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#that time i traumatized everyone

densewentz · 6 months

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i think the turning point in my life both academically and professionally was realizing that. If you Go First, be it a presentation or an interview or whatever. If you go first, you are being judged based on NOTHING but yourself. They aren't comparing you to anyone else, you don't have an act to "follow". You are the Bar. You can literally just do the best you can and at that point it will automatically be the best they've seen so far. And once you're done you're done. You can mentally and emotionally check out.

Game changer insofar as being stressed about presenting because now I just bulldoze over everyone else to go first like a feral hog.

#its true though #all my anxiety about presentations got reduced SIGNIFICANTLY once I started fighting to be first #its Good Advice #this actually especially applies to people with unfinished work like #girl you do not want to watch 9 people with complete presentations go and then give your speech #just jump on that grenade early before they've had time to be impressed by anyone #and the fallout wont be NEARLY as bad #and then its over right away #also if youre a smug petty bitch like me #you can absolutely blow the performance out of the water #and bask in the absolutely traumatized expressions of everyone who has to go after you now #if im gonna be the bar im going to set it at the ceiling #sorry #so i guess the next lesson is you have to fight to be before Me and those Like Me #rip

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marsconer · 4 months

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i hate how this fandom treats calypso. like we know why percy forgot about his promise, we know all of this but she doesn’t. she’s trapped in a island with no sense of time and when a hero she loves promised her he would free her, all she knows is that he didn’t when she was naive enough to believe he would. and about the curse, girls are allowed to have nasty cruel thoughts and the way some people expected percy to act around her is really telling to how they see his character.

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keys-hellscape-1020 · 10 months

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Yeet.

A/N: this is just pure word vomit. I’m so sorry. The title is SO bad but I was giggling so hard when I wrote it. Also this is literally so fucking self-indulgent.

Summary: Spider-People have a sixth sense. This is common knowledge to anyone who intimately knows one. What you didn’t know however was that it can occasionally misinterpret intentions, leading to disastrous results.

Hobie Brown x gn!Reader

Contents: No use of Y/N, anxiety mentions, reader gets full on thrown through a window, reader dissociates (symptoms of dissociation are described in depth), reader gets injured, angst, hurt/comfort

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It was mid-afternoon, the sun starting to lower towards the sky-line as you hauled your bags back from the grocery store. It wasn’t a long walk, not by any means, by the bags were heavy with ingredients for dinner and the sun was at the perfect angle to shine in your eye.

As you dragged yourself through the lobby of your apartment you could feel your heart flutter at the gentle vibration of your phone in your pocket. Hobie must be telling you that he entered through the window. How you longed to see him, today had been impossibly long and he had a subtle way of making everything better.

As you shuffled your way into the elevator, smacking the button awkwardly with your elbow, you impatiently watched as you rose through the levels of your apartment building.

It felt like a century. But eventually you were met with the sweet ding of the elevator reaching the correct floor. You dragged yourself one last time out of the elevator and down the hall, however instead of the sound of sweet guitar cords you were met with silence.

You anxiously creep down the hallway. When Hobie comes over he always plays his guitar loud enough for the whole floor to hear. As annoying as it was to your neighbors you couldn’t find it in you to ask him to stop, the sweet melody melting the stress right off your bones.

You somehow manage to mangle your key out of your pocket without putting anything down, and as soon as you’re inside you’re dropping your groceries without a care in the world and pulling out your phone.

As you unlock it your worst fear is confirmed, it was Hobie texting you alright. Him not playing his guitar almost certainly meant something was horribly wrong. To make matters worst Hobie had said he had a “surprise” for you. That made the anxiety in your stomach twist even harder, the idea of one of Hobie’s many enemies capturing him, or using you to get to him sparking to life in your mind.

You leave the door to your apartment open a crack, just incase you need to run, and creep down the hallway. The door to your bedroom is open just a crack, and light is spilling out of your room, causing you to hold your breath as you creep closer.

You perch on your toes, hoping to decrease the chance of someone hearing you as you near the door, hands posed at your side, ready to fight for your life or run as fast as your legs could carry you at a moments notice.

