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devilfic · 10 days

Text

❝right place, right time❞

VIII. whatever keeps you around.

parts: previously / next plot: bruce has a proposal for you. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, brief discussion of slight suicidal ideation/martyrdom, drug (and the injection of drugs) mentions, you will not guess what trope I managed to include in here. words: 6.9k. a/n: plotting this series makes me feel like charlie day pointing at a wall of red string

“…You won’t like it.”

It's clear what you have to do. You'd realized it when Gordon came to you, so of course Bruce did too. If you were going to make this right, you would have to face this head on. "I know what I have to do," you start, "I need to lure him out."

Bruce's expression shifts. Whatever you've said seems to be the wrong answer, "That... won't be necessary."

"What? What else can I do?"

"What did Gordon tell you about Dimitri?"

Your head throbs as you recall the memory, "Uh... he said he believes I'm next on Dimitri's hit list. He also said Dimitri hadn't anticipated me being at the house."

"Right, because Russo didn't want anyone knowing where he was." Bruce turns to his computer and brings up Russo's file, "After his divorce and the death of his son, he holed up and started erasing himself from the internet. As far as his neighbors know, he was constantly alone. You already know how hard it was to find him on your own, and unless Dimitri knew someone keeping tabs, it doesn't stand to reason that he found him any easier. But you, on the other hand," Bruce opens a search engine and types in your name. You're unsettled when the screen fills with results, most of them news articles from the night you'd been held hostage, "your name and face was everywhere after the gang war."

When the reporters had shoved cameras in your face and begged for you to tell them about Batman's heroic rescue, you hadn't thought twice about it, still fresh from the throes of gore and violence in the ER. Friends, family, coworkers: almost everyone you knew had seen it.

It clicks for you then, "If Dimitri planned on killing us both and I was easiest to find, why didn't he come for me first? I mean... it was me and Alex who ruined his life. If he wanted anyone dead more, wouldn't it be me?"

"I wondered the same thing. With the know-how and the right connections, anyone could find where you live just by name alone. Russo, on the other hand, is almost anonymous. It doesn't make sense why Dimitri would target Russo first."

"Do you think maybe it was a warning? Maybe he wanted to scare me."

"If he wanted to warn you, he wouldn't kill the guy in his house where no one checks up on him. Days would've passed before anyone noticed the flies in the windows."

"I don't get it."

"Do you remember how long it's been since you were taken hostage?"

Your mind lands on a weak estimate, "I don't know, a week and a half?"

"It's been over two weeks. According to the wardens, Dimitri stopped being a problem for them after the first few years. Friends with a rough crowd but he rarely got caught up in anything. Didn't have the heart to. So why, after 17 years, does he break out?"

Your stomach drops, "He saw me."

"And realized that while he was rotting away with nothing to live for, you were a hero," the word sickens you to hear, "on the front lines, saving lives, being saved. Your life went back to normal."

You grip the side of Bruce's desk with the sudden urge to vomit up everything you'd eaten today, which, frankly, wouldn't add up to much more than water and crackers.

You'd said it yourself: you'd gotten to live a life that Natalie, Dimitri, and Alex never would. Of course he wanted you dead. "So then I have to lure him out."

"And put yourself in danger? No."

"I’m already in danger, Bruce. What if he goes after the others? My parents? My coworkers? The other cops at the shootout? We have to end it now."

"This isn't the only way."

"It's the best way."

"Last time he had a knife, you could defend yourself. Barely. What if next time, he has a gun?"

"So what, you just want to do nothing?"

Bruce turns away from you. He gnaws on his lower lip, "No, I want to bide our time. Look into him more. I need to know if he's working with the Vipers again."

You watch him as he begins typing away at his computer, but you can't process what he's looking for through the haze of anger that washes over you. You lean on the desk, craning your neck up at his face to make him look at you, to understand how ridiculous he sounds, "We don't have time for that. His grudge is with me. I should meet him now and end this... either he gets what he wants or- or..."

Or what? Your stubbornness peters out. You don't know what. You see yourself standing face-to-face with Dimitri, his knife raised, ready to bury itself into the cushion of your chest. And nothing.

The you in this vision has no weapon.

"You don't think you're going to survive this." Coming out of your mind, Bruce is now looking at you, brows furrowed. He looks... mortified.

You scramble to cover your tracks, "That's not true. I'd have you there."

"But you don't want me there. You want to go alone. You think you deserve it."

"God, what are you? My therapist?" Your words flit out of your mouth in a rush, tongue nearly slipping up to defend yourself. You push away from the desk when you start feeling overexposed.

Bruce follows you, "You're not 16 anymore, this isn't some gang fight where you throw all your chips in because you can't see a year ahead of you. You've made a life. You've got people to lose, you said so yourself. I know what it's like... the survivor's guilt. You relive that day over and over-"

His words are making you feel sick to your stomach again and you lurch forward, finger in his face, "Don't you fucking preach to me-"

Almost as immediately as you'd raised your finger, Bruce snatches your wrist in his hand, yanking you close enough to be imposing, staring down at you with the same power that the Batman had used. It was so sudden that you quickly fall slack, wrist going limp in his grip.

It had completely sobered you of your tantrum, and for better or for worse, you were forced to listen to him, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think. You see this ending with you dead because you want to make up for the shit you did. You think that's what Alex wants? For you to bleed out in an alley like she did?" And just like that, the fire roars in you once more, but your other hand can't slap him across the face before he's caught that one too, "No future? What about all the people you've saved? Could still save? Face it now because you may not get another chance: you're alive. Do you want to be or not?"

You want to hurt him, turn his skin red and give it a place among the other bruises that glitter and glare down his torso, and as your hand shakes in his hold, you are forced to understand that you are angry because he is right.

You'd felt this same anger before. When your parents told you Alex was a bad influence on you. When Russo looked you in the eye and told you that you didn't have it in you to pull the trigger. It was maddening. He had clocked your suicide mission before even you had, had seen you in his mind's eye the way you saw yourself: disarmed, a lamb to the slaughter, a sacrifice for the greater good, a speedbump.

You could see Batman tackling him to the ground over your dying body. You couldn't see yourself getting up the next day.

After the frustration leaves Bruce's eyes, he's looking at you with something softer. You feel known, uncomfortably so, as he waits for you to meet him there.

And when you do, you hate how you collapse into him. Even more, you hate that he takes you up into his arms, holding you steadfast, as understanding as you needed him to be with all your fear of admitting it. The solidness of his body reminds you of the night he'd first held you, and that just makes you cry harder.

It feels different from last time. Where there was armor is now warm skin, the likes of which you hadn't felt in a while. If you had told your past self you'd one day be standing in Batman's cave, hugging Bruce Wayne and crying over the permanence of your mistakes, you might have diagnosed yourself with head trauma.

You screw your eyes shut in a vain attempt to put the tears to rest, your freed hands practically clawing at Bruce's warm back for some purchase, some stability. He doesn't seem to mind. He just holds you closer.

After a few minutes, you force yourself to speak, sniffling away the last remaining tears you'd allow yourself to shed, "You said I wouldn't like it. Your plan. What is it?"

"To disappear."

You wrench yourself back. Bruce is dead serious. "What?"

"I've considered it from all angles-"

"What do you mean, 'disappear'?"

"All but one of the prisoners Dimitri broke out with are still missing. How do we know they're not all working together? How do we know that you luring him out won't draw them out too? You were the easiest target before, not anymore."

"Say what you mean, Bruce. What do you want me to do?"

"I want to hide you here," he winces as he says this, as if aware of his words only now that they're out in the open, "with me."

"You're shitting me."

After a while, Bruce's face hardens, "I told you you wouldn't like it."

Liking it or not liking it was nothing. You'd advanced past "like". You were firmly out of your depth here.

You slip out of Bruce's hold and he lets you, standing rather awkwardly as you rub a hand across your mouth. Despite earlier, it now feels uncomfortably dry. You glance at Bruce and then at his screen, the tab with your name and face plastered all over it hovering in the background. "You want me to disappear off the face of the earth while you track him down. Leave my home, leave the people I care about, abandon my job. You want me to hide."

"I don't know how else to protect you. Not until we figure out what we're up against." Bruce watches you spin away, scoffing into the air, "You noticed it when you fought him off, didn't you? Something was really wrong with him."

You see flashes of Dimitri's feral stare, the way he staggered and swung. He was like a rabid animal in a cage. "Of course there was, he was trying to kill me."

"Beyond that," Bruce insists, "he wasn't right. I've seen it before. He was on something."

"Most people are these days. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd... I don't know, gotten his hands on drops or something-"

"It wasn't drops. Gordon told me."

"The detective?"

"He said they found a syringe with traces of venom in it. Dimitri's shooting up. That's why he was so strong."

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, "Venom? Great. Somehow worse than Drops."

"If he's on that drug, he's definitely addicted. It also means you won't stand a chance against him. This is why I'm telling you to stay here," Bruce steps forward, eyes imploring yours. You're dumbstruck by the heavy earnestness there, "stay in the tower. Hide here for a few days. Let me handle this."

"If he's on venom, it means he doesn't think he can handle you on his own," you wring your hands, flitting through images of the Dimitri you remember, "he was always really small. Even at fourteen, he hadn't really sprung up. He was scrawny and small and couldn't defend himself. Suddenly Gordon's saying he's almost twice the size of what I remember. Have you ever fought someone on venom?"

"Once or twice, somewhere between fixes. Why?"

"General has this kind of... sedative that we use when we get patients dealing with the effects. It's not perfect, but it does help calm them down enough to help them. Maybe we can use it to help him."

"The strain is constantly changing," Bruce watches you deflate and clears his throat, "but if I can get that sedative, I can use it as a base to make a new one."

"You need clearance to get your hands on that stuff. I'm going with you."

"What part of disappear do you not understand?"

"One, I never agreed to do that, and two, if Batman gets caught stealing from a hospital, that'll make you public enemy number one. You need my help, so let me help you."

Bruce is looking away, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth even as you zero in on him. You're getting flashbacks of that same Bruce from when you'd first met him here in this tower. All tender-eyed, even as he tries to put on a face for you, "And I need a drink," you rub your temple next, catching a glimpse of Bruce watching you from his peripheral, "You've got those, don't you?"

It turns out Bruce has plenty. There's a whole cellar full of them, the kinds you see in MTV Cribs with the low recessed lighting and mahogany shelves gleaming with polish. It makes sense for him to have it, but less so when he tells you he doesn't actually drink any of it.

"You weren't drinking at the party, either. Even though everyone else thought you were." You brush your hand along the shelves, careful not to knock any bottles loose. "Is that a trick to keep people spilling secrets? Or to keep from spilling your own?"

Bruce hovers near the entrance with his arms folded and back pressed to the wall, carefully watching you peruse his selection, "Maybe I don't like the taste."

"That's good. Men in Gotham die from alcoholism at a higher rate than any other city in the state."

"Really?"

"Really. You don't smoke either." Bruce blinks at you, "Just get shot at. And stabbed."

He says nothing.

Your hand lands on a red aged older than your mother and you stand to the side, looking expectantly at him. You're afraid that if you try to pick it up, you might knock down the whole row.

Slowly, Bruce pushes himself off the wall and glides over to you, grabbing the neck of the bottle in one hand and looking to you for approval. You try not to shrink yourself when you nod.

You follow him out of the cellar, flinching when the lights dim behind you and the door rolls shut all on its own. He guides you to the kitchen where night still hangs over Gotham outside the window, but the time on the stove clock warns of early morning soon.

Bruce pulls out two glasses and fills yours with wine and his with cranberry juice from the fridge. You could almost laugh at the pairing.

Once he slides your glass to you, you take a seat at the island and take a sip, "I need to ask you something. I get now why you refused me at the station, but then you came back. Why did you change your mind? I mean, neither of us knew Russo would be dead when we got there. Were you just going to let me hate you?"

"Yes." His simple response draws a quick, stifled laugh out of you.

"Are you always this... chaotic?"

Bruce leans his elbows on the countertop, hunching in on himself, "I always meant to tell you who I was. I just didn't know when. And I didn't mind if you hated Bruce Wayne, but... you trusted Batman. I didn't want to break that trust. Even if it meant telling you earlier than I planned, I wanted to give you some closure."

You think about the fear that had paralyzed you back then, thinking that Bruce Wayne was some big, bad criminal hiding behind polite society. Then you think about the real man, hiding behind a mask. You fidget uncomfortably, struggling with feeling somewhere between grateful and nauseous. Your eyes catch the stitches on his shoulder and you itch to wipe away the dried blood that had dribbled from the cut, "You said you were looking for Dimitri when you got that. Did you..."

Bruce catches your eye when you fail to finish your question. "No," he answers solemnly, "which is only part of our problem." He stands to his full height, flexing bruised knuckles against the counter, "I ran into one of the guys that broke out with Dimitri tonight. That's who gave me this. Dimitri isn't working alone."

You frown, "Is he trying to shake you? Why leave clues at all?"

"Because these people want me dead. The guy from tonight? I booked him a year ago for trafficking women. Earlier led me to a fringe group of Falcone's."

"You've been looking for Dimitri all day?"

"I haven't stopped since we found Russo. I couldn't."

You rub your arms, feeling the room grow chiller by the second, "So... so he's leaving clues to people who hate you. To keep you occupied." Bruce nods. "So he can get to me?"

"After last night, he knows the Batman is on your side."

"Dimitri wasn't out when you got on the scene. Do you think maybe he's taking venom because these guys warned him about you?"

Bruce smirks, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip from his glass, "As a precaution, sure. And now he has reason to believe I know you. If he's going to go after you, he's going to shoot up each time."

"That stuff is nasty. You're big and scary when you're on it but as soon as the effects wear off-"

"You deflate like a balloon. It's also stupid expensive, so he's either got real generous prison pals or he's being used. It's why I need to know if he's working with the Vipers. They might be supplying him."

How you'd gone from an ordinary surgeon to a detective in the span of mere weeks was beyond you. You're beyond just treading water. You're diving into the abyss.

Your brain struggles to make real what is before you. Bruce, still shirtless, drinking delicately from a glass as he watches the night sky shimmer from the kitchen window. And you, sitting across from him, cracking open one of his family's expensive bottles that, frankly, puts your pantry vinos to shame. Playing vigilantes like schoolchildren. Except the blood on you both is very real.

