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#I realize now that the thoughts and behaviors are a result of trauma and have stripped my personality away

lovrspell · 2 months

Text

First time

Pairing: Astarion x Gn!Reader.

Summary: a little throwback to when Astarion received aftercare for the very first time — from you.

Warnings: Fluff. Suggestive. Mentions of abuse/trauma. Inability to manage displays of affection. Vampire bite. Blood sucking. Aftercare.

Word count: 2,3k

Masterlist.

Looking back in time and examining your relationship with Astarion now and several months ago, you realize how much progress you have made together. Astarion, especially.

Now, he trusts, loves, and cherishes you effortlessly, finding comfort in the familiarity of your presence. Your intimate moments are a source of joy, marked by the tenderness of your comforting kisses and caresses. He's accustomed to it all.

But... Before, things were different.

Sometimes you recall the times when he shamelessly hit on you, and you're surprised that you deluded yourself that it was real interest, at least in the beginning — he used it as a defense mechanism, it was something rooted in him.

As for your first night together, it was... Well, it was definitely memorable.

———

“...Are you okay?" you asked, still out of breath from the passion you two just shared. The air in the tent was humid — you had quite the experience.

He turns to you, that usual smirk of his playing on his lips. “W-.. A-ha! Why wouldn't I be okay? I could finally taste you. Of course I'm okay.”

You gave a slight nod, lying down again. Astarion had already sat up, and in that position you could capture even the smallest details of that huge scar on his back you noticed earlier while you undressed him — but you didn't dare to ask about it yet.

In a brief spell of silence, you found yourself teetering between the realms of dreams and reality. The tranquility was interrupted by the sound of a forced cough. Abruptly, your eyes opened to the sight of Astarion staring down at you, fully clothed, wearing a somewhat snarky expression.

He looked anxious. Not his usual self, for sure.

In your half-asleep state, seeing him like that worried you. Were you talking in your sleep, by any chance? Were you drooling?

“What's— What's wrong?”

He raised an eyebrow, shifting his weight from hip to hip.

“It's kind of late, darling.” his tone had something almost impatient about it.

“I guess it is.”

Poor, oblivious you.

In that moment, you witnessed such confusion in him that it made you blink a few times; you couldn't wrap your head on where he was trying to go with that.

Parallelly, he couldn't understand you. Usually he offered his body, the other person took advantage of it and then… They left. But you? You were still there. And you hadn't even bothered to get dressed.

It was natural finding it a bit peculiar to see you still in his tent several moments after your climax. Was there a silent invitation for another round lingering in the air? Was he supposed to read between the lines?

A few moments of silence lingered as he gazed at you, perplexed. You returned the same gaze until a subtle shift in your expression hinted a realization –

Perhaps he sought some personal space.

Feeling a tinge of embarrassment, you blushed, not wanting to come across as intrusive.

“You want me to go?”

He's lost in his thoughts and, very unlikely of him, at a loss of words, apparently. It seems like his brain was trying to process too many informations at the same time, resulting in him going silent.

But you, at the time, as accustomed as you were and still are to gentle kissing and lingering caresses after the thrills of sex, recognized his behavior as annoyance towards your presence; therefore feeling unwanted you took it personally. Still, you didn't want to be on his tail.

“...Alright.”

You began to gather your clothes rather quickly, which were scattered here and there around the tent. As you absentmindedly buttoned your shirt, his gaze was fixed on you.

“See you tomorrow, Astarion. Thank you for... This. Good night.”

The fact that you thanked him for having sex with you baffled him enough, but never as much as the little kiss you planted on his cheek before leaving his tent. Simple and tender.

The tent flap swayed back and forth gracefully, following the lead of the gentle wind on a quiet night. His gaze lingered on the space where you had just been, right in front of him.

What was that?

He tried to think clearly.

During this shared night, he found no compulsion to wander far, to delve into the empty, dark yet strangely comforting realm he usually retreats to in moments like these — while to no one's surprise he effortlessly entered that familiar mental space without conscious effort.

He had sex with you because he knew no other way to gain your trust and protection. That looming, self-loathing sensation is still there, clawing under his skin and nibbling at his self respect with a trillion sharp teeth — but that kiss... That simple kiss on the cheek made him feel something he can't quite define. It's new and scary.

He wondered if it was really necessary to do all this to have your support in this journey.

He was too accustomed to the life he led under Cazador's command — seducing to survive. You're the first person he's willingly had sex with since escaping Cazador and he wasn't even fully into it; the thought upsets him.

Perhaps he's overthinking a simple kiss on the cheek.

But was it that simple?

The thoughts reached a deafening crescendo, and, as if emerging from a dream, he blinked several times and looked around, dazed. He needed to rest.

———

It's been a while since your sexual encounter. Astarion has not failed to make some teasing remarks about it every now and then, alluding to a second chance to indulge in each other again.

That second opportunity occurred, but several days after the first. It happened when you told him that he could feed on you that night and agreed that you would meet at your tent.

Astarion came to visit you late in the evening, when almost everyone had already retired to their tents. He found you reading a book, lying on your stomach.

“Hello, darling.” he greets you, his voice a sound that wakes you from your trance from the huge book you were absorbed into.

“Hi,” you reply distractedly, turning quickly towards him and taking the opportunity to stretch. You pushed the book aside, closing it.

It seemed that over the course of the day you had forgotten that you had proposed him to feed on you — the look of surprise on your face that dissolved rather quickly gave it away. You were visibly tired, he noticed. However, as soon as your eyes met his, you offered a gentle, sheepish smile — the kind reserved for moments when words become wearisome.

Allowing him to feed on you even when it seemed that all you wanted to do was rest stirred a semblance of life in his chest.

You sat up, adjusting comfortably. “I’m ready.” you informed him, moving the fabric of your clothing away from your neck to expose it to him.

Astarion stared at you, and for a moment he didn't say or do anything. He wanted to do something different this time, not just bite you, suck your blood, and then return to his tent. No, he wanted to try something new.

Instead of bringing his mouth to your neck, he brought it to your lips. He kissed you slowly, introducing his tongue in your mouth tentatively — but when he felt the natural tension vanish from your body, he brought his hands to your waist and deepened the kiss.

Astarion felt you melt in his arms, remembering how you had let yourself go the same way a few nights before.

Your hands came up to rest on his shoulders; Astarion leaned towards you until you were laying down. His lips separated from yours with a pop and only then did he place them on your neck. But even there, before sinking his sharp fangs into your skin, he planted a few kisses here and there.

He persisted, leaving a trail of kisses that moistened your neck. His lips traced a path to a point just under your ear, where he planted an open-mouthed kiss. Suddenly, you experienced a sharp, dull pain spreading rapidly in that spot. You hissed, clutching his shirt tightly and exhaling sharply; you heard a soft hum coming from him as he immediately began swallowing mouthfuls of your warm, succulent blood.

That little kissing ritual was to thank you, in a way. You were and have always been available to him, despite his bad temper and grumpy tendencies.

As he fed, the movement of one of your hands moving from his shoulders distracted him.

Next, he felt the touch of a gentle hand running through his hair.

He was so focused on sucking your blood that he didn't even notice for the first few seconds. Accordingly, he felt the distinct touch of your warm hand move across his cheek and cupping it.

What are you doing?

Your tender touch left him puzzled. Akin to a feather's caress, it cradled him in a way that stirred a desire more profound than any teasing or vulgar contact could evoke.

You felt him grunt against you, the guttural sound vibrating through your being.

Those touches reminded him of that kiss you had printed on his cheek after your night together; his stomach twisted in contrasting sensations.

He pulled away from you after a few seconds, but your caresses didn't stop. Your blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, his hair disheveled as a result of your fingers combing through his curls.

“What's up?” you asked, trying not to giggle at the fact that he looked like he had just woke up. You reached an hand in his hair to fix some wild curls back in their place.

He didn't answer at first, but then he shrugged slightly.

“Nothing.” he muttered softly, his body moving in your direction almost without his control. He was experiencing new things within himself, things he had never felt before.

A desire. A genuine desire, nothing that had to do with that of a few evenings prior. Despite his less-than-noble intentions previously, he openly acknowledges being drawn to you. However, unlike before when intimacy served a strategic purpose, this time things are different.

He craves you spontaneously, yielding to the impulse of the moment. While leaning in for a passionate, bloody kiss on your lips, he pledges not to flee from this moment or from you. No mental refuge exists now, just two bodies entwined and two souls merging into one another.

The tenderness of that kiss amazed you.

You feel his arms wrap around your waist to lift you up in his lap, kisses trailing down your neck to suck briefly on the holes he left in it.

One thing led to another and a few minutes later, you were both naked and nestled into each other.

Astarion was thrusting his hips into you breathlessly, continuing just to try drawing another orgasm out of your guts before you pull apart. This has been going on for a while now; he has absolutely drained you. In every way.

You had noticed a certain vigor in him, which was not given solely and exclusively by the fact that he had just made an excellent reserve of blood. He felt alive, present, current. He was there with you, made a puddle in your arms while you cradled each other through your collective ecstasy.

If the first time his gaze seemed empty and absent, often far from yours, now it was bright and lively, never too distant from your own. It was impossible not to notice the difference.

When the rush of pleasure died down, he pulled away from you slowly, almost reluctantly. He came down from above you to lie next to your body; both sweaty and out of breath, you remained silent for several minutes.

You anticipated for him to leave as soon as possible, given the discomfort he displayed that evening when you prolonged your stay just a bit, expecting to spend some time together after your sexual activity.

But he remained there, next to you, his expression thoughtful but relaxed. You assumed he didn't want to leave just yet.

However, just as that pleasant, inviting thought etched itself into your beliefs, he sat up and reached for his undergarments dispersed around the tent.

You frowned, sitting up and reaching for his arm without even thinking twice.

“Wait, wait... Why don't you stay?”

You didn't fail to catch him off guard this time, too. Your voice had such a sweet, pleading edge to it.

“We can talk, we can... We can even just be silent together. Do you want to?”

He guessed it couldn't hurt to try.

He lay down again, putting his clothes aside. He saw you smile from the corner of his eye as you did the same, this time lying on your side.

One of your hands carefully came up to caress his chest tentatively. The tips of your nails scratched his skin deliciously, sending shivers down his spine. His eyes fluttered and he looked up at you; he was confused, disorientated.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you not like it?”

“...I do.”

“Then just enjoy it.”

He followed your advice.

In that instant, he embodied a certain beauty that surpassed his usual charm. Surrendering to your soothing enfolds, he reached a blissful state, breaking down every wall and baring his soul to you. Every muscle in his body eased into relaxation. He scoots closer until he's basically all curled up in your arms, melting against your comforting heat.

That night, he shared a peaceful slumber with you, and to this day, he never ceases to express his profound gratitude for the invaluable gift of your love.

You made his dead heart start beating again.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x gender neutral reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion fluff #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion x fem reader #astarion x male tav #astarion x male reader

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zoeykallus · 7 months

Text

The Bad Batch x Reader HCs - Abandonment Issues

As requested by @golden-nyx-ghost I hope I'm not too far off the mark 😅

Warnings: Mentioned Anxiety/Implied Traumatic Experience/Hurt/Comfort/Also; Crosshair (I mean strong language)

_________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

_________

I had to do a little research on that topic and thought I'd share what I found.

Abandonment issues is an informal term that describes a strong fear of losing loved ones or of them leaving a relationship. This fear can result from trauma, anxiety, and other mental health conditions.

Most common “symptoms”

worry that friends or partners will leave them

constantly look for signs that others do not really like them

need frequent reassurance that others love them

always try to please others, even at their own expense

give too much in relationships, or have a lack of boundaries

stay in unhealthy relationships due to a fear of being alone

What it can do to a person:

Have anxiety: Both children and adults with fear of abandonment may feel chronically anxious, especially if they feel a relationship is about to end.

Experience relationship challenges: Anxiety about abandonment can alter a person’s perceptions of their relationship, causing them to see problems where none exist. They may be sensitive to any sign of rejection, or find it difficult to trust that their partner will not leave. This can result in clingy behavior, which may impact the relationship.

Communicate poorly: People with abandonment issues may develop harmful communication techniques to ease their anxiety. For example, they may engage in attention-seeking behavior to get the love they feel they might lose.

Engage in harmful behavior: People with a fear of abandonment can sometimes try to prevent their partner from leaving them through manipulative or even abusive behavior. For example, a person may try to prevent someone from socializing with others. This is a form of coercive control.

Source

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AC: Of course, there are different forms of this problem, and it doesn't have to go to the extreme right away. At this point, we assume that no chronic, negative (harmful) behaviors have manifested yet.

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Hunter

He is often quiet, introverted, but unlike you might think, he listens very carefully, is alert, attentive. He does not miss when your mood changes, and you are suddenly unsettled. Hunter reads your body language, notices every little thing. But he doesn't want to barge in, so he first tries to find out what makes you tick, to learn something about your past.

Gradually, he realizes what's bothering you, why you're sometimes so tense and overprotective when you communicate with him, why you sometimes barely let him out of your sight.

"You're afraid," he says unexpectedly.

You look at him, startled; you weren't really aware of it yourself. But now that he brings it up, you feel it abundantly clear.

"You won't lose me, you won't lose any of us. You won't get rid of us that easily."

You blink and say softly, "I've heard that before."

Hunter sighs softly, but smiles at you.

"You will see and learn with time that your past can't determine your future, it can only if you let it. You can count on us"

He grabs your shoulder and looks deep into your eyes.

"Do you trust me?"

You can't help but nod, Hunter's eyes, his expression, you feel so close to him.

"Good, have a little patience, that feeling of security you crave, it will come with time".

Echo

With him, you can talk openly about everything, he is a good listener, and he will always try to find a solution to the problems discussed between you. Echo can well understand what this fear of being abandoned or losing people is and how it feels. As a soldier, one inevitably deals with it a lot. Echo lost a great many of his brothers, not only to war, but also to Order 66.

"Some things we can't hold on to, no matter how hard we cling to them. That's a realization that's hard, but it comes eventually. You have to come to terms with it, make friends with it."

You wrap your arms around your body as if you need to hold on to yourself.

Echo sits down next to you and continues, "None of us want to leave you, but sometimes that's not in our power to decide. Voluntarily, we will never turn our backs on you. But you have to come to terms in a healthy way with the fact that some things are beyond our control."

You sigh softly and say, "I know, I just care that you don't seek distance from me because of me."

Echo laughs softly and says, "You're not getting rid of us that easily."

Wrecker

This cheerful guy is also a good listener and a good distraction. Wrecker can always carry you away and get you out of your darkest worries and thoughts. But he can also listen to you seriously and calmly when you need it.

He is attentive and much more empathetic than some might think.

Wrecker listens and nods in understanding.

"I know it's not the same, but I also sometimes fear losing my brothers. Well, as a soldier, you just worry about the things that might happen in the field. But you can't let that make you crazy."

You smile wryly at him.

"We certainly won't let you down on purpose," Wrecker says with conviction.

"Are you sure?"

"You're not losing us, we're here for you, every one of us," he says with a smile, thrusting a box of Mantel-mix into your hand.

You look up at him and say, "I've thought that about other people too."

Wrecker says perkily, "But we're not other people, we're Clone Force 99, and we deliver what we promise."

Tech

"Change is a fundamental part of life. People come and go, sometimes even those who are particularly close to us. That is quite normal. To be afraid of it is pointless."

You frown and say critically, "Aren't you afraid of suddenly being alone at some point?"

Tech goes into himself for a moment, thinks, then answers, "Not really. It's relatively unlikely that I'll suddenly find myself all alone at some point."

"Couldn't that theoretically happen to anyone?" you ask.