You lean on the door frame and push the door open another few inches using the side of your foot, holding your breath as the hinges let out a loud squeak.

When you don’t hear any immediate threats coming from inside the room you carefully shift your weight forward, gripping the door frame like it would keep you from harm.

You feel your heart leap with relief as you see not one of Hobie’s enemies, but Hobie himself. He’s sitting in your desk chair, facing the closed window. He has his guitar in his hands, but that is not what stands out to you. Instead what stands out is the pair of headphones on his head, forcing his wicks out of the way in a messy way that shows he has not taken much care when placing them on his head in the first place.

You scrunch your nose in delight at the comical sight and decide that some teasing is in order, after the near heart attack he gave you.

You creep forward, your movements reminding you of a cat as a Cheshire grin grows on your face. You still completely when you’re in pouncing distance and you see Hobie’s finger still on his guitar strings. A small cue, but one that indicated you’re plan would be foiled if you didn’t attack right… Now!

You pounce forward, you barely feel your nails scrap the thread of Hobie’s shirt before a firm force is pressing on your stomach, pushing you up and over yourself.

You can barely breath, a second and an eternity pass as you crash through the air.

You don’t think you’ve ever hit anything as hard as you just did.

The top of your head and one of your shoulders feel the crunch of the impact first, but it does nothing to slow your movements as your thighs crumple downwards you, and then past you still.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that you’re falling.

Not that you had a long time to realize.

You didn’t realize that you had the instinct to face the ground. Was that something that was impeded in every human? Or were you simply privy to this trait as you saw your boyfriend leap through the air on a near daily basis?

Whatever the cause, your descent is stopped by the feeling of something pulling on your back. It reminds you of how a bully would pull on your backpack in middle school, only if the bully was a double-decker bus instead of a 12 year old.

Your internal debate on the nature of 12-year-old assholes is stopped as you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you in through the cracked frame of a window.

You didn’t remember being pulled in the wrong way through the air. Traveling in reverse. But it would be impossible to forget Hobie’s face staring at you with as much concern as you’ve ever seen on it, eyes wide and almost glassy.

You can feel the tightness of his grip on your shoulders, and you’re sure his fingerprints will be imprinted in your skin. You can see his mouth moving quickly but you can’t hear his voice.

You look vaguely at the busted window frame, the wood is cracked and splintering in nearly a hundred places. You fear your landlords reaction when he sees that. How are you going to explain it?

You feel Hobie gently brushing your forehead with his thumb, pulling you from your thoughts. You look down and see small specks of glass, almost like glitter, dusting your lap. You raise a hand to your head and it comes back a deep vermilion, you swear it sparks the same as that damned glitter.

You feel Hobie’s hand on your cheek, turning your eyes towards him.

“You with me?” Hobie’s eyes are large and concerned, troubled brows peering at you.

You can barely find the strength to make eye contact, mind still far off, falling through the atmosphere, clouds catching in your throat.

You feel Hobie’s firm thumb on your cheek, consistent pressure pulling your mind back down to earth.

“Hey now. Focus on me.”

You blink a few times, and slowly feel your bones becoming solid once more. You can hear the traffic out the window, Hobie’s breathing, feel the warmth of blood on your head. You find your chest naturally matching the rhythm of Hobie’s as he breathes deeply, prompting you to copy him.

You go to reach up to your head once more, intent of seeing how bad your injury is, but Hobie grabs your wrist and pulls your hand back down.

He stares at you for an intense moment before he scoops you up bridal style, being so incredibly gentle as he stands.

“Let’s get you cleaned up Luv.” He sounds more quite and subdued then you have ever heard him. He walks oh so gently, slow and smooth so as not to bump or jostle you.

He sits you down on the counter of the bathroom gently, and pulls a first-aid kit out from under the sink. Typically it is you patching him up after patrol, looks like the tables have turned this time.

He works in utter silence. His first mission is staunching the wound on your head. It’s no where near the point of requiring stitches, it had simply bleed a lot as head wounds are prone to doing. He cleans the wound efficiently, and before you know it the wound is hidden by a thick, white bandage on your forehead.