Your arm throbs at being remembered for once tonight. Bruce notices you touch it, "You need to get some rest."

You know he's right, and you're not arguing for the sake of arguing when you say, "I can't sleep yet." But he can tell there's more on your mind as he waits silently, almost egging you on to lay yourself bare. You swear you're not arguing just for the sake of arguing, "And I don't want to disappear. I want to be alive."

Bruce says nothing. The silence isn't humiliating like you'd think it be, even if the first few seconds leave you feeling just as laid bare as you thought you would. No. It feels acknowledging. Understanding, even.

For the first time, you look at Bruce and feel like you understand him. If he was really Batman, then he would know better than anyone why you would want to put yourself in danger. But beneath that, with the meager knowledge of who Bruce Wayne is, you also think you understand him too.

He'd mentioned the survivor's guilt. While he'd played a much more innocent role in the whole ordeal, you couldn't imagine the weight on one's chest knowing that two people you love didn't get to go on but you did. It's a lot to ask of a child barely coming to understand the mortality of one's own keepers.

The choice to be alive for someone like that is a deliberate choice. Constantly made every morning.

"There is another way," Bruce muses, "but you'll like it even less."

"Don't leave me hanging."

"We could go public."

"What?"

"You said disappearing would mean abandoning your life. And it would. No one could know where you went, who you were with, but there's always the chance someone might slip up. It's the safest option but it's not what you want. So don't hide." Bruce's eye contact is deep and unwavering. Compared to earlier, he seems to trust you're willing to listen this time, "Be mine."

For the nth time tonight, you are rendered nearly speechless. Nearly. "Are you fucking with me?"

Bruce's eyes narrow, "No."

"Did you just... proposition me?"

"I made a proposal."

"You're asking me to date you."

"Publicly. Batman has more enemies than allies, but Bruce Wayne has the people. If you and I are publicly linked, it tells everyone looking for you that the world is watching. It makes you more visible, as well as anyone who comes after you."

"You haven't slept," you reason, "clearly. And you're delirious."

"I haven't slept, no." But he looks fairly sober for someone who hasn't slept in a day. He is a different breed, this Bruce Wayne.

You peer out the kitchen window and see the black sky dipping into a blue horizon, "Then sleep on it and come up with something better."

Bruce rounds the island until he's standing beside you, looking down at your barely touched wine, "There's some spare rooms upstairs. You can take your pick." It dawns on you that you may not be going back home any time soon. "You know your way around."

You suppose you deserve that dig.

Then he's leaving you, glasses abandoned, home for you to explore. You don't realize how thick the air had gotten with him right next to you until he's gone.

You half-expect Alfred to pop up somewhere nearby, but there's nothing. This far up, there is no city to listen for, no neighbors slamming doors. You are in a cold house all alone. You suddenly wish he'd stayed to keep you company, even if the weight of it was beginning to take its toll on you. Left alone, you only had the sunrise.

You watch until the sky has all but chased the night away, and then you head upstairs.

You didn't think you'd get much sleep in a stranger's bed, but you're being roused by a sharp, successive rapping at your door several hours later. It jolts you awake, kick-starting your heart, and you clumsily tumble out of the million thread count sheets to open the door.

Alfred stands there fully dressed for the day, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other still raised to knock. Upon seeing you, he lowers his fist, "Morning," he starts, looking away as soon as he meets your eyes, "breakfast is ready. Come get it before it's cold."

He does not give you a choice in the matter. He's already limping toward the staircase without another word.

After you get your heart to settle down, you follow after him, preening yourself as you pass hallway mirrors and portraits of the Wayne family through the generations. You hadn't come down this hallway when you'd found the terminus elevator, so you stumble to a stop in front of a portrait of a young Bruce grinning ear to ear.

It startles you. His eyes are soft, a gentle humming blue untouched by wrinkle or darkness. He must've been especially young here. Glancing at a nearby portrait of his parents, you find him the spitting image of his father. You look around and realize there are no portraits of Bruce at this age.

Bruce. He might be at breakfast, and the mere thought of having to discuss what occurred last night almost turns you right back around to the guest room, but your stomach rumbling begs you not to. You still walk quietly, peering around corners in case your stomach changed its mind.

You find you're cautious for naught when the only person standing in the kitchen is Alfred, chopping up fresh fruit.

"I hope you don't mind that I moved your things," he gestures with his paring knife to your surgical tools neatly congregated on the counter, "I cleaned them too."

"Oh. You didn't need to do that."

"There was blood, so I'm afraid I did." Alfred places a bit of pressure on "blood", and you quickly take note of his short tone.

Still, all the same, he then gestures to the island and implores you take a seat in front of an empty plate. Without asking, he begins pushing steaming hot food onto your plate, "Tea or coffee?" He asks, barely looking up at you.

"Uh, coffee is fine. Thanks." You watch Alfred pour you a mug and wonder if the awkwardness with him is any more preferable to the awkwardness with Bruce. Alfred is passive-aggressive, Bruce is... aggressive. You remember how the latter had left off your night together and find yourself feeling warmer toward Alfred. "How long have you been up?"

"Since 6, although I woke a few times through the night."

You wince, "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I did think Bruce had invited you over under different circumstances, so... not as alarming, all things considered." Your grip on your fork slips and it clatters to the marble. Alfred barely reacts.

"He needed stitches." Is all you can get out.

"Yes, I'm well aware."

You glance up at him, "You saw?"

"When he first arrived home, yes. I was the one who helped stop the bleeding."

You stare at the coffee sweating in your cup, recalling something Bruce had mentioned last night, "Bruce said you were the one who used to stitch him up."

"Yes."

"If you were there, why-"

"It's what he pays you for, isn't it?" Alfred almost snaps back at you, slicing a strawberry into quarters with more edge than needed.

You recall something else next. The softness in Alfred's face the day you first came here, arguing with Bruce in the very room next door. You'd wondered what it had all been about.

"I've done alright, haven't I?"

"He said something else too," you start, careful as you choose your next words, "about how much you worry about him." You fiddle with your mug, pretending not to feel the heat of Alfred's eyes on you, "I think the reason he hired me is because he was worried about you."

You just catch the tail-end of Alfred's frown, "Worried about me? Why?"

You probably aren't close enough to either of these two to laugh about this, but you do anyway, "Isn't it kind of obvious?"

"Nonsense. We always discussed... if it would come to it, that if he were to pursue this life further, that he would recruit professionals who might aid him in his work. It was the natural thing to do."

"Maybe, yeah. But would he have really needed me if you weren't already doing everything else for him? You've taken good care of him this long. I mean, the aftercare you gave his bullet wound was exceptional. I accused him of talking to other doctors."

Alfred busies himself with scraping his strawberry halves into a bowl, "It's basic knowledge. You learn that kind of thing in the service."

"Or when you invited me to watch you two spar. You know his body probably better than he does. You're fantastic, Alfred." You couldn't say you weren't also trying to butter him up to better his feelings toward you, but you were speaking truth all the same.

In a very British way, he rebuts your compliments and spoons some fruit into a glass, beginning to layer some yogurt over top them, "Regardless of reason, you are here now, and I'll have you know that every part of your contract covers this. Wayne Enterprises will exhaust every possible legal tool at our leisure if you speak of any—any—of this to anyone. Master Bruce's identity is safely guarded, and regardless of his trust in you, I will not hesitate-"

"Whoa, whoa, hey. I would never tell anyone. Not after all Batman has done for me." You press a hand over your heart for emphasis, "He is just as much my patient as Bruce Wayne is, and he didn't have to pay me to take care of him."

Alfred still stares you down like a guard dog, paring knife still clutched in his fingers. After a moment, he looks away from you and points at your plate, "Eat. It's getting cold."

So you do. It's good so you say as much, counting any point toward his affection as a good thing. If you could get Alfred to trust you, you'd call that a win.

The tension in the air dissipates over time, and after you've licked your plate clean, you and Alfred are sharing coffee together. "Bruce isn't joining us?"

"I've stopped expecting him to be awake this early." You glance at the clock that reads 10:12. "He has adopted a near-fully nocturnal lifestyle."

"The night that he crawled through my window, he was there at the hospital the next morning like nothing happened. He doesn't do that often?"

"Before last year, it was a rare occurrence. While he's dedicated himself to his role more recently, if he can avoid it, he will."

You think back to what knowledge you do have on Bruce's charity work and his friendship with the Mayor. You'd worked shifts just as long, but you couldn't imagine showing up to work mere hours after getting shot in the stomach and having to put on a brave face about it. You almost feel bad for calling him out on it in front of everyone.

But then again, if you hadn't, would you even be sitting here?

You swirl the last vestiges of coffee in your cup, trying to picture a world in which you'd gone and found that empty office to nap in instead of toddling behind Rudy and Em and Alfred and Batman. The Batman.

The novelty of it brings a fresh wave of dizziness over you. You had been exposed to so much information over the course of the last 12 hours that it hadn't fully settled in on you what Bruce was. You didn't think that your brain would process it even if he was standing in cowl and cape right in front of you.

"I suppose you'll be staying with us for the near future, if Bruce has anything to say about it," Alfred stands from his chair beside you and puts your dishes in the sink, "shall I inform your security detail or would you like to?"

You don't know what to say to that. "I'm... I think I should talk this over with Bruce first. It may not need to come to that."

The butler shrugs. "I'll be attending to some house duties for the rest of the morning. Should you stay for lunch, let Dory know, hm?" You give him a weak nod and watch as he makes his way from the sink and heads down another hallway out of sight.

Not too long after Alfred leaves you, you hear the doorbell ring. Bruce hadn't mentioned to you that any guests would be here today, but then again, the two of you had had more important things to discuss last night. You check your reflection in the glass of the kitchen window, wondering if there were any hidden doors in the bookcases that could hide you from whatever Wayne Enterprises exec that was coming to talk business, but you wouldn't trust yourself not to break something in the process.

You hear two pairs of footsteps approaching from the elevator and turn to see who it might be. You first recognize Dory, fluttering between frantic small talk and making sure not to trip in her kitten heels as she guides her guest into the living room. You stiffen as soon as you see him.

Detective Gordon catches your eyes instantly, his own widening. Dory says something about going to fetch Bruce before she quickly ascends the stairs, leaving you and James staring at each other across the distance. In one hand is a notepad and pencil, and the other fixes his tie, almost as if at a loss for words. He greets you, hesitantly leaving where Dory had left him to approach you, "I saw the boys out front but... I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me neither." You reply. "Is everything okay?"

James glances up at the stairs as he passes underneath, "That depends. I followed up on your request."

Shit. Of course a cop would do their job when you least expect it. You slip out of your chair and rush to meet him halfway into the kitchen, "Did... did you find something?"

"I can't say much right now. I'd like to talk to Mr. Wayne, but-" The sound of Dory's heels clacking against the wooden stairs makes James lower his voice, "-you being here complicates things."

Bruce is wearing a shirt this time, thankfully, though you're not expecting him to look as put together this early after what Alfred had said. He towers behind Dory's much smaller frame in a pair of loose black pants and a matching turtleneck, looking in a fashionable state of undress as he pads barefoot into the room. With hair slicked back and stubble freshly shaved, he doesn't look like someone caught unaware. He's fixing the sleeve of his sweater when he extends a hand to Detective Gordon, bright smile and all, "Detective James Gordon, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced. If this is a bad time, I can come back." James gestures to you.

Bruce's look at you is empty, devoid of any detectable emotion or thought. It strikes you as unsettling, the same way a cashier at the end of their shift isn't really looking at you, "Oh, no. I was just on my way to work when I felt unwell. I called my doctor over but it was nothing to worry about. A little stomach bug, is all."

You do look like you'd just come over in a rush. You're still in your lounge clothes from the night before, and your medical supplies are still in the kitchen where Alfred had left them. James seems to notice, but he doesn't look any more relaxed. "That's good to hear. I don't want to keep you too long, but truth is, I have some questions I'd like to ask you if you have the time."

"Is something wrong?" James glances between you and Bruce, something the latter doesn't miss, "is it sensitive?"

"It's about the party you threw here the other night, Mr. Wayne. For Mayor Reál. I hear you invited quite a few Gotham politicians to celebrate the passing of the mayor's new bill, correct?"

"That's correct."

"And I understand you're quite invested in Gotham politics in general, much like your father."

"I am. My mother and father were very interested in the city, and Mayor Reál breathed new life into that for me after the election. I do what I can to support the cause."

"And that cause is...?"

Bruce takes the skeptical tone on the chin, smiling wider, "A safer, fairer Gotham. For everyone."

This Bruce was nothing like the Bruce you had all to yourself. He taps into that persona from the party with ease. Watching him is like watching a performance. "That's good, good. I notice you try to make an effort with charities in the city, donations and the like. You recently donated a new wing to Gotham General."

"I did. Increasing access to medical care for the citizens is important to me. My doctor, a talented surgeon at General, knows this well." You flash a timid smile when both Bruce and James look to you.

"And you also financially support politicians in Gotham."

"Occasionally. Anyone I feel has Gotham's best interests in mind."

"And have you found members of Gotham's political parties to be unusually forward in requesting your support, Mr. Wayne? Perhaps a little too pushy, maybe."

Bruce wears confusion well, "Not necessarily. I'm not easily pressured into doing things I have no interest in."

"Of course. How about any attempts to win over your support? Publicly or otherwise."

"I'm not sure what you're asking, detective. I'd love to help, but I don't think I have the information you're looking for."

James nods, holding his chin high, "My apologies. I should've been clear from the beginning. My question is: have any politicians or members of law enforcement offered you anything in exchange for your financial or public support? I have reason to believe there may be someone with high clearance exchanging confidential information with civilians. Especially ones who can pay. I'm just looking for a lead."

James frames his question well, even though any fat cat familiar with the cops could see the hidden question. Bruce frowns, tilts his head, shaking it slowly, "That's awful. I don't currently know of anyone doing such a thing, to me or anyone else. But I can keep an eye out. I can only imagine how dangerous that might be."

"Exactly. We'd like to nip it in the bud as soon as possible."

"Of course. Do you have a card? Perhaps I can contact you if I hear anything."

James fishes out his card and hands it over, "I don't want to put you in a bad position, only pass along what you know if you feel safe enough to do so."

You notice Bruce is flicking the business card between his fingers as a fidget, though he keeps his attention respectfully on the detective. "Absolutely. Thank you, detective. Dory can show you to the door."

