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theamberwizard · 3 years

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i’ve been thinking about black widow and the red room recently, as one does, and i’ve got a lot of thoughts about the effects of the red room on widows who’ve escaped. couple things, just before i begin: i would recommend having watched black widow before this because there are implied (?) spoilers, i use way too fancy language while i write and i don’t have an editor cause this is mainly to catch her off guard, so, uh, whoops sorry

trigger warnings: TW: child abuse TW: restricted eating/starving yourself TW: dehumanization TW: death of a child

so yeah, enjoy my list of 10 personal headcanons about how the red room fucks you up on all the levels.

1) black widows cannot sleep in. like, they wake up at 5:00 am every day. it’s not a physical thing, at least not as far as they know, because they can negate that by just going to bed two hours or less before 5:00 am just from their lack of sleep. if, however, they go to sleep at a fairly normal hour they will, like clockwork, wake up at 5:00. this stems from them doing it every single day of their life since they got indoctrinated in the red room. if they didn’t wake up at 5:00 am ready for more training or missions, for any reason, they would be tortured. sometimes physically, sometimes mentally. eventually, all the widows would get that message. they still can’t shake it. because of that, natasha will often refuse to go to sleep at a normal hour, trying to force her body into submission, trying to rid herself of the painful memories that accompanied sleep and waking up afterwards. only clint knows why, because each day in that vent, natasha would snap up at 4:00 am. she had to explain to him that she just wasn’t accustomed to budapest time, and that actually, it was 5:00 am in russia.

2) for months after escaping the red room, widows practically cannot eat. in the red room, they were fed mushy messes of meals, filled with only the necessary nutrients that they absolutely had to have to survive. most widows can only get down one meal, maybe even a snack if they push it, until they throw it all up. they have to slowly eat slightly more each day for weeks until they can get down a normal intake of food. even then, it’s hard to push that, and every widow relapses into throwing up in those early stages. however, this isn’t normally a problem for most widows until a couple weeks into their life with freedom. that’s about the time that they make an acquaintance, who will eventually pluck up the courage to ask them why every time said friend will eat near the widow, the widow will lean over and whisper: “careful, that’s your whole ration today and i don’t want to do extra training.”

3) each “class” of widows had an extra mentor teacher in their early red room years. this was an older widow, someone who’d been falling behind in her recent missions, and with a look that the red room deemed “motherly”. their sole purpose was to be the person each widow got attached too, the parental figure. they were nice, they were helpful, they taught many different basic techniques. then, one day, the red room would have another older widow, (one already introduced to the children as the metaphorical “bad cop” of this scenario) come in and inform the mentor that she had failed her latest mission and proceed to, in front of thirty eleven year-olds, shoot the mentor. the mentor widow would not die that day- the red room refused to waste such a weapon- but the class of up incoming widows would be informed that she had. the official purpose of this exercise was to demonstrate to both the trainees and the trainer the consequences of failing a mission. the unofficial purpose? that would be the last psychological effects the mentor’s “death” would have upon the class, making them learn what happened to attachments in the red room. the day natasha’s class experienced this was the day she cut off all contact with her sister. the day yelena experiences this is the day she first another widow- because yelena killed that mentor with her own bare hands before the informant ever finished the announcement.

4) towards the start of the red room’s history, there were several attacks on the red room. the first ever attack was from a local police station who had been getting complaints of loud wailing, and, upon further investigation, realized what they were dealing with. they brought several other police and militia groups from nearby towns. the immediate action that was taken was to throw the littlest girls they had at the attackers. it stopped the police in their tracks, obviously, because you really don’t expect to come across thirty little girls while searching through a building of highly trained assassins. the red room then sent their fully trained widows and killed everyone. including the girls. the red room then found that footage from their cameras (because of fucking course they have cameras) and then showed it to the next batch of widows, just to show them how disposable they were.

5) yelena and natasha almost caused a whole fucking mutiny within the red room just because of their names. in the red room, you see, widows do not get names. they instead are bestowed with numbers, and even those are a twisted class ranking. they all wore little name tags with the numbers on them until came natasha and yelena came in. yelena, having just seen her mother get shot, complied almost immediately and was addressed as number 42. on the other side of that coin you have natasha, who had already been in the red room and remembered every gruesome detail, and went “fuck you my name is natalia.” upon hearing of this (word gets around fast in the red room. every girl must know they are being listened to at all times, and no secrets can be kept from the red room,) yelena too announced her name to the class.

6) this was met with blanching from every child in that class, because how on earth can you be called by a word? no, they thought, we are numbers, we are weapons, we are not people and we cannot have our own words, for we are not worthy. but secretly, internally, they wished for a name. slowly, they began piecing syllables together until they formed a coherent name, and for the first time in the red room’s long history, they didn’t have weapons. not anymore. they have two full classes of human little girls. the red room officials heard of this, obviously, and took to the only method they had now. violence. the classes were rid of the named girls, yet natasha and yelena were kept alive. they were kept alive to be ostracized, to be the girl the others pointed at and said “she’s the reason all my friends died.” they were kept alive so they could watch the carnage they had unwittingly caused just by saying their own names. and the worst part? well, the worst part was when the teachers accounted for those kills, and made them top of the class. yelena will never forget the day the teachers stood her and her sister up in front of all the widows-in-traning and told them what a good job they had done, how those tactics were sure to help them graduate. i mean, you’re practically a shoo-in if they rest of your class was killed by your school.

7) the red room could never fully stop the names, and so they decided to make a system, and the names would be the highest reward. they told the young, impressionable girls that while maybe outsiders such as natasha and yelena got names at birth, you had to earn them here. if you are to become a spy, you will take on the name of you very first official alias. if, instead, you become an assassin, you will take on the name of your very first official kill. of course, in reality, the widows couldn’t actually address each other with their new earned names, and instead used “team leader” or other such titles. but it became a small comfort for them, thinking of themselves in third person, with their very own names. in some small part they weren’t fully weapons anymore, no, they were people again. natasha took on the name natalia, because in her mind that life in ohio had been her first mission, even if she hadn’t known it. yelena took on yelena as well, but in her mind that little girl in ohio who was sitting in the backseat, caring only about which song they played, that girl had to have been yelena’s first true kill.

8) the names system worked well in the red room, but when you escaped it caused some serious problems. most would have to announce themselves to the russian government, saying they had been flying under the radar their whole life and never became registered. then, they’d give a non-russian name, and their whole ruse would fall apart. unfortunately, this was the least of their problems, because many a widow would someday meet a relative of their very first kill, and when they introduced themselves as the person they had killed all those years ago, the families and friends would often figure them out.

9) one of the biggest parts of the red room’s brainwashing was their little catchphrases they used. ironically, a lot of them were eerily close to boy scout mottos- “be prepared,” an iconic scout motto, versus “there is no safety, only preparedness,” the most frequently used phrase within the red room. when widows then escaped, the most small phrase could set them off. some unknowing widows even adopted little boys in their new lives, who often became boy scouts. the ensuing misery is something you can imagine yourself.

10) after clint helped natasha to escape, she immediately died her hair blond. clint asked why, of course, and she didn’t tell him. (what, you thought i’d have another cute clintasha moment? never.) this was partly because she hadn’t admitted it to herself, though, because natasha couldn’t remember her sister without remembering all the suffering that came with her.

11) when the widows were smaller, more susceptible to the conditioning, the red room would stage infiltrations. older widows, ones who were closer to retirement, would come in in different uniforms, sometimes the uniforms of UN officers or local police, sometimes different organizations, all different types. the most recent uniforms made yelena sick looking at them, because each time the older widows would pretend to be the avengers there would also be one pretending to be her sister. each time she saw the fake natasha she wanted to break that widow’s neck because that’s not how my sister tilts her head, you’re doing it all wrong. you should be doing it like this, you shouldn’t be doing it at all, i should be doing this, i know my sister. each time those exact thoughts went into her head, and each time all she really wanted was for her sister to be there, for natasha to do her little head tilt upon seeing yelena and take her hand and say “you’re safe now, i promise,” and for natasha to be telling the truth. the only problem was that deep down inside herself yelena knew that this could never actually happen while yelena was still in the red room, because while yelena was still in the red room she knew that she would look at natasha telling her she was safe and tell her in return that there was no safety, only preparedness, and then murder her sister in cold blood.

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writernomore · 3 years

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The Blood Ball

Please do not publish my work/ content to different websites and platforms, I only post my work here on tumblr and wattpad.

A/n: This wasn't Proofread because I had been tired and just wrapped this out after writing it on word, also to inform you guys that reader would use he/they pronouns.

Male!Reader

It was pretty much a normal day for you on the Dream smp, you had some minimal chores to do around your base before having to go do other stuff collecting resources for a big project you had been working on, it was a little party, you wanted to celebrate stuff with old friends and new ones where everyone can get along.

Adjusting your armor and such checking your bookbag which you filled with things that were certainly not books inside it if it was closed securely so that none of your things fall out.

Grabbing your axe you walk to your table to grab a list full of materials you needed to gather, you already did your farming and fed your animals and pets so you were okay and set for the day to go gathering materials for the party you were planning .

Going to the door you turn the knob and open it, raising an arm to shield your eyes from the sun, you were going to step forward when a letter was on your doormat, glancing around you don't find anyone.

He picked up the letter and examined it from the front of the letter and to the back of it, the back had his name written in cursive and there was a red wax seal on the letter.

Opening it they were greeted with an invitation, to a banquet.

Dear Y/n ,

We are here to inform you that you have been cordially invited to the Red Banquet.

We hope to see you there along with our other friends!

P.s. Please dress in red attire.

Your friend,

Badboyhalo

He put back the invitation inside the envelope and had pocketed it inside their book bag, and took note to look at their formal clothing later after gathering materials.

Y/n hadn't been hanging out with Bad lately or his friends from the Eggpire because he was suspicious of their actions, they avoided Bad because of Bad constantly trying to persuade and convince him to visit the egg.

They agreed back then but the following had happened wasn't very pleasant, they trapped him inside the egg and told him about how the egg wanted him on their side and how it already had a hold on him, He was trapped there for 14 hours breathing heavily and feeling the pressure of the walls moving and closing in on him.

Sam saved him after he found out Y/n was trapped inside the egg, Y/n was clinging on to Sam for dear life as if they let go of him the egg would get them again Puffy brought Y/n home while Sam had to confront Bad and the others about it.

Y/n now hated the sight of the egg or anything that included it.

He shivered at the memory and just went to close his door and went to gather some wood because they were running out on birch logs.

They also had to go mining for some more stone, and finally find a place to build where he would hold the party.

He would have to also go to the cow farm and gather plenty of milk to make cakes.

Taking out a note book he wrote down what he needed and how many of it he would have to get.

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

Putting down their bag on their table they went to their chest they had placed specifically for the materials for the party.

They also had gathered a bunch f sugar cane to make paper since they ran out of paper back then to make more books to write in, they always wrote a lot during free time and they had already filled about three books so it was about time they restocked on materials.

Taking the sugar cane they went to the crafting table and turn them into paper for the invitations they will send soon, it was nice that he was invited to the Red Banquet he needed a break from all the constant material gathering they did whether it was when someone asked him a favor or it was that he needed to let out some steam by focusing his tension on his pickaxe or axe trying to tire himself out.

Wiping sweat from his forehead he finished crafting the sugar cane into paper, placing the stack of paper on the crafting table he went to the straps of his armor and went to place it on his armor stand, he took note that he needed to start mending his armor since it was starting to be worn down.

Walking back to the crafting table he took the papers and placed them in his bag from his kitchen table, going to the cupboards he retrieved a glass and field it with water and took some potatoes out from a chest he placed them in the furnace and while waiting he went to his chest room to check on his materials seeing if anything needed of restocking.

Grabbing some wheat he went back to the kitchen placed down the wheat on the table and went to retrieve his potatoes and munched on them and drank another glass of water before taking the wheat and go outside to feed his animals before going to retreat for the night.

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

-*Day of the Banquet *-

Opening his eyes he groaned bringing a hand to run through his hair, standing up he went to fix his bed and go out to the kitchen to prepare something to eat then he had feed his animals so they wouldn't starve for the day while he was gone.

Going to one of his chests he took 2 eggs 3 pieces of bacon and took out some bread, going to the kitchen with food in-hand he took out a pan from his cupboard he placed it on top of the stove and started it, he cracked the eggs and put them on the pan hearing the sizzle of the eggs he placed the bacon along with the eggs, going back to the kitchen cupboard he took out a plate, glass and fork and placing them on the kitchen table.

Pouring himself some juice in his glass he took a bite out of his bread, taking the eggs and bacon out of the pan and placing them on his plate he placed the pan inside the sink.

Stabbing the eggs and bacon with his fork he brought them to his mouth and chewed his food while looking out of his kitchen window.

Finishing he also went to place the dish in the sink and took a sponge from it's container and went to turn on the sink to wash his dishes because he didn't like leaving his dirty dishes around because he was living alone, but sometimes the minors would come and trash his place after eating snacks and telling stories, long story short the minors saw him as of a big brother figure because he helps them alot especially when they get in trouble with the adults in the smp.

Kids would be kids you know? Someone has to look out for them.

Chuckling he finished up cleaning his dishes and went to grab a cloth to dry the dishes and place them down on a dish rack and wipe his wet hands with the kitchen towel.

Going outside the kitchen he went inside his chest room to grab some wheat for his sheep, yeah I guess I haven’t mentioned he loves caring for sheep did I? well now you get to know what animals he took care of all this time, he cared for all of his sheep like they were his children, like how Ghostbur had an attachment to Friend, why he chose to care for a bunch of sheep? He just thinks they were cute.

Opening the gate, he was greeted with the sheep going to him hoping for head rubs, he pets the soft fur of the sheep he made his way to place the wheat on the feeder as soon he finished placing it the sheep went eat the wheat, opening the gate he grabbed a bucket and filled it with water to pour water in the water feeder.

Closing the gate, he went outside the barn and went inside his house to freshen up, going to the bathroom he took his toothbrush and toothpaste and began to brush his teeth, his face had some scars from previous wars in the smp, Y/n was pretty involved with the war he always sided with the minors he made a promise to protect them and not let anything bad happened to them, not after the…accident, shaking his head he spits out the toothpaste.

The whole incident with Tommy being trapped in the prison and being killed by Dream made Y/n much more overprotective towards the younger smp members, he knows they can protect themselves but it’s just a constant battle with his instincts of making sure they were safe and weren’t harmed.

Gathering water with his hands he splashed it in his face and grabbed a towel to dry his face with.

After he went to take off the shirt he wore to bed and went to his bedroom and grab a black button up shirt to wear underneath his red suit, buttoning up he too off his night shorts and grabbed his pants from his closet and put them on.

He grabbed his red jacket and put it on buttoning the 2 buttons and running his hands through the clothes smoothening it out, grabbing his gloves he put them on and took his black earrings from his night stand, looking at himself from the mirror of his bathroom he ran a hand through his hair to fix it.

Examining himself he stuffed his hands into his pocket contemplating if this was really a good choice, he could bring something for a backup plan if anything went rouge during the Red Banquet.

The Eggpire shouldn’t be trusted.

Don’t go.

It’s dangerous.

The voices in his head were fighting with each other whether Y/n should go or not, shaking his head he looked back up to the mirror and turned on his heel and twisting the door knob opening and closing the door once he was outside.

Walking to where people would have to wait for the Banquet to start Y/n was fiddling with his black earrings, back then in the old days of the smp Y/n was good friends with the Dream Team, he hung out with them and the earrings he had currently Sapnap and Dream had them too, he didn’t know if they still had them since he wasn’t able to catch up with them.

Y/n hasn’t visited in Dream so long after what he did to Tommy because he kept his distance with him.

Arriving to the destination he saw Niki, Hannah and Puffy there along with Fundy, Eret and Hbomb.

Walking a bit faster he went to the group of people and greeted with a bright smile “Hello Everyone!” he said.

“Y/n! Well, don’t you look dapper today.” Puffy said putting a hand on her hip, looking down at Puffy Y/n gently took her hand and kissed the back of it “Puffy, looking gorgeous as ever.” “You Flatter me Y/n.”

“I see you went all out.” A voice said looking behind him Eret is there looking at Y/n with arms crossed and a smirk on his face “I see you did too.” “Looking stunning as ever, Eret.” Y/n went to do the same thing to Eret by kissing the back of their hand.

“Aren’t you a big flirt.” Puffy says as Y/n turns around and scratches the back of his neck.

“The Banquet would start shortly, now if you come with me…” Antfrost says, their attention going to him as people follow him down to where the Banquet would be held, there is a hallway where one room branches from it to the left where there is the coat room, Y/n sees Sam “Well don’t you look nice Sam!” He says.

“And you’re looking rather red today Y/n.” he says smiling to the man, nodding Y/n follows the rest of the guests to an open area.

It was all red…

R E D…………….

Shaking his head he looks around, vines coming up from the ceiling blood vines and all that but there is a wooden pathway that would lead to a dance floor, looking around they see the others chatting amongst themselves.

Turning around they see Foolish just coming out from the entrance they walk over to Foolish and greet him.

“Foolish! You look so handsome!” They say looking at Foolish with admiration in his eyes “Thank you Y/n! You look very nice too.” Foolish says chuckling.

“Shall we?” Extending a hand to Foolish they walk to the others laughing “Foolish!” Puffy extend her arms and hugged her son “Don’t you look dapper!” she says smiling up at her son.

After everyone had finished greeting each other they go over to the open area where there was a booth where songs were playing next to it there was a table with drinks, grabbing himself a glass Y/n downed the glass and hummed relishing the taste as the liquid goes down their throat.

Looking around they went to catch up with the others attending the party, laughing at patting George on the back for finally being in time and attending the party Y/n missed talking with George and they talk about how they should hang together just the two of them again some time like they used to back then when everything was normal between everyone before all the wars and explosions started.

"Y/n! You came!" A familiar voice says from behind them.

Turning away their attention from George they are greeted by Bad a smile slowly making it's way to his face he hugs Bad and he turns the gesture by hugging back pulling away he says "Ofcourse I would! It's been long since we all came together!"

"Well I see you're wearing all red." Bad says looking him up and down with the red suit he adorned for the evening "Yeah! Fortunately I had a red suit lying around for some reason." he says scratching the back of his head.

"Oh, George I told you to wear red!" Bad says placing his hands on his hips George could only shrug and laugh, shaking his head Bad chuckles "Well, I hope you guys are enjoying yourselves food will be served soon and we'll do a toast later on, just call Me, Ant or Ponk if you need anything have a good evening to the two of you!" Bad says before turning around and went to interact with the other guests.

*-*

Sitting on one of the chairs laid out along with the long table with plates and glasses, you sit next to Foolish the two of you talk about recent projects the two of you are thinking of doing and about the mansion Foolish was building for Tubbo and Ranboo, you told him to take breaks from time to time and not to exhaust himself while building.

Then the clinking of a spoon against a glass wine cup catching everyone's attention, all focused to the front of the table where Ponk, Bad, and Ant stood.

Clearing his throat.

"Friends, it is an honor to be here with you all today as a community."

Bad says with arms extending to gesture to everyone seated at the table.

"I wanted to invite everyone here to unite us as a whole, to unite this server amongst all the fighting and all the wars we are still a big family and see each other as such."

"And if anyone would like to say a speech please rise and say what you would love to say." Bad said as he took a seat.

“I guess I could go then.” Foolish said.

“Go ahead Foolish.” Bad says.

Foolish takes his glass and holds it on one off his hands “Well, for starters it’s nice to let by gones be by gones, and that sure you may have done some violent stuff back in the past and all of those stuff with the vines and uh..blowing up my summer home.”

“But! Here’s to being given the fourth fifth chance!” Foolish raises his glass and downs it, before sitting down as everyone raises there glass and clap.

“Will anyone else like to go next?” Bad questions.

“I guess I could go next.” Eret says standing up from her seat.

“Oh! Eret, go ahead,”

“So as the Monarch of this server it is awesome to see how the smp is being reunified again and see how we aren’t going to have to worry about fighting on opposing sides.”

As people clapped and Bad called on to ask who love to go next everything was muffled and a sudden ringing was inside Y/n’s head, he clenched his fist and closed his eyes a bit to try and soothe this pounding headache, but alas their effort to was to no avail, a voice started talking in their head, a voice they have not heard of before from the usual voices they heard of.

You really think he could like a person like you?

What?

You heard me

I don’t understand…

You poor thing, thinking that the person he holds close most would return their feelings in return…

What are you going on about?

You think Foolish would reciprocate your feelings?

How do you know about Foolish?

Let’s not go to the matter of how I know but of how I could help you with this situation of yours…

Why would I want your help?

I know you wouldn’t want my help but if you join me maybe I could help you with your love problem, just as long you joined me in the Eggpire….

No, Why would I do that?

……

I don’t want to help you or need or want you help either!

…Then it cannot be helped…

What do you mean?

As Y/n said that red vines were attacking them and restraining their limbs.

They went to scream but their mouth was soon shut forcibly.

Muffled shouts and pleas were landed on deaf ears as Y/n struggled to break free from the vines.

As everything went black for them.

*~-_-~*

As Puffy went to open the chest she had planned to fill with armor and weapons if anything were to go wrong during the Banquet she stared at the now empty chest.

“Oh, Were you looking for this?”

As Puffy lifted her head to look at Bad at what he meant, he along with Ant, Ponk and Hannah were wearing the armor she had stored in the chest.

“What?”

As in cue Y/n stood up from his seat and walked towards the group of four with his head cast down and faced them, Bad put a hand on his shoulder and smiled.

“I’m sorry Puffy, I had to tell them..” Hannah says smiling at Puffy.

“What? But-“ Foolish stutters “Y/n? you’re with them?” Foolish says looking in horror as he stares at Y/n.

As Y/n lifted his head gasps of disbelief and horror were heard, Niki places a hand over her mouth as everyone looks at their friend who now had deep red eyes and his neck had vines running up his neck.

Foolish sees as his friend was standing in front of him his eyes holding no emotion in them as if he was staring at the void their (s/c) had turned gray.

Letting out a shaky breath Foolish shakes his head and looks away because if he were to stare longer he might break into tears.

“You told them about the armor, Hannah?” Sam says.

“I had to tell them, it was the only way.”

Sam glances at his friend, they were perfectly fine a while ago what caused this to happen? Furrowing his eyebrows he mentally took a note to help bring Y/n back to normal.

“Time to go to the main eve-“ before Bad could continue he was cut off by Sam.

“Tragic you told them about the armor well, good thing I had another plan up my sleeve because I didn’t trust you.” Sam says glaring at Hannah as Puffy looks at Sam and nods.

"We can all agree that this whole thing with the egg has gone long enough, and I'm tired of all the fighting so why not blow the egg up for good?"

Sam says walking to the vines and lifting it up to reveal a lever.

The Eggpire watches in confusion on what Same meant.

“So why not blow it up with an amount of tnt that it cannot survive.”

Tnt comes falling down on the egg and start to blow up smoke covering the egg from the explosion but once the smoke cleared it revealed the egg covered in crying obsidian, the crying obsidian slowly fades and it reavels the egg unharmed, they stare in confusion.

Why is the egg still okay?

Why isn’t it blown up?

Bad laughs and says “Did you think tnt would work after that little stunt Quackity tried to pull?” “We took some planning and some preparing so that we wouldn’t have issues with the egg about tnt anymore.” He added.

“Y/n?” Puffy asked looking at him ecpectingly to react or say something but alas they were greeted with nothing just a hollow shell of their friend.

Putting a hand on Y/n’s shoulder Bad said “Don’t worry about him the egg would take really good care of Y/n, so you wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore.”

No please! Help me!

“Now if you would follow me, we could start the…Summary executions.” Bad says smiling.

He walks up the platform with Y/n following in suite gripping a diamond axe in one hand.

“What!?”

“No! What about the speeches man! What were they all about!?” Fundy asks.

“Those speeches were to lure you into a false sense of hope and security.” Bad deadpanned.

“You see in order for the egg to hatch it needs something and this something is we’ll be taking from each and one of you, you see the egg needs energy.”

“And that energy in particular is absorbed into the egg when people die near it and that is the roles you guys will be fulfilling!”

“So now one by one-“ once again Bad was cut off by someone.

“You’re a monster.”

“Excuse me?” Bad raises a brow.

“We trusted you.” Eret says clenching their fist.

“You are one to talk to about trust!” Ponk says angry at the person in front of them.

“That’s all in the past now.” Eret says looking down.

“I changed since then, I know better to not break other people trust anymore.”

Bad stares at Eret and open his mouth to talk “You know what? Eret, I think you’d be the perfect person to…sacrifice first!”

*~-_-~*

In darkness Y/n stood there bound in vines.

Watching as their body is controlled and is doing things they didn’t want to and had no will in what is currently happening.

Please someone…

…./n

…..Y/n..

Y/n!

Y/n gasps and looks up from their kneeling position they are greeted by two entities the one to the left was all white with yellow eyes looking down at him and the other one to the right was all black with white eyes looking at the vines constricting them.

Are you okay dear?

I..I think so?

Helos dear, can you help him with the vines?

I’m already on it.

Being freed from the vines Y/n looked up at the entity in front of him their hand outstretched which he gratefully took helping him stand up.

A shout was heard and they looked to see that a sword was being raised and lowered.

Wincing Y/n put a hand to his head trying to soothe his headache, how does he gain control to his body again?

We can help you with gaining control again.

Looking at the white entity he says “What?”

She said to gain control of your body from this red things influence dingus

The other entity says hitting Y/n upside his head.

