Hiccup sighed happily as Astrid kissed him on the mouth. A small smile lit his face.
“Astrid, you know I’m trying to sleep,” he said quietly, not wanting to break the sanctity of the moment.
“I just couldn’t help it,” Astrid said, voice also quiet. “You looked so cute.”
Hiccup’s smile deepened, and he cracked open his eyes. Astrid was laying beside him on the bed on her stomach, a hand on his chest. It was dark, but he could make out the shape of her face, her lips, her nose, her eyes. She was smiling at him, and she looked beautiful like that, even in the dark.
“Why were you up so late?” Hiccup asked. “Usually it’s me that has to get dragged to bed.”
“Just taking a flight on Stormfly,” Astrid responded. “She was a little restless.”
“She better now?”
“Yeah.”
Hiccup looked to the corner of the room where Toothless slept on his large slab of stone. He hadn’t stirred. Sometimes he could get restless at night too, but Hiccup was too tired to take care of such a thing, so he was glad Toothless was sound asleep.
Astrid leaned down and kissed Hiccup again, this kiss deeper, speaking of passion and longing. Hiccup raised a hand to Astrid’s face, the other pulling some of her hair behind her ear. He was tired, but these kisses were nice.
“Mm,” Hiccup sounded as Astrid pulled away. He looked at Astrid for a long while, but then exhaustion was slowly closing his eyes.
“You tired?” Astrid asked.
“Mm hm. You?”
“Not one bit.”
Hiccup huffed out a laugh. “Sorry to fall asleep on you then, m’lady.”
“Nonsense.” Astrid kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll just go find something to do. Get all the rest you need.”
She began getting out of the bed, but Hiccup took her wrist.
“Stay,” he got out sleepily. His body was begging for sleep, but he wanted Astrid with him.
He could practically hear Astrid smile. “Alright.” She settled back down onto the bed, snuggled up against him under the furs. “That better.”
“Nhh.” Hiccup was already falling asleep. The last thing he felt before falling into blissful darkness were Astrid’s lips brushing his forehead.
Tagging @mnmlover2002 @cupcakes-and-pain @lave-e @appy-polly-loggies @lovely-little-whumpee @just-another-whumper let me know if you want to be added/removed!
CW: nightmares, flashbacks, PTSD, referenced trauma, referenced violence, imagined death, referenced attempted execution, let me know if I missed anything!
Masterlist // Previous
---
Devin curled into the warmth of the thick blankets layered over them, their mind racing as they were trapped in the deep thralls of sleep.
They were being forced down on their knees, the one person they thought might actually sympathize with them and help them holding a gun to their head. The way he stared at them so soullessly, considering pulling the trigger.
They were being ruthlessly hit and choked and hurt over and over, their ragged voice pleading with the monster that they weren’t going to escape, that he’d already broken them too well for them to try that. The way he grinned at them with the promise of more and more pain to come.
They were being dragged along, explosions and gunfire and screams and pain and blood and death surrounding them. The way he carried them, protected them, kept them trapped in the nightmare they were stuck in.
They were being shot at and shot right after coming face to face with death. The way he hadn’t hesitated and the way that he had.
They were being forced to their knees to beg, throwing their pride and dignity to the wind in the hopes of surviving. The way he watched them like they were his favorite TV show, grinning sickeningly.
They were being cut into and burned and hurt over and over, unable to escape from their twisted captor. The way he found excitement and entertainment in finding new ways to break them, test their limits, destroy those limits.
They were being dragged into a room, too terrified to struggle against the man holding them, a man that would soon become the closest thing they had to a friend. The way he first looked at them, as if they were a toy to break, a pet to play with.
-
Devin was back in that grassy field, back on their knees, every part of their body screaming in pain. Duncan stood above them, fidgeting with the gun, a myriad of emotions playing on his face.
They tried to plead with him, beg him, reason with him, but their voice came out nothing more than a hoarse whisper. He glanced at them, something in his face solidifying.
