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toournextadventure · 1 year

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they didn't know

Summary: (An "everyone but her" oneshot from this request) Someone from your past comes by Nevermore for an unexpected visit. When Enid can't calm you down, it's up to Wednesday. And Wednesday is furious.

Word Count: 2.4k Warnings: swearing, graphic blood mention, graphic injuries, mentions of past abuse Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist) Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @n0p35 @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @asters-abditory @alexkolax @thenextdawn-backup @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot @the-night-owl-blr @natashasapphic @parkersmyth @alilbitlesbian @irish-piece-of-trash

Larissa didn’t know. She couldn’t have known and that was what was killing her.

All she had wanted to do was talk with you in her office. You weren’t in trouble, you had been doing well in classes, she just wanted to talk. It had been a few weeks after your date with Miss Addams and she wanted to know how it had gone. While she assumed it had gone well based on how much happier you seemed, she wanted to hear it from you. She wanted to experience for herself how you were finally healing and living a normal life.

If she had known, she wouldn’t have pulled you into her office. She wouldn’t have unintentionally trapped you as Kristi had walked into the office as if she owned the place. There would have been no chance that she would have frozen for just a fraction too long, giving Kristi the opportunity to speak to you and instill that same fear and anger she so enjoyed striking within you.

“You look rather normal today,” Kristi told you in that posh accent that haunted you so. The moment she opened her mouth, your entire body went rigid and you stopped breathing. “Unlike Nicholas, I’m afraid.”

“Y/N, darling,” Larissa said as she stood tall directly in between you and Kristi, “why don’t you go find Miss Sinclair?” She turned her head just enough to give you a smile that she hoped would calm you for the moment; it didn’t work. “We will catch up another day.”

Not once did you meet her eye, still keeping your eyes glued to Kristi; in fear, in anger, Larissa couldn’t tell. She gave you a quiet “go on” that finally drew you out of your thoughts. You locked eyes with her for only a moment and she could see the glassiness before you dragged yourself out of the office.

You gave Kristi a wide berth when you passed her, flinching and stumbling over your feet when she stared you down as you left. The fake smile fell from Kristi’s face once you were gone and she turned to look at Larissa.

She needed to watch herself before Larissa followed in Morticia’s footsteps.

—---

There was something so nice and carefree about being in the gym with the rest of the furs. No, Enid refused to get in there with them because it was dirty and they were far too rowdy, but it was nice. It reminded her of the good parts of home, however rare those were. Just watching in mild annoyance and utter devotion as the boys rolled around on the wrestling mats without a care in the world.

She was sitting on the side of the gym with a few furs when you walked in. You frequented the gym as well, usually joining in if the furs were going, so your presence was almost expected. But when Enid raised her hand in greeting and smiled at you, you didn’t even bother looking up. With fists clenched at your sides, you practically stalked over to the speed bag and got to work.

Enid knew something was wrong the moment you groaned in frustration and started rewrapping your hands for the third time; it only took you a minute at most. Your stance was sloppy and your movements were rigid, and she knew. She could see in the way you couldn’t catch the rhythm and would have to restart time and time again. With another frustrated noise, you hit the speed bag as hard as possible before walking over to the thai bags.

She flinched when you landed that first punch. In horror, she watches as you go on a rampage, throwing punch after punch with as much power as you could physically muster. The muscles in your arms strained and your wings begged to be let out as you continued. But when Enid noticed the dark spot growing on your wraps, she knew this wasn’t your usual training session.

“I’ll be right back,” Enid told her companions as she hopped up and did her best to walk casually over to you. “Rough day?”

You didn’t even acknowledge that she was nearby, let alone that she had said something to you. But being this close, she could finally see the dark red blood spots that were still growing under your wraps as you continued. Every few hits, Enid would hear a wet crunch and a wet spot would be left on the bag, but you kept going.

“You need to take a break,” Enid said as she did her best to tear her eyes away from your hands. “We can clean it and wrap you up a little better.”

Still not a word, not even a sound aside from the occasional grunt.

Enid stood back and watched you. It wasn’t like this had been the first time you had done this; the most notable had been after the accident and you broke three fingers and fractured your wrist. Sometimes it was better to let you blow off some steam and patch you up after, but when she saw the single tear roll down your cheek, she knew she had to do something.

With one final look at you, Enid turned around and started making her way through the halls. There was only one person that had even a chance of trying to get you to stop, or at least to let up, but she didn’t know where to look first. It wasn’t writing time, classes were over for the day, there shouldn’t be a Hummer’s meeting. The dorm or the library would probably be the best bet.

When Enid stepped out into the quad, her claws extended and her blood boiled at the sight of Weems escorting Kristi off the grounds. As far as she knew, Kristi and Marcus were practically banned from Nevermore - rightfully so, of course. She felt such a strong desire to just rip the woman apart limb by limb, but the image of your bloody knuckles and teary eyes stopped her.

She had to find Wednesday. With one little growl in Kristi’s direction, she took off back to Ophelia Hall. There was no guarantee Wednesday was there, but it was worth a try. If nothing else, it was the most realistic option; she knew Wednesday had already finished studying for the rest of the week so there was no need to be in the library.

And when Enid threw the door open to their shared room, she was found to be correct. Wednesday sat at her desk with a book spread out before her; was she vandalising Frankenstein? Whatever, Enid let out a rushed sigh before practically running over to her roommate.

“You could try to be a little quieter next time,” Wednesday said without looking up.

“It’s Y/N.” The speed in which Wednesday’s head shot up would’ve been adorable in any other situation. “She needs you.”

Enid had never known Wednesday could move that fast for someone else. She would have to keep that in mind as a teasing topic for later.

—---

“Nicky, look out!”

The deafening sound of bending metal drowned out any other noise in the gym. You lashed out with a roundhouse, ignoring the sharp sting as you hit another bruise. An ache had become far too common in your shoulders as you continued your onslaught. Your eyes fell to the splotches on the bag before another pain stabbed through the back of your head.

“I said to keep those abominations hidden.”

“I told you, I can’t!”

“No child of mine is going out like some sort of demon.”

Your punches were getting harder. One solid punch to the side of the bag made your finger crack; if it was broken, you couldn’t tell. You didn’t even care. Why would you care when they didn’t? She wouldn’t care, she had said multiple times that pain is necessary, pain is required.

“No one will want you now.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Something slick and warm coated your palms when you pushed your hair back from your forehead; it felt like sweat, but a little thicker. It hurt to breathe, every inhale was a struggle, but you got back into your stance and started again. Hook, hook, upper, jab, cross, roundhouse. Combo after combo, going until every inch of your body hurt.

You just wanted it all to hurt.

“Y/N.”

No.

Every muscle in your body locked up at the sound of her voice. What’s she doing? You swallowed thickly as you stared, unfocused, at the bag in front of you. Make her leave. But you couldn’t, because you couldn’t even get yourself to breathe. No, you just stood there like an idiot.

The moment you felt her small, cold hand on your shoulder, it was like she had released you from some spell. You let out a shaky exhale as your body unfroze and your knees buckled underneath you. All adrenaline faded from your veins, and you finally turned your head to see Wednesday standing there with the most concerned look on her face.

You had never seen her like that.

Please don’t.

You terrified Wednesday, and she wasn’t easily scared. It was the red splattered bag, the stickiness of your fingers as blood dripped to the floor, the red you had smeared across your forehead and in your hair. Something in the droop of your shoulders and how obviously, painfully tense your muscles were.

It was in that faraway, unfocused look in your eyes.

“Let’s go,” she said, far softer than she would ever be with anyone else. Wednesday knew the furs were watching, but right now it wasn’t important.

Your eyes trailed to the side as you nodded once, so slight she almost didn’t even notice. The majority of her brain screamed at her as she reached out and gently took your hand. They’ll see your weakness, it said, you’re vulnerable. Yes, holding your hand in public made her vulnerable. But now, in this moment, she would look past it.

As gently as she possibly could, she pulled you along behind her. She could hear your feet drag across the floor, and you didn’t hold her hand back, but you were following. The blood on your hands was warm and sticky, and for the first time, Wednesday didn’t think she liked it. It was a terrible feeling, sticking not only to her skin but to her very soul.

She hesitated only once as she tried to decide where to take you. There was a lot she didn’t know about the situation, only that someone from your past had shown up unexpectedly. So should she take you to your dorm? It had things from your past, but it was also filled with things you loved and enjoyed.

Or, should she dare to take you to her dorm, where there was nothing that could remind you of whoever that person was. It was new, but you were still familiar with it. Surely that would be the better option, would it not? Wednesday decided it would be and led you to Ophelia Hall.

You still hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even looked up from the ground as Wednesday sat you down on her bed and grabbed the first aid kit. She dug around for the supplies and used that time to study you. There were stains on the legs of your pants, hopefully not wounds. It was hard to tell before taking your wraps off, but at least two fingers were crooked and the amount of blood was telling.

“I’ll be gentle,” Wednesday said. She wanted you to look at her and at least acknowledge her.

You didn’t.

With a single sigh, she reached out and took your right hand first, unwrapping your hand like some kind of horrific present. Each moment uncovered more damage, more absolute carnage. You inhaled sharply as the wraps peeled off the open skin of your knuckles with a sickeningly wet sound. As much as it pained her, Wednesday repeated the action with your other hand until they were bare.

They were no longer dripping blood, now simply caked in the gelatinous, half-dried ooze. She could see the damage, the two now-clearly broken fingers, and she would have sworn she could practically see the bone of a knuckle. Your right wrist was swollen and you just sat there without flinching as if you couldn’t even feel it.

Maybe, in your catatonic state, you couldn’t.

“It’s going to sting,” Wednesday said. Still no reaction.

It was a tedious process, cleaning you up. She wasn’t even looking at the rest of you, simply focusing on your hands. Even when the antiseptic and rough gauze touched the open flesh, you didn’t react. Not even a blink of your eyes. The only thing that proved you were even still alive was the occasional tear that fell down your cheeks.

Wednesday put your broken fingers into splints and finished tying off the gauze around your hands before holding them in her lap. Your face was still marred by dried blood, but she didn’t care. On another day, another time, she would have found it attractive. But this? No, this broke her heart.

She wanted to ask you about it. If you would willingly do this to yourself after simply seeing this person, surely it must be terrible. As much as Wednesday loved the macabre, this was different. This was you hurting, this was your way of screaming out without saying a word. She so desperately wanted to know what you were thinking, what was pulling you apart atom by atom.

But she didn’t. She didn’t say a word as she grasped your forearms and pulled you down onto the bed with her until you were laying your head on her chest. You were so much bigger, she was sure it looked rather comical. But finally, finally she got something out of you as you grabbed her shirt so tightly she could hear the gauze pulled taut.

“You can rest,” Wednesday said, wrapping her own arm around your back and running her fingers up and down the little bit of wing that wasn’t contained.