Helos!

What!?

*~-_-~*

Gasping Y/n gasps desperate for air feeling his neck as if he was being chocked looking over at everyone they see Puffy with tears in her eyes and everyone staring somewhere.

Looking to what everyone was looking at they see blood and…Foolish’ body..?

Foolish’ body was slowly disappearing leaving yellow dust.

Furrowing his brows and his grip tightening his hold on the diamond axe “WHAT THE HELL!?” he shouts catching the attention of everyone in the room to see Y/n back to normal again.

“Oh! Hello Y/n, had a pleasant nap?” Bad asks him innocently.

“Hm no matter whether you’re awake or not from the influence we would go back to you once this is over ,now , who should we execute next?” Bad asks.

As Bad and the others were deciding who to execute Y/n loosened and tightened his grip on the axe and slowly backed away from the four shaking his head, he could feel the pounding sensation going on in his head and he can’t take it anymore.

Dropping his axe he sits down and puts his head in his hands, no one is going to trust him ever again.

A hand was placed on his shoulder and he was greeted with Fundy looking down at him with a worried expression “Are you okay?” he asks.

“To be honest? No, I’m not.” He says looking at Bad.

As he went over who they could kill out of nowhere Quackity came from a wall and landed in the room.

Quackity calls Bad’s name and tells him to stop.

“Relax Bad, Relax” Quackity says smiling at Bad “I know what you’re doing here, but stop right now, stop.”

“Oh my gosh, look at what you’ve done here, Bad this is impressive.” Quackity says looking over the room and the egg.

“You have to stop Bad.”

“Stop?” Bad repeats.

“This whole egg thing is getting way out of control, you just killed a man is this what you wanted? Is this what you wanted to do all along? Killing innocent people?” Quackity says putting on enchanted armor.

Bad scoffs “You think putting on armor would scare us away and make us stop? Why do you think we went through all of this effort?”

“All of this is for the egg and for what the egg could give us.” Bad says “ So don’t get in our way.” Bad growls.

“You can’t stop us because we’re to powerful.”

“Look at what you’ve done bad.” Quackity says gesturing to the whole room “You’ve trapped all these, these innocent people.” He says shakily.

“And what you’ve discussed as a party?”

“Just look at this Bad, What have they done to you?” “I’m telling you, you’re a pawn for power.”

Quackity rambled on about how the egg doesn’t care about him and that how it doesn’t mean anything, while the Others looked at the egg Quackity gives Puffy a golden apple and a netherite axe quickly hiding them in her inventory whilst Quackity talked.

“How about we stop playing games Bad?” Quackity suggests.

“I can’t you know I can’t.” “You’re not like this Bad.”

“If I stop, then I can’t have what I need.”

“The last chance Bad.” Quackity warns “You and your buddies drop your weapons, leave and let these people go.”

“Or what?” Antfrost asks.

“I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Bad.”

“No.”

“No, How about you drop your weapons and prepare.” Bad says loading up his crossbow and points it at Quackity.

“Because Quackity if you wanted to stop us, you should have brought more than yourself, Quackity.”

Quackity’s grin widened and he let out an airy chuckle “Guess what Bad? I did. In fact I brought the next best thing, I brought my Biggest enemy.”

Quackity laughs “I’m not alone.”

“Alright Quackity where is this egg?” “It’s right here.” Technoblade walks in though the gap in the wall where Quackity had dropped in bringing along an army of dogs with him.

Y/n stared at all the dogs dropping in, and went to stand up steadily grabbing the axe he had set down but stopped when a hand was placed on his shoulder turning around with furrowed brows he sees Fundy looking at him and shaking his head as in telling him not to.

Which he behaved and just sat back down with a huff he couldn’t fight right now he needed to stop the headache.

“Not only that I crossed the entire lands looking for the best mercenary I could find, because guess what? I couldn’t take you alone so I got the two best fighter in the entire server to help me out with this, so Welcome him Bad!” Quackity cheers.

“What?”

“Purpled!” And on time Purpled had busted in through where Technoblade and Quackity busted in through not so long ago.

“What!? We hired you to take out Puffy and you joined the enemies side!?” Bad shouts at the young man.

“To be frank Bad, Quackity just had the better price.” Purpled says shrugging.

Bad huffs before looking to Techno “And Techno! You and Quackity are enemies, Why would you side with him?” Bad questions.

“Listen, I didn’t want to work with him either but this, this egg is going to far it’s warping peoples mind and it won’t stop till it influences the entire server.” Techno says before getting his dog off the magma block before it kills itself mumbling something to himself.

“And this egg stands for everything for everything I stand against as an Anarchist and if I don’t stop it now, it would be the end of the world.” He says before taking out his rocket launcher “So yeah, I’m working with Quackity.” Techno answers the Demon.

“No, We still out number you it’s 4 against – “ before Bad could finish that sentence as if in cue Puffy takes a strength potion and screams “Antfrost you’re dead!” before charging at Antfrost with axe in hand surprising him and the others “Puffy stop!” Bad calls out.

She swings her axe at Antfrost hitting him and went to hit him again but the clang of His sword coming in contact with the axe was heard, Puffy was quick retract the axe and killed Antfrost with the final blow with the axe to his abdomen.

It was then that Quackity shouts “Attack!” that swords coming in contact with each other wolves attacking and biting the opposing side and arrows being shot.

“Save us!” Fundy screams.

The Dogs went after Ponk and attacked him growling at the one armed man as Techno launched more rockets causing explosions of color “Bad! I’ve always told you that this egg brings nothing but trouble, trouble I tell you.” Quackity “I’m done with fucking games.”

“This is not going to end here Quackity.” Bad screams.

At this point Y/n had already stood up “Get him!” Screams Fundy, all he could do is look at his fox friend and sigh shaking his friend.

“Retreat!” Bad yells.

“What?” Y/n says under his breath.

They see that Bad had dug out a tunnel leading out to an escape route “What? No!”

People run up to the platform and to see the tunnel “Stay here, don’t go after them.” Quackity instructed.

“Purpled I want you to go ahead and track them.” Quackity orders Purpled.

“They’re not going to get away with this.” “Is everyone okay?”

“No.” Y/n deadpans “I don’t know, we just got lured into this place no one had no idea.” Fundy exclaims.

You rub his back and he just buries his head in your shoulder sighing in frustration.

A hand was placed on your shoulder and you turn to see Sam “Are you… doing alright? You in there and not being controlled right now ?”

You give him a tired smile and shook your head no, he nods and rubs your shoulder.

Purpled had returned and told Quackity that it was a Labyrinth down where they escaped “Shit, did we really just lose them?”

“I’ll build a prison for the egg.” Sam states.

“No, Sam there has got to be a way to destroy it right?”

“I’ll try to find another way but for now I’ll lock it up till I find a way how to get rid of this thing.” Sam says looking the egg up and down.

After Sam and Quackity discuss about containing the egg Quackity asks everyone if they’re okay.

“Hey, Y/n” He hums in response “You don’t look to well, your looking a little under the weather.” Quackity says looking worriedly at his friend.

“Yeah, just feeling a bit rough after being..” He stops talking and just gestures to himself by twirling his fingers around his head and points to the egg “Okay..uh just hang in there.” Quackity pats him on the shoulder “Well then I hope hanging by a thread counts.” Y/n jokes snickering at himself.

Leave him alone it’s how he’s coping right now.

“Okay, our objective right now is to get these people out of here, we’re going to get them out through where we came through okay everyone , Purpled you go ahead and lead these people out of here.” “Alright.” Purpled says.

As everyone was being carefully escorted inside the opening Techno, Quackity and Purpled entered through.

As they had finally ascended up to the surface everyone was so happy, having gobe out of that hell hole.

Breathing in the air Y/n looked up at the sky and decided to say goodbye to everyone and said they were going to head home to sleep.

Walking to the direction of their house they thought maybe they shouldn’t throw a party at the moment.

When his house was in sight he sped up and went to run to his home opening the door and slamming it close.

Looking around he took in the surrounding and quiet atmosphere he ran a hand through his hair messing it up even more.

He began to unbutton his suit jacket and take it off walking to his bedroom and plopped into his bed and buried himself within the comforters.

He was to late…

He wasn’t able to save Foolish in time…

He can’t let something like that happen again…

I couldn’t protect Foolish but I could protect others to prevent them from dying to the hands of the egg or anything that wanted to harm them, even if it costed his life.

Closing his eyes, he swore to protect the other people he holds dear.

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

Again, sorry that this story isn't proofread I tried rushing this So I'll be able to get this story out as soon as possible.

Anyways, I intended to have had publish this a few more days later but I just decided against it.

Anyhow, If you like my writing why not consider and give me a follow and donate to my ko-fi? It would mean a lot to me! :D

#mcyt x reader #mcyt #x reader #dream smp #dreamsmp x reader #foolish x reader #foolish gamers #captain puffy #eggpire #red banquet

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no-droids · 4 years

Note

Can you describe the exact moment where Mando knew he wanted to fuck the reader?

I think tumblr ate my ask, so (in Bernie Sanders’ voice) I am once again asking if you can describe the moment Mando knew he wanted to fuck the reader and couldn’t deny his feelings any longer.

(((Your second ask included another question, so I’ll write for both, ALSO SPOILERS FOR SEASON 1 OF THE MANDALORIAN YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED)))

***

The first moment Mando knew he wanted to fuck you? Or the moment he couldn’t deny his feelings any longer?

Different moments. Completely different moments. Took place weeks, if not months apart from one another, in fact.

If… if he’s being entirely honest, the first one probably isn’t that interesting of a story. He’s almost certain the thought crossed his mind before you ever said a single word to him. Actually, now that he’s actively thinking about it, he’s pretty sure he hadn’t even seen your face when he was first struck with the idea.

That really isn’t all that uncommon for him, though. Of course, Mando has never been immune to the charms of women, but as he grew older and in his more recent years, he learned it’s almost always best to just avoid the hassle altogether.

That doesn’t mean he never thinks about it.

In fact, not having sex surprisingly causes people to think about sex more, if you can believe it.

Not that anyone would ever know it, obviously. Most people are entirely capable of keeping their thoughts to themselves, but Mando does them two better and keeps his words and his face to himself, too. Nobody truly knows what’s really going on behind the helmet, and he prefers it that way. He can think whatever he wants, let any emotion play over his face without once worrying about its potential impact on another person.

Nobody ever knows. Nobody knows when he’s smiling, when he’s gritting his teeth. Nobody knows if he’s sleeping, or if he’s just choosing to sit remarkably still.

Nobody knows how often he looks at you, especially if his head is facing a different direction.

The beskar offers solace in that regard. He has many personal qualms with it, but on occasion, there can be. Benefits. Specifically, it was incredibly useful the first time he saw you. That day was one of the rare occasions he remembers being truly grateful for the helmet.

At that point in time, Kuiil had been dead for a few weeks, and realistically, Mando had no real reason for even being there. He had no real reason for landing the Crest somewhere in the outskirts of his late friend’s abandoned moisture farm. He could make up some excuse about the blurrgs weirdly getting to him, how Kuiil’s enclosure was likely too well-built to escape from and they’d probably be nearing the point of cannibalism by now. But realistically, he had no reason.

Secretly though, if anyone ever asked him to cut the shit and just fucking explain himself—give them a legitimate, valid rationality as to why the fuck he bothered wasting the fuel returning to this desolate planet, why he delayed collecting payment on Nevarro in order to visit a barren moisture farm he knew would be empty—Mando could. He wouldn’t, obviously, but he could. It was stupid, it was completely fucking illogical, it was absolute fucking nonsense, but there was indeed an underlying motivation attached to his actions that he likely wouldn’t even admit to himself.

He was looking for something. Or, someone, to be more specific. Someone like Kuiil. His good friend’s affinity towards children and his abilities as a versatile mechanic were incredibly useful when he was still alive, and while Mando wasn’t stupid enough to think those things came from the water here on Arvala-7, whatever trace amounts of it there were to be found in the air, he was… well, he was getting a bit desperate.

The kid was a fucking handful, always getting into trouble while he was out trying to hunt down bounties. It would be irresponsible to take him with Mando, but it was also irresponsible to leave him in the ship by himself. He couldn’t do both at the same time. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t continue to be this child’s caretaker and provider. It just wasn’t physically possible.

He needed help. But he had no idea where to look for it. Kuiil was one of the only people to whom Mando ever extended an offer of partnership, one of the only people he ever trusted to look after his ship and his kid. So, after a few weeks of unsuccessfully juggling the responsibilities of a single-parent/bounty hunter, Mando figured that if he needed to start somewhere, he should probably start at the very beginning.

He wasn’t expecting much of anything. When he hid the sleeping kid in the stowaway cot on the ship and silently made his way across Kuiil’s land, he wasn’t expecting much of anything at all. In fact, he kept inwardly scolding himself for even bothering. He’d let the blurrgs out of the corral, try not to get immediately eaten by the starving beasts, and then probably just have to figure something else out in regards to the kid. Sorgan, maybe? There were some nice, trustworthy people there. Maybe he could find one who’d entertain an offer of adventure.

If anyone pressed him about it, Mando supposes what he was expecting was an empty house. Rabid blurrgs enclosed a few hundred feet away, either in the process of dying or already dead. He even braced himself for the possibility of a dismal, scavenged scrap pile that those Maker-forsaken Jawas would leave behind if they decided to raid Kuiil’s farm while he was gone.

He… he absolutely was not expecting the sound of someone moving things around in the house. A quiet voice murmuring unintelligibly to itself as pieces of scrap metal clanged carelessly against the floor.

Mando stepped around the corner. And then he saw you. Bent over, rummaging around in one of Kuiil’s spare junk bins.

And…

There.

That’s the moment.

That’s when he knew he wanted to fuck you. Seeing you wave your ass in the air, completely oblivious to his presence as you continued rifling through Kuiil’s things.

Not very interesting, he said before.

The thought struck him a split-second before an immediate flare of anger at your blatant disregard for his friend’s memory.

His third emotion was his blaster in his hand. That’s—admittedly, not really an emotion, but then maybe somebody should tell him why Mando sure as fuck seemed to feel it often enough.

“None of that shit is yours,” he remembers saying through the modulator, his voice rough from a day or so of disuse. Your body snapped upright at the first word, hair pulled into a high ponytail and hands black and greasy as they immediately flew up into the air over your head, clutched tight around a few frayed wires.

“Oh shit, I wasn’t—” You started to spin around, but you froze halfway through the process at the sound of Mando clicking off the safety of his blaster with his thumb. Based off your positioning relative to one another and the way a sweaty tendril of your hair hung in front of your forehead, he could just barely catch a sliver of your face at this angle, but it was enough to see you try to look at him through the corner of your eye as best you could without lifting or turning your head. “I was just here taking care of th—”

He wasn’t in the mood, and Kuiil deserved better. Kuiil deserved better than a lot of fucking things Mando handed to him. He deserved so much better than what happened to him, but no matter how much Mando wilted under the guilt of being the main reason Kuiil wasn’t here right now telling you to get your fucking hands off his personal belongings himself, he simply couldn’t change the past. He could, however, right some wrongs right here and now.

“I can see how well you take care of things,” he grunted sharply, cutting you off. “A good man dies and you think his shit is yours to scavenge?”

The wires immediately dropped from your hands and you whipped around entirely to look at him in the eye, disbelief and shock painting your expression. “Kuiil is… d-dead?”

He… he wasn’t expecting that.

Okay… any of those things, really.

First, he wasn’t expecting you to be surprised, much less upset by the news. Second, he wasn’t expecting you to know Kuiil’s name, or third, to move so rapidly and carelessly under a loaded blaster in response to his, in hindsight, incredibly cruel taunt. Looking back, he wishes he made even a marginally better first impression with you, but as Mando quickly comes to learn, you’re too forgiving. You never bring it up again.

Fourth, and notably, one of the things he remembers thinking most is how he wasn’t expecting you to well… look the way you did.

You were a young woman in the middle of this arid, fucking Jawa-infested desert and you somehow managed to look well-fed. Vibrant, even. Bright eyes, soft features, blinking up at him from under long lashes, plush lips parted and chin beginning to wobble like he just broke your fucking heart.

Pretty. Grease smudged across your cheek bone, fingernails dirty, hair a complete mess. Still. Devastatingly pretty.

Fifth. Strangely, and perhaps more jarring than anything else—Mando didn’t expect you to stare right into his eyes the very first time you looked at him. Most people ended up focusing their gaze somewhere near his forehead, maybe even down to his nose on occasion. You managed to hit him dead-on. On the very first try.

Sixth. He faltered.

Mando faltered under your stare, your words, your appearance. He took way too long in responding. He remembers watching your hands fall to your side in a shocked sort of dismay, and then he remembers silently holstering his blaster as you all but plopped down on the ground, right where you were, the stricken horror of realization painting your expression a hauntingly empty tabula rasa.

“Oh,” is all you said.

Over the next few hours, Mando learned a few things about you. Some things you told him, other things he figured out.

Things you told him: You were one of Kuiil’s neighbors. When you didn’t see him for a few days, you set up base here to keep things running smoothly, feed and take care of the blurrgs while he was gone. You were waiting for him to come back.

Things he figured out: You liked animals (even those stubborn overgrown creatures that look like they’re missing the middle-third of their body) and from the immediate softening of your expression upon catching sight of the bleary-eyed kid peeking his head around the doorway at some point, you liked children as well. You were a moisture farmer like Kuiil, an occupation that required you to be a wide-ranged and skilled mechanic. You lived alone and managed to stay relatively healthy in such an unwelcome environment, which meant you were hardworking and resourceful. But the state of your clothing said you needed money. And the way you looked at him told him you were lonely.

The last one was a shot in the dark, he’ll admit, but Mando has always been observant. Your house had to have been a reasonable distance from Kuiil’s, just based on the sheer square acreage of his land alone. Sometimes you tripped over your words, like it’d been just as long for you without speaking as it had been for him.

Admittedly, you were… quietly endearing to him. In a way. Soft spoken but sharp, capable yet entirely untested beyond this tiny little rock in the backskirts of the outer rim. The kid liked you. He had good instincts, and he smiled a toothy little grin every time you turned your attention to him, clearly finding the little one much easier to talk to than Mando.

And, he supposed, at the very end of the day, Kuiil apparently liked you. Kuiil apparently trusted you. And Mando… Mando very suddenly remembered someone—something else. Something else Kuiil once trusted, and at that time, Mando sure as fuck didn’t. He probably couldn’t have distrusted that fucking bounty/nanny droid more, and yet… Mando ultimately trusted Kuiil, and he ended up being completely right. Mando was wrong, and Kuiil was right.

Weeks after he covered his body in rocks. Weeks of silent overthinking, of the guilt of his friend’s death weighing heavier on his shoulders than any armor he’s ever worn. Well. Mando wasn’t about to start second-guessing him now.

Perhaps, the real question is why you ever agreed to join him when he casually offered. A chance at adventure, at finally leaving Arvala-7? The promise of good money, of not having to constantly worry about farming water from the atmosphere just to have a sip of it?

To this day, he still has no fucking idea. That’s probably something best to ask you.

Now. The second question.

When Mando couldn’t deny his feelings any longer.

He… he feels like there’s something weird about phrasing it like that. It’s probably better to ask about. The turning point. When everything either fell apart or came together, depending on how you want to look at it. The split-second realization that shit had changed. The exact moment when Mando knew he was well and truly fucked.

Before he starts, he should probably preface.

Mandalore isn’t known for their fine arts.

Anything creative he did as a foundling that wasn’t also inherently, at its core, strategic, wasn’t rewarded. Ever. His people have always been a militaristic people, and art is for peacetime. Mandos aren’t known for their music, painting, or architecture. Their specialty is smithing, combat, and depending on the clan, espionage. Their symphonies are war chants. Their murals are blood-streaked battlefields. The last person he really remembers hearing sing, if only just for the love of it, was his father.

Maybe that’s why it originally took him so long to figure out what that fucking sound was.

He was in the pilot’s chair of the Crest, almost asleep at that point. The door to the cockpit was shut tight, and last he checked, you were entertaining the little one in the hull. After a few weeks with your company, he had come to expect certain things from you, if not based off the terms of the deal you two struck, then simply based off newly established precedent.

You took good care of the kid and fixed mechanics, yes, but you were also apparently a decent pilot. You even took to the habit of cleaning the ship whenever Mando was gone. That was never part of the agreement, but you did it anyways. You were surprisingly helpful. Sweet, in that regard. Not difficult to be around, nor to work with. And if he was being honest, you were just about the furthest thing from difficult to look at.

But mostly, you were quiet. In general. The record for the longest conversation ever occurring between the two of you was still held by your very first introduction. As a quiet person himself, Mando had grown accustomed to the average individual’s insatiable need to fill the silence for him, talk his ear off out of nervousness, discomfort, or an annoying combination of the two. In contrast, and like him, you barely said a word unless it was necessary. It made for a peaceful journey around the galaxy, if ever a silent one.

Even more surprising, you were usually very good about keeping the noise down even with a small child in tow, and excelling where Mando failed (mainly, stopping the tears before they evolved into screeching sobs). Because of that, the unfamiliar sound he could just barely hear from his place in the ship was that much more intriguing to him. It was audible through hyperspace, through a metal door, and through sound-absorbent beskar. So quiet, but loud enough for him to wonder what its source was.

He remembers standing up and slowly walking over to the door, straining his ears and listening to the volume marginally increase, but not by much. Just to the point where he could finally place it, though it took him far longer than it should’ve even considering the situation.

A gentle melody. Humming. Sweetly reverberating throughout the ship despite its deadened acoustics, when Mando didn’t think he’d heard a song in years.

He must’ve stayed like that for a few minutes at least, just standing statuesquely in front of the door leading to the hull. Either… either you were singing to his son, or you were singing just because you felt like it. Somehow, each one of those possibilities managed to move him more than the last.

Only it was still too quiet to truly hear. There were still just too many pieces of metal separating him from you.

So, at that point, he had two choices.

Well, three. Mando had three choices. He could always just fuck off and go back to the pilot’s seat, up the noise cancellation setting on his helmet just slightly and try to pass the fuck out, but that wasn’t… realistic.

So he had two viable choices. Each one came with its own set of problems.

One, he could press a button on the panel and open the door. Potential problems included the noise it would make while shifting to the side, and the ability for you to catch him eavesdropping if you happened to be standing right under the ladder to the cockpit. Statistically, the prior was much more plausible. If it happened, and it was very likely to happen, you’d stop singing and the ship would be silent. Once again. Like always.

Two, he could. He could… take his helmet off. But—

—But here was the thing about that. Mando hated doing it. Even when he had to take it off to eat, he hated doing it. And not because of the reason most people would probably expect. It wasn’t because he felt uncomfortable or exposed without it, even when barricaded inside an enclosed space like this by himself. It wasn’t because he felt guilty about it, either. Technically, he would probably be violating his oath by removing it unless absolutely unnecessary—eating, for example, or bathing, or about to bleed out and die from a head wound, etc—but Mando probably couldn’t have given less of a shit about the details. He was always more of a big-picture person.

No, the reason he hated doing it was because… well, because of how much he really fucking loved doing it.

When he was younger, he’d always looked forward to any excuse to breathe fresh air. He’d drag out his meals for as long as he reasonably could, trying to memorize the way everything looked without a digital interface shielding his eyes. He used to have absolutely impeccable grooming habits, really taking his time shaving his face and deep cleaning the beskar and filter every single day.

That… that only lasted a few years.

Eventually, it became harder and harder to put the damn thing back on again. Only, he had to. This was his life. After a handful of decades, taking the helmet off became less about savoring the moments without it and more about just prolonging the inevitable. Making it that much more difficult to accept. If you knew you were going to starve, would you want a full course buffet in front of you the entire time? Let the visuals of everything you could never have, the aromas torment you until your very last breath? The blissful temptation started to eat away at him, until eventually he just grew to dread taking it off altogether.

Eventually, those few moments of relief from the torture of wearing it just became the worst torture of all.

It was easier keeping it on. Physically, emotionally, whatever. His body would acclimate to the metal and padding wrapped tight around his skull, and some days he happily forced down the growling in his stomach and skipped meals altogether. He hated taking it off. He hated the fresh air. He slept in the helmet. When he had to, he scarfed down his food. He learned how to eat with his eyes closed.

So. To reiterate, Mando had two choices.

One. Run the incredibly high risk of you stopping entirely.

Two. Do the thing he arguably hated doing more than anything else in this galaxy.

He silently turned and pressed his back against the closed door, sliding down to the ground and weighing his options. Technically this was a non-problem. Technically he was just making things difficult for himself. He could always just say fuck it and mind his own damn business. He could always just… he could…

He—

He took the helmet off.

He cradled the beskar between his knees and stared down at the visor as it glared judgmentally back up at him, his spine resting against the closed door and listening to your soft humming for as long as you felt like doing it.

And…

There.

That’s the moment Mando knew he was fucked.

That’s the moment the countdown started. From that point on, it became only a matter when he’d give in, not if. Before, he could at least pretend everything was fine. Before, he could at least tell himself with reasonable certainty that while he genuinely liked you as a person, he’d never push your relationship past the point of quiet, yet friendly, business acquaintances.

But that was the moment Mando knew he was full of shit. That sooner or later, there’d come a point, a shift, when his resolve would eventually snap. And like his kid and the ship, he’d let himself get taken care of by you, too.

He didn’t know how long it would take, or the catalyst that would set everything off. It could be anything. A close brush with death. A soft, much needed touch.

