours for understanding.

“It is my purpose for being. There is nothing but the war against the Pestilence.”

You seethed through your teeth, the sound coming out like the warning hiss of an animal.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t act like a physician, you act like a soldier. You carry out orders only you can hear, against an enemy only you can see, and you leave a trail of bodies in your wake!”

You were panting by this point, the adrenaline reawakening in your veins, and something took hold of you: a conviction that you were on the right track, an intuition that you were close to achieving the truth.

You gathered a breath, bracing yourself.

“Do you even know what the Pestilence is?”

049’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

“I’ve seen the interview tapes. You refuse to give anyone a straight answer. What the Pestilence is, what its symptoms are, where it comes from, how it can be cured. You won’t even explain your own cure or admit what you do is lethal.”

He remained quiet.

“I could look past all of it,” you quietly said. “The obsession, the stubbornness, the pride. Except you refuse to acknowledge it. You refuse to admit that before me, nothing you touched survived. You kill and call it a cure.”

049’s fists clenched at his sides, but he still said nothing, his gaze intent on your face. He may not have moved, but he was breathing faster than normal. A sign you perhaps should have heeded.

“It’s why your followers never stayed.” Your words grew bitter and jagged, surprising even yourself. “They knew the path you walked wasn’t one of science. It was madness. Zealotry and fanaticism. Righteousness in the form of a crusade, and you slaughtered anyone who didn’t take up your banner.”

Your throat ached, and you tried to blink away the burning of your eyes.

“Pernella saw it. She knew to follow you was to follow death, but she did it anyway, because she believed in your convictions. Right up until she couldn’t ignore the truth about you.”

“Stop.”

He spoke the word without force, almost like a plea. But you didn’t stop.

“It doesn’t matter whether the Pestilence is real or not, or if it’s just as dangerous as you say. Because the danger you pose is very real.”

“Desist,” he said, louder this time.

“And when she stood up to you, you couldn’t accept it. Her denial forced you to look at yourself, and instead of facing your actions, you killed her. That’s why you couldn’t bring her back. You didn’t cure her, you murdered her in cold blood—”

“Enough!”

049 moved close, looming over you as his eyes burned bright and feverish. For a moment, you thought he might simply end it. Strangle the life out of you until there was nothing left. Instead, his voice was oddly breathless.

“Speak… no more of this.”

You stared at him for a long moment, breathing hard while he did the same. It would have been intimate, sharing the same breaths as him, but the atmosphere between you was stifled and charged.

“I need to know.” You were still breathless, as if he truly had stolen all your air. “If I got sick again, and your touch no longer healed me… would you kill me?”

The emotions in his eyes slowly receded, until a blank, sterile coldness took its place.

“There are things worse than death.”

Whatever response you had died in your throat. You turned away from him, eyes stinging with unshed tears you didn’t want him to see, and you retreated to the only place you could. You laid down on the bed, facing the wall as you turned your back to him.

Despite wanting to shut him out, you could still hear his quiet breathing, uneven and ragged. After a moment, he migrated to the desk, the soft creak of the chair indicating he was sitting, but you heard nothing else. No scratch of the pen and no turn of a page.

Remorse crept into your heart like an unwanted weed, choking off the righteous anger that had fueled your words. It had felt good at the time, as conviction always did, but throwing Pernella’s death in his face didn’t sit well. Even if 049 had killed her, he couldn’t help what he was, a fact you’d forgotten. Or perhaps not forgotten, but ignored, lured by his soothing voice, his kind eyes. His humanity.

But 049 wasn’t human. He would never be human, and you’d needed another harsh lesson that he would always put his self-proclaimed duty first, before himself and especially before you.

You closed your eyes, willing sleep to take you, but your weariness wouldn’t let you rest. You weren’t willing to give up on 049 just yet. Even if he couldn’t change, even if this was who he would be long after your lifetime, you’d gone through too much to set that aside now.

After all, 049 wasn’t the only one who could fight for a lost cause.

***

You woke with a headache, the result of not resting well, but you couldn’t pinpoint what had awoken you. The room was silent, the lights dimmed, and the heaviness of your limbs told you that hours had passed.

It was too quiet.