And just like that, you fell apart. You hid your face in her neck and cried. Loud, painful sounding sobs as you pulled her closer. Crying until your body was shaking and you were no longer making sounds, just holding Wednesday and being held in return.

As Wednesday’s own eyes started glassing over at the sounds, she swore right then and there she would find whoever had done this to you.

And she was going to kill them.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #everyone but her au

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pfhwrittes · 4 months

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dealing drugs and feelings hcs (expanded) john price's headcanon is here.

next up, simon "ghost" riley.

TW: mentions of alcoholism, drug usage, mentions of domestic violence, overdose, death (because we're absolutely borrowing from '09 ghost's canon backstory here and holy shit it is dark).

drabble; 500ish words

-- ghost absolutely grew up in a shitty council estate in the greater manchester area (i'm thinking salford prior to any of the regenerative efforts that have gone into it), in a shitty two up-two down house, with his shitty violent drunk of a father, his battered mother and his brother tommy. i can just see how simon's life prior to joining the armed forces was marked by his father's rage and violence, his mother's fear and his brother's resentment at being trapped.

simon's dad is constantly in and out of prison during his childhood which makes things better and worse at once. better because there's a modicum of peace that allows the bruises to heal on simon's ribs and face, allows tommy to start smiling through the resentment that's festering under his skin, allows his mum a chance to call in the council to replace the doors to the kitchen and living room that have been ripped off their hinges. but it's simultaneously worse because while his dad's inside his mum has to make do with only one set of job seeker's allowance and housing benefit. it means going hungry more often then not, it means knowing that he's not getting new joggers now that he's shot up a few inches at 14 and even wearing his younger brother's cast offs isn't an option for him.

and thats when he picks up dealing. nothing hard. just a bit of weed (never coke or gear or pills), just a little bit so he's got enough cash to get new clothes from charity shops for him and tommy. just enough cash that he can pop money on the gas and electric keys. just enough cash that he can pick up pot noodles for tea. it comes crashing down when his old man is released again when he's 16 and suddenly his cash is being used on crates of stella to pacify him. it's spent on a second hand tv and playstation to keep tommy up in their shared room and away from angry words and angrier fists. it's spent on a shitbox nissan micra that he doesn't have a licence for. it's spent on kingsized rolling papers and pouches of cheap baccy until he can roll a perfect joint in under a minute before sitting in the back seat of his shitty car under some shitty streetlight and smoking until the fear in his lungs has been replaced by sweet and sour smoke and a craving for a rustlers chicken burger.

all of this just to say that simon "ghost" riley keeps dealing even as he joins the armed forces. the cash gets tucked away into a post office account he knows his mum and brother can access, an apology for abandoning them and a way of showing he still cares. he keeps dealing even after his brother is dead due to an overdose and his mum's in the wind after having escaped tommy's death and his dad's abusive fucking clutches. he keeps dealing even when simon is declared legally dead and he becomes ghost.

after all, you can't have a ghost on payroll can you?

taglist: @kaadaaan

#dealing drugs and feelings #simon ghost riley #tw drugs #tw alchoholism #tw addiction #tw domestic violence #i won't lie i made myself a bit sad with this one

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millersdjarin · 1 year

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I Only See Daylight - 17

Chapter Seventeen

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: E

Chapter Length: 6.4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: past emotional & physical abuse, nightmares, PTSD, hurt/comfort, anxiety

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist & Info | Full Masterlist

notes: sorry for the delay, y'all. life and shit, ya know? hope you enjoy this chapter anyway! (also omg look at him i wanna put my hands in his hair so bad)

i don’t wanna look at anything else now that i saw you (i could never look away)

Well, it’s been a while.

The nightmares are back.

They are back in full fucking force.

When you first escaped and found your haven of solitude, it took a few months for the nightmares to fade. For your body to catch on to the fact that you were safe, no one could find you, not one soul was even near you for thousands of klicks. Thoughts of Them were never far from your mind, but you knew that they were far from you.

And that has been true since then.

You’ve had the odd nightmare since, but nothing that caused you to wake in a panic.

Until now.

When you wake, the first thing you realise is that you’re panting for air, and there are tears on your cheeks.

Then you look up, blink through the blurriness, and there’s a silver helmet in front of you, all shiny and hard and protective, crouched down beside the couch that you must have fallen asleep on.

“Din?”

Images of your nightmare are still fresh in your mind. Broken glass, trapped in your room, wondering if you were even alive. If anyone would ever see you again. Your skin was untouched, unbruised, but you felt the furthest from okay you’ve ever been. They’d pretended you didn’t exist for weeks, readying you for the shower of love they’d give once the punishment was over. All you felt was loneliness, cold, dark, absolute terror…

“Hey,” his voice calls you back from the memories. You hadn’t realised your eyes had closed again, so you open them, find him there still. “Hey, sweetheart. Are you alright?”

You blink at him. As the fear starts to subside, it’s replaced by deep, deep embarrassment.

The jacket that you were repairing is still on the couch beside you; you must have fallen asleep while you were doing it. Which is embarrassing in itself; recovering from these injuries is proving harder than you’d expected. You hurt all the time, and it takes every ounce of strength you have to do the exercises that the doctors told you to do. Three times a day, five minutes at a time. It’s like torture. But if you don’t do it, you won’t heal right. So you do it. But it makes you hurt.

Which means you take more meds.

Which, together, mean you’re fucking exhausted, always. Not exactly a helpful person to have around.

And now, this nightmare. So bad you must have been crying in your sleep; so much that Din had to wake you from it.

Din.

He’s staring at you in a way that is always so soft, so comforting. Except it’s not comforting. You’re humiliated.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Sorry. I—I was repairing the jacket, I must have dozed off…”

“It’s alright, I’m not mad at you,” he assures you. Then, hesitating when he reaches out towards you, “Can I touch you?”

You want him to hold you more than anything. To soothe you with his hands, his words, his warmth. You want to tell him about the nightmare, about how scared you were—how scared you are.

They found you at Fett’s. They—you—are the whole reason you’re in so much pain.

Before you know it, tears are stinging at your eyes again. And you’re so tired. So tired of crying, of being weak. Of needing comfort.

You managed just fine on your own, all that time. And being a burden is never what you wanted.

“I’m fine,” you insist, shaking your head and pulling away from him. His hand drops again. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

He hesitates. You can see his arms itching to reach out to you. Yours are doing the same to him; you sit on your hands to stop them. “You were crying in your sleep,” he says softly, like he’s not sure if he should. “Looked like you were having a panic attack.”

You were. Both just now, and back when the memory that now plagues you actually happened. “I’m fine,” you lie again. “I’m gonna finish the jacket. What’s next? Are we still in hyperspace?”

“Yeah,” he watches you as you grab the jacket, needle, and thread from beside you and get to work again. “We’re going to need to stop for fuel soon.”

Fear strikes through your gut. You don’t let it show. “Okay.”

“It might be risky. I want you to stay on the ship.”

“Okay.” Your hands are shaking. You’re not really listening to him.

A gloved hand on your knee sends your eyes up to look at him. Your hands freeze.

“Sweetheart,” he says. “Talk to me.”

“I’m alright,” you whisper, desperately holding back tears. “Tell me the plan for refuelling.”

His hand reaches up, his fingers brushing down your cheek. “You look tired,” he tells you. “You should get some rest first. We can manage until you’re ready to land again.”

Feeling even more like a burden than ever, and still fucking shaking, you shake your head. “I’m fine.” You want to turn it into a promise. But you’ve never lied to him before, and despite the fact that you want him to believe you’re fine, to not see you as a burden, you won’t start now. “Just a bad dream. It happens.”

He looks at you for another long minute. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” he sighs a little.

“Tell me the plan.”

“Later,” he stands up again, removing his hand from your face. “I’m going to get a little sleep, while the kid’s asleep. I’d love it if you’d join me, but you don’t have to.”

Din doesn’t sleep.

He hasn’t since you were hurt. At least, not properly. A few naps in the medbay chair by your bed and lying beside you during the night cycle, dozing in and out of light sleep, doesn’t really count.

All he can hear when he closes his eyes is your screams. They echo in his mind, along with the image of you on the floor, writhing in pain, surrounded by broken glass and blood and doctors rushing to keep your spine straight. He was completely helpless. The injury to his leg stopped him from being able to protect you, which is the very first thing he promised you, and undoubtedly the most important.

He’d thought you were safe at Fett’s. You should have been. Din should’ve been more careful, more vigilant.

He can’t let anything like that happen again.

So even when you’re in hyperspace with no chance of anyone finding you, he still doesn’t manage to drift off into a proper sleep. He’s on high alert, keeping his helmet on at all times to monitor his surroundings, keep his hearing sharp. There’s no way anyone else is on the ship. He’s checked every inch of it for trackers, bugs, stowaways.

And yet, he still can’t swallow his fear, or lower his guard. He feels completely shaken, out in the middle of the ocean without a life raft. He’s never felt like this before.

So instead of sleeping, he just lies behind you, chest just inches from your back, running his bare hand over your arm as you sleep. You’d drifted off fairly quickly, obviously needing more sleep after the nightmare that woke you earlier. He’s relieved that you opted to sleep more, even if he told a bit of a white lie when he said he was going to sleep. It wasn’t entirely untrue; he would sleep if he could, and it’s not from lack of trying.

But he can’t. So he just listens to your breathing, reminds himself that you’re here. Lets your presence solidify the need to protect you. Lets it strengthen his resolve to never put you in danger again.

You’re having nightmares because of him; because he failed. He has to show you that he won’t fail again.

When you wake, Din is already awake behind you. You can’t see his face, but you can hear his breathing, and when you turn around to face him, he lifts his head to look at you.

“Hey,” you say, still groggy.

“Hey, Mesh’la,” he brushes the backs of his fingers down your cheek.

“Are we still in hyperspace? Did you sleep?”

“We’re still in hyperspace. We’ll need to stop for fuel soon.”

You rub your eyes and nod, not missing the fact that he avoided your second question. Instead of calling him out on it, though, you just shuffle in closer and wrap your arm around his waist, pressing your forehead to his helmet. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says softly. “Are you? How’d you sleep?”

“Better.” Better, because you were there to hold me.

“Good. Are you hungry? How’s your pain?”

“Are you interrogating me, or something?” You retort with a tired smirk, tucking your head in underneath his neck. It’s not all that comfortable; the top of his chest plate digs into your chin, and the fabric of his cowl is scratchy. But he smells like him, and it’s just nice to have him close.

“Sorry,” he says, running his hand over the back of your head. “Just making sure you’re alright.”

“’M fine,” you murmur. “You gonna tell me the plan for refuelling yet?”

“I…would like it if you stayed in our quarters while I leave the ship. You and the kid.”

“You think people will recognise me?”