Fuck, even just a really rough day.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #rough day #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert

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brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years

Text

Here we are, I apologize for the delay you guys but I can guarantee you it is so worth the wait! A humongous shout out to my incredible co-author @imlostinsantacarla for writing this with me, I had an amazing time and this is arguably one of the best written posts I’ve done so far. SO without further ado, I give you

Lost Boys Fem!S/O Gives Birth [3/4]

CONTENT WARNING: Offensive Language, Blood, Child Birthing Process, Intense Environment! READER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

Marko

The soft silver moonlight slithered through the cracks and crevices overhead in the hotel, illuminating your form in a tender glow. You laid casually atop the dusty old couch worn from years of perpetual abuse, staring up into the cave’s ceiling at the little slivers of sky you could see between them, fingers fondling the soft blanket wrapped around you. Nerves caused your heart to stutter as another set of cramps waded through your body, making you feel nauseated. However, you put on a valiant front, hardly batting an eyelash as your boyfriend Marko sat beside you, eyes fixated on your form in an adoring fashion, though there was worry mixed within his countenance, a deep groove carved between his brows. Granted when you had initially announced your pregnancy you could have gone about it differently, however you were met with a joyous response from your adoring vampire. Originally David had suggested they turn you whilst pregnant to prevent any foreseeable complications, but there arose a new set of issues. Your infant would be a hybrid of vampire and human, something none of you even knew was possible. The potential need for a live body could mean that turning yourself before the birth could kill him or her in the process. Even if the birth could result in your death, unfortunately, all you could do was patiently wait, as going to a hospital was surely out of the question. Nevertheless, patience was a virtue- one Marko had yet to achieve.

The months of waiting grew heavier on him as time ticked by, whilst the haunting lack of knowledge grew more frustrating with any passing discomfort he witnessed. His inability to help you outside of a shoulder to cry on when your cramps became too unbearable to sleep through made him feel helpless, a sensation that not only was he unfamiliar with; it was one he absolutely loathed. The boys did their utmost best to be accommodating to the situation, and one certainly had to give them credit for the amount of effort they had gone through. Dwayne had gone to the library for a few books for yourself and Marko, including one or two children’s books for the baby. Paul had spent his free nights shoplifting for supplies you’d need. No one could dismantle and sneak out an entire crib like Paul could. The guy had created a craft in the endeavor. David, with the help of Dwayne, had scoped through the caves and old hotel rooms still salvageable and managed to reinforce one of the rooms closest to their own cave. You eagerly draped the walls in colorful fabrics, finding an old dresser for your child’s clothes with a surface now cluttered with stuffed animals. Toys were crammed into a wooden chest, a massive rug laid across the old wooden flooring to deter any stray splinters from harming you. Watching Paul and Marko stubbornly argue over the crib instructions was certainly the highlight of your pregnancy while David was barking at them to move out of the way when he came carrying in the glider chair in one arm and a mass of pillows in the other. Although, you had to draw the line once Marko had smacked Paul with a two by four. Surely, that was uncalled for. But according to Marko, not so! Best friend or not, no one said he had the building skills of a drunk monkey!

Tonight was the night that would mark round about the eighth month of your pregnancy, and, - if it were truly possible -, Marko nearly had a heart attack when your false contractions came into play a few weeks ago. This ignited a vigilant nature within him, motivating him to remain much closer to you than he had previously been, which resulted in a lot of checking up on every unusual sound that you made. It was impossible for it to be helped. Well, that's what he kept telling you anyway.

"You know, I can skip out on the hunt tonight…" Marko trailed off, cool fare fingertips dancing along the soft flesh of your arms, creating goosebumps to rise in their wake. The contrast between body temperatures was ghastly and you shivered, more at the electric shock that raced through you whenever he touched you.

"Babe, you skipped out on the hunt last night, and the night before, and even the night before that. Marko, you must be starving!" You sighed irately, tipping your head back in frustration before turning it in his direction. Ever since the news of your pregnancy, Marko's primal instincts to protect you and your child had grown in vast numbers. It was pleasant to begin with, almost endearing… Though, as months sped by it had grown a hindrance because the young man was hardly even caring for himself now, and he hardly ever left your side. Honest to God, it was smothering, leaving you almost agitated at the sight of him. He was aware of this, yet still could not resist the urge within him that called for him to aid you in whatever way he could. There was an ample amount of anxiety over future happenstances such as your water breaking, uncontrollable cramps, the ACTUAL birthing of the child! You were understanding of his concern, but there was only so much that could be done. After all, you wanted your baby just as badly as he did. But he couldn’t allow his health to decline due to his own worry, you needed him. And frankly, your sense of unease was bordering onto the bandwagon of fear when you saw Marko’s ribs sticking tightly against his translucent flesh, a plethora of dark circles sinking his blue eyes into his skull. He wasn’t eating, he hardly slept, and soon he wouldn’t be able to control his frenzies.

"I don't know, baby girl," Marko began hesitantly, his round eyes widening as they peered into your own thoughtfully. Worry had never been a good look on Marko, and now, you longed for the days where reading him had been more difficult. His anxiety was like a fungi, infecting your very aura at the same time. "I don't wanna leave in case something happens you know? I mean, yeah, I guess I'm kinda thirsty but that stuff can wai-" You interrupted him with your fingertips gently silencing his lips, your eyes having shut as you breathed deeply to calm your nerves. This boy was driving you nuts.

"Marko, I know how worried you are. I am too. But babe, I can tell that it's getting harder for you to be around me because you haven't fed. I really don’t want to start smelling like a fillet mignon to you, and if you’ve been looking at me like some mouth watering steak, we run the risk of the baby becoming appealing as well, I know you don’t want to risk that." You quipped with a quirked brow, lips tucked up into a wry smile as you stared straight at him. Your case was a good one, there was no doubt about it. There could be a very good chance that Marko, albeit not on purpose, could harm you or the baby if he smelled the scent of blood or even heard a too hasty of a heartbeat. And if there were to be an accident such as that, Marko would be plagued by an immense amount of guilt for all eternity. “Besides, it’s only the seven and a half or eight month point right now. I’m not having the baby for at least six more weeks. Right now, I need you to be at your best. Please babe.”

"But-" Marko began to protest.

"She's right, Marko." David piped up lazily from across the room, his eyes never leaving the book that he had been reading. He turned the page briskly before continuing, "You need to feed. It's the basic terms of vampire-hood. If you don't, you die! Now, what good would that do anyone then?" He inquired sardonically, a trace of a smirk in the air.

"Yeah, bud! David and Y/n are right! Just go on one feed with us." Paul grinned from ear to ear at his bestest pal in the whole world, despite the horrifying fact that said best friend had hit him in the head with a two by four. Excitement had been rushing through Paul's entire being during this whole process. He was going to be an uncle man, how could he not be excited?! It had been such a bummer since Star left with Laddie, it’d be cool having some new tiny mind he could influence. Not that he'd even get as far to really influence the child without getting a brisk smack to the back of the head by David before you and Marko could even lift your fingers. No, he would not be teaching your child about the world of “Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll” at five years old!

"I mean-"

"With the way you're going, you're gonna be a shriveled prune." Dwayne muttered out of thin air as he slowly rolled past Marko and yourself on his skateboard. The hulking raven haired vampire came to a standstill as he stepped slowly off of his board. Dwayne was also right. Marko wasn't looking his brightest. Feeding was a nightly routine for a vampire in order to ensure they took in the right nutrients their dead bodies could not produce for themselves. Especially since they weren't capable of absorbing those nutrients through human food any more. Marko had to feed, there was no whisking his way around it, no matter how many excuses he could come up with.

The trio of boys stared at the curly haired blonde, your eyes also capturing his form. There was a stretch of intense silence that flooded through the hotel as Marko thought over his options, pushing a mesh of frizzed blonde hair away from his face. He didn't want to risk going out and a possible complication occurring with the baby or yourself. But he also didn't have a strong desire to cause a catastrophic accident whilst going into a frenzy when your heart rate started skyrocketing due to cramps or whatever. Already his mouth was watering profusely as he stared down at his worn hands beginning to wither from lack of nourishment, the consistent thudding of your heart and the delectable rush of your blood in your veins made it practically impossible for the man to focus for much longer.

"Man, just go! I'll stay with her." Paul finally interjected, slightly irritated that his buddy was being such a pansy about the entire situation. "If anything happens I'll scream at the top of my lungs or something, man. I got this! Scouts honor!" Paul added sarcastically, flattening a palm over his heart as he raised his free one up by his head. The entire thing looked comical, it made the others laugh.

"Yeah, sure, let me get the flowers early for the funeral," Dwayne muttered, settling himself on another dusty old couch with a soft sigh.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, dick breath?" Paul roared, brows pulled together in anger, punching Dwayne’s shoulder..

“Can you even give scouts honor if you were never in it?” you asked with a laugh to your tone, raising a brow at the blonde trying to rapid punch the utterly indifferent vampire planted in place.

"Dwayne has a good point, Paul." David sneered at his comrade, blue eyes lit up like torches watching Dwayne yank Paul into a headlock on it’s way to a noogie. "You remember the last time we-"

"Ow! Okay, I didn't know she wasn't allowed to drink alcohol! But she never drank any so I don't get why you guys keep bringing this shit up!" Paul muttered, managing to wiggle himself out of Dwayne’s iron grip. With stubborn stomps he huffed, flopping onto the edge of the fountain in the middle of the room, his chin resting on his hands. He stared at you and Marko for a moment before continuing. "Man, I swear I won't pull another stunt like that again! I can take care of her! Dwayne told me the gist of what she can and can't have. I can do this, buddy." it was practically the most pitiful thing you had ever seen, it even tugged a little at your heartstrings.

You looked to Marko for confirmation and from the twinkle in his eyes, you could tell he was thinking the same thing as you. 'Let's just let him do this so he can stop pouting like a brat.'

"Alright, alright!" Marko stated, gloved hands raising up in the air in defeat. "You can watch out for her, but if ANYTHING happens, man, you've gotta go and find me. No fucking around and no fucking weed either!" Marko was firm as he spoke, eyes boring seriously into Paul's.

The sun broke out onto Paul's face, his pearly whites glinting from the fires scattered around the hotel. You could tell in that moment that Marko had made Paul's entire century. "Fuck yeah! Scouts honor, dude. Just like I said before!" the blonde rocker was practically bouncing in his seat like he needed a piss. He hardly looked like a badass biker vampire that went out murdering people left, right, and center every night. He looked more like a baby rabbit.

“I fucking mean it man,” Marko firmly repeated. “No weed, no booze, no being a dumbass.” Although he was being firm there was a slight twitch to his mouth. Being stern with Paul was often impossible but you had to admit, Marko was doing a grand job without the two by four!

Paul threw his hands up in the air in such a rushing motion that you were surprised they hadn't flung out of their sockets. “God damn, trust me man. I’m not gonna let anything happen! You guys need to gimme more credit here, who’s the one that stole a fucking crib for you assholes?”

With a tenacious huff, you wedged your hands behind your back feeling that the full weight of your belly was determined to keep you jammed between cushions, but nevertheless, you managed to heave yourself up and off of the dusty old couch with an audible grunt. The four boys' heads turned to watch you, instinctively with brows furrowed. They thought they'd insisted that if you needed to be moved, they would help you rather than let you strain yourself any more than you had to. But you were impossibly stubborn! You had insisted on multiple occasions that it was necessary for you to move, even exercise to keep you and the baby healthy. None of them were willing to humor you but you’d found that tuning out their protests was the best course of action in most occasions. And by impulsive habit, Marko dove over to offer you assistance, though you only responded by swatting his hands away from you. You were fine!

“I’m fine Marko, don’t worry I can get up on my own. Anyway, Paul’s right,” you agreed, looking over at your friend who beamed with delight at your praise, arms crossed over his chest with a nodding head of total satisfaction as if you had just given a mighty speech. “He’s not gonna let anything happen. Besides, what could really go wrong in just a few hours?”

"Babe, don't say shit like that, you could jinx it!" Marko cried incredulously, eyes practically bulging out of his head.

"Babe get a grip. There's no such thing as “jinxing” things." His worrying was really starting to bug you. And what did you do in turn? You did and said the exact opposite of him, a way to subconsciously counteract the apprehension that oozed out of him like a foul smell. Carefully you took his hands into yours and placed them on your taut belly. “See? Feel for yourself.”

For the past several months Marko had attested to being able to hear your unborn spawn within your stomach. Not necessarily thoughts, but emotions. Cluttered, wild, uncertain emotions that would come in jumbled waves. There was a weary contentment within you, sleeping soundly in a cradle of water kept safe within. Finally his muscles began to relax, tension beading out into limp arms as Marko pulled you in for a firm hug, holding you against him.

“You promise me.. If anything happens, you scream for me immediately. No toughing it out because you’re worried about me eating.” He mumbled sweetly into your hair, taking in a slow inhale of your heavenly scent. It was the one thing that could soothe his soul instantaneously, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Marko-”

“Please, Y/n.”

His plea made your heart ache with slight agony. It was a desperate rasp, his arms almost trembling. There was a rush of relief filling him when you wrapped your own arms around him with a tender smile. “Okay. Alright, I promise, if anything happens I’ll call for you,” you hummed in tender response. For a moment you had to take a moment to pause, feeling a low and deep, sharp pain stretching from your abdomen to your back. Instead of making a fuss you tried to ease your breathing before Marko could notice. You weren't prepared to allow a few false contractions to get the better of you and stop him from getting his fill of the blood he so desperately needed at this point. And you also weren't going to play into any of Marko's anxieties either. You could do that when he returned from his hunt. Gently you lifted his chin. His cold lips felt cracked against your own, cementing how desperately he needed to feed. Even his kisses grew hungry, and you had to pull away from him before this grew into a horror show. “Go, you goof.”

It had taken some further convincing for him to leave, by the time he finally left with David and Dwayne it almost felt otherworldly in that cave. The lack of presence was almost spooky, though thankfully Paul was nice enough to loan you his walkman to curb the initial silence. Playing his Def Leppard tape you sat back into the couch, breathing through the occasional cramps that would continue to sneak up on you in a pulsing fashion. Hysteria was always your favorite album, as the dulcet tones of the rock ballad began to lull you into a half sleep state. But the continuous bombardment of contractions had begun to grow concerning. They weren’t slowing down, nor consistent in their spaces between as they should be. Cautiously you sat up, counting out the seconds between the first and the next. One minute, two minute, three… and again. For a full minute your muscles spasmed and ached, almost drawing an audible gasp from your mouth. Again you counted. One minute, two, th- no! Now it came again at a two minute interval. In a haste you peeled the headphones from your ears, grasping your stomach as you leaned forward suddenly. Your legs buckled, every time you tried to stand the pain just dragged you back down. “Fuck.. oh go- Paul!”

The blonde vampire was so lost in his own world he was nearly jolted out of his seat by your panicked cries. “What, what’s up you- JESUS!”

Without missing a beat, Paul slipped on the floor beneath his feet, barely having the reflexes to catch himself before his face could meet the ground with a harsh smack. The floor was soaked! Seriously, who spilled water everywhere? “Damn man, what happened here? Why is it all-” again, his words were paused, almost as if they'd been caught in his throat whilst he looked over your doubled over form clutching your profound belly. “Oh- oh shit! Oh fuck no way! Shit, holy fuck shit are you-?? Is it?!”

“Yes! ” You cried out incredulously, cutting off his panicked questioning in a hasty fashion. A sudden cry escaped your lips whilst you gasped in desperation, your spine going erect as you flattened your palms out behind you to stabilize yourself. "Oh god!"

"Oh shit man, I better get Mark-" Paul began, face having dropped to terror.

"No! I swear to go- ow! Paul, if you even dare- I swear I will stake you myself! Ow!"

“What, are you crazy?!” He demanded, jutting his arms in your direction. “You swore you’d call him, dude! This is big, man, he’ll kill me if anything happens to you! Oh fuck but he’ll kill me if I leave you alone- Fuck!” Paul swiftly kicked over one of the tables, running his hands through his mess of hair. The thing looked more like a lions' mane in all honesty. “Bed! We gotta get you to your bed, like now!”

"And how are we gonna do that, asshole?"

Paul's face soured immediately at your insult and with a swift motion, he swung you up into his arms bridal style, paying little mind to your plethora of protests. “Shut up already. I’m not doing this for my fuckin’ health! But you gotta be in bed! I may be a dumbass but I at least know that much!” He muttered, carefully tightening his grip as you attempted to wiggle out from it. He rapidly stepped over tunnels and rocks whilst he swung his way into the cavernous nursery where your bed was nestled into a corner, his calloused fingers on one hand releasing your legs as he pushed the black curtains that draped heavily over the frame. And with that, he placed you gingerly down on the bed, staring at you with a perplexed expression with a hint of something else. Was- no, that couldn't be embarrassment.

"What're you staring at," you questioned, a nervous twinge to your voice. You rolled on your side to relieve some of the pulsating throbs that ran rampant through your muscles.”

"Uh- well- shit! I mean, we need to take off your pants, man. What if you start pushing and the baby suffocate or something?"

“I can’t even start pushing until I know how dilated I am,” your voice was quivering, clutching your stomach. “If I were to push too early it could kill us both.”

"Oh fuck! Where's Marko when you need him?!"

The dreaded predicament was growing increasingly deadly the more your body warned of its approaching birth, and soon you were left with a terrifying decision. Wiping away the thick layer of sweat misting your flushed cheeks, you managed to breathe out a hesitant response. “Paul.. You have to go get him.”

"I’m sorry, WHAT?!" Paul’s voice echoed in the caves at a high pitched octave. “No! No freaking way, I am not leaving you here, you’re having a fucking baby! What if something happens to you? Fuck Marko being haunted, there’s no way I would be able to live with myself!” Paul ranted on, throwing his arms in the air whilst he paced around the sides of your bed in an antsy motion.

Sobs made your chest spasm uncontrollably, rolling over again onto your back. No position provided relief anymore, the contractions following still at an even two minutes each. “It could be hours before I’m actually ready to give birth! We have to know h-how far I am a-and the only way to do that…”

“...Yes? What way, c’mon maybe I can do that!” Paul stopped dead in his tracks to face you, serene as he had ever been in his entire life.

“You’d have to stick your fingers in me,” you groaned with imminent embarrassment, receiving an equal look of humiliation and horror from Paul’s pale face. He looked down, then at the cave’s entrance. Guilt plagued him, this kind of decision had never been put in front of him before. He knew his options were slim, but he also knew where they hunted, if he could catch Marko’s scent outside he could easily find him. But again, he looked at you writhing in pure agony on top of your bed in tears. A knot tore at his own gut like someone was trying to rip them right out of him, his throat aching when he swallowed, a dryness had developed from nerves. “You sure you can handle it until I get back. You fucking swear you’ll be okay? Just for a few minutes.”

You could only nod in response as the pain was so debilitating it rendered you utterly speechless!

“Please, just go get him.” You managed to squeak out intensely. The expression of pain mixed with fear that captured your beautiful features truly did break his heart.

Paul sighed deeply in defeat, his fingers gently pushing your hair from your face. “Stay tough kiddo, I’ll be fast as fucking lightning.” You hadn’t even seen him leave, a huge gust of wind caused the bed to shudder, leaving you utterly and completely alone.

Kicking away your soggy jeans, you promptly pulled yourself to the top of the bed with your back pressed against the headboard. With every passing contraction you fought to breath evenly through it, fingers tightly clutching the sheets beneath you. “Fuck...god Paul hurry please!”

Paul flew as speedily as he could carry himself through the air, his nocturnal eyes aflame, rapidly scanning the ground for any sight of his buddies. The fresh scent of blood wafted through the cool night's air which coaxed him closer to the boardwalk, perhaps a mile or two north. The fucking sand dunes, of course! Sure enough, amongst a towering, crackling bonfire stacked high with the charred remains of surfboards that belonged to screaming Santa Carlites currently being devoured, there he spotted the trio of vampires tearing and ripping into the flesh and bones of unfortunate victims. Their blood spraying in odd directions, splattering across their clothes and hair. "Marko!” Paul yelled far louder than he needed to, panic evident on his countenance whilst he clumsily crash landed into the wind whipped rouge sands below. The display caught the attention of his brothers immediately as they finished off their prey in a geyser of crimson fluids, leaving the ground stained.

Marko dropped the lifeless shriveled up human carcass he had been cradling savagely in his arms to the ground with little interest for it any longer. His previous frail lineament now long gone, replaced with a healthy complexion. Although Marko felt he was back to his full capacity, he couldn't help the immediate apprehension and terror that sparked within his chest as it panged in his gut nauseously. "Paul?! Dude what the fuck are you doing here, where’s Y/N?? What's wrong?" He asked, panic straining his voice.

"Dude! Fucking hurry up! I think Y/n's in labor, man!”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Marko demanded, grabbing Paul by his jacket. “You fucking left her?!”

“Marko, man, listen! One minute she was okay, the next she's screaming bloody murder and the fucking floors drenched!" Paul panted, doubled over as he'd flown here with all his might. "Before you ask, she's on her bed, okay? I took her there myself, even with her kicking and screaming. Dude I swear I didn’t just ditch! I swear, man I didn't wanna leave her but she said she needed someone to stick their fingers inside her or fucking whatever cuz if she pushes the baby will die, I dunno man but I'm not itching to do that ever!"

Marko said nothing, primal instincts kicking in full throttle as he sailed through the air and headed straight for the cave. His mind wandered to perilous details in furious cluttered thought, things that already created all the more apprehension to to twist in his gut, turning them round and round. His thoughts immediately went to the fact that you were alone in the hotel, in the purest of all agonies, having to go at this on your lonesome. The closer he sailed over the coastline the more he could hear. Your voice was just in the distance carried on the winds in gut wrenching cries that tore him apart. His next thoughts dwindled on your safety as well as the babies. He was very aware that there was no doctor involved in the mix, which meant no hospital and certainly no pain killers. He was terrified as his mind blasted through the worst of the worst. Didn't women used to die of childbirth back in the day? Was there a possibility that you could die?

Marko hadn't even noticed that the others boys had been hot on his heels, prepared to offer aid wherever they could.

"Marko, man! Slow down!" David called, struggling to keep up with the pace in which his pal was flying. The little bugger had gotten a head start, fueled by his pessimistic contemplation. But Marko didn't halt or slow down for that matter. There was no time for any of that! He had to get to the hotel and into your room as swiftly as possible, he wouldn’t dare slow down! What the hell was David even talking about anyway? Slow down?! Slowing down would do nothing but increase the chances of something else going wrong. He knew that the moment you'd spoken the words of, "what could go wrong in a couple of hours", that you had completely and utterly jinxed the entire night!

His body dove and swerved through the hotel passing caves and holes, nearly crashing as he sped to a desperate stop inside the nursery. Your screams were crystal clear, as though they were right there, yet the sound rattled his ribs until he thought he would pass out. Still hidden away behind pitch black curtains, he could almost see your pitiful form writhing in limitlessly excruciating anguish. Rapidly his steps carried him to your bedside where you were still smothered in fresh blood, wrenching away the curtains. The sight was a visage of carnage torn straight from hell itself! Yet you only saw your dearest prince, and it was truly a sight for sore eyes left distorted by cruel tears. His coarse hand clutched yours immediately, providing the first rare moment of sanctity you had felt. The sudden motion and contact from him startled you tremendously, causing you to shriek when another contraction sent you into a panic. "Hey, it's me, baby girl. It's just me." He cooed comforting down at you, his free hand smoothing your damp hair from your sweat slick face. He probably looked like hell, still covered head to toe in his latest victims blood. That probably wasn't the most hygienic state for him to be in during the birthing of his child. But he had to work with what he had. There wasn't exactly running fresh water in the hotel anyway. It was almost unbearable for him to watch you, the color drained from your cheeks, grasping his hand until he swore he heard bones begin to crack.

“Marko.. I-I can’t push yet.. I d-don’t know how far I am,” You choked out, pressing the back of your head into the mattress when pulsating rivers of agony wove through you in cruel waves. The pain was now a disarray of spontaneous choreography, a violent tempo swelling and spreading throughout your entire body, leaving your brain foggy and black spots waltzing at the corners of your vision.

Before Marko was able to utter a word, the three boys bounded into the room, breathless and covered in a film of dampness, no doubt most likely from the crashing waves of the sea that battered along the cliffs' edge. The intrusion was noisy and agitating, leading to Marko's eyes becoming beacons of flourishing orange and his head whipped towards the guys. "Will you guys get lost? I'm not about to have you guys stand there like the Triplets of Fucking Bullshit while I try to figure out how dilated Y/n is!" he practically roared, the cave was shuddering for a moment as specs of dust flitted sporadically to the ground.

“Marko, baby, please calm down," you begged him, placing a hand on his forearm. The sight of him still smeared in blood was one thing, but such rage even at his brothers almost frightened you, his head practically whipping around to face you with fangs bared and piercing white hot eyes tearing into your own. It felt like he had stared straight through into your soul which was certainly not what you needed currently. The petrified expression left plastered across your palored cheeks made Marko feel incredibly remorseful, running his fingers through his hair. He was running on little sleep and barely had enough to satiate his lingering appetite, leaving him still quite exhausted.

"It's fine. We'll clear out. C'mon boys." David stated, Dwayne having already left. He stared pointedly at Paul though, who was staring at you in fright. He felt as though he should be there, however, with David staring at him so intently, he glanced over your way. You could only give him a weakened smile, your gaze assuring him you were safe now. Paul hung his head low and squeezed past the spiked blonde boy briskly. And David followed suit, not sparing another glance your way. It seemed cold but truthfully, David wasn't entirely sure what to make of the situation. Heightened emotions made him uncomfortable. David was better away from this specific spotlight, and currently his friend was in a frenzy he wasn’t willing to have escalated in such a delicate moment. He'd deal with the aftermath once the storm had passed. Marko could deal with the storm singlehandedly if that's what he so desperately desired. I mean, David hadn't knocked you up, so why get his feathers ruffled when he wasn't wanted there anyway?