Bolting upright, you went still at the bent figure at the desk. 049 sat with his eyes cast downwards, his gaze on the desk without truly fixing on it, and he barely seemed to breathe.

The inner containment door was open, and the slide tray clinking open meant it was breakfast. But food was far from your mind at the unnerving display of stillness. It reminded you too much of when you’d first started observing the SCP. Dr. Puli had called it a dormancy stage.

There was nothing dormant about the hunch of his shoulders or the defeated bow of his head.

You left the inner containment chamber without speaking, taking the tray of oatmeal and strawberries, eating without tasting. As much as you wanted to apologize, you needed a little time and distance to lick your wounds and gain perspective. Maybe 049 would appreciate some time to himself. Telling yourself that eased the guilt, anyway.

You ate quietly in the middle room, not expecting 049 to want the company, so you were surprised when he emerged as you finished your meal.

“I wish to clarify a point of discussion.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, keeping your gaze safely near his boots. “What?”

When he didn’t speak for a moment, you looked up. 049’s attention was fixed on the far wall, his posture stiff.

“In regard to your question… it is a moot one. You cannot be reinfected with the Pestilence. Your very essence repels the disease, keeping it at bay. I am unsure why you were infected to start, but… you are clean. And I suspect, you will always remain clean.”

If you were supposed to know what that meant, it was lost on you.

“That’s not the point.”

He finally looked at you.

“I do not understand.”

“I wanted to know if you were capable of changing. If… if I had changed you.” You let out a breath, embarrassment creeping up your neck in a wave of heat. “It was a stupid question. A selfish one. An SCP can’t change. It’s not in your nature… no matter how much I might wish otherwise.”

There was confusion in his eyes, but a sort of focused intent too. He stepped forward, but the intercom clicked live.

“SCP-049, please return to the inner containment chamber.” A pause. “SCP-6830, remain in the middle containment chamber.”

It wasn’t Leahy. It was Kenneth. And those instructions meant one of two things: they were either going to take you away for testing, or they were going to separate you permanently.

049’s gaze turned sharp and worried, and you gave him your own bewildered look. You didn’t want this to be the last words you spoke to him, but as you opened your mouth, the intercom clicked again.

“This is your last warning, SCP-049.”

The words were given with a hint of nerves rather than authority, but that’s what Kenneth was like, always skittish around the humanoid SCPs. You didn’t know why he was even in the Cryptopsychology department, but now that you were no longer a junior researcher, they were probably short-staffed.

You pressed your lips together, whatever you were going to tell 049 remaining unsaid. The SCP didn’t seethe at you being taken away, nor did he fight or threaten. He didn’t even resist besides lingering those last few seconds, giving you a soft gaze you couldn’t meet for long.

It was easier this way, you told yourself as you stared at the far corner near the main containment doors. They were going to take you away eventually, and it was better that 049 didn’t fight back and get hurt again.

The excuses were all very well and good, but they didn’t do a damn thing for the regret. You flinched as the inner containment doors closed behind you, and when the security team put you in shackles and escorted you out, you immediately wanted to turn around and run back inside.

You thought you’d be taken to your new cell. You were wrong. The security team led you to the Biohazard Zone of Humanoid Heavy Containment, a place where an anomaly of your type didn’t belong.

Your stomach churned as your throat tightened at the familiar halls; you had walked them many times before during your previous occupation. Though you were confident SCPs no longer had the ability to kill you, they’d proven they could certainly harm you, and this particular SCP was skilled in inflicting untold amounts of damage.

Your entourage of security guards was replaced by two men in thick hazmat gear. They removed your manacles, leaving you only in your white smock as they led you through three different airlocks. The last one, you entered alone. No instructions given.

The remaining airlock opened, and you stepped inside the containment chamber. It was empty, save for a pedestal in the middle. A hermetically sealed glass case on a platform, locked by a remote mechanism.

Inside sat an object so innocuous in appearance that no one outside the Foundation would believe the horror that could be wrought by this single mask. Its white ceramic surface gleamed in the florescent lighting, a fixed smile greeting you like an old friend.