“I think they’ll recognise me,” he replies. “And people know you’re with me. There are probably bounties out for us already.” His voice is laced with something heavy, something like…guilt?

“Nothing new there, right?” You joke softly.

Instead of laughing, he sighs. “It’s different this time,” he says. “This time, it’s not just me at stake.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“So if you don’t mind, will you hide while we refuel? I’ll lock the ship, and I’ll be close by. But…just in case.”

He’s holding tight to you, something in the way he presses close, pushes your head further into his neck, making you think that maybe he’s uncomfortable talking about this.

“I’ll stay hidden,” you promise him. “If you give me one thing.”

“Anything.”

You bring your face out from his neck and look up at him, finding the helmet tilted down to meet your eyes. You still feel greedy for asking for this, but that doesn’t stop you. “Kiss me?”

So softly, he sighs. Not frustratedly, not even tiredly. Fond, maybe. Or perhaps even relieved.

He removes his hands from you, instead lifting them to take off his helmet. His hair is all mussed up when it’s on show, and your heart does a little flip at the sight of him, all his facial hair, his wrinkles, his eyes. His lips.

It’s never going to get old.

You smile at him, reach out to put a hand on the hair over his jaw. As you take him in, you notice the dark circles under his eyes. He looks tired. Handsome, but tired.

Before you can comment on it, he’s leaning in, softly capturing your lips between his own. He’s so warm, so familiar. Smells and tastes just like him. Your hand slides into his hair, holding on to the nape of his neck as you deepen the kiss, tilting your head so your lips can move softly together. Like it’s an instinct, you bend your leg and prop it on his thigh, pushing your hips together almost subconsciously. He sighs into your mouth, heavenly and perfect, and you want to feel his breath all over your skin; your neck, your stomach, between your legs…

His hand comes down to hold your leg, hooking over the bend of your knee, anchoring you to him. The press of his palm there is a lot. You wish he’d slide it up and around, grab hold of your ass.

It’s been too long since you did this. Since you were really intimate.

But then, a noise from above you breaks you apart. You both realise at the same time that it’s Grogu waking up, untangling yourselves just seconds before he pokes his head over the edge of his hammock and peers down at the two of you with sleepy little blinks.

Din sighs, letting his head fall to your shoulder. “We’ve got to get him his own room,” he says, shaking his head.

You chuckle. “Hey, kid. How’d you sleep?”

Pleased to see you both here, he hops down from his hammock, lands on your hip. He makes a happy coo as he walks closer and then settles himself between you, his little head leaning against Din’s arm.

“I guess we’re snuggling,” you say, looking up to give Din a playful smirk.

The hand that was once on the underside of your thigh instead reaches up to take hold of Grogu, sitting softly on his back. “We’ve got to refuel,” he says, reluctance seeping through his tone. “Can’t snuggle for too long.”

“Just for a minute,” you insist with a smile, to which Grogu responds with an affirmative babble.

You told Din that you’ll wait with the kid in the bedroom while he’s out. And you meant it when you said it.

But now it’s been an hour, and the two of you are bored out of your mind.

No one can see into the hull. There’s not much difference between staying in the sleeping quarters and just hanging out in the safety of the lower deck. Besides, since Din joked about getting the kid his own room, your mind has wandered to the empty cubby in the hull. It’s somewhere between a cubby and a cupboard, at least, and it’s plenty deep and tall enough to make Grogu his own space. All he’d need is a little light, some blankets, some pillows. He’d love it.

So, you leave the bedroom, and head out. “Stay down here with me,” you tell Grogu—no point, really, because he can’t climb the ladder by himself anyway. But still.

As Grogu wanders around, finding mischief, you get to work.

His hammock hangs nicely in the top of the cubbyhole. You find a little flashlight to prop in the corner at the bottom, drape some fabric over it to make it less direct, diffuse it so it reflects faintly from the metal walls. You pile cushions and blankets on the floor, and make a mental note to buy some little stick-on stars for the doors when you’re next at a market. Or when you’re next able to safely go outside, period.

It looks so cosy, you wish you could fit in there. You probably could if you curled up, but it wouldn’t exactly be comfortable.

For Grogu, though, it’s just right.

And he loves it.

“Ta-da,” you’d said to him five minutes ago, dramatically opening the doors when he’d approached you curiously.

His eyes lit up. The space is glowing a cosy orange. The pillows on the floor make perfect steps for him to climb up into his hammock, which he does immediately, making some of the happiest noises you’ve ever heard him make.

“What d’you think, kid? Thought it was about time you had your own space, huh?”

He turns to look at you, grinning with an open mouth, his little teeth showing past his lips. A giggle comes from your mouth as he reaches out for your hand. You give him it, feeling him squeeze softly. He doesn’t speak Basic, or anything close to a coherent language, and yet you can feel what he’s trying to say. He’s saying Thank you.

“When was the last time you had your own space?” You ask him, knowing you won’t get an answer, but still. “Din said you were a Jedi before. I can’t imagine you’d have had much privacy as a youngling, huh?”

He coos again, tilting his head as he listens to you.

“Well, this is your home now,” you give him a smile, leaning in to kiss his little knuckles. “You’ve got your own room. You can come back to us whenever you need, though, alright?”

He coos again, and you could swear that you see him nodding.

Just as you let go of his hand, the door hisses open behind you.

You turn around and see Din standing there, barely cresting the top of the boarding ramp, his cape flowing in the wind.

“Hey,” you say, smiling lightly.

He’s just staring. Standing completely still. “Why aren’t you hidden?”

“I—we got bored.”

He stares for another minute. Then he steps inside, hits the door’s closing button with his fist, not turning his eyes away from the two of you for a second. “I told you it was dangerous to be out here.”

“No one can see us here. We’re fine.”

“It was risky. You promised me you’d stay hidden. Both of you.”

You stand up, eyes following him as he walks over to one of the weapons lockers. “I didn’t technically promise,” you counter.

His head whips around to look at you. You can’t see his face, but by the tense set of his shoulders, the clenching of his fists, you can bet he looks thoroughly unimpressed. “You gave me your word. That’s a promise.”

“Technicalities.”

He turns to face you properly. “Are you serious?”

You frown. “Yes. What’s the problem? We’re perfectly safe in here. We had stuff to do, I’ve got something to show you…”

“Stuff that was more important than staying alive?”

“It’s safe in here!” You argue, throwing your hands out to your sides. “I’m no less hidden in the hull than I was in the sleeping quarters, Din. Come on, we’re both fine. Don’t make this into a thing.”

“It was already a thing,” he shifts his weight to one leg. His voice isn’t raised, but it’s harsh, shaking. “It’s dangerous for us to be still, right now. Especially somewhere so populated. Stopping for fuel is dangerous.”

“No one can see in here.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“Are you being purposefully difficult?”

You frown deeper, and fold your arms over your chest, defensive. You’re a little offended, to be honest. Difficult? “If you don’t tell me the point, how am I supposed to understand where you’re coming from?”

“If someone had broken into the ship, they’d have found you straight away, like I just did. But if you were in the bed chamber, they’d have had to search for you, and it would have given me time to get to them first.”

You stare at him. He’s definitely right. But you’re tired and stubborn and in pain. And you’re fine. And you’ve done something that has actually made you feel useful for the first time in weeks. “Well,” you say, pushing your chin out, “we’re fine. So there’s no point in arguing about it.”

He sighs shortly, like he’s holding himself back. His helmet tilts once, his fists still clenching at his sides. “Don’t tell me you’re going to do something,” he says, voice low all of a sudden, “if you’re not going to do it. I need to be able to trust you.”

Oh. Well—that makes sense.

Guilt settles in your stomach, a feeling so familiar that it might as well just make its home there. It would hurt less.

Despite yourself, you deflate a little. “I’m sorry,” you say softly.

“I’d never force you to stay in there. But you told me you would, and I went out there believing you. Trusting that you’d be safe.”

You step closer to him, unfolding your arms. “I’m sorry,” you say again. “I am.”

He watches you. Just for a second. Then, “Okay. Thank you.”

“I, um,” you clear your throat, “have something to show you.”

“Can we get off planet first? We’ve been still for too long.”

“Of course.”

It only takes ten minutes to be back in the vastness of space again. Din climbs back down the ladder and you give him a smile, feeling your excitement and pride at your creation morph into nerves as he approaches.

“You said we should give Grogu his own room,” you say, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. You gesture to the cubbyhole, where Grogu is still sitting in his hammock, playing with a stuffed toy. “I made one.”

Din stops in front of the open doors, looking down at the kid in his little space. He’s quiet for a second, but then the soft sound of a chuckle comes through his modulator, and his shoulders shake with it.

“Do you like it?” You ask.

He looks at you. “It’s very cute,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “He seems to like it. You like it, kid?”

Grogu looks up at him, tilts his head. With a happy noise, he grins.

Din chuckles again. It’s so beautiful. He looks back to you, steps closer. “He likes it.”

“I think he does,” you say with a smile, relaxing at Din’s approval.

“You know what this means?” He puts his hand on your waist, stepping close enough that you’d be able to feel his breath if he didn't have his helmet on.

“What?”

He presses his forehead to yours. When he speaks, it’s so quiet, you can barely hear it. “We’ve got the bed to ourselves. When you’re feeling better…”

You shudder. All the way from the top of your spine to the base, so strong that it almost hurts your wounds. “Yeah,” you breathe out. “I guess it does mean that.” You’re trying to resist the shake in your knees, trying to keep yourself at least some level of decent in front of the kid. “Shall I make us some dinner?”

As he steps back, he nods, and pulls his satchel around to his front. “I got some supplies while I was out,” he says. “We can actually have something fresh.”

“I could really go for soup. You want soup?”

He puts his hand on the back of your neck and leans in, pressing the base of his helmet to your forehead in a beskar kiss. “Whatever you want, Cyar’ika.”

When you get into bed, exhaustion hits you like a tank.

So much that it almost makes you forget about your pain.

Din is crawling up the bed towards you after closing the door behind him. You’re alone here in this bed for the first time, and you want nothing more than to take hold of him, let him take you, let him fuck you into this mattress until it becomes somewhere sacred, somewhere that’s yours.

But, kriff. You’re fucking tired.

Din looks tired, too. He’s got his helmet on, but he’s moving slowly, tensely, like he’s sore. When he’s lying beside you, you reach out and touch his arm, running your fingers over the fabric of his flight suit. He sighs and wraps his arm over your waist. “How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Tired,” you murmur. You pull his arm out from beneath him, sliding it under your head so you can use it as a pillow.

He waits until you’ve shuffled into a comfortable position before settling his arm on your waist and pulling the blankets over you. “Sleep, Cyar’ika,” he tells you softly. “I’m right here.”

Sleepy, you nod. Nuzzle your nose into his chest. “Goodnight,” you manage to say as sleep comes for you fast. Heavy and welcome. You’re fucking ready to get some rest.