He frowns and says, "Well, theoretically it can, but there's also a probability factor."

You raise your eyebrows.

"Are you trying to tell yourself that right now because you're actually afraid of it too?"

Tech looks at you indignantly.

"I'm not afraid. There's no reason to be, and there's no reason for you to be. Why would we abandon you?"

You shrug, scenarios coming to mind.

"It's enough when priorities change, meeting new people in someone's life, that's often enough to split groups," you say seriously.

Tech hesitates.

"Well… yes, that may be true…"

"But?"

He sighs and says, "If you let that anxiety consume you, you can't enjoy the time you have with the people around you at all. This constant anxious tension is unhealthy"

"That may be," you admit quietly.

Tech hands you back your holopad he fixed for you.

"Here. Good as new," he says with a small smile.

"Thanks Tech, and thanks for listening".

"Anytime."

Crosshair

He has already recognized your behavior and that you cling does not agree with him at all. He can't handle it very well. Crosshair at least tries, in his own way.

"What do you want me to say? People leave us sometimes, and sometimes they leave us behind".

He himself has already had this painful experience, and actually he knows exactly how it feels.

"Hurts like a bitch, but it will pass. You can't let that define your life"

"That's easy for you to say," you sigh, dropping into your bunk.

Crosshair sighs deeply before sitting down on the bunk across from yours that actually belongs to Hunter and looks at you.

"No, I'm not just saying that. I've been through this experience too, I know it sucks, and I know you can get through it if you don't let it consume you."

You sit up and look at him questioningly.

"And how did you do that? How did you deal with it?"

Crosshair sighs again, shakes his head, and says grumpily, "You might not want to take an example from that"

"Why not?"

"My approach was unhealthy, too," he says reluctantly.

As you look at him questioningly, he continues, "Echo would probably say I'm stubborn as shit, but that wasn't it, not quite."

"Then what was it?" you ask cautiously, sensing that you're on sensitive ground here.

Crosshair looks around as if to make sure the two of you are alone. Finally, he looks at you again.

"I didn't cling to other people, but to being a soldier, to my supposed duty. The reason why my brothers and I actually parted ways to begin with. I plunged deeper into it, so deep that soon I was no longer myself. The whole process was painful, for me and others, you should not take an example from that".

You don't say the question that is on the tip of your tongue, but he answers it anyway, as if he felt it.

"Enjoy what you have, hold on to the positive things, not the negative. Deal with it, but deal with it sensibly. You can't force anything, neither that people stay with you nor that old wounds heal. Everything needs time and some work. But you can be sure, we would never abandon you willingly, none of us".

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

@starwarsnerd111

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ladyluscinia · 6 months

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Izzy, Bottles, and Apologies

Izzy's arc in S2 has been a wild ride.

The S1 Izzy enjoyers are feeling vindicated as hell, many people are fully revising their opinion of him, and the people still hating him have a new criticism or off the wall theory daily. David Jenkins LOVES Izzy and is having the time of his life trying to make sure everyone else does too. They had Con O'Neill sing in drag!

And naturally I have thoughts.

This is gonna be a two part post, I think. First, as much as people are celebrating Izzy having realized his arc and come into his own - from the singing to the apparent BlackBonnet shipping - there are some threads they could pull on that might reveal more arc to come. And I am really hoping they pull them, so I'm gonna tell you why you should too!

And second, I have some minor points I dislike and concerns that this might be the end of the arc. Which would be disappointing but I think I get why, so I'm gonna discuss that too.

To start...

---

"How are you handling all this so well?"

Here's the thing about S2 Izzy - while I need to be clear his behavior is not OOC or inconsistent with S1, it is happening rather fast. I'm pretty sure that has a lot to do with out of universe reasons I'll get into later, but in-universe it stands out. Now, he's hardly the only one operating on an accelerated schedule - the timeline for this season is an insanely fast not-even-two-weeks - but Izzy's defining struggle in S1 was fear of change. That was the cause of his friction with Edward, and what made him an antagonist in the first place.

In S2 he's gone through a lot of trauma, yes, but that fear is noticeably less present than I would expect.

Izzy in 2x06 has been cleaned up from his sobbing mess phase for just over 48 hours and he faces Edward with a joke, and then that night sings a moving French serenade to the crew. The next morning he's teasing them about finally hooking up and spends the day offering both Stede and Edward relationship advice.

He's a newly realized man... shedding repression and embracing who he could be. Accepting his breakup with Edward and trying to openly support the relationship that's better for him.

It's fun!

It's also, potentially, a bit of a flag. Maybe not a red one, not yet, but... pink-ish? A bit orange?

Let's look a little closer at those frayed edges.

---

"Well, you see, I have a system..."

There's an exchange from right at the start of the Pilot episode that has echoed through the entire series so far:

"Bottle it up?" -> "No, Frenchie! No, that's the worst thing you could do!"

Not talking to other people, not addressing your traumas... that's the kind of shit that just builds and builds inside you. When the cork eventually pops, the resulting damage can be a lot. Look at the finale of S1, where all of Stede's bottled up guilt and insecurities laid waste to his relationship with Edward, and then inadvertently became the first domino in the Kraken.

S2 is quick to bring this scene back into the forefront. The first time we see the Breakup Boat crew talking in 2x01, Frenchie reveals that "Bottle it up?" wasn't just a random comment he made, but a philosophy of his:

"Ah - well, you see, I have a system for dealing with all the terrible things I've seen. There's a box, in my mind, and I put the things in the box, I lock the box, and then I don't open it again. Works like a charm."

Apparently, Frenchie is the only one it actually seems to be working for.

Now, the show has been drawing some interesting lines between Frenchie and Izzy. From both serving as Blackbeard's First Mate to being frequently shown as a duo - tormenting Navy guys together on Sunday's raid, Frenchie holding Izzy's hand, Frenchie leaning on Izzy's leg in the cell, Frenchie behind him raising the flag in 2x05 - it's fitting that Izzy echoes Frenchie's preferred coping method. First he frames the non-acknowledgement of harm from Edward as just... part of piracy. He's a pirate, so he's fine with it.

And then we get Izzy's little whittled shark reveal and the conversation with Lucius about his leg:

"I don't know what you're talking about. Shark did this... dangling my legs over the side of the ship. Served me right, too."

Lucius calls him out on the unhealthy behavior, and Izzy concedes his point:

"O-kay, that seems healthy. Using a bit of fiction to help cover up your trauma." -> "Yeah, well... not moving on is worse. Twatty."

And to give him credit, he's right in his advice to Lucius. Filling his sketchbook with pages and pages of Blackbeard trauma is Lucius's form of bottling it up - thinking in endless recursive circles about his tumble off the ship and everything that followed. We already know chasing revenge instead of living is bad - Jim and Spanish Jackie established it last season, and Pete just echoed them. When Izzy advises Lucius to move on, that's what Lucius does.

But what Izzy is doing with the shark? That's not the same thing at all. He's lost a leg, grazed a bullet off his own head, and was snarling drunken accusations at himself in the mirror... he's not moving on from that. He's bottling it up with a nice dose of self-blame.

Cutting the legs off the unicorn for not doing it's job right and saying "served me right" about his fictional shark? There's a real dark knot of emotions there.

(Recall, too, that Edward deflected his hurt from Stede's abandonment into a "fictional character" during his chats with Lucius, and that delayed the explosion but couldn't stop it.)

So... Izzy's definitely coping with trauma in a way the show does not advise and often circles back to. Can we see any signs in 2x06 and 2x07?

---

The Weight of Things Unsaid

At the very start of 2x06, Izzy gets the thing he spent all of 2x05 mentally bracing himself to never hear - an apology from Edward for his leg. He walks up to initiate conversation and begins talking like nothing has changed. Edward is back in his leathers. Appropriate, given that his penance onesie was nothing genuine, just "how long do I have to wear this fucking thing for?" And Izzy is ready for them not to address the obvious hurt, to just smooth over a few jabs and go back to normal... but even Edward's mumbled little "Sorry about your leg" is so significant and difficult he flees as soon as he gets it out, leaving Izzy to sit, incredulous, with the acknowledgement.

It's still almost definitely not enough.

There was so much between them in 2x01 - 2x03. The writers literally did BlackHands love confessions on both sides. An apology from Edward Teach - a man who historically does not apologize - is a huge first step but still only the first step. The real things unsaid are so much bigger than a leg.

We get something else, too... Edward commenting on Izzy's drinking.

"Jesus. Really putting that away, aren't ya?"

Izzy has had booze a lot this season. He lost a leg and pain meds aren't really an option, so not surprising, but notable. Edward, advocating for substance abuse to deal with bad feelings, calls him a lightweight in 2x01. When they are found with the dead seabird in 2x03, Izzy takes a pointed drink from his bottle, and then 2x04 he spends the entire episode completely plastered. He seemingly sobered up for 2x05 - probably to focus on sword training and his whittling project - but now the bottle is back again before Izzy disappears for several hours.

And a little liquid courage might explain his going all in for the Calypso's Birthday performance.

I do appreciate that the performance on it's face is something completely unexpected for Izzy, but when thinking about it... it does make sense.

We already know music and performance were available on Blackbeard's ship even before Stede. Edward learned to play shanties on the piano somewhere, and singing is a common and encouraged part of sailing culture. Izzy's choice of song to perform is something a lot more emotional, but this is probably not his first performance for a crew.

Makeup, too, is in fashion for men and women at this time, and OFMD has shown it as such before. Izzy has never worn fashion makeup, or tried to be beautiful, but the concept wouldn't be alien to him. Wee John's description of a dramatic party look might even have intrigued him specifically because Izzy has actually done "looks" before - of the terrifying "theatre of fear" kind. The Kraken did have his whole crew in makeup for their raids. Taking the opportunity to embody something a bit more vulnerable and try to bring joy to this crew that took care of him is meaningful as fuck.

And it's still a drag performance!

It's a good pair of moments - before and after Ned. Proof that all this isn't just coping method - that's not what I'm arguing here - and even if Izzy's still bottling up a lot of feelings he's not doing the same full pressure bomb thing as he did in S1. There's been growth!

(This is why the flags are only pink-ish / orange-ish right now.)

Episode 2x07 though... I'm not so sure he's doing good as much as pretending it's all good.

Showing up to make his joke in the morning is a fun moment. I especially enjoy Edward's little "fuck off" with no bite to it 🤣🤣🤣 Reminder they do live together on a ship, so this is likely not even close to the first morning-after that Izzy has gotten front row seats to. But, at least to me, there's also a very performative feeling about it. Izzy being very Look how normal I can be about you fucking your boyfriend, Ed - and Edward picks up on it too. That's why he turns to Stede and whispers "He's jealous" as Izzy walks away.

Izzy continues to make jokes and give advice through the day to our main couple, but he's... subdued. I think his fake chill also disguises that he and Edward aren't on the same page about what they discuss at the docks, hence his poor advice to "listen to it" when the "it" in question is Edward's immediate desire to run away from Stede and become a fisherman. They are talking again, but haven't resumed communicating.

I also think it's relevant that Izzy goes to try and support Stede after Edward dumps him, because we're still waiting for Stede to stop bottling things up. He doesn't talk about Badminton or feelings of inadequacy or even the babiest little olive branch to Edward about "hey my dad kinda sucked too." Edward's two exes are sitting in the bar corner together, thinking about all the shit they won't talk to him about until it kills all three of them. Exciting!

The pressure is building. It has to circle back to Stede in S3. I'm hoping at the same time, it circles back to Izzy, too.

Hoping we get to explore some of his anxiety, and his internalizing negative self-image and blame. At the moment, I think Izzy might have less gotten over his anxieties and more just let go of the wheel of his life entirely, and fortunately had people around to steer him in okay directions. It would be really interesting to explore that more.

(Even if I have some concerns they may not.)

---

Subtle as a Cannonball to the Face

Izzy's character arc was always going to be a long journey - not because he was somehow morally worse than everyone else, or required particularly painstaking growth, or even because there was going to be some great need to "hold him accountable" for S1. No, it was going to be a long journey from an antagonist start for the same reason I mentioned earlier: Izzy's core struggle is fear of change.

OFMD opens with two protagonists recklessly pursuing change in ways that harm themselves, their relationships, and others, and a primary onscreen antagonist resisting change in a way that harms himself, his relationships, and others. There's no easy morality here - they all fuck up. And they all require the entire show to actually figure out the correct balance of change and growth and facing the past.

"I think the three of them are on an arc together that's pretty inseparable." - David Jenkins (Source, 9 Oct 2023)

So... why is there a chance that everything I've mentioned above is going absolutely nowhere and Izzy's arc has been wrapped up with a bow in S2?

Well.

It's late March 2022, the fandom's age is still only countable in weeks, I personally haven't even watched the pilot yet, had only even heard of the show 3 days before... and one of David Jenkins first post-finale statements is telling people to pay attention to Izzy's POV and his and Edward's love story on rewatches (Source, 25 Mar 2022), and then soon after comparing Stede to a homewrecker in Edward and Izzy's toxic marriage (Source, 15 Apr 2022). Lots of links because this stuff was available to the fandom from the start.

By the first half of May 2022 (while poor Mr. Jenkins is still anxiously trying to get his series renewed for S2, since the confirmation won't come until June 1) the takes on Izzy have soured a lot. It's not a "homophobic gay" joke anymore. Now it's "Izzy is the embodiment of colonialism who enforces a racist and homophobic ideal of Blackbeard on Edward" and "pretending Izzy could be canonically gay is homophobic" and "Izzy bought Edward as a slave from the British". Harassing anons have already started on tumblr. No first hand experience with Twitter but I've heard horror stories. These takes are spreading like wildfire through the fandom, with a heavy backing of white fans accepting and spreading anything that sounds vaguely racially-conscious as something they just missed in their privilege and need to listen to POC about. Or listen to other white fans that say they've been listening to POC.

The anchor hoist in 1x09 (that was a complete directing coincidence, as the crew confirmed in late May) is being taken as incontrovertible proof that Izzy is a violent racist, and the relatively small Izzy fandom pushing back against any of these reads is being likened to toxic fangirls declaring Kylo Ren a poor widdle victim because they think violent white guys are so hot their brains fall out. This is happening loudly and in the public forums of social media.

Can you imagine being David Jenkins right then?

This is one of your favorite little guys, who you wrote a silly little homoerotic pirate jealousy arc for. He's kinda cringefail and tends to be a dick, but you cast a guy who you think embodies him with so much sympathy and genuine emotion. You're so excited to explore his direct relationship to the main couple of your series even more. Unfortunately, you and a lot of the cast and crew are also engaging maybe a bit too much in fandom spaces, which very few of you have much familiarity with navigating as creators. AND there's still renewal stress!

If I were him, I too would consider that perhaps my intended Izzy arc was a bit too nuanced and drawn out, and maybe I needed to clear up some misconceptions as soon as I got the opportunity.

Enter S2.

MAX reduced the budget for the season significantly and it shows - particularly in the whole thing having to squeeze into 8 episodes - and I wouldn't be surprised at all if worries over a S3 renewal / S3 budget impacted S2 writing as well. Character arcs got pinched, goals had to be prioritized... and from the looks of the season, "make sure everyone knows Izzy is not a homophobic villain tormenting Edward as fast as possible" came out as a big goal.

I mean they open with a dream sequence that literally mocks the idea of a heroic Stede rescuing Edward from the dastardly Izzy. It's not subtle.

And the lack of subtlety is kind of what's concerning me.