“You… owe th-them an... a-apology,” you managed to pant out, wearily smacking his arm when a moment of relief between contractions allowed your voice to return.

Marko huffed, shimmying off his jacket and tossing it onto the chair as he climbed on top of the bed with you, shutting the curtains. “I’ll make it up to them later babe, now’s not the fucking time.” Marko grumbled indignantly, his vampiric features morphing back to his human ones.

It was incredibly important for Marko to ensure that you were dilated 10 centimeters. This was not just for the babies sake but also for your own. If you pushed too soon it could prove fatal for you and your child. There was an instinct in you that told you to push, though Marko insisted adamantly that you hold off on pushing for the meantime. Stress riddled Marko to the core as he knelt down in front of you on the bed, his fingers comfortingly stroking your inner thighs prior to pulling back and nearing your entrance. To begin with he slipped in a finger, pushing softly as the books had told him until he reached the surface of the cervix which if he hadn't been reading the books that Dwayne had given him, he would have thought it didn't exist. Instead, he was met with a rubbery balloon-like texture which he knew was the bag of waters that held your baby. He slowly retracted his finger and added a few more, until he was certain that you were way past the 5cm mark. "Ow! B-babe! Tbh-that hurts!" You complained loudly, back arching off the mattress as you flinched, brows knitted together in contorted pain.

"Really?" Marko snapped, eyes meeting yours whilst his fingers froze within you. "You've had much worse in there and a few fingers hurt? Sheesh!" He stated slowly, his expression flattening momentarily. And suddenly, as if by magic, the tension that had been suffocating the pair of you lifted somewhat, causing the pair of you to chortle for a moment before you winced, a grimace clouding your expression.

"Shut up you complete asshole, h-how about I sh-shove a watermelon up you butt, s-s-see how you like it,” you breathlessly laugh, leaning your head back against your pillow. “So, c-can I p-push now, or not?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty certain that you're 10 centimeters now, babe."

Some form of twisted relief washed over your soul in that moment as you let the instinct to push was over you. There was a slow, long drag pulling through your back. It was like a tiger had dug it’s hooked claws into you and was pulling them down through your flesh. The endeavor was tiring, grueling in fact, leaving you dizzy and exhausted. But yet there was a set determination that took over you whilst you pushed desperately. Your toes tightly curled in place, grunts and panting replaced by blood curdling screams that sent chills down any who heard it. Tears made it impossible to see, the salty concoction of tears and sweat staining your face. Everything burned, you were fearful you may pass out. Though as soon as you pushed you found yourself holding your breath, to which Marko had to coach you through how to breathe. A deep breathe in and another deep breathe out. In through the nose out through the mouth. Well, more like, in through the mouth and back out again. He also had to remind you when to rest,especially when he took note of exhaustion blanketing across you.

“Marko- I can’t! No, no! Fuck I can’t it hurts so fucking bad,” you cried out until your throat was raw, having to be snatched by him before you launched up, pinned precisely in place by his steel grip. “No, god, I can’t do this! Please, I-I can’t I can’t it h-hurts!”

"Come on, baby girl you can’t stop now! You have to hold still, it’s gonna be okay, you've got this." Marko encouraged ceaselessly, offering his pale hand to you to hold. Using his other he cemented you in place, knowing one wrong move could kill the baby. Your strength caught him by surprise when you snatched his hand tightly, grateful he couldn’t feel the crushing grasp of your fingers as his dead bones began to crack. Fortunately for him, years of rigor mortis and rot had decayed most of his nervous system by now. He held your head back on his chest, continuing to coax you with tender words. “Almost there baby, almost I know it hurts, I know, I’m so sorry baby." He whispered softly into your ear, his cool breath fanning across your hot flushed skin. You swallowed thickly, almost as though you were in a trance as you continued your strained pushes. A pinkish liquid spilled out and onto the sheets in a cruel, seeping motion. Marko noted it’s scent carried a heavy copper tone and glanced down as the pale salmon tint deepened into a dark crimson hue. Your screams had nearly numbed his ears by now, although it was not a sound he desired to grow accustomed to.

Marko softly unwound his arms around you, though he kept his left hand in your ironclad grip. He needed to ensure that blood was the baby’s head crowning and not some horrendous miscarriage. He wouldn’t dare mention the alternative to his mate mid-birth, pushing away the blankets covering your legs and to his amazement there was your baby's head crowning momentarily before slipping back inside. From what he'd read, this was a completely normal process, your pushing, in conjunction with your contractions would continue to shift the baby down the birthing canal and out of you. Your heels dug into the mattress with your back arching upward as your mouth was aghast in treacherous suffering, a hideous cry drawing tears from your eyes. The room began to sway, the pace of your heart was that of wild horses unleashed on an open plain. Heat grasped you from every angle, it was getting harder to breathe the more you fought through it. Fear grabbed hold of your lungs, squeezing violently, picking up your heart rate until Marko could hear it thundering beneath your rib cage like a frightened animal wanting to be let loose of its cage. Your rapid labored breaths carried a concerning pace that had him beside you once again.

“Marko.. T-the room..,” you tried to whimper out between screams, head swaying to the side staring at the pitch black curtains that somehow seemed to be seeping into your surroundings. You could feel the drag pulling down your back into your birth canal, you were so close but the sheer exhaustion tempted you to faint at any moment. “I..I can’t..” you gasped out under your breath so quiet he almost thought he'd imagined the words.

"Just one more push, babe," Marko pleaded, brushing his hand over your damp forehead. In a sweet, yet ardent motion your hair was pushed back from your face. You clung to his hand, pressing your forehead against his frigid palm savoring the relieving rush of cold. The sight of his wide eyes connecting with yours forced a momentary breath of air, those perfect blue pools gave you something to focus on. The blackness was scattered, a last scream forcing it's way out of your throat as you gave one final push, the dragging motion within you halting. Light faded in and out of your vision, rapid black splotches flickering around the room, the pain becoming dull and pulsating. You hardly even noticed the muffled, shrill cries emitting from your newborn, or the fact that Marko had already had her wrapped in a towel once he'd cut the umbilical cord. Your chest shuddered when you breathed, the small pink infant squirming beneath white fabric making whimpering grunts. Small fingers stretched out, clutching at Marko’s shirt.

“Marko.. Wh-what are they,” you groaned our, flickering lashes barely keeping you conscious.

Marko hesitated to glance between misted eyes, choking out a stunned laugh. “A girl…”

The blood stained her red skin, and before he could wipe away the sticky red substance off her fingers she suckled at the red liquid, eyes bright white just as his were when his fangs were bared. She had yet to form her own, and when there was none left on her hand they had faded back into little grey, uncolored orbs. The lack of food had become noticable, and she let out a fussy whine, kicking her feet against the blanket in a fit. So that's what she needed to feed on. Marko gently bounced her in his arms, nuzzling his forehead against hers until her tantrum was subdued. “Shhh shhh, it’s okay baby girl.. Plenty of time for that later... Daddy will bring you a big ol bag of blood when mommy feels better, I promise.”

You blinked away tears as she was delicately passed into your arms, weighing no more than eight or nine pounds just as weary as you were. “Wilhelmina...,” you choked out, brushing your fingers across her plump cheek.

“Billie huh?” Marko asked, laying on his side beside you with his bent arm elevating his head, his fingers reached out to brush against the blonde dusting of hair on the head of his daughter, a grin plastered on his face, an exhausted twinkle dancing in his eyes. "I like that... Wilhelmina it is.."

He now felt like finally, in these eight months of your pregnancy, that he could catch some shut eye. Time had become distorted, he had no idea whether it was daytime or night time any more, the two may as well have been blurred together. In your safe haven of thick black flowing curtains, Marko placed Billie delicately into your heavy arms, slumber already having wrapped you tightly in its deep and vast embrace. He curled his fingers around the dark fabric, pulling it skeptically out of the way. The room was swallowed in darkness, however, his nocturnal eyes easily scoped out the shut door at the other end of the room. He thought for a minute, capturing his bottom lip in between his teeth. He chewed on it for a moment before pulling himself up and off the bed. Truthfully now that his territorial rage had fizzled out he knew he owed the guys for how much of an ass he'd been when confronted with your unexpected labor.

With tentative steps, so as not to disturb you, Marko flitted towards the shut door, no light seeping underneath the crack of the door. He twisted the knob carefully, a low squeak creeping into the air as he opened the door. He stepped out into the passageway leading to the main cave and began a somewhat hurried stroll. Honestly he was ecstatic to tell the boys. To show them his daughter was something he was practically bouncing on the spot for he couldn't wait!

Marko, briefly unaware with his contemplation cluttering his mind, did not fully register the danger as he stepped forward into a stream of sunlight just up ahead cutting clearly through the decrepit roof of the hotel. It wasn't until the searing sizzle of his flesh did he register that he was caught aflame from the sun's rays. With a shriek he recoiled, battering at exposed flesh to kill the flames. He smoldered for a moment, back pressed to the wall as he peered into the vacant lobby of the ancient hotel. He sighed, shaking his head in dismay. "Dammit! Well... I guess they'll just have to meet Billie tonight then," he concluded with finality, not giving it much thought before he turned and made his way back to your room with heavy eyelids, finally content. As he padded softly into the room, shutting the door behind him, Marko couldn't help but feel relief wash over him. It was an enormous weight lifted from his shoulders now that he'd be able to go out to feed without fearing something could happen to you. That was more than enough to cure him of any and all anxiety that had previously immobilized him.

As he settled himself underneath the covers, he brought you closer, baby Billie placed tenderly between you both and he grinned half halfheartedly, a dopey, wide grin that pulled on his heavy eyelids. "I'm kinda glad you jinxed it, babe." he breathed into the air before he allowed the weight of sleep to shut his eyes and encapsulate him in its lulling motion.

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oneweekoneband · 3 years

Text

her Nebraska (1982)

In July I flew to Massachusetts with a plague on, and I felt that it was wrong, but my mother had begged and I’d been out of work for months. Mornings there I ran in long, uneven ovals on the same roads I’d memorized in high school. There’s no sidewalks, but the few feet of dirt between the craggy pavement and the open mouths of the fields serve all right for a single body in motion. When a truck comes up close from behind, the ground shakes, and I step away bouncingly from the street toward thigh-high yellow weeds and grass, and keep going. I was slowly picking my way back in that dirt, sweat-slick from only a plodding couple of miles in peak summer heat, and sucking the wet cotton of my mask in between my teeth on every inhale, when Taylor Swift announced she was releasing a surprise album produced by the guy from The National. Not the guy from The National, like, the voice, but the guy from The National whose photo was circulated on Twitter earlier this year as some kind of antifa super soldier, which isn’t the case, but would’ve been rad. First, I stopped dead to send some outraged, misspelled text messages, and then I ran home faster than I’d moved in years.

Tall, blonde, patrician pop star Taylor Swift is to me something like a cross-between a wife and a boogeyman. Bound we’ve been since we were really children. Time and its changes haven’t rid me of her, and what’s worse is I have never quite been able to wish they would, though I claim as much all the time. Countless hours of my one wild and precious life have been spent on endlessly analyzing the minutiae of Taylor Swift’s music, the mind that made it, the real world events which influenced it. And though all the while I have known she is only a person, and that people, while each strange and lovely in their own ways, are, in the end, mostly dull, needful in just the regular manner, the fantasy is better, the sick dream of a megalomaniac songstress, curious, thrilling, probably evil, and I choose that. I don’t know Taylor Alison Swift, born to this world in, I presume, the usual way. But my Taylor Swift? I’m a renowned expert. I’ve always eaten up stories—movies, music, celebrity news, the one my grandfather tells about falling off his bike once in Ireland as a boy and his face “cracking open like an egg”—like a starved dog. I’m obsessive about my interests, but not inclined to intense fandom, and certainly not fandom in the mode of the stan. For one, I’m too self-absorbed. But caring intensely for a famous person is falling in love with a ghost, and that’s all right—I mean, what the hell? We’re here together just dying... Let’s enjoy—but is an affair best undertaken with the knowledge that everyone alive has their own complex interiority, as unruly as your own, and that you, a stranger, are not in any real way connected to the lawless, blurry middle of that celebrity, and will never be. It’s freeing and fun to know this. I mean, these people are basically in your employ. Glamorous dollhouse dwellers. Acknowledging that uncrossable distance allows for a different, healthier closeness of pure imagination. My feelings, then, can comfortably be at once both fiercely intense and entirely silly. I am a foremost scholar in the art of the Taylor Swift who exists in my head. The real person raised in Pennsylvania I don’t know at all. I have some conjectures on the matter, and, as with all my conjectures, every hackneyed theory, each picky little opinion, I’m sure they’re perfect, brilliant, just absolutely right, but that’s still all they are. Taylor Swift, figure of the cultural imagination, is the Jodie Comer to my Sandra Oh in Killing Eve, annoying and pretty in frills, taunting me endlessly and holding us trapped together in a dance of most enchanting death. But the real Taylor Swift has favorite bed sheets and a social security number and a British boyfriend, none of which I have any desire to know about, and if I saw her at a restaurant I’d politely avert my eyes before, yes, dive-bombing the group text. There’s nobody on Earth I’d stand in line to speak to, but then I’ve been speaking to a certain figment of Taylor Swift for nearly half my life.

I went to a Taylor Swift concert the night before I moved into college in 2009. My father’s work friend, firefighter by day, near professional gambler by night, got comped tickets to the Fearless Tour stop taking place at the nearby casino, and he let me have them as a reward, mainly, for happening to be seventeen. Live in-person and performed acoustically, “Fifteen” made me cry. A few years after that, in the thick, sticky part of my first post-college summer, I wrote approximately twenty-three million words about her in these very pages. (”Pages”) At that point, Taylor’s most recent release was 2012’s Red, and the work I produced that long ago July about Taylor and her career, writing I was fairly pleased with at the time, feels now, besides just being extremely clearly written by a twenty-one year old, strange to me for the way it favors the sweet over the sour almost uniformly. There is a wholesome kind of ardor in that writing which maybe I’ve outgrown the ability to hold. Or maybe Taylor just proceeded to spend the next half a decade plus releasing one bad single after another, and it was taste—and trespasses against taste—and not some shift in my nature which altered the tenor of our bond. I have real love for my particular image, gleaned from public statements and published art, of smart, bizarre famous woman Taylor Swift, and I admire the bulk of her output very much. I’m just no longer so inclined to fawn. This is not to say I am here to offer a Taylor Swift hate screed. I couldn’t swing it, and, anyway, I’m not a pop feminist-for-hire circa 2010. But we’re older now. Things are different. At twenty-eight, twenty-nine this month—Taylor will, also this December, turn thirty-one—I regard Taylor Swift warily, like an ex with whom you have a tentative friendship, perpetually on the brink of falling one way or the other into hatred or delight, only to wobble back the opposite direction again at the slightest provocation, but still, despite best efforts, even, I regard her all the time.

folklore was released at midnight on July 24th 2020, but I was at a cabin in rural Vermont without Internet or cell service. I drank Bud Light seltzers with my mother while watching the eerie pandemic return of Major League Baseball, and when I got into a strange bed there I stewed, knowing there were people out in the world all over who were hearing Taylor Swift songs I never had, and that this was a fundamental wrong, a disruption in the balance of the universe. I listened to it the next morning in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot.

And folklore is great. That’s the terrible thing. Slightly less great, maybe, than some people have insisted, tricked, I think, by just the pronounced shift in sound. But it’s great. A little gift I asked for a thousand times and was still surprised to get, like a wife who didn’t expect her henpecked husband to ever follow through and buy the paraffin wax hand bath as-see-on-TV. For years, I’ve been halfheartedly insisting that Taylor had a great album in her. I’d say it even, perhaps especially, while she stubbornly fed me gruel. Or worse, gruel with the occasional whiff of something better. With a ripe, little raspberry dropped into the slop. The bright, villainous thrill of “Getaway Car” made me believe Taylor, my Taylor, was in there somewhere under the lacquer of sequins and synth, which, while not objectionable by default, seemed a costume, and an ill-fitting one. The lived-in world of “Cornelia Street” made those old scars sting. That gay “Delicate” video. When she did “Call It What You Want” on SNL and played guitar while wearing an ugly sweater. If the abominable “ME!”, lead single off Lover, was the stick, 1989’s “Clean” was the carrot. I was Charlie Brown, and Taylor my Lucy, yanking the football back again and again. Over drinks I still yelled that Taylor Swift’s next album would be, “her Nebraska”, referring to my favorite Bruce Springsteen record, and learned to live with that egg on my face for good. I suppose I even came to like it. There was something inherently funny in taking up, like, “blind faith in the as of yet untapped greater artistic potential of massively wealthy and popular singer Taylor Swift” as my totally inane personal cause du jour, and eventually it was a bit, a gag I performed to be obstinate and didactic, but way down somewhere awful near my kidneys I meant it the whole while. And then she did it. A pandemic befell the world and amid a sea of human suffering Taylor Swift remembered she can write. She wrote, and with a massive, crucial assist from Aaron Dessner, whose music on this record is sometimes so beautiful it actually angers me, as the last thing I needed in already perilous times was to be made to try and marry my uniquely perverse emotional responses to beloved divorced dad band The National and fucking Taylor Swift, she made an album which, if not her Nebraska, per se (I’ve come to realize that a major part of believing Taylor Swift will one day make an album I find as quietly devastating and gorgeous as Nebraska is knowing that no album will ever actually be Her Nebraska... That each will, rather, to me, be more and more evidence that it’s coming still, more proof that the limit is untouched, on and on ad infinitum, or at least until the seas take us into a place of salty peace.) is a shocking credit to all my hard-fought and deluded confidence. folklore is great. This fact has made me feel almost equally as disoriented from my understanding of the world as the time-melting COVID-19 lockdowns have, and it turned my Spotify year in review annual collective AI humiliation kink thing into a glaring indictment of my mental state, but still, I mean... It’s great.

In talking about folklore a bit this week, there are a number of specific topics I intend to cover—what a thrill it is to hear Taylor say “fuck”; Taylor’s terrifying birth chart; the astoundingly perfect bridge of “the last great american dynasty”; “because my ass is located at the back of my body”; the bit in last year’s “Lover” where deranged WASP Taylor Swift implies that to “leave the Christmas lights up til January” is some signifier of being a love-struck bohemian, when actually everyone who doesn’t employ domestic staff to take their lights down does this; how reputation is the best of the Taylor Swift records released in the latter half of the 2010s, actually, and the people who can’t see that are cowards—but intend mostly to let the muse move me where she will. Against the advice of my better angels, she—that tie-in marketing eldritch terror—always does.

#taylor swift #folklore

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fanficimagery · 4 years

Text

Stronger. Faster. Better.

Summary: Taken from one bad situation and shoved into the next, you’re force fed vampire blood. Max casts you off to his sons when you don’t take direction well, and well? It was probably the best decision he’d ever made.

Words: 4K Warnings: Violence. Mentions of abuse. Not sure this is trigger worthy, but there is mention of someone attempting to force someone else into a relationship they don’t want.

Being forced down a cool, damp cave was not what you expected to happen after refusing to feed. Swift death? Yes. Being thrust upon someone else? Not so much.

One hand is wrapped in the hair at the base of your neck, pulling harshly so your face is angled upward in an uncomfortable position. There's no use in attempting to flee because Max is too powerful and too fast for you to get anywhere safely. But the darkness soon brightens, just a bit, and the ground levels out. You're forced to your knees and then shoved forward, and you barely manage to catch yourself before face planting. The Rock music playing suddenly cuts out and you glance up through the curtain of your hair to see four individuals walking closer.

"I am done," Max snarls. "I attempted to give her a better life and she squanders it! Turn her or kill her. I don't care anymore. She's no longer my problem."

"So what? She's ours?" One blonde answers, straight platinum blonde hair spiked on top and styled into a short mullet at the back, blue eyes glaring. You stare at him, a shiver running up and down your spine at the anger simmering there. "We don't need another Star, Max."

"You will do as I say, David. Kill her or make her feed. Either way I don't want to see her disrespectful face ever again."

Before anything else can be said, Max leaves. You push yourself up and then move around so you're sitting on your butt, and then gather your hair to get it out of your face. No one says anything for a long minute, and then from one moment to the next two other blondes crack smiles in your direction.

"Whatever you did to piss off Max, you have our utmost respect, chica. He's a total asshole." You frown, brow furrowing. "I'm Paul, by the way. Tall, tanned, and broody over there is Dwayne."

"Marko," the third blonde introduces himself, his curls styled into a short mullet as well. "And I'm sure you remember that that's David right there."

Each boy has a similar style, but have made it their own, and each have very different auras. Paul seems to be the fun one, followed by Marko. However, Marko has an underlying sense of danger that Paul doesn't seem to possess. Dwayne is a bit hard to get a read on, but you get the sense he is a decent guy, and David- David leaves you on edge. Everything about him screams danger and you can't help but feel out of your comfort zone when he stares at you.

Between one blink and the next, David appears before you and has a hand wrapped around your throat. You barely have time to gasp before he's lifting you, eyes just as glacial as earlier. "Name?" He drawls.

"Y/N," you manage to utter.

Paul whoops and Marko hides a smile behind his thumb as he chews on the nail. Dwayne manages to shift behind David, flanking him, and is as quiet as ever as you weakly struggle in David's hold.

"Well, Y/N, welcome home. Where did Max pick you up?"

"Yeah," Paul muses. "You don't look like a runaway. That's how Max usually finds his children."

You struggle to breathe, the tips of your toes barely scraping the ground. "I don't k-know." David sneers and drops you at his feet. Rubbing at your throat, you look up but keep your gaze averted from any of the boys. "All I know is that I went from one shitty situation to the next. Max thought he was saving me, and had he went about it differently, then maybe I'd have thought the same."

Dwayne frowns. "What did he do?"

"What do you think? He beat me, he starved me, he kept me in seclusion and force fed me his blood, then expected me to make a kill so I could become his child bride. Fuck that. Fuck him."

"Oohh," Paul sniggers. "This one's feisty."

David continues to watch you, gaze subtly softening. "Sleep." He gestures towards a bed nearly hidden in an alcove, surrounded by sheer curtains. "The sun will be up soon. We'll give you some time to settle in and decide to feed on your own time, but if you refuse you're out. I won't keep a halfling around longer than necessary."

"We only have one other halfling," Dwayne then says, "but Laddie is just a boy. He'll be completing the change before he's twenty."

You glance around the cave then, spotting a boy who's hidden by the sheer curtain hanging around the bed David had offered you. He flicks his hair out of his eyes, hesitantly waving.

"If we wake up and find out you've left the cave or laid a hand on Laddie, you're done. I won't tolerate abuse in the pack. Do you understand?"

Gulping, you nod. "Y-Yeah."

"Good." David looks up and glances around at the others. "Boys, let's go grab a bite to eat before the sun comes up."

As the pack leaves in a whirlwind of laughter and jingling chains, you finally push yourself up from the ground. Looking around you realize you're in a lobby of some sorts, most likely a building that collapsed long ago that the vampires have now made their own.

"It was a hotel once," you hear and look at Laddie whose opened the curtain around the bed. "David has a speech about the history of this place." He laughs softly. "Paul and Marko always make fun of him when he says it to every new person."

"If it was a hotel, does that mean I'll get my own room then?" You ask, hopeful.

"Only after you've completed the change. You can share with me until then."

"Thanks." The hotel isn't the most desirable place to stay, but already it's a hell of a lot better than before. At least here there's no Max. "You, uh, wouldn't happen to have anything to snack on, would you?"

"Yeah. Hold on." Laddie gets up and walks over to a crate, rummaging through it. He comes back with a half eaten bag of jerky and bottled water. "Here you go."

"Thank you."

Instead of eating the whole thing like you want to, you split the meager snack with the boy. After it's all gone, you kick off your shoes and curl up on one side of the bed.

"Sleeping in jeans is so uncomfortable," you mumble. Laddie giggles. "I need scissors to cut them into shorts."

"The guys have a pile of clothes you can pick through," he says. "But you can do that tomorrow. Take them off if they bother you so much."

Cracking open one eye and seeing Laddie snuggling down, you do just as he said. You're used to sleeping in a shirt and underwear, but ever since Max plucked you from the streets you'd been sleeping in pants to keep yourself covered up. Laddie, however, is just a kid and won't leer like the other guys are most likely to do. So once you're jeans-free and comfortable, you close your eyes and will yourself to sleep, hoping the guys won't give you too much grief for sleeping half naked.

Waking up the following evening, you're not surprised that the guys are nowhere to be found. Laddie is already awake and moving around, and when he sees you sitting up he beams.

"Got a box of clothes for you. The guys left it, I guess."

"Awesome." Wrapping the sheet around your waist, you stand up and stumble forward. Immediately digging through the box's contents, you bypass the skirts and sigh in relief when you find a pair of jean shorts, a tank top, and a red and black plaid long sleeve. There's even a brush and several hair ties at the very bottom. "Hey, Laddie, can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah."

"Who's Star?" Laddie freezes and you suddenly feel guilty for asking. "Nevermind. That seems like a touchy subject." Quickly rushing behind a broken wardrobe to give yourself a semblance of privacy, you quickly change outfits. After the tank top and shorts are pulled on, you wrap the sleeves of the plaid shirt around your waist and knot it. When you reappear and head over to your shoes, Laddies voice startles you.