The detective nods and follows Dory out of the room. As soon as the two are out of earshot, Bruce's expression softens as he presses his back into the counter. You wish you could sink into the floor. "To be fair," you begin, "I didn't think he'd find anything."

Bruce side-eyes you, "That was you?"

"I thought my criminal boss was going to blackmail me to keep his secrets."

"Criminal boss." You think he's trying to mock you, but his eyes are surprisingly guilty when he looks at you, "Alfred wasn't kidding. I really didn't handle this well."

"No, not really." You don't mean to kick him while he's down, but you can't lie either. Even now, you were still making meaning out of this whole thing.

By all means, you've gone from knowing nothing about him, to understanding even less, to fearing him, to this. With Batman on the other hand, you'd felt nothing but loyalty and trust in him up until the very last second. Now they were both the same person, and the meager hours of sleep you'd gotten hadn't cleared all that up just yet.

You wonder who you're supposed to see now. Batman or Bruce Wayne? Why was the line separating them blurring the more you thought of them?

"So, did you ever come up with a better idea?"

Bruce does not offer one. You'd dreaded that.

"You already know what I think. No matter how we go about this, there's going to be something. So what do you want to do?" Bruce's eyes follow your ever minute expression, laser-focused on you. "Whatever you choose, I will keep you safe. I promise you."

He feels so staunchly Batman in this moment, even with the soft voice of Bruce, watching over you. Through all your uncertainty, this you believe him on.

And you're exhausted, you find. Your arm is beginning to throb again. You crave the reprieve of a bed but not your own, to your surprise.

"I'm going to trust you, Bruce," your voice wobbles as you say it out loud, "I'm going to trust you like I trust Batman."

Bruce holds eye contact with you for a few moments, "Okay."

"Can I ask... why are you dressed so nice?"

"We're going to get the sedative."

"You're going as Bruce?"

"It's the middle of the day. Yes, I'm going as Bruce. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

You fluster, suddenly reconsidering this entire plan. You'd pictured Batman skulking on the rooftop while you Mission Impossible'd your way into the medicine cabinets for what you needed. Walking in with him—the real him—would draw attention you didn't need, "You're only going to make me look suspicious."

"I'm your patient, and more importantly, I'm a donor."

"You will stick out like a sore thumb."

"That means when people are looking at me, they're not looking at you." You open your mouth to argue but he's already cutting you off, "Do you want me to drop you off at your place or do you want me to send someone to get your things?"

You're aware of what he's really asking.

You heave a sigh, "Drop me off. I can't promise Judith won't hurt someone if she finds a stranger in my house."

a/n: mj stop having the reader move in with bruce when their life is put in imminent danger challenge impossible

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes @wnstice @angxlictexrs @moonlightreader649 @thescarletfang @navs-bhat @yehet-moi-ohorat @bluestuesday @moony-toasts @sketchiethebear @trawberry-fire @hangmanscoming @agent-scorpio @julesjewelss36 @chonkercatto @dcgoddess @hollandorks @anotherr-fine-mess @miriamnox @dumdumsun @phoenixgurl030 @marvelouskatie @swangelss @millercontracting @aivlisdecolores @geeksareunique @xxrougefangxx @theres-a-bea @keepingitlokiii

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman fic #batman angst #batman fluff #the batman #battinson x reader #battinson #dc #mjwrites #bw; rprt

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failing-to-write-again · 1 year

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Does anyone else have vastly different appearances in their head for you in the different routes? Like I day dream a lot, like a lot a lot it's why I post sometimes it's when the fear overrides the need to word vomit.

TW: mentions of abuse, depression and just general fucked up. It's the diaboys there's only so much you can avoid mentioning

Ok so I'm gonna write out a brief description of what always stays the same in these day dreams. I play around with them being human or something else, normal or like assassin's or stuff like that. But there's a few things that generally stay the same. They're all Afab, with she/her pronouns just because I create women a lot in my head but you could easily gender swap them as I'm focusing on personality and general vibe the appearance I describe I think is easily able to fit on different genders or have a same vibe equivalent.

Shu

I've always felt Shu would match well with someone who deals with depression or anxiety, more so less severe cases as two sleep all the time to avoid having to face life people do not make healthy relationships. But someone who has some degree of understanding while also having a better hold of themselves as humans are getting better at learning how to help manage depression. Shu is old and I'm pretty sure he's not bothered to learn much about the modern world aside from sleep/comfort, music (that's a stretch mp3s are not used as much as phones also that bitch would absolutely be a waterproof wireless earphone hoe), and probably porn.

I think a natural leader type person would also suit. I know in theory it sounds antithetical to the s/o with depression but hear me out. I deal with depression but also due to my own personality step into organized positions as I want things done to avoid stress. I really see an oldest sister would match him as it's someone modeling behaviors that to the best of my knowledge Shu was never against having. It was Reiji rejecting him and the triplets being kept away from him that prevented that dynamic setting itself up. I really think if an s/o could get Shu to work on himself he would be trying to be more brotherly. I think out of all the brothers Shu and Subaru are very likely to have a happier relationship with everyone. But they don't have the tools and are too stepped in their ways to navigate without help.

I think they would have to meet in school or something outside of being a sacrificial bride, maybe an actual exchange student with strict instructions of no harm coming to them. Diaboys set up a pretty unhealthy dynamic and since they go cruelty first, then fuck up so bad then realize they're in love that the types that would benefit them "best" would be gone or killed already.

Someone with a good sense or sarcasm would be great for Shu too. Couples who laugh together stay together. Plus a match for teasing would probably be something that leaves a grin on his face all day long.

Shu: "You should really wear a longer skirt in school, or do you want me to look up your skirt as you walk past. Heh, lewd woman"

S/o: [as they walk past] "Why risk breaking uniform code when I can just wear nice underwear under it instead, then I get two benefits"

S/o: [stopping just before turning down a corridor] "There's no rant from Reiji for breaking code and you end up showing off how desperate you are. Lewd man~"

Shu: [in love]

I don't think any super genius level of intelligence is needed but someone with a rounded view on things and a someone who is at least vaguely informed about what they talk about would be good. It avoids the annoyance of someone dense but also isn't so book focused it reminds him of Reiji.

Reiji

Speaking of the spectacled suitor. S/o has gotta be smart in some capacity not necessarily an encyclopedia but maybe good at Chemistry/Biology, or a good strategist. Bitch aims to be a control freak and a future king or, route depending, advisor to the King, so battle tactics would be attractive.

He'd be into the type of woman who doesn't overtly dress sexually. Pencil skirt or pants and blouse with some heels are a great look and can be sexual when you want to be sexual but also just well put together when you aren't looking to get railed on a desk. Except, of course, for when he decides to get handsy he realizes you decided to forgo any underwear.

Nipple piercings. He's definitely into them you can't fool me it's all that hidden succubus energy he finds attractive in a partner.

Past that he wants someone who isn't going to stress him out, someone to be a voice of reason, and someone to relax with.

I think someone chatty could be either great or awful for him. On the one hand he seems so adjusted to over stimulation true silence may unsettle him but at the same time it may annoy him if he isn't interested in conversation. Same for the other side of the coin, someone too quiet would unsettle him cause he won't know what your thinking, but at the same time it might be nice to sit in silence and read.

I've always thought Reiji would want someone tall like 5'10-6'00 as they can't be taller then him because inferiority complex, but I firmly believe he's got a back that is prone to aches already so not having to bend far for kisses or hugs would be nice. Or better yet someone shorter than him but still tall for a woman, so wearing heels gets here to be like 5'11" to 6ft.

Reiji does like humor and spontaneity sometimes. I think a stiff lover would drain him, nobody wants to actually date themselves. Again the older sister type (stereotype I know) would suit, as generally older sisters are pushed to mature fast like he was, except generally it's not as severe as him and older sisters are statistically the most likely to have read about or been to therapy to undo some of the behaviors that aren't as healthy.

[Loud music or something playing]

Reiji: [going to stand up] I swear can nobody keep order in this house...

S/o: [Gently touches his hand] They've yet to make a crash and it's coming from Ayato's room. I say we turn on the record player to drown it out for now. It's not your job to be their dad Sweetness, and all your doing is giving yourself grey hairs

Reiji: [sitting back down] I suppose I could finish this chapter-

[CRASH]

S/o: [quickly stands up and starts to walk to the door, lots of heel clicking] I swear that boy has to ruin every quiet moment I can grasp for us. Wait there.

Reiji: [feels very loved for and is confused as to why that gave him a boner]

I don't think he'd enjoy a dom much but a switch who prefers to sub but isn't against them taking a more gentle lead (not the kinky shit he's into I don't think you'd actually get a whip near him in a healthy relationship).

Ayato

This bitch is tricky. Like I think with the except of Subaru the Sakamakis get worse the younger they are. I feel that's why the triplets never appealed to me they seemed harder to redeem. I could see Shu, Reiji, or Subaru potentially getting better with Reiji least likely but the triplets are... messy.

That being said I think Ayato is definitely going to have to be a least a little bit on the road to being more balanced by the time he meets this s/o.

An s/o who is modern would definitely appeal in my opinion. Video games, outfits, music all that good culture stuff that Ayato is a spectator not a player in right now. He is still old as shit and he hasn't got non...any friends so he doesn't have a lens to learn the culture, all he can do is watch.

Ayato is one of the highest sex driven characters in the games (he sleeps with Yui the most because it uses the underwear sprite almost every time they sleep together indicating it ain't just dreaming happening) I think that may be part possessive part teenage boy. So someone with an interest in partaking is probably important for drive balance. To be clear I don't necessarily mean sexy here, more so that giddy first time giggles type person. Someone who's excited to experience things with him.

That extends past the bedroom too Ayato was starved for activity as a child and is still as a teen so someone who knows what's fun and is happy to take him there is like perfect.

I do think Ayato's s/o will need to be a patient person as I feel Ayato going through therapy would mean a lot of breakdowns or tension in him that could lead to more arguments than potentially needed if they ain't a little patient for the smaller things. There is a difference between 'he demanded I make him Takoyaki then sulked when I reminded him we're equals in this partnership so I'll avoid escalating ' vs 'he has bitten me for talking to a guy, but to him that's just a display of love.' The second thing deserved a conversation then and there you don't avoid rocking the boat when it comes to dangerous behaviors folks.

[See Ayato with a hairbrush sitting cross legged with S/O in his lap] Ayato: So we don't like Jacob...

S/O: Well, Edward isn't exactly a catch himself but like c'mon he imprinted on a baby. Ayato: Beatrix and him were engaged from birth. S/O: Exactly.

Laito

Oh boy. Again needs to be starting therapy or unraveling what his mum did to him and what his culture has shaped him to be first.

Once done however I think Laito would want someone "normal." No baggage, or crazy lifestyle, or wacky habits. I think he craves something calm when everything has been so disordered growing up. I think it's why he likes crosswords, they're a weirdly normal thing in his weird world.

I think he needs someone with a lower sex drive then he displays in the games. A not uncommon trauma response from childhood sexual assault is hyper sexuality which seems to be why Laito is hyper sexual. I don't think that's him as a person, Shu would be high sex drive in how he talks but Laito seems very much to be shielding himself with sex not having sex for sex.

So yeah someone who isn't always in the mood, maybe they sleep naked but just because they want skin on skin contact. Maybe it's to feel his breathing better. But that sort of environment. Where the thing he's over sexualized: himself and women, become less sexual more intimate. He'll be thrown a bit at first 100%. But I think after cuddling while having his hair gentle played with or a shoulder rub he'll be welcoming this new part bodily expression.

Laito is smart, smarter than he gets credit for he's a manipulator with charisma to boot and I've tried a crossword they use a certain part of your brain that I do not use. I think he'd like someone who's not too dense but also I feel like he won't mind too much so long as they could hold conversation and read sarcasm.

He also would probably love a more modern s/o like Ayato. Imagine the shopping sprees!

S/O: [coming out of changing room] I'm really not sure about this dress on me Laito: It's the shade it clashes with your undertones, try it in a different colour. S/O: They don't have it in my size, that sucks. Laito: Why? fufu~ It's Chanel, she was a vampire just take a picture and I'll get the designer over to make you one tailored made. S/O: Are you sure? I don't know how close I want you being stuck to your dad, and all the weirdness you've mentioned. Laito: Oh please, as if he's bothered enough about the fourth in line.

Kanato

This one's hard man. Kanato, Ruki, Kou, and Azusa are some of the hardest to envision in a healthy spot tbh. So this Kanato is very ooc. Think: isn't talking to teddy even if he still carries it, has a better hold on his temper, isn't trying to kill you constantly... basically just not Kanato.

A baker or a cook would absolutely appeal, dates where they show him how to cook new treats could be fun. Also top tier tea parties man.

Potentially a singer, musician, or dancer could appeal as well with the shared interest of singing being there. If the jealousy Kanato has gets weakened a bit I think that could help him get past his "I sing cuze mum liked it" thing.

I also truly think Kanato is like Laito in wanting something normal after all the abnormal he's lived through.

sorry he's so short I seriously don't know what to write. I also do not want to curse you all with mega ooc Kanato discussion

Subaru

Subaru is by far the closest to being the same amount of traumatized some people I've met irl are. Issues still there with the whole punching walls in anger but the fact he seems to punch walls to avoid hurting people implies he is trying to work on himself but doesn't know how.

Subaru could meet his s/o as a sacrificial bride and I think he's the only one who could. If I remember his route correctly, he isn't nearly as sadistic in the reasoning for his biting, hes also like what 15, 16 looking? He is modelling the only behavior he's seen, and while that doesn't make it right it is less heinous than the others.

I feel the most profound importance for this relationship is someone who will not shout, someone with a healthy enough up bringing to view arguments as Subaru approaches them as entirely useless. He will probably still have tantrums at first but having someone entirely unwilling to let communication break down on their end will push Subaru to do the same.

Subaru also does not seem to actually want much at all. He just wants a break, poor thing. If the S/O were to be a sacrificial bride, I think he'd be the one to pull a run away. I don't see Karl caring much here, Subaru is just a consequence of his vile habits as far as Karl is concerned.

From there I do think it's just a normal therapist and probably turning the S/O to a vampire.