Izzy's arc is (I think) leaving enough threads that they can extend it into S3 with the reveal he's not actually fine and done developing, but they also seem to want his S2 arc to end in a place where maybe he is. Lots of giant signs pointing to him and saying "Look! Everyone likes him!" or "Look! He's also gay!" at the expense of some of his cringefail or dickish charm. My guy had anxiety he dealt with poorly in S1, and I do think they are trying to frontload or adjust the arc so he's basically (or at least seemingly) over that before the next hiatus.

The best way I've seen it described is that the show no longer trusts the audience to pick up what they are putting down, and so they feel the need to really hammer it in. Not necessarily OOC, but definitely de-emphasizing any of his rough edges that were originally just written to not be any worse than the other characters.

This is why Izzy gets shot by Edward in the very first episode for a bunch of complicated reasons that are really good character work and not super hard to discern, but then later they have Izzy point out to Stede why he got shot twice. It's all very "look into the camera and say the themes", because to some degree they are afraid everyone is going to get easily convinced Edward shot him for calling him a namby-pamby that one time.

It makes me worried they are too afraid of misinterpretation to commit to the arc they originally conceived of, even with the finish line in sight in S3.

And, again, I get it, Mr. Jenkins. In October 2022 he made a funny quip and a boner joke on a tweet about Edward's blanket fort and the hordes descended to scream victoriously about how he was cutting down the Izzy stans for their racist infantilization crimes of thinking Izzy would *checks notes* help hold up a blanket. It's a very reasonable conclusion that this fandom cannot read and needs to be spoonfed Izzy's arc.

It just sucks that a toxic section of fandom's misinterpretations appear to have undercut a strong - and, honestly, not that complicated - character arc so much that S2's BlackBonnet arc can be about fuck ups and backsliding, but Izzy needs at least the illusion of having no flaws left come hiatus time.

#our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd meta #my meta #izzy hands ofmd #izzy hands #character arcs #ofmd 2x06 #ofmd 2x07 #and here's my associated izzy meta because i love to talk about both my blorbos lol #ladyluscinia #david jenkins

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utilitycaster · 7 months

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VERY glad that Evontra’vir said “the titans are dead” because like there are currently living beings that will suffer if Ludinus’s plan succeeds and they just don’t seem to matter compared to titans that died a millennia ago??? (After trying to wipe out mortals themselves)

Hey anon,

Agreed. The thing about the titans coming up is that it does, actually, make a lot of sense for the two characters who have been most vocal about it - Ashton and Laudna - to feel this way! But it doesn't come from a rational place; it comes from profound trauma and loss about which they can't be objective.

Taliesin talked about this on 4-Sided Dive: Ashton is grabbing on desperately to the one piece of information they know now about their missing childhood and is "leaning into it...probably before he should." We know this about them; Ashton's been emblazoning themself with the Hishari and Dunamancy symbols without having a single clue what they were. The titans are part of that. Did you notice how he keeps saying "things are changing" and didn't actually like...provide any meaningful information? Again to quote 4SD: "...there's not a lot of judgment happening about whether or not that's a good thing or not, and what it actually means." Like, I think that, based on Ashton's past position of "don't kill everyone for your goals, that is shitty" if they did stop, and process, and set aside that strong emotional factor that's in play (which is not something I'd expect them to be able to do easily!) They'd realize that the titans returning, were that possible, would be cataclysmic. But that's not what they're thinking about right now. I think Evontra'vir bluntly stating that the titans are dead was a needed splash of cold water on that line of thinking.

My thought re: Laudna is that it's slightly more metaphorical. Consider her backstory: a conquering force swept in and destroyed most of what had been there before. She is a relic both of that earlier time and of that conquering force, and the subjugation she experienced never truly stopped, even though Whitestone has moved on. Of course she'd see herself in the titans in the telling of stories about the titans! People like Percy get to return and revitalize and build a new family and grow old and happy and die, despite their trauma, and she's caught between life and death forever. Of course she'd relate to some half-buried thing that people call monstrous and ancient and displaced! But that doesn't actually help her do anything about her situation and it's not a philosophy that really is useful in understanding the larger geopolitical (and, frankly, cosmic) reality happening right now, because, yeah, if you let the titans back, people will die.

For both these characters - who have spoken to each other about being physically altered and left for dead, alone, in ways no one else can quite understand, I think there's something immensely seductive about the idea of something older than the gods, something defeated but could rise again, which both is relatable to their own situations and comes neatly packaged with a reason why it didn't save you when you called out. But it's still a fantasy. It's not real, it's not going to happen, and so it's important that Evontra'vir, who as Jirana said, does not mince words, called it out for what it is. The titans are dead. Something of their essences does remain for you to use to make a choice. You are going to have to do this using your own judgment; you are doing the saving; stop worrying about the dead and start thinking about what you will do to serve the living.

I think an emerging theme of this campaign - and arguably a secondary theme of the past campaigns, and really, the theme of D&D if you think about it, is that the person you developed into because of your trauma, and the coping mechanisms and behaviors and presentation you developed as a result may eventually cease to serve you once you find a support network and begin to be given more and more agency within the world; and indeed, if you cling to these things they will begin to hurt those around you, and eventually you as well. I think "The Titans are dead" is one way to very, very bluntly and effectively communicate that.

#answered #Anonymous #critical role spoilers #ashton greymoore #laudna #re the last paragraph i do find that this campaign the fandom voice in favor of NO WHAT IF I NEVER NEED TO CHANGE is louder #or perhaps i just had it better tuned out in c2 or perhaps the nein made a more inhospitable growth medium for that particular breed of mol #anyway. evontra'vir was right. titans are dead. nice dichotomy idiot. what lies outside it.#critical role

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frenchtantan · 7 months

Text

I'm not done talking about q!Baghera. Today I wanna touch on something her mind seems to tune out for her own protection: the Federation's cruelty. Now buckle up folks, given how dark her story is, this is gonna get heavy.

When she first discovered her old room, in her little diary, her past self had written the following: "they made me do things, and I couldn't stop until they were satisfied. They are never satisfied. They just want to make me miserable. They keep plucking my feathers for... a dumb reason."

This is cruel. This is child abuse, and this is torture The entire Federation would deserve to be burnt to the ground ten times over if they did this once. They did this to her every single day.

However, here's the thing: the way child q!Baghera phrases it, it almost looked like the torture was in response to her not behaving like they wanted her to. As if this unjustified abuse was somehow a punishment, something that could be somewhat avoided by her doing things differently.

We may now have an inkling that was not the case. In the "RESULTS: BAGHERA" book that she burned yesterday, we could read the following: "PREVIOUS BEHAVIORAL REPORTS DESCRIBED BAGHERA ENTERING SIMILAR UNRESPONSIVE STATES WHEN EXPOSED TO INTENSE STRESS OR HIGHLY UNPLEASANT STIMULI. HOWEVER DEPENDING ON THE CAUSE OF SAID STRESS IT MAY HAVE BEEN PRECEDED BY ATTEMPTS OF BITING HER CARETAKERS AND OTHER FEDERATION STAFF, WITH OTHER HELPLESS ATTEMPTS AT ESCAPE"

Now I don't know about you, but the way I read this, it means the torture was never a punishment. It was the experiment itself. They were deliberately, or at least knowingly, putting her in situations that could trigger her unresponsive state. How messed up is that?

This is the extend of their cruelty: they created a sentient child, but they never raised her, they never cared for her, they never tried to make her better. She was just an experiment among possibly hundreds of others. An object to poke and prod at to see how it would react. Even knowing this is roleplay, I can't think about this without getting sick to my stomach.

This is where she now knows she comes from. Where any normal child had a family's love and care, she had only the Federation's cruelty. Is it any wonder then that q!Baghera refuses to even acknowledge the torture? That her mind put walls around walls around walls to protect her from that horrific reality? That yesterday she was grasping at straws, hoping that the Federation was not as bad as she thought, in denial about what she suffered at their hands?

I am conflicted about what her burning the book meant, because she also burned all the photos. At first I thought this was just another wall, but I'm not so sure. Her room was not a bad memory, it contained everything she liked. She also didn't burn her diary. Also, she didn't look distressed, she looked angry. Her first thought went to Pomme, her daughter and therefore her family, and then came her ironic realization about the islanders building their own little prisons while trying to escape.

I believe right now she is very hopeless, and she has a lot of trauma to face in the coming days. However, the more I think of it, the more it seems yesterday's ending was not her giving up, but a spark awakening, however small. And maybe, just maybe, that spark is enough to start chipping at the walls. Time will tell.

#or maybe I'm delulu #and this is her breaking apart #slowly and slowly #maybe her story doesn't have a happy ending #and I'm the one grasping at straws #qsmp #qsmp baghera #qsmp lore #qsmp federation #tw child abuse

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bonny-kookoo · 10 months

Text

Jungkook/Namjoon:

Don't Play With Your Food

I'm which you've got to be fiund- no matter how.

Tags/Warnings: Angst, Black Panther Hybrid!Jungkook, Bunny!Reader, human!Namjoon, hybrid trafficking, hospital

Length: mid/long

<- Previous

A/N: Boo. ⛔️✨️👉There is no taglist.👈✨️⛔️

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook has been regressing ever since losing you.

Namjoon has never seen him like this before. The young man is hardly talking, communicating rather in sounds of either disapproval or agreement over questions he's asked, behavior more lead by instincts than ever before. It worries Namjoon; so much so, that currently, he's browsing on his phone for therapy spots in Seoul for predator hybrids like Jungkook. Even if he doesn't want to admit it, there is, after all, a chance of you not ever coming back- and he wants to be somewhat prepared for it.

A hybrid losing their mate is a traumatic thing, after all.

Namjoon himself has to function, put his own emotions aside, because he needs to support Jungkook down the line. He's promised that.

The black panther is currently napping on the bed in the hotel they've rented, a rare moment of silence giving Namjoon a moment to breathe. Jungkook doesn't know how much stress he's putting on his owner after all, and it's also nowhere near his fault for being like this. Trauma just affects hybrids differently than humans.

What pains him even more is the fact that even in this state, Jungkook is still Jungkook- he instantly became apologetic after scratching him by accident earlier today, becoming clingy and needy for reassurance.

Namjoon is looking at a remote therapy center when a call interrupts him, number foreign and unknown to him- and his first instinct is that it might just be the police with an update to the situation as he answers, while Jungkook stirs a little on the bed, stretching his limbs. The voice on the other line is foreign, and it takes his brain a second to recognize the language as japanese, before it switches to a female voice speaking korean. "Hello? Is this Kim Namjoon?" The voice asks, and Namjoon furrows his brows, absentmindedly running his hand over Jungkooks shoulder as the black panther hybrid growls a little under his breath.

"Yes. Who is this?" He asks, when the voice continues.

"This is Tokyo Central Hospital, I'm calling because we have a hybrid here with the Tattoo Number 134340-" She asks, and Namjoon instantly sits up straight, knocking Jungkook's head off of his lap as a result. Instead of complaining however, the hybrid seems to realize the shift in mood right away, now leaning in closer to hear what's being said over the phone as well.

"Yes, I'm the owner, is- is she okay?!" He instantly demands, voice cracking a little midway in the sentence.

And his only thought is: Please don't say it.

"She's been brought to the ER today a few hours prior, but she's currently stable. Is there any way for you to come here? I know you live-" She, again, doesn't get to finish her sentence, Jungkook already having tumbled down the bed in his hurry to fetch his shoes, Namjoon having to harshly pull the hybrid's tail to get him to stay still for just a moment.

"We'll be there as soon as we can- is it alright if I bring along another hybrid?" He asks, and Jungkook swipes his tail from side to side aggressively, knocking over a pen on the table behind him.

The female nurse chuckles. "That's alright for us here, I think it would actually help a lot to have some people she knows around her, she's been quite scared." She explains, and Namjoon nods at Jungkook, finally letting the buzzing hybrid rush to get his shoes and jacket on.

"Thank you so much, we'll be there soon." Namjoon informs her, before hanging up, and rushing to grab onto the hood of Jungkook's sweater. "Come here, I won't risk losing another one." He scolds, putting Jungkook's collar on, before he takes a deep breath.

Time to bring you home.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"So, she is unconscious right now because we've given her a lot of pain relief-" The nurse explains, leading both through the busy department where patients are being treated. Namjoon had instantly asked to be explained what's been happening and what's going to happen, wanting, no, needing to know what's going on to reassure himself of you being fine. "-and she is a little bruised, but she's stable enough for now." She continues to explain. "I'd like for you not to crawl into bed with her to avoid causing anymore damage, we're still waiting for the results of the scans to come back, but you can hold her hand and sit close to her alright?" She asks Jungkook, who nods once before turning his attention back to his environment, as if to scan for where you might be. "He's not much of a talker, is he?" She chuckles, as Namjoon nods a little.

"He's usually a lot more controlled, but the situation had put a lot of stress on him." He apologizes almost, making the nurse nod in understanding.

"That's alright." She says, before she stops walking and pulls a curtain back. "Alright, come on in."

Jungkook is instantly at your side, almost tripping over the cables attached to you, the black panther instantly holding your hand, nuzzling the back of it to get his scent back onto you, whining quietly to himself. "I'll let the doctor know you're here." She simply informs Namjoon before she leaves, pulling the curtain shut again to give you some privacy.

In a way, everything becomes dull in the background for Namjoon.

None of the noises reach him, nothing that goes on around you can really come into focus as he sits down calmly on one of the chairs at the side, simply watching Jungkook cling onto you. You really look like you're only sleeping- apart from a couple of scratches on the side of your jaw, and all of the equipment hooked onto you to monitor your condition, you look almost relaxed. He can spot one of your ears being shaved on the inside, probably done by the medical staff to be able to read your ID tattoo properly. He can't stop simply staring for a moment, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor calming him down somewhat, when a tall man walks in.

"Alright, Hello." The doctor introduces himself with his name and profession, before he laughs when Jungkook growls a little, the hybrid probably feeling threatened by the young and a lot taller male. "Well, hello to you too." He jokes, making Namjoon laugh a little as well. "So I just looked at her results, and it's thankfully a lot less than we initially expected." He explains, and while talking to Namjoon about what's going to have to be done moving forward, Jungkook is busy re-familiarizing himself with you.

There's nothing else on his mind at the moment than you, there, existing, alive.

"Jungkook- come here for a moment, they need to work for a second, okay?" Namjoon carefully tries, running a hand over the hybrid's shoulder. He shakes his head immediately at the prospect of having to leave you again, but at the sight of the nurses, he understands.

Though he can't help but side-eye the tall doctor as he walks past him.

But his jealousy is quickly drowned out as he watches several nurses move and prepare things. He instantly whines and struggles a bit as Namjoon holds him close somewhat on his thigh, very much just as distressed at seeing them move around. "She's got a collapsed lung on the left side, so we're going to insert a small tube to help re-inflate it. It might wake her up since it's quite an uncomfortable procedure, but it's necessary." A nurse explains, and Namjoon nods. "She won't be in pain, but she'll still feel it." She clarifies, and Jungkook hides his face in his owner's neck, who in return stares blankly at the way they work on you.

Surely enough, you do wake up from it, whining pitifully at the confusing surroundings and strange things done to you, nurses doing their best to reassure you that you're fine. It's quite an odd scene to be living through, but frankly, Namjoon is more so relieved that you're in the best care you can be for now.

"Kim Namjoon?" Someone asks, and he looks up at a police officer. "We're aware that this must be a distressing situation, but we'd like to fill you in on the situation at the moment." The man explains, and Namjoon nods. "She was found roaming around tokyo's subway station, security cameras show her being dropped off by a person we've already identified and taken into custody." He says, reading from a notepad. "According to him, he'd been told to 'throw her out' because she was never an intention target from the start. She was, unfortunately, at the wrong place during the wrong time." He sighs.