Raising the gun, he aimed it at their head. They blinked, and he pulled the trigger.
They were back in the field, this time with both Duncan and Wildre.
Duncan was holding the gun, looking between them and Wildre. “Please, sir,” he was saying in a low voice. “All I’m saying is that maybe you’re being a bit too hasty. Surely-”
Wildre whipped out his gun and shot Duncan square between the eyes. Devin opened their mouth to scream before he was turning the gun on them and pulling the trigger.
They were back in the field, but they weren’t kneeling this time.
Instead, Duncan was kneeling in front of them. A low, too-familiar voice murmured in their ear, “Shoot him. Kill him, or I kill him.” They glanced behind them, and saw Wildre holding a gun to Elliott’s head. They felt the weight of the gun in their hand and shakily raised it in Duncan’s direction.
“Please,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and his eyes desperate. “Please, Devin, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you, please don’t do this.”
“I’m sorry too, Duncan.” They squeezed their eyes shut and pulled the trigger.
They were back in the field, back on their knees, only this time it was the right shade of gray eyes staring at them.
“Elliott,” they murmured, staring up into his face, normally so soft and kind, now twisted into an expression of disgust and hate.
He sneered at them, handling the gun with ease. “Hello, Dev.” They winced back as he put the barrel under their chin, tilting their head up. “I can’t believe you did all these pathetic things. It disgusts me. I’ll be doing you a mercy.”
They couldn’t seem to look away, not even as he pressed the gun against their lips, forcing their mouth open and shoving the barrel in until they gagged. Even as they tasted the metallic tang of gunpowder and blood, they still stared up at him, silently pleading. Not you. Anyone but you.
Elliott scoffed, glancing over his shoulder at another gray-eyed figure. “You were right. They really are broken, huh?”
Wildre stepped forward with a smirk. “That they are.” Devin couldn’t help the tears escaping down their face as they kneeled like that.
Elliott gave them a dismissive glance, a plea dying on their lips, as he pulled the trigger.
Please, Elliott, I’m sorry, please, I love you, don’t do this, I’m so sorry, I’m broken, you deserve better, don’t do that, get away, please.
In which Bucky deals with his anxiety issues with a sensory glitter jar.
I made this for the @comfortember Day 4 prompt “anxiety” and @buckybarnesbingo square Y4 - glitter!
Title: Bucky’s Glitter Jar
Collaborator: rebelmeg
Square Filled: Y4 - glitter
Ship: none
Rating: Gen
Major Tags: moodboard
Summary: In which Bucky deals with his anxiety issues with a sensory glitter jar.
We're at the end of Comfortember! Thank you to every who has read, liked, reblogged, and commented. This was a fun writing challenge, but it made it a lot better to know that you guys were on this journey with me. Hope you enjoy the last installment, and I'm sure I'll be taking on another crazy writing project around this time next year.
----
When Sebastian wakes up in the middle of the night, he can tell immediately he’s not the only one having trouble sleeping. He can hear Stefano’s breathing, but it’s not the deep, slow rhythm Sebastian has come to know from so many nights of sleeping next to him.
“Stefano?” Sebastian murmurs. His mouth doesn’t seem to be as awake as his brain, and his voice comes out a little slurred. He rolls over to face Stefano even though he can’t see a thing in the darkness of their bedroom.
“Yes,” Stefano replies. His voice is quiet, but sharp enough that Sebastian suspects he’s been awake for a while. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” Sebastian says. He pauses to clear his throat, then adds, “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, of course,” Stefano replies. “Go back to sleep.”
Sebastian props himself up on his elbow, alert enough now to know that something’s up, even if Stefano isn’t volunteering any information. He cautiously reaches out in the dark and places a hand on Stefano’s chest, and the pounding heart he feels there tells him what Stefano himself will not.
Warmth and sympathy wells up inside him. He’s had the same experience more times than he can count, both before STEM and after.
“Did you have another nightmare?”