"Star was picked to be one of us. At first she was all for it, but when it came time to feed for the first time she refused."

"Who chose her?"

"David. She was supposed to be a meal, but I got attached. It'd been so long since I had a mom and she was nice. Dwayne suggested she turn and she agreed. For me. But she couldn't finish becoming a vampire when it came down to it."

"Can I ask what happened? Or is that.."

"She threw herself off the cliffs." You whirl around, surprised to see the guys all standing there. It's Dwayne who spoke, expression stoic. "Max's blood in her veins made sure she survived the fall, but she wouldn't heal unless she fed. She refused and was put out of her misery."

"Oh. I-" You glance at Laddie, frowning. "I'm sorry." He grins faintly, shrugging as if it's no big deal now. "So, uh, what's the plan for tonight?"

"Boardwalk, as usual," David drawls. "Just stay away from the video store. It's Max's."

"Noted."

Paul and Marko whoop in delight, Laddie as well, and you hesitantly follow after them. You make the trek upwards through the cave entrance Max had dragged you down, and then inhale deeply once out in the fresh air. It's nothing but salt and fish, but it just feels so good to be out in the open.

Walking up the rickety stairs, your hands fly out to steady Laddie when he trips. He giggles and you laugh briefly as well, and then you're walking up to four motorbikes. Paul and Marko are already eager to go, bouncing in their seats. Dwayne helps Laddie get situated behind him and you turn to David who quirks an eyebrow at you.

"You're with me."

David straddles his bike and you use his shoulders to steady yourself as you climb on behind him. Then wrapping your arms around his waist, you nod when he glances over his shoulder at you. The bike roars to life beneath you and you squeeze David tighter as he zooms off into the night. The others make sure to never pass him up, but every now and then you look back to them hollering and laughing as everyone gains speed.

You smile when Laddie catches your gaze as Dwayne speeds up to be next to David, and then laugh when the boy throws his head back and howls. The boys expertly dodge trees and jump small hills, and you let yourself be giddy for once since Max had taken you.

You've only seen the boardwalk a handful of times, so it's a sight for sore eyes. The flashing lights, the harsh whistles and bells coming from the rides and games, and the rock music blaring from some beach concert off in the distance.

David leads the pack up onto the boardwalk, everyone either glaring at their audacity for driving their bikes on there or jumping out of the way. He and the guys back up their bikes before parking, and you hop off when you see Laddie do so first.

As everyone gathers around, you hook your thumbs into the front pockets of your shorts. "So what's the plan? I'm assuming you boys don't wanna babysit, so.."

"Stay on the boardwalk, but stay away from Max's video store," David says. "And take this. Keep Laddie entertained and fed. Same goes for you."

You accept the handful of crumpled bills, smiling tightly. Then shoving it all in your pocket, you hold a hand out towards the young boy. "Let's go, Lads. The guys are harshing our coolness factor anyway."

Paul laughs. "You wish you were cool, girl."

Dwayne grins as Laddie immediately latches onto your hand and you nod at the dark haired vampire before taking your leave. Out of the two of you, Laddie is the most excited and doesn't hesitate in taking the lead. You get just enough tickets to have a few go-arounds on the carousel since that seems to be the only ride Laddie really wants to get on, and then head on over to buy the greasiest burgers you can find, fries, and a large lemonade to share.

There's a rather dilapidated picnic table next to a burning barrel out on the beach, and you lead Laddie there to eat your dinner. And when you're sure the table is not going to collapse, you gesture for Laddie to join you and hand him his half of the food.

"You seem happy," Laddie mentions right before taking a bite of his food. "Happier than last night, at least."

Swallowing the bite of burger in your mouth, you grin. "I kind of am. Don't get me wrong, the guys are terrifying, but they're a lot more approachable than Max. Max- he had this overwhelming sense of presence. It also helps that the guys don't have me chained to the cave, so there's that."

"Did he do that to you? Chain you to keep you with him?"

"Nah, kid, he didn't. But he did threaten me and someone as old as Max is not someone you cross."

Laddie's nose wrinkles, but instead of asking yet another question he continues to eat his food. You decide to leave him be for now, eating your own meal for the night and enjoy the noise of crashing waves and the roaring fire in the barrel just a few feet away. Laddie seems to be a bottomless pit and you hand over your share of fries after keeping a couple for yourself.

Once all the food is gone and you make sure to throw away all your trash, you shout for Laddie, who'd wandered off towards the water, to come back. But before he can make it to your side, there's a too tight grip around your bicep and you hiss in pain as you're suddenly being yanked in the opposite direction of the boardwalk.

"Y/N? Y/N!" Laddie yells.

Just getting a glimpse of the side profile of the man dragging you down the beach has your heart hammering in fear. "Thought you could runaway, didn't you?" He grits out.

No. No, no, no.

You attempt to yank free of your ex's hold, digging your feet into the sand. It's no use. You're then dragged all the way through the nearby parking lot, screaming and shouting, but no one pays you any mind. All the while, Laddie chases after you.

You're shoved into an alley, hands and knees scraping against the dirty ground. Your ex situates himself between you and Laddie, and when you turn over to meet Laddie's gaze behind your ex, you see his wide and fearful eyes. "Go find the boys, Laddie. Run!"

Still on the ground, you slowly start inching backwards. "Do you know the amount of money I spent on resources trying to find your ungrateful ass?" Your ex (Jeff) snarls. "I've spent months looking for you!"

"You should have taken the hint and moved on," you manage to tell him. "I didn't ask for you to look for me."

"But I didn't give you permission to leave." Jeff kicks a crumpled can at you and you dodge it, scurrying backwards even more. After years with Jeff and living with his abuse, you were finally free. Braver, stronger, and faster. But seeing him after months, it's like all that has faded away and you're still that cowering woman who was too afraid to leave him. "Get up. We're going home."

The revving of bike engines resonate throughout the too calm night and something in your chest loosens. Breathe. You are not weak anymore. You warily climb to your feet, making sure to keep some distance between you and him. Breathe. You are not a victim anymore. Jutting your chin out and squaring your shoulders, you say, "No. I'm already home."

"Y/N." You jerk at the sound of your name, your name which oddly sounds like it's being carried on the wind. David. "Remember what you are, Y/N. He is no match for you."

Remember what I am? I'm a halfling. A halfling who still needs to- needs to feed. A hand clamps around your wrist and then you're being dragged again. Only this time fear isn't clouding your mind and you have enough clarity to know you can fight back. So planting your feet, you grab your ex's arm with your other hand and yank back. Surprisingly, he stumbles back and looks at you in surprise.

"What the hell is your problem?" He demands. But instead of cowering, you stand a little taller and meet his gaze head on. Jeff's own confidence briefly wavers.

Without second guessing yourself, you swing at his face. But instead of closing your hand into a fist, you tighten your fingers and claw his face. Jeff shouts and stumbles backwards after letting you go, gingerly lifting a hand to his wounds. You, however, you stare at your bloodied fingertips. Your heart beats faster, your vision tunnels, and your hearing zones in on the rhythmic thumping of Jeff's heart and the blood rushing through his veins.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

Your breathing gets heavier and then you let your gaze drag up to meet Jeff's, but something must have changed because his heart rate picks up and his eyes widen. A guttural growl vibrates through your throat and between one blink and the next your teeth are slicing through the flesh of his neck. His pathetic attempts to get you off of him is truly laughable, but an undeniable hunger takes over you.

You clamp one hand over his mouth to stifle his screams, but he yanks on your hair to get you off. Growling in displeasure, you snap his neck and continue drinking him dry. Then when you're done, you drop his body only to whirl around, growling at the sudden applause. David, Dwayne, Paul, and Marko have showed up and parked their bikes at the mouth of the alley. Over Dwayne's shoulder, Laddie peeks out.

David swings one of his legs over his bike and saunters towards you, still slowly applauding. "That was one hell of a first kill." He looks you up and down, gaze settling on your transformed face. "Vampirism suits you."

You growl one last time before straightening your back, slowly feeling your face shift back to normal. "He had it coming."

"You knew him?"

You kick at your ex's body. "Unfortunately. He was the bad situation Max plucked me from."

David tuts. "This could be a problem. Anyone know he was here?"

You shrug. "I doubt he told anyone. His parents didn't approve of us. But if his body is found here and I'm spotted walking around, his parents will be quick to point their fingers."

"Okay then." David twirls around, chains jingling. "Paul. Marko, park your bikes out of sight. Find his car and get rid of it, then get rid of the body. Fly him a state over."

"Aye, aye." Paul and Marko mock salute David, and then congratulate you before getting to work.

Following after David, you faintly smile at Laddie since his gaze has yet to leave you. "Sorry you had to see that, kid. He caught me off guard."

"Was he a bad guy?"

"The worst."

"Then good." Laddie jerks his head to the side to get his bangs out of his eyes. "I'm glad he's gone and you're officially pack."

"Yeah? Me too, Lads."

Standing on the ledge of the broken fountain, you do your best to concentrate in order to hover mid-air. The boys made flying look so easy and you were a bit jealous you hadn't been able to pick up on it. Laddie watches from the couch, eager to watch you fail. Again.

Closing your eyes, you step off the ledge and hold your breath when you don't immediately fall. But the moment your eyes fly open and you see for yourself that you're hovering mid-air, you fall. Laddie cackles and you groan as you pick yourself up.

"Laugh it up," you muse, swatting the dirt from your jeans. "Just wait until it's your turn. You'll learn it's not as easy as it looks."

The hooting and hollering coming from the cave entrance diverts your attention, and you plop down next to Laddie on the couch. He's still giggling, so you give him a fond head rub before looking towards the other boys.

"Feeding time! Come and get it, boy and girl." Marko cheers.

"Hey Laddie," Paul says, "how many falls was it tonight?"

"Twenty three," he giggles.

"Hey!" You bark. "Flying's hard. Okay? I'm still new."

Dwayne scoffs. "I had flying down my third-"

"Your third day," you groan. "Yeah, I know. Fuck off, Dwayne." Laddie laughs louder and you readily catch a container of Chinese food that Paul had chucked at you. "So are we hitting the boardwalk after this or what?"

"Eat. We'll play later," David says.

You and Laddie go on to share three boxes of food- noodles and beef teriyaki. The energy in the cave seems to amp up the later it gets, and when it's time to leave Paul and Marko throw clothing at you.

"Dress up time, chica." Paul smirks. "You're luring tonight."

"Ugh. Gross." You pick through the clothes, immediately tossing aside the skirts and dresses. "Who are we pulling tonight? Boys are easy. They fall for the innocent act way too easily," you muse. "The girls are a bit trickier, but easy enough when I introduce myself as a sibling or cousin of yours so I'm not seen as competition."

"You're the girl who's out having fun and gets separated from your girls. Dress pretty," David says.

"Leather pants it is."

Then dressed in a fishnet shirt atop your bra, an old leather jacket of David's, and a pair of black leather pants, you climb on the back of David's bike before the pack races towards the boardwalk.

You can't help but giggle at the heated glares you garner from the female population, you having heard their mutterings about you being a quick fling of the boys. Unfortunately for them, you would be sticking around for quite some time.

After the bikes are parked, you hop off and ruffle Laddie's hair before grabbing up his hand and trying to skip off. You only get a couple of steps before David stalls you.

"Do you remember the plan?"

Turning around, you roll your eyes at his expectant stare. But before you can retort with a smartass comment, the way he looks with the boardwalk lights haloing his head gives you pause. Being that attractive is really unfair.

"Y/N." Dwayne coughs.

You snap out of your thoughts, mentally groaning at the boys' all knowing smiles. "I really hate you guys sometimes."

"It's not our fault you're so transparent."

"Yes," you deadpan, "and I'm sure the mind link David has with all of us that all of you refuse to tell me how to feel it for myself has nothing to do with it."

Marko snickers. "Everyone always wants to bang the leader."

Paul explodes with laughter as your nose wrinkles in distaste. But you're not one to deny what they clearly know, so you settle for sighing and changing the subject. "Just for that I'm picking someone terrible for you. Let's go, Laddie. We've got rides to ride and people to hunt."

"I'm sure if you ask nicely, David'll let you ride his-"

"Kid ears, Paul!" You shout, cutting him off as your cheeks flame. Laddie giggles, no doubt understanding exactly what ride Paul was referring to. When Paul says no more and the guys are all smirking, you chance a look at David only to see him send you a wink. You sigh. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this."

#fanficimagery #imagine #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagine #david #paul #marko #dwayne #laddie #david imagine #lost boys x reader #lost boys imagine #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #paul the lost boys #marko the lost boys

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slytherin-team · 4 years

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On Petunia Evans Dursley, or how I imagine & re-imagine her character

So, I re-read HP and Snape’s memories of Lily and Petunia really stood out to me.

Since re-reading the whole series, I’ve become a bit obsessed with Snape and Petunia.

I want to talk about Petunia’s character.

Now, I like starving-her- nephew- and -locking- him -in- a- cupboard Aunt Petunia as much as the next person (which is to say, not at all)

However, Petunia’s character has to be one of the things that bothers me most about HP or one of the things that I see as the biggest missed opportunity on JKR’s part.

Now, I don’t entirely blame JKR for making Petunia a one-dimensional villain. HP started out as a children’s book and the Dursleys are very much like Matilda’s family. They’re just there to be entirely awful and also to contrast muggle “ordinariness” with wizard “specialness.” Additionally, everyone is familiar with the fairytale evil stepmother and Petunia fills that cliched trope as well.

But as the series becomes darker and less for children and as we learn more about the complicated history between muggles and wizards, the presence of only one-dimensional (Dursleys, at least the parents) or barely present (the Grangers) muggles becomes rather irksome, considering how the war is all about prejudice towards muggles and muggle-borns.

These things didn’t bother me or even occur to me so much as a kid reading the series and that’s why I can’t entirely blame JKR on this one thing. She knew her target audience (kids) would identify with the witches and wizards, see the muggles as boring and dull like the adults around them, and not care so much about the broader picture.

I don’t know if my new way of looking at the series comes from simply re-reading it, or more specifically, from being an adult re-reading it, but I find myself super interested in examining what it means to be a muggle who is aware of the magical world and this what draws me to Aunt Petunia.

If I could make any change to the series, I would make Petunia a more gray, nuanced and fleshed out character, much like Snape (who I actually think she is very similar to and I’ll get into that). She would still give preferential treatment to her own son, but she would not outright abuse Harry by starving him or locking him up. She would ensure he’s well-fed and healthy but she would not be affectionate with him, but rather cold and distant, so similar to how she already acts but minus the serious abuse.

I would pepper in moments where Petunia stares at Harry with empty eyes or glances at him while he’s not looking. I would have Harry notice these small moments from time to time and wonder why his Aunt takes care of him yet is so cold towards him. He would unravel this mystery of her behavior, just as he unraveled Snape’s and Petunia would get a redemption arc, like Snape. I haven’t thought of all the details but I like the idea of her getting more involved later in the series and being a useful muggle character. Eventually, she would open up about Lily as well and reveal her regrets. She would also have a heart to heart with Harry and wish him luck before going into hiding.

Vernon would still be a jerk but not outright abusive because Petunia wouldn’t allow for that. Dudley would still get away with his bullying, particularly when Petunia is out of sight, but maintain the growth he did show in the series, perhaps taking it a bit further.

As much as I prefer my version of Petunia, the actual Petunia we get, while not a good or redeemable person by any means, is still really great as a character and as a villain, she has a good origin story.

Hate adult Petunia all you want, but child Petunia, in my opinion, is nothing but sympathetic and probably one of the most relatable characters in the series, and I will go through this.

We all wish the HP world was real, but of course, if it was, we’d all want to be witches and wizards. We all want to go to Hogwarts.

Severus tells Lily, “It’s real for us, not for her.”

He’s right and he’s wrong. It’s real for Petunia, she just can’t be a part of it.

Now, personally, I think being a squib would feel a lot more unfair than being a muggle with muggle parents whose sibling just happens to be a witch and even if Petunia’s parents did favor Lily for being a witch, they can’t be prejudice towards Petunia for her lack of magic when they lack magic themselves.

But squibs might actually be looked down upon by their magical parents and they seem to have no choice but to enter the muggle world even though they grew up in the magical world, and if they do stay in the magical world, they’re seen as lesser and I can’t imagine there’s much for them to do. Maybe they could work in Muggle relations but that’s not given much prestige (even though it should be an important thing) Petunia feels barred from the magical world but at least she doesn’t have to leave her own world.

Still, Petunia is just a kid and she doesn’t know about all the intricacies of the magical world or about squibs. She just sees that her sister has abilities that she doesn’t and access to a really exciting world that she doesn’t. So, her jealousy and feelings of inferiority are totally understandable.

Of course, in her jealousy of Lily, lack of knowledge about the intricacies of the magical world, and overall myopic view because of her youth, I think there’s something that Petunia doesn’t realize.

Lily is also in a difficult position, perhaps in some ways more difficult than Petunia. At least Petunia has a clear line. She’s a muggle and can fit into the muggle world.

Lily is a witch, so despite being born into the muggle world, she’s different, but that doesn’t mean she can fully integrate into the magical world. In some ways, the prejudice against muggle-borns and the specific slur for them makes them seem more hated and distrusted by certain segments of the wizarding world than even muggles themselves.

And Lily graduated Hogwarts at the time of Voldemort’s rise and we’re told that the first wizarding war was much more intense than the second. Marlene Mckinnon and her entire family were killed. Voldemort had a bunch of creatures on his side. Petunia could be blissfully ignorant of all this and cocoon herself in her safe “ordinary” world at least. Safety didn’t seem like a choice for Lily, although she certainly had agency and chose to fight for the Order. But it seems that muggleborns would be hunted regardless.

Perhaps if Petunia had realized this, she would have had more sympathy for her sister and also realize that she herself is lucky in some regards. Maybe she could have cultivated her own talents and focused on them instead of putting all of her energy into being jealous and petty.

I also have this other idea I like, of Petunia developing healthy coping mechanisms to deal with her jealousy and then finally embracing the magical world - instead of turning away from it entirely to be as “ordinary” as possible- and then becoming the muggle version of Arthur Weasley- that is, a muggle who is a bit of a “magicphile”

Getting back on track, Petunia’s ordinariness could be her strength, at least as a character, it makes her relatable. Young Petunia, like young Severus, is the underdog, and that sort of makes you want to cheer for her or at least see her get a slice of the cake at least once in her life.

While I’ve grown to like Lily as a character more because of my re-analysis of her situation - which makes her an underdog too- I used to really hate her, for the same reason Petunia hated her. Like really? This girl has powerful magic, is beautiful, gregarious, kind, brave, strong, loved and desired by everyone...yadda yadda yadda...gimme a break!

And so many fans who love Lily don’t realize that they’re probably Petunias, not Lilies.

Even looking at the flowers themselves- petunias are actually really beautiful and come in such a wide variety (the night sky petunia is my favorite) - and yet they’re often overlooked because they’re so common.

James is an awful bully but at least that counteracts his perfectness in every other area (looks, school, sports, etc) What are Lily’s flaws? What does she struggle with other than being muggleborn? It seems that maybe both she and James were too naive and trusting (not to victim-blame her for her own death or anything) but what else? We’re not told and so she just seems perfect, not very interesting for a character.

A lot of the things Petunia says as a child that fans interpret as mean or revealing of her hatred of magic from a young age, are actually things she seems to regurgitate from the adults around her.

For example, when Lily is flying from a swing, Petunia chides her by saying, “mom, told you not to do that!” Although we know Petunia’s parents favored Lily, I get the sense that their favoritism and even awareness of Lily’s magic didn’t come until after the Hogwarts letter, which is when a representative would have come to the family to explain things. Before then...I’m not sure but maybe her parents didn’t realize what was going on and just didn’t want her jumping out of swings? Anyway, I think Petunia is just trying to be the responsible older sister and is repeating her mother.

I’m pretty sure when Lily makes the flower grow, Petunia gets a bit freaked out and maybe also says something about how she shouldn’t be doing that but she’s also described as asking Lily how she does it, with “longing” in her voice. So she’s juggling trying to be the responsible older sister with being totally weirded out because how the heck is her sister making flowers grow in her hand, to being curious, and this is when her burgeoning envy (totally understandable) starts to emerge as well.

Then little Snape enters the picture to unintentionally erode the sisters’ relationship even further. It’s also here that Petunia makes another comment that fans point to as proof of her snobbery and cruelty from a young age, but actually, it’s just proof that she took what adults told her to heart, and since she was older than Lily, she probably heard more gossip and knew more about their town in general.

After Snape pops out to tell Lily she’s a witch and that he’s a wizard, Petunia is the first of the sisters to speak.

Here’s the direct quote from Petunia: “Wizard! I know who you are. You’re that Snape boy! They live down Spinner’s End by the river,”

This little statement is endlessly fascinating to me, it raises so many questions.

Why does Petunia know who Snape is? Why does she recognize him? How does she know his name and what he looks like? We know adult Petunia is nosy and loves watching all the neighbors. Was child Petunia snooping around, if so then how close did Snape live to the sisters? How close is the sisters’ house to Spinner’s End and the river?

If she was snooping around, then it’s kind of ironic that she was spying on Snape while he was spying on her and Lily ( he says he’s been watching Lily but Lily is always with Petunia outside so even if it’s not intentional, he’s watching Petunia too) Even if she was snooping around, why would Petunia wander to Spinner’s End? Does she share Harry’s deathly curiosity and adventurous streak? She says “they” so does she know what Snape’s parents look like? How much does she know about the family and his home life?

My first thought actually wasn’t that she was snooping around but rather, that she was regurgitating the nasty things that adults had said. But this raises another question, which adults? We’re told later that Snape and Lily sneak into Petunia’s room to read her letter to Dumbledore, which means that Snape was in the Evan’s family’s home, and we also know that the Evans parents are impressed by witches and wizards, so it would seem that they approved of Snape.

So then, who would have told Petunia about the Snape family? Did she just hear rumors and gossip about them from older townsfolk? I always imagine Lily as either 9 or 10 and Petunia as either 11 or 12 in this scene, only a two year difference between them but at that age, it’s enough for Petunia to be more involved in what adults are saying and for Lily to be oblivious.

From here, Petunia asks Severus why he’s been spying, and again, she seems like the protective sister. I really like her in this scene. I don’t interpret her as snobby or classist. She’s too young. I see her as a kid influenced by the adults around her and as sort of a gryffindor/slytherin hybrid, bravely stepping between her sister and the strange boy calling her a witch, while also being judgemental of outsiders.I think she possesses a lot of the qualities of both Lily and Severus.

This scene is also when Sev spitefully calls Petunia a muggle, a word she had never heard before but immediately recognizes as inferior.

“Haven’t been spying. Wouldn’t spy on you any. You’re a muggle.”

It’s shown later that all three of these kids love to spy and snoop around (not unlike the golden trio - except they’re not spying with each other but on each other) but Sev and Petunia definitely share a heightened nosiness, a certain degree of haughtiness, a superiority complex coupled with an inferiority complex, and a strong sense of self-preservation and pride that is very slytherin. Opposites may attract but I think it’s the couples with common ground that last, and enemies-friends-lovers will never go out of style, so the potential set-up for Snetunia is just too good to pass over and plays a big role in why I love shipping them together.

Okay, and after this, Petunia then spies on Lily and Sev. The “she’s jealous. You're special. She’s ordinary” line is in the movie not the book but I love it because it encapsulates Petunia’s insecurities perfectly and also shows how Sev puts Lily on a pedestal, and the magical world as a whole on a pedestal. It’s sad that he gets abused at Hogwarts after being abused at home but it also just goes to show that wizards, witches and muggles are all just people and not necessarily inferior or superior to one another.

Petunia overhears Sev telling Lily about the dementors and that’s when she loses her footing and gets caught spying. Sev then shouts, “Who’s spying now! What d’you want?” I find it interesting how Sev and Petunia mirror each other so much.

This is when Petunia insults Sev by saying “What are you wearing anyway? Your mother’s blouse?” She obviously has nothing to say in regards to the spying accusation because she was so obviously spying, so she tried to deflect it with an insult. She’s just as defensive as Sev. After she says, the infamous tree branch incident happens, in which Sev gets revenge by making a tree branch fall over her head. This is what prompted Petunia, years later, to refer to Sev as “that awful boy” when she reveals to Harry that she knows what the dementors are because she “overheard that awful boy talking about them.”

Okay, onto the Hogwarts letter, which raises many questions as well.

“You shouldn’t have read – ” Petunia had whispered, “that was my private – how could you – ?”.

Lily gave herself away by half-glancing toward where Severus stood nearby.

Petunia gasped. “That boy found it! You and that boy have been sneaking in my room!”

“No – not sneaking – ” Now Lily was on the defensive. “Severus saw the envelope, and he couldn’t believe a Muggle could have contacted Hogwarts, that’s all! He says there must be wizards working undercover in the postal service who take care of – ”

Okay, so this is soooo interesting.

Adult Petunia is presented as a woman with a long neck who always has her nose in other people’s business and she’s not much different as a child. But despite this trait being used to amplify her villain role, it seems the “good guys” and the “grey guys” love meddling in this way as well.

I really feel for Petunia in this scene. I think that Hogwarts letter and Dumbledore’s reply rejecting her (even if it was kind) was one of the biggest moments of failure, disappointment and embarrassment in her life and remember, she’s probably about 2 years older than Lily so she would be 13 here and that’s just not a nice age either and I think that makes losing her sister and being rejected hurt even more. Privacy is such a big deal when you’re 13 too, that’s like peak private diary age, so to have your little sister and her gross friend sneaking into your room at that time, what an invasion that must feel like.