"Will they look into Seoul's lack of care when she was discharged as well?" Namjoon darkly asks, running a hand over his hybrid's back.

"Thats for the south korean police to decide- though I believe they're looking into it as we speak." The man offers. "For now I can tell you that, even if under unfortunate circumstances and not intentionally, she's been the lead we've been searching for for months. 136 Hybrids had been discovered this morning due to her showing up." He says.

"Thats good to hear." Namjoon simply nods, and the police officer excuses himself before he leaves you all alone again, everything having settled down quite a bit.

And then, your eyes fall on your family, and the dam breaks.

"We're right here love, don't cry." Namjoon immediately hurries out, walking closer with Jungkook who latches back onto your hand. "You'll be fine." Your owner says, and you nod.

"...joon?" You ask meekly, voice cracking a bit.

"Hm?" Namjoon asks, leaning in to hear you better-

But instead of talking, you simply peck his cheek-

And his tears flow freely at that.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #namjoon imagine #dont play with your food au

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penvisions · 8 months

Text

of beskar and kyber {chapter 5}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: The Mandalorian shows the considerate side of himself as he seeks shelter and a place to hide in wake of breaking the Code. You're internally battling with the implications of the kind behavior aimed at you, knowing it's all temporary until your return to a life of extreme captivity.

Word Count: 10.1k

Warnings: mentions of injury, blood, light gore, canon typical gore, canon typical violence, pining, casual intimacy, the sight of din djarin's bare skin, descriptions of longing, ptsd, trauma, sa trauma, mental olympics, fighting, canon typical fighting, language

A/N: don't we all love soft! din djarin? because i sure as hell do. there are snippets of him in this chapter as things get a little more complicated between these two pining loons. SOFT DIN is here and i am thriving. i hope y'all enjoy this one, i certainly had fun writing it c: but HOLY CRAP, this chapter got away from me in the best possible way and two scenes i hadn't planned for are now some of my top five favorites i've written

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

The Mandalorian just crouched there on the durasteel floor of the cockpit. Holding his hands down over the bacta patch that had quickly discolored with blood from your wounds the second it touched your soft body. There was blood stained into the skin of your stomach and ribs, some of it having trailed down to stain the waist of the pants he had allotted you. There was blood stained around your lips, trailing down your chin and had pooled in the crevices of your collarbone. It was smeared around your hands from when you had begun to cough it up down in the hold space. Prints of your hands were all over his armor, his newly minted armor, and his helmet. From desperately reaching out to him and pleading with him. He could see some of it thick and stuck to the visor he was peering at you through, you had begged for him to get to safety.

You had gone into the city to find his clan and to call on them for help on his behalf. You had been intuitive enough to know that the planet held something of importance to him and you sought it out instead of finding a way to flee. You had begged him to save himself and in turn the Child. You had done everything in your power to help ensure that he was successful with his rescue.

You had gotten hurt as a result of your efforts.

And that didn’t sit well with the Mandalorian.

The realization was heavy in his chest, as he stayed motionless on the floor beside you. Despite him taking you captive and intending to return you to your mother as the job instructed, you helped to secure his wellbeing twice now.

With a sigh that seemed to come from the deepest depths of his chest, he leaned over and carefully curled his arms around your limp form. He lifted the weight of you completely and tried not to jostle your body too much as he made his way down into the hold. There was no thought process behind placing you atop the excuse for a bed he had in the small quarters he retired to when given the chance.

He made to lay you down in a comfortable position and brought a threadbare blanket to drape over you.

Pausing for a second, contemplating something in the quiet of the traveling ship. The blood on his clothes would seep into the fabric around you. The Mandalorian brought a hand up to the side of his helmet and activated the heat sensor vision, so as to not witness anything as he removed the stained and saturated clothing from you and replaced it with a fresh pair of pants and shirt. You looked small in his bigger clothing, but he didn’t attempt to replace the belt you had been using to hold the waistband of the pants up. Once you were changed, he took a newer and cleaner cloth and wiped the blood from around your face and neck.

The faint movement of your chest rising and falling with your shallow breaths grounding him, he stood there for a time he couldn’t measure before he snapped out of it.

Only then did he place the blanket over you and leave you to rest.

The marketplace was busy, it crowded, and it was making the Mandalorian think of the two resting people he had waiting back on the Crest for his return. You were still unconscious and the Child had been put down for a nap, still tired from the whole ordeal since the compound. Since the pod had been dismantled and ruined back on Nevarro, he placed the Child in his sleeping quarters alongside you but when unhappy noises had been made. He allowed for you to both share the bed, enough space for you both to not feel crowded. The small child hadn’t liked that, the bed too open and exposed for him to get comfortable, the Mandalorian contemplated.

The Mandalorian had taken a few moments to dig up an old cape, one that didn’t have too much damage done to it, and made a small hammock in the space above the bed. The happy babbling from the Child had caused something to stir in his chest, something akin to pride at having made something that caused those small sounds. He’d rather be aboard his quiet ship than out here in the hectic atmosphere gathering supplies. The sun was hiding behind dark clouds, signaling that rain was due soon.

He found more broth packs, easy to carry and only took water to be a meal. At least, a meal for you and something he could take on longer hunts. He also got some fresh fruit, with the thought that it would be a good snack for the Kid. Along with some kebab sticks with various meats roasted and spiked on them. He folded everything carefully in his satchel, the fabric of it weighed down and tugged lightly on his pauldron as he walked along the market streets. His visor swept over the stalls further down, searching for something. One last thing…

You roused slowly, body aching in a way you were both familiar with and had come to know meant a harsh encounter with a guard or a particularly hard chase following a violent encounter. It was dark, there was no light in whatever room you lay in and that sent alarms to ring in your mind, darkness meant anything could be waiting around you, waiting for you beyond it. That worried you, sent all of your instincts into a frantic buzz that began to drown out the pain you felt simmering just beneath your skin.

There were faint footsteps you could hear somewhere close, the sound of faint breathing above you.

The clothing you were in was loose, you were glad you were clothed after whatever had happened to you had concluded but they were foreign to you. Large, baggy, men’s clothing. The waistband of the pants twisted as you shifted a bit atop the bed you realized you were on. There was the sound of water boiling in a kettle and you were worried it would soon find contact with your skin should whoever was holding you became angered or annoyed with you. The only saving grace was that you weren’t cuffed or chained to anything, something that was a foreign feeling after it had been the reality for so long.

You moved to sit up and pain flared hot and bright in your middle. You let out a stuttered, surprised shout at the sudden hit to your nerves. Your hands came to curl around your middle, carefully to try and abate the pain. Through the fabric of your borrowed shirt, you could feel bandages. That was….odd. No guard or captor had ever tended to injuries they were the cause of before.

Suddenly the door to wherever you were being held opened and it allowed for a peel of artificial light to blind you.

You blinked furiously, eyes not able to discern anything in the sudden brightness. You didn’t say anything as the silhouette of a broad, large man in armor appeared in the narrow doorway. You ducked your head down and froze with your hands holding your middle, legs splayed out atop the mattress in front of you.

You couldn’t help but cower as they approached. That gave them pause.

“You’re on my ship.”

You didn’t look up at the figure as they spoke, or when they moved about the small space of the room to press a few buttons along the wall and soft lights above the bed sprung to life. Arms curled tighter around yourself and you hunched over your knees, having curled your legs up under yourself to take up as little space as possible. Tremors settled over you, your skin feeling very flushed and overheated all of a sudden despite the goosebumps that were almost hurting as they pebbled up. You bowed your head in silence, not speaking.

“Do…you not remember?”

You shook your head fervently, worried about upsetting the man as his armor glinted out of the corner of your eye. It was silver and shiny….and faintly familiar.

“You were injured, Greef Karga had a modified blaster gun that contained metal bullets.” The man inside the armor stood at the foot of the mattress pad you were on. “Landed a hit that did a lot of damage. Broke a few ribs and landed close to your lungs.”

Flashes of bright blaster fire and steam were a mental barrage that had you gasping and leaning your forehead down to rest atop the blanket that had fallen from your form at your fidgeting. Everything that had happened since leaving the compound as a captive to the Mandalorian flooded back to you in a wave of memories and harsh feelings of realizing how injured you were. You sucked in a deep breath, filling your lungs with a burn, your ribcage aching in protest at the action. You bowed your head once again, though in pain not in submittance.

“I apologize, jatne vod. My injury must have put you behind on traveling, I-I-I’ll pay for everything you used from your medical supplies, for fuel, anything wasted on me.”

A boom of thunder had the ship rumbling, and you jumped in response to it. The sound too similar to the explosions and storming of your old temple. Triggering. A second, nearly immediate boom of thunder had your entire form shaking and you brought your hands up to cover your head in an attempt to drown out the sound. There was a scuffling sound and all of a sudden, the Child was pressed up into you. He was burying his face in the fabric of your shirt, his small hands clenching it like a lifeline.

The heavy pattering of rain started to ping off of the metal of the ship.

The Mandalorian would be lying if he said the sight didn’t soften his heart, just a smidge. He didn’t hesitate, but he did consider the move of sitting on the edge of the small bed before he did. There was a loud crackling sound as the lightning brightening the sky as if it were a sunny day landed a hit on something and your body jerked in reaction to it. The tiny claws clinging to you tore through the baggy shirt you were donning, and you let out a stuttered gasp as pain flared harshly.

The Child was suddenly being pulled from you and you heard the clatter of his nails along the cuirass of the man’s chest. There was the sound of leather ripping as another clap of thunder sounded overhead, the ship rattling in its wake.

“I ap-apol-apologize, jat-jatne vod.” You felt a warm tingle in the back of your throat and a rush of dizziness overtook you. Your head swayed with the effect of it despite your best efforts to keep it steady and the lights of the space glowed brightly in a flare against your sensitive eyes. Then a trickle of blood came out of your nose, warm on your upper lip where it collected. You went to brush it away, but something moved to do so before you could.

A bare hand was suddenly in front of your face, a washcloth held in its grip. Your head shot up at the sight of the tan skin, veins and strong muscles in a shocking display. The back of his knuckles brushed your cheek as he brought the damp washcloth underneath your nose to wipe away the thick blood that had dripped down to your upper lip. You clenched your eyes shut, suddenly worried about the meaning of such a thing. Of the exposure of his skin, visible in the light of his personal space.

“It’s okay, I’m allowing you to see.”

Words seemed to no longer exist, they were fleeting in your mind but none were solid. None of them left your lips, unable to speak. Wind whistled outside of the ship, but you were deaf to it in the wake of your heart thundering in your ears. Your mind was frozen and so was your body. Even though his reaction to your earlier offer to trade for items when first coming aboard the ship, you couldn’t help but feel like he was about to strike up one in the wake of exposing a part of himself to you, no matter how innocent. It would make sense after all, you were in his personal quarters, you were in his bed, he had tended to your injuries with time and energy that he could’ve otherwise utilized in his attempt to flee.

He must’ve sensed the direction of your thoughts, his hand stilled as he finished wiping the blood from your skin.

“I will not put a hand on you beyond tending to your injuries. You don’t want me to, and I won’t breach that. This is the Way.”

You couldn’t help the minute tilt of your head that allowed the back of his hand to brush your cheek again. You flicked your eyes up at the black of the visor in front of you. His hand was warm on your sensitive skin, and it helped to settle the chill that had settled over you from what you were sure was a fever. The visor tilted down at the split second of contact, though no words sounded from the modulator, not even a breath. When you lifted your eyes up again, you let them linger a little longer, your lips pressed together and a drop of blood he hadn’t gotten was a metallic surprise.

The pressure built up in the air from the storm seemed to occupy the room, as if it had snuck aboard the ship and was surrounding you both in the confines of the small space.

The washcloth thumped quietly to the bed and his thumb came up to gently brush against your lips.

You felt a rush of heat on your face, goosebumps sprouting on your skin at the feeling of his skin on yours. His thumb rested fully on your bottom lip, as if he was unable to pull his hand away, as if he didn’t want to. The pad of it was soft, and you wondered how soft the rest of his skin was underneath the armor if this was just his hand. The thought of loss washed over you as you thought of him taking his hand back, of taking the softness resting against your lips away. Of the glove he normally wore being put back over and hiding his skin away from you. It was foreign and you felt the burn of shame for thinking such a thing. You turned your head away as you closed your eyes and let out a shaky breath that stung in your lungs, the movement causing the back of his hand to caress your cheek.

After a beat, he proceeded to place the Child atop the bed beside him, his other gloved hand on a small back to reassure him that it was all okay. Thankfully the thunder had subsided for the moment, the quell of the storm temporarily abating. You went to reach for the small figure, but that same still naked hand extended toward you again with a fresh bacta patch and a tube of some type of cream.

“It’s a topical medicine that was recommended when I asked after your type of injuries.”

“Th- thank you, jatne vod.” You spoke to the cluttered wall of the quarters, eyes taking in the things the Mandalorian deemed important enough to keep close at all times. Keeping them off of the bare hand still exposed to you, you had already been greedy with your thoughts, there was no need to stare. Despite how much you wanted to, despite how much you wanted the feeling of that hand back on your skin. Shameful, pitiful, you realized. This man was your captor, he had all the power and you felt the pull of distaste bubble up in your throat. You would never know freedom again, would never have the choice of someone’s touch. It was a bitter realization in the wake of being faced with the urge for a gentle touch after catching a glimpse of it for the first time in your life.

“The ship can’t fly in such weather, we will remain here until the storm passes.”

With that, he stood from the bed and scooped the Child up. The armored man held the small form close to his chest with a strong arm, the hand that had been touching you was hanging at his side with a ripped glove in its grip. A compartment was opened on the wall close to the door and a new shirt, one not ripped as yours was now, was placed alongside the medical supplies. His steps were quiet as he left the small space. The door was left open behind him marginally, allowing for you to take a moment to yourself should you need to.

You gathered up the items he had placed in front of you and gingerly moved to get up off the bed. It took a few moments for you to get your bearings, your entire middle from the front to the back sore. The large bacta patch already covering your injury was large, spanning the entire left side of your ribcage. It had a stain that meant it was time to be changed, the corners of lit curling and lifting up from your skin as the adhesive began to lose its potency.

When you stepped out of the personal quarters, you were faced with the scene of the Mandalorian seated at the makeshift table with an array of food items scattered about it. He was handing small bites of the various things to the Child. Seeing what was being greedily shoved into the small mouth, what was inspected, and what was spit out in dislike. You watched for a moment, holding a hand to your left side as you slowly moved over to the remaining seat, as the Child was safely nestled atop the table.

There was a small pile of clothing atop the table once again, soft looking fabric that was black and glinted with a hint of some type of metal adornment. You wondered about it as you sat.

“He doesn’t seem to like the fruit,” You stifled a small laugh at the grimace adorning the small face, the sounds of distaste too cute as he babbled away. Your hand hovered over a cannister of green cubes, some type of melon you assumed. It looked so fresh and your mouth watered, you had always loved fruit of any kind. The fresh, bright flavors one of the small pleasures you awarded yourself in your life when you had the opportunity to. “May I?”

At the nod of the helmet, you carefully picked up a piece and popped it in your mouth. The tart, tangy flavor of it was refreshing on your tongue and you quickly grabbed another without asking in a bold move. Beside it was a cannister of small purple berries that looked similar to the blackberries you would harvest back on your home planet, though the taste of them was sweeter. The berries were slightly fuzzy, and when bitten into the flesh was almost translucent. You cradled a few in your hand as you took in the way the Mandalorian carefully removed bits of cooked meat from a kebab and handed them to the Kid.

Errant thunder rumbled overhead as you enjoyed a few bites, though nothing as striking or loud as those first few booms. Seems the storm had been passing over, traveling further into the planet to pelt down in some other parts of the atmosphere.

