#TW: trauma

[feral-ballad]

Blythe Baird, from If My Body Could Speak; “Concerns from a hot-boxed jeep”

[Text ID: “How do I stop / carrying everything / that had ever / happened to me?”]

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

I’m a fierce believer and defender of Smooth Brain Astarion (affectionate).

I love that, if left to his own devices, he ends up dead in a ditch. I love that this pasty menace of an elf is a walking disaster. I love that his brain produces one coherent thought per day, only to have it backfire on him later on. I love that his first choice in freedom is to unapologetically be the worst version of himself. Because it makes sense. 

That’s what abuse and trauma do to your brain—they fuck with it. 

And in Astarion’s defence, the man didn’t have to use his brain for nearly 200 years—it’s probably the very thing that kept him as alive as he can be; to survive 200 years of pure shit. 

And what use is his brain when his days and nights are dictated by someone else for as long as he can remember? When he has no say in what clothes he wears. When he doesn’t get to choose what or when to eat. When his body and mind aren’t his own, distorted by torture and hunger and self-loathing, forced to obey his vampiric master. Why use his brain when his survival depends exclusively on his abuser’s whims? 

Astarion could’ve come up with the most brilliant plan possible to escape Cazador or save a mark from their doom, but he never stood a chance of succeeding—which doesn’t mean that he didn’t get punished for trying (or even thinking about it) anyway.

Existing under Cazador was a game he couldn’t win, so why bother playing? 

And it’s only by chance that Astarion’s autonomy is returned to him literally overnight. It’s only natural that he’s overwhelmed by his newfound freedom. How is he expected to make sound decisions when he can’t even recall a time when he could do and say as he pleased? 

Of course Astarion is a walking disaster when he finds himself on that beach after the Nautiloid crash—and he’s fully aware of that! That’s why it’s so crucial for him to get on the player’s/other companion’s good side.

He’s self-aware enough to be so insecure about himself that he would rather trust a stranger’s capabilities than his own. 

Being a catastrophe of a person is part of Astarion’s character journey. Not only does he have to reclaim his personhood, he has to learn how to depend on his own brain again and I think that's such a painfully beautiful, important message Baldur’s Gate 3 sends. 

Because healing isn’t pretty. Nor is it easy.

You’re not alright the moment you’re free of whatever horrors you had to live through—and that’s ok! There’s time and room for you to adjust. 

And the moment Astarion feels more or less safe within his new environment, when he’s fed and treated like a person worthy of respect and consideration, his insights, skills and perception are crucial assets to the group.

Astarion knows his art and literature, and although his little remarks are unhinged at times, he's genuinely witty. Even his objections are, considering the circumstances, absolutely legitimate.

Personally, I love seeing Smooth Brain Astarion become more and more secure in his judgement the more Tav/other companions trust and support him.

Astarion is smart, his brain’s just been stewed for nearly 200 years.

[monimccoythings]

Alastor x Daughter!Reader III (Platonic)

Yeah, this is going to take place after the end of season 1, just after Sir Pentious has ascended and the hotel has been rebuilt into a bigger better version. I just don't know how to fit Y/N in season 1.

Reminder: Alastor is in Hell for a reason.

TW: This contains a very delicate matter, like PTSD and panic attacks, even though I wanted to keep it brief because I'm not very well versed in these kind of subjects and wanted to be careful and respectful with it, I'm not entirely satisfied with how I wrote it, I researched and looked into my past experiences, but still don't think I truly adapted it as best as I would have liked. Also several mentions of cannibalism. Brief mentions of controlling behavior.

This isn't proof read so sorry for any grammar and/or vocabulary mistakes.

Part I ｜Part II｜Part III (You are here!)

tags: @anonymousewrites, @nonetheartist, @littledolly2345, @sunnyx07, @ouroborostheunholy, @mo-0-o, @sydneyyyya @lbcreations-blog

Soft jazz music enveloped the room, accompained by a strong smell of coffee and magnolias, someone was humming quietly to the music. Somehow, it reminded you of home.

You blinked groggily, trying to get the sleep away from your eyes, and leaned on your elbow. Why was the ground so soft and cushioned?

Yor eyes shot wide open when you remebered the events that led you there. The blood, the laughter, the eyes, the smile, the radio static... Your heart started beating wildly inside your ribcage, and you suddenly found yourself gasping for air. You clutched your old dress, hoping that would alleviate the growing pressure in your chest in some way.

"Well, look who's finally awake!" Alastor left the newspaper on the table and turned towards you, if his grin was supposed to be comforting it was not working. Just the fact that he was acting so casual, as if nothing had happened in the last ninety years made everything a million times worse.

"You are quite the hide and seek champion, ma petite faon. It took several years for my shadows to casually find you and then it took even longer for me to believe you actually had been sent here, ha ha!" His neck bended in an unnatural way as he laughed.

Crap. Did he always know where you were? Was this just a game of cat and mouse for him?

As if he had read your mind, his eyes adopted a more relaxed expression that did nothing to soothe your nerves. "Well, for the last ten years you gave me quite the chase, cher. Always on the move, never stopping, from one part of the ring to the other. And then there's that seven year gap." He muttered to himself that last part.

You still felt on the verge of a panic attack. Your body couldn't and wouldn't stop shaking, and felt like reality was blurring around you. Everything was happening too fast, it brought you back to that night decades ago when you found that your beloved father had actually been a serial killer. It almost felt like it was mere minutes ago.

Alastor knew of your discomfort, your fear. He could see it as clear as a day, he could almost taste it. He had always enjoyed tasting the fear on his victims, but yours only left an aftertaste of bitterness in his mouth. It was rotten, putrid and nauseating. Maybe because it was the only fear he should never had a taste of. Watching you like this also brought him back to the night he lost you.

As he held your unmoving body in his arms, for a couple of seconds his brain stopped functioning, unable to accept what had just happened. The pain he felt was just like someone had ripped his chest open and pulled out his still beating heart, only to crush it, leaving an empty and cold hole in its place.

He had taken you to your room and laid you in the bed, tucking you in. You looked so peaceful, if your face and clothes weren't stained with blood he would have believed you were sleeping. But you would never wake up again.

The next couple of days passed in a blur, tracking down the man who had dared to do this to you and then run away, and giving him his fair punishment. And as he dragged his mutilated body through the forest... Well... the rest is history.

"Anyways! All's well that ends well! Now I found you, and you won't need to worry anymore!" His chirpy radio filtered voice portrayed some genuine happiness that didn't reach you. The bond and trust that used to tie you two together, had been damaged beyond repair. And Alastor knew. That didn't mean he was going to give up, though.

Before he had the chance to make things even more awkward between you two, the door bursted open, revealing several people behind it.

"Oh, you're awake, that's so great! We were all sooo worried since Al suddenly brought you here, and you seemed passed out, we didn't know if you were alive or-" The blonde haired demon kept rambling, but you barely listened to her, way too much in shock. Behind her, there was a bunch of demons: a winged cat who would be rather doing anything else than be there, a tiny cyclops with a psychotic and perky smile; a spider demon who, if anything, looked confused; a taller cyclops demon girl who found the dirt in her nails to be way more interesting than you, and some kind of moth demon girl? You wondered if they all were going to participate in your slaughter or were just going to watch.

"-aaaand who were you again?" The blonde demon asked with an awkward smile.

"I'm very glad you're asking! Because this is no other than my beloved little girl!" Alastor opened his arms widely in a dramatic form of presentation as the sound effect of a studio crowd cheering mixed with his voice.

"Wha- hold the fuck up? Your daughter??? Didn't you sing to Luci-?"

One glare full of murderous intention and loud static was enough for the spider demon to shut up.