[S/O and Subaru in some nice meadow resting on a blanket by a stream. Think flowers everywhere under a gently warm sun.] S/O: I've successfully lasted a week without accidentally breaking anything! Subaru: HAHA! Well done but don't go expecting any prizes I could do that shit. S/O: Fair, your 3 year pin is coming up to. We should probably do something for it. Subaru: Well... there is one thing... [getting up to one knee]

Ruki

oh look what we have here. An endgelord.

Seriously Ruki infuriates me from a character point at times. They are meant to be somewhat foils to the Sakamakis, and for Ruki in particular his behavior is a mirror to Reiji and his ego is closer to Ayato but with Reiji type mannerisms.

So he likes reading, came from nobility but saw the absolute worse of humanity to then re-find a reason to care for others with his brothers. Ok cool, then he dies in an attempt to escape to then have Karl take pity on him and revive him as his subordinate. SO WHY DOES HE HATE POOR PEOPLE!?

Like whenever I sit down to think about it Ruki's sheer cruelty lines up with nothing other than abused children turn into abusers which is a dog-shit and wrong opinion. Like he doesn't have to be pally, he can be a kuudere, he can be jaded. But having him be so sadistic just makes him what he hated, a spoiled rich man taking joy in using his power over others.

But this is about suited partners. So for this fucker I prescribe what he wishes he was. Now this is the material worth much more work and maybe it will get that, I am currently uncertain.

So, let's be real that orphanage still existed after the Mukamis. So my little world I've made with all that maladaptive day dreaming I do. In that world just to show Ruki as not as above everyone as he thinks, his soulmate type S/O as well as some if not all the other S/Os were there either at the same time or sequentially. Ruki got his escape plan from the work of a girl he viewed as too stupid to pull it off, aka S/O. When the boys escape obviously torture happens to see if anyone knows anything, and the boys failed the escape. This is used by the S/O to advise her sisters to change course slightly.

They do escape and Karl realizes very quickly he got the less advantageous group in terms of strategy. He would more than likely approach these girls, maybe they stay human for quite a while but eventually do need to be turned for the pure sake of time.

So Ruki gets introduce when he comes to visit Karl to update on the whole Eve thing only to see S/O. Standing there talking with Karl as if you're equals as he's laughing at some comment. Karl introducing them as his right hand man so to speak. Seeing that you get to live with Karl and you glaring.

After some prodding due to jealousy causing him to take out his insecurities on you in the form of unwanted commentary, you snap. You openly call him out on his failings, how you are what he wishes he was and how you don't masquerade as the same tormentors that made both your childhoods hell.

Eventually (I'm not giving a whole slow burn fic away for free people), he gets whipped something bad. Having to face the fact that he is exactly what he judges in humans so much. I don't imagine many would forgive him, hence why S/O to me cannot be anyone other than such a strong person to have survived and still be so openly kind.

No dialogue here so I can pretend these all got fair treatment.

Yuma

So big boy farmer. His sadism doesn't fully track with me same as Ruki but Yuma has more redeeming character traits that offset the cruelty. He also seems to truly only carry out the Eden project due to loyalty to Karl, he is a fiercely loyal person.

As said for Ruki I love the idea of the Mukami S/Os being sisters from the orphanage. Yumas S/O would probably also have a strong sense of loyalty to Ruki's S/O. The main exception being her loyalty to Karl does not cause her to be in any way sadistic. While Karl is fully ready to drop kick a child the S/O does not see that behavior appropriate at all regardless of her vampire-ism.

Having to deal with pining for a girl who will not date him as he currently treats women may cause him to change for the sake of placating her sure. But once identities are revealed and Yuma learns that the reason the S/O is so anti-cruelty is due to the orphanage I think Yuma would be one of the ones more open to change. Like Ruki, the reflection isn't so nice once the glass was polished.

He just wants a farm and probably kids or dogs lets be real here.

Kou

Once again an edgelord. Who doesn't at all understand give and take as much as he harps on about it. I may have low enough standards to crush on these boys but a hypocrite is TOO LOW.

I'm sounding like a broken record here but a fellow orphan escapee S/O as the vector for Kou getting called out on his bs is great.

Also full on enemies to lovers vibes. One little head canon is what if the S/O at the request of Karl gave up an eye, the eye then enchanted for Kou. Having to stand across from someone who will not buy the excuse of his trauma being an acceptable reason to harm others. Because you lived through it all, if not worse and still gave up an eye free of charge because Karl had this protegee who was so sad about not having two eyes.

I think Kou's love would not start until near a century after. Having to see you again and again after the introduction, seeing how you and your sister's are Karl's jewels as you are so effective because of your humanity. He's prone to envy let's be frank.

But once he opens up to the fact he could change and be like you, maybe after having to work with you, he begins to warm up to it all.

Azusa

Azusa is one like Kanato that I am unsure if I know how to treat.

The love of pain of his would put so much emotional labor on an S/O that just isn't fair. The only relationship I would feel comfortable writing on would be a post therapy and self work Azusa who doesn't make masochism his main personality trait.

He is gentle in disposition so a gentle S/O would match well. Or maybe an extroverted S/O to bring him out his shell a bit, post masochism recovery.

Yeah if any Azusa fans read this and have ideas please write you own and sent it to me I am really curious of seeing this from the perspective on someone who has a connection to him.

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transgenbur · 3 months

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do i have a presentation due at 8am that i have barely started even though its midnight? yes. however i was thinking again about the category 5 ctommy event last night and all the things i talked or saw people post about and it got me thinking

i was especially thinking about how ctommy is too often, in fan interpretations, forced into the role of the perfect, quiet, palatable victim — which, i mean, we've all made various posts on the subject, i don't need to get into the how again — but i was trying to think about why.

because on one hand, a good part of it, its true, circles back to what society has deemed the "acceptable" victim, which many of us have internalised and unknowingly refer back to, hence why many automatically try to sand ctommy down to be more "pitiful" (not saying people do this intentionally btw . we all have biases like that and they show up in different ways . i just like Talking about this stuff this is Not a callout or god forbid telling people to harass fic writers they disagree with. Ok.)

but i also think, in ctommy's case, a lot of it can come from. projection? well this might be the case with many other characters obviously but im focusing on ctommy here because like. i think he's a character who's very relatable for so many people, who are also loud and not subtle or discreet and who feel annoying most of the time, and a lot of whom are kids and teenagers. and something that's always struck me when reading comments etc about him is theres this sentiment of- when this fictional character is annoying it's seen as loveable and endearing, so why isn't it the case for me, as a person, in real life? a lot of those fans have also been hurt or perhaps even abused and found a way to relate through ctommy's own abuse

and so i think sometimes this tendency to "sand ctommy down" is less out of a desire to actually reduce his character but rather because, through him, they want their hurt and pain to be recognised. and as we all know, when ctommy is quiet, that is so unusual that in fics, it often immediately strikes a reaction of "oh, what happened to you, who hurt you". it's the idea that him being annoying and loud is missed, but people only realise that when he's gone quiet. so the more "quiet" and "docile" he is shown as, the more striking that reaction from other characters will be, and the more support he receives. im not in any way saying this is something you should apply to real people or anything, im saying that this is a trend not just in ctommy fics but in general media — if you're someone who is loud and brash, it's often portrayed like the only way people will acknowledge that you have feelings at all is if you lose that "spark", and suddenly people miss you being annoying.

and suddenly, it makes a lot of sense why so many fic authors write ctommy as so oddly ooc and quiet and pliable and docile — because they've been taught that's what a victim should be, but they're not like that! and you can live vicariously through a fictional character who's able to undergo a much more drastic outward transformation than you and be showered in love for it, and theres a desire for that to happen to them in real life, to have their hurt actually acknowledged. is this word vomit does anyone understand what im trying to say here

#i dont even know if this makes any sense lmao #also Absolutely none of this is personal experience i have never given a thought to ctommy in my life. hope this helps .#alex.rambles.txt #c!tommy #mcyt #tw abuse #tommyinnit

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sincerelylea · 2 years

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Headcanons for Eddie x fem!reader who struggles with anxiety and depression? How he would take care of her & support her 🥺 thank you!

hello hello, i gotcha.

tw: depression, anxiety

eddie would find out about your anxiety and depression pretty quickly into your relationship i think.

either you tell him, i imagine out of the blue because eddie has a really comforting aura - it's easy to talk to him and tell him things.

or, you bond over your mutual mental health issues. nevermind it being the 80's, eddie thinks avoiding conversations like that is more harmful than good.

i feel like his brain kinda works like,,, he has to speak whatever is on his mind in that moment because he needs to be heard and you need to hear it. does that make any sense?

being bullied and picked on can take huge effect on anyone - even though he owns his "freak" label now i'm sure it wasn't so easy for him growing up.

he always lets you know he's here for you, taking extra care in making sure he asks you how you're doing every morning, every afternoon, and every night.

if he isn't there when you wake up, expect a phone call. at lunch, he'll walk you from your class to the lunch table, asking how your morning classes went. and at night when you come over or vice versa, he'll ask yet again.

you know it's his subtle way of asking if you're feeling particularly anxious or any bit depressed at all without directly asking, any who, you appreciate it nonetheless - always ask him how he's doing too.

tells you he loves you literally any chance he gets. even if you know it deeply, he'll still tell you - and even greater he'll show you.

likes holding you hand; his is either super warm or super cold, no in between. his hands are always on you, they feel stabilizing, which he hopes for.

but mostly, in regards to your mental health (sorry i go off on tangents) he's utterly supportive.

during high anxiety days, he's more sweetly attentive. during those morning calls, he's tender. with a tired voice asking you to rate it on a scale of 1-10. at lunch, he comes up to you from behind when you're standing at your locker, you feel the weight of his hand on your lower back and turn to look at him immediately. he asks softly how you're feeling, looking over your eyes and face and smoothing your hair away from your face.

he tries to be a stable force in a sea of worry - the way his voice is exceptionally tender - leaving the absolute only thing you can focus on him.

he takes it easy. holds you gently, guides you to the table with a hand on your back or arm. he smiles sadly, gently, he wishes only to be able to take this feeling away.

at night, he urges you to stay with him or let him stay over. the thought of leaving you alone worries him tremendously.

with your anxiety in general he treats you gently, understandingly. he lets you scream and yell if it makes you feel better; or even word vomit your feelings in frustration. every anxious tick, every hand in your greasy hair, every stomach churn and blurry vision and shaky hand he is there. right there. and he wants you to know you can do all of these things and it's okay.

anxiety comes and goes and with it come anxiety or panic attacks - don't worry, he's got it handled.

eddie is amazing, truly. he doesn't freak out - if anything he speaks very little. just grabs your hands in the midst of your panic, the tears, the sobs, the messy brain.

that, he wants your attention on him. just for a moment so you can have something else to think about.

"look at me." he says it softly, almost like a question but not. it's not commanding.

he shows you love, when you're brain is elsewhere.

he only holds your hands, hugs you if you go for it first. he sits in the silence of your crying until you're feeling well enough to speak again.

he has hands on your back and hair.

so attentive; literally perfect.

offers a shower to clear your head.

he'll let you cling to him for the rest of the night, of course he loves to have you wrapped up all over him.

depression comes with a lack of energy, so if you don't feel like doing anything, he's right there, laying in bed with you - just running a hand up and down your back.

he wants you to feel absolutely comfortable enough to talk about anything and everything.

i kinda think he's the type to encourage you to get up, eat, shower, all that good stuff. he will get worried if you don't call him, even if you tell him you just don't have the energy.

has experience with cooking, especially when wayne works nights and most cooking for dinner is up to him if wayne doesn't cook.

i know this isn't about him, but i feel like even wayne would be understanding. almost like he knows the feeling too well.

eddie wants to be encouraging. he wants you to know life is meant to be enjoyed, it isn't about just surviving. he wants to be that good person in your life, your safe space.

he's right there to level with you, to do absolutely anything you want when you're feeling a certain kind of way.

his physical touch is grounding and his voice is safe and he just wants you to live.

to live.

and he'll be right there the entire way.

he likes going on drives with you when you're feeling bad, plays whatever tape you want. showers are nice, intimacy that isn't sexual, just existence.

holding you, i mean, he could do that all day. you're his favorite.

you're the best.

he'll tell you everyday.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson comfort #stranger things x reader #stranger things fluff #stranger things eddie #stranger things angst #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things 4

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theliterarywolf · 22 days

Note

>"The men that are complaining about her face are by and large anime obsessed, porn addicted, hentai consuming freaks

>They've spent so much of their waking hours watching/consuming that shit to the point its effected how the view women and/or women drawn a bit more realistically

>They're pathetic in every sense of the word and their opinion should never be considered"

Y'know I don't care about Hades 2 because I haven't gotten around to playing Hades 1 yet (someday, I swear). I've heard the discourse but I don't even know what Aphrodite looks like in 2, and I can't be arsed to look.

I don't really have a horse in this race.

But considering the past decade has been a non-stop cavalcade of "If you dare to actually like pretty women you're an incel gooner misogynist and probably a pedophile" being pushed by insufferable, condescending cunts? And even just these past few weeks has been "Lmao @ All the manbabies crying over Stellar Blade censoring two inches of cleavage" when in reality it was far, far more than that for a game that straight up advertised itself as being uncensored? Fuck you just on principle, Anon! Go fuck yourself and take your stank-ass unwashed radfem coochie elsewhere and stay the fuck away from Lit! Don't infect her with your germs, you'll make her stupid! If I could I'd go Kendrick Lamar "Not Like Us" on your sorry ass because I just KNOW you got some fucking skeletons in YOUR closet! Everyone who vomits up this bullshit always does! I'm cool with you, Lit. Like I said I don't really care about Hades discourse and don't really have anything to add beyond "You'd think they'd argue that Hepheastus isn't ugly enough."

Whoa, hey, hey, hey! I'd like to think that people don't think of me as the type to be brainwashed by one or two anons, my God..!

Also, I didn't know that that was the reason that people had turned on Stellar Blade. Yeah, that's pretty fucking shitty. But, I have to ask... Did anyone who was looking forward to the game not think that that would happen? Sony has been on an anti-sex schtick for the past 8 years, of course they were going to censor Stellar Blade!

To give perspective on the issue, here are the two versions of Aphrodite from Hades.

Hades (I)

Hades II

If anything, the only difference between these two is that Aphrodite's first appearance is more of a 'naughty college girl just out of high school' and her second appearance is 'I've finally found the dick of my dreams, so I'm ready to settle down and be a MILF mommy~!'