Except, you don’t. Not enough.

Because as soon as you fall into a dream, it becomes a nightmare. And this one is different. This one isn’t like the others; it’s not like history repeating itself, it’s not throwing you back into a memory that still hurts just as much as it did when it happened. It’s not Them hurting you, your life getting taken over in every sense, with no escape.

No, it’s not about you at all.

It’s Din.

He’s on the ground, surrounded by a pool of blood. His blood. Someone has a staff stabbed into his chest, just inches above his heart, and they’re twisting it, drawing pained screams from his throat. At first he has his helmet on, and he’s trying to fight back, but then They’re there, taunting you, whispering in your ear that it’s all your fault, that you brought him here, that you’re the reason he’s going to die a painful death—

Then his helmet is off, and you know that even if he survives, he can never hide again, can never feel safe behind the beskar—

You try to get to him, to rush forward. But They’re holding you back. Their hands are like knives, stinging against the glass embedded in your skin, the knife wounds so fresh and bleeding. He’s reaching for you, crying out for you, and it’s all you can do to watch as they cut him to pieces—

You don’t realise that you’re screaming his name until you start to hear it. Not just in the dream. It’s real, your voice pulling you from sleep, awareness suddenly flooding you.

“Din!” You scream one last time before your eyes fly open. They’re blurry, so blurry, tears flowing from them hot and fast down onto your cheeks. Back in reality now, but unaware of that, you’re shaking, your hands trembling. There’s something on top of you, someone’s holding you back, stopping you from getting to him, wherever he might be—

You shove and kick at the person who’s holding you, shuffling around in the bed to face them. You go to hit them, using all the meek strength you have in your sleep-hazed muscles. But there are gloved hands grabbing your arms, too soft to be an enemy, but who else can it be—?

Then, you see it.

The soft brown of a flight suit, the shiny silver of a helmet, the black of a visor.

Air leaves your lungs so quick that it hurts. “Din?” You whisper, trembling, not quite believing what you’re seeing. Your fingers are tingling. You could still be in a dream. This could be a trick. You’re still struggling in his grip.

“Hey,” his voice says, so soft even through the modulator. “Hey, Cyar’ika. It’s me, it’s me. Hey, look at me. Look at me, sweetheart.”

You do. Through the blur of tears, you blink, and see him. His hands are so gentle around your wrists, only just firm enough to stop you from hitting him. As soon as you realise that it’s him, your arms fall to the mattress. Shame hits you hard and painful, worse than the stinging of your wounds.

“Oh, Gods,” you push yourself away from him, shuffling back towards the wall, “I’m sorry—I—did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I thought—I didn’t know it was you—”

“I’m alright,” he promises. “I’m alright. You didn’t hurt me. Look at me, Cyare. Take a breath, see, I’m right here.”

Your breathing is too fast, straining your lungs. Now that you see him, you can’t look away. Your eyes are wide and panic is still coursing through you. You can’t shake the crystal clear memory of seeing him bloody and hurt and at Their mercy.

“Breathe,” he says softly. “Breathe. It’s alright. Take your time.”

It’s all you can do to listen to him. To do as he says. Without taking your eyes off him, you force yourself to take shallow breaths. It clears your head, calms the incessant buzzing under your skin. You start to realise your cheeks are absolutely drenched with tears, your shirt soaked in them.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out, I just—didn’t realise it was you…”

“It’s okay. I promise. I’m alright.”

Then, oh.

He’s alright.

Relief hits you stronger than the shame did, maybe even stronger than the dream itself. He’s here. It wasn’t real. The things you just saw have never happened, and are definitely not happening right now.

He’s here. You’re both here. Safe.

“You’re alright,” you whisper, feeling a fresh wave of tears spill over your eyes. “You’re—they didn’t hurt you…”

He pauses, confused. “Who didn’t hurt me?”

“Them,” you finally screw your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes so hard that you see stars. It’s better than the images of the nightmare that just won’t leave your mind. “It was—the dream, I—I dreamt they hurt you—”

So gently, his hands wrap around your wrists, carefully bringing your hands away from your face. “I’m alright,” he says again, this time more pointedly.

You open your eyes. Your breathing has slowed a bit. Your hands aren’t trembling as much. One of them reaches out, sits against the side of his helmet. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I woke you up. I had another nightmare.”

He shakes his head. “All I care about is that you’re okay,” he says. And you get that. Because that’s all you care about, too—that he and Grogu are okay. That’s the most important thing.

And, right now, they are.

You’re suddenly overtaken by a desperate need, not unfamiliar, but overwhelming in this moment; a need to have him. To be as close as possible to him. To feel him in every single way, to know he’s here, that he’s safe, that everything is fine. That he still wants you, even after this.

You’re moving in closer to him, tugging at his flight suit. “Din,” you whine, “please.” You’re crying again.

“What, Cyar’ika?” He asks, bringing up a hand to wipe away your fresh tears.

You shake your head. “Need you,” you say. It seems you’ve lost the ability to properly form sentences. Your hands reach up, take hold of his helmet. “Can you?” You ask. “Please?”

He nods. Without hesitation, he lifts off his helmet, places it on the bed above you.

Your hands are on him without a second thought, grasping hold of the warmth of his face in your cold hands, pushing as close as you can to him. You’re breathing fast again, but not panicked this time. Just desperate.

And you’re still kriffing crying.

You can’t get it out of your head. Seeing him like that. You can still hear yourself screaming his name; still hear him screaming yours.

“Alright, sweetheart, I’m here,” he assures you, your noses pressed together. “I’m here. Hey, hey, what do you need?”

You’re just clinging to him, your hands not settling anywhere for long, trying to cover every inch of him. It’s clear that you need something, that you’re asking for it with your touch. You’re barely even in control. Blinded by need for him. “I—” you stammer, and he leans in to kiss away your tears. “Need you. Touch me, hold me. Please.”

“Baby…” He leans back to look into your eyes. You can only just see him through the tears, but you just let him look at you, too shaken to be embarrassed by how needy you are. He runs his bare hand over your face, settles it gently on your neck.

Your eyes close into the touch, a shaky breath releasing past your lips. “You’re okay,” you whisper.

“I’m here,” he reassures you. “I’m here. Nothing’s going to touch you. I promise.” His voice is shaking. Maybe you’re just imaging it.

“Don’t let them touch you, either,” you beg him. “Please. I can’t—I can’t—”

“Hey, shh,” he soothes, smoothing his palm over your hair, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Trying to let his words sink in, to let yourself believe them, you nod. “Din,” you say, “I…” you want to say it. Want to say I love you.

But everything’s so clouded. It’s the middle of the night cycle. You don’t want him to think you’re just saying it because you’re scared to lose him; because of your nightmare.

Instead, you lean in, and kiss him. Pour every ounce of desperation, of adoration, as you can into his mouth, your hand sliding back and taking a tight hold of his hair. You push into him with your hips, feeling his heat against you. As your lips move together, he gently uses his knee to part yours, sliding his thigh up between your legs. The pressure is lovely, just enough to remind you that this is real. He’s here. You’re both here, tucked into your bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. Nothing can touch you. Not now.

His lips trail down to your neck in soft, lazy kisses, like he’s comforting you with them. And he is. He always is.

Your eyes stay closed as he mouths at the join of your shoulder and neck, but you feel tears stinging at them, your hand clutching at the back of his head. You just want him close, closer, closer than he can ever possibly get. Your bottom lip wobbles as your heart clenches with his touch, his kiss.

Something simmers on the edges of your consciousness. Some thought that you’re being selfish. Keeping him awake, demanding that he comfort you when he never signed up for something like this. For someone who wakes up screaming in his bed.

But—you can’t stop. You need him right now. You need to know he’s here, that he’s safe. You want him inside you, to be honest, but that really might be too much to ask, that might really be taking it too far.

“Din,” you whimper, using your hand in his hair to gently pull him away so you can look in his eyes. Your hips roll over his thigh. “I don’t—I can’t—”

He just watches, waits. Looks into your eyes, presses a kiss to your nose. “Tell me, Cyar’ika,” he whispers. “I’m listening.”

You nod, stroking his neck. “Please, touch me. Please. I don’t think I—I can’t—” A shuddering breath pulls into your mouth, halting your words for a minute. He just waits patiently. He always waits so patiently. (You can never fucking repay him for all of this; for him. And you wish you could.) “I just want to be close to you. I’m tired, I hurt, I’m not asking for sex, but I just…”

He shakes his head, softly cutting you off. “I hear you,” he says. His knee shifts in between your legs, and the contact against your clothed centre is perfect, just enough to send a small spark of pleasure through you, reminding you again that he’s here. That this is real.

You close your eyes, tilt your head to kiss his fingers. He’s pressing his thigh up against you, holding a constant, gentle pressure there, while his hand smooths up and down your side in long, comforting slides. You wish you could clear your blurry vision enough to look at him, to really see him. Because he’s here before you, bare-faced, and you feel like you’re wasting it.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” He asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

“That’s okay. Take your time.” His hand moves around to the small of your back and presses there, splaying his fingers out. It slides down, takes a gentle hold of your ass, just hard enough that it makes you feel grounded.

You whine against him, fall into his lips like he’s a magnet, like he’s drawing you in. You kiss him slowly and messily, not really aiming for anything in particular. You just need him. Whatever he’ll give you.

His palm doesn’t leave you for a second as it slides all the way up your body, running over every curve and edge, curling around your shoulder for a second before he’s brushing hair back from your face, then cradling it, his fingers holding your cheek.

You don’t want to talk about it, you decide. He can’t know that you’re this scared. You’ve already made things hard enough, with being hunted, injured, now being the thing that stops him getting any rest.

“I’m sorry,” you find yourself saying into his mouth. Tears break you away from him. You wipe furiously at them before he has a chance to do it himself.

He frowns. “For what?”

“I woke you up. I’m just making things so difficult lately.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” he tells you, then promptly closes his mouth like he hadn’t meant to say that. Guilt stabs hard in your chest. “You’re not making things difficult. Bad people are.”

You shake your head. “You shouldn’t have taken me on.”

He takes a firmer hold of your face. “Look at me,” he says, a crease so deep between his eyebrows it looks like someone’s drawn it there. You do as he asks, unable to do anything else. “You are not a burden. You never were, and you never will be. Do you hear me?”

“I—”

“No, listen to me. Do you think I ever saw the kid as a burden? When everyone in the Galaxy was trying to get to us, and we had to fight to survive?”

You blink at him. For a second, the crushing guilt subsides. “I…no…”

He nods, like he’s just proven his point. Which he kind of has. Then he leans in, presses a quick, pointed kiss to your lips. When he pulls away, he doesn’t move far; he’s still close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath, the press of his nose against yours. When he speaks again, his voice is just a whisper. And it’s trembling. “I promise I’ll protect you.”