"Now, now, how about we let the newest addition to our merry little band have a well deserved rest." Your dad not so gently pushed the uninvited guests back towards the door.

"Addition? Is she our new guest?" The moth-like demon girl asked.

Alastor's face darkened and loud static filled the room. "A҉b҉s҉o҉l҉u҉t҉e҉l҉y҉ ҉n҉o҉t҉.҉". He swapped back to his more charming persona. "She'll be joining our facility as an assistant!" His tone admitted no further questioning, and, quite reluctantly, the staff and guests left the room.

So that's the story about how you ended working in the Hazbin Hotel.

Your work was mainly small chores or helping others. Nifty needed help to clean the rooms? You were there. Someone needed you to take cover at the reception? On it. Whatever tiny task someone needed help with, you had to do it.

You were not allowed to leave the hotel. Alastor made sure of that. Wherever you went, he made sure some of his shadows followed if he was not around, just to keep you controlled; although he'd rather call it, 'lovingly checking on his little baby'. It really was not needed, even if you didn't trust nobody there and your guard was still up, where else would you go? It was literal hell outside.

Years of hiding and living in constant fear of death or something worse had left you extremely mistrustful and fearful of people. There were times were you believed this was all a ruse to lure you into a false sense of security and then hit you were it hurt most.

It's not like you didn't believe in Charlie's dream, it was just you couldn't believe it could be possible, your father had very sincerely stated that he was just sponsoring it because he loved watching doomed souls struggle to achieve something meaningful and then fail spectacularly. Of course he did.

So, at least you had a roof over your head, enough food to eat, and a no-killing rule inside the hotel. Things could be worse.

Yet, there was still something inside you, something that you so desperately tried to let go but were unable to, as it had rooted itself deeply inside your mind and heart.

It started with small things, maybe a loud sound, maybe a bit of blood, it didn't matter because you could already feel yourself breathing heavily and sweating. It was like the entire world vanished around you. You couldn't breath, you couldn't think, your mind was on edge and your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. You were completely paralized with fear, your hands shaking furiously, making you drop whatever you were holding.

These episodes started becoming more and more frequent, the more you tried to fight against them, the stronger they became. Whenever Charlie, Vaggie or any guest tried to ask you about them you always tried to brush them off, not wanting them to see it as a weak spot to exploit.

After several episodes and you refusing to open yourself, Alastor had enough of watching you suffer and decided to take matters into his own hands. So, he took you to Rosie.

If you expected something out of a place called 'Cannibal Town' it certainly wasn't that. It looked so... normal, like any other town you would have found back in your time. Well, if you ignored the people eating an entire corspe on the street. Your father gently moved your face to face front, because apparently it was rude to stare.

Oh Rosie immediately adored you. 100% godmother material. That southern belle couldn't wait to pamper you and dress you up in all kinds of fancy clothes.

Talking to Rosie was surprisingly, easy, if you looked over her cannibalistic tendencies. She kindly offered you some fresh fingers, but quickly backed up when she saw you turning green, jokingly saying "Ah, teenagers and their diets."

Sessions with Rosie always left you crying and drained but in a positive way, you felt like a huge load had been lifted off your shoulders. It may be a long road ahead but it was a great start.

Talking to Vaggie also helped. Turns out being a former exterminator had left not only physical but psychological scars on her. The first months after she had been left to die in hell had also been very struggling for her. She helped you with breathing exercises, held your hands when they started shaking, and even was willing to teach you some self defence. Which your dad opposed to.

Charlie was... Charlie, always positive and upbribing but also respecting your boundaries, you were almost starting to belive she was being genuine.

There was another member of the staff who had not been present when you were first brought there and you had yet to meet. The King of Hell himself, Lucifer. Just knowing he could be there send shivers down your spine, wondering what kind of diabolical entity could he be. When you first saw that 4' overly excited manchild, at first you thought it was a joke.

Lucifer took a liking to you pretty easily, much to the annoyance of Alastor. He was curious about how someone as innocent and young as you could have ended in a place like that and vowed to protect you if someone ever gave you trouble. Your dad is seething. "Here, take this." And he just gives you a toy duck who backflips and makes the cutest rubber ducky noise. You loved it. Your dad is about to break the no-killing rule.

Alastor tried to win back your trust and love, even if he knew it was going to be a long and arduous task. He didn't care. He just got you back he was never letting you go.

He may not believe entirely in Charlie's dream, but he knew that if it was possible the one who had more chances to go straight to Heaven would be you. And he was not having that.

Alastor briefly considered making a deal to own your soul, just to ensure your safety and his control.

Up to this day he still doesn't know how you ended down there, and can't wait for the day when you will trust him enough to tell him.

He will respect your boundaries begrudgingly, he is your dad, he knows best. Will play nice and let you take your time with things. He will quietly show support for your emotional progress and make light physical contact, just enough to be supportive and not freak you out.

He cooks for you, and only you. The old homemade grandma's recipes he used to make back in your living times. At first, you didn't trust it, thinking he could have poisoned it. But the second you tasted his Jambalaya you felt like crying. Not only because after ninety years barely eating you were famished, but because for a couple of seconds, something there in the taste and smell had brought you back to simpler times. (like the Ratatouille guy)

Alastor truly desires to hear you call him 'Dad' again, you had yet to do so. Yes, you recognise him as your father, but after everything it just pains you to address him as such. It's like your dad and Alastor were two separate people. The loving father vs the serial killer, the guardian vs the Radio Demon.

He really loves you very much and it's been hard on him to keep that much distance from his little fawn. So he takes out his frustration on others, don't turn the radio on when he tells you not to.

And with time, his efforts were rewarded. Somewhat. You seemed to have gotten a bit more comfortably around him, at least you didn't flinch or recoil anytime he approached you. But you couldn't forget, you couldn't overlook the fact that he was a murderer and a cannibal and still doubted if anything you two had lived together had been truly genuine.

Honestly, it offended him that you would even think that way. Wasn't he there for you, always? Didn't he protect you from the darkness of the outside world during your living times? Wasn't he, as a father, devoted enough to his fawn?

But of course, actions spoke louder than words, and his actions had left too many cracks in your trust. But he will keep trying to win you back. Alastor's very patient demon, he has all the time in the world.

Y̸̗͉̺̱͂̕o̸̧̯̞̟̰̪̗̱̳̱̎̈̿̄̄͛̅͝͝û̴̦͔̹͈̣̥̾͛͑͗͋̅̏̂̚ͅ ̷̭͋̈͛̽͒̅̀̈́́̚ă̷̢̢̖̦͕̞͚͔̻̳̅̇̃͌̿͐̄̃̕r̵̨̢̺̦͇͚̙̈́̅̽́̊͠ę̶̺̖͋̐͐͌͘͠͝ ̶̖̲͎̜̮͚͉̰̒n̵̢͕̝͖̗̜̣̾̾̇̾̅̽͊͘ǫ̴̼̺̠̱̦̘̒̈̎̿̇́̔̉t̴͙͇̼̱̻̦̦͔̖͙̍͌ ̸̩̂́̎͒͘g̶͔͚̰̺͔͉͓͍͔̈́̽̈́͋͘͜o̵̹͔̫͚̼͚͒͑į̷̧̫͔̹͉̰̘̮̍͋͒̈n̸̢͕̙̙̞͔̓͐̓ͅg̵͖͇̜͚̗͙̤̫̱̝̉̂́̚ ̴̪̂͑̓̊͛a̷̖̞͊̄̈́͑͋̈́̄͘n̶̻̟̙̝̪̩͂̋͗ẏ̸̨̛̱̱͇̱͖̤͕̥͛́̍̂͛̕͠w̸̛̖͎̫̑h̵͔̝̣̀ẹ̵̝͍̳̟͚̪̍̒͋̒̀̊̏r̷̨͉͉̒̑̉̒̄̎̓̎͜͝͠ȅ̸̩͇̳.̵̠̪̖̍͂͠.