Which makes sense if you go under the train of thought of her face makeup and spear in II being an homage to Ares...

But, yeah, there's nothing about either depiction of this character that screams 'man-face' like the piss-baby engagement-chasers on Twitter have been screeching about.

'Weh, high cheekbones, tho...' Bitch, so you're telling me every other Hollywood actress before 2020 has secretly been a man? Starting to sound like one of my coworkers back when I worked in the 'healthy-living industry' who swore up, down, and sideways that Michelle Obama was actually a man.

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kozakuwas · 1 year

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okay, clearing eyes rant i've had in my notes app for months that i'm finally posting to tumblr

okay. snake of clearing eyes. me ga saeru hebi. this fucker. word vomiting here since i've had these thoughts for So Long and i need to put them all somewhere.

clearing is obviously the villain of the story. he is the sole cause of everything bad happening in kagepro. he also represents trauma itself to the mekakushi dan and azami. i believe he is more supposed to be perceived as not a solid character like azami for example, but rather a force.

jin intentionally doesn't really give him a defined personality, same goes with the other snakes. they act upon their namesakes and clearing is no exception. his name, "clearing eyes", is supposed to mean he has more awareness, more sentience, than others. makes sense as he serves as azami's intelligence. due to this, he believes he is "above" the other snakes despite not really being too different from the others. he acts upon his namesake like them. he still serves azami just like them. he doesn't really stand out, which may be why he tries to gain autonomy.

clearing represents everything wrong with the dan and azami, he was born from azami's trauma, he was born from a lack of love, therefore he cannot quite understand it and deems it as a useless human emotion. he doesn't feel love towards azami, it's more devotion. he was created to serve azami as with the other snakes. azami technically is a mother to him as she "gave birth" to him, but he does not view her as such. he only views her as his master. his reason for his actions throughout the story is for the sole purpose of fulfilling the wish that azami made that brought him into existence. he is devoted to this, he is devoted to azami regardless of who else he's serving (ex. kenjiro or marry) and he holds no love for anyone.

clearing really isn't supposed to be viewed as a character like azami or the dan. jin shows this with how he writes clearing, even clearing himself is aware of this. he knows his place in the narrative, he acts exactly how you'd imagine a monster to act. how he *thinks* a monster should act, like having a disregard for the lives and emotions of humans or causing tragedy wherever he goes. his true role is to basically make azami remember her roots, bring her back to her lonely and sorrowful existence as a monster because it's how *he* thinks a monster should live. applying all these human characteristics to a character that intentionally lacks these things is where things tend to go wrong. when you do this with clearing, it takes away from his character, in my opinion. it literally goes against his character.

#kagepro #kagerou project #snake of clearing eyes #kageanalysis #this probably sucks but whatever i just want to post this

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c0pper0tter · 1 year

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Hi my brain has been rotting over the idea of Midnight adopting Kaminari Denki and being the best mother ever but I couldn't find any fanfic for this silly little idea or any other content in general so I'm making it by spewing word vomit about my headcanons.

This is all my headcanons, if you dont like it shut up and go find something you do like leave me to my thoughts so I can ignore canon

Anyway this all spawned because this scene obviously

So my brain thought of multiple different scenarios of how she ended up adopting him and a bunch of wacky situations but that don't matter what matters is I think Midnight is a great mom.

She is the mom who is actually friends with her kid. They have a similar sense of humor and enjoy doing stuff together. She is the most supportive and is always hyping kaminari up and boosting his confidence. But she also doesn't sugarcoat things or lie to him. She tells it to him straight.

This isn't important really but it's very important to me. I think they would bond over watching trashy TV and laughing at how horrible it is while getting deeply invested.

Kaminari loves his mom she's just great. She is his biggest supporter. Not only does she encourage him to be his best and validate his interests but she calls him out when he needs it. She also helps him whenever he needs her without being a helicopter parent. Her motto is go be independent but if you get hurt call me and tell me who's ass I need to beat up including if its your's. She gives good life lessons.

I also think it would be funny if both kaminari and midnight just tend to not tell people they are mother and son just to see how long it takes for people to figure it out. Aizawa finds out immediately, the bakusquad take a really long time.

Kaminari is a mama's boy and he is proud of it. "You have mommy issues? What's that like can't relate".

They have mother son shopping trips where they just try to find the weirdest shit they can and buy it. Don't tell me they wouldn't midnight has mop slippers and have you seen kaminari's room!

I don't know why but they give eachother annoying yet endearing nicknames. Im tired of people giving their children adorable nicknames, give your kid something weird out of context.

Midnight: "Wall Socket can you check if the dryer turned off"

Denki: "on it Nightey Night"

They are the type of family where to everyone else they always seem like they are bullying eachother but this is just how they vibe. Kaminari calls his mom a bitch and she responds by calling him a mistake with a smile, they laugh about it after they proceed to call eachother a bunch of crude or mean names.

Also I Headcanon that Kaminari short circuiting actually frightens him alot and can be painful. Midnight is always there to comfort him through it.

They both also have a love for old or classical literature and art and can go on for hours on the weird history and conspiracies about classical novels and Renaissance paintings.

Midnight goes mama bear anytime anyone dares hurt her baby. She gets teasing and jokes but when she gets the vibe someone is being genuinely mean it's on sight. Same goes with kaminari, if anyone says something disrespectful to his mama it's drained batteries and extreme static shock for a year.

I just want them both to be a happy chaotic Lil found family man is that too much to ask, apparently yes.

*cries over headcanons*

#mha #mha headcanons #mha midnight #mha kaminari #kaminari denki #nemuri kayama #kayama nemuri #denki kaminari #midnight is kaminari's mom now #headcanons #found family #I guess this is technically an au #or is it an alternate Universe?#au #alternate universe #i am tempted to write fanfic for this Headcanon #midnight is best mom #ignore canon and let me have this

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rubyjean-jacket-blog · 2 years

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writing first drafts

as writers, there's a lot of pressure we put on ourselves: obsessing over getting everything right the first time, trying to make everything we put on a page the most incredible, moving, intriguing piece of literature ever written. and not only is that not realistic, it's also not at all helpful. so i'm going to outline a bit of my outlook and process when it comes to first drafts, in the hopes that it helps someone else out there on the interweb, and lessens some of my own discomfort with writing first drafts.

if you're subscribed to my tog fic fanaticism, you might know where this post is going already.

the point is this: writing is a process.

well, duh, i hear you say. that's obvious. you start with the first word, and then you write all the words that come after.

and to that, I say:

you don't have to start at the beginning. sometimes a story idea starts with an ending. sometimes it starts with a middle. sometimes all you have is a beginning, or a setting, or a character. whatever it is, a story does not pop into being fully-realised and in the perfect narrative (or chronological, even!) order.

sometimes you're writing a scene with a baller line of dialogue at the beginning. and when you get to the end of the scene, you realise that the beginning is a bit wonky because of that line, so you move that line to the end.

but wait! there's more!

writing is messy. there's so much more that happens between an idea and the finished work. the first draft isn't good -- it doesn't even look like literature, in most cases.

now, when I say "first draft," i mean that literally. my first drafts are the first written records i have of a story idea. here's another good way of thinking about first drafts:

here's my (completely unedited) first draft for chapter 33 of the aforementioned fanaticism. be warned: here there be typos!

I have to finsih fanatacism. I onkwo i writie it for myself but ther’es people that read it, and so i feel like i can’t just iugnore them. The nett the hapter im writing is kind of boring; its hard ot get it to say the write things’ ha. Funny typo. Yusuf and nicolo are djisjgighs awkward around each other which is kind of difficult because theyve already havd one lowe confession moment and its hard to have two in a row een though i think it makes sense given their characters and the circumstances. Nivolo fon’y let people in easily, and i ddon’t think hes ready to be open with andromache. Maybe not quynh either, but i think they get along better because she’s less pushy thna andromache. Why is ysuf holding back??? External validation?? That;’s pronbalby it. He came from a very loving home where they said their love loudly, and know he’s with nicolo, half-feral and bad at showing emotions, andromache, who is keeping herself at a distance in ordre to protect her soft heart, and quynh, who’s denying her own feelings and therefore not able to be poroplery genuine with anyone else. Booker. Yipes.

this isn't always what my first drafts look like. this time, i did a freewrite, meaning i wrote without interruption. basically just vomited words onto the page. (post about freewriting to come!)

now, did i have any actual plot in this first draft? any beautiful prose? nope! instead, i had typos and nonsense and vague ideas and tangents into unrelated topics.

it doesn't matter if the words you're writing are shit. you're allowed to write shit. most of the stuff i write is shit, and people more successful than me would agree. the important thing here is volume: once you churn out enough shit, maybe you'll find something in the shitpile that interests you or makes you think of a cool dialogue exchange, metaphor, or whatever. once the words start flowing, it's so much easier to keep them coming.

let's circle back to my shitpile.

Yusuf and nicolo are djisjgighs awkward around each other which is kind of difficult because theyve already havd one lowe confession moment and its hard to have two in a row een though i think it makes sense given their characters and the circumstances. Nivolo fon’y let people in easily, and i ddon’t think hes ready to be open with andromache. Maybe not quynh either, but i think they get along better because she’s less pushy thna andromache.

That;’s pronbalby it. He came from a very loving home where they said their love loudly, and know he’s with nicolo, half-feral and bad at showing emotions, andromache, who is keeping herself at a distance in ordre to protect her soft heart, and quynh, who’s denying her own feelings and therefore not able to be poroplery genuine with anyone else.

now, this is interesting. i'm going to clean this idea up so y'all can actually fuckin read it.

Yusuf and Nicolo are awkward around each other. They've already had a moment of intimacy between them, but they haven't acknowledged their feelings since that moment. For Nicolo, this is because he doesn't let people in easily. He's not ready to be open with Yusuf when there's an audience, like Andromache or Quynh. For Yusuf, it's because he's used to affection being shown very openly, so he's not reading any of the cues Nicolo is dropping.

okay. those are character motivations. those are emotions. now we're cooking!

so, next, I thought about every awkward moment i've ever had with another human being, particularly ones that i like(d) or love(d) in significant ways. what are some ways that people show affection for each other?

compliments, borrowing/offering belongings, spending time together, gifts

cool. easy. now, write those scenes.

They will sit beside each other at supper – Yusuf will compliment Nicolo on the stew, if Nicolo cooked, and Nicolo will mumble something dismissive and embarrassed under his breath and that will be the end of it. If Yusuf has cooked, the roles will reverse, and Nicolo will be the one stumbling through thanking Yusuf, who flushes so dark that it almost looks unhealthy.

for those of you keeping track, this is DRAFT FIVE. (four, if you don't count outlining the love languages.) in these later drafts, we can do what you probably think of as actual editing: word choice, grammar, pacing, etc.

writing is a PROCESS. it's not pretty or immediate; it takes time. creative inspiration isn't lightning striking a tree and starting a forest fire, it's starting a campfire with flint and steel: striking two ideas together with determination and patience and resilience.

go write. you've got this!

#writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing resources #first drafts #beware there are typos here #the writing process #writing first drafts #ao3 #ao3 author #is this self promo? i guess

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smooth-and-skeletal · 11 months

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Updated: July 13th, 2023 Hey. You can call me Saph. I have ADHD and dyslexia and I’m autistic. These things are relevant because they make me who I am and/or affect the way you may see me type. I am extremely prone to strange typos, if something doesn’t make sense, ask for clarification.

I’m bad at introductions but I’m very good at answering questions so if you want to know something, ask.

MINORS DNI. Do not speak to me, do not look at me. I’m not a minor, I am not for minors and neither this is blog. Be gone or I will block you.

Don’t anticipate many posts from me, but all will be tagged with “expatiate”.

This blog is mostly for reposting art from artists I adore (#isn't it lovely), reposting funny text posts (#word) and tagging posts that remind me of my vast amount of OCs and/or appease kinks I like. OC shit will be tagged by name. Kinks may or may not be tagged, but I’m sure it’ll be self-explanatory. I’m not into many fandoms at all (literally just Teen Wolf and Hannibal), but those will be tagged as well. I am also notorious for talking in the tags.

Speaking of OCs, if you’re looking for something to roleplay and/or discuss stories/characters send me a dm and I’ll drop my discord. I’m a huge fan of worldbuilding, character creation and putting my OCs through horrible tragedies with some kinky sex as a treat. I’ve been roleplaying for years.

Not really much to add. Don’t really expect anyone to ever read this, just thought I might add it. I do love questions though, so if someone does read this, shoot one my way.

—————————————

Lies, after a bit more time I decided to add more information. (I don’t reorganize the post because I like thinks to be rewritten in the order I thought of them)

I am a gnc black demi lesbian who uses he/him pronouns. The best way to describe my gender is non-binary as how I refer to myself depends on mood. I do prefer to be addressed masc terms when referring to my person, but i’m not against fem compliments. I am a switch/verse. And I mean completely verse with no real tendency to lean one way or the other. It all depends on mood and whatever potential partner I encounter. I am capable pretty much anything you can think of, the right buttons must be pressed.

I’m not exactly uncomfortable with flirting, but I don’t guarantee a flirty response. Despite blog appearances, I have to be in a very specific mood to flirt/sext. So do so with the understanding that you may not get an immediate response or possibly not one at all. Don’t let that stop you! Or do, idc.

I feel that this is obvious, but ofc, you don’t know me, so to be clear, frank and succinct, I do not tolerate any sort of bigotry. I block without hesitation for any reason I deem fit, but especially if you’re an asshole, a bigot, a creep, or a minor. I am uncomfortable with cishet men, but I will not block for that reason alone. But nothing here is really meant for you.

My kinks are all over the place and ever-growing so it’s easier to list things I have no interest in (subject to change, as in this list may grow):

scat/piss/vomit (not in any capacity)

bloodplay (irl,; it’s fine as a concept)

knifeplay (irl; it’s fine as a concept)

ddlg (just does nothing for me, a small ick)

ageplay (not in any capacity)

violence (irl; it’s fine as a concept)

cnc (irl; it’s fine as a concept)

rape (absolutely not)

master/slave (absolutely not)

pet play [like actually pretending to be a dog; pet names and such are fine] (not in any capacity)

Anything not listened here is fair game, within reason. But to be honest I could have missed some or forgotten. If it involves anything I’ve mentioned being against, it’s a hard no. Ask for clarification if necessary.