Next Chapter

#the raven's hymn #scp 049 x reader #scp 049 fanfiction #scp 049 #scp containment breach #wolveria writes

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sylvies-chen · 11 months

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is titling your metas too tacky? I don’t know but here’s some ramblings on

reading anakin’s arc in ROTS as a journey of mental illness:

I wanna preface this by saying I’m not a mental health professional so this information and analysis is not expertly informed. This is based off of very mild research that I’ve done as well as just my lived experience with how I’ve witnessed mental illness in the people I know and love. If I say anything that is ignorant, please do not hesitate to respectfully let me know.

••••••••

First off, it’s well worth establishing that Anakin’s main grappling moments before his true turn to evil in episode 3 were caused by the fear of losing Padme. And when you see the way the news of her pregnancy affects him, it’s really easy to see that news/piece of information as Anakin’s central stressor or trigger. So it’s very important to note that whatever mental illnesses I talk about here would also have been exacerbated by both that fact and by Palpatine’s influence and manipulation.

Anakin’s big outburst with order 66 and his fight with Padme and Obi Wan could all speak to it being an episode of psychosis. Psychosis can be triggered by something as mundane as an extreme disruption in sleep— which was true for Anakin from the minute Padme tells Anakin she’s pregnant. Interestingly, he’s had a history of sleep loss since AOTC too, briefly mentioning to Obi Wan that he doesn’t sleep well anymore.

Further, psychotic episodes or disorders will contain one or more of five categories: delusions, hallucinations, disorganized thought, disorganized behavior, and negative symptoms. We know already that both in AOTC and ROTS, he’s plagued with visions. (This one’s just obvious. Visions… dreams… hallucinations… Just because they actually come true doesn’t mean it isn’t a form of hallucination!! He’s seeing things that aren’t yet real!!!) But the twisted logic Anakin develops leading him to equate the mass murder of younglings with doing the right thing is akin to disorganized thought and delusion. His main delusion, obviously, is that he has to do unspeakable things and be a sith or else Padme will die in childbirth and this is the only way he can save her. This is close to what’s called a nihilistic delusion: when someone believes major catastrophes will occur if not for performing a certain action.

Now, sleep loss obviously doesn’t cause psychosis on its own but moreso is what pulls the trigger on psychosis in someone who’s been exposed to trauma or is already very mentally ill. That then begs the question: what are the broader underlying conditions to Anakin’s psychosis?

The most obvious answer is the trauma he suffered at such a young age. Anakin was the oldest youngling to have ever been recruited by the jedi. He had already grown to know the love of his mother, especially since it was the only true love he really had in his life up until that point, and then was forced to walk away from it. He also knew powerlessness, and knew the degrading nature of being someone’s property. Like even as a kid, you understand the lack of autonomy that comes with slavery. Oh, and as if that wasn’t enough, his mother had to be brutally tortured and killed! And as reckless as Anakin was at the beginning of AOTC, he wasn’t outright violent until then. Losing the first thing he ever knew to love and protect is a deeply scarring trauma, especially when it happens before you reach the age of twenty.

So trauma does play a significant part in triggering the psychosis in the 3rd quarter of ROTS, especially because having visions of losing Padme that were so similar to the visions he had of his mother dying, re-opened his trauma, sort of akin to retraumatization as often seen in people with PTSD.

However, many signifcant aspects of his character point not to PTSD, but to a type of dissociative disorder. We see so many small signs of complete dissociation in Anakin in ROTS, and hints of it in AOTC as well when he says he’s not supposed to be feeling angry, that there’s a war inside him, that he isn’t the jedi he was meant to be, etc. Already, he has a lot of identity confusion, a key component to dissociative disorders. To some extent, how could he not? He’s been pried from his mother’s hands and has been told by dozens of jedi and other people who he is and isn’t supposed to be since the age of 9. It’s not exactly giving him healthy and reasonable standards to live up to, nor is it giving him any room to embrace an identity of his own creation in any way. Before then it was Tatooine, and it’s not exactly like being a slave held space for him to really form and express an identity then either, apart from the identity of loving son. (The dramatic reaction to her death is starting to make more sense now, yeah?)

The depersonalization and derealization are very present in him, especially when he starts to confuse his dreams for reality/being set in stone and grapples with wondering who he even is anymore. Again, those two things are staples of dissociative disorders, which were likely set off and exacerbated by his trauma from childhood and youth.