[thecataclysmic6]

Trauma that is uncommon is still trauma.

Trauma that is common is still trauma.

Trauma that you can't remember is still trauma.

Trauma that you CAN remember is still trauma.

Trauma that was physical is still trauma.

Trauma that was psychological is still trauma.

These events affected you negatively and noone can decide whether or not they were traumatizing except for you.

[anxious-lee]

Tickling is not always a simple kink/fetish

Sometimes, it's a way to cope with bad things that have happened to you

Sometimes, it's a way to let go when doing that before made you feel like you were about to die

Sometimes, it's the best language in which to tell someone that they are safe and cared for and protected

[arradraws]

🫶

[archie-sunshine]

Mb if youve already answered this before, but what are your thoughts on Ratchma? (Not just the sexy bits but also just the. Mess that is their relationship lol)

ooohhh girl....

Ok so this sat in my askbox for a bit, not because I don't have ideas, but because I have... far too many. I FINALLY got my shit together though. Ok first of all I'd like to say this post is a little bit pharma heavy, i feel like I would write my ratchet prettyyyyy close to canon?? I think i take a few big steps away from canonicity with my pharma

SECOND. here's what I think ratchma's vibe was as simply as possible

I think it began pretty normal all things considered!! I think he was a little bit clingy, a bit possessive, but like... it becomes odd when he's feeling like this about someone he's not even dating.

This SHOULD have been mitigated when they started dating. it was not. because Pharma is decent at hiding his weird side, and Ratchet was too busy to notice really, because he had a job and he cared a lot about it.

TW: UNDER THE CUT CONTAINS MENTIONS OF PSYCHOLOGICAL ABUSE, CODEPENDENCY, TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIPS, INSANITY/MENTAL BREAKS, BAD MENTAL HEALTH, AND TRAUMA THOUGH THESE DESCRIPTIONS ARE NOT INCREDIBLY IN DEPTH PLEASE BE SAFE!

During this time I do think pharma's BIG issue was that heeeee can imagine his way through anything. I think he was more in love with the idea of ratchet than he was with how ratchet actually was. I feel like pharma based a lot of his desire for ratchet less on him as a person, and more on his skill as a medic, and the rank he perceived him to have. It wasn't really out of manipulation or power grabbing so much as it was like... an obsession with an idealized version of Ratchet that doesn't really exist.

I feel like obviously that would kind of lead to some mild gaslighting on pharma's part. where if ratchet did something that didn't fit with his worldview, he would act like it didn't happen, talk about it like ratchet did what he wanted. Again, I think he got away with this because Ratchet was genuinely just too fucking busy to deal with it.

I think as well, his downfall was also his possessiveness, I don't think it's too much of a leap to say pharma would have been at best cold to those he saw as a threat to their relationship, and at worst, outwardly combative. I think he'd take a swing either socially or figuratively at whoever was 'in his way' if he thought he could get away with it though.

I think on ratchet's part, it's really difficult to be in a relationship with someone who puts you on a pedestal like that. To know everything you say has a 50/50 chance of going in one ear and out the other if they don't think it 'makes sense' for you to think that

Again, I don't think ratchet was really helpless, but judging by the way he ended his relationship with pharma by canonically GHOSTING HIM, I like making sense of that for ratchet by saying I think he had a few pretty good reasons not to end things properly, namely that pharma probably wouldn't believe him.

SIDE NOTE- PHARMA'S SANITY

Okay so I've seen some discourse about people who think pharma was always totally crazy, so i'd like to start by saying I don't think pharma was as cutthroat and murderous as he was at the end of the delphi arc, I think he's always been a liiiiittle bit off. I think pharma is a tragic character doomed by the narrative, I do think he had a hand in that narrative.

I've put together a helpful little chart here to illustrate!!

I fully believe that pharma was pushed to the brink by the situation with the djd, I think he would never be the person he is now without that situation. I feel like it's kind of stupid and naive to say that pharma was always gonna end up like that bc he was a little toxic and weird and bad for ratchet, I think having to betray your oath and butcher your patients for an insane t-cog addict is enough to really drive someone insane.

I feel like pharma dives off the deep end with wild abandon when he realizes Ratchet has met him again at his absolute worst, bringing around someone he seems to really adore(drift), now knowing that ratchet will never trust him again and that he sees him as a murderer and monster and there's know way he can delude himself out of that. I think he sort of goes 'MAY AS WELL!!! NOTHING MATTERS!! AHAHAHA'

NOW AS FOR. *AHEM* EVERYTHING ELSE.

I think pharma brings all of that possessiveness and insanity directly to bed with him. I think he would do anything for ratchet, i think he wants him so bad it makes him think terrible thoughts. I think he'd dissect that man if he got the chance, I think he's the type of guy to be like 'i gotta crawl into his ribcage or I'm not close enough to him' you know??

basically I think pharma is a simp and wants to rip Ratchet apart with his teeth. I think he would say 'oh yeah ratchet whatever you want to do is fine!' and he would mean 'i would do anything to feel your warmth against me for even one fucking second, youre mine, you are mine forever i will die without you'

on a more lighthearted note, Pharma is the type of guy to be like 'PAH! I WOULD NEVER STOOP SO LOW AS TO HAVE A MEDICAL KINK!!' while having the worlds most massive medical kink. I think if he got to do Ratchet's physical he would cum so hard he died. I think pharma has a thing for control, but he can spin literally any situation in his head so that he's in control, and so no matter what position he's in with Ratchet, he's pretty happy.

With anyone else though, he tops or power bottoms, no question, no room for switching.

OUGHHH GOD THIS WAS WAY WAY LONGER THAN I EXPECTED IT TO BE!!!!! AND GOT SO FUCKIN HEAVY I GUESS!! ANYWAYS!! THANKS FOR TUNING IN!!

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

"Whumpee asked for you specifically, A. I'll let you in to see them," Whumpee's medic and lover, Caretaker, said.

A couldn’t believe it. Whumpee wanted to see them? Before their best friend, B? After they sacrificed themself and were tortured by Whumper for months because of them?

They followed Caretaker, refusing to let them down, even as their face burned with shame, guilt gnawing at their insides.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leader Whumpee sat in the wheelchair, whiteboard sitting across their blanketed lap as Caretaker opened the door for A, the younger, sibling-like member of Team. A's breath hitched, eyes widening.

"They’re okay, A," Caretaker assured them. "Their throat is still healing, and they're still weak, but they're going to be okay."

A nodded, Caretaker letting out a deep breath. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to give the two of you some privacy. I have some things to attend to." The door shut behind them, leaving A standing before Whumpee, unable to meet their eyes at the sight of matching wounds from Whumper.

Whumpee's eyes burned with the shame of being unable to even give A a hug, or tell them that none of this was their fault. They attempted a smile, scribbling on their board.

"I missed you."

A's eyes welled with tears. "I'm so sorry, Whumpee," they whispered, hands curling into fists.

Whumpee shook their head vigorously, scribbling big letters on the board before tapping it when their marker. A looked up, hiccuping when they saw the message.

"It’s not your fault. They would've just killed you and taken me anyways. It's not your fault."

As A sank to their knees, they wrapped their arms around Whumpee in a hug, holding back tears as they pressed their face into the blanket.