The rest of your wounds are thankfully small, and don’t take much treatment. After a few wipes from a damp cloth and some Neosporin your wounds are treated. The only evidence that still prove the incident occurred recently is your blood stained clothing.

Hobie stays in the same spot he was in as he treated your wounds, hovering almost. His normally large presence has shrunk and if your didn’t know better you’d say he was trying to hide himself away from you.

You are staring at your hands, finding your fingers very interesting as the intense silence clouds the air, closing in around your throat you want to say something to break it, but your throat chokes in on itself as soon as you open it.

“I’m sorry.”

Hobie looks so small as he whispers those words to you. His hands are ghosts on your thighs, you can feel him, but you’ve never felt so separated from him. He eyes the tile of the bathroom and you can practically see him beating himself up, pulling away from you in a belligerent attempt to protect you.

You gently place a hand on his cheek and turn his face towards yours, forcing him to look at you. “I don’t blame you.”

“I know.”

“I still trust you.”

He glanced away from you briefly, and blinks aggressively like he’s fighting off tears. “Are you sure you should?”

Instead of a verbal response you take one of his hands from your thigh and guide it your head, setting the tips of his fingers right on the thick bandage that lays there. “This is proof that you care. That it was an accident and we both regret it. I trust you with my life.”

He suddenly lurches forward, pulling you into his body with a sob. You hold him gently as he cries into you, rubbing his back comfortingly, letting him feel his emotions and let them out.

You have no idea how long you sat there on your bathroom counter, blood stained clothing as you try to piece back together the broken pieces of your boyfriend without any words. But none were needed.

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adrift-in-thyme · 8 days

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Here it is! The fairy Time fic I promised. Be warned, it is extremely fluffy

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It is a quiet night.

Time is always grateful for those. They are in short supply on this journey, too often interrupted by the rise of the cursed Blood Moon or an outburst of beasts from under the cover of foliage. But tonight, the moon is tranquil and golden and the surrounding bushes and trees conceal nothing except chattering critters.

The heroes have settled around the fire, and are trading lazy quips. The occasional tale sneaks in between them, which quickly becomes a competition to see who has endured the more exciting experience.

Time doesn’t normally make a habit of joining in. He is content to remain just outside the conversation, close enough to comment if necessary, but far enough to merely listen. Such peace and joy are precious things – as precious as every moment spent by Malon’s side – and they surround him like a warm blanket.

Tonight, however, that wonderful feeling is making it rather difficult to remain awake.

It doesn’t help that the healing spells he had cast in the aftermath of today’s battle have left him feeling drained. With the traveler down and their potions used up, he had had little choice but to act. And he doesn’t regret it in the least. But that doesn’t negate the fact that healing magic has never been his strong suit.

Every fae possesses the power, yet not all have the strength to employ it in such a measure as he had today. Healing is a delicate act. It requires attentiveness and care, dedication and focus. He had poured all of that and more into his spells, used his heart and mind, his soul to heal his brothers’ wounds and save their lives. And in the moments afterward…had collapsed.

He is fortunate his brothers had been there to catch him. Too many times before he learned his limit, this weakness had spelled his doom. He has scars on his wings to prove it.

Still, he is practically useless, even now after the impromptu nap. He feels dried up and hollowed out, limbs heavy with the same exhaustion that drags his eyelids downward. And though he would normally protest at least a little at the prospect of staying in his current position, he cannot dredge up the will to do so.

So, here he remains, curled up on his side on Wind’s lap, Warriors’ scarf a silken cocoon about his body, one giant wing draped over him like a comforter.

He shifts with a small sigh. The sailor giggles, ever amazed at his fairy form, and reaches out to run a finger over Time’s wings. He is gentle, careful in every movement. Still, Time is a bit surprised at the lack of the fear that usually bubbles up whenever anyone touches him in this form.

He has had too many injuries, too many close calls with death or worse. They have made him wary. But he trusts the sailor. Wind is nothing if not kind.