But….what the heck was going through Sev’s mind?!?

I doubt Lily suggested that she and Sev sneak into Petunia’s room. Why would Sev want to go into Petunia’s room? She’s just a muggle after all. He sees the letter, but how? After going into her room?

He couldn’t believe a muggle contacted Hogwarts? Was he secretly impressed by her? He thinks there must be wizards undercover in the muggle postal service...well we’re never told how Petunia sends the letter but it’s often said that there’s more to her than meets the eye. I like to think she was cunning, determined, smart and slytherin enough to find out how to send the letter on her own and that’s probably what made Dumbldore even reply. I think she’s someone who always had a lot of potential but was crippled by feelings of inferiority and self-doubt, much like Severus.

Petunia and Severus both obsess over Lily to the point that it destroys them. Petunia, in her jealousy, deep down worries that Lily is better than her and compensates for this by calling her a freak. Sev never takes Lily off the pedestal even as they begin to grow apart and just as Petunia sinks deeper into her “ultra ordinary” prejudiced persona, Sev sinks deeper into his half-blood prince persona. He hates muggles because of his father, while Petunia hates magic (or pretends to) because of her sister. Sev and Petunia are two sides of the same coin then. They both also never go on to reconcile with Lily and they go on to resent her son while also protecting him.

I said it at the beginning of all this rambling, but I’ll say it again - I wish Petunia had been as layered and grey as Sev, instead of just the bland evil stepmother figure.

So, just to be clear, the adult Petunia we get in the actual books is deplorable but I still love her character because I love how many more satisfying ways there are to re-imagine her and what she could have been. Snape’s memories - the only time we see Petunia’s past - are so rich and revealing and just have me endlessly fascinated about Petunia’s potential.

This was super long but I’ve been dying to word vomit about this character - and I’ll probably do some more word vomit meta about Snape & Petunia later on ~

Oh and regarding what it means to be a muggle in the magical world or adjacent to the magical world - don’t even get me started on the statute of secrecy! Maybe one of the reasons Petunia did turn out so awful was because she had to bear the burden of knowing about magic but not being part of it all by herself, like she couldn’t just tell her friends her sister is a witch and vent. So, maybe she had to bottle everything up.

She also mentions in the book, her sister bringing home frogs and turning them into tea cups - to an outsider maybe that looks like animal abuse or raises ethical questions.

Obliviating muggles certainly seems unethical to me and the ministry does it with great abandon.

I wish this was explored more in the series.

Petunia has a right to be skeptical it would seem, and naturally fearful as well.

#aunt petunia #petunia evans dursley #severus snape #lily evans potter #harry potter #meta #analysis #muggles #pro-snape #slytherin #statute of secrecy #interpretation #word vomit #long post

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detectivedreameater · 3 years

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Help, I’m Alive || Evelyn and Marley

TIMING: About a week ago PARTIES: @thronesofshadows SUMMARY: Marley needs help feeding and Evelyn is there to offer her support. The unspoken questions between them continue to fester. CONTENT: Head trauma, head injury mention

This was pathetic. Marley stared at her hands in her lap and tried her hardest to concentrate on them. Her abilities were failing her. She couldn’t even get herself to turn fully intangible anymore, feeling her own body flicker in and out of existence when she tried. It was why she couldn’t feed. And she was suffering for it. Aching and weary and exhausted, she’d finally had to give in. She wasn’t going to just let herself starve, and she wasn’t going to take it from people who she cared about. Or, well, used to care about. The one lesson that had remained in tact from this entire experience was that Marley was not cut out to care about other people. Evelyn was only an exception because of her species. She had to keep telling herself that. It was the only way she was going to make it through any of this with any ounce of sanity. Finally, there was a knock on the door, and Marley rose far too quickly, still forgetting the state of her head. The world swirled for a moment, before she blinked and came back to herself enough to walk over to the door, slowly, and open it. “You made it,” she said and an unconscious smile fell on her face, “thanks for coming.”

Marley needed her, and Evelyn couldn’t refuse her - didn’t wish to, either. Whatever worries that were possibly present in the back of her mind about the mara who had visited Alain could be allayed at least until she knew Marley was safe. Perhaps after that, she’d poke around -- even if it wasn’t Marley (and she didn’t want to assume), perhaps Marley knew who might have done that. She knocked on Marley’s door, carefully arranging her hair, tucking a few loose strands behind her ears. “Of course. I would have done this countless times before.” She shrugged off her riding jacket as she entered Marley’s home, folding it over her arm. “I will admit this is not an aspect of our skills that I have a significant level of experience with, but I will admit that my recent feedings resulted in especially delightful fears. Where should we go? Your room? We can also just as easily do it in any free space you have. I just do not believe that the middle of the entryway is the very best location.” She grinned. “Despite the circumstances, it is lovely to see you.” I missed you, she wanted to say, but held off.

It was nice to know she could seemingly pass as being alright. Marley tried her best to make herself look okay, and it was both a boon and bane that the injury plaguing her was as invisible as she could get at night. Maybe it was karma or something. Still, the relief she felt when she saw Evelyn wasn’t something she could hide. She let Evelyn step inside and remove her jacket before she reached for her, tentatively at first, and wrapped her arms around the other woman. Too much had been lost, she wasn’t sure she could’ve bared having to lose her, too. The things Marley’s mind chose to cling to were strange to her, but right now, she couldn’t think about it. Right now, she needed Evelyn. “My room is fine,” she said, taking her jacket from her gently and hanging it up on the stand next to the door. Tugged on her hand. “It’s nice to see you, too,” she said, giving as much of a smile as she could muster for the moment. “It’s been too long. I...sorry. I didn’t mean for time to get away from me like that.” Or at all, really. But not talking to Evelyn meant she was stowed away in a safe place where Roy and his goonies couldn’t touch her. Now that that was over, however, Marley didn’t know where her hesitation lay.

Marley was hugging her - or at least some sort of facsimile of a hug, Evelyn still didn’t quite know how to grasp the idea of physical affection - for it was something that her father had rarely afforded her, and something she rarely sought out in others outside of spending the night with them. Cecily’s nightmares were a stinging reminder of how she and her father did have more similarities than she would have ever preferred to admit, and that she did still push down. Especially now, when there were far more important things to focus on. “Okay.” Evelyn replied, voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.” She let Marley take her jacket and nodded. Gave the other woman’s hand a small squeeze, nodding. “It is alright. Just so long as you are still here for me.” I cannot lose you, and perhaps that was why finding out who she fed on was less important now, if only because she knew that the last time the two of them had had even part of a confrontation about that - back with Nadia - it was more of a lecture than anything else, though Evelyn couldn’t fault Marley for that. Maybe sometime later, she assured herself. When you and she are all good and better, maybe then you can have more of a discussion. She followed Marley over to her room. “So I know this will not be the same rush that you get when you properly feed, but it will do something. I can give you all that I am able. How does - is that quite alright?”

Marley led Evelyn out of the kitchen, through the living room, and up to her bedroom. JD scurried from off the bed and into the bathroom but she paid no mind to him, tugging Evelyn over. “I--” she started, blinking heavily, then furrowed her brow, “I want to be. But I don’t know...when I’ll be able to yet. My head is still…” she licked her lips, glanced at Evelyn. She hated the shame in having to ask for this, in having to rely on someone else. Motioned for her to sit on the bed with her. “It’s okay, I don’t need a lot, I just need--” something, anything. Her body felt as if it were withering and her hands shook with a greater tremor than before. “I just need a little.” She wasn’t even sure how this happened, how this worked. She’d never needed it back when she’d lived with the other mara, and she’d never known another mara since. Held out her hands. “Thank you,” she said again, quieter this time. Smaller.

She let Marley guide her, let her friend be in control. It was easier to do, given the trust she placed in her. Evelyn eyed Marley’s pet for a moment, her mind flashing back to when she’d had a horse as a child because that was what normal little girls did, before she swallowed the lump in her throat and refocused back on what Marley was saying. “I understand. Or at least I work to understand as much as I am able.” She moved to sit down next to Marley and adjusted her breathing. “I will give you anything I can.” She took Marley’s hands in her own. “You do not have to thank me, but you are welcome, of course. I think - I think just touching you should do the trick. I know that mara who have children can give some of the fear to them - I never experienced this, but I have been told as such. I have never had the chance to do it for anyone else.”

“Well,” Marley swallowed, feeling the weariness still gripping her bones, “there’s a first time for everything, right?” She took Evelyn’s hands-- they were so much different than Anita’s and Lydia’s, they felt somehow bigger but smoother. Anita’s hands were always cold and Marley had always enjoyed holding them between hers and warming them. Lydia’s hands were small and gentle but always had such a warmth to them that felt so reassuring. Evelyn’s hands were almost just like Marley’s, unsure and wavering, trying to decide where to land. She looked up at her and nodded, squeezing to give a small reassurance. “Okay,” she breathed, “I’m ready.”

“Yes, I suppose there is.” She ran her thumb against Marley’s hand, her delicate fingertips and touch doing what little she could to help reassure Marley. Evelyn took a free hand and brushed it through Marley’s hair before pressing her hand - her fingers - against Marley’s temple, gentle and yet firm all the same. “I - does this work?” She did her best to concentrate the feeling of feeding on Cecily, the utter pleasure that came along with seeing what the older woman feared. “I can give you a bit, I wish I could do more.” She sat there silently for a moment, concentrating her energy as best as she was able. I wish my mother could see this, was all she thought. Or Melanie. “How are you feeling? I am not done, but how is it so far?”

Evelyn’s fingers felt nice. They felt nice against her hand and nice brushing through her hair, against her head. As soon as she touched her temple and concentrated, Marley could feel it. The rush of fear that swelled into her from Evelyn’s hand. It started filling up all the empty spaces in her chest where she felt starved and broken. It didn’t mend anything, it didn’t make her mind feel better, or her pain lessened, but it made her heart stop pounding and her abdomen stop clenching. The relief was palpable. “It works,” she breathed, “it’s working. I’m feeling better, thank you,” she reached up and squeezed Evelyn’s hand, “thank you. I-- if you can keep going…” She needed more. She needed to be fixed more, feel less broken. She wanted to stop aching.

She wished she could have done this for Melanie, Evelyn found herself thinking. She would do this, if she ever had children but she doubted that she would - and moreover, she wasn’t sure if she did want children. They’d be lesser mara because of her to begin with, and if she didn’t have them with a mara, then it would be even worse. She pushed the thought out of her mind, instead focusing on Marley. That was why she was here and that was what mattered right now. “Good. I am glad - you,” she squeezed Marley’s hand back, still managing to be feather-light with her touches. “Yes, I can. I cannot do so much, I do not think our bodies allow for that, but I will give you all I can, alright?” She leaned into it, closing her eyes, concentrating. “You know I will do anything for you.”

“I know,” Marley replied, her voice strained, “I just need--” to feel okay, in some capacity. In any way possible-- “a little more.” Evelyn’s words ricocheted in her head. Why had so many people come to care about Marley? She’d used every single one of them. From Erin to Anita to Evelyn. Even Lydia. Even Jane. That’s all she ever did, that was the only person she knew how to be. Relationships of any kind were too risky when you were all alone. They were only worth it if she got something out of it, something beneficial to her. So why had things changed here? What did she get from pledging loyalty to Erin? Or admitting she needed Anita? Or that she wanted Lydia’s help? What did she gain from any of these confessions? These relationships? What did she even gain from holding Evelyn on the line? Marley stiffened and pulled away. “It’s enough,” she said quietly, “that’s enough.”

“I know.” She shook her head, eyes raised to meet Marley’s in an unspoken understanding. Evelyn shifted her position, moving closer to Marley. Even if the idea of being close with someone was terrifying, she’d begun to find it to be a certain level of comforting. She just knew that she had to help Marley - in part because they were both mara, but in part because if Marley was in pain, she deserved to be helped. “Okay.” She sat up, back stiff - perfect posture, one thing that had been drilled into her mind and something she’d yet to break, at least not really. “How are you feeling now?”

It was over too soon and suddenly the empty spaces in Marley were cold again, no longer filled with the warmth of Evelyn’s energy. But she drew herself back in, licked her lips, and nodded. “I’m better,” she said softly, which was true. She no longer ached with hunger, but nothing had been changed about the severed cracks in her mind. She sat up, leaning away. She didn’t know what she needed now, but she didn’t want Evelyn to leave. Not yet. “Thank you. I really owe you for this one,” she finally said, giving her a ghost of a smile and reaching over to squeeze her hand. The world felt quiet again. Her head ached.

“Good,” Evelyn responded, somewhat unsure where exactly to place her hands now that they weren’t brushing through Marley’s hair or carefully placed on her forehead. She settled on laying them in her lap, palms up, fingers gently moving through the air. “You really do not. I - I am glad you trusted me to do this. It means a lot that - well, that you would let me help you.” As Marley reached out for her hand Evelyn could feel herself relax again. She squeezed Marley’s hand back, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips. “I can stay, if you would like. I - I just have to let someone know, but if that would make you feel safer, I would be happy to.”

“No, it’s-- you don’t have to stay,” Marley said, feeling something creeping up inside of her that she wasn’t quite sure how to describe. It made her arms tingle and her mouth feel dry. Swallowing, she looked back at Evelyn. “I know I don’t have to repay you, but I want to. If you ever need anything, anything at all...just let me know.” And it was a promise she hoped she could keep, but worried she couldn’t. It sat in the pit of her stomach like a pound of bricks and she shifted uncomfortably. “But if you want to stay, you can.” And did she want her to? Did Evelyn want to? Marley couldn’t tell anymore. Everything had been messed up once her mind was taken from her, and she still didn’t know how to find any part of it. “I wouldn’t...mind.”

“You do not have to.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow, settling against the bed, “but fine, if you do insist, I will think of something at some point.” Her mind travelled to Melanie once again, to how much she still longed to find her killer. To bring her to some semblance of justice. She didn’t know how to go about that and if she wanted any help with that. “Yes, I can stay.” She let her smile grow. She’d let Miriam know, and she’d stay. If nothing else than to make sure that Marley didn’t suffer any more for this evening. It was the least that she could do, in the end.

“I just want you to know this isn’t one-sided,” Marley answered quickly, swallowing. God, she was tired. So tired. She rubbed her head again, blinking heavily. “That I’m in this for you, too.” At least, as much as she could be right now, which wasn’t much. It wasn’t much for anyone, though. Not even herself. She shifted slightly, standing up and holding her hand out for Evelyn. When they’d first met, all Marley had wanted from her was to make her understand her side, that other mara were the ones that were wrong-- now all she wanted was to be understood herself. She didn’t know how to even begin explaining that to the other woman, but she knew, one day, she would need to. Her hand closed around Evelyn’s. “Come on,” she mumbled, “we can watch a movie or something.”

#chatzy #wickedswriting #help i'm alive #chatzy: evelyn #evelyn #tw head trauma

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ofmoonbeams · 4 years

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introducing: moonbeam

pinterest.

BASICS.

full name: noemi elara calliso

nicknames (if any): emmy, no (at least that’s what her mother always says to her)

gender / pronouns: cis female / she, her

classification: human

abilities (if any): n/a

age: twenty-six

occupation: nursing assistant

PERSONALITY.

traits: selfish, insensitive, eager, determined, ambitious, adventurous, gregarious, unreliable

mbti: estp - the entrepreneur

zodiac: cancer sun, leo moon, gemini rising

AESTHETIC.

hopping fences, staying in the shadows, black coffee, skinned knees, moonlight reflecting off a lake, vanilla and vetiver candles, your throat being raw from screaming into the void, wind in your hair, the fresh sounds and smells of a place you’ve never been before, desperately trying to remember places you have.

HISTORY.

noemi was born to young human couple in district three, lucine and lee perrine. lee and lucine worked at the factory, but once lucine became pregnant with noemi, lee and her brother steven basically forced her to stop working, worrying that she would injure herself or lose the baby. so, she became a freelance tailor, repairing torn trousers or sewing buttons back on a coat. money was tight already when it was just the two of them, but once noemi was born, it was impossible to survive off of their income alone.

so, lucine’s brother steven (who was known to dabble in the black market as it was), decided to go full force, scavenging the drylands and beyond for anything that was worth anything. practically all of the money earned from these endeavors went to raising noemi, and steven loved her as if she was his own daughter.

lee hated this, he already didn’t like steven mostly because his wife always defended him (he was her little brother, after all). but it also hurt his sense of pride - the breadwinner with no bread, he hated the fact that he couldn’t support his family.

this continued for a few years, and when noemi was two years old, the callistos were on the hunt for two perfectly human babies. why two? greed, maybe. maybe so that when they wanted alone time, their children could entertain each other. maybe they just liked even numbers. anyway, lee was at dinah’s on his night off, after he got into a fight with lucine about finances, her brother, etc. the callistos, on their hunt for babies, overheard him venting to his friends about his situation, and gave him and offer: for a modest amount of money, they would take noemi and raise her as their own. lee didn’t agree right away, he said he’d have to talk to his wife about it and they would consider it. as one can imagine, lucine shot him down immediately.

the callistos knew that their main source of income and the only thing keeping them afloat was steven’s dealings on the black market. so, they tipped off one of the watchers, and bribed him to make steven disappear.

lucine waited by the window for three days after he said he would be back, but finally she realized that he was dead, and they couldn’t feed noemi. lucine was so distraught that she laid in bed for days, crying and ignoring the pleas of her toddler. lee took noemi and went to dinah’s, where he handed her off to the callistos.

when noemi first arrived to her new home, she was confused. sure, she was pampered and fed beyond anything she had ever experienced, but she always asked where her mama was. trying to dispel the notion from her mind, the callistos always shot her down, telling her that they were her parents, and they loved her. and in their own way, at least at first, they did. they never harmed a hair on her head, they gave her anything she wanted that could be bought. but what she wanted most was her mother to tell her that she was proud of her.

noemi and saffira had the same tutors, did the same extracurriculars, and were always together. no matter how hard noemi tried, she just wasn’t as good as saffira at anything. she enjoyed piano, painting, learning languages (which she wasn’t half bad at), dancing. but slowly, her mother’s constant disappointment in her performance chipped away at her enjoyment of these hobbies, until she despised them all with a passion.

her and saffira debuted at the same time, but upon seeing that her mother paid absolutely no attention to her at all (indifference is worse than hatred, after all), noemi ran away to district two, where she stayed at dinah’s all night, watching and listening to people, even engaging in light conversation with them. it was magical to her, but on her way back home, she was accosted by a mutant, and it scared her so badly that she didn’t go back until a few years later.

noemi hated being bad at everything (or not being as good as saffira), and she was desperate to have something of her own. she begged her parents to let her get a job, and finally, through their connections with the hospital, they got her the position as a nursing assistant. now, noemi is not good at this, and her bedside manner is awful because she just asks questions that pop in her head and can be quite insensitive. but still, when you’re injured, a pretty young face can do wonders for morale.

her experiences at the hospital made her want more, and soon enough, she started sneaking out again to go to districts two and three (though it took some time to build up enough courage to go to district three).

as of now, she still lives with her parents and saffira, but their lives are fairly separate. she holds a lot of resentment to all members of her family, but she still craves their approval. mostly, she just wants something that’s her’s, and that can’t be tainted by her parents or stolen by saffira.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

the secret history: noemi’s entire life, she wonders who her true family is; of course, whenever she asks, her parents go on a long diatribe about how she was left alone, to starve and wallow in poverty, and how they saved her. but from what she remembers (which is very little, especially now that she is older), it was nothing like that at all. i think part of her doesn’t want to know what happened to her family, because she really doesn’t want her adoptive parents to be right. however, I do want her to eventually find out what happened to her family, whether they are dead or alive (could be interesting). perhaps someone recognizes her from when she’s little , or knew the family in some way? perhaps a childhood friend (who would have to be a bit older) sees her and something clicks?

radicalize me, baby: noemi has been going to district three more and more lately, and while her time is confined mainly to the boneyard and her visits with peter, she ventures out occasionally. she is incredibly curious about mutants, and wants to know more about them. i want someone to open her eyes to how awful it is to be a mutant, because all she sees is a different life than the one she has, which is incredibly restricting. it’s a bit “the grass is always greener on the other side” deal, and i want noemi to take her passion for mutants, and turn it into something more...destructive. she’ll be reluctant to at first, because her parents’ approval still (unfortunately) means a lot to her, but she’ll give it up eventually.

the parent she never had: noemi needs someone who believes in her, who sees her for her potential and her present. her mother is a master at chipping away her self esteem and making her want to do better to gain her approval at the same time. i want someone who could be a mother (or father) figure to noemi, who loves her (or will) unconditionally, because she deserves it. also someone to give it to her straight and try to make her more realistic and take care of herself, because the girl can be reckless.

teach me: this ties in to the wc above, but i want someone to teach noemi something she doesn’t know, or does know but is “bad” at. someone to really take the time to help her, and give her more confidence in her own capabilities. this could be anything from fighting to painting. i just want her to feel like she’s good at something (aside from sneaking around).

ex flames, ex friends, flames, friends, people at dinah’s she’s talked to before, someone who knows she’s from district one, someone who doesn’t know or doesn’t care. her found family.

HEADCANONS.

dinah’s is the first place noemi went to outside of district one, and the warmth and friendliness and the life she encountered there made her feel at home for the first time. it’s a very special place to her, and probably her favorite place in metropolis.

used to play “hide and seek” with her mother when her mother’s friends would come over, basically ensuring noemi was out of sight and silent. her mother would then come up and find her and tickle her and noemi loved the game because it was a special thing she had with her mother. then, one night she snuck downstairs and saw saffira was allowed to engage with her parents’ friends, and she was heartbroken. still, she wanted to play the game because it made her feel special, and she loved getting the attention from her mother (sad hours).

noemi wants more than anything to be a mutant. she has hope that her family were mutants, and that her powers are simply dormant. spoiler alert: she isn’t. she’s completely human. this will tear her apart, especially when she finds out saffira has abilities (much much later).

writes in a secret journal that she keeps under her mattress.

loves peter pan and would always play dress up with her sister where she was peter pan and saffira was wendy.

in general, her and saffira would dress up and play pretend and have little “adventures,” a memory noemi clings on to. she misses her sister, but years of (unfair) resentment towards her keep blurring that, and she could never admit it.

loves sour gummy worms.

got a tattoo out of rebellion, of course it’s a crescent moon on her hip. of course.

#2120intro

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pullingthroughthefog · 3 years

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Finally worked up the strength and the introspect to do this. I have been needing to put pen to paper for so long, and somehow I have continued to avoid it for more than 2 years. 2 years of silently suffering through what has been the biggest personal crisis in my life thus far. I am 34 years old. I was 32 when my husband made the decision to have an emotional affair. At that point, we had been married for 2 years only, and had a 1 year old daughter. Barely. Our love story is a classic one. We knew each other for years, but both had different partners. And again. And again. Until one time we both found ourselves single and we instantly got together. It was crazy and passionate and fantastic. We were together for a year when we popped the question, and almost 2 years after that, we got married. 3 Months after our wedding, I became pregnant with our daughter.

My pregnancy was a tough one. I didn’t particularly enjoy it, I had a lot of aches, I gained an enormous amount of weight, and I was supremely unhappy. Tie that to a shitty birthing experience, and being severely sleep-starved for the first couple of months after having her, we were definitely going through our first crisis as a married couple. I certainly was on a personal level. I was not able to cope with night wakeups and feeds after spending the entire day looking after my crying colicky baby. I was destroyed. My husband recognized this, and soon took over all the night duties relating to our baby, and then catching up on his sleep in the wee morning hours when I would get up with the little one. Then he would go to work. And rinse and repeat. This went on for months. I’m not sure how many. 4-6 months.

I hated being on maternity leave. I took care of my baby’s needs and made sure she was well-fed, diapered and never needed for anything, but I was restless. I absolutely loathed being at home, never getting the opportunity to take a shower, to decompress, to be just by myself without having to constantly put another persons needs over my own. Being selfish and ego-centered for so many years beforehand doesn’t exactly leave you with the best foundation to suddenly become another person’s servant 24/7. My needs were non existent. Well that’s not true. My needs were many, but in the grand scheme of things, they didn’t matter.

In the weekends though, we thrived. Taking shifts to be with the little one, spending family time together, going out for walks, taking her with us to the café. Everything was working in the weekends, and it was a huge weight off my shoulders. It reminded me of what we could be, and who we were, aside from the people who incessantly kept track of whose turn it was to suffer with a baby related issue, and how unfair certain things were to each of us. Having a baby makes you a nitpicky monster, and keeping score was number one activity.

When we were nearing the end of my maternity leave which lasted for 9 months, my husband was supposed to take over for 8 weeks. He would start the baby in daycare, and get her used to being there little by little, while also taking time to get to know his daughter, outside of the two hours they got to spend together before her bedtime every day.

I was happy to be back at work. I thrived. I enjoyed being back in the swing of things, washing my hair, putting on makeup and having a sense of purpose. I know that having children for a lot of people is THE biggest sense of purpose, and I guess I can agree to that post the baby stage, but back then, I was just happy to be of service in real world- where it mattered. I felt like my entire quality of life improved, and I felt my relationship with my husband take a turn for the better as well.

One day when I came home from work, my husband’s phone was on the sofa. He was in the next room changing the baby. A text ticked in from someone called Sara. It said “are you ready to trade in the older model for a new wife”.