[braineater444]

“To Be Better”

Big Brother!Yoshida x Gender Neutral Reader

(Tw: Sexual Abuse, Rape, Incest, Mild Smut, Mental Health, Suicidal Ideation)

A/N: I told myself I would finish this today and I did against my better judgment. This is not fully proofread and a bit different in comparison to other things I’ve written. Not heavy on the smut but definitely heavy. Idk. This isn’t good. Goodnight <3

Your older brother Yoshida is the brightest star to ever shine in your family. He got into all of the top universities (and every school he applied to for that matter) he’s smart, he’s attractive and everyone loves him to pieces, even those he’s only said one word to. He’s that type of guy. Too charismatic for his own good. A revolving door of people interested in being with him. Not a single flaw on his pretty skin.

Then, there’s you. You’re born second, but that doesn’t make you any where near close to second to him. Somehow, even with there being only two of you, you fall further down. You’re not placing in a race with him. You graduated two years after him, but no one from your extended family showed up like they did for him. You had a few friends, but were otherwise known as Hirofumi’s younger sibling. Your existence felt like an inconsequential blip when you were so eclipsed by him in every aspect of anything you did. He is the sun, but to say you’re the moon would be a lie.

So, it felt nice to graduate. To leave the school where every one knew you as a his shadow and the comparisons never ended. It felt nice to go to a community college where no one knew you and forge your own identity.

Even with him out of the house two years before, you still weren’t as free from him as you have been recently. You’re healing as of late. His winter break visit has come and gone and you’re getting better. This summer will be better. There’s just you and sure, you still live with your parents who always compared you to him, but now your lives have almost completely diverged. They have to, after all the work you’ve put in to getting better about being his shadow.

Of course, it’s not as simple as him having disappeared at university forver, though. It cant be your happily ever after. He comes home over his breaks and this one is no different.

The summer air is hot. It’s unpleasant and almost inescapable. There’s three popsicle sticks on your desk and the ceiling fan of your room is going as fast as it can go. It’s working desperately to cool you down with its gentle whirring, but still, you’re sticky with a light cast of sweat as you lay silently on your bed in wait.

You know he’s here. His voice flows proudly all through the house as he greets your parents and asks where you are and why you haven’t come to see him. You can hear him padding down the hall. Your brother has a distinct walk. It’s heavy and light all at once, like he’s waltzing his way to your door. A distinct feeling of dread punctuates each and every step.

As the door to your room swings open, you’re greeted by that same gut punch of a smile that you hadn’t been unfortunate enough to see since winter. This time it’ll be longer. The summer is too long.

“What?” It’s not really a question. Just something to make him go away.

“What?” He repeats back to you. “You’re not excited to see me?” Hirofumi… his voice is like silk; like he’s got it all figured out. It’s no wonder he’s got everyone fooled.

…

Usually it’s the summer heat that keeps you up all night, but tonight it’s him. You can’t see him, but you know he’s there and for that reason you haven’t left your room all day. His presence is an ache in your brain and the dryness of your mouth. This was supposed to be easier.

For the first time since he’s been back, you walk as quietly as possible out of your room praying that he isn’t awake. When you pass his room there’s no light coming from under the closed door and not a sound to be heard.

He’s asleep. Thank god.

You take a breath of relief and hurry yourself through the house, but as you round the corner into the kitchen the lights are on and he’s there. Closing the cabinets after putting up one last dish. And there it is. That sickening smile as he spots you.

“You didn’t eat dinner with us.”

You ignore him and pull open the refrigerator. All of the foods been neatly wrapped up and nicely stacked in small containers. You don’t check them to see what’s inside. Instead, you pick at a bunch of grapes and shovel them into your mouth one by one. There’s nothing to be said. You’re dealing with this well enough.

The grapes are ice cold and pop deliciously in your mouth. This is the best thing to happen to you all day. You needed this. You deserve this. Until, it’s interrupted by a large hand on your shoulder.

You stiffen.

“Don’t-” You turn and smack his hand off of your shoulder.

“Why are you acting like that?” He asks. He’s trapping you between his body and the ice cold inside of the refrigerator. He’s so close. Too close. You can smell him. He smells so fucking good. It’s sweet like fresh cut grass and natural like the wind traveling over the sea. It’s sickening. He’s making you nauseous by being in your space. A headache is forming. He shouldn’t be this close.

Your hand shoots out between the two of you and pushes at his chest before you even realize you’ve moved. You retract your hand like you were burned. “Move.” It’s quiet but stern. He doesn’t budge in the slightest. A look of confusion paints his face.

“What is your problem?” He steels himself.

For a second you almost believe him. You almost believe he’s truly lost and he doesn’t know why you’re acting like this towards him.

“You were fine when I came back over the break in winter.”

Right. Winter. You don’t even want to think about it.

He pulls you away from the refrigerator with a tight grip on your arm. You here it click closed and your brain stops working at the sound. He’s been treating you like this forever. Like a rag doll. For a second you let it happen. You have half a mind to let him do what he’s always done, but with the better half you pull away from him. His hand feels like it should’ve left burn marks in every spot he’d touched.

“Leave me alone.” You want to scream but it comes out as a hushed cry. Your nails dig into his forearm and he lets you go. You stumble back into the counter and you don’t even feel the pain that accompanies it.

“You don’t like me anymore?” His smile is confused. His eyebrows are furrowed. He pretends not to know what’s wrong.

…

You’re dealing with this the best way you know how.

He’s not here, in your room, but somehow he’s everywhere. His smell lingers in there air. Somehow it feels like his hand is still wrapped around your arms. You can’t get rid of him even in the quiet of your own room.

You lock the door. You unlock it. You lock it again.

You flick the light on. You flick it off. You flick it on again. You leave it off.

You start to try to lay back down, but you can’t bring yourself to touch your bed. Not with Hirofumi all over you.

The only solution is a shower.

The water burns just right against your thigh as you step in. You needed this. You weren’t ready to see him again.

Your body is trembling. How long have you been like that? Are there tears in your eye? You can feel your throat tightening up and wetness streaming down your face. Why are you crying? He didn’t do anything to you.

Maybe you shouldn’t be treating him like this. You liked him in the winter. You liked what happened then. You’re fooling yourself into thinking you’re the victim. After all these years, you’re not the victim.

Like a bullet in the chest it hits you all at once. So many years of him fight to the forefront of your thoughts.

Even as you scrub your skin you can feel his hands all over you. You’re sure the soap smells like him. You hold the soap to your nose and the thought goes away. It doesn’t smell like him.

You think about the winter. Your unlocked door. An invite for him to come in. You scrub at your skin.

You remember the heat of his body against yours. When you would beg him to stop. You scrub.

His hands gripping at your chest. Your quiet discomfort as you let him. The tears that rolled down your cheeks and the the way he kissed them away. You’ll clean him off of you even if your skin turns raw.

You can’t breathe. The tightness in your throat is getting worse. You’re sure you’re bawling. You want this to end. To go away. You need to go away.

Your knees buckles under you and when they crack against the shower floor the world becomes clear again. You can hear yourself sobbing. You can feel that the waters too hot against your skin. It’s too much.

A knock on the door comes as you rush to turn the water off.

“Are you okay?” Hirofumi’s voice lingers on the other side. You can smell him again. “Y/N~” He sings your name out with the beat of his second round of knocks at the door. “Do you want me to come in there?”

You’re still crying. You can’t catch your breathe. Your pleads for him not to come in are stuck in your throat.

You hear him say your name again. Then, the door starts to inch open. He can’t do this. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

“GO AWAY!” You scream out before you knew you could speak again. The door clicks shut. Footsteps sound further and further until they disappear. Relief. You melt in to the wall of the tub. He’s gone.

There’s no telling how long you stayed there; a mess of sopping wet hair and skin, but you eventually pull yourself together and rush to get your pajamas on. The long pants. The long sleeves. They tug against your wet skin and make you sweat already.

You look in the mirror; into your bloodshot eyes.