“Those clothes there are for you. They should fit you better than mine.”

“Oh! You didn’t have to do that, jatne vod.” You dropped the piece of sliced apple you had been about to take from a cannister. It was covered in a slightly spiced syrup that smelled delicious. You licked the stickiness from your fingertips and moved your hands to rest in your lap.

“I had credits in my…other pants. They are yours, jatne vod.”

There was only a nod from the helmet as you moved to stand, taking the clothing in your arms.

“May I use the fresher?” You bowed slightly as you addressed him, habits seemingly unable to abate in the wake of your partial freedom. While you knew you were still his captive, the obvious glitch in the entire situation was that the Mandalorian no longer worked for the Guild. You had looked over your file while he had been rescuing the Child, to see the specifics of what your mother had ordered in her desperation to find you.

She had requested that the Mandalorian specifically be the one to receive your tracking fob, to return you to her directly on your home planet. That no one else was to know of your disappearance in such explicit detail. You were unclear on whether or not he would be completing the job now that he no longer worked for the Guild, but you were hesitant to ask. It would be a breach to…whatever civil atmosphere had settled over the ship. He had brought food back, though he ate alone to adhere to his creed. He had allowed you to pick through the various canisters gathered on the table, though you had not helped pay for the food. He had tended to your wounds, though he did not have to. He had allowed you to rest in his personal quarters, though he did not have to forgo his own comfort. He had gone into town with the intent to purchase clothing for you, though he did not have to when you had been dressed in his own already.

It was dizzying, the shift in treatment from being bound in shackles and forced through the desert to this…. nearly domestic setting. You weren’t sure how long it would last, or if he was already traveling toward your home planet. It was mid rim, so it would take quite a long journey and you weren’t sure how long you had been unconscious for. You were afraid to ask questions, afraid to find out the answers.

Afraid to break the fragile ground you now walked on.

At the nod to your simple question, you picked up the bundle of clothing atop the table and made your way to the refresher.

You disrobed slowly, taking a mental tally of all the aches and pains that wracked your body. It was hard to take a full breath, it stung the back of your throat to take a shallow one, a lingering metallic taste there. Your entire middle was bruised and off color, you discovered as you pried the old bacta patch from your skin. The discoloration and bruising hid a bit of swelling and you could tell that two of your ribs were broken, on either side of a dark cauterized blemish marred into you. It was healing though, you were positive of that. The bacta having made the closure a dark pink of a scar as opposed to a scabbed over spot. Your ribs too, would be worse off if not for the immediate tending to them.

You were grateful, despite being confused about the aid. Despite the niggling worry in the back of your mind that he would still ask for something in return.

The warm water of the shower was soothing to your anxious mind and aching body. The ship powered up and you felt the slight shift in gravity as it took to the air. You stood underneath the spray until your legs began to feel weak, which admittedly hadn’t been all that long.

Once dried off, you put your bindings and underwear back on. Reaching for the tube of medication, you inspected the label. It was a cooling type of gel that was supposed to help sooth your muscles and make it easier to breathe. When you opened the tube, the smell was a little strong but you kind of liked it. A small dallop was spread around your injury and the effect was immediate. It was slightly cooling in a flaring heat type of way and tingly, and it certainly did help to open up your airways. You took a test breath in and smiled as it didn’t pull on your insides as much as it had done just moments ago.

The clothing that the Mandalorian had gotten you was…something that made your heart titter as you unfolded a beautiful cloak. It was hooded and made of a lightweight, black gauzy material that would protect you from the elements but wouldn’t weigh you down. It had a clasp around the parts that come to rest over your chest, it was a lightweight metal. The clasps were small, detailed flowers and a dainty but sturdy chain with a handful of links. The quality of it was amazing and you ran your hands over the fabric in a slight daze. It was a beautiful piece of clothing and something you were sure was more expensive than anything you had ever worn in your entire life.

Underneath it had been a small pile of nondescript black clothing. A tank top, a regular shirt, a pair of trousers that were more your size and length. There was also a pair of fingerless, leather gloves that came up to cover your wrists completely to about mid forearm. It was…too much. Panic flared in your chest, and it hurt to breath for another reason altogether. No one had ever shown you this level of…consideration. Instincts telling you that something was going to be required in exchange, despite the very opposite being voiced by the Mandalorian himself.

You brought a hand up to thumb at your lower lip, recalling the way his own had felt against it and you felt your face heat up at the memory.

Opting to change back into the larger, borrowed clothing, you exited the refresher with your newly gifted clothes folded neatly in your hands.

When you came out back into the hold space, there was a cup of broth waiting for you on the crate-table, small wisps of steam rising from it. You looked at it, getting lost in watching the steam reach out into the air until it vanished. You turned toward the ladder that led up to the cockpit and was startled to see the figure of the Mandalorian standing at the base of it. He was watching you and it made your heart jump in your chest, the thought of him waiting for you setting off your instincts to run despite not being physically able to.

You felt your knees bend slightly, as if gearing up to run and you felt foolish as you consciously realized you were aboard a ship traveling through space. There was nowhere to run.

“I’m going to keep an eye on the course, you can return to the bed with the Child. He’s in the hammock above it.” With that, he turned and climbed the ladder. His own cloak swayed as he disappeared from view without so much as a sound.

You moved to sit at the table, taking up the broth in a hand while you reached for your bag stored underneath it. You carefully put the clothing inside and the sound of clinking metal caught your attention. You dug around in it as you brought it to rest in your lap. The bag of credits you had swiped from that unsuspecting person back on Nevarro surprised you. You had thought the Mandalorian had just taken them from you when he had tended to your injuries. You set it atop the table beside the canisters clustered in the middle and sipped from the mug in your hand.

With the combination of the warm broth in your belly, the clean bandages over your injuries, and the topical cream that still smelled faintly of mint that was allowing for you to take easier breaths, you found yourself slipping into an easy slumber settled into the Mandalorian’s bed.

You weren’t sure how long you slept, though it felt like a significant amount of time had passed. The medicine and the full stomach allowing you to fall into much needed healing slumber. The door to the quarters was open and you sat up and gazed out into the semi-darkness of the rest of the ship. Footsteps approached the door through the space.

“We’re going to drop out of hyperspace soon.” The Mandalorian’s voice was quiet, as if he didn’t want to disturb you should your mind be in more in the state of sleep than awake. You hummed as you felt yourself wake up a little more, the shifting of your legs underneath the blankets twinging from laying for so long. “Planet will be in view.”

You just hummed again in confirmation as you began to sit up, head lolling with the lack of energy you had in your recovering state. Your arms were shaky where you held yourself up on them to try and gain some bearings. You felt worn leather cuff a shoulder and encircle an arm to help you sit up completely, warmth seeping into your skin through it. He didn’t say anything as you slowly moved your legs to dangle over the edge of the cot, watching for any signs of pain or discomfort. He waited outside of the small quarters as you dressed. You opted for the cargo style pants, the tank top, gloves, and the beautiful cloak. You also took a moment to pull the hair that normally framed your face back with two small clips from your bag, leaving the rest of it to cascade down your back but away from your face to allow you to have full range of vision.

The Mandalorian took in your change of appearance before he held a light hand to one of your arms and your lower back as you ascended to the cockpit.

Once seated, he took up his spot in the pilot’s seat, the Child resting in his lap and looking over the controls and out the panels of glass. The small being seemed to have a fascination with the streaking lights of travel. You smiled to yourself as you watched the two be causally intimate with each other in only the way a guardian and their charge could be.

The ethereal, glowing lights of hyperspace disappeared, and the expanse of the glass paneling was encompassed by green.

The planet the Mandalorian was guiding the ship towards was covered in various shades of green. There were spots of bright cerulean that dotted the planet, but it was mostly the calming and comforting color of green, of trees. You audibly gasped, the feeling of warmth blossoming in your chest at the sight. You weren’t aware of shakily getting up from your seat or setting down the small pouch of soft dried fruit you had been trying to munch on or crossing the distance to stand beside the pilot chair and lean toward the view atop the controls.

“Jatne vod…”

You turned to look at him, a grateful smile lighting up your tired features.

The Mandalorian would be lying if he said the sight hadn’t made his heart kick into a faster rhythm in his ribcage.

“Now listen. I’m gonna go out there and I’m gonna look around.”

The Mandalorian instructed once he had securely landed the ship in a clearing far from what little collections of people that had been seen as you flew through the clear sky. He gently collected the Child and set him in the seat that had just been occupied. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“Now, don’t touch anything.” He spoke sternly to the small being, though not unkindly. He turned to you, where you had gone back into the seat off to the left of his own. His voice was normal when he addressed you, no stern undertones, no warnings. “I’ll find us some lodging and then I’ll come back for you both.”

He turned back around and took on that stern tone once again.

“You stay right here. Don’t move.” The finger aimed at him was a laughable display, but you refrained from indulging, not wanting to offend the armored man who was trying to set the rules out for the little one. The small grunt of acknowledgement seemed to be all he was waiting for. “Great.”

He turned away and helped you to get down back into the hold with hovering hands. You sensed the Child following suit but didn’t say anything, rather enjoying the clear defiance of the instructions the man had just set in place from the small being. He could get away with it, whereas if you disobeyed… there was no telling what the outcome would be at this point. As the door and ramp got situated you watched as the Mandalorian waited for it to completely lock into place atop the dirt of the planet, the Child’s small form standing beside him as if that was where he belonged.

At the quiet cooing sounding from him, the Mandalorian heaved a deep sigh and turned back to where you had begun to retrieve your bag.

“Oh, what the hell? Come on, both of you.”

The three of you took off into the dense collection of trees, the forest swallowing your forms as you walked away from the ship. You took as deep a breath as you could without irritating your lungs, not wanting to pull or strain them in the wake of making some healing progress. The air was fresh and crisp, the all-encompassing scent of pine and cedarwood making you feel at ease. You placed a hand out to brush the leaves hanging low beside the small path and felt the coolness of them along your exposed fingertips.

You were silent as you followed behind the armored man a few paces with the Kid beside you. You kept glancing down at him, to make sure he was walking okay and not tripping over anything too big for him to step over. His head was swiveling around as he took in the sights and sounds of the forest. He seemed to like it as much as you did. You wondered what his natural environment was, what it looked like, what type of planet he and his kind originally hailed from. You had been too preoccupied with training and memorizing everything you could get your hands on to read as a youngling at the Temple to ask the only other individual like this that you had known. Your heart panged with old feelings as you recalled those lost in the chaos of that time of your life.

Beside you, the Kid cooed rather loudly and stopped along the small path through the trees. His focus was on something in the brush, his head tilted to the side a little in the cutest way imaginable. The head of a lothcat popped up and he startled, falling back on his little rump. You stifled a quiet laugh as he huffed and collected himself enough to reach a hand out to it. The fluffy creature leaned forward and sniffed at his little hand, eyes trained on his own. The creature seemed to approve of him and nudged its head against the hand in front of it with a loud chitter.

You leaned down beside his small form to reach out a hand to the creature as well. It brushed its soft fur against your hand and a loud purr filled the space between the trees. It spooked when the Mandalorian took his steps back up and a small twig snapped. It took off down the path and away with a swift trot.

The town was small, more a small collection of businesses and then personal homes that surrounded a tavern. The buildings were comprised of thick wicker bases, wood paneling atop that to create the dome like structures. It was slightly crowded, as it was midday and time for lunch. The tavern tables nearly filled as the smell of delicious foods cooking wafted through the air. You were on high alert as you realized people were watching your trio, both of you following the Mandalorian’s sure steps.

A lothcat was settled at someone’s feet but it was more orange than white compared to the one you had just encountered in the forest. The Child didn’t see the difference and he approached the creature, only to get hissed at, a snarl sounding low in its throat. The Child yelped and you quickly scooped him up into your arms. You kept your eyes low and your head slightly ducked as you took in the rest of the scene of the bustling tavern as the Mandalorian scouted out a table. Once an unoccupied one came into view, he reached out and took the Child from you and placed him in one of the chairs around the table. He waited until you were seated as well, before he took one of his own.

“Welcome, travelers.” An older woman with short hair approached your trio as she cleaned her hands off on a rag. “Can I interest you in anything?”

“Bone broth for the little one.”

“Oh, well, you’re in luck. I just took down a grinjer, so there’s plenty.” She spoke with her hands, as she glanced around the table before speaking again. Her eyes landed on you and you tried not to appear too outwardly uneasy at the direct attention for fear of drawing more. “Can I interest you in one as well? Or you, sweet little thing, look like you could use some food.”

You shook your head as you folded your hands in your lap and aimed your eyes down at the table.

“Just the one.”

“Very well.” You felt her gaze move from you and you let out the breath you had been holding. Direct attention was always difficult for you, reading everything and the Maker into it no matter what.

You focused your attention on reaching out with the Force to get a sense of the town, of the people here, the environment. Aware of the Mandalorian speaking further with the kind lady, but not distinguishing anything specific. There were no disturbances in the Force, though there was the prickling feeling of eyes trained on you specifically. You vaguely noticed that the armored man was standing and walking away from the table in swift motions, as you tried to get a deeper read on the people surrounding you. It was a little overwhelming, being in the midst of so much going on after being held captive at the compound for so long.

The noises and hum of chatter were loud in your ears, causing a slight ache to settle as the lower base of your head that had nothing to do with your injuries. Your whole body was tense, though you were sure it was hidden in the way you held yourself, composed. To anyone watching, it would just look like a guardian and her charge enjoying a nice meal. But you were as tense as could be, wound tighter than a coil. Your body protested it, but you couldn’t help the overwhelming fear of being out in the open like this. You were injured, not at full strength and had the Kid to worry about now too. The both of you would be targets for the rest of your lives, it didn’t matter if you were back to full strength and capabilities. And that terrified you.

You snapped back to full focus, letting go of the mental tether you had reached out to connect with the Force as the Child moved to take the bowl set down in front of him and dismount his own seat. You followed him as he seemed so sure of his steps out of the open bay of the tavern’s entrance and out into the small village.

As you rounded a turn around a building, the Child stopped and took a big sip from his bowl of broth, taking in the sight of the Mandalorian sprawled on his back. The helmet was tilted back as he trained the aim of a blaster on one of the people who had been tracking your movements through the tavern. It was a rather broad and muscled woman with short black hair that fell into her face in a way that made you want to brush it aside, she was adorned in travel wear, metal plates of armor over her shoulders and forearms. She was laying on her stomach along the ground, facing the upside down Mandalorian with her own blaster trained on him. They were both panting, the effects of their scuffle obvious.

They both turned in unison to take in the sight of the Child standing calmly in front of you, sipping away as his food as if this was a normal occurrence. You just bowed your head in greeting, despite only having been away from the man for a few moments. The Mandalorian spoke, breaking the tension in the air.

“You want some soup?”

“Saw most of my action mopping up after Endor. Mostly ex-Imperial warlords.” The quartet of your group was back at the original table the Mandalorian had found. A cup of broth in front of everyone who didn’t don a helmet. You had pulled out a handful of credits from your pocket to cover the new round, not wanting to be rude. The visor of the Mandalorian was trained on you through the entire exchange and the kind woman from before thanked you and offered to fill your flagon with fresh water. You shook your head in a silent denial, wary of anything you didn’t see the source of. The only reason you ate the soup was because the Mandalorian deemed it safe enough for the Child, so it should be safe enough for you as well, by default.

“They wanted it fast and quiet. They’d send us in on the drop ships. No support, just us. Then when the Imps were gone, the politics started.” You wanted to nod along in agreement but held the action. You were worried about drawing anymore attention than was already aimed at the table.