He is safe here.

The knowledge hits him harder than any monster blow.

You are safe here.

Something breathtakingly warm wells up in him at that thought, similar to the feeling he has been basking in since he awakened, yet unique all the same.

“Alright, old man?” A soft voice asks, now, and Time pries open the eye he hadn’t even registered closing. Warriors grins down at him.

Time’s soft hum quickly dissolves into a blissful sigh as the captain tucks him more securely into his bed of softness. He allows his eye to slide shut again, his body to relax more fully. He allows the sensations and sounds to envelop him, surround him in warmth and comfort. To pull him down into blessed darkness once more.

“He’s adorable like this,” Wind says, his noisy whisper breaking through the haze. Another giddy giggle bursts forth from him like gurgling water.

“He is, isn’t he?” It’s Twilight now. Time can imagine the dirt-eating grin on his face, the same one that spreads across Malon’s when she beats him in yet another race around the pasture. “Though I doubt he wants us calling him that.”

There’s a pause, then in a disapproving whisper-yell, “and he definitely doesn’t want that. Put that slate of yours away, champion!”

There is the distinct sound of a camera snapping a photograph. Laughter ripples through the group like the wind through the trees.

“When he kills you all, don’t come running to me,” Twilight says, though there’s laughter in his voice too.

Traitors, Time thinks, lazily, all of them.

“Oh, come on, Twi. Look at him! He wouldn’t hurt us! Not like this anyway.”

“Then, you haven’t gotten a good look at his wings,” Legend pipes up, drily. “They’ve got eyes on them, you know.”

“Ooh.” Time can feel Wind’s breath ghosting him as the boy leans down to get a closer look. “I wonder if they make up for the one he lost. I’ll bet he can see us through ‘em!”

If Time wasn’t quite so tired (or finding this quite so exasperatingly comical) he would correct that assumption. But then again, what’s the harm in allowing a little rumor like that to spread and strike some healthy fear into the hearts of his would-be blackmailers?

“Come on guys.” Warriors’ voice rises above the hushed clamor of the others, all bickering about Time’s ability, or lack thereof to watch them through his wings. “He’s exhausted. Let him sleep.”

The heroes try to quiet, though their efforts are about as successful as Time suspected they would be. Whispers and barely stifled laughter continue to weave their way gallantly through the night.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

…though a few more telltale clicks of Wild’s slate cement his decision to play a prank on him as soon as he regains his strength.

“He’s so small,” someone murmurs, now as the hubbub begins to subside, sleepiness getting the best of even the most energetic among them. Sky, Time’s mind slowly supplies, putting a face to the voice that wafts gently around him. “To think, he healed us all while in that form…”

“Something you get to know very quickly about Sprite is that size doesn’t bother him,” Warriors replies, fondness in his tone. “Even as a kid, he could take out groups of monsters much larger than what we faced today.”

Sky chuckles, soft and almost sad. Time is too far gone to decipher why.

But he can’t deny the sudden rush of warmth when the chosen hero whispers, “thank you…little one.” And when, in the next moment, Sky ghosts a finger over the very tip of his wings, Time is unafraid beneath his touch.

He drifts off not long afterward to the sound of tired murmurs, the crackling of the campfire, and a soft song played upon an ocarina, the notes drifting up toward the moon.

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notpercieved · 26 days

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Sometimes i think about the fact that Jing Yuan has no one he can lean onto and be completely vulnerable, you know those situations of "i look for an adult, but it turns out im the adult" situations? Thats him

Im not saying he has no companions, he does, old and new, but there always feels like a gap inbetween them, a bridge no one nor him wants to cross, either its from his fear of losing more people in his life without realizing or his title as a general

His position doesnt help him in that aspect either, because if the people sees their leader waver it would shatter the trust, he always has to be multiple steps ahead all the time and put a front that he knows what hes doing no matter if he does or doesnt

Hes not alone, and yet he keeps everyone at arms length, surely itd get lonely eventually?