You can never brush your teeth enough. It’s like his tongue is always in your mouth. The taste of his breath lingers. The inside of your mouth feels like his. Too much like his. Your lips are so chewed up trying escape the feeling, they crack even more when you brush your teeth. You brush until your gums bleed. Until your mouth feels as raw as your skin. Until the taste of iron replaces him. Until you can sleep at night. The taste of him will come back. It always does.

…

Your parents don’t sit down for breakfast unless he’s around. Your mom doesn’t cook unless it’s for him. You don’t exist outside of him.

You push your food around your plate and tune them out. He’s sitting across from you and you’re not looking up unless you have to. You’re not hungry this morning. You don’t want to be here.

“Why don’t you want to learn how yo drive?”

The question sounds pointed at you. You stop, to listen again.

“You know…” You stop hearing his voice, but you’re sure he’s still talking. You keep looking down at your plate. “…really, I’m your big brother I should.” You can hear that fucking smile in his voice.

“That would be great, wouldn’t it, honey?” Your moms hand rubs soothingly over your thigh. You almost get the urge to cry again, but you can’t. “Hirofumi could be a great person to teach you?”

You look at her, confused.

“He can teach you how to drive. You should really learn. And maybe look at his new car.”

“It’s really nice.” Your dad cuts in.

He has a new car.

“It’d be great. To make new memories and stuff, right?” Hirofumi looks so endearing. The sun coming in through the window surrounds his body in soft morning light. Of course, he’s glowing. He casts a shadow over your breakfast plate.

“I’ll learn to drive on my own time.” You stuff your mouth with eggs.

Your mother insists that you let Hirofumi teach you. She’s like that. He’s her favorite. He does everything right the first time.

You leave breakfast early and leave them to their golden child.

You lock your door. You unlock it. You lock it again. You check the handle. It’s locked.

Your pajamas are suffocating you. It’s only going to get hotter from this point in the day, but you can’t change. You turn your ceiling fan on. You can breath.

You open a book and try to forget.

By the afternoon, the house falls silent. You leave your room and check all around the place. For each room you flick the lights on and of again and again. Not a soul. Tension relieves itself in places you didn’t know you had it. After checking all the locks, you sprawl out on the couch. Let them be gone forever.

…

You’re burning up. You’re sweating. You have a headache. The tv is on, but there’s some other noise. The couch suddenly feels too small.

“Do you want to go in my room?” Hands tap your cheeks to wake you. Your eyes struggle to open. Your mouth doesn’t move. Again. “Do you want to go in my room?” His face is far above yours, there’s brightness in his eyes, but they remain pitch black. His bangs are still too low. “It’s cooler in there. You’re sweating a lot. C’mon.”

He grabs you. Hoists you in to his arms and you latch on to him. You let him carry you. He loves to carry you. You’re so easy. So so easy. Why are you letting him do this.

“Hiro-”

Nothing.

“Hirofumi…”

“Hm?”

“Please take me to my room. I don’t want to do this.”

“It was fine a couple moths ago. Wasn’t it?”

You shake your head. You never liked it. That time you thought if you tried to enjoy it you’d hurt less. If you finally smiled and gave him what he wanted willingly it wouldn’t be as bad as all of the times before. It worked in the moment, but like every time before it came back to haunt you. You can’t do it again, but you don’t argue.

You let him lay you down on his bed. You go limp. You can’t run. You’ve never been able to stop this.

You think you say his name out loud, but if you do, he doesn’t answer. You ask where your mom’s at. Nothing. Your pajama pants are off. You hear yourself say stop. His hand smooths over your underwear.

There’s a moment of darkness and suddenly you’re both naked. You’re pushing at his muscles. His mouth is leaving wet kisses down your body. You swear you’re begging him to end this. There’s something of a cry for help in there. He can’t do this again.

“You wanted this last time, remember?” He breathes over your sex and drags his tongue across. Your body reacts as if you were struck by electricity, but you feel nothing. There’s just a strange wetness between your legs.

He can’t seem to remember the times before when you said no. All the times that came before the winter. When his hands traveled down in to your uniform. When you told him he didn’t need to kiss you before his graduation speech for good luck. When you said you didn’t want to know what he’d taste like. There were so many rejections, but he just can’t be a good brother.

He can only remember when you begged for him at the park last winter. When you let him climb in your bed and rub himself against the curve of your ass. When you licked his semen off the palm of your hand and kissed him hungrily. He can only remember last winter.

You were so scared. You thought you could face your demons head on.

He’s inside you. He’s so deep inside you. His tongue lick’s at the salty tears and sweat on your cheeks. His lips interlock with yours and you don’t kiss back. Not this time. You feel nothing and everything. Every vein dragging in and out of you. Every fingernail digging into your waist. The muscle in his chest where your hands aren’t pushing any more. Every breath he steals from you. But you don’t feel it.

You’re trapped eye to eye under him. His bedside lamp is dim, but you can see his face so close to yours. He’s tearing you apart from the inside. You have to be dying. You want to die.

“Hiro… I’m going to kill myself.” You manage between tears, broken moans and unstable breaths. “Please stop. I’m going to die. I’m going to kill myself.” It all pours out of your mouth like a flood.

“No. I’ll take care of you,” He says as he lays kisses along your throat.

“No. I’ll die.” You sniffle. “I’ll just die. I promise. I can’t do this. Please stop.” You might be screaming. There’s no way for you to tell. He’s slamming in to you harder. You can see it. You can’t feel it, but you know it hurts. Then it all stops. You can’t see anymore. There’s nothing. Again.

He’s there. Laying on your stomach when you come to. You feel sticky. Like your body’s covered in slime. Gross. Like you’re wrapped in spiderwebs. Like your brother’s been inside of you. Like this has been going on for as long as you can remember.

You try to push him off of you. You’re still naked. You don’t want your pajamas back anyway. You just want the shower. You push at his head and try to slide your body from under him. His scalp is wet with sweat.

You just want to shower. He won’t budge. His smell is seeping deeper into your skin by the second.

He turns to face you.

“Mom and dad are out all night. We have time.”

You give up. You’ll never be clean again.

[cubitodragon-moved]

And instead of either of the two waffle topics I was originally thinking about (i've put those on the backburner), my brain decided to laser focus on this:

Fit being Sunny's bodyguard, and a specific moment that stood out when he was present in that role for her.

That specific moment being when Tubbo - frustrated by Create not doing as he expected, and Fabric vs Forge throwing off his groove - went off on a very loud, angry rant, in his typical overbearingly dramatic fashion*.

(* I say this entirely light heartedly! but it is one of the reasons I am NOT a Tubbo viewer - I do not mesh with his style of streaming, and his presence in my preferred view point streams is very tiring for me personally.)

The moment he kicked off, Sunny was immediately crouching and placing Fit between herself and Tubbo. In that moment, as he ranted and raved, she tucked herself behind Fit, using his bigger body as a shield, circling behind him as the older Islander listened to Tubbo complain about how things weren't working as they were supposed to.

And I realised what was happening - because it reminded me of tales about how abused dogs acted when the source of their stress was in the house: cowering when hearing voices raised, and hiding, because to be caught in the headlights of the one making the noise was a sure sign they would be the target of whatever frustrations that person had. And how those reactions carried over into their new homes thereafter.

Sunny was scared in that moment. Of Tubbo, who adores her. Who will build anything she wants. Who educates firmly but fairly, even as he makes sure to create things on her behalf for her benefit. Who would throw himself on to every fire possible to keep her safe. Because he lost his temper and was directing it elsewhere, but did not keep it hidden from his child! Now, we the audience know that he'd never do anything to her with intent to harm; his temper was never directed at Sunny, it was not caused by Sunny - but Sunny was still scared, and did not approach again until she was certain her Pa was calm and in control again. Because how could she know that that anger wouldn't be turned on her?

Hence why she has someone employed to protect her. Someone who is not one of her parents.