Also, when I say something is fine as a concept I mean I’d read a post, fic, story about or involving in and itself fine, but it’s not something I’d want to actually participate in.

I think that’s all I have? Seriously, just ask if there are any questions, I am an open book, if prodded.

#expatiate

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signedeclipse · 1 year

Note

hi! This is my first time requesting anything, but imma try my best 👍

I'd like to request a match up, if that's ok!

Im bisexual, she/her. Very short (5 ft exactly) with curly hair. My sense of style is a mess. It's all very brightly patterned thrift shop stuff, or old clothes from middle school I still fit in (even tho that was like a decade ago....rip) aka like graphic tees.

Personality... very shy/anxious. Once I find someone I'm comfortable with I can be very loud tho. Once I open up I'm pretty snarky/sarcastic. Almost always, if I'm a little mean to someone it means I'm comfortable around them enough not to be hyper polite.

I like to read and write (even tho I never show anyone my writing lol). I also like karate and judo! I get my ass kicked on the regular, but it's fun. (I can throw ppl twice my weight hehehe)

I hope that's good enough...I just kinda word vomited in the ask box lol hope you can understand

Anyway thank you very much and I hope you have wonderful days 👍

You got…Kaigaku!

You two met when he was human and he really misjudged you! He can be mean and snarky to those he thinks won't bite back, but after a few back and forths he learns quickly that you have just as much of a sharp tongue as he does.

Both of you would have a very big 'no one can insult my s/o except for me' dynamic. He could pick you apart in a minute, but if someone even suggests a single negative thing about you he will hunt. them. down. He will make entire enemies out of people who said your hair was kind of messy that day.

Kaigaku does not care whether you want him to read your writing or not, he will snatch it out of your hands and hide in a tree just so he can taunt you about it, but secretly he really enjoys your writing and will take back any words that stop you from continuing a work.

One of his favourite things about you is your strength. You are so promising that you can stand up to him so long as he isn't using a breathing style. Despite his size, you can have him on the ground with enough strategy, which encourages him to train hand to hand with you so he can improve himself. He is reluctant to teach you anything about swords because he knows you might outdo him.

Expect a relationship that is very playful, sometimes difficult but always a gift that keeps giving. Kaigaku will protect you at all costs, and if that means loving you into your grave then so be it.

Authors Note - I'm glad I could be your first request! Thank you for your patience, anon! I really hope I was able to make a matchup thats up to your standars <3

#demon slayer matchups #matchup #kny #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kaigaku

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lesbianpolar · 5 months

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I've been meaning to make this post for a while, but I haven't because it just feels kind of awkward.

I haven't been on this blog very much in quite some time, and that's mostly because I no longer think that I am Bipolar. After I started being treated for POTS, my mood swings decreased significantly. After several med changes, some new diagnoses (MCAS and hEDS), physical therapies, and starting to use different mobility/disability aids, these mood swings have gone away completely.

It's not unheard of for Bipolar Disorder to become dormant for a period of time, but I just feel like it's too big of a coincidence that my mood disorder would completely disappear not long after starting treatment for my physical conditions; one of which causes diminished blood flow to the brain. When I brought this up to my cardiologist, he told me that POTS frequently causes mood swings that can be mistaken for Bipolar Disorder if left untreated.

It makes so much sense now why I would worsen when I was forced to spend long periods of time on my feet and would improve with bedrest. It makes sense why my psych meds seemed to be so hit-and-miss. On the one hand, I am elated to have figured it out, but on the other, I am furious. I was subjected to so many different awful treatments, all while being treated as subhuman, for a disease which I likely never even had.

I have been completely off all psych meds for over a year now, and I continue to improve. I am fairly convinced that I have autism and adhd (pretty much everyone in my family does), but I don't see the point in getting officially diagnosed if I don't want to be forced to act Less Autistic.

I will be leaving up all the bipolar resources and memes that I have on this blog, but I likely won't post about Bipolar Disorder anymore, at least not in a personal way. I am debating a name change for the blog, but I'm not sure yet what I will be changing it to. I hope none of you feel like I was intentionally misleading anyone by "pretending" to be bipolar. I truly experienced everything that I said I have on this blog, and I honestly believed I was bipolar.

If you would like to keep up to date with my physical disability, as well as see physical disability content in general, you can follow me at @disabled-is-not-a-dirty-word . I have been running that blog for quite some time now, and I'm far more active on there.

As for this blog, I will continue to post and reblog any mental illness content that I come across, but I don't see myself being super active on here. Thanks to all of you who have supported me over the past few years. And if you suspect that something you are experiencing isn't normal, make sure to get it checked out. I had assumed for almost my entire life that not being able to stand still without vomiting was just some kind of quirk. Turns out, nope!

#personal #tw emetophobia

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balillee · 3 years

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tommy's character gets far too much shit.

hi tumblr. i'm gonna need a few bitches to spread this post everywhere, essentially because i want someone, or just tommy really, to see it. so if you really want, you can screenshot it and post it on twitter, reddit, link it everywhere - go absolutely buck wild. i know he reads the VODS comments a lot, but they're chock full of people just insulting him, his character, his writing and everything about his story in the dream smp simply because they don't understand it and because they refuse to acknowledge his character's perspective (mainly because they only care about the pig). reading that many critical comments on something you've created can only make you feel worse about it eventually, and in light of all the awful techno apologist takes on his character, i wanted to basically just word vomit about how wonderfully crafted c!tommy is, as well as compile some other tumblr posts about his character.

there is a massive fuckin community of people who enjoy the character of tommy, because the character is incredible. i myself have made post after post after post commenting on and analysing tommy's character because i find that there's so much to pick apart. but that enthusiasm for his character only seems to be found on tumblr. reddit and twitter seem to hate his character, the VODS seem to be filled with comments from people who only care about techno's perspective (and treat techno as a reliable narrator, which, is the furthest thing from the truth - that guy lies through his teeth all the time), and the smp wiki is a hellscape of godawful takes and mistruths, not even on just tommy's character.

c!tommy is brilliantly acted and brilliantly written, and almost everything he does is either justifiable or has been rectified or admitted as a mistake. you can clearly make connections as to where he got his conclusions from. you feel what his character experiences, as a member of the audience, vividly.

if you look in the more objective sense, c!tommy, and this is especially in the context of him being the youngest character, is a scapegoat. people claim he's awful and destructive when in reality he's a lot less destructive than most characters on the server. a moment that comes to mind is where he diverts schlatt and quackity's attention from pogtopia by breaking part of the flag in manberg, and then replacing it so as to buy tubbo some time - he literally monologues after it about how he doesn't want to destroy but instead rebuild, and how he feels as if nobody else seems to understand that.

his arc in season two was incredible. it was very character driven, and it gave a spotlight to his motivations. at the start we see him in new l'manberg, and he's enjoying his time there, he's skeptical of his friend's presidency, but his main goal is to get back the discs so that he can stop dream and eliminate that threat. he made one screw up that didn't even matter to george, and he paid for it tenfold, even after dream had spent a while with puffy griefing the server and framing it on tommy - what tommy and ranboo did was convinient. then, in exile, we see c!tommy straight up get abused. he's gaslit and conditioned into being c!dream's friend, and in his brain he teaches himself that those acts of abuse are moments of bonding, and it eventually brings him to the point of wanting to end his own life - he's been torn away from his friends and his support system, and nobody will visit him consistently anymore because they only showed him pity, and all he had left was dream, who had hurt him.

but he doesn't die there, because while he didn't understand the full gravity of it back then like he does now, he recognises that dying isn't an escape, and he can beat dream, even if he doesn't know how. so this is where he goes to techno's place, and here's where the fandom starts to misinterpret the situation wildly.

it's the problem similar to when your parents tell you that they're owed something back because you put a roof over their head, despite that being Not How It Works. techno took tommy in and severely mistreated him emotionally. sure, and i understand this, c!techno is a bad communicator who isn't really that empathetic to anyone who isn't phil or wilbur, but that doesn't excuse the blatant lying to c!tommy's face, the guilt tripping, the friendship buying and the degrading. the day before the festival, tommy finally does something violent in his interrogation of fundy, and only then does techno tell him,,,,

that tommy's not equal to him, that techno doesn't respect him all that much, and that they're not friends.

from techno's perspective, and at the time, this was viewed as a positive development in their relationship. oh, he's starting to warm up to tommy! this friendship could really blossom!

no. from a more objective standpoint, what techno has just said to tommy is : 'i respect you only a little bit more now, because while you're starting to act more like me, you're still annoying and a burden.'

and i haven't even touched on the whole 'erasing the words 'Destroy L'manberg' from techno's to-do list' thing, because that instantly refutes the point of 'techno was upfront with his intentions the whole time' - because he wasn't! he may have said it the first time, but you also know what else he did? he repeatedly told tommy that they'd 'air the details out later' whenever the discs were brought up, and from a tommy viewer's perspective at the time, it was framed as if techno was no longer going to do that.

and i also haven't dared touch the 'i would have fought them all for you', because that's major guilt tripping if ever i've seen it.

so, the day of the festival comes, and here's where c!techno and his apologists completely misread c!tommy's thought process, and why he makes the decision he does.

tommy instantly regrets valuing the discs over tubbo, and it's framed as the culmination of tommy having become all the people he said he would never want to be like. and what does he immediately do? he tells tubbo to give up the disc, and he sides with tubbo. he puts his value in his friends, and, by proxy, l'manberg. and when he betrays techno, he tells him 'i'm sorry'.

from a more objective standpoint, tommy's time with techno is him valuing the discs over almost anything else. so, in leaving techno to be with tubbo again, he is valuing people above the discs. so when, on doomsday, techno says his 'discs aren't people' line, what he doesn't realise is that he himself fueled tommy's valuing of discs above people when attempting to fuel tommy's vengeance against tubbo and l'manberg. techno doesn't realise that he was an unhealthy presence for tommy, and an even worse influence.

what techno also doesn't seem to understand is that tommy never hated tubbo or l'manberg - tommy recognises, now at least, that his exile wasn't a product of tubbo, but a product of dream's manipulation, likely in part because at the time, especially with dream lying about tommy blowing up the community house, tommy was the only one who could see it because he had experienced it firsthand. so when techno sides with dream, it's like kicking tommy in the teeth.

and i want to mention that betraying someone doesn't necessarily make the person who was betrayed good, or in the right, or even justified, because tommy was entirely justified to leave techno. you know who else was betrayed? schlatt. but i don't see many schlatt apologists around angry at quackity for joining the rebellion.

tommy stole the axe of peace? good. it was a moment of tommy defining his self-worth, instead of having it defined by others. gone is the age of c!techno belittling him and deciding how much c!tommy should be respected. NEXT!

here's a moment i wanted to talk about that will forever be funny to me.

'i am a person.'

techno's very famous line from doomsday. techno says to tommy that discs aren't people, and that tommy should value people, despite not understanding that by leaving techno, he did just that. and what does tommy say in return, which has been omitted from every c!tommy-critical analysis, and every animatic?

'yes you are, but so are we.'

an acknowledgement of techno's hurt, to which tommy has already apologised for. a statement that says 'your hurt does not excuse, nor justify, the hurt you have inflicted onto us.' an acknowledgement that tommy has already learnt the lesson techno seems to be trying to 'teach' him. but you can't teach him anything by destroying.

c!tommy has had almost everything he has ever owned or built either taken from him or destroyed. ranboo even points out that the only two things of tommy's left standing are his house and his hotel, and if i'm honest, his house is dissheveled. it's a labyrinth of terror due only to how many times it's been torn apart. l'manberg being blown up didn't teach anyone anything about anarchy, or about valuing people over possessions. logstedshire being blown up didn't teach tommy to be obedient.

i could honestly ramble for ages about how nuanced tommy's character is and how much depth and complexity there is to his character's process and his relationship with others, but more than that, c!tommy is forgiving. he invites almost everyone who hates him to the grand opening of his hotel - if that isn't an indicator that he just wants friends, and not to be treated like the embodiment of evil, then i don't know what is. he holds grudges, but he doesn't really actively hate anyone, other than c!dream. but, we'll let him. c!dream deserves nothing but to be pummeled into the floor.

tommy doesn't spoonfeed his character nuance, and he doesn't really spell it out for his audience. he'll mention things like trauma and triggers in passing, but a lot of analysis on his motivations has to be picked up from what is said in passing or from what can be seen in between the lines.

i'd be here for hours if i were to talk about everything i love about c!tommy, because honestly he's one of my favourite characters, and there are so many angles you can look at his character from in terms of his age, his relationships with others, his motivations, his personality, his character arcs etc etc. so instead of doing that, i'm going to compile some much more specific analysis posts below to skim through because they highlight so many good aspects of his character.

^^ A thread about the 'yes you are, but so are we' line.

^^ About how shit the VODS comments are.

^^ A comment on how c!Tommy is actually pretty peaceful, and is actually less destructive than most characters on the server.

^^ Possibly the best c!Tommy analysis thread I've ever seen in relation to his trauma, which gives multiple perspectives.

^^ About how c!Tommy is treated as a scapegoat, and how, from an objective standpoint, he is no more violent than any other character, it's just that the little violence that is committed is blown far out of proportion.

^^ Tumblr user flypaw being a bad bitch, as per usual.

^^ c!Tommy being incredibly intelligent, and talking about wanting to rebuild and not destroy. A very underrated monologue of his.

^^ Something short about c!Tommy and c!Wilbur's relationship in Pogtopia.

^^ Less about c!Tommy, more a meta on L'Manberg. Really interesting to think about.

^^ A take on Doomsday.

I'll add some more posts in a reblog in the notes, but if anyone's post(s) is on this and they want me to take it off, let me know and I'll do that for you! Feel free to add your own banger c!Tommy takes or ones that you've found.

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shinichirosbabymama · 3 years

Text

Yuuta Okkotsu relationship headcanons

A/N: Okay so I started writing these with no real intention or direction so you're gonna have to excuse the fact they're basically word vomit 🤠 I'm in deep Yuuta brainrot right now so please enjoy the below as my coping mechanism.