I was absolutely astonished. I showed my husband, and asked him what this was about. He instantly said it was a joke with a co-worker and it meant nothing. He promised that was the end of those conversations, he was going to be appropriate with his colleagues, and that he cherished and appreciated me and our life far too much to ever risk anything.

I made him call her, with me present but without mentioning I was there. He called. And said the reason he was calling was to tell her that, just in case there were any misunderstandings, he wanted her to know that there is nothing between them, they are just colleagues, and they will stay that way. She was hesitant and awkward. She knew i was listening in on it. She said ��of course not, I understand”, and they ended the call.

This was supposed to be the end of it. We decided to shelf it, and that he was going to make better judgements in the future. I decided that he was innocent, but this young girl might have gotten mixed signals, which was an issue, and his problem to correct, which he had done. He went on his knees and promised to never put me in a position to doubt his love and loyalty to our relationship again.

A few days after, it was my husband’s birthday. I had ordered him a very expensive watch, even against my better judgment from the discovery a few days later. It was the type of expensive that you could buy a car for.

I wanted to thank him for being such a great support during my maternity leave, and I knew this watch was something he had dreamed of. He was very happy and I felt even more thrilled and privileged that I was able to buy it for him.

That evening, when the baby was asleep, and we were sitting on the balcony eating dinner, all hell broke loose. He put his phone down on the table, and a Snapchat from Sara rolled in. I was fuming. He continue to reiterate that it was nothing to worry about, just friendly conversations, which completely set me off. We had just agreed to NO private contact with any female coworkers in his off time, and here were were again. He deleted her from Snapchat immediately. Probably as a way to save face, without having to show me their conversation, but he presented it as a favor to me.

Instantly, she messaged him on facebook messenger asking why he had deleted her on snapchat. This raised more flags for me. Why did she notice so quickly that he had deleted her? Was it because she was spending enormous amounts of time writing him? You could delete me off of any social media, and I promise you that unless you are a very close friend, I wouldn’t notice. Years could go by, and I’d be none the wiser. I asked him to give me his phone. I was not backing down. I wanted to get to the bottom of this. He was hesitant and fought me on it, which only spurred me on more. Why was he denying it? Surely he had nothing to hide if she was just a co-worker. He had been diligent on deleting texts, so I went into his work email, and searched for her name.

My heart broke. He was anxiously sitting opposite from me while I had his phone, and looking for any reaction I might have. I tried to hide my facial reactions, while I took all the instant messaging records, and sent them to myself on email to read. I knew it was only a matter of time before he took his phone back out of sheer anxiety and fear. I was right. He took his phone back before I could finish reading and sending everything, in fact I think I only saw a fraction.

Sara and my husband had been IM’ing each other intimately for weeks. While he was still at work, and after he went on parental leave as well. They were extremely flirty. She was asking him about his wife. He was telling her that we weren’t going to last. That we were only together for the baby. He was asking her to come sit by him in the office. She was asking him to accompany her to parties and concerts. She was confiding in him about personal matters. And he was throwing me under the bus, for this 21 year old intern at his job, where he was a manager and a person who should behave much better than this.

I was absolutely heartbroken. I read everything through, and completely fell apart. My husband was sitting in the living room, just watching me cry and turn into a shell of a human being. I was weeping. Screaming, Absolutely gut wrenching pain and experiencing the feeling of being stabbed in my heart. He wasn’t going to talk until I calmed down, so he just sat there, listening to me sob and cry until I didn’t have a single tear left. What completely broke me, was the realization that they day after his birthday, the very morning after we had “solved everything” and he has apologized to me, sincerely, on his knees, he had taken our daughter to daycare, and called her right after. I knew this, because in the messages, he was telling her that another coworker had overheard him talking to her on the car speaker system, and had asked him what that was about.

I can’t explain how crushing it is to realize that your doting, loving husband is not only having an emotional affair, but he also had the audacity and the heart to promise me that it was NEVER going to happen again, only for it to have happened again, the very next day as soon as he stepped out of the house.

What followed is a long period of sorrow, feeling of loss, emptiness, feeling of despair, anger, complete humiliation and desire to end my marriage, but neither having the strength or the willingness to do so.

2 years after, we are still married. Our marriage has developed into something so broken and awful, that I’ve recently had to look in the mirror and ask myself where I had gone wrong. Because make no mistake, my husband is the one who screwed up a loving home, but what followed and what has transpired in the 2 years after, is just as much my fault. This is the first time I have found the courage to face myself, and to accept that I also have a huge part to play in the destruction of my marriage in recent years. What was meant to be a period of rebuilding trust and love, has been nothing but a struggle and a mission impossible on both ends. And from where I am standing, this is a last ditch resort at salvaging our marriage and our relationship, or finally coming to accept what is irretrievably broken and finding the courage within me to walk away.

I will recount the following time in later entries.

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thenixkat · 4 years

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Cassie in name only

-A fun story shared at every family reunion is about how her great great grandmother escaped slavery and got the family the land they live on. That their ancestor, how couldn’t read or write but was smart as a whip used to kill her master’s children, not all of them of course just one for every child she lost b/c it was only fair, who organized a revolt when they Union army was getting close that kept the whites distracted with folks trying to runaway that let them to be drugged, cut and fed to the hogs and how she headed out west as soon as she was sure the master’s family was dead.

A fun story that got her in trouble at school when she shared it during Black History month.

And one of many reason why she believes that anyone (human or alien) who owns slaves does not deserve to live.

-Land land her family owns is evenly divided amongst her mom and her mom’s siblings. That land borders the nearby national park. Lots of people have tried to get their land for lots of reasons in lots of ways but they’ve managed to keep holding onto it.

Her parents farm is still in use, they grow and sell hay and breed feeder rodents and rabbits, and raise chickens and keep horses. They save a little money growing their own food.

Their man money comes from both of her parents’ veterinary work. Her mom still with The Gardens (which is better structured than in canon b/c like fuck is there just a fucking crocodile pit that people can straight up fall into), her dad does veterinary care for farm animals he just kinda drives out to where he’s needed.

The clinic still operates at about the same level but there’s more people working in there b/w Cassie and her dad and her sister and her brother-in-law. Plus the volunteers. There tends to be someone in there. But added bonus of an actual clean and sterile room for doing surgery as well as an incinerator for deceased patients that really shouldn’t be turned into food/animal feed for one reason or another.

The barn is not a good place for secret team meetings.

-She is definitely chubby, probably fat, because her family makes sure people eat well and eat the kinda stuff that’ll give them the energy to work all day. She is also very strong and has quite a bit of stamina. She’s not necessarily fast, short legs are the enemy of speed, but you will not escape if she decides to chase you down, you will run out of steam first.

She however does not walk around wearing clothes covered in animals shit because that’s both unprofessional and unsanitary. She’s not about to embarrass her family walking around dirty and she’s not about to give some racist fuckwit a freebie to act like Black people are filthy. Her parents raised her better than that. She’s got aprons to use. After doing her chores in the morning she changes out of her work clothes, washes, and gets dressed in her school clothes. Are they fashionable? No. Are they hand-me-downs and/or comfortable? yes. Are they practical in case she need to do labor in them? Also yes and if she gets them messy she knows how to wash her own clothes.

-She doesn’t object to using morphs of ‘smart’ animals, lots of animals are more intelligent than people give them credit for and that doesn’t mean its wrong to use or eat them. Humans are animals just like any other. She does object to just acquiring people and morphing them (yes even hork-bajir and taxxons), mostly b/c wearing someone’s face could probably get that person killed, enslaved, or worse and also people tend to know what their coworkers look like and when somethings off. If they’re gonna have morphs of straight up sapient beings they’re gonna be frolis-ing some shit.

-She’s still an estreen but not because of some unknown talent, she just knows a lot about comparative anatomy. Earth animals, especially vertebrates? Her morphing is smooth is fuck. No knees turning the wrong direction to turn into heels, no finger turning into feathers, she knows what goes where and how. Inverts? A bit messier but nowhere near as bad as the others. Aliens? Does her best guess and the rest is wibbly (if she ever got her hands on info about the internal anatomy of these aliens she’d be sudsy tho). Cassie (in name only) @ the others: I’m begging you to look at an anatomy textbook.

Marco’s a lot better at the frolis maneuver without training but Cassie is better at figuring out the best way to blend animals together.

- Cassie’s family has a lot of land and she knows the neighboring forest very well. There are places that you could say.. hide a lot of people for a few years without anyone noticing. She knows that you can’t just liberate someone without a plan as to what to do next. Rachel’s dad leaving is something that is a very useful opportunity.

-When she finds out about the chee it makes her absolutely livid that these assholes refuse to use their considerable amount of skills to free enslaved people. She and Rachel are of one mind chewing these bitches out for being lazy assholes.

She is also very much not ok with the chee torturing their captive yeerks when they could either kill them or since they have the technology just put them in a pool when they don’t need them. It’s excessively cruel.

-She checks on the free hork-bajir frequently, offers what food and medical supplies she can, gives a helping hand when they start to build. She listens to their stories and shares those of her own ancestors.

-She feels equally guilty whenever a hork-bajir or taxxon falls to her fangs as she does killing humans. Especially after finding out about Melissa’s dad and why Chapman is a ‘voluntary’ host. They look different but they’re still people, just as much as Elfangor and Aximili and Gaf and Mertil are people (even if the andalites show a startling tendency to be racist fuckwits). She does her best not to kill anyone and later favors a hork-bajir morph so she can use dracons to drop and stun opponents.

-Without meaning to, she becomes the one to question Rachel’s plans if they feel too impulsive. Someone has to and as much as she likes Jake he doesn’t really have any strong opinions and neither does Tobias and Marco’s just a tad too aggressive. And the andalites are all... andalites.

They’ve got to think both long term and much bigger than just Earth, especially once the team finds out exactly what andalites are like b/c the yeerks aren’t their only enemy. And Cassie definitely plans to help out her hork-bajir family once the threat to Earth has been managed.

-When a yeerk controlling a little girl named Karen follows her home she mentally kicks herself in the ass and resolves to get smarter about leaving the battlefield and will certainly be having a conversation with the rest about it too.

She does not play mind games with the yeerk, she just disarms the host and takes them to the place that the team starves yeerks out of their hosts. She gives the yeerk an ultimatum and refuses to give a singular shit about what justifications Aftran has for keeping a seven year old girl as a slave and torturing her. She tells Aftran about how her ancestors murdered their slave masters and about all the weird and wonderful forms of life and why the propaganda she’s spewing is bullshit. And that its no one’s job but their own to be a good person. And that Aftran will absolutely die if she continues to be an asshole.

In the end Aftran gives up and in a surprise Karen decides to spare her life so Aftran gets to live as a prisoner in the rebel yeerk pool until her fellow yeerks who aren’t jackasses decide that she’s served her time. The Yeerk Peace Movement gets Karen cleared from the Empire’s records.

-Cassie was not surprised to learn that the yeerks had abolitionists among them. She was surprised to find the free hork-bajir working with them but when she stopped to think about it if the hork-bajir could work with the andalites in their team, the people who committed genocide against their people and were generally racist dickbags, its not that much a stretch that they could work with yeerks too.

#nix meows #aus #animorphs

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scripttorture · 4 years

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(1/2) I am writing a fantasy story and I wanted to have a character who undergoes a type of solitary confinement but not really? They would be isolated from practically everything except to analyse data and send reports but never receive any form of communication other than orders. But I was on the fence of whether or not I wanted to have them have a magical "bond" with their twin, meaning they would be able to sense each other and know they were alive but be unable to communicate anything else

(2/2) Solitary confinement cont: though, I guess they could sometimes be able to communicate emotions if they were feeling it really strongly. would this still be considered solitary confinement? Would the symptoms be lessened? I’m planning for them to stay in that situation for at least ten years if not more. Would it even matter if they could sense their twin, or would they be affected just as “strongly” as if they were alone? Also, what /would/ be a realistic reaction to this kind of torture?(3/?) Solitary confine cont: sorry for being such a bother. but i’m also not sure if this will be a factor in predicting symptoms in my character, but they would be forced to sit in one place and be unable to move anywhere else other than the desk they work at. They will still be fed and such; the food will come to them.(4/?) solitary confin cont: sorry i forgot to ask in the last one: would the character still be close to the twin after they got out? With or without the bond? Would further isolating themselves except from the people they used to be very close to before the confinement be a reasonable reaction to this experience? Would social isolation be a feasible reaction period? Would it still be possible for them to get better and heal? Would it be realistic for them to continue living instead of suicide?

OK so there are a lot of complicated and interrelated questions here. Given the story you’ve described I think the best thing I can do is start with the problems in the scenario as it is, then suggest some changes and then talk about long term effects for a survivable, altered scenario.

What you’re describing is solitary confinement and you’re also describing other forms of torture. You’re underestimating the damage of both by a really large degree.

And that’s not your fault. It’s hard to find good information on this stuff; that’s why I’m here.

Honestly I think this would kill your character in under a year even if they didn’t attempt suicide.

You’re not describing a stress position. But being forcibly confined to a chair 24/7 is a recipe for pressure sores. Combine that with whatever solution they have for basic excretion and- well even the best scenario I can think of (regularly changed adult diapers) would lead to serious infection.

Combine that with the sleep deprivation being trapped in this position would cause and you have recurrent, serious infections that would probably lead to death.

I haven’t factored in solitary confinement at all yet. The ‘safe’ period for solitary is about a week. Anything after that is prolonged. Ten years is incredibly extreme.

And the research we have on solitary clearly indicates that the effects are even worse when the victims are children (which includes teenagers). It’s also worse when other tortures or elements of neglect are present.

And I’ve only really mentioned one possible injury that a long term restraint torture like this could cause.

I don’t want to go overboard hammering this home. We’re taught to underestimate the damage ‘clean’ tortures like solitary confinement and the restraint tortures you described do. You get the idea.

You can read more about solitary confinement over here.

You can read more about sleep deprivation here.

First of all I really think you need to reduce your time frame by at least a factor of ten. Very few people survive ten years of sustained abuse.

Yes it is possible. People in forced labour scenarios or slavery do sometimes survive this long. But your scenario is inflicting constant physical damage over that time period. A year in captivity is a much more reasonable time frame.

If keeping the characters separated for ten years is important then you can still keep that separation while making sure the character is only tortured for a year or less.

This character’s effectively enslaved and it sounds like a modern or sci fi setting.

That often involves moving people across state or national boundaries and taking their documentation away. Establishing someone’s identity and getting replacement documents after they’re released can take a very long time. Especially if the country in question has policies that require paying for documentation.

It can get even more complicated if there’s a language barrier in play.

If slavery victims are rescued by police and are willing to testify that often requires staying in a particular area. If the survivors are in a witness protection program of some kind (not uncommon because a lot of these people are under threat from other slavers) then the survivors might not have much control over where they’re staying or for how long.

If this is big enough that national security might be brought up then they might not even be allowed to contact anyone.

Court cases involving slavers and gangs can easily take up several years.

Add on top of this the severe symptoms that any torture survivors suffer from which can lead to people being institutionalised and you have a lot of reasons why these twins might not have been able to contact or see each other for ten years.

This isn’t just more realistic, I think it would give you a stronger story as well. Because it gives the survivor twin things to do, allows them to develop as a separate person and you can use the things they choose to do to tell the audience about them.

When your character’s alone in a strange place and they’ve just been through hell what they do next tells the audience a lot. You can show their beliefs, their personality, their goals or priorities. You can show whether any of those have changed as a result of abuse.

Their core beliefs, the things they hold most dear, are unlikely to change. But torture can cause big changes in personality and perspective. The key thing to remember is that this change can’t be controlled. Torturers and slavers can’t ‘make’ a victim change in a way they want.

You might want to have a look at this post here on the common stereotypes around survivors and torturers.

Next I’d suggest you don’t describe the character as being constantly at a desk.

The majority of the lethal problems that could cause would be reduced hugely if the character can move around relatively freely for an hour or so a day. Even if this time is while they’re asleep.

I’d suggest a scenario where the character is removed to a cell for the night everyday and allowed between 6-8 hours rest every night.

Keep in mind that 6 hours would still be sleep deprivation with all the short and long term effects that causes.

The cell should be at least big enough for them to lie down comfortably, with appropriate bedding. They should also preferably have access to a bathroom with at least a toilet.

This would still be solitary confinement. The definition is less then 1-2 hours of human contact daily (some academics and law systems use less then 1 hour some use less then 2).

It has to be social contact. Being in the same room as someone who doesn’t respond doesn’t help and may actually make things worse. It doesn’t necessarily have to be based on verbal communication; based on what I’ve read it seems as though positive interaction would still help despite a language barrier.

But a nebulous magical connection that only really says ‘your twin is still alive’ doesn’t sound like social contact. There’s no communication, non-verbal or otherwise. So I don’t think this would be a protective factor. I think it has the potential to have a negative effect actually, making symptoms worse.

Because I think it sounds like it could be similar to being in a room with someone who refuses to socialise, constantly. And for someone in solitary confinement that’s a little like the equivalent of leaving a meal just out of reach of someone whose starving.

I can’t say that definitely for obvious reasons. So I’d suggest assuming that at best it has no effect on the situation.

The realistic reaction to the scenario I’ve suggested is lifelong mental illness and possibly physical disability as well.

The majority of tortures produce the same symptoms. Not every survivor experiences every possible symptom but the possible symptoms are pretty consistent.

Solitary confinement actually causes some unusual symptoms. So do starvation and sleep deprivation. I suspect this is because they’re all a systematic deprivation of something we need to function.

You can find the possible symptoms of solitary confinement, along with a few statistical estimates on the likelihood of different symptoms, in the solitary confinement masterpost.

If you’d like to know more about what those symptoms look like in practice there’s a source linked to in that masterpost by S Shalev which contains a lot of different accounts from survivors. I think you’d find it useful. It’s available for free online.

We can’t predict who will be prone to what symptoms. Right now we just don’t know why individual survivors develop particular symptoms.

So I suggest consciously picking the symptoms you want your character to come based on what you think will add to your story and character.

If a symptom creates interesting problems in the narrative, increases tension in the plot or lets you show the audience something about the character, then it’s probably a good pick.

I’d strongly suggest picking physical symptoms for solitary confinement as well as psychological ones. Most people don’t know it can cause physical symptoms and it’s important to include multiple aspects to capture the experience.

Once again, I suggest you read the survivor accounts in Shalev’s Sourcebook. Personally I’ve found reading what survivors say to be the best source for understanding their lived experience.

In this particular case after a year of restraint torture and limited opportunity for physical activity I think physical weakness, chronic pain in the legs and back, and possibly difficulty walking are all likely.

I’m not sure how good the chance of physical recovery would be because I’m not a doctor. The survivors who report these sorts of injuries after extremely long periods in restraints are often denied medical treatment after release. And appropriate medical treatment could make a lot of difference.

I suspect the chronic pain at least would last a long time. Possibly for the rest of the character’s life.

It wouldn’t be unreasonable to have them using a cane or finding it difficult to walk long distances.

Now I want to stress that recovery is possible.

Torture survivors are not passive objects forever ‘broken’ by what they survived.

They’re ill. They’re often disabled. But they do often go on to live full and happy lives.

It’s a long process and it’s often about finding a way to live with mental illness.

But it’s possible. Torture survivors go on to do all sorts of things. They’re artists, teachers, home makers, religious leaders, cooks, philosophers, scientists, historians. They do build fulfilling lives.

If reconnecting with family and friends seems like it would be a part of that for your character, then yes that’s probably something you should include in the process.

Would it be easy? No.

Recovery is long and difficult. And people change when they’re apart from each other for long periods, especially if they’re still growing up.

Family and friends of survivors often say they don’t recognise their loved ones any more. Especially if they’ve been held for a long period of time (ie months).

That’s understandable. Mental illness changes people. It can feel like a survivor comes back as a ‘different person’.

I think, for reasons that have nothing to do with solitary confinement, rebuilding the relationship would take a lot of time for these characters. Perfectly possible, but hard. There’d be a lot of miscommunications, arguments and problems along the way.

Because suddenly having to navigate severe mental illness is hard. And because dealing with healthy people who don’t understand when you’re severely mentally ill/disabled is hard.

Torture generally can result in social isolation in the long term. This isn’t always the survivor’s choice but yes, sometimes it can be.

For some survivors their symptoms and triggers are such that they find avoiding people the ‘easier’ option.

It’s not a good solution. In the long run it makes mental health problems worse. But it’s understandable. Society isn’t set up to accommodate people with mental illnesses and socialising can be very difficult.

So, yes. Depending on the symptoms you pick for the character a certain amount of withdrawing would be normal. However this is not the same as some kind of voluntary solitary confinement.

As for the final question-

Whatever the torture and the time frame suicide is always possible. Depression and suicidal ideation are common symptoms.

You’re proposing an impossibly extreme time frame. If the scenario was ‘just’ solitary confinement I’d say suicide was incredibly likely.

Even with the shorter time frame I’ve suggested we’re talking about an extreme period of time. It’s over fifty times the safe period. Suicide attempts are incredibly likely and sometimes the difference between failed and completed suicide is just how attentive the guards are.

I think that in a year of solitary confinement, forced labour and torture- Well it would be surprising if someone survived that and had never once felt suicidal.

Acting on it is a different thing.

I wouldn’t suggest a scenario unless I thought there was a decent chance, realistically, of a character surviving. And I do that while keeping in mind that suicide is a factor.

I think if you want to write this in a way that means the character has never ever felt suicidal then a more reasonable time frame is 1-3 months solitary and the removal of every other torturous or neglectful element from the story.

Even then, some people feel suicidal after a month in solitary confinement.

The realism of suicide depends on more then what a character survives. Their options for professional help, medical attention they receive, community support and practical things like whether they can get a job that pays enough to feed themselves all make a difference. So do cultural attitudes to suicide and policies in place to prevent it.

At the end of the day though, you’re the writer. You control these elements. And you can set every single one of them up in a way that makes suicide less likely.

I hope that helps. :)

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#writing advice #tw torture #tw suicide #tw child abuse #Effects of Solitary Confinement #clean torture #solitary confinement #restraint torture #sleep deprivation #time frames for solitary confinement #writing victims #writing recovery #fantasy ask

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avengerscompound · 5 years

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Turtle Pond

Turtle Pond - A Bucky Barnes Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 3818

Warnings: Fluff, Smut (Vaginal sex)

Synopsis: You meet a man while he’s feeding ducks and you both decided to make it a habit.

Turtle Pond

You stroll along the path that skirts the outside of the Great Lawn in Central Park. It’s a warm day and the lawn is swarming with people on each side. Lying in the sun. Listening to music and talking. There are a lot of couples making out and families playing. You turn around the corner and the trees return. Adding that pleasant cool you always associate with being in the Park. When you reach the statue of King Jagiello sitting astride his horse and holding his swords aloft you turn towards Turtle Pond.

There’s a couple of families taking an opportunity to rest on the wall that surrounds an open paved area that occasionally holds seating but today stands empty. Their faces are flushed from exertion. On the other side of the wall, people take up residence on stones around the edge of Turtle Pond. Some sitting and looking at Belvedere Castle up on the hill on the other side of the pond. Some just talking and resting their feet. There’s a lady painting. And a couple of children are trying to coax a turtle out of the water with a piece of reed.

You find an empty rock to sit on between a couple who can’t stop staring into each other's eyes and a man with long dark hair and who is wearing far too many clothes for such a warm day. He’s eating a sandwich and drinking coffee from a Thermos. You can smell its pleasant aroma from where you sit.

You pull out your own lunch and as you start to eat a small group of ducks swims over. The lure of two potential food sources too strong for them.

The man beside you tears a piece of his sandwich off and throws it to them. They squabble over the piece of crust and more come to join them.

“Sorry, I am totally gonna come off as a complete bitch and I really don’t mean to. But you shouldn’t feed them bread. It’s really bad for them.” You say.

He looks at you startled. “Oh no.” He says. “I always fed them bread when I was a kid. I thought it was okay.”

“It’s alright. Most people don’t know. But they don’t get any nutrition from it. They end up starving with full bellies. Also, it can compact in their throat and the only way to clear it is surgery.” You say.

“Shit. Sorry.” He says.

“Thank you.” You say, smiling at him.

He looks at you puzzled. His hair hangs over his eyes and when he brushes it off, you see they’re a beautiful shade of grey/blue. “What for? I was just murdering ducks.”

You laugh. “For listening. Mostly when I tell people, they tell me to fuck off and mind my own business.”

“People are jerks.” He says.

You reach into your bag and pull out a Tupperware container and a paper bag. You take the lid off the container and place it in reach of both of you. You then open the bag and offer it to him. “You can feed them this if you like.”

He reaches into the bag and takes out a handful of cracked corn. “You brought corn for them special?”

You blush. “Yeah. And the grapes. But the turtles like them too. Also sometimes I just eat them.”

He tosses the corn and the ducks start collecting up as much as they can. A couple of turtles start heading in your direction, the fracas the ducks are making drawing their attention.

“That’s really sweet. You really like ducks, huh?” He asks.

“Um… yeah. I like animals in general. I work as a vet assistant. And I volunteer with a group that rehabilitates New York wildlife. It’s mostly pigeons, to be honest. You can see them over near West 87th and Columbus.” You babble. The two turtles have made it over to the edge of your rocks and you toss half a grape down to them. They both try to grab it and miss and the piece of fruit sinks into the water.

The man takes two grape halves and places them about two inches apart on the rock right at the edge of the water. “That’s really swell.” He says. The turtles pop their heads out of the water and start eating the grapes as he settles back on the rock. He takes another grape half and pops it in his mouth.