(And then I remembered she has a sign calling out the fact Tubbo hit her - a misclick, an unintended mistake! - on the very first day they met, and its one of the first things she informed other adults of on meeting them.)

Something happened to Sunny back on Egg "Purgatory" Island. In that Life Before, someone she was assigned to and trusted abused that trust. She was on the receiving end of someone else's anger and frustration - perhaps when experiements didn't work out how they wanted. After all, that's what the Eggs are under the Federation! And someone somewhere made a point to give her a name, even if it isn't a particularly kind one when read in full. Sunny never speaks of that place, and it's very clear that she never wants to think of it again. Quesadilla is home now. Tubbo is home now.

But the scars of that old life are still there. How long will it take until Sunny feels she can trust Tubbo - or anyone else - enough to tell them what happened in her old home?

[feral-ballad]

Jihyun Yun, from Some Are Always Hungry; “Savaging”

[Text ID: “I woke up having / forgotten even your faces, / but remembered / my hunger. What if this is all / I am left with: / memories of my young body / rifling through refuse”]

[xxno-thoughts-just-chaosxx]

Page 87

"Such a fuss."

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Next

Previous

START HERE

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What- an anime reference in MY - yeah, you caught me.

[starleska]

Have you ever read the Twelve and Toymaker comic? It gives a few more interesting looks into how the Toymaker thinks that aren’t touched on in the novelisation. Most interestingly (and the main focus of the comic) is that the Toymaker is terrified of the universe outside of the Toyroom — which seems to be defined by its walls, in the novelisation the Toymaker puts particular emphasis on the walls with the candy-striped wallpaper lined with dolls — because it has no walls and because he doesn’t (didn’t? He does in the Giggle) have much control of it.

(‘‘The Toyroom is growing old, Doctor. So ancient that it no longer functions, as either prison or playground. The barriers between the Toyroom and the wider universe are growing thin, and it is this that has allowed you to wrest control of the toys, as my power wanes. Soon, there will be no Toyroom and I shall be loose in a wild, unforgiving universe, a cosmos with no walls. I can hardly conceive of such infinite horror.’’)

(‘‘You’ve given a madman access to the entire universe! With that sort of power, think what he’ll do!’’ ‘‘That’s just it, Clara, he doesn’t want the universe. Didn’t you hear him? He’s terrified of it. He can’t bear the thought of losing his control. He needs his safety net.’’)

And that he doesn’t tend to accept help unless he thinks he’s won it.

(‘‘So you’re just giving him the TARDIS?’’ ‘‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m building a new Toyroom!’’ ‘‘Inside the TARDIS!’’ ‘‘Precisely! I had to let him think he’d won. He’d never accept my help otherwise.’’)

And THESE PANELS lives in my head

(‘‘I had to help him, Clara. Can you understand?’’ ‘‘Let me see... a lonely God, drifting through space and time in his magical toy box? Yeah, I think I understand, Doctor, all too well.’’)

The EU tends to give the Toymaker more than his actual TV appearances (mmmm his rambles about being alone in the void and the cold in the novelisation). I need to dissect him and study him in detail so bad

hello love!!! oh my goodness thank you for sending this my way, because i haven't read this comic yet but the sections you've sent me have absolutely broken my heart 💔 what an interesting look into the Toymaker's psyche…it makes perfect sense. when you're a trauma survivor of any kind, especially if you grew up in a traumatic environment, the control you're able to have over that environment (no matter how minimal) is often all that keeps you together…you have to find comfort in that there and whatever small safe space you can carve out for yourself to survive. this has given me a lot to think about, because i wrote the Toymaker with what i think was the canonisation given when he spoke to the Sixth Doctor; that the Toymaker created his Toyroom after a very long time of aimlessly using his powers, when he didn't have a concept of gameplay. there seems to be some contention about whether or not the Toymaker is the creator of the majority of older games in the universe/the concept of games (The Giggle seems to allude to that?), or if he was inspired by other beings who created the games first. i like to think it's a bit of both; that he is the originator of many early games and gameplay rules, but it was the barriers between the voidspace (and his Toyroom) which let in the ideas from other beings 👀 the idea that the Toyroom is the Toymaker's island of safety against a universe which fundamentally doesn't make sense to him is so distressing 😭💖 i think a lot of us who've gone through difficult things can relate to that experience…of having your safe place slowly eroded as circumstances change and you grow older. but it makes sense!!! if he had no one, and the only thing he could cling to were the rules of his games (seemingly the only thing which brings him joy), the inherent chaos of the universe would be terrifying to him. no matter how much he tries to make it so, the universe just isn't a game with rules that can allow him to win: it's random, and brutal. is it any wonder that he has such tantrums when he loses, or when he perceives someone to be cheating? it isn't just that he's upset about losing or bad sportsmanship...it's the literal fabric of his entire worldview being torn apart. oh lord the bit about him not accepting help unless he thinks he's won it…how familiar does that sound to those of us who were traumatised early on? needing to 'earn' things like affection, shelter, food, etc. by working twice as hard, because we feel we don't deserve it inherently...the fact that the Doctor shows the Toymaker such compassion even though the Toymaker is such a dangerous, destructive entity is a real credit to their character. i really appreciate The Giggle replicating that and showing how the Doctor empathises with the Toymaker's terror by offering to play with him...i wish we'd had more time to explore the 'vastness that will never cease'. i don't think that good or bad mean nothing to the Toymaker...i think he's petrified of it. suddenly we understand why he's so boastful about his abilities, like an arrogant child...he's asserting himself against the universe as the only safety he's ever known crumbles. god. my heart hurts - that image of him sitting with the dolls of himself and the Doctor is killing me. i am going to go and read this comic and cry now, thank you so much 😭💖 yes please do!!!! your insight into the Toymaker is fantastic and i'd love to see more character studies of him 😭💖

[nowritingonthewall]

Absolutely loved your 👶 and 💍 headcannons for Steven, not to mention Marc’s marriage headcannons. If you don’t mind, could you do 👶 headcannons with Jake and Marc (and possibly 💍 for Jake)?

Hello lovely Nonnie, here comes part two 🥰

!Content warning for pregnancy, parenthood, and past trauma!

Please be aware that I am neither an expert on DID nor on trauma.

Angsty because it’s Marc, but also fluffy because he deserves it.

👶 Family headcanons with Marc Spector (x female reader)

- When you first find out that you are pregnant, Marc is absolutely terrified of the idea of becoming a father. No matter how far he may have come on his healing journey, a part of him is still grappling with the guilt of not being able to save his little brother, while another part keeps telling him that he wasn’t able to protect Steven the way that he should have.

How could he, Marc Spector, who ruins the life of everybody that he gets in contact with, be trusted with the responsibility of taking care of something as precious and fragile and helpless as a newborn child? And what about when they grow up? What will happen if his child witnesses him being triggered into a melt down, what kind of pain will he inflict upon them if he isn’t able to control his rage and aggression in front of them? And his nightmare of all nightmares: What if he turns into his mother?

- So, while Steven dives straight into learning everything possible there is to know about pregnancy and child birth, as Jake launches ‘Project mission impossible: making your flat child safe’,  Marc falls back on his instinct to retreat and let Steven and Jake be the fathers that your child deserves. Of course, neither you nor his alters are ready to accept that.

It’ll take a lot of love and patience to convince him how much he is worthy of being a father, but fortunately, he has got you and Steven and Jake to help and support him (and he doesn’t deserve any less).

- During the first few weeks of your pregnancy, he carefully avoids your bump as if he could hurt your unborn child just by touching it.