#EVERYONE LEANS ON HIM BUT WHO DOES HE LEAN TO #He constantly putting everyones needs above his own #then when will he truly be content #hes comfortablr but is he truly content #jing yuan #honkai star rail #ramble #brainrot #its so incredibly lonely to be him #i like to believe hed slowly learn to be more open though but itd prob take him literal amber eras lol #let him be happy please hoyo #he deserves a break and retirement #hes so deeply traumatized but doesnt have the time to unpack it so he keeps it hidden and let it be lost to time #LET HIM BE HAPPY

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onaperduamedee · 9 months

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Heartbroken reminder that Egwene is 17 when she gets taken by the Seanchan, spends two months in captivity being tortured, used as a weapon and dehumanized. When she gets back to the Tower, she immediately passes a test that's not at all traumatic, nearly gets killed by a Grey Man and is sent on a secret mission to hunt murderers completely unsupervised. During this period of wandering, lacking direction, she naturally gets angrier and erratic, but Nyn and Elayne mostly treat it as childish rebellion against Nyn's authority, with Elayne slapping Egwene because she was mean to Nyn. When the girls eventually get captured because they are not equipped at all to hunt the Black Ajah, Egwene becomes so terrified of being taken again that she keeps on resisting the sisters long past it is sensible, earning a brutal beating from the sisters who throw her back into a cell, beaten to a pulp, with no hope for help this time.

Clearly, Egwene has no PTSD whatsoever.

#egwene al'vere #The wheel of time #Wot book spoilers #The Great Hunt #The Dragon Reborn #Remblai #wot book journey #I think about it all the time #About how early in the books she gets to experience something so horribly traumatic and to receive little support afterwards #None from the Tower #None from her mentors #And little from her friends because they have their own stuff going #And even if the books don't give as much room to Egwene's trauma as Rand's it's always here #Her prime reaction to someone trying to subdue her will be extremely violent #She would rather die than let that happen again #It's beyond me how she managed to rebuild herself after this and mostly on her own #The Wise Ones helped tremendously here #Because she had a strict routine #She was far away from everything and everyone that could remind her of what happened #Being a Dreamwalker has also little to do with the OP so it allowed her to regain control without interacting with the OP #I love her arc from very early on tbh #It's not about Egwene being unbreakable #It's about Egwene living with a pain that could destroy her #That's something she shares with Rand as well

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olessan-lokenosse · 23 days

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Cahaya and Arum are the oldest dragons in my lair. They're in fact older than my lair. My own progen hitting 9 reminded me that they hit a decade:

Back in April 2015, when I'd just joined and was wanting to dip my toes into the coliseum, I wandered into the Lending Library thread to borrow a pair of level 25s to help me level up my own team.

A user called Ruinia (#234) happily let me take on Cahaya and Arum. After about a couple weeks I was ready to return them, but Ruinia didn't return until August when she was retiring from FR and looking to send off her dragons to adoptees, etc. She replied to my PM to keep them. They've been officially part of my clan ever since, and she doesn't appear to have logged in again after that week.

Ruinia's clan profile has comments up until 2019, some from 2015-2018 wishing her well wherever she is. 2018 was 7 years ago.

It's a bit daunting to think that they were with Ruinia's clan (led by her 1st gen imperial Solastiir) for about a year and a half, and have been with my clan for the nine years since.

They each have a piece of cute art that predates April 2015, and one of the artists (GwenniethePooh #377) appears to still be active on FR! It's just. It's been a long-ass time.

They're still major fixtures of my coli team, along with the team I levelled with them.

🫡

#I always wonder how the people who disappear and leave their presence in an online space are doing #I hope you're doing well Ruinia and everyone else #I AM still active my lair appears starving because food is spensive and I'm trying to save resources lol #I'm just semi active as I don't have a lot of time to do FR activities atm vs scraping by to keep my head above water IRL #I still stand FIRMLY by the opinion that the covid pandemic massively messed up the perception of time for a lot of people #time seems messed up since then which frankly tracks with such a widespread traumatic event as A GLOBAL PANDEMIC #flight rising #fr #flightrising #lokenosse talks

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