Your fist bunches around the fabric of his flight suit. You pull back just enough to look him in the eyes. “Din,” you whisper. “I…” any chance of finishing a sentence is gone. Your words only fade on your tongue before they make it past your lips. You’re so tired, still reeling.

“I’m here,” he promises. It’s still such a miracle, to be staring into his eyes. You never thought you’d have that. You never thought you’d have any of this. “Do you want to try and sleep again?”

Drawing in a deep breath, you think about it. “I think I’ll just rest,” you decide. “If I fall asleep, great, but…for now I just…” you sigh. “Hold me? Please?”

“Always, Cyar’ika,” he leans in to kiss your forehead, long and lingering. “I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to touch you. I promise.”

Despite it all, you manage to muster up a teasing smile. “I’d like you to touch me, actually.”

He smiles, too. It’s fucking beautiful. “Whenever you want.”

You roll over in his arms, shuffling back into him. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He presses his face into the back of your neck, his arm wrapping around your waist. His breath is so warm against your skin. You lean into it, let it wrap you up and hold you tight. “Please, do.”

notes: i hope it was worth the wait! thank you as always y'all for reading, interacting, and for your lovely comments and words for this fic so far. means so much to me and makes me wanna write moreeee!

speaking of which, i have a few requests in my inbox rn and if it was you that sent one - i'm going to write it for you, i've just been hella busy, but as soon as i get chance i'll get to work! thank u for your patience my dears.

as always, i'd love to hear your thoughts.

take care of yourself xo

taglist:

@toobsessedsstuff @granillx @keepingitlokiii @shoe1412 @quentinor @yourunstablegf @moonknight-s-cumdump @senassn @samanthacookieone @local-fanfic-addict @your-slutty-gf @whenpugzfly @elsasshole @moony-toasts @julesjewelss36 @jbcalway @mxlsmith @indec1sive @lordhavemurthy

@booktvmoviefangirl @brokenghostgirl1 @competitivedust @lostinsideourminds @gloryekaterina @uncle-eggy @astronymity @leithatnight @domaniquessidehoe @dancealongthelightofday-blog @loveslide @peqchsoup @jaguarthecat @starrynightsforever @djarinxore @rexamongthestars @babygirlrex0504 @dindjarindude @prentissluvr @hotchie360 @beskarandblasters @space-cowboy-like-me

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #gif cw #star wars fanfiction #mando #i only see daylight

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swanqueensalad · 1 year

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A very long, sad deep dive on the Snow & Regina dynamic, post-everything, for anon

snow and regina are best friends. it's very weird. nobody really wants to use that phrase around regina lest she fireball them... snow really really wants to use that phrase all the time (this is their whole dynamic lol u don’t need to read the rest of the post)

i would say it happened naturally, but it really didn't. it happened with a lot of hard work, honesty, effort, dedication to being better from both of them, and then once all of that was done it was natural, it was sort of impossible to be any other way.

because snow and regina have known each other a long time. longer than most people in their family, in their town. and despite everything that happened after, all the tragedy and pain that the adults around them orchestrated, they were once two little girls that should have been friends. little snow idolised regina and looked up to her in every way, the beautiful kind hearted girl who saved her from a horse, and the instinctive bond between them was always there. there was a sisterly relationship there from the start, and i think for regina as a lonely girl with an awful family life, snow was sweet, and refreshing company to have, even if she got in the way sometimes (just like a little sister would).

and then of course everything comes crashing down, and it is snow's fault but it also isn't, because at the end of the day she was just a little girl mourning her own mother, who cora knew exactly how to manipulate.

but i think the reason regina never saw it this way was because she too was very young and sheltered and her worldview was totally limited by cora's abuse: when regina was snow's age, nothing she did would ever be excused by 'but i was a child'. at snow's age, she had to mind everything very carefully because to put one foot wrong was to be punished severely, held 100 percent accountable. i truly believe the reason regina never excused snow for her age is because she was never excused for hers, ever, even as a tiny child, and as a victim of such abuse in such a controlled environment it never would have occurred to her that that was wrong, or even abnormal.

(i believe a big part of regina and snow's relationship healing was regina's worldview shifting as she grew and changed and worked on healing herself, because as she reevaluted the things cora taught her, she can see the world and the past events in a whole new light. this is of course, a hard and complex process that regina is still working on, but ultimately she does come to realise snow was a child who meant no wrong, who only wanted to help, regardless of the outcome. which doesn't make it not her fault, necessarily, but it adds layers she could not accept before)

regina was married to king leopold for a long time. this is something i've spoken about before, but it's still something i think isn't so well understood, purely because the show didn't go into it that much (and i believe it didn't because it would have simply been too dark and uncomfortable for primetime abc. the writers knew the situation they had put themselves in and kept a distance). if snow was about 10 when regina and leopold married, and 18 when he died, that is 8 years. the better part of a decade. that is a long, long time, especially for a grieving, growing, traumatised girl like regina trapped in the most awful environment in which literally every powerful adult around her was brutally using her in one way or another, manipulating and preying on different parts of her trauma, grief and vulnerability. (while her brain was still developing and processing everything that had already happened and she had zero support system, zero outlet for any emotions. like, some of y'all do not understand how fucked up regina is.,, like, think about that. or don't if you don't wanna be sad forever)

and all the while, the little girl who caused it all sees nothing wrong! no difference in their relationship, to her! except now she wants to call her mother. (even stepmother is bad enough from a girl no more than 8 years younger than you) and thinking about this stage of their relationship is agonizing to me. regina is at princess snow's beck and call, and this hurts because despite everything, she still feels some affection for her, that sisterly love did not die clean with daniel. the hatred and the blame and the fury just go along with it now, except she cannot express one bit of it. she has to smile and play dolls with her like everything is fine.

snow truly, for a few years at least, saw nothing wrong, or at least convinced herself nothing was wrong because her worldview as a well loved princess meant she could easily excuse any questionable things she picked up on. and this is something i think she definitely struggles with later, and even way into her healed post everything relationship with regina. (we talk a lot about regina's guilt and internally never feeling able to atone for it all, but god, snow feels so much guilt for everything regina went through. and i think at some point, they are able to talk about it. not in depth. not in detail. but with very few words, they both understand the depth of meaning and of immense shared pain. regina is not sure what she feels about forgiveness, but she knows she loves snow, and that snow has always loved her. she knows that now they are family, and their time together is lovely, and so she has acceptance at least, if not forgiveness).

i think the moment leopold is dead and snow is out on her own, she starts reconsidering everything. in the last few years she has questioned things a little more, but never let herself really go there, because she has never had to, and why would she when it is so painful? but alone, with her father dead and regina behaving so out of character (or is she, snow wonders), she can't help but look back without the rose tinted lens of her childhood. she remembers things. regina's silences and trembles at the breakfast table. the way she was ignored, sidelined, stared at. the dark circles under her eyes. all those times they had been playing, or walking, and regina seemed to be a million miles away, jolted back to earth only by snow's insistence.

more reluctantly, she thinks about her father and the way he treated her. the way he looked at her. the way he spoke to her (or didn't). spoke about her. the things he must have done. this is something snow still doesn't really process for a long time, because snow idolised her father, but eventually she cannot deny he must have hurt her.

and then there's that episode of season 1 where we get the dialogue 'she thinks i ruined her life' 'did you?' 'yes'. i think bandit snow, processing these things, dealing with a lot of new feelings of anger and pain, started putting two and two together. (but i don't think she fully confronts the real, most awful truth until years later, because she can't.)

i think ultimately the thing that hurts the most about all they went through when they were basically at war was that deep down, they still cared for each other. 'love never left the room' and all that. hatred and pain and fury existed too, overwhelmingly, overpoweringly so, but ultimately they grew up together. (it's just one of them grew up having to 'raise' the other). they still had memories tined with warmth of horse riding together, walking together.

and so when they do start to heal, (as i believe snow always fiercely hoped they would, deep down), it's not so much that they have to create a relationship but to rebuild and unearth one that was already there, one that never should have been torn down like it was. of course it's tentative at first, but snow never once stopped having hope that one day regina would change and they would find their way back into each others lives. and once the trust is back, the feeling of family, of working together for the same goal and being willing to risk everything protecting each other because of circumstance...

once that's there, it's the other things that re emerge more softly and slowly.

the coffee at granny's. first, a little awkward, a little quiet without emma and david and henry to fill the gaps in conversation. but gradually, they realise they have a lot to talk about, a lot of shared opinions in ways that matter and vastly differing opinions in ways that don't, but are fun to debate.

the parenting advice. the stories regina has to share about henry as a little boy, the grandson whose first ten years snow only ever saw as a school teacher. the way regina helps her learn to care for neal. the passing on to him of henry's saved onesies and blankets.

the silly jokes that gradually start to form between them, against all odds.

the teaming up against david and emma when they suggest something particularly dumb.

the cooking together! snow is hopeless but enthusiastic, regina is skillful and finds it calming, so it becomes a thing.

the clinking wine glasses at family dinners.

the extreme competition on board game nights.

the hugs at the end of the day, which go from being stiff and quick and awkward with pain and memories caught up in every brush of the fingers, to warm and natural as anything.

the way snow is able to sit down with regina when she is caught up in her own thoughts and issues, and give her rational advice from a far more positive and balanced place than regina's brain allows her. the way she is able to hold regina's hand and support her. (it feels like making up for past tragedies. not nearly enough, but it's something.)

the way regina, equally, is able to keep snow grounded and bring her down to earth when she's panicking, the way she can simply and efficiently allow her to talk through her worries and daily struggles, give her space to ramble and talk and be, but also to give her to the point, no nonsense, blunt advice that snow needs and rarely gets anywhere else.

the way that somehow, strangely, against all odds, snow beings mothering regina a little, in a weird turnaround of events that feels more right and more balancing than anything else. the way she holds her hand, looks out for her, checks in with her, gives that kind of advice and reflection. because now it's regina who needs it, and snow who can provide it. because somehow, seamlessly, regina also became her daughter in law, and her relationship with emma is something that brings snow a deep sense of peace, gratitude, warmth. (now regina is truly family in the beautiful way she always was meant to be. now she knows regina and emma will both be cared for, loved, as they deserve. she knows someone will look after regina, someone will ground emma. they will laugh and cry and build a home and life together, a life not too dissimilar from the one with daniel that snow inadvertently stole from regina a long time ago)

i think they do speak about things that have transpired between them, sometimes, when it comes up and one or both of them feel they have to vocalise something. it's never in front of others, even david and emma. some things are entirely between the two of them, and nobody else will understand, or needs to.

they speak softly, respectfully, giving each other space and quiet validation. sometimes they cry, or get angry, but it's never really at each other and they both understand this now. sometimes they cry for the girls they were and what was taken from them both. sometimes one or both of them feels or thinks something they cannot speak or say to the other, and they both respect that.

i think they have both apologised. sincerely. and i think they don't need to go into any detail, really. they both just know.

but they are equals now, entirely. no more titles, no more real power dynamics, despite any maternal/caretaking instincts that snow might feel. they are the equals they were always supposed to be, and the people with the friendship the girls they once were would have wanted.

and they can laugh together. this is the thing that warms my heart most. just thinking of snow and regina laughing together, simply, over some very silly joke that isn't even that funny.