When his hand lands on your belly for the first time by pure accident and he can feel the little one reacting to him, it suddenly hits him in all its brutal force, the reality of it all and the small and precious little life growing inside of you. But before the rising panic can get a proper hold of him, you carefully lay a re-assuring hand over his, while you gently cup his face with your other hand and remind him how to breathe and that he wasn’t alone and that everything was going to be okay. When his breathing returns to normal, you ask him carefully whether he would like to see the first sonogram of his son. Not letting go of his hand, you wait until he nods ever so slightly before presenting him with the very first ultrasonic scan of your child. You can see a whole galaxy of emotions pass through his eyes before he looks back to you with a soft yet determined gentleness.

Marc is a protector. And while his unshakable need to protect the ones he loves may not erase his fears, it is certainly strong enough to pose a counterweight to be reckoned with. And you are there. And Steven. And Jake.

And maybe… just maybe… it is going to be okay…

- His protectiveness doesn’t only go through the roof; it flies right to the end of the universe and back again. You so much as think of lifting anything heavier than a cup of tea and he is at your side immediately, offering a helping hand. (He respects you way too much to simply take anything out of your hands, but he is always there to offer his help.)

At the slightest sign of you showing any discomfort, he’s there, with no need or wish of you being too ridiculous or too exhausting to fulfil. Even though he may struggle to put his feelings into words, his actions more than speak for themselves.

He would take all the pain from you, if only he could find a way to do so.

- Your sudden mood swings are particularly hard on him in the beginning. Every time you start to cry for no apparent reason, he defaults to assuming that he must have done something wrong. Even after Steven has had a long and detailed discussion with him about “those bleedin’ ‘ormones”.

Yet, no matter how much it may hurt himself to see you in discomfort and no matter how helpless he may feel upon having to watch you being in pain without being able to do anything to ease it, he swallows it all down, as he lies down with you, gently holding you and hugging you and stroking your back until you are feeling a little better.

- The first time that Marc finds himself completely alone with your son lying in front of him on the changing table, he struggles to fight against the all too familiar rising panic of doing something wrong.

As his son looks up at him with his bright and shining eyes, he can see Steven in them, his wonder and curiosity. He can see Roro in them, his innocence and admiration for his older brother. He remembers how his mother would shush him away harshly, whenever he wanted to help her take care of little Roro. As if he could hurt his little brother, simply by being there. And somehow it was always his fault whenever Roro started to cry.

But instead of starting to cry when Marc cradles his head with his warm protective hand ever so softly, his son squeals and kicks his little legs into the air, before trying to grab for Marc’s curls.

And then he can see himself. Innocent little Marc who never understood what he had done to deserve to be treated like that by his mother. Before he had given her a reason to hate him. And as his silent tears start to fall, Steven’s words are echoing through his mind, “It wasn’t your fault!”

With the excited babbling of his son bringing him back to the present, he begins to smile through his tears. One of those rare and real Marc smiles.

Placing the softest of kisses on his son’s forehead, he whispers, “Hey, little one. I am sorry that you’re stuck with me as your dad. But you’ve got the best mommy in the whole world and your other two dads are there to make sure that I don’t screw up, okay? And… I promise that I’m always gonna be there for you, little one!”

- In the beginning, Marc feels somewhat anxious about never knowing what to say to your little son (and later your daughter) and just chatter away like Steven would. He doesn’t really know any lullabies, either, because he can’t remember his parents ever singing to him and the memory of his mother singing to Roro is still too painful to explore. So at one point he starts to gently hum whatever melody comes to his mind and your little ones don’t seem to mind at all to be softly lulled to sleep by hard rock or metal melodies.

The first few times you catch him doing so, he immediately stops, all flustered and maybe even a little ashamed. So you start to listen from the next room, which may be a little sneaky, but you can’t resist that beautiful sound of his voice, gently floating through your flat like a soothing and nourishing balm for everything that is hurting in your mind and heart and soul.

One night, though, when the both of you are particularly exhausted and your son won’t stop crying, no matter how hard you try to soothe him, and you are fighting to get up again, Marc softly tells you to go back to sleep, even though he is hardly able to keep himself up on his own two feet himself. A few minutes later you find them on the coach, your little son curled up on Marc’s chest, his little fingers buried into the fabric of his dad’s shirt, slumbering peacefully as Marc keeps gently humming what happens to be your very favourite song. When he doesn’t stop upon noticing you standing in the doorway, you tiptoe over to them, carefully smooth a stray curl from his face and place a soft kiss to his forehead before whispering, “You’ve got a lovely voice, sweetie. May I join you?” Probably too tired to protest, he just smiles and nods, reaching out his arm for you to invite you to snuggle up to him. 

So now, whenever you are the one who can’t sleep or you are just yearning for a little peace of mind, you ask Marc whether he could hum a little tune for you with that beautifully soothing voice of his. And he is always happy to hold you tight while softly lulling you to sleep.

- Marc prefers structured baby carriers to buggies and strollers. With his kids safely secured to him, it’s so much easier to keep his hands free for fighting off villains and potential kidnapping attempts. Even while constantly scanning your surroundings, he keeps checking on your kids every few seconds, making sure that they are still comfortable and their head doesn’t loll into a weird position. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the warm feeling that caresses your heart whenever you see his eyes soften as he looks down at your children in complete awe, the little wonder so close to his heart.

- Marc never leaves your little ones to cry on their own. Especially after you have reassured him that it is literally impossible to love and comfort a baby too much.

As soon as he hears the tiniest of sobs in the next room, he needs to check on them. Always careful, never overwhelming them with his protective yet calm manners, but always there in case they might need him. And your little ones know that he’ll be their safe haven as soon as they reach out their little arms for him.

Now and then he has to stifle a sob over how trusting your children are towards him. And even though you always notice, he usually acts as if it was nothing. But he’ll still allow you to pull him into a hug and melts into you as you gently stroke over his hair, placing a loving and knowing kiss on top of his head.

With every reassuring word from you, the raging screams of his mother in his mind are fading a little more and every time that his kids are reaching out for him with nothing but endless trust in their eyes, another wound in his heart begins to heal.

- Marc doesn’t let loose easily. Even though his frown is turned upside down a lot more frequently ever since your children came into your life, it still takes a lot for him to let down his guard. So you are more than a little surprised when you come home during your kids’ very first mummy wrap game that quickly turned into a full blown toilet paper battle and it’s actually Marc fronting and laughing until is beautiful eye crinkles are sprinkled with tears of happiness.

Instead of stern looks or even screams reprimanding him, he is met with the delighted squeals and giggles of his children, which are soon accompanied by your wonderful laughter. So he doesn’t stop until every piece of toilet paper is destroyed and you are all lying on the floor cuddled together for official peace talks. The moment that he properly takes in the mess and the first signs of guilt start to creep up on his face, you pull him closer and cover his face in soft little kisses so that those nasty feelings immediately surrender and retreat to where they came from.  

- We know that Marc is the most ticklish one of your boys and he loves to draw those little giggles from your kids after finding out that gently tickling them is such a lovely way to make them smile again, whenever they seem close to crying (though he always goes through his little checklist to make sure that everything else is okay, first).

That is, until your kids become a little older and Jake sneakily teaches them how to tickle back. Your beloved cosy morning cuddle sessions with Marc and your little ones quickly turn into absolute mayhem after that.

- Marc has a hard time saying no to his children, unless there’s an immediate threat to their safety (and even then it breaks his heart to see their disappointed faces). Sometimes you come home to find him covered from head to toe in finger paint as your kids are discovering their artistic talents. Sometimes you find him with a hundred little tails and bows in his hair. And sometimes you just have to rescue him after being tied to a chair for hours.

- Marc used to love the original Star Wars trilogy when he was a kid. In fact, those were probably the only movies that came even close to rivalling his love for Tomb Buster. And despite all the pain that comes with remembering how he used to watch them with his little brother, re-discovering that universe with your children gives him a chance to balance those painful memories with more happy ones.