Such a major component to the argument that Anakin has some dissociative disorder is the paranoia we see practically oozing out of Anakin’s pores by the end of ROTS. (Oozing like lava- I SAID NOTHING CARRY ON.) A huge part of the paranoia is Palpatine’s creation, because he wanted Anakin trusting no one so that it’d be easier to have him eating out of the palm of his hand. But extreme paranoia is indicative of mental illness, and you know it’s not a healthy and stable Anakin who’s shouting “LIAR!” at the love of his life and mother of his children, who’s lying to her hours before that, who’s distrusting of the man who, as he says in AOTC, is the closest thing he has to a father. Padme and Obi Wan were the people he loved most in the world, and so seeing the paranoia turn him against them is so heartbreaking, because it’s the true indicator that this is not the true Anakin we’re dealing with. We are not our worst moments. We are our happiest ones. And Anakin on Mustafar was not a mentally stable Anakin. Hell, with the dissociative disorder’s symptoms at play too, it was hardly even Anakin at all.

We also see partial hints of amnesia in Vader/Anakin, most notably when Palpatine has to tell him/remind him that he choked out his own wife. There’s such a devastating tragedy to Anakin asking “Where’s Padme?” like a dog who doesn’t realize he killed the crow he held in his teeth minutes before, and wants it for a companion to play with once more. But it also shows memory loss, a key component of dissociative disorders, further supporting the idea that Vader is of Palpatine’s creation, whom he metaphorically implanted into Anakin during his phases of dissociation to control Anakin and snuff him out, but Anakin’s love for Padme still seeps through in Vader for a moment and he doesn’t remember what he did. To this extent, I think Vader loves Padme as well. Vader/Anakin deep into a psychosis and paranoid rage, however, did not.

A clear pattern begins to form: the childhood trauma of slavery and of losing a parent led to the development of a dissociative disorders (which are often caused, studies show, by unstable and frightening environments in youth or just as a way to cope with trauma). Then, his dissociation sets off an psychosis episode, agitated by Palpatine’s influence and manipulation during Anakin’s most vulnerable moments. Thus, the fall of Anakin Skywalker through the lens of someone with mental illness.

I do want to recognize that people with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) are often poorly stereotyped as these very“Dr. Jekyl vs. Mr. Hyde” evil alter ego archetypes that are very harmful and not accurate. I do not intend to perpetuate these stereotypes any further. Identity alteration is a symptom of various dissociative disorders, not just DID, and so there can exist within Anakin that alteration of his identity to something so far removed from his original self during a dissociative episode or during psychosis without it necessarily being DID. To me, that’s what happened. Vader and Anakin, though treated like two distinct people by more than one character, are too enmeshed to be separate personalities. They aren’t the same, but it’s also worth noting that Anakin was able to do the right thing when it came to saving Luke. He never truly left. It was a matter of giving him a purpose, after having lost so many, to break free from the dissociative episode and the identity alteration and to return back to who he truly was, even at the risk of re-opening those old and painful wounds that time could never heal.

Finally, and most importantly, Anakin’s displayed symptoms of mental illness, his rage and trauma, and his grapplings with identity are not inherently evil things. Vader would not have even been so dark and so cruel a person if Palpatine hadn’t seen/felt/identified that space in Anakin for something wicked to grow and taken advantage of that, as people with mental illness often are. Palpatine planted the seed where something good or healthy could have grown, an identity that could have protected Anakin from his past trauma, from his visions, from himself, and instead Palpatine made it the thing that destroyed Anakin and everything he held dear.

And that’s a wrap!

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. I love you from the bottom of my heart and I mean that. You have thoughts? Share them! Comment or reblog or don’t be afraid to dm me!

TL;DR Anakin is mentally ill as fuck and somebody had to figured out what was going on in pookie bear’s twisted little neuron nugget

#the amount of hours I spent on this instead of sleeping is a sin #I have so many other thoughts related to this but yeah #hope this was enjoyable and not disgustingly dense for you guys #star wars #star wars prequels #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker meta #padme amidala #obi wan kenobi

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