There is a pause before Stefano answers. “Yes. I am starting to fear they will never stop.”
There is a kind of sadness in his voice, a resignation that Sebastian hasn’t heard before, even in some of the very difficult times they’ve faced together. He scoots closer, pressing his body along the length of Stefano’s and sliding his hand from Stefano’s chest to wrap his arm around him.
“It’s only been six months,” he says. “Give it some time.”
“I have,” Stefano says, “and I am tired of it. Why does my brain continue to torment me with memories that are not even real?”
Sebastian’s hand moves up and down Stefano’s side, absently caressing him as he speaks. “STEM may not have been real in the usual sense, but it was real enough in the ways that matter. Our brains don’t know the difference.”
In retrospect, the design of STEM seems particularly cruel in how thoroughly it deceived its subjects. Of course, Mobius never intended anyone to leave the system, so Sebastian is sure the long term effects of exposure were never even considered, but it’s no wonder it has taken such a toll on him and Stefano.
“It is quite frustrating,” Stefano says. “I am ready to be done with it.”
“And you will be one day,” Sebastian says, hoping against hope that he’s telling the truth. “We’ll both be done with it one day, but you can’t rush things like this.”
One of the hardest things to deal with about the aftermath of STEM is having nothing to compare it to. Based on what he knows about other kinds of trauma and the healing process, it could take months or years before things are truly back to normal, and even then there may be some lingering effects.
He understands Stefano’s frustration with every fiber of his being. If he could heal Stefano with his will, with his hands, he would do it in a second, but he can do nothing to speed things along.
“I have always thought myself a rather strong-minded person,” Stefano says. “And yet…” His voice trails off, and he heaves a sigh of frustration.
Sebastian sympathizes. He’s always considered himself to be strong-minded as well, but he learned the night he thought Lily was dead that mental strength has little part in that kind of situation. He is just as susceptible to pain, to grief, to loss as the next person, and he is sure Stefano is as well.
“It’s really not about strength,” Sebastian says, continuing to rub up and down his side. “I mean, you have to be strong to keep on trying- and you are- but that doesn’t protect you from trauma and it doesn’t make things go any faster.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Stefano says.
Sebastian sighs deeply and leans in to kiss Stefano’s forehead. “It’s not simple,” he murmurs against his skin. “And it’s not easy, but we’ll get there.”
Stefano’s palms come to rest on either side of his face, and Stefano guides him down until their lips meet in a long, slow kiss. It’s not the passionate kind, but it is warm and affectionate, and by the end Sebastian is having a hard time maintaining it because he’s so close to breaking into a smile.
He pulls back a few inches, and Stefano speaks immediately.
“Promise me you will tell me if you grow tired of my nonsense.”
His tone is lighthearted, but it holds a note of vulnerability, and Sebastian understands that intimately. It’s not uncommon for Stefano to make a joke or an offhand remark that suggests Sebastian might not be willing to put up with him any longer, and Sebastian has those same fears himself. He leans in to kiss Stefano again before he responds.
“It’s not nonsense, and I’ll never get tired of yours as long as you’ll keep putting up with mine.”
“That seems like a reasonable arrangement,” Stefano says.
It’s all Sebastian can do not to laugh out loud at Stefano’s characterization of their relationship as an ‘arrangement’, because it’s such a Stefano thing to say.
“I’m not sure there’s any reason involved,” Sebastian says. “It’s more like I fell in love with you, and now you’re stuck with me forever.”
Stefano draws him in for one more kiss, and when it’s over Sebastian rests his forehead against Stefano’s, enjoying the warmth of his body and the comfort of his arms until Stefano speaks again.
“As luck would have it, I seem to have fallen in love with you as well.”
After that, there are many more kisses and caresses, and for one night at least, the nightmares are over.
Content Warnings: Main character death, grief, blood
Word Count: 841
Alptraum is a character interpretation originating from @ahouseofvillains ‘s AU
It had all happened so fast.