Implied NSFW but nothing explicit. Both reader and Yuuta are aged up. Minor spoilers for the JJK manga (the plot isn't referenced at all but it does mention some of Yuuta's techniques so if you're strict about avoiding any spoilers please don't read it). I've placed the headcanons under a read more just to avoid spoiling anyone. Enjoy ❤❤❤

Based on purely my own observations and opinions, I think Yuuta is drawn to powerful people so it would not surprise me if he was interested in another sorcerer.

Being a sorcerer is pretty cool on the surface but a lot of the time it's pretty horrible too. You're constantly surrounded by fear, death, injuries, and the overwhelming negative energy from the cursed spirits.

It requires a lot of mental resilience which you've had to build up over years of training. As a result you've hardened emotionally, its hard to build relationships with others and you could do without the complication.

Yuuta comes crashing into your life with his special grade curse and nervous energy and throws everything off kilter.

He's so transparent. Where you tend to mask your feelings to save yourself any potential heartache, he wears his heart on his sleeve. Its both refreshing and infectious despite the fact you try to hide the way your heart stutters when he smiles at you.

I feel like this relationship would be years in the making. You're in denial for so long, trying to convince yourself that you don't feel anything for him, that you're simply reacting to someone in your life who is nice for once.

Plus Rika fucking terrifies you. You and Yuuta begin to interact more once Rika's cursed is lifted and you find the feeling even harder to fight.

You throw yourself into your training, surpassing most of the other students - although you're constantly reminded that he's still stronger than you. You thought you'd be jealous but instead you find yourself feeling proud of him.

That doesn't the two of you having healthy competition. You spar frequently and 9/10 Yuuta folds your ass but you don't mind so much when you get to watch him hover over you, his eyebrows pulled together with worry as he offers you his hand. He's so handsome it's painful.

Gojo starts sending Yuuta overseas on different missions (the bastard) so what was a simmering tension between the two of you turns into full blown pining.

Gojo (again, the bastard) senses something isn't right with you and he requests that you fly out to support Yuuta on a mission.

You're happy that you're going to be able to see him again but you're also apprehensive. You know you can't carry on in your current state - you need to tell him how you feel and this mission seems like the perfect opportunity to do that.

You throw up the whole time on the flight there and blame it on turbulence (bullshit).

When he meets you at the airport he pulls you into a tight hug and you hesitate with your face pressed into his neck for a moment, willing your face to stop burning quickly. He smells like soap and detergent and it's comforting.

Luckily he's blushing too and he scratches the back of his neck and apologises for hugging you like that. "I've been alone for so long...and I really missed you!"

You need to talk to talk to him but first things first you need to take out this special grade cursed spirit.

Easy peasy right? Should be no match for you and Yuuta. Except it is and everything goes horribly wrong and you nearly fucking die.

Yuuta very conveniently masters his reversed curse technique at the time and saves your life. You never forget the look on his face when you wake up and gasp for air. The poor boy is traumatised but he cups your cheek when he sees that your conscious again like he needs to feel that you're real.

During the flight over there, you'd thought of all the things you wanted to say to him. You were going to be brave, sit there, explain your feelings and brace for rejection.

Except that didn't happen. You woke up, looked at the pain in his eyes, and smashed your lips against his. It's messy and awkward. Yuuta is confused as fuck for about three seconds but then he kisses you back and its desperate and hungry as years of denying your feelings for each other finally boils over.

You leave the hell hole that you both nearly died in but the kisses don't stop after that. Yuuta's pining is as evident as your own and it sets your soul on fire. The two of you don't leave your hotel room for two days as you make up for lost time.

After that it's time for a serious discussion. The idea of being together whilst risking your lives constantly terrified you both but you knew deep down you were going to love him whether you were with him or not so you may as well enjoy each other while you were still here.

There were some ground rules though. The main one being that you could not go on missions together. Whilst it was tempting to be a very effective double act, you knew it would severely impair your judgement during a fight.

It sounds strange but you both basically agreed that if you died, you died. Neither of you wanted to die with any regrets and this was the only way to ensure that.

It was hard being away from him after that. You tried hiding your relationship from Gojo as long as possible but he soon caught on. He teased you both incessantly but on the upside he stopped sending Yuuta away so much.

From then on you take each day as it comes, silently looking forward to the day you can both retire.

Once you're graduated you move into an apartment together, a safe space for you both.

It's hard being away for him but he makes it all worth it when he comes home, brushing off the likely very dangerous situations he's been in to rest his hands on your hips and plant kisses on the back of your neck as you try to cook a meal for you both.

You call him a menace and he gives you that same breathtaking smile that used to plague your thoughts all those years ago.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder and sighs but it's a happy one. It feels good to decompress.

"I missed you. How did I get so lucky?"

"I missed you too. Good thing I kissed you that day hm?"

"Mhm. My turn now." He replies and turns you around so that he can kiss you properly. It's soft and tender and very much him.

You know this might be the last time. That anything could happen. But if it did - you had no regrets.

#yuuta okkotsu #yuta okkotsu #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu headcanon #jjk headcanon #yuuta x reader #yuta x reader

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algumaideia · 2 years

Text

First my idea was to do this series of posts analysing the chapter 54 of A/comaf, but then I realized there isn't much more to be talked about. I already said basically everything I wanted about R/hys SA and there is also a lot of other posts talking about it. Besides I really didn't and still don't want to reread the chapter again and again.

So, I'm just going to analyze(I wouldn't really call it an analysis but I don't know a better word to use) two quotes. This is the first one:

“A way to defy Amarantha, to spread the seeds of hope to those who knew how to read the message, and a way to keep you alive without seeming too suspicious. And a way to get back at Tamlin … To use him against Amarantha, yes, but … To get back at him for my mother and sister, and for … having you. When we made that bargain, you were so hateful that I knew I’d done my job well. So we endured it. I made you dress like that so Amarantha wouldn’t suspect, and made you drink the wine so you would not remember the nightly horrors in that mountain. And that last night, when I found you two in the hall … I was jealous. I was jealous of him, and pissed off that he’d used that one shot of being unnoticed not to get you out, but to be with you, and … ”

Just to contextualize, in this quote R/hys is "explaining" why he did what he did UTM to F/eyre.

"A way to defy Amarantha, to spread the seeds of hope to those who knew how to read the message, and a way to keep you alive without seeming too suspicious"

This makes no sense whatsoever.

How sexually assaulting, drugging, painting and putting F/eyre on reveling clothes sends hope to anyone?? How do those things say that everything is gonna end fine and there is still a chance??? And defy Amarantha?? What he was doing was helping Amarantha since it made F/eyre feel very bad and didn't allow her to think in the riddle.

A direct quote from the book about the consequences of R/hys helping F/eyre and sending sees of hope and keeping her alive:

"I awoke in my cell, still clad in that handkerchief he called a dress. Everything was spinning so badly that I barely made it to the corner before I vomited. Again. And again. When I’d emptied my stomach, I crawled to the opposite corner of the cell and collapsed. Sleep came fitfully as the world continued to twirl violently around me. I was tied to a spinning wheel, going around and around and around— Needless to say, I was sick a fair amount that day... I awoke ill and exhausted each morning, and though Rhysand’s order to the guards had indeed held, the nightly activities left me thoroughly drained. I spent my days sleeping off the faerie wine, dozing to escape the humiliation I endured. When I could, I contemplated Amarantha’s riddle, turning over every word—to no avail."

Also R/hys wanting to spreed hope through F/eyre like he cared about saving Printhian is funny because moments before he was talking about how he did the best he could to scary Tamlin to make him send F/eyre away. You know, the girl that could save Printhian, his court and just end with this nightmare caused by Amarantha. Guess he wasn't thinking about sending hope to anyone in the moment.

...

"And a way to get back at Tamlin … To use him against Amarantha, yes, but … To get back at him for my mother and sister, and for … having you."

This is also nonsensical.

First of all, Tamlin was already mad at Amarantha for a big number of reasons. She took his powers, sent monsters after him and his court, tortured his best friend, tortured him and tortured F/eyre. What encouragement does he need to get mad at Amarantha?

The second thing to point out is that R/hys already got his revenge on Tamlin. He already killed Tamlin's father and brothers. What the hell is he talking about? He already got back on Tamlin for his mother and sister.

And for having F/eyre??? This is so creepy and possesive and horrible. R/hys is a grown up man that is 500 years old. He should act better. Where is the maturity?

...

"I ... made you drink the wine so you would not remember the nightly horrors in that mountain"

This is ridiculous. Because it feels like R/hys is trying to get some recognition for what he did, when he is only creating a solution, if we can call it that, for a problem he created.

He only "needs" to drug F/eyre to make her forget the nightly horrors because he makes her get our of her cell. If he didn't do that F/eyre wouldn't need to not remember teh nightly horrors.

Also if I remember correctly the only reason Amarantha knew about their deal was bc R/hys told her that. This whole thing could be a secret and she could be in her cell alone not being drugged and sexually assaulted.

...

"And that last night, when I found you two in the hall … I was jealous. I was jealous of him, and pissed off that he’d used that one shot of being unnoticed not to get you out, but to be with you, and "

At least he admitted he did it because of jealousy. However he was also like: What Tamlin did was awful and it made me so mad, how dare him treat you that badly, I needed to do something about it.

But I really don't get what R/hys wanted Tamlin to do. The guy said Tamlin couldn't move or do anything since every move he did was watched.

...

It is so funny how R/hys tried to excuse his behavior really hard but he is incapable of giving good excuses. Everything he says makes no sense at all.

And as always feel free to tell me if you disagree with me, just be respectful please.

Best regards,

Me.

Ps. I cannot believe one day I liked this book.

#anti sjm #sjm critical #anti rhysand #anti feysand #anti acotar #anti acomaf #i'm sarcastic sometimes in the post

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Judgement

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | seven

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: Things have changed, things have stayed the same.

Word count: 3.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: e m o (i can't stress this enough), illusions to mental health issues (?), emo, mature themes and language, EMO, family-trauma related angst, emo

Notes: I wanted to completely cut Din's perspective out of this chapter to emphasize the reader's pov. Hopefully it tracks? Big lovey-dovey shout out to @pedros-mustache for bonking me in the head with a proverbial pool noodle. ily friends. Be kind to yourself. Cheers x (gif credit: @bestintheparsec)

This is fine. You’re fine.

You’re okay with this.

You’re okay

You’re

You think, perhaps, the sting is made worse by the normalcy of it all.

You think, perhaps, that this stabbing—this splinter in your gut, prodding prodding prodding—would not be so sharp if it were different between you—if things were different; if it were clumsy and cumbersome and mauled. Ruined.

But it isn’t; it’s the same. You and Din and his boy, his adi’ka—it’s ordinary. Evergreen.

You suppose you should be grateful—grateful your dynamic hasn’t shifted, hasn’t sullied any. Grateful you still have your Mandalorian piloting you home. Grateful you have his foundling to keep you company, to keep you preoccupied.

But you feel false.

It’s as if you slipped into an alternate reality—one where you and Din touched each other, held each other; one where he buried his frustration to the hilt in your womb and you moaned his name like your tongue was formed for it—and then were snapped back to this one here—this nothing, this void—without anyone taking note of your absence. Because your routines—those domestic tableaus—remain unchanged. They are well-oiled and operate regardless— undeterred, succinct.

The days start the same.

You set aside a warm bowl of fruit and porridge, steam rising to greet him as it fans over his helm. Good morning.

Exiting the fresher, you find the dishes washed and dried—the towel folded neatly into a square beside them. Good morning.

You return the bowls to their shelf, nestling them right next to your unfulfilled expectations and embarrassing desires—butted against your silly, silly heart.

“Anything good?” he asks one night, passing through the galley as you thumb through the news on your holopad

You nearly choke on it—your throat closing up tight around the casual banality of the question. Because that’s what you two share now: you have things. You have quips and lines and normal and none of that disappeared after you’d made each other unravel not four paces away, pressed there against that wall—the wall that stands there even now, a tall and mocking reminder.

You wonder, if you sealed your ear to the bulkhead, could you still hear yourself? The symphonic reverb—your girlish pants, Din’s hoarse rasps— trapped there in the seams of the steel siding like the grooves of a record, to be played and played again.

“Never,” you say, like you’ve always said, and do your best to flash him a grin—the one you’ve worn before, the one, perhaps, you hope he likes. The one where you go dimpled and dove-like.

And then he makes for the cockpit and you are left

without.

The afternoons stretch familiar, too.

Din flies the ship and you watch the child—steering him clear of disasters and shenanigans the best you can. He tugs gentle at your hair; you nip at his little hand until he’s dissolved to giggles—the same the same the same, all of these acquainted patterns continuing to revolve on. Din lands and prepares for his hunt—banging around the belly of the ship, gathering weapons and ammunition and rations—and your eyes skitter along after him, following his hulking figure as he steps past where you and Munch are seated, heading towards the mouth of the Crest.

Din.

You’re half afraid of what it will sound like now— what it will feel like, bruised and jagged in your mouth. Like it doesn’t belong there, like it has no right laying claim to your tongue.

“Din,” you call hurriedly to the span of his broad back as he leaves the ship, your spine straightening out of the chair. You say it; you speak his name and to your surprise find it is none of those things—none of those ugly fears, none of those roughened gums. It’s worse.

Because scarier still, it comes out cotton soft; it comes out comfortable and true. It tastes like home maybe — like a version of home where people could come and go and laugh and not be frightened. Where they could hold little children in their arms and sleep and breathe and be and say I am here with you. Here we are. How special. I have chosen this. I have made this with you.

Din.

His shoulders tense and his feet stop short, just before the apex of the ramp. He turns to you, slow. Controlled.

“Good hunting.”

Din looks at you, the heavy umber of his eyes settling on your own, and he freezes—stock-still, his blood and muscles and bone thickened to paste, rendering him motionless. His dark gaze scans over you—the wisps of hair dancing around your face, the sag of your shirt lolling from your shoulder, his son in your lap. You bounce Munch on your knee and he gurgles out a quieted hum, glancing between his surrogate parent and you.

“Thank you,” Din replies, stilted, and you think you discern a subtle scrape of his modulator; you think you sense his lips part, pained and breathy, the cusp of another thought—of more, anything more— corralled by his sense of duty, hampered by the armor that plates him.

You untangle the boy’s claws from your hair and slip your fingers around his wrist, waving his green hand in a delicate to and fro.

Goodbye, it says. We’ll be right here when you get back.