“We were peacekeepers, protecting delegates, suppressing riots. Not what I signed up for.”

“How’d you end up here?”

“Let’s just call it an early retirement.” She took a sip from her bowl as a way to lull the conversation down. It was obvious she had fled, had possibly participated in or allowed the occurrence of a riot herself.

“Look, I knew you were Guild. I figured you had a fob on me. That’s why I came at you so hard.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

“You look like you’ve been through it, you alright over there? You’ve been awfully quiet, barely touched your broth and you look like you need it most out of all of us.” She turned her attention to you. The table dynamics had you settled between her and the Child, she was on your right while your back was to the internal wall of the tavern. You ducked your head at the direct questions, eyes darting over to the helmet of the Mandalorian that was facing you as well.

“Vaabir not ganar baatir par ni, cyar'ika.”

Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.

You couldn’t help the term of endearment from falling from your lips despite not even looking directly at her, eyes trained on the far wall past her. The woman was everything you once were, and it was softening your heart just the smallest bit, while simultaneously steeling it. But not enough to carry on a conversation, let alone one in Basic that could be understood by anyone or anything listening in. If she once dealt with Imperials, you didn’t need her to get to know anything about you. She would most likely know of your wanted posters from long ago, whispers of the search for you that may or may not have faded with the death of the emperor and his guard. You didn’t want her to make the connection, any connection regarding who or what you were.

“Gar liser jorhaa'ir, meh gar copad at.”

You can speak, if you want to.

The Mandalorian took your use of his native language as a signal that you were uncomfortable, looking to connect with him in a way that didn’t allow anyone else to be privy. For that you were grateful, you…weren’t the biggest people person as a child and you certainly weren’t now. Isolation making you prefer to be alone or talk very little when faced with interaction.

“Nayc, jatne vod.” You shook you head, hoping he would drop the conversation and go back to talking with the woman. The sooner they finished, the sooner you could get away from the village.

“Well, this had been a real treat,” The woman, Cara her name was, moved to get up from her seat. She brought the bowl up to hold it in front of her middle, as if she was using it as a shield for either physical purposes or to hold her anxiety at bay. “But unless you wanna go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on. And I was here first.”

She took the last sip from it before setting it down atop the table and walking off.

“Well, looks like this planet’s taken.” He looked down at the Child in front of his own bowl before he rested the length of his right arm on the table and gazed around the tavern one more time. Keeping tabs even after the scuffle, on alert for another in case it arose.

It was dusk by the time you returned to the ship. You had offered to put something together for a meal, while the Mandalorian checked over everything on the ship. He only nodded, in agreement of the meal or in an acknowledgement of you being able to do so. Either way, you busied yourself in the small makeshift kitchen space of the hold.

You set a bowl of rice and leftover kebabs down beside the Mandalorian after making sure the Child was tucked into bed. It was late and his eyes had begun to droop as soon as he had been fed. The armored man was busy tinkering away with something along the side of the Crest, he had two containers of tools beside him and you set the bowl atop one as you watched him work for a moment.

“Jatne vod, may I go and sit in the trees.” The sound of the wrench he was using stopped, the grating metal and metal ceasing as he turned his helmet to observe you. There was a bowl of food in your hand as well, a utensil placed carefully in it as you stood beside his little workstation set up. The sky was dark, but the lantern that he had atop the tools and the light from his helmet allowed him to see how tired you looked. You were holding a lantern of your own, though he recognized it as one he kept stored on the ship. “I won’t go far or out of sight, I promise.”

“You don’t have to ask me to do things.”

“Of course I do, I’m in your charge.” Your appetite was waning in light of the conversation, the sinking feeling in your stomach filling you up. “Until the job is done, you are my captor, I…shouldn’t even be asking to do things…it’s an…unusual dynamic.”

“The clothes and tending to your issues were necessary for your comfort and survival, those were unusual?”

“Jatne vod….it’s as if…n-nevermind… I’ll go back inside, I’m sorry for bothering you.” Tears were welling up despite your best efforts to stave them off. The words you had been about to speak would spark a conversation you weren’t sure you were ready to face. The reality of your situation was plain, you were the Mandalorian’s quarry, no matter how he acted towards you. The tears were of anger and annoyance at yourself for beginning to feel otherwise. The facts were the facts. You turned on your heel and quickly made your way around the ship and toward the ramp.

A hand gripping around your bicep stopped you and your cloak swished with the sudden stop. You turned to face the shadowed visor of the Mandalorian. It was moving closer and closer toward you until you felt the cool metal above the visor rest against your forehead for a few seconds. Your eyes fluttered shut at the contact, the metal allowing your face to cool down from getting so worked up so quickly just now. When he pulled back, he aimed the visor at your eye level, though you had yet to open yours back up.

“Though that is the case….I want you to be… comfortable.” His voice was quiet through the modulator. A careful tone you hadn’t heard from him as of yet. It was…smooth and soft just like his skin had been against yours earlier that day. You wanted more of it, more of this, more of that, more of him. And that was wrong.

Feelings of delusion overwhelmed you as you read too much into the man showing you a bit of kindness, nothing really, in wake of living your life alone and then taken prisoner for so long. That’s all it was, it was all in your head and your heart was running with any thread it could to make this something that it wasn’t. He was capable of softness, as shown by his regret at turning in the Child. But you wouldn’t be so lucky, only catching glimpses of it for the remainder of your time with him.

“As long as it doesn’t affect me or the Kid in a negative way, you can do pretty much whatever you want.”

You nodded as you kept your eyes shut, not willing to open them and come face to face with the helmet leaning down to gaze at you. This….casual touching wasn’t helping to get your mind on track. You stepped back, away from him and you felt his hand release you. Your skin burned where his touch had been and you tired to shake the feeling away. You took as deep a breath as you could muster, not wanting to irritate your ribs, and exhaled slowly. You didn’t say anything as you walked over to the edge of the clearing facing the ramp and settled with your back to a tree and began to eat.

You ignored the lingering stare of the Mandalorian until he turned back to finish his maintenance.

“Excuse me.” A pair of figures approached from the darkness of the surrounding forest. Their voices were light and innocent as they did so, speaking with respect. “Excuse me, sir.”

“There something I can help you with?” You weren’t surprised in the slightest when the Mandalorian spoke without breaking his concentration. He was elbows deep in the paneling of the ship, making sure everything was set to travel. Still leaning back onto the trunk of a tall tree, your empty bowls had already been returned to the makeshift kitchen space. The ramp to the ship was closed and you had been out here with the man for the better part of an hour. You had heard the two men approaching, their land speeder a little wide for the trail and overhung branches and overgrown brush had whispered against the siding.

“Uh, yeah. Raiders.”

“We have money.”

“So, you think I’m some kinda mercenary?” The Mandalorian walked around from where he had been securing something around the open panel below the landing leg of the ship. He was on the other side of it now, and continued to work without so much as a glance at the two figures.

“You are a Mandalorian, right?”

“Or at least wearing Mandalorian armor. That is Mandalorian armor, right?”

“It is.”

“See? I told him. Sir, I’ve read a lot about your people…tribe. If half of what I read is true…”

“We have money.”

“How much?”

“Everything we have, sir. Our whole harvest was stolen.”

“Krill. We’re krill farmers.”

“We brew spotchka. Our whole village chipped in.” The Mandalorian finally turned to face them, giving them direct attention. He took in the bag of credits held high in one of their hands and began to walk along the side of the ship away from them.

“It’s not enough.”

“Are you sure? You don’t even know what the job is.”

“I know it’s not enough. Good luck.”

“This is everything we have. We’ll give you more after the next harvest.”

The door began to hiss as it prepared to open, steam releasing as the mechanism lowered. You stood from where you had been resting close by, back against the tree and watching the stars throughout the entire interaction. The two villagers jumped at the sound, backing away as the ramp lowered. The mechanical groan of it doing so was the only sound in the clearing.

“Come on. Let’s head back.” One whispered to the other, watching as you silently approached and moved to stand behind the Mandalorian. You nodded at them in greeting, a sympathetic downturn of your lips telling them you weren’t in agreement with the denial of help. But you had no say in the matter.

“Took us the whole day to get here. Now we have to ride back with no protection, to the middle of nowhere.”

You watched as the armored man was nearly up to the top of the ramp and inside the ship when he turned to them, his cape swishing with the movement. His helmet picking up the whispered complaint from the villagers. You didn’t envy them, if one was seeking out aid, surely traveling was nerve wracking in combination of being away from a threatened home.

“Where do you live?”

“On a farm. Weren’t you listening? We’re farmers.”

“In the middle of nowhere?”

They paused, unsure if they were being taken seriously now that the Mandalorian seemed to be paying attention. Unsure if they were being humored for a good laugh. Your brow furrowed as you took in the almost exasperated way they were answering questions now, you felt bad for them, truly.

“…yes.”

“You have lodging?” The Mandalorian glanced at you before focusing on the two men again.

“Yeah, absolutely.” Their tone changed to hopeful, returning to what it had been when they first approached.

“Good. Come up and help.” He turned back and entered the hold space, beginning to shift through the ship for things he would need.

All three of them worked diligently, gathering whatever things the Mandalorian pointed out to them and placing them atop the land speeder they had used to traverse through the thick forest. The Child was already nestled atop it, big eyes watching the flurry of movement. There were a few cases of things and then your bag was brought over. The medical kit that had been in his quarters. You weren’t sure what everything was, but it was obviously important and couldn’t be left on the ship. You were unsure of how long the armored man planned to stay here but….it looked like a good chunk of time if the cases were any indication. You tried not to dwell on that for too long…

“I’m gonna need one more thing. Give me those credits.”

A guiding hand was hovering close to your back as you gingerly stepped up onto the older model speeder. It was suddenly wrapping around you when your side twinged and you lost your balance mid step up, its companion coming up to rest on one of your arms to help steady you. You let out a little ‘oof’ as your weight was suddenly being supported by strong arms. Your head was turned to say something to the Mandalorian but before you could even open your mouth, you felt them tense slightly as the muscles moved to lift you completely and place you up on the speeder.

“…thank you, jatne vod.”

You wouldn’t look at him as you settled down and brought your legs up and crossed them.

“Ready for round two?”

Cara quickly holstered her gun, grabbed her pack, and situated herself across the land speeder from you.

“Hi there, cyar'ika.” She winked at you, raising two of her fingers in a mock salute once she was seated with her legs stretched out.

You felt your face warm at the term of endearment even though she didn’t know what it meant. You were sure she was only repeating it because it was what you had called her back in the tavern during the day. The land speeder began to move as the Mandalorian sat down inside as well.

“So, we’re basically running off a band of raiders for lunch money?”

“They’re quartering us in the middle of nowhere. Last I checked that’s a pretty square deal for somebody in your position.” He was leaning up against the siding of the land speeder, his legs stretched out before him. He was to your left, as if he was subconsciously shielding your injured side even under the cover of night, against anything that may dare to threaten your traveling group. The Child was seated in front of your own legs, folded up and crossed underneath you as you leaned back on a folded blanket to try and relieve some of the ache in your middle beside him. “Worse case scenario you tune up your blaster. Best case, we’re a deterrent. I can’t imagine there’s anything living in these trees that an ex-shock trooper couldn’t handle.”

The Mandalorian stretched out his arms and leaned back further to rest them atop the side of the land speeder, the move drawing your eyes to him. Something flared low in your middle and you willed it to disappear as quickly as it came. There was absolutely no reason why him getting comfortable should ping your radar like that, but you’d be lying if you said it hadn’t. It was jarring enough that your radar was even operational, at this point, if you were blatantly honest with yourself. You had long since lost the desire to feel touch and to seek out pleasure, not that you had done much anyway. The things done to you shutting it off for good long ago.

The ease and confidence of his words paired with his smooth motions bringing an arm close to you as it rested behind your shoulders had you closing your eyes in a long blink before you focused your attention on the stars shining down on you.

“And what are you able to handle?” Cara turned back to you. “I don’t see so much as a knife on you, but you’re traveling with the armored tank over here, essentially.”

“I can handle plenty.” Your voice was slightly pinched though mostly composed, not sure how to go about this type of conversation without giving away too much. But if you were about to spend an undetermined amount of time with the woman in the middle of nowhere, it would be best to tell the truth just a little bit. “But no, I don’t carry any weapons at the moment. I’m…currently in transport due to the instructions on my own fob.”

She coughed as the drink she had just taken from a flagon went down wrong. She turned wide eyes from you to the Mandalorian, seeking out answers as she tried to get her voice back.

“You’re a quarry?!”

“…yes.”

“She is.”

“Why are you trying to hide here on Sorgan if you’ve got credits to collect from turning her in?”

“I bet the Guild wouldn’t be willing to make good on this job.”

You could sense that she wanted to ask questions, to find out the details of what exactly the dynamic was and how this unusual situation came to be. But you didn’t offer her any words and neither did the Mandalorian.

The land speeder traveled on.

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @moonknight-s-cumdump @js-favnanadoongi

dividers made by the lovely @cafekitsune

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yanderes-galore · 11 months

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Can I request something for TWD, Carl Grimes with a partner who's pretty reckless?

(Romantic please and maybe this can be a short story)

Uhhh, sure! This will be an AU where you're both around 18 and where he doesn't die. Like the comics? Still upsetting that they killed him off instead of giving him the chance to mature like what I've seen in the comics. I decided as I am still new to The Walking Dead to make this a concept instead? It could always be adapted to a short story later. Just testing the waters as I'm new to this fandom. I'm sorry if this isn't quite what you wanted or I get something wrong. Sorry this took months and probably wasn't even that good :(

Possible Spoilers for The Walking Dead but I kept it minimal

Yandere! Carl Crimes with Reckless! Darling

Carl Lives AU

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Violence, Blood, Trauma, Suicide briefly mentioned, Murder, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Paranoia, Manipulation, Angst, Dubious relationship, Isolation, Imprisonment, Carl is a broken man.

I feel Carl would have a tough time with a darling is reckless.

Let's look at how he grew up...

He grew up in the apocalypse, a world filled with corpses, violence, murder, suicide, betrayal, and a whole lot of death in general.

He had to kill his own mom and by this point his father is dead, too.

Now he's an adult... a hardened adult who has seen what this broken world has to offer.

He's used to a world where people kill each other.

He's used to all the blood and violence.

So the fact you, his partner, is reckless irritates him and makes him a bit nervous.

There's a good chance Carl will try to correct your tendencies.

When he met you he knew you weren't able to take care of yourself due to your behavior.

He had a feeling you'd easily be betrayed or Walker food if he didn't take you in with the rest of the group.

Sooner or later, you two get close enough to start dating.

Be that months or a year or two doesn't matter, Carl ends up falling for you despite what he's gone through.

Carl is an overprotective yandere but that's understandable based on what he's gone through.

I can imagine Carl getting frustrated at your reckless behavior.

Not only does he try to correct it but your behavior often causes arguments.

Carl fights with you and your behavior out of deeply rooted fear.

Don't you know how easy it would be to lose you if you don't be cautious?

You could be kidnapped, killed, or turned into a Walker!

He doesn't want to be the one to shoot you in the head....

As a result, Carl often gives you survival lessons.

You may call him paranoid... but in his eyes, paranoid is better than dead.

Carl has dark thoughts and intentions in him so his feelings of love for you could easily turn corrupt.

He feels he needs to protect you.

He can protect you from others, it's expected of him as your boyfriend.

Although with a reckless darling... he begins to realize he may need to protect you from yourself.

If he doesn't keep a close eye on you... you could go and get yourself killed.

Carl loves you and he tries to make that known to you.

Due to the stress caused by living in the apocalypse within a group that can betray each other easily... you both tend to fight.