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pricklypear1997 · 1 year

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This is gonna sound so cringe, but I think the reason why for 7 years of reading ASOIAF, I was in denial about the subtle hint of Arya and Gendry’s budding romance is because I relate so much to Arya and I’ve always been fighting against the thought of love, intimacy and marriage because I too have felt like it’s been pushed on me since I was a child… seriously. I know we live in the 21st century, but people love forcing heterosexual romance (and romance in general, even) down their children’s throats. It’s more common than people admit, it’s just more subtle these days. As a young woman, I’ve always been told and expected to grow up one day and fall in love (with a man specifically) and have children later in life. I have seen and experienced a lot of things no child should and I have detachment issues as well as very poor self esteem. Like Arya, I feel ugly and have ptsd as well as severe depression. The idea of trusting another person, being intimate and in love with them is terrifying for me. I read Arya’s chapters and I see a traumatized girl who’s lost her family, has seen cruelty face to face, has had to kill in self defense and has been told her whole life that her freedom, feelings and body are not worthy of respect and protection. She’s also at war with herself and her identity (something I too very much struggle with in result by being adopted by a narcissistic emotionally abusive parent of a different background than me), so how can someone so unbalanced, scared and unhealthy like herself be ready to fall in love? It has to come out, in her own time eventually. It’s a hard lesson I’ve had to learn, but all humans long for companionship and family. We need it. It’s wired in our brains to find it, no matter how much we protest. The problem is when others constantly force it and create expectations that make us feel constricted and trapped. Arya needs to feel free, (I need to feel free). Gendry makes Arya feel free. He accepts her for who she is, wholly. He appreciates all her unique qualities and difficult personality to an insane degree, and that right there is true love. She also seems feel the same way for him, but unlike him, is so unaware of it… I want this romance to grow slowly. Let it simmer for a while. Don’t make them get together immediately. Arya still has a lot of healing to do. To an extent, I wish for something like this to happen to me in the future. Reading the series makes me hopeful. Reading about a character I deeply relate to on another level does help me understand myself better, and I appreciate George R R Martin for writing such an awesome dynamic character like Arya… I couldn’t thank him enough. All the characters he writes are very interesting, even the ones I despise and I feel we can all and should self reflect and learn from a Song of Ice and Fire.

A reminder; Read the books, forget the show.

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saturnskyline · 1 year

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i was rewatching hospital scene, our beloved, and realized that for someone who lost everything, vegas actually won the most in the end. his father is dead, he is free from doing the job he hated, he has pete and macau, and a happy hospital ending. he can build a new life, read books, learn to cook and spend time with his family, and heal from the abuse.

meanwhile we have unhappy kim and chay, porsche who became everything he hated in some ways (he did found his mom and kinn at least), and as far from his beach bar dream as possible, kinn who is still just a chessboard piece (got porsche though) and not that happy about his job either if episode 6 tells us anything. so in the end "the villain" got the best outcome? kinnporsche is insane?

nonnie you are SO RIGHT. the way that vegas hits rock bottom and still sorta wins in the end?? very not normal about it 😭 i also really love the nuance of the ending overall. kinnporsche slaying as Mafia Boyfriends™, but ultimately trapped by korn (always emo about the beach bar.. just terrible), kimchay being miserable with their unresolved issues, despite being the couple that arguably has the least baggage (? i mean it's still a lot though) .... meanwhile beloved hospital family, dysfunctional as it is, gets to end on a pretty positive note! vegas is alive, for one, and as you pointed out, he has pete and macau and is free from his horrible father! so yeah, lots of unexpectedly good stuff going on there <333

now, obviously our dear family's situation isn't perfect - vegas still has to cope with his life being turned upside down, and while they're supposedly "out" of the mafia, it's hard to know what korn has planned for these three in the future. and sure, all of them have LOADS of trauma to work through, what with the torture and the abusive fathers, etc. but what i really love about the happy moments throughout the series is how they exist in spite of all the darkness. against all odds, these people have survived and gotten to spend, at the very least, a peaceful moment with each other. the "antagonist" of the story (if kinn is to be read as the "protagonist", that is) gets the chance to start anew with the people he loves most. and wow, isn't that just something?

one more thing, since i'm incapable of shutting up about this: i will never be over just how completely the show sold me on vegaspete. all the pieces just came together, and by the time we got to the finale, it was insane how cathartic and satisfying that hospital scene really was. so much has been said about this already, but i still can't believe the extent to which i fell in love with these freaks... and by that i mean occasionally disregarding the main couple (the literal name of the show????) in the second half of their arc and wanting to skip back to the deeply toxic, painful, walking-daddy-issues-in-a-trenchcoat pairing. (not like kp doesn't have any problems.. but c'mon lol.) anyway, i guess what i'm trying to say is that, while i never anticipated this, i'm really quite happy to be here 😅😅

#thanks for the ask!!#i rambled a little here but hopefully it was at least semi-coherent #mafia gays have me deranged as per usual #vegaspete #kpts #kp meta #anonymous #asks

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radinclus-not-radqueer · 8 months

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Hello, I hope this isn't intrusive. I have been in multiple bad communities such as proshipping and radqueer spaces. If it's okay to ask how do you cope with the knowledge that you ended up in a cult? And that some of your alters hold onto those beliefs. I'm sorry if this is an inappropriate question, feel free to not answer if that is the case.

Thank you for spreading awareness.

I'll try to answer this the best I can from personal experience, but keep in mind that I'm not a medical professional. It's always best if you go to a professional (like a therapist) for things like this, because they're often much more experienced and knowledgeable than people on the internet.

In my experience, it's best to take a while to process things and read up on what cults are and read stories from survivors. It helps a lot if you take a break away from discourse and such, since that can retraumatize you or negatively impact your recovery if you're just starting to figure things out. Getting in touch with professionals or other survivors and sharing your experiences with them, and asking them about their own recovery, can also help you to come to terms with everything and heal.

Always keep in mind that ending up in a cult is not your fault. Cults are designed to prey on and trap vulnerable people who just want help or support, so it's not your fault that you fell for it. Being a victim of abuse is not the victim's fault.

It can be hard to accept that what happened was real or "bad enough". There's no such thing as "not being bad enough", whatever trauma you went through is always enough to deserve help and support. It's really easy to get so caught up in other survivors' stories and start thinking "wow, my experience wasn't really that bad", but keep in mind that people who have never been a part of a cult have never experienced any of that. As someone once said: "the normal amount of pain is zero".

With recovering from radqueers specifically, it's helpful to have a lot of "transitional" periods where you're slowly phasing out the terms and identities you used to support. It's best if you take it slowly and carefully instead of trying to tackle everything all at once, because if you try to do that it's easy to get overwhelmed and go back to being radqueer because of how much simpler and easier it feels.

If you're still in radqueer servers or still have radqueer friends, slowly start distancing yourself from them and interacting with communities that are completely detached from radqueer discourse. It's best if you don't immediately jump into anti-radqueer communities full force, because you need to unlearn all of the "if you exclude anything ever you're a bad person" stuff that radqueers taught before you feel okay with not supporting harmful identities.

Always keep in mind that the "anti-radqueer to radical exclusionist/transmed/radfem/etc pipeline" isn't real, and you are not going to become an exclusionist, transmed, radfem, etc. That doesn't happen because being anti-radqueer is about fighting against transphobia, ableism, racism, and bigotry, so obviously if you're fighting against that and are educated on how that's all harmful, you're not going to become any of that.

As for having alters who are still radqueer, I suggest trying to educate them. Send them informational posts on how radqueers are wrong, and explain to them how bad the community is. If any of them are pro-"consang", I have a long post on my blog explaining why it's harmful. Just keep in mind that you used to be in the same position, and trying to fight fire with fire is never going to work. You have to use the same compassion and care towards them that you use towards yourself, or else they'll just see you as another evil anti-radqueer trying to oppress them.

I hope all this helps! I'm glad I'm able to help spread awareness on all this. Learning how awful the radqueer community is is a difficult journey to do alone, and it takes a lot of time and energy, which is why I decided to help other former radqueers out as best as I can.

#from the inbox #anti radqueer #former radqueer #anti transid #anti transage #anti transx #anti transautistic #anti trace #ex radqueer #anti transabled #recovering radqueer

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justalittleconfusing · 3 months

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I take personal offense to all the hate Taylor is getting and I have no where to spew this so here goes un edited.

1) she is not political enough post Ms America documentary.

Response: this woman performed soon you get better during CoVID. She cast a trans Man as her love interest in the track one music video of midnights!!! She donates time and money to causes (with and without publicity). She is political through her ACTIONS not tweets.

2) she is too successful to be hinder being a white woman

Response: this one is hard for me. I am a successful white woman. I was actively hindered. I didn’t know I was good at math (as someone with an advanced degree and 15+ year career in data analytics AND IS AN MBA PROFESSOR TEACHING DATA) until I was 37. Let that sink in. My entire 1990s-2000s existences so much of my life models were ditzy girls who were hot or brainy nerds who had no social interaction skills and nothing in between. For every Elle Woods we had the American Pie franchise. We were told we had to “have it all” with no road map how to be the manic pixie dream girl, size zero, interesting but not intimidating, play in your space but never the men’s space, mother and counselor while never admitting our pain and every other version we are trapped in.

The deck is stacked. We can be ahead of the curve and then the curve suddenly becomes a sphere. And she gives us space to figure out how to do and create for ourselves and not just others.

3) she only talks about her exes and makes her money off tarnishing others reputations

Response: people hurt people. Women of my age don’t always have permission from society to acknowledge that hurt. Those of us who are the “pathological people pleasers” those of us who have conditions on being loved with how we act, what we produce, what we give others. We don’t have much of a voice. Why is Taylor so popular for me? Because she tells me being alone isn’t the worst thing in the world. Being “on your own kid” and making mistakes that make people leave you, you can still be true to yourself.

Also, her obsession with girlhood. How many of us grew up during the purity ring craze. Where exploring our sexuality and urges was just for men. Where we were madonnas or whores. Where men had to “trick us” into engaging in sex and if we wanted it we were objects to be used.

Give me back my girlhood. This idea is innocence and being unclean. Surviving sexual assault and recovering what love looks like after. Women our age didn’t grow up with the idea we don’t have to consent. And if we don’t consent and things happen that is sexual assault. We didn’t have words to put the feelings of being gaslit or abused in place. Taylor gives us that vocabulary. She teaches us to explore the feelings of being hurt and how to heal. She teaches us to feel wide ranges of emotions and say what those feelings are. And it’s ok. Sadness and Joy can be friends.