He stays. For another glimmer of a millisecond he remains, sunlight pouring in through the opening of the Crest—shining off his beskar, off the gunmetal grey covering his body—focus trained on you both—before he pivots, cape whipping behind him as Din vanishes like he does without fail—away. Away.

To vapors.

Three days of this—three miserable days. Seventy-two suffocatingly mundane hours.

You figured this would be easy. You figured it could be as painless as you chose to make it. You were two consenting adults, after all—you both had needs, and you both met them—and you thought that this would be simple.

What you failed to take into consideration however, is that Din Djarin is anything but a simple man.

Because he is all these things, paradigms and paradoxes, coiled into one very tightly wound warrior—a warrior who can dismember a blaster just as effectively as he can sop up baby vomit from his foundling’s brown robes—one handed, no less. In flight. Din is all sharp edges and smooth silver, he’s cold and calculating and roguish and endearing and you can’t grapple with the dichotomy of him—with all these mismatched pieces at odds with themselves that somehow fit perfectly, inexplicably together.

You were naïve to assume you could go back—as if you could unremember the shape of his fingers as they filled you; as if you could make yourself forget how needy he bowed against you, how hot and thick his cock rested in your palm when he pitched his hips and released his desperation in white streaks along your skin.

And when your mind isn’t wholly consumed—smothered with the crushed velvet sin of that time-capsuled memory—it’s tortured in other ways, with crueler techniques. Pointed. Specified.

You watch him. You wish you could look away, but there isn't anywhere else to look. There isn’t a corner you can escape to, nor an inch of the Crest that isn’t him—isn’t an emblem of him, isn’t an extension of his personage.

You see him - day in, day out - interact with the child and Maker, it’s so precious and he’s so damn good. Two arms, cradling Munch snug to his chest—you know their strength now, you know their weight—and you observe as Din holds this boy with the same hands that unmade you—that molded you like clay and parted your wet heat. You see this man—so stoic, so reserved—dote on his child in a way that you never were, and bit by bit, it breaks you.

You caught them napping together once, compressed in that dingy of an alcove by the refresher. Your feet halted in their tracks at the sight and you held your breath—he’s a light sleeper, you didn’t dare wake them—Din’s helmet nodded to his chest and the kid, open-mouthed and adorable, nestled into the crook of his arm.

It made you want to sing. It made you want to cry.

You had to pry your boots from the floor and force yourself to move, to scram. You had to be anywhere else but there, ogling like a spectator at a zoo, nose smushed against the glass, watching the last of some great species simply be as nature intended—calm, drowsy, at peace.

You busied yourself then, scuttling preoccupied about the Crest but the image never evaporated, it never faded—it dogged you, tacking itself onto your psyche: the picture of him there, Din and his boy, holding on to one another like anchors while they slept, and you can't resist drawing the question.

Is that what it’s supposed to look like, to feel like—a father’s arms around your shoulders? Is that what safe looks like? Is that what family is?

You wouldn’t know. You cannot recollect the glow of it—the memory of such an embrace—on your own skin, and isn’t that what makes it all so achingly befitting, so inevitable. As if the Moirai—those weird sisters—spun this string of fate tailored to your being and plucked it like a harp, curating a melody for you and you alone.

Because you see Din give what you never got, and it makes you want. You want him. You curse yourself for it, but fuck you want him—every sordid part of you is tugged and pulled in his direction. You want him, magnetically, you want him you want him you wa—

And Din is fine. A Mandalorian pillar, undisturbed. He is bedrock. This is the Way.

And while he withstands the weathering, you crumble beneath it. It's eroding you. Like tides crashing monotonous against a beaten shore, you are in granules—and these morsels, ever-fine, they nick you - gritting - sanding you raw, abrading you rugged.

You thought you could ignore them at first. They were but lace whispers behind your ear—muted and tickling and just far off enough to deflect. But with each passing moment those feathered words grew loud—rude and vocal and you couldn’t keep them out. Round and round, they wriggled into your most tender swathes of skin. Skipless. Poison.

He regrets it.

He didn’t want it.

He didn’t enjoy it.

He didn’t want me He doesn’t want me I’m not wanted

These thoughts, insistent and pervasive, they are sewn into the bed of your mind one ugly seed at a time. You water them. You don’t mean to, you don’t wish to cultivate these errs but you know they will fester and grow with or without you. So you tend them—watchful, you garden—and they push up through the soil, sprouting weeds, choking the dirt. Marring it fallow.

But you’re okay with this. You’re fine—look at you, you’re fine.

///

The planet of Jelucan is bustling.

It’s got a pulse of its own, energetic and thrumming; there’s an electric current charging the cool air. It’s alive. This place is alive. Towers and buildings are chiseled into the cliff faces of the mountains framing the city, reaching tall towards the pale blue sky overhead. The capital—Valentia, you learned—is almost offensively busy— far busier than any of the backwater territories you and Din had explored in the recent months. There’s so much noise, it’s cacophonous— speeders dodging pedestrians milling about the throughway, engines whirring and backfiring, merchants arguing, hawking foods and goods from their windowed shops and brightly colored stalls, politicians and well to-dos seemingly gliding above it all as the common rabble of varying species and origins mingle and mix.

You suppose it reminds you of Coruscant. You suppose that makes you nervous.

Because you’ve been holed up in his ship and flitting through the Outer Rim, seeing the stars and the moons and planets and there’s just so much life—everywhere, everywhere— this galaxy is chalked full of it; it’s spilling over the sides with it all. And Maker, these months have felt like an adventure; they’ve felt like a fantasy, like an escape. You’ve eloped, caught in the whirlwind romance of it all—shirking your duties, your career, absconding from your shitty, shoebox of an apartment back home.

But Valentia is all too quick to ground you, all too eager to remind you of that blissfully forgotten reality; it taps on its wristwatch, gutting you with a look:

your time, my dear, is up.

The cobbled pavement underfoot is stony and industrial, each step landing too hard, too hollow—like everyone can hear your chipped heart pounding through your boots—exposing you, coloring you a liar.

This is fine. You’re fine. You’re okay with this.

You’ve been telling yourself that—bargaining, pleading—attempting to manifest into fruition; speaking it to yourself like a chant in hopes it’ll stick—in hopes you’ll fall for the ruse.

But it’s as if each dulled footfall shakes the rust from your neglected truth, revealing all too plainly that no. No, you’re not. You aren’t.

You and Din do not walk in tandem—his gait is longer, and he’s a stride in front of you—but there isn't so much space between your bodies that his presence doesn’t distract you completely, doesn’t eat you up and make you fizz. Your gaze could latch anywhere in this packed, teeming city, and you would still see him. Still feel him—on the nape of your neck, in the wet pink of your cunt. Throbbing reminders of the man that has knotted himself so seamlessly into your world.

You shake your head, locks rustling— as if you could rock him loose from where he clings on to your mind— when you feel a spindled hand at the wing of your back. Startled, you spin towards the touch.

There’s a woman— she isn’t human, but judging by her general appearance she’s some species close to it. She’s old. Whittled. Her maroon eyes are clouded, her silvered hair swooped back into a low bun, wiry frizz haloing the crown of her head.

She’s petite, but it looks wrong— inorganic. Too knobby, she’s all elbows and boney angles where she shouldn’t be. It’s as if she’s shrinking, right there before you. Time, pressing her in— pressing her down.

She’s lived a life in the sun; she wears lines on her face, deep and haggard, and her skin is pulled taut around her skull like hide stretched over a tanning rack. She’s ancient, prehistoric.

She’ll probably outlive you all.

An alien language you don’t recognize comes spilling fast from her thin mouth. You can’t decipher the string of words rushing like river water, the current unstoppable, but you garner she’s insistent; there’s no misconstruing the earnest fervor in her voice. Something woolen is held tight in her grasp—a blanket, by the looks of it, intricate and pleated—and she’s handing it to you like her very existence depends on it.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, confusion evident on your brow, “I’m sorry I don’t—”

She continues speaking, urgent and desperate and pleading—gesticulating as she offers you the throw, the shiny golden thread needled into the patchwork winking in the afternoon sun. The child slung at your side chirps curiously, saucer-large eyes following the shimmer of the fabric.

“I’m sorry, it’s beautiful - really - but—”

You’re jobless and blowing through your savings at a blistering speed. You barely have two measly credits to rub together; getting supplies is tricky enough as is. Purchasing something as ornate and superfluous as a blanket was out of the question. Munch coos sadly, a twitter of his voice, and it ruptures your heart to say it, “I can’t afford something like this.”

The bell on the door to the adjacent shop grabs your attention, producing a Twi’lek as it opens. She’s younger, perhaps around your age, and her lilac lekku bob as she bounds over to you.

“Hi,” she breathes, lips pulling back to reveal a charming smile as she glances between you two. “Everything okay?”

Before you can get a word out the elder resumes chattering, incensed as she addresses the other store attendant—you think it might be Old Corellian, some archaic dialect you presumed died out eons ago, predating the Battle of Yavin by centuries.

Just how old is this woman?

There’s a hushed exchange between them—the Twi’lek’s attempt at the language proving stiff. Her cadence is clunky, nowhere near as smooth and lilted as the other woman’s, but they must come to some sort of a conclusion, because they face you—two sets of eyes, burrowing blinkless into yours. The girl takes a small half step towards you, speaking - blessedly - in Basic.

“The blanket. It’s for you. She wants you to have it,” she explains, “for the little one.”

A twitch notches your eyebrow, gaze flickering back to the older woman, something akin to a crinkled smile worn into the grooves of her wizened face. She nods, fervent and solemn—a seriousness set in the desperate way she bores into you, urging you to understand. To see.

More foreign utterances pass between them— the younger woman listening to her soft vowels and gritting consonants for a beat, before continuing to translate.

“She says, you have a beautiful family. It makes her—” the Twi’lek pauses, choosing her next words, “yearn for the past, to reclaim time.”

Family. A beautiful family. A beautiful—

You consider telling them.

You consider correcting her, informing these kind souls that you’re only temporary. A fleeting thing— like the seasons, autumn dying cold into winter— you’ll leave when the time comes. You consider telling them that that’s the arrangement you agreed to, and that you’ll be delivered back to Coruscant and deposited off at your doorstep with nothing but a cheap, portable cot and an unused blaster the bounty hunter had unfathomably given to you once upon a time. That they’ve mistaken you for someone else—someone important to Din and his foundling. Someone relevant. Someone permanent.

But, you don’t.

You don’t rectify their assumption. Your silence betrays you, confirming the lie, and you grant yourself to revel in it. Like slipping into silk sheets, you roll in the luxury of the imaginary sentiment— letting it swaddle you, comfort you, kiss your skin.

And just for a moment, maybe you allow yourself to believe that this is real: the three of you, a perfect band of misfits; entwined together, fated and star-crossed.

A family.

“She hopes you know that what you have is special. She says, she hopes you hold onto them—never let go. Never.”

Fuck.

Can they hear it? Can they hear the way parts of you fracture like slate and quake to the asphalt in shards? Can they see the shiver in your knees—how your nails dig into the rough tweed of the satchel hung long beside you?

You steal a trepid glance back at Din who has since stopped and stands idle in wait—there in the middle of the lane, a single stone splitting the sea of people passing through. He’s unreadable, his visor illegible. He appears statuesque, arms immobilized in plaster by his sides—inhuman under all that effacing steel as life moves in flurries, eddying around him.

The kid babbles, snapping your focus off the Mandalorian and returning it to the two women. They adorn their sincerity openly, as one would a badge, extending the blanket to you—you, a perfect stranger.

Shit. Tears prickle the wells of your eyes. There’s something lodged in your throat— a canary in a cage, batting violent against its bars. You attempt to swallow it down with an ugly gulp, but it provides no relief. This emotion you’ve leveed—your joy, your pain and embarrassment, your desire and need—it swells in you, threatening to slosh over. You blink it back, keeping it confined safely behind your lash line.

“I—thank you,” you manage, looking between them. Awed and humbled, you accept their offering, handling it with the care of something holy—something sacred—and drawing it to your chest. Immediately, Munch latches a claw into a drooping corner of the woven material, a happy hum sounding from his droll grin. “Thank you,” you murmur again, reverent and breathy, reversing away from them—refusing to drop their gaze until you must—before finally righting yourself and walking on.

You’re shaken. You’re shaking.

And it is on shaky feet that you meet Din some steps later, pausing once you arrive next to him. His helm shifts; you register the sweep of his eyes roving over you—the burn of them along your shoulders, sloping down to the blanket folded against your breasts, slipping lower to his adi’ka sitting in the satchel at your hip. He’s clutching at the new token, dipping the edge of it into his tiny mouth to teethe.

And then,

he lifts at the wrist, orange glove tips raising - reaching - towards you. Din takes the hem of the quilt between his fingers experimentally, massaging the feel of the fabric—his knuckles brushing the exposed skin of your arm, searing into your flesh like a hot iron, lingering there mesmerizingly.

It’s the first he's touched you. It’s the first he’s touched you since, since—

His hand drops, hinging back to his side.

“Ready?”

His modulated voice crackles indiscernible and your stomach leaps to your neck. Are you breathing? Kriff, you’re not sure. You have to check—deliberately drawing in a gust of chilled air, the rush burning your lungs as you suck it down. With a nod of your head, a placid smile glosses over the shudder of your features, dousing the singe of your nerves.

“Ready.”

///

You think about that old woman later that day, and the many days that follow, her visage marked with centuries and regret and history. Life, evident in the spider’s web of wrinkles engraving her. But there was love too, clearly wormed into the lines of her face. So much of it— almost too much for a galaxy this hard and war-torn. The things she’s possibly witnessed: the atrocities, the devastation, the loss.

The wisdom she has gained while all of those she’s ever known succumb to the inevitability of age, as her past decays around her. The knowledge she absorbs while she withers—while time does nothing but skip by. Blameless. Forever onward.

In your dreams that night, she appears in front of you like mist rising off a lake, astral and ephemeral— there, but not. Haunting you, inescapable wherever you fix your eye. The woman nods silently. She’s mouthing something to you, but the words never come.

You understand.

tags:

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @gracie7209 @thatonedindjarinfan @altered-delta @email2ash @stevie75 @shegatsby @onebrownoneblue @sammysdaisy @uniquebiscuitmongerdonkey

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #mando x fem!reader #Din Djarin #Pedro Pascal #star wars fandom #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x you #mando x you #din djarin x ofc #mando x ofc #king of cups

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