Neither of you says anything for a moment. He takes a drink of his coffee and you throw another handful of corn to the ducks before taking a huge mouthful of your own food.

“Where do you get the special duck corn from?” The man asks.

You try to answer with the word Amazon, but your mouth is so stuffed it just comes out ‘ah-ah-on.’ You cover your mouth and look at him mortified as he throws his head back in laughter. A few ducks take off, scared by the sounds and the two turtles retract their heads into their shells.

You hurriedly chew and swallow your food. “Oh god. I’m sorry. I’m a pig. Amazon. I order it on Amazon.”

“You buy special duck corn on the Internet?” He asks. “Damn. You must really love the ducks.”

“I do.” You take a handful of the food and scoot right to the edge of the water holding your hand out. Two of the more brazen ducks paddle over and start cautiously pecking the corn out of your hand.

“Look at you, kid. You’re like a genuine Disney Princess.” The man says.

The two children who were trying to feed the turtle see what you’re doing and scramble over the rocks to take a closer look. “Can we try that?” The older boy asks. You hand the children the bag and let them take over duck feeding duty before sitting back on the rock.

The man smiles at you and goes to say something when his phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket. “Shit.” He says. “Gotta go. It was nice meeting you, Snow White.”

He stands and salutes you before jumping from rock to rock and disappearing back into the park.

One week later you’re sitting on a rock on the edge of Turtle Pond eating your lunch and scattering cracked corn on the rocks around you to entice the birds out of the water. The pond is quieter today. Just a couple taking selfies together, trying to get the castle in the background and another lone woman four rocks down enjoying her own lunch in the sun.

“Hey, it’s the duck gal.” A familiar voice says. You look up to see the same man from last week hopping the wall and walking towards you. Once again dressed very warmly for such a pleasant summer’s day. The gloves are the thing that surprises you. Leather gloves in this heat must feel awful. “I was hoping I’d see you again.”

You smile up at him as he approaches you. “I’m here every Saturday. Weather permitting.”

He sits beside you. Not so close that you feel uncomfortable, but close enough that it feels familiar. Some of the ducks scatter and quack at the disturbance. “That’s good to know.” He smiles.

He pulls his lunch from his backpack. Another sandwich and the thermos of coffee. He has some halved grapes this time too. He tosses some to the end of the rock. A few roll into the water and some ducks pick up a couple but most sit there waiting for some turtles to notice them.

“You brought grapes.” You remark.

“I liked watching the turtles eat them.” He says.

“If you bring strawberries it’s cuter. They like them more and the juice gets all over their faces.” You reply.

He smiles at you. “I’ll remember that for next time.” He offers you his hand. “My names Bucky.” He says.

You shake it and give him your name. “Bucky’s an unusual name.” You say.

He runs his hand through his hair and lets it fall over his eyes. “It’s a nickname. My real name is James.”

“Normally people named James get it shortened to Jim. Which really barely makes any sense. Maybe more than Bucky though. Where did Bucky come from?” You muse.

Bucky looks flustered. “I – well – my middle name is Buchanan. I don’t know why people decided to go with that. Everyone did though. I like it more than James or Jimmy. It’s just mine.”

“Okay then. Bucky it is.” You say.

You offer some of the corn to Bucky and he tosses a hand full so it scatters across the surface of the water. “I went by the rescue last week. Those pigeons are fancy. I like the one with the feathery feet.”

“I call him boots. He’s a fairy swallow pigeon. He probably came from some rooftop breeder and got tangled up in some trash. I’m sure we’ll find him his home again.” You say.

For some reason, the conversation stays on pigeons for a really long time. It never feels forced though. He’s weirdly interested in everything you say. You talk about different breeds. How you think they’re misunderstood. How they keep insect populations down. How they aren’t diseased like everyone says they’ve just adapted to be around people. After a while, an alarm goes off on his phone and he pulls it out and switches it off.

“Shit. I have to go back to work. I can’t believe we just talked about pigeons for half an hour and I actually enjoyed it. You’re something else, doll.” Bucky says, getting up and wiping himself off. “I’ll bring strawberries next time. Maybe you’ll be here too.”

“I usually am.” You reply.

One week later you’re in the same spot where you were the previous week. It’s more overcast today. It looks like you’re in for a summer shower. You’re the only one there. Some people are sitting on the wall eating, but no one is around Turtle Pond at all. Bucky arrives five minutes after you and sits on the rock beside you. A little closer than last time. The way your hands rest on the rough surface of the rock if you moved your hand even an inch they’d be touching.

“I brought strawberries,” Bucky says.

“They’ll love that.” You reply.

He shifts onto his knees and starts trying to coax a turtle out of the water with a strawberry. It bites the fruit while still in the water and then follows Bucky’s hand leading it out. It sits on the rock slowly eating the strawberry. Its face turning pink from the juice.

“Look at how happy it looks.” You say, grinning.

Bucky looks at you, his eyes soft. “Yeah, it’s really cute.”

He sits back and pulls his lunch out of his backpack. “I have extra coffee if you want some. I didn’t know how you took it so I brought some non-dairy creamer and sugar.”

“Thank you, that would be nice.” You reply.

He pulls out two tin cups and pours coffee into each one and then offers your sugar and creamer from the front pocket of his backpack. You take one of each and add them to your cup.

You and Bucky sit and watch the turtle for a little while as you eat. Two others join it and Bucky rolls two more strawberries down the rock to them.

“So tell me,” Bucky says after a while. “Is it just wild animals you love or do you have any pets?”

“You know how last week we talked about pigeons for half an hour?” You say.

He nods enthusiastically.

“Don’t get me started talking about my cats.”

Bucky laughs. “Go on. I want to hear.”

You pull your phone out of your bag and open up your photos. You scoot a little closer to Bucks so his arm is behind you and you can both see the screen. “I adopt cats from rescues when no one else wants them.” You explain. “This is C-fer. He’s old and kinda mean. He’s missing a tooth which is good because he likes to pounce at your ankles and bite them.” You flick to another photo. “This one is Pepper. She’s missing an eye. She’s really sweet though. She’s my main lap cat. She pretty much rides me around the house when I’m home. On my shoulder, in my lap, draped around my neck.” You flick to the last photo. “This is Esper. He is really shy. Mostly he likes sitting next to me with a paw on me. Or he hides under cabinets. Especially when other people are there. He’s missing his front leg, see?”

“I can relate to Esper,” Bucky says.

“You like to hide under cabinets?”

He laughs. “When people are around, I do. I also like keeping a paw on the people I love.”

You laugh and look at him. “Well aren’t you a cute little kitty. Be careful or I’ll adopt you too.”

“I’m missing an arm too.” He says, matter-of-factly.

You turn to him startled. “Really? But you – your arms – I couldn’t even tell!”

“No the prosthetic is pretty state of the art. It’s kinda why I wear so much. People stare.” He says.

You frown. “I’m sorry. People are so rude.”

“It’s not that… It’s more people…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. We were talking about your cats which are much my interesting than I am.”

You spend an hour talking about your cats. His alarm goes off and he ignores it. Only reluctantly leaving when his boss calls to find out where he is.

Every week you meet up with Bucky at Turtle Pond. Every week he finds out more about you and you find out more about him. He admits to being an Avenger. That one shocked you. You don’t really pay that much attention to the Avengers but you feel like an idiot for not realizing. He eventually shows you his arm. State of the art was the biggest understatement you’d ever heard. It was a work of art. The way the metal glinted in the sun as the plates shifted when he moved. He was nervous to show you but after he does he starts showing up in short sleeved t-shirts or tank tops and shorts. Like he doesn’t even care that people start at him or recognize him anymore.

The little lunchtime meet-ups become more like lunch time dates. You each start bringing things for the other. You bake cookies one week, he brings tropical fruit the next. He starts brings a picnic rug and arriving before you, spreading it out on the stone. You start sitting closer and closer to each other until it becomes commonplace to just be using him as a leaning post his arm curled around your body.

After seven weeks of this, you and Bucky sit watching the ducks squabble over some corn. Your head is on Bucky’s shoulder and he tilts your face to his. “Hey, doll?” He says.

“Uh huh?” You reply.

“Do you think I could maybe kiss you?” He asks.

“I’d like that.” You reply.

He brings his lips to yours. They are soft and plump and fit perfectly against yours. His tongue teases over your top lip and you open your mouth giving him full access. He pushes his tongue in it dances with yours. He tastes like coffee and tropical fruit.

When he pulls back you feel light headed and you blink up at him. “That was nice.” You say.

He laughs. “It was.” He agrees. “I’d like to do more of it.”

“Me too.”

His hand goes to your jaw and he runs his thumb over your cheek. “Do you think I could take you out on a proper date, doll? Maybe dinner and a movie?”

“Yes, but do you think I can count these as proper dates too? I’ve liked them more than most dates I’ve been on.” You say.

“That sounds fair.” Bucky agrees.

“Hey Bucky, you know how some people have a rule about how many dates they go on before they sleep with another person?”

“Yeah.” He says, a smile spreading over his features.

“How many times have we done this now?” You ask.

He pauses and thinks. “Ten all up I think.”

“My numbers ten.” You say.

Bucky bursts out laughing his head thrown back. “Your place? Mine’s a little busy.”

You nod and you both get up, packing up your lunch and throwing the last of the corn and fruit to the ducks.

You take his hand in yours and lead him back through the park, by the people sunning themselves on the Great Lawn. Back into the cool and past the Delacorte Theater where they do the free Shakespeare. Up and down hills past swing sets and children’s playgrounds until your out on Central Park West. You walk up the road for a while and then cross down one of the numbered streets to get to Columbus. You stop at one of the general stores along the way and buy a packet of condoms. The shopkeeper rings you up and then tells you to both have a nice night before laughing at his own joke. You finally reach the building where your apartment sits above a busy dry cleaner and take him up the narrow staircase to your front door.

“It’s a bit shitty. Just warning you.” You say before opening the door. He follows you into your studio apartment. The cats all come out to greet you. Pepper rubbing her face on both yours and Bucky’s legs. Esper meows at you before disappearing under a cabinet and C-fer attacks your ankle.

“I’ve had much worse places than this.’ He says, looking around the room. It’s small and shabby, but you look after it. Your full sized bed sits against the wall with a plush, patchwork bedspread draped over it. You have a small pine table by the kitchen with two mismatched chairs and in the middle of the room is a squashy, striped couch, facing your TV. Around the edge of the room are various bookshelves and cabinets filled with books and knick-knacks you’ve accumulated over the years, along with a large cat tree. Your kitchen is in a cut out alcove at the front of the room and there’s a door on the back that leads to your bathroom.

He approaches you as you close and lock the door, dropping his bag by the wall. His arms wrap around you and he kisses you. It starts slow. Just a little bit hesitant. This is only your second kiss after all. It’s a big leap from 'second kiss' to the bedroom, but you know each other and you’re comfortable with him. So it quickly deepens.

You start tugging on his shirt, leading him back to your bed. As you slowly make your way to it you shed clothing. You pull his shirt off first. He reciprocates by removing yours. You each take care of your own shorts. Awkwardly wriggling out of them without breaking your kiss or dropping your own bag. He unclasps your bra after a brief struggle with it and you push each other's underwear down before you fall back onto the mattress and pull him down on top of you.

You spend a long time just like that on the bed. Rolling about just touching each other. Sometimes he’s on top of you. Sometimes you’re on top of him. Sometimes your just lying side by side facing each other. Your hands roam each other's bodies the whole time, touching every inch of skin they can reach and your lips never part.

It becomes torture and your hand slides down to his cock. You roll your hand over the head, slicking it with the precome that has been leaking out and smearing onto your skin for a while now. You use it as a lubricant, allowing your hand to slide up and down his shaft easily. He moans into your mouth and follows your lead. His hand slipping down between your legs. His fingers sliding between your folds, traveling first down to the entrance of your cunt and then back up and over your clit. Circling it in small quick strokes.

“Bucky.” You moan.

Bucky’s lips had moved to your jaw as soon as you opened your mouth to speak. “Mm-hmm…” He hums.

“I can’t take it anymore. You gotta fuck me.” You plead.

Bucky looks up at you, a smile on his face and his eyes twinkling. “Wow. You got a mouth on you.” He says. “You got it, doll.”

He reaches for your bag and pulls the box of condoms out. You take it from him and pull one out. Tearing the pack open. You roll it down over his shaft and as soon as your hand moves away he is inside of you.

You clench around him and throw your head back with a loud moan. He runs his metal hand along your jaw, his thumb stroking your bottom lip. You let it into your mouth and suck on it. The metallic taste overwhelming your taste buds.

“Damn. You feel so good, doll.” Buck growls in your ear.

It’s like you’re in sensory overload. Your skin prickles and a tingle creeps from your cunt out creating pressure in your stomach. A deep need for release.

Bucky rolls you over suddenly so you’re on top. You put your hands on his chest and start to ride him. You move quickly like you’re its a race. His hands rest on your breast, squeezing them and pinching your nipples. Sweat beads on your skin.

“Slow down, dah'lin.” Bucky pants, looking up into your eyes.

You force yourself into a slower pace and he moves his hands to your hips and starts guiding them so you roll them and twist them. It’s a rhythmic movement. Like you’re belly dancing in place on his lap. His fingers move to your clit and as he starts to rub it, your orgasm breaks and takes hold of you.

You lean back, gripping his thick thigh muscles and you cry out. Bucky starts to thrust up into you as your frozen in the grip of your orgasm. He grunts suddenly, slamming up into you and spills. His cock pulsing as it empties.

You collapse down on top of him. Lying on him like a blanket. He awkwardly removes the condom and tosses it into the wastebasket by your bed.

He trails his hands up down your back as you both lie there, letting you breathing even out. “You just gonna stay there forever?” He asks.

“Mmm… I think so.” You reply.

“But what about the ducks?”

You laugh and kiss his jaw. “Fine. I’ll get up to go feed the ducks.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #fluff #turtle pond

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the-coldest-goodbye · 5 years

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Sansa Stark - SFW Alphabet Headcanons

Sansa Stark x reader

A/N: I know no queen but the Queen in the North, whose name is Stark. This is my first time writing for Sansa, so I hope it doesn’t feel too OOC. (GIF not mine — found on Google.)

CW: Mentions of abuse, trauma, and scars.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Sansa doesn’t show much physical PDA since she has a reputation to uphold as an important figure in the North. Instead, she shows her affection publicly through teasing, joking, and little knowing glances. Occasionally she might hold or touch your hand in public when she’s not actively ruling, like walking around the grounds of Winterfell or during meals/feasts. In private, she tends to be more physically affectionate with gentle touches.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

As a best friend, Sansa can be hard to pin down. She’s understandably very busy with all of her responsibilities as she leads the North, so she’s often swamped with business. Even when she’s not actively ruling or working out logistics, she’s still thinking about all of it and trying to work things out. Much of her life is dominated by politics, so politics will inevitably play a big role in your life as well if you want to be part of her inner circle. For you to be her best friend, she would have to consider you trustworthy enough to confide in. She craves someone faithful with whom she can share everything that’s cluttering her mind, who will listen to her and give competent advice.

Sansa would really benefit from having a friend who can also serve as an escape from her duties when need be, though. Despite having to spend her days being fairly dignified, she loves being able to take breaks from that with teasing and gossiping and being silly. She cherishes that you’re able to embrace the different facets of her life and that you stick with her through the serious times and delight in the bursts of lighthearted moments. In return, she is loyal and protective of you.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Initially, Sansa is uncomfortable with cuddling and physical touch after all of the trauma she’s lived through, so you have to give her space and let her take the lead. Once she gets more comfortable with you, she does quite like cuddling. She revels in the intimacy of the two of you laying on your sides facing each other, one of her hands grasping yours, her other hand stroking your face. When you lay on your back, she likes to curl into your side and rest her head on your chest, feeling the movement of your breathing and listening to your heartbeat. These types of quiet, intimate moments help restore her faith in the idea that true gentleness still exists in the world.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Gone are Sansa’s days of fantasizing about the glamour of the South. She’s seen the reality of it all, and now she is more sure than ever that the North is her true home. All she wants now is to live out the rest of her days in Winterfell.

She was raised a Lady and was very skillful in domestic duties, learning the logistics of running a noble house as well as other undertakings expected of women such as needlework. Nowadays, she’s more concerned with actually leading Winterfell and the North more than taking on the traditional “ladylike” duties. Domestic chores like cooking and cleaning fall to handmaidens and servants while Sansa is busy meeting with Northern Lords and Ladies, reviewing ledgers, and reviewing logistics with advisors. However, she still loves sewing and embroidery, but she doesn’t have a chance to do it as often as she’d like.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If Sansa had to end things with you, it would hurt her but she would get it done as cleanly as possible. Her voice may shake and tears may well up in her eyes, but she would try not to falter too much. She would be honest without being too blunt as she doesn’t want to hurt you.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Sansa would be very slow to get married despite her affection for you. She’s been forced into two unwanted marriages, the second of which was particularly gruesome. She’s suspicious about marriage and doubts the concept of true love, and understandably so. It would take her a long time before she decided she was ready to get married, and only after she was completely positive that you were the right person. She wants to feel fully in control and fully confident in any marriage she’s to enter, so even if you were in a long-term and emotionally committed relationship with her, it would be years before she’d agree to a marriage.

She’s been used as a pawn to strengthen others politically for so much of her life that an ideal partnership for her would be based on love and not just politics. While she understands the power of political alliance through marriage, it’s not something she wants. She’d much rather remain unmarried for the rest of her life than marry for politics. She wants to have the agency to choose her own partner. As much as she’s grown away from the idealistic and romantic girl she once was, a part of her still yearns for a romance like in the songs she listened to as a child.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Sansa is very physically gentle, though she’s not as emotionally gentle as she once was. She has a very complex inner emotional life, and she has a lot of trauma that she’ll spend years trying to fight back and eventually work through. She can go from being warm to coming across as closed off, aloof, or cold. She’s typically pretty emotionally gentle in how she treats you, though sometimes she’ll still be in Lady-mode where her responses to you feel overly formal or impersonal. Physically, through, she is extremely gentle. She has an aversion to rough touches. She likes being in control too, and it takes a long time until she feels comfortable enough relinquishing control to you in intimate situations.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

She typically doesn’t hug when she’s on duty, but Sansa hugs quite a lot when you’re alone together. The feeling of being wrapped in each other’s arms is soothing to her. She loves anything from hugging you from behind, to standing beside you and putting her arm around your waist, to full-on hugs where she’s grasping onto you as if you’ll disappear if she lets go. She’s spent so long being devoid from gentle, loving touches that once she overcomes her discomfort being touched by another person, she is quite touch-starved and wants all the tenderness in the world from you.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Sansa is not very fast in saying that she loves you. She shows it through her actions much faster than she says it.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

She gets jealous fairly easily, and her jealousy really manifests in her being a bit snotty and cold when she’s jealous. While this jealousy is typically directed towards whoever she feels like is challenging her position in your life, her coldness sometimes transfers to you as well. She can be short and snippy at you until you reassure her that you love her and she has no reason to be jealous.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Sansa’s kisses range from sweet and chaste to passionate and demanding. Regardless of the intensity, though, you can tell by her kisses that she cares so deeply for you. Her affection is apparent in even the lightest of pecks from her. It’s like all of the feelings she can’t verbalize come out through her kisses. She likes to give and receive small tender kisses on the forehead, cheeks, lips, and the tops of hands. In more passionate and intense moments, she focuses most of her kisses on your mouth, jaw, and neck. She particularly loves the feeling of her and your tongues intermingling in each other’s mouths.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

She’s always been good with children and they like her. She likes playing with them and telling them stories. Despite her trying to present herself as the serious and stoic lady of Winterfell, she always smiles at passing children. She also cares deeply about the children in the North and has a particular soft spot for helping the Northerners out whenever children are concerned to keep them safe, warm, and fed. Though she might not admit it out loud, she feels a lot of sadness thinking back to how her childhood innocence was ripped from her, and she doesn’t want that to happen to other children.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Sansa wakes up very early because of her countless duties. She’ll try not to disturb you as she’s getting ready for the day. Once every week or two, though, she’ll sleep in and relish a lazy morning with you, having her handmaiden bring the two of you breakfast in bed.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Sansa has long days and stays up late to focus on the management of the North, poring over scrolls and ledgers with the Maester or an advisor. If you are already in bed by the time she returns to your chambers, she’ll be careful not to wake you as she prepares for bed, though she’ll snuggle into you and pepper your face with gentle kisses when she climbs in next to you.

At least a few nights a week, though, she tries to retire early so she can spend some time sewing and relaxing with you. She especially loves to share a bath with you and then brush out each other’s hair before bed in front of the fire. Some nights, the two of you sneak down to the kitchens for a late night snack. Sansa has a sweet tooth, so the cooks usually keep some spare sweets around for her to snack on.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Sansa is very, very slow to reveal things about herself. She’s survived so many traumatic experiences, and it’ll take her a very long time to divulge everything that has happened, if ever. There are some things that she really doesn’t want to bring up, and there’s a chance she might never fully reveal them. When it comes to more trivial information, such as her favorite color or favorite story, she reveals tidbits here and there. She has so many duties nowadays that sharing little things like that can feel silly or inconsequential, but it softens her when you insist that it’s not silly for her to talk about her favorite songs and favorite flowers, and that you genuinely care to learn about who she is on a more intimate level than just knowing her as a leader.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Sansa is pretty easily irritated, especially when she’s feeling unheard. Her anger mostly manifests in her words and attitude. She typically shows her anger or irritation through her snark. She’s cold and curt when angry. She would only ever really physically lash out at someone and slap them in the heat of the moment if they really crossed the line, but it’s rare for her to get that angered. She’s a bit better at putting up a cool, level-headed front when she’s doing her duties and addressing the Northern leaders, though her snark still can come out at times in those more formal situations. However, she’s much quicker to show her annoyance when in less public situations with she’s with people she’s closer, when she doesn’t have to be as political or diplomatic.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

She remembers everything. (The North remembers, and so does Sansa!)

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

She can’t pick out a singular favorite moment with you, but she treasures all of the little moments she shares with you when the two of you are alone and she can briefly forget everything — her past, her duties, etc. She loves it when the two of you can just be sweet and silly together. She had her childhood ripped out from beneath her, and now she has to publicly be a strong and serious leader. When the two of you in private can be carefree, giggling and gossiping and braiding each other’s hair, it would feel so comforting to her. She would find it almost empowering in a sense, like she’s able to reclaim at least a small part of her youth that was taken from her.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Sansa is very protective of you, but she’s not particularly skilled at being physically protective. (It’s okay, though, because you have Brienne for that!) Sansa in particular would be protective of you in conversations, always sticking up for you and shaming anyone who would try to put you down. She would also protect you by making sure you’re taken care of and that you have everything you need. Though she doesn’t expect you to stick up for her, it would warm her heart if you did. She’s spent so many years of her life being ridiculed and dismissed and ignored that having you scold anyone who cuts her off mid-speech or dismisses her ideas would mean so much to her. It also means a lot when she notices that you’re being protective of her emotionally. It takes a lot of vulnerability for her to open up to anyone about the things she’s been through, even you, and so you trying to make sure she’s never put in situations like that ever again is so meaningful. She also appreciates that you’re patient and compassionate with her as she tries to continue to process her trauma.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Because Sansa is very busy with her duties, she wouldn’t be able to put a lot of effort into special romantic gestures every day, and you also wouldn’t get very many traditional date nights with her, but she puts a lot of effort into anniversaries, birthdays, and holidays. You almost always get a beautifully hand-sewn gift from her that is meticulously embroidered and fits you like a glove. She also tries to make sure that the cooks in the kitchen are able to make your favorite foods from time to time, even if the ingredients are hard to come by in the North. (She can empathize because she knows that lemon cake struggle now that she’s back in the North.)

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Sansa can be very distant and she won’t open up to you as fast as you may hope. Without warning, she can pull back and withdraw herself from you for a while. Sometimes the stress of her position carries over into your relationship. (You can’t stand it when she accidentally talks to you in her overly formal politician voice.) She can be cruel or cold if she wants.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Sansa is not quite as concerned as she was when she was younger and her mind was fixated on beauty in any sense, but she still likes to look well put together. Given her role as a public figure, she feels the need to look presentable. Her clothes nowadays tend to provide more coverage, partly because it’s cold in the North, but mostly because she’s covered in scars, reminders of Ramsay’s abuse. One of the only places on her body that Ramsay didn’t permanently scar is her face. She often has a hard time looking at her bare body because of the very real reminders of the horrors that she’s been through.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

She’d find a way to power through without you, but her world would feel a lot colder and grayer.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Arya and Bran would quickly know of your relationship with Sansa despite trying to be discreet. You’d face a lot of scrutiny from them when they’re initially learning about you and the type of person you are because they know all of the terrible things that Sansa has been through and they want to make sure you’re a kind person who will treat her well.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Sadism. Being dismissed or ignored.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Sansa tosses and turns a lot in her sleep, and often has night terrors. She feels guilty that it often wakes you up, but she’s relieved that you’re there by her side to comfort her. She gets overheated easily when she sleeps, so she usually has her feet poking out from underneath the furs to try to regulate her body temperature a bit, or she’ll sometimes sleep with a window open (when it’s not winter) to get a nice chill in the room.

#Sansa Stark #Sansa #Game of Thrones #GOT #Sansa Stark x reader #Sansa x reader #Sansa Stark headcanons #Sansa headcanons #Sansa Stark headcanon #Sansa headcanon

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