Overall feelings synopsis: sometimes, we forget, that white women of a certain age, while we do have a lot of privilege, we still have societal expectations stacked against us. A Karen had morphed from being a racist woman who uses white privilege to call the police to hurt people of color to a woman my age who has blonde shorter hair who is annoying to men. We are belittled for feelings beyond being happy. We get mansplained when we try to say we are angry, disappointed, hurt, violated, so many more feelings!

Taylor represents us. She represents our glitter and fountain pens. Our love of frivolous and deep pain. We can embrace all facets of ourselves and still be brilliant minds.

I adore her and am eternally grateful for every word she has written, sung, advocated for, and performed. She taught me to accept myself, advocate, pursue a sexual assault case, USE MY VOICE.

Also, as a sexual assault survivor, watching half the country elevate people like Kavanaugh and Trump. She is my hope.

To Taylor!

#taylor swift fixes everything #taylor swift eras #taylor swift #taylornation

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cookiewoli · 7 months

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INSOMNIA, HERE I AM AT 3AM WWEEEEOOOOOO let's cry together mate

It always pissed me off to hear people saying "There's no reason for your trauma. It's not that bad, you're overreacting" when I say that October-november-december are really hard periods for me, especially with CPTSD. People don't get what CPTSD is when they're saying "Turn the page. It's over. Don't think about it anymore, it's the past"

Okay, please open your Google navigator and search what CPTSD is.

The principle of CPTSD is that you can't escape your past, and you keep reliving it. To be simple.

STORY TELLING

TRIGGER WARNING ↓

Haha, okay it's past, I agree with it. "Trying to forget ?" More of 16 years of abuse ? Close your eyes on all the scars visible on your body, that will stay forever ?

Okay, go ahead, try to live with flashback and nightmares all the time.

Making nightmares remembered you the day where your mother kidnapped you. The day your dad tried to threw you through the window. The evening where your mother told you "Kill yourself. My life will be better without you. Nobody cares about you" while dragging you to the balcony.

Try to imagine living everyday with the fear that the people who abused you (for me, whole mother family, and especially mother and grandma) came for you and take you away from your actual life.

This is the nightmare I have the most. The nightmare that my mom and grandma catch me and take me back home. To a place I could never escape anymore. That fear get worse when my grandma came right in front of my house, spamming the bell. I don't remember what happened after, but my fiance and his friends here said that I was totally "gone", dissociated for hours.

Try to live when a little casual thing is a trigger for you. One of my biggest trigger is feeling cold. Yeah, it can be seems dumb and people are often laughing "lmaaao bUt iT's nOt a triGgeR wArNinG iF you'Re fEeliNG coLD iT haPpeN tO eVeryOne" but people are always judging you before knowing the whole story. Want to hear a good one ? Ah shit, here we go again, trigger warning ↓

I'm glad to not be often sick. Maybe twice per year, or not at all. Thanks to it, I would be already dead. I will explain why.

When I have a cold, my mother has her "own method" to heal. I wasn't understanding her method with me, because it's not the same that when it's her who is sick.

The worse was when I was sick during winter. Cuz yeah, most of the time, you're getting a cold during this season.

My mother was locking me into my bedroom. Naked. Without eating. The radiator off, and the window wide open, when it was less than 0°C outside. Imagine being lock into a freezer to simplify. Her explanation ? "To weaken the illness, you have to weaken yourself." 'To make the fever down, you have to be as cold as possible." But when it was her who was sick, she was laying under a big blanket, watching movies, drinking hot tea an eating a good meal and then takes a hot bath.

But you know what was the worst part ? It's not feeling like meat in the frozen section of the supermarket.

She was leaving the blanket into my bedroom. Right at my feet, clearly into my sideview. But she was telling me "If I'm coming in, and see you under the blanket, even just your toe, you will regret it."

And bam, she lock the door. I was not allowed to curl up in a ball. Because it can produce heat. She was coming to check that I was lying on my back. Just like a dead body at the mortuary.

I can't explain how does it feel to be trapped into this freezer. At the beginning, you can't help shivering from the cold. Sometimes you bite your tongue because you're shaking too much.You try to imagine yourself into a hot desert, but I can swear to you that it doesn't work at all.

After 1 hour, when you're watching your skin, it's kind of blue-purple. But you're not feeling anything anymore. I was feeling like into a dead body. So I was pinching very hard my arm, or self harming deeply to check if I was still alive. But you're don't ever feel the physical pain anymore. Just your psychological pain. You're feeling so, so, so cold, and the blanket is right in front of you. But you're not allowed to use it. It was the hardest part for me. Watching this fucking blanket, and hear my mom laughing when watching a movie in the living room and probably eating something tasty.

All you can do is cry all the tears from your body, feel your stomach crying out and then sleep. Times goes by so quickly, and you're loosing your sense of time. What time is it ? What day is it ? How many times am I trapped here ? At the end, you're opening your eyes for 5min and then fell asleep for several hours.

But at the end, just before dying probably, my mother was coming into my bedroom and threw me pills in the face. "You can't even heal yourself without my help. Pitiful.€

Thanks to this experience I lived several time, I have a BIG immunity to cold. Like an idiot, I'm going out with a tee-shirt and a skirt during winter when it's 5°C outside without feeling anything. But when I'm feeling cold, sometimes, I recall this memory as if I were there again. You remember the physical pain of your stomach growling, the psychological suffering, the hard desire to hide under the blanket, and the fear of see your mother coming into your room.

So I want to scream stfu to people laughing at me when I say that feeling cold is a big trigger warning. Stop judging people on their trauma. All people are different. A trauma that seems "not that bad" for you can be a big pain for someone else. And most of all AOZKDNFIAKA STOP COMPARING YOUR TRAUMA TO OTHERS, like "yeAh bUt I liVeD tHis, iT's wOrsE tHan yOu, so yoU doN't hAvE to coMplaiN abOuT yOuR trAuMa bEcausE it'S noThinG cOmparEd to miNe"

Remember that your trauma is valid. You have the right to suffer. It's not "not that bad" even if people are keeping saying this to you. Your trauma is YOUR trauma. People don't have the right to tell you how to feel about it. It's okay to feel pain. It's okay to remember the past. You have to get through it to be able to heal.

Drawing : avogado6

#now i will try to sleep #insomnia my bff #trauma story #cptsd #trauma survivor #mental health breakdown lmao #mental health

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bellafragolina · 2 years

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Angst Anon

So you have chosen Ingo.

Interesting.

May I ask for a continuation where the reader is still reeling from the abuse? That they mentally still believes that they are still trapped? Comfort is given.

You sure can! Fair warning, this is my interpretation of what the lingering effects of the vague situation I wrote in the previous post, here.

🍓🍓🍓

Ingo adores that you're now with him. You never have to worry about harm again. Ingo is there to love you, and Emmet quickly came to love you too, when you cooed over his Joltiks. However, he knows that simply removing you from your abusers won't erase their affect on you.

It's obvious in the way you walk like one false step will set you off. How you flinch from Emmet's more energetic movements, how you look so guilty whenever you make a mistake. You broke a plate once, and nearly went into hysterics as you apologized, over and over, despite the brothers both assuring you that you weren't in any trouble, nor danger of being struck.

Ingo observes you carefully as you offer your hand to Crustle, small slices of carrots from the stew your making in your palm. Crustle scampers forward, eagerly eating the snacks from your hand. You smile, and give soft praise to the Pokémon, before noticing Ingo's stare.

You fire upright, paled. "I-I'm sorry, was that not good for him?"

Ingo quickly stands as well, walking towards you slowly with his arms open, welcoming. "You don't need to apologize." You quickly step into his embrace, melting into his warmth. "You are not in danger here."

"I know." You whisper. "It's hard to break old habits."

"I know." Ingo replies. He kisses you cheek, taking a moment to breath you in. "I love you, and I will wait a life time if it means helping you heal."

"I love you too." You say, breathless. Ingo holds you tighter. "I do, I love you so much. I love you."

"What about me!?" Emmet's exclamation makes you break apart. Emmet pouts at you. "Can I have a hug?"

You giggle, and wipe your eyes with a nod. "C'mere, Em."

Emmet quickly hurries over, embracing you from behind while Ingo returns to hugging you from the front. The brothers sandwich you between them, leaving you laughing and flushed. Ingo kisses you forehead, and looks to his twin.

The two share a silent nod. They'll do anything to protect you, and they'll make sure you know how you're loved. No matter what it takes.

🍓🍓🍓

I don't want to go into too much detail and risk talking about something I'm not qualified about, so it's a little shorter. I'm sorry! I hope you like it, though. Have a wonderful night, love!!

~Renee

#ingo x reader #warden ingo x reader #submas x reader #pokemon imagines #pokemon x reader #angst anon

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sweetbunnykook · 1 year

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Hey so I know you’ve just come back from a long break and you have so so many asks to get through but I just wanted to say that your work is actually changing my life.

So a few months ago at work, we got this temporarily promoted coworker who only slotted in to my level because we were so understaffed. I’m nice to the kid because he seems shy with the other women in my department, and we’re closest in age and both fluent in English. He warms up quickly and then the weirdest thing happens. We pass by each other and he flashes a smile and smt in me is reminded of OY JK. Not kook himself, but specifically OY jk. At this point he hasn’t done anything alarming, but there’s a gut alarm going off in me and I cannot shake the image of OY jk out. After that, I’m still friendly, but I stay on high alert, dropping discouraging hints when I can, and avoiding hanging out with him alone.

Then, like two days later, things start escalating like crazy. He finds my number from the company payroll and texts me constantly, expecting me to respond immediately and accusing me of being angry at him when I don’t respond for ten minutes. He offers to do things for me but then turns around and guilt trips me with it, and gets crazy mood swings whenever he senses me “rejecting” him in any way. Ofc I’m terrified and frustrated, but I also want to stay professional and give him the benefit of the doubt that he’s just immature and lonely. I also just tend to take the path of least resistance, so normally I would just pretend everything’s fine and placate him more to avoid upsetting him.

BUT because he set off some OY alarm in me, I was like “ok I have to shut this shit down fast before I get in the habit of shifting my boundaries for him.” And persisted with setting boundaries and letting my friends know what was going on, so that if anything happened, police would know where to search. I managed to keep things professional while never being somewhere alone with him, and blocked his ass fast after his time in our department was over.

I know that when we explore taboo/toxic/dubcon/noncon themes in literature/art it can be hard to toe that line of exploration and condoning that behavior. Most women who write about and consume these themes have been victimized by it before, so I always saw it as a way to heal and take control back, to spread awareness and highlight these red flags while being completely safe. Still, there’s a stigma about all the media in these genres encouraging and condoning toxic, abusive behavior. Even for authors who know they are intending the exact opposite, with creative work, there’s always going to be some anxiety about not being able to control how others interpret your work and your intentions. So I just wanted to let you know that your work—how vividly you’re able to capture OY jk and the others in all their flaws, idiosyncrasies, subtle and overt manipulations, intentions, and mindsets—has given me the ability to instinctively spot red flags much quicker, and the determination to not let myself get trapped in them again.