By the end of it, however, Carl tries to show you he still loves you.

He'll apologize and just say your behavior scares him.

He'll comfort you with hugs and soft kisses on the cheek to make you smile.

He doesn't want to lose you like so many others... even if it is an outcome he can't avoid forever.

Even with weapon training or basic agility training he still feels you'll get yourself killed somehow.

Carl wants to protect the one he loves.

Imprisonment is just another form of protection, right?

Carl may actually decide locking you up would keep you safer than letting you free.

Not only is anyone/everything a danger to you... so are you with your tendencies.

Behind bars in a makeshift prison made at the group's base is currently the best situation for you in his eyes.

If anyone tries to fight Carl on this, he'll get violent.

They don't understand.

Carl is protecting you, as he should since he's your boyfriend, your partner.

Why should anyone else get a say?

Carl would kill over you.

Everyone else kills in this world, plus Carl had gained a taste for bloodshed throughout the years.

A bit of murder for your protection is a fine price in his head.

You may hate the cage... but Carl comforts you.

In there... you won't become a Walker.

No one can hurt you.

You won't be alone long either, Carl will be beside your prison with a smile.

His gaze looks so loving... yet it doesn't change the fact your boyfriend put you behind bars to "protect" you.

If you don't change your behavior, Carl will change it for you.

To adapt is to survive.

There's no need to fight him anymore... now you're better off.

Outside is dangerous and filled with all sorts of threats, threats Carl is protecting you from...

Carl says being in your little prison is the safest place to be... perhaps it is since it keeps you away from him, too.

#yandere the walking dead #yandere twd #yandere carl grimes

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growing-home · 2 months

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i spent nearly two decades of my life severely depressed and suicidal and for so long i believed wholeheartedly that it was my fault. i believed that the reason no medication or therapy had ever worked for my depression was because i wasn’t ACTUALLY depressed— i believed i was just lazy, bad, manipulative, and just using depression as an excuse for the inherent badness i thought was inside me. this was a story that was told to me and reinforced over and over again by treatment providers.

this past summer, i tried my 30th+ psychiatric medication, not expecting to see any results. the day i realized it was working was the day i realized that i was…planning my future???suddenly i no longer wanted to stay in bed all day and never go outside. i no longer wanted to isolate. i wanted to see people, talk to people! i started spending more time with friends and facetiming people and talking on the phone, things that i rarely did in the past. when i had been depressed, the only movies/tv shows i could focus on were super intense, fast paced, and scary or disturbing because that was the only way to hold my attention. after starting this medication, i started enjoying SITCOMS! i no longer felt like i was fighting to just get through every single day of my life.

there was such a clear and measurable difference in the quality of my life that i started to question why i believed that my depression had been my fault. it became very clear to me that a large part of my depression had been biological. i had not been lazy or bad. i had been sick. my brain was sick the same way other organs get sick sometimes. this brought up a lot of grief for me— grief for all the lost time that i’d spent trying to find something that worked, grief for how much pain i had been in for so long. but it also brought up sheer FURY at all of the therapists and psychiatrists who had treated me like i just wasn’t trying hard enough to get better.

i had been labeled treatment resistant, of course, and the only recommendations i had received after being given that label were TMS, Ketamine, and ECT. once i had tried all three with no success, i believed i was just a lost cause. i thought i was out of options. i was made to feel that way by so many treatment professionals. i was told that nothing was working because of my complex trauma and that once i healed from that then i would stop being depressed (as if it’s that easy to just fully recover from CPTSD!) i was told that i just needed to do more DBT, i just needed to live and breathe DBT skills and then i would get better, even though i’d done intensive DBT programs for years with no improvement to my depression. (yes, it helped me to change my behavior and quit self harm, but behavior change isn’t necessarily indicative of a change in mood. i could do all the right things all the time and still be in excruciating mental pain.)

i was told that i just wasn’t trying hard enough, or that i must have a personality disorder, or that i just needed to exercise more, or eat less, or eat MORE, or eat differently, or get a job, or get a dog, or do yoga, or acupuncture, or biofeedback, or find purpose in my life— psychiatrist after psychiatrist looked for something to blame everywhere but in the mirror. instead of admitting that they weren’t equipped to help me, they made me believe that it was MY fault i wasn’t getting better. and i believed them. for SO long, i believed them.

and now after finding a medication that works for me, i see everything so much more clearly. psychiatrists need to put their enormous egos aside and actually treat patients with treatment resistant depression instead of blaming us for suffering from a (partially at least) biological illness. if you’re a doctor and you know that a patients illness is outside of the scope of your abilities, either do more research and get more training to help them or refer them to someone who specializes in what they need. don’t keep them around letting them pay you thousands of dollars while you make them try the same thing over and over and over again and expect to get a different result. people act like things like ECT are a last resort option, and in doing so make people believe that if it doesn’t help then you’re out of options. but nobody ever tried me on tricyclics. nobody tried me on MAOIs. nobody told me about how some dopamine agonists like Pramipexole have had some success in treating treatment resident depression. instead i was made to feel like asking to not be suicidal daily was asking for too much. if you’re a clinician who thinks that’s asking for too much, you’re in the wrong profession. we can do better than that. we NEED to do better than that.

in my experience, out of every profession, doctors have some of the biggest egos i’ve ever seen. i say this as someone who is both mentally ill as well as physically disabled. many doctors HATE it when you do your own research. they HATE it when you have suggestions, or when you ask for what you need. it’s almost as if they feel threatened by it, like they need to believe that they are superior to their patients because of how much time and money and energy they put into going to med school— they need to believe they hate their hard work was worth it so they have a tendency to dismiss any ideas their patients might have. i don’t care how many years you’ve been in school. you do not get to tell your sick patients that it’s their fault they’re sick to justify your laziness and refusal to learn new things. put away your god complex and actually listen to your patients.

and the strangest part to me is that the longer you have been suicidal for, the less seriously they take it. the same way that the more chronically ill you are the less people believe you. it’s bizarre— when people see pain that is beyond what they can fathom, instead of feeling empathy, they tell you you must be faking it or that you must be looking for attention. i’ll never understand this. it’s as if they think that suicidality doesn’t need to be taken seriously unless the patient has successfully completed suicide. and i think it’s very clear how that logic is flawed. i was treated like i just wanted attention whenever i asked for help with my chronic suicidality and it made me terrified to ask for help with ANYTHING. i still constantly am afraid that if i’m too honest with clinicians then they’ll think i just want attention. attention isn’t a bad thing to want, all human beings need some degree of attention, but regardless that doesn’t negate the severity of a person’s suicidality. i wasn’t attention seeking by asking for help. i was STRONG. i was really fucking strong, far stronger than i should’ve had to be. i fought for my life every single day and i am lucky to still be here but it’s not luck that got me here. it’s ME that got me here.

i don’t want to make it sound like i speak for everyone who has suffered from TRD, because i don’t think that would be fair. i can’t tell you if there’s a med out there that’ll work for you. all i can tell you is that most psychiatrists prematurely tell chronically suicidal patients that there is nothing they can do to help them or that they’re out of medication options. if you’re a psychiatrist or doctor and you feel yourself getting defensive while reading this, i invite you to get curious about where that activation is coming from.

and if you are someone with treatment resident depression or chronic suicidality reading this, i am telling you now: your illness is not your fault. i don’t know if it’s going to get better or not, but i can promise you— it is not your fault and it never has been.

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melaninpov · 4 months

Text

My Final Thoughts…

*excuse the grammatical errors*

This is the result of trying to force something that God doesn’t have in store for you. The moment he saw that she wasn’t on his level he should’ve chunked the deuces. The moment he realized they weren’t equally yolked he should’ve closed that door. The moment he knew she wasn’t following the plan, he should’ve called the relationship off. But no he was so desperate for love that he was willing to settle with her and now look. Im sure she still has a career while his is in the toilet. All of his hard work, his talent, his accomplishments, just overshadowed by one night.

Curse me if you want. Harass me if you want. Call me out of my name. Please exemplify the abusive behavior you accuse Majors of having. I don’t give a f**k because deep down inside I don’t believe that he’s an abuser. She said out of her own mouth that he’s never abused her before that night. And all I saw that night was him shoving her back into a car after she was harassing him for his property. As someone who has survived physical, emotional, and sexual abuse throughout the years, for me to believe that he’s this abuser people claim him to be, I will need to see some evidence. And I’m not talking about out of context texts with the alleged victim’s messages redacted (so prosecution can paint the picture they want). I’m not talking about an alleged illegal audio recording that proves nothing but he expects her to act accordingly in public instead of a drunken fool. I’m not talking about alleged exe’s who made claims under anonymity without proof (btw isn’t it weird that the person who claimed to have spoken to them people and convinced them to go to Rolling Stone deleted all tweets mentioning it 🤔). I’m talking about hard 👏🏾 core 👏🏾 evidence 👏🏾 that speaks for itself. And I have yet to see that. Not because I’m a fan. Not because I don’t believe women. Not because I don’t believe victims. But because it hasn’t come out yet. If it even exists. And until then I’m going to continue to support Mr. Majors, and whoever doesn’t like it can just keep scrolling. Simple.

It’s going to take time but it’s not over for him yet. I pray he gets help for his traumas. And honestly, even though I don’t like the fact that Grace pretended to be unconscious after admitting in text to her friend that she didn’t remember how she got her bruises but the moment she saw police she lied and immediately accused Majors; or how she used suicide as a manipulation tactic to keep a man who was allegedly cheating; or how she lied and said she was afraid of him even though she chased him for blocks, assaulted him, used his credit cards, and refused to leave his penthouse. I pray she gets the help she needs. There’s a reason she drinks a lot, a reason she’s codependent on a partner and I hope she heals from whatever trauma that has plagued her.

Judging by his attorney’s words, I sense an appeal coming. And I fully support that. I also believe that nothing and no one can stop what God has planned for you. With that being said, Jonathan Majors will be just fine.

All I’ve asked during this time is that people wait for him to have his day in court, and even though I disagree with the verdict, I understand that we have our own opinions so now it’s fair game 🤷🏽‍♀️. To the Tumblr bloggers who I’ve gotten close to on this topic, don’t be a stranger 🤗

#jonathan majors #melaninpov #grace jabbari

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mxrtified777 · 6 months

Text

okay, i completely switched gears to somewhat coherent ideas, thoughts, and rambling instead of an essay. this doesn't really have anything new or groundbreaking, its more or less just me thinking out loud about nevin; so here, take what ive written in the last 2 hours

☆ I don’t believe that Nevin has the textbook-definition of a victim complex; he’s obviously going to be more complex than the first google result of a Victim Complex/Mentality, but he absolutely shares behaviors and tendencies with said textbook-definitions. He has been shown to deflect blame (“I’m sorry you feel…” / “I-I… It wasn’t a fight, I didn’t hit him, he…”), as well as (seemingly) having a tendency to catastrophize (“...No… but Nevin tends to assume the worst,...”). A key difference between him and a typical victim mentality is his optimism. He believes that things can and will get better and that he has control over elements in his own life. (“I wouldn’t say it’s too late.” / “The only way to go is forward. As someone who has lived in four different states, things aren’t going to stay the same forever.”) He’s hyper-vigilant about possible threats due to negative past experiences, particularly about people (loud coughing Edward). This is shown through Nevin complaining about Drew’s choice of friends, both being people that Nevin actively dislikes and doesn’t trust. (“Is that fucking Quinton?” … “Where the hell are you going with him? / “I said, I'll tell you later,” … “I can’t talk about this right now.” / “Have you been hanging around him behind my back?”)

☆ Nevin doesn’t actively use his trauma to elicit sympathy from others. The thing that separates Nevin from a victim complex the most is intention. He isn’t like “boohoo im so traumatized no one likes me let me do what i want im so damaged”. When he’s talking about his personal hardships and emotions (a rare occurrence) he’s not doing it to manipulate others into feeling sorry for him, he’s literally just sharing how he feels. So his feelings of being a victim are internal for the most part, but. I mean. Yeah, he was the victim

☆ Chris’s tendency to be blamed for things paired with Nevin’s tendency to deflect blame is. It's not going to be fun. Because yes, Chris is a pushover, but he didn’t hesitate to call out Nevin for being unreasonable in their bathroom screaming match. What I'm wondering is how/if this will alter as their relationship develops; will Chris become more tolerant of Nevin’s unjust behavior? Will Chris call him out for outbursts like this in the future, and will Nevin take offense to it?

☆ This is why you do your research, kids. So you don’t prepare for 5 hours for an essay and then you realize your topic makes no sense and can’t actually be proven

☆ Nevin lashing out when offered help by Drew (“What do you think you’re doing?... / “I’m healing you. What do you think?” / “You shouldn’t have. I did this to myself.”) is also considered to be a common behavior for people with a victim mentality. This scene also makes me wonder about how Nevin reacts to being helped/assisted, and a step further than that, being coddled/babied. He’s been the caregiver all his life. He’s been the protector; suddenly, having the tables being flipped on him where he’s the one being cared for is gonna be fun to watch. Like don’t get me wrong, Grandma Jovel is an awesome parent, nothing but unconditional love for her, but it’s obviously gonna be different coming from say Drew or Chris, and it’s also gonna be different between those two as well. We’ve already seen Drew be kind of that way with Nevin, at the end of their argument (“You’re not alone, Nevin. You have me,” … “Even so… I do need to be a part of this because I love you, and I don’t want you to feel alone.” / “Drew, stop that…” … “You’re going to make me cry, too.”)

thanks for coming to what i spent a collective 6 hours on today, im gonna return to being Silly with my boys now

#stfu chris #ibvs #nevin jovel #i have a lot of thoughts regarding him and his character #but yeah feel free to talk to me about nevin like any time whatsoever #yall my fucking NECK HURTS

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rainparadefromhell · 11 months

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Okay, I wasn't going to go in on this but I didn't expect people to be so sad over the spoilers, to be honest. I see people really disappointed in both Ben and Devi as I once again, completely understand both sides.

I will be talking about s4 spoilers so if you don't want to see that you should probably stop reading now.

First thing I'd like to say is that I am just another person on the internet with an opinion and I could be very wrong about all of this. This is just my personal view of things and it doesn't make anyone else's any less valid.

I think the biggest thing that confuses people is actually the one I'm most excited to see happen in season 4. I really disliked how they handled the cheating in season 2. Devi's apologies seemed like they were over a stolen pen, not cheating on someone. I did think the second apology was sincere, I just think it should have been a whole conversation.

I believe that season 4 will be focused on unravelling of all of Ben and Devi's traumas, which is a big task and will result in messy emotions, anger, lashing out and suffering. As much as I like the show's approach to trauma and Dr. Ryan scenes, we don't actually see the characters explore that with one another. It is all very internal. The confusion comes, I believe, from the well crafted pov episodes that allow us to know how Ben and Devi are feeling. We know so much about their inner struggles but here's the thing - they don't.

Yes, Devi knows that she hurt Ben in the past but she doesn't know how that feeds into his insecurites and abandonment issues. She doesn't know how much that has actually affected him.

Because she broke his heart.

She broke his heart and she doesn't know that.

And yeah, Ben knows that rejecting her in the way that he did wasn't the best way to deal with the situation but he doesn't know that the reason why Devi is so attached to him is because he accepts and wants all of her. It means comfort. It is a love language. All of this seems obvious to us, people that are more mature and grown. But not to two traumatized kids that are trying to understand relationship dynamics. Ben and Devi both have a pretty good understanding of their own feelings towards relationships - Devi in season 3 ("What if no one ever loves me because I am too much?") and Ben in season 2 ("But it isn't real. What you and I have is").