She'd been racing across the battlefield as she had done many times before. It was nothing new. Her rider had been laughing, and then...
The air split with a sound like thunder. This was nothing out of the norm, of course. It was war. Really, she'd only begun to think something might be off when her sense of hearing returned and she realized that her rider was silent. Yet she ran for quite some time still, plowing blindly and gleefully across the battlefield and into the forest beyond. With no commands from her rider, she couldn't care enough to remain there.
But at last, the wonder over her rider's silence began to bother her. She slowed her pace to a halt, and glanced over her shoulder.
Her rider was slumped over upon her back. Limp, unresponsive...and it was no wonder to her why he'd become this way, because his head was gone.
His. Fucking. Head. Was. Gone.
Just. Gone.
And in the place of the face she'd known since she'd been a filly was nothing but ragged meat and white bone. And blood. No more than she'd ever seen on the battlefield, but now it was his.
She knew he was dead. There was nothing else he could have been. She may have been an animal, but she was far from stupid.
But her legs would no longer support her. She knelt to the ground. The lifeless body of her rider slid off of her back and fell to the ground below. She dragged it closer to her by taking his cape in her teeth.
She laid her head upon his lap. He would not stroke her mane now. Nor speak to her. Of course not. Of course not. He's fucking dead. Fuck. What now? What the hell do I do without you?
She snorted. I'll kill them. I'll fucking kill them all. Grind their skulls into the dirt. If you were here...if you were here...
She sighed. She felt tired. Without him, what was there for her? To become a horse without a rider...
She couldn't let another upon her back. She hated everyone else. She hated that thought. There was no one in the world like her rider. And there never would be again. So what now?
Hopeless.
Hopeless.
She shut her eyes, resigned to stay where she was forever, huddled against the lifeless body of her rider.
That was, however, until she felt a hand upon her neck, gently stroking her flank.
No. No, damn it. Her grief-stricken mind was playing tricks on her. It was a cruel trick of her memory, nothing more. She wouldn't dignify it by opening her eyes.
"Alptraum, what are we doing here?"
Her ears perked up. No. It couldn't be. It was a cruel trick. It was---
But curiosity and hope got to her. She opened her eyes.
He still looked dead, but...all known laws of nature be damned, he was moving. He was petting her. He had been speaking. Moving without a brain, speaking without a mouth.
She must have looked completely terrified, because his headless corpse immediately began attempting to soothe her.
"Alptraum, it's only me!" Her rider's corpse continued its futile attempts to soothe her. "What in the world has gotten into you? You look as though you've seen a ghost."
How could he see?! How could he move?! No! This was wrong! This was---
"Dear girl...something is wrong, isn't it?" Her rider's corpse withdrew his hands from her flank. Hesitantly, perhaps as though he were dreading the result, his hands reached for his neck...or what was left of it. Without eyes, he stared at his blood-soaked hands.
"I'm...I'm dead...aren't I, Alptraum?" His voice echoed from what remained of his throat. It seemed as though he struggled with the fact for a moment or so...but then, he began to laugh. "Dead...I'm dead! And now...now I am unstoppable!" He was still laughing. Hysterically so. It was doubtless that he wasn't handling the news well. "Rise, Alptraum! We ride at once, for I seem to find myself in need of a new head, and this land is filled with potential donors!"
This was wrong, but...
Oh, fuck it. She wouldn't complain. Her rider was still with her, and that was all she had wanted---With or without all of his pieces. She stood as he took his rightful place upon her back.
She felt reinvigorated, as though she could run to the ends of the Earth without tiring. And her earlier desire to destroy her rider's killers returned with a vengeance. Their skulls crushed beneath her hooves would not be enough. She wanted more.
Rearing back, she screamed her rage into the night, her rider cackling madly as they rode off into the darkness.
It would be countless years before the living would uncover a peculiar makeshift grave in the depths of the forest on the outskirts of Sleepy Hollow. Buried shallowly were the skeletal remains of what had once been a horse...and its headless rider.