I still love your fucked up characters and I’ll still joke about wanting an attentive bf like OY jk on hard days, but I know better irl. I just thought it might be worth something to you to know that you’re one of the authors who can explore these themes in a way that keeps their readers safer, instead of grooming them to fall for these traps. I seriously don’t know when this super oddly specific OY jk alert system got installed in me, but I’m very thankful for it. Thanks for keeping me safe, and I hope the people you choose to keep in your life are doing the same for you ❤️

I have read this ask in my inbox many times and I can finally answer. Thank you so much for supporting OY and also for recognizing that my stories are purely fantasy. In real life, these situations are extremely dangerous to the point that it can become often times life-threatening. I can't say enough how proud I am of you for recognizing the red flags and cutting this man off immediately. This is the kind of impact every writer hopes to have on their readers.

Thank you so much for sharing, for your insight, and your understanding of how dark stories are useful for women like us. I hope you are staying safe!

#ask bunny

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travajoke01 · 1 year

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It took me days to finish. Second pic is a more casual outfit. Anyway, here’s my rottmnt OC Chimera Solbritt and she’s a bombyx. Aaaaaand also she’s a witch (i’m almost sorry for Donnie). Really hate that we saw so little of witches and furthermore they were not so.....thrilling. I’m not a good writer, so i’ll just throw out some facts about her and backstory. Maybe my headcanon will make creators and nickelodeon so angry that they’ll decide to continue the show just to prove me wrong.

So this little cutie has problems with her family (on account of them being killed) and were took in by Big Mama and trained by her aunty, so her english is better, otherwise that would be a disaster.

BM took her as last favor to her friend (a witch), trying not to dig Chimy into her illegal business too much,but girl would peak her nose once in a while (she’s a real fan of true crime, how could she miss something like that?).

She’s a product of love of a human (scientist) and yokai (witch), whose bond was a problem for the witch’s town by itself, and a reason of their demise. Chimera was thought to be dead too,but she was teleported by her papá along with Bee (little robotic head next to her),who was supposed to be her nanny,but became a life-long companion.He recorded some things from the crime scene, including her father’s goodbye and face of the killer.

Unfortunately,it took some time to reach her mother (she was in the witch town currently, while dad was above), and since she had no idea her daughter was alive, she took the poison to avoid being forcefully married. Basically, it was a butterfly trap. Her sister,Venus, was there to witness this,but she couldn’t blame her. Bee arrived just in time to reveal the truth and record mother’s advise to stay away from the killer.

Knowing that Mira (yep,I want a dark side of familiar characters in this plot,because I do not trust this lady), would want her own granddaughter dead, Venus knew that girl cannot stay, so by the advice of her Cimy’s mother, she took her to the hotel, sneaking there once in a while to teach her and tell stories of her parents.

Unfortunately, the rebellious spirit didn’t let this little bombyx to let it go. Besides, she needed more magical knowledge, she needed to enroll in the academy to study. So,one day, when she was about 10 y.o. the “miracle” happened, and the long lost granddaughter returned to “her home”. Of course Mira was playing the victim, crying and telling that both of her parents died in the accident from one of their experiments.(those damn scientists can’t do anything right).

It was hard for Chimy to hide the fact of knowing the truth,and she never felt safe in Mira’s home when she visited, but she played along,hiding the repulsion to the touch and liars. Especially, when you see Gentry has the attention and magic lessons Chimy needs, and that’s after all “i love you\i missed you”. But i guess having the half of capabilities of others-it is how it is. Or maybe Mira didn’t trust the bombyx just as much.

Long story short,Chimy was never enough for Mira,never capable enough,eventually,she gave up on teaching my girl. Probably for the best, she was quite an abusing teacher,like many of them in the scool. Is it too dumb to want to be loved by your grandmother and teachers and still hate them?

So to begin her way to the top properly, Chimera had do enlarge the amount of magic she can hold\produce, call it mana if you want. Before that, to learn magic ways properly, she had to use her staff\umbrella with Bee on the end, potions and elixirs, particularly healing ones. Quite a useful buddy this Bee, after all,a creation of magic AND science.

Scool days weren’t exactly easy,from the one hand, because she enrolled in the collective that was already formed and got used to each other,from the other hand, because Chimera was mostly looking humanish, the only things visibly telling that she is certainly not a human were her little wings,teeth,eyes and ears. She’s not unusual enough to blend in with yokai, and way too unusual to blend in with humans. Her fluff, retractable arms, spots and colour, the size of her wings were developed during all these years,heck, even the silk wasn’t always the thing.All of that made it only harder to get used to, clumsy and insecure. You can’t say she was bullied necessarily,but she’s never felt being a part of community. It definitely affected her social anxiety. By the end of scool she got 2 close friends, then the group rose to 5.

Being tired of this buzz of thoughts and failures in her head she quitted the scool and embarked on her little adventure outside the New York, (approximately during the time of season 1-2 and the movie) travelled to the temple where she learned wind and light as an elemental attack and empowered her dark magic, and enlarged her mana.

Coming back to NY, she had to pass an exam to show her progress in magic, which wasn’t a problem for her this time even without the umbrella, but she changed her form of education to distance learning, cause really she found out more useful things for her outside the scool.

FACTS TIME

second and third pair of arms are retractable. First pair,normal skin, second-fluffy, third-more like a chitin, they’re thinner than the other pairs. Her height is actually about Mikey’s, but since she’s walking on her “tiptoes” (it’s more comfortable bc of her bone structure) she appears to be higher.

produces silk, uses it to create a rought terrain,to catch, to make a shield from lightning damage or to crochet.

umbrella has planetary signs and on the top is a sun sign

her bailiwick is dark magic mostly (such things as hypnosis, darkness based harm\destruction spells,illusions,curses, mind control (uses her threads to make sort of puppet) and so on), but she tries to learn all kinds of elementary essence attack spells (darkness, light, wind, fire, ice, thunder) and combine them into new spells.

has bags under her eyes,mostly because she stays up late, her sleep schedule is a mess. Partially because she couldn’t fall asleep in Mira’s home due to feeling unsafe, partially because she just likes staying up late and doing hobbies, with all that learning there’s should be time for fun, right? After meeting the Mad Dogs, she could spend several nights without sleeping learning\practicing spells or looking for a particular one that they need.

in a fight she will aim to hurt badly,but won’t kill, so you could “remember it and fear”,at least thats how she presents it (in reality she’s probably too soft for that and won’t cross the line,unless she absolutely has to and there’s no other way). Her main energy is anger, but the cold one. Even though that shows her as insensitive, she’s very emotional towards animals and animated little creatures (like robots),probably because she feels they are weaker and has an instinct to protect them. Same goes for allies, but maybe with less tears,cause they can handle themselves.

doesn’t like any physical touch if whe doesn’t like\know you. For some reason, this sometimes irritating, orange masked turtle grew fast on her...maybe her shell is getting thinner. (they’re totally besties, she freaking loves Dr. Delicate touch)

They also share a hobby with Mickey-drawing. Also she crochets, makes press on nails by herself, watches true crime videos, destroys the patriarchy, u know, girl stuff

uses her wings for DAZZLING and casting(it’s absolutely extra), more than for flying, because that would be an easy target and not as fast as a staff and magical means. Besides, she’s a bombyx, they generally can barely fly,so it’s more a soaring situation and a great base for teasing in school. At least she looks great and won’t take any falling damage. So she uses umbrella for fast travel\dodging or teleportation.

She considers incident in witch town very amusing (Donnie vs witch town),considering her tense relationship with this place. Especially after Mira turned down her offer of destroying the beast for good with another potion or a dark spell that Chimera has been tinkering with. Not because of the lack of practise, but because it would damage her reputation as a mayor, since she’s not the one who came up with that.

She genuinely finds Donnie entertaining. Her reaction to his noises and attempts to be a mad scientist is pretty much the same as Luz’s reaction to King (like: awww he steppet his wittle foot~) Does it irritate him? Very much. But at least they both have a theme to infodump (science and magic) and they cannot understand eachother, which is a new experience for Donnie, to be in his brothers’ shoes. But she actually supports Donnie and tries to listen, though rarely understands terminology.

Giggles almost everytime boys have an argument (if it’s not very life threatening situation or it’s a real time to be serious)

She likes Raph’s roughness combined with his sweetness. She would totally crochet smth for him.

Leo is the one she shows her new press on nails first. They should totally hit the mall together,even though she will be a lil shy and self-conscious

April is a kind of friend she always wanted, she can tell her about her press on nails with the same interest as about true crime (and learn smth new from April). She would also teach her magic too or escort her somewhere she could learn it.

She has a good developed emotional intelligence but rather from a logical point of view, like “ofc they do not know they’ve hurt u, they’re not u, but if they did it on purpose and u found out about it-ditch them, u deserve better that that”. Also, she’s a crybaby, but hates showing strong emotions like crying in public, cause it makes her feel weak. True crime actually made her more mentally strong.

She tells “failing is okay” to smbd mostly to absorb it herself, because she knows exactly how they feel in this moment and know she has the same problem, she will try to comfort them with the words she would like to hear. But it’s only if she cares for you, otherwise you can jump off a roof and she’ll be like “do a flip”.

She’s an introvert and she needs to “recharge” every once in a while to avoid being overwhelmed. Otherwise she’ll be a real buzzkill.

Totally infodumps boys about serial killers and true crime stuff, Donnie finds it fascinating and takes notes, Mikey listens, a lil concerned. Raph and Leo ARE DEFINATELY CONCERNED.

Greets u with “Supies~” and it irritates Don-Don (that does too) because it’s not a real word

She hates dancing,because she hates embarrassment. But somehow Donnie takes it personally and insists on dancing lessons from him ofc. She says yes just to het him out of her hair,but he takes it seriously. Somehow it’s fun with him, even though very awkward at first,anf now she even can make other spells that she couldn’t. Oh wow.

eyesight isn’t that great,because of the destruction of the place, alongside with her father’s demise, she got a slight head injury, so now her eyes are +1 and -1.5, but because of the tension her “minus” eye can be more tired, which brings headaches and more work to the “plus” eye,so glasses prevent it from going too bad and stabilise the picture,without them it’s a little blurry.

learns spanish

sings when she’s nervous

slight anger issues

All for now, maybe i’ll remember anything later

#rise of the tmnt #rottmnt oc #save rottmnt #digital oc art #oc #digital art #digital artist #new artist #new art #artists on tumblr #rise of tmnt oc #chimera rottmnt

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