Because what if no one ever loves her and here is Ben Gross who likes her personality, who will miss her. What if no one ever loves her and here is Ben Gross saying that he needs something easier and simpler with another girl.

And what if what they have is real until Devi pulls back. And here is Devi Vishwakumar telling him that first times are always a bit weird and they can try again. She can be that for him.

Ugh, my children are really hard to defend sometimes.

Devi's season 2 is gonna be Ben's season 4 and i know some people will probably not like it but I think this is really important for him and I don't think it makes him regress as a character. I think it is good that he recognizes that they can both take things too far because they make each other feel so much. But I don't think that he actually wants something simpler and I have a feeling he will realize that later in the season.

I also thought that bringing Margot into all of this will just be a repeat of Aneesa's character but I don't think that anymore. Ben and Aneesa were fundamentally really different people who couldn't understand each other while Ben and Margot are much more in tune with one another. Margot was and is important for Ben's development because she helped him relax and try new things. I love Ben and Devi but sometimes they can really reinforce each other's bad behaviors.

This is just a repeat of what I said in my last post but just having love for someone is not enough. Strenghtening the positive effects they have on each other and building trust is what they need now. They need communication and time. They need friendship but also a certain perspective which requires space from one another. They need all of it, all of the messiness because they are complicated but ultimately extremely realistic characters.

Because what if what they have is real and what if a relationship you have with someone is so important you challenge everything you know about yourself. Over and over again until you get it right.

What if what they have is real?

#also these spoilers are very much from 2 episodes and there are 8 more !!!#please don't think the worst of the season before we even see what happens #i have a really good feeling we will get a really satisfying ending #bc even if i have beef with the writers over some queestionable choices they make #for the most part they have proven to be able to write ben and devi SO well #it is my favorite thing about the show (right there with exploration of grief and devi and nalini's relationship)#have faith moots! have faith.#never have i ever season 4 #never have i ever #never have i ever netflix #nhie #nhie s4 #benvi #ben x devi #ben gross #devi vishwakumar #never have i ever spoilers

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thelovesicklostones · 6 months

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Most of the memories I have consist of being hurt emotionally, physically, and mentally by people I should of been able to trust as a child, and to be fair I technically did trust them. But I justified the hurt they put me through. I would convince myself the pain I went through was love and they had to have had a justified reason! Right? Well I to an extent now know that me being hurt like that isn't and wasn't ok. Although more often then not my brain tries to convince itself nothing happened and it wasn't real or that I deserved it.

Due to my childhoods lack of a structure it has caused me to have certain issues, I didn't develop properly, and it resulted in me being part of a system and dealing with BPD. My brain often processes abusive behaviors as love and me being hurt all together means I am loved in my brain because of what has been done to me. I often can have violent thoughts and fantasies of me hurting others or me being hurt even though I don't wanna think that way. It can cause extreme shame to know I even think this way. I'd never actually wanna hurt anyone even though I think about it a lot. When I was younger mainly I had to suffer with knowing something was wrong with me, feeling like no one was like me, and not being able to exactly tell what was wrong with me.

That was until my partner system came around, eventually after we had known each other for a pretty long time and were around two years together. They had begun showing me a new type of love; the same love I had always fantasized about and felt towards those I adored. They also explained what being a yandere meant for them, I listened intently and accepted them. Although things changed I realized they had in a very settled way shown me bits and piece of their obsession and love towards me. Through this boost in affection caused me to slightly slip up on my own obsessive and violent compliments of fantasies by accident.

Pretty soon they found out about my issues that revolved around my style of love even though I tried to keep it private. They had tried and succeeded to dig in and pry away at me to get the information and eventually I informed of the fears of my obsession I had/have. They had comforted me and told me it was ok, it was normal, even that it was cute! They told me long as I don't hurt anything or anybody it was okay and I didn't have to be ashamed for how I feel or think. And that how I am is not my fault. They had begun to teach and help me explore my emotions and still are guiding me with it, they are trying to help me accept my emotions and I'm helping them feel comfort with their own thoughts as well.

Sometimes it shocks me that when I was a kid, and I was being abused nobody batted an eye or even really cared to look into it, and nobody really believed my parents or brother were able to be abusive since they had managed to put up such a good reputation within the family. Nobody listened to me and most people even if they saw it happening didn't wanna get involved and preferred to keep it secret. People were ok and are ok with being so ignorant to ignore a child in a tough situation just so they don't have to enter a stressful situation that their not 'needed in'. For a lot of people they could hear yelling and screaming and still wanna do nothing.

But when people that came from those rough situations express it on the internet a lot of people send hate and harassment. Today while I was reading through yandere posts I saw people telling some posters to kill themselves. People seriously need to remember these thoughts people are having is a result of trauma or some other disorders that cause such extreme thought processing and rocky emotional control. Those who sit there and begin complaining and typing away to people who are expressing their emotions onto their tumblr page, which would likely be their safesplace to get their emotions out. Shouldn't view that content at all if they hate the content so much.

I am so happy I found my partner and I'm happier then I've ever been in my life. I like our rough and 'toxic' love, I'm so happy they found me and were willing to accept someone like me. A lot of people merely leave a relationship when it gets tough and rough like that. But no matter what they have done to me, no matter how much I've cried or been hurt by them I stay and always will because I'm happy with them.

When I'm with them I know I'm protected and safe. I have learned to be aware that without them I am nothing and I'll die on my own, they helped engrave this into my brain, I'm happy they did their such an amazing lover. They've said they've manipulated me but I never can tell when they do; but even if they are manipulating me I love them. Nobody but them can properly love me, I'm a pathetic creature beneath their feet that they've taken into their grace. I'm happy nobody found me or wanted me before them because it's only them who can protect me. I'm their little boy and precious pet and I'm proud to take on that role it's like it was made for me. I've never been fit to take the role of a proper adult and don't know if I ever will be able to. Even if I'm not able to I know they will love me none the less

I will follow their rules to the end of time, I will proudly accept their rules, their punishments, their rewards, and I will try and follow their orders to the best of my abilities. I love them and I love the way they want me. The way they make me feel is just so alive, the fear they make me feel, the times they've made me cry, and then the gentle love they give me is amazing and I'm so grateful for everything they've done for and to me. I love their toxicity, I love the way they can hurt me and they know I love it to. They make me feel safe in a way no one else has.

Although they hurt me in a way most people consider abuse, I don't I consider it love, the so called abuse that comes from them I can tell is different from other people who have harmed me. They stop at nothing to protect me from harms way. They don't want to let anyone but them put their hands on me and I love that about them I feel so loved in my situation. Sometimes it feels hard to believe I got so lucky with them finding me, especially when I see posts from others on here and knowing they were found by someone who doesn't accept their rough love. Without my lover I would of never learned to express these feelings with less shame. I'm the luckiest boy in the world and their my god/goddess.

I wish i could just feel their hands around my throat now and not have to wait, I wanna feel their initials burnt into my skin. I love them so much and I ache for their touch; I crave their violence and their gentle affections. I want to cuddle with them and just be held in their arms, I love being their baby its paradise to be their baby.

#irl yandere #obsessive love disorder #toxic love #yandere #abbas boy #daddys boy #mommys boy #long term relationships #yandere community #actual yandere #bpd #codependency #dpd #ptsd #childhood trauma #partner system

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vizthedatum · 5 months

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The thing is… my usage of the phrase “narcissistic abuse” both helps people who have experienced this abuse and have understood it as something that happened to them AND it hurts people who see the term and apply it to themselves personally (people who identify with narcissism or NPD, whether diagnosed or not).

It puts me in a tough situation because I am just one person on the internet in a situation where there is no clear answer (if you search on the internet about the debate - people go on and on without resolution).

The only answer I know to be true (for myself - not like an universal truth or anything) is that this is how I have understood what has happened to me - I didn’t know for sure until last year. I spent over 32 years not identifying it as such - I didn’t realize, and I was in the dark. I knew it was emotionally abusive. I knew it was psychologically harmful. I knew that I was enabling and codependent because I was scared. I was scared all the time, in so many different ways (even during the lovebombing - I was anxiously scared of not being loved).

I am working on forgiving the people of my past. I sincerely have ALWAYS hoped that they work on healing.

But I am also working on grieving and healing and processing.

I am sorry to those I’ve hurt.

I am not a perfect person nor do I claim to be.

People will be upset no matter what I do - I have spent so much of my life trying to find the perfect dialogue option, the thing to do that will be “right” or “fair.”

I have already let down a lot of people by trying to do that.

I have been an asshole out of ignorance before.

I have been an asshole out of my suppression and/or emotional dysregulation before.

But this time?

This time, I am trying not to be an asshole to myself.

I’m letting myself try to understand who I am. I’m trying to understand how these behaviors (with the people of my past and within myself) have come to be. I have endured abuse from people of various disorders and disabilities and such (one such case is how I and some of my friends have been harmed by a close ex-friend who had a substance use disorder - I love her! I still do!!! She’s an amazing person and I am scared that one day, she will have lost in her struggle…. But she did harm us. It was abusive, and that’s the nuance that I cannot let go. And I don’t think I’m further stigmatizing people who suffer from these disorders by sharing and expressing with the limited English language of what has happened, in this way).

My own disabilities, ignorance, trauma, and disorders have hurt people too.

My trauma-processing, itself, has hopefully not been abusive but I know it has impacted my ex-partners, current partners, and friends this year.

I am still processing how I rudely blocked one of my exes during the summer because I thought she was going to hurt me and that her association to her abusive husband (who tried and succeeded in some abuse of me back in early March when I was having a prolonged meltdown) was hurting me (I mean, it was hurting me!!!! But she was also hurting). Thankfully we are friends now and still loving towards each other. But that was harmful! To me and to her and in so many ways.

I am also regretful of how I have demanded so much of my current partner’s time (at the expense of their own autonomy and health) from time to time - it’s something that I’m working on. I know they were glad to have been there for me but it was a result of my insecure attachment, trauma, and not being okay being alone dealing with my feelings.

These are human stories - including the disappointment people feel.

And I am truly not trying to generalize my experiences to demonizing any community.

I am sharing, the best I can, so that it helps me and it helps other people who can relate.

(If you can’t relate or are offended - I cannot be responsible for it. Especially when this phrase is something that I actively talk about in my own healthcare journey with my providers and it has been validated by people/providers in my life.)

#narcissistic abuse #healing #trauma #neurodivergence #queer #I’m sorry but this is my current stance #emotional abuse #emotional abuse subtype #harm #harm reduction #stigma #being disappointing #heartbreak

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lol-jackles · 2 years

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Can we get your review of Walker 3x03 please ? What did you think of the way they portrayed PTSD in the writing and the actors acting?

It is testimony to how good a show is when I didn’t notice there was no case this week. Cordell bahavior upon his return is polar opposite to the pilot episode; he didn’t avoid the homecoming dinner and instead dives right into it with manic energy and gives a graduation speech to Stella, signaling that he wants to erase the past 48 hours and pick up from before he was kidnapped on Stella’s graduation day. The speech is going well until his hand starts bleeding from under a bandana. Putting a band aide over a wound doesn’t heal the wound nor stop the trauma and it metaphorically bleeds out to the rest of the family and his colleagues: Liam is so desperate to talk to Cordell about their shared trauma that he invites himself to Cordell’s roadtrip plan with his children, Cassie belatedly realizes how dangerous her job is and doesn’t feel safe when Cordell is easily distracted at unpredictable times by triggers, Stella and August doesn’t come clean about the Mustang because they’re afraid it will break the dam and send Cordell spiraling. Teenager's worlds are small and they feel their actions have dire consequences.

Stella to Cordell: “After you were taken, college seems so small.”

Stella and August’s preoccupation with not stressing out their father led them to extreme behavior.

Colton to Stella & August: “I'm amazed the lengths you two have gone. We're talking about grand theft auto. Like, what won't you guys do for your dad.”

August: Well, you haven't seen him this summer.

Cordell finds out his children’s shenanigans and while very angry with them, it doesn’t break the dam as they fear it would and it gives them enough confidence to have a heart-to-heart talk and Cordell realizes how he handled his trauma wasn’t wholly effective because everybody took his lead by not talking and in the process, shut down their feelings and put aside their issues for the sake of “the equilibrium”, as Abaline said. He promised Stella that he will figure this out, the same promise he gives to Cassie when she drops by with cake.

Like the Walker family, Cassie also held back from having a real conversation with Cordell because she thought it would be “selfish” on her part to make torture that Cordell endured to be about her, meaning her concern for her own safety. She also is likely feeling guilt because it was her case that brought the kidnapper’s attention to Cordell. So Cassie put aside her own feelings for months until she couldn’t anymore and communicated her concern to Cordell.

People don’t always handle things the “right” way. Cordell has rarely handled his PTSD the “right way”, starting when he self-exiled at the start of season 1 which progressed to avoidant attachment, inconsistent caregiving; in season 2 it was difficulties sleeping, flashbacks, mistrust of others, and yelling at August, and now avoidance in season 3. The show does a pretty good job showing that Cordell isn’t always aware that some of his actions are result of his trauma. Cordell seems to live in constant fear that everyone knows what happened to him and now thanks to Julia’s article, they have a very good idea. He then does what many do: he pushes down his feelings and hides them from others in an attempt to look well-adjusted and emotionally stable. It’s a coping mechanism that worked well for him in the cage, so he sees no issue with applying it to life.

Avoidance is a common symptom of PTSD. They avoid situations and reminders of their trauma in order avoid triggers. Unfortunately for Liam, he’s a walking talking trigger for Cordell and why he avoids talking to Liam. Worse, Cordell is the only person that Liam wants to talk to, and it sends Cordell into more avoidance spiral. Now Liam feels that he is emotionally cut off from not only Cordell, but the rest of the family until finally Bonham (after being prodded by Abby) steps in.

Same trauma can look different in different people. Every person with PTSD is different. What’s one person’s issue and causes are not someone else’s. Just like people do not all grieve all at once equivalently, even if they all suffer the same loss. What triggers one is not the problem for someone else even if they were in the same situation. Suddenly the Walker family found themselves with 2 men with PTSD but very different triggers and opposing needs. They decide to Cordell’s lead, perhaps out of guilt for their mishandling back in season 1. The family adopts the same avoidance technique as Cordell because at least they know his trigger. I don’t know what’s Liam’s trigger and it seems neither he nor the family knows either? Maybe that’s the main reason why they’re following Cordell’s lead.

Even though Cordell is in therapy, and I assume Liam is too, neither character is asking for help and that only compounds their symptoms. Avoiding trauma-related thoughts or feelings, including each other, is a very realistic behavior of survivors. They might see this as protective, as Cordell does, but it is actually a symptom that needs to be further explored. Realistically, too, part of why Cordell does not talk to Liam is that he also blames himself. Liam was taken because Cordell refused to break under his captors.

I expect this PTSD arc to last several episodes, but Cordell isn’t and won’t be defined by his PTSD because he doesn’t owe much to his illness beyond its symptoms. His overall personality was defined before the trauma(s) that disabled him. The healing process is not a linear, step-by-step checklist and I suspect that Cordell doesn’t just have PTSD, he also has complex PTSD because it started in his childhood when he was framed for murder at age 14. It may explain why he was a “hellraiser in high school”. Cordell was able to excel in the marines and then the rangers because he already developed skills to deal with the unknown, in other words, the past trauma serves as a skill set of its own. It’s like how some people at the start of the pandemic didn’t struggle with worsening anxiety or depression like a lot of people because the former was already functioning with a baseline of stress that was completely throwing others. Mental illness doesn’t make define people. Beyond the physical and mental symptoms, most people are the same people they were before the trauma.

My score: 9 out of 10.