When your little family sits down in front of the tv to watch The Force Awakens for the very first time together, it doesn’t take long for your kids’ eyes to grow larger than the moon. As a certain dashingly handsome and brave flyboy appears on the screen, your son’s eyes dart to his dad. And he looks back at the screen. And he looks at his dad. And he looks back at the screen. And he looks at his dad. And he looks back at the screen. And he looks at his dad. And then he lowers his voice, whispering conspiratorially, “Dad, are you… are you a hero in disguise on a secret undercover mission?”

As you involuntarily snort into your tea, your daughter explains matter-of-factly, “Of course he’s a hero, dummy. That’s why there are never any monsters under our bed. Have you seen the size of the spider he caught in the kitchen yesterday?”

Needless to say who Marc has to disguise as for Halloween for the next couple of years. And your kids are very persistent in their opinion of believing that of all the boys, Marc is the one that resembles Poe the most. Even more so when you’re able to convince him to grow those poe-tic mini sideburns (which only takes, like, two days).

And after an exciting evening of guising (or trick-or-treating), he turns into an X-wing and carries his little rebels safely back home. 

- Marc gives the warmest, most comforting and reassuring hugs imaginable. And your children never completely outgrow their longing for being welcomed by his open arms. Whether they just need a shoulder to cry on or a moment of really basking in the warmth of feeling unconditionally loved and cared for, completely safe as if nothing in the universe could ever hurt them.

His hugs were really born from his endless need to protect and comfort his children, while at the same time being convinced that anything he might say would only make things worse. So he had just hoped that your children would be able to feel at least a fraction of the love and care that he put into each of his hugs.

When your daughter gets her heart broken by a boy for the very first time and you aren’t home yet, he sits with her for hours, desperately trying to ignore all the things that he would like to do to that bastard. Just holding her close to his heart, gently stroking up and down her back. Answering each of her sobs with a soft kiss to her temple. Hugging her a little tighter whenever a new wave of tears begins to fall.  

When her sobs begin to subside, she looks up at him, smiling through her tears, and gives him a heart-felt kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Dad!”

“What for, Sweetie?”

“For… well... you never try to talk me out of my shitty feelings. You just accept them and me, and… and… and are just there for me. And… I love you, Dad!”

Now it’s Marc that needs a hug. All this time he has thought that nothing he could try would ever be good enough. And now it looks like the parts of him that make him feel like failing his children the most are actually exactly what they seem to have needed all along.

He gets that hug and so much more when you find him on the couch that night, after having a long comforting session with your daughter yourself. And it seems like you know exactly what’s going through his mind. Somehow, you always know.

Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you slowly let your hands wander down his arms until your chin comes to rest on his shoulder and you can intertwine your hands with his.

“You’re a wonderful dad, Marc.”

“Yeah… because of Steven and Jake and you.”

“And you!” You gently cup his cheek and guide his head to make him look at you.

“Your children love you, Marc. We love you!”

Before his first sob can really break to the surface, you catch it with your wonderfully warm lips. Your own tears are threatening to fall when you can feel how easily he melts into your embrace. How readily he buries his face in the crook of your neck as if it was the most natural place for him to rest his head. How he completely trusts you to hold him and everything that he is carrying in his heart.

How so much of his pain and despair has turned into trust and love.

And maybe. Maybe it really is going to be okay.

[kriimhild]

Chapter 6 - Sharp beats Shark

+18 fanfic! tw: suggestive, past-trauma experience, needles, alcohol

[awkward-tension-art]

Catatonia

Leon x gn!reader

Warnings: Trauma, depressive catatonia, crying, hurt/comfort, panic attack, post-raccoon city, Leon needs a hug, reader-insert, gender neutral pronouns but lmk if I slipped up anywhere, reader being supportive and taking care of Leon

Everything I know about catatonia is based on my own research and my undergrad psyc degree, so chances it may not be accurate. Enjoy the sadness!

You had no idea what happened.

Leon was supposed to go to Raccoon City and begin his first day as a cop. He would be ahead of you for a couple of months while you finished your semester. You were supposed to transfer to Raccoon University.

But then Raccoon City collapsed. The president bombed the city and everyone in it. 100,000 souls, wiped off the face of the earth.

For a day you thought you lost your boyfriend. Your grief was overwhelming, assuming he had died. Only to get a call from the military, confirming his survival, along with a little girl named Sherry.

Once you reunited, you brought him back home. Sherry, taken to a hospital for testing and recovery from…some type of infection.

Leon looked like hell. He was covered in grime, sweat and blood. The RPD uniform he wore was ripped and ragged. And his shoulder…filthy bandages were wrapped around his shoulder.

Worse of all, his eyes…his beautiful baby blue eyes were empty. Distant. Traumatized.

He seemed entirely dazed. Confused even. Unaware of his surroundings.

“Come on,” you whispered, leading him from the entrance of your small apartment to your shared bedroom.

Your upstairs neighbors must’ve dropped something, because you heard a muffled thump. Leon, in response, jumped. His hand shot to Matilda, grabbing the gun tightly.

“Leon, it's ok.” You spoke softly, your hand reached for the gun, putting your palm on the top of the barrel, “It’s ok…you're safe.” Matilda was trembling in his grip. He didn’t speak, as you took the pistol from his shaking hands. You clicked the safety, took out the mag and emptied the chamber.

Your eyes roamed his face. Jesus christ, he looked terrified.

Your boyfriend was traumatized. PTSD, you theorized. But without a professional, you couldn’t be certain.

“Come on,” You put Matilda down on the counter and slowly led Leon to your bedroom. Once inside the room, you sat him down on the bed. You didn’t care about the stains on the sheets; they could be washed or replaced.

“Leon.” you knelt, having him look down at you, “I’m gonna remove the…armor, ok?” You weren’t entirely sure what Leon was wearing on his body. Was it some type of specialized riot gear?

You received a small nod.

“Ok…I’m gonna start at the chest.” You had to warn him of everything you did. Any wrong move and Leon might jump. You didn’t want to scare him.

Your hands went to his side. You had to move his arm, which allowed you to lift the velcro. With the sound of the usual tearing, you freed one side. You did the same for the other, being careful of his injured shoulder. Once the armor was open, you slowly and carefully lifted the chestpiece over his head.

Leon was still silent. His eyes were still distant and unseeing.

Your fingers went to his belts. This felt…you were afraid of violating your boyfriend. “I’m gonna get your belt off ok?” You remained kneeling, “Can I, Leon?” Was he even in the right mind to consent to undressing?

He wasn’t speaking, mind entirely somewhere else.

“Ok…Listen, I’m going to get your belt off, then the rest of your clothes, ok?” You explained softly everything you planned to do. “Then, I’m going to turn on the shower, and get you washed up.”

No response either.

You were running out of ideas. Your hands went over his, “Leon…If you understand me, please squeeze my hand.” You hoped and prayed he could do that much at least. Your eyes met his, silently begging him to react to…something.

His fingers twitched. Good.

You smiled ever so slightly, “Alright…Here…” carefully, you put his gloved hand on your shoulder, “If you want me to stop, you squeeze my shoulder, ok?” It was a way for him to communicate without speaking.

Your movements were slow and clear as you removed his belt. It was surprisingly heavy, weighed down by the hip pouches attached to it. Jesus, what did he carry? There was a knife sheath wrapped around his leg. The moment you touched it, Leon’s hand shot to the handle.

“Woah, it's alright.” You pulled back, giving him space, “Leon, it's ok. You're safe.” your tone was quiet and reassuring, “It’s you and me right now. It's just you and me.”

Slowly, his grip loosened and he let the knife go. His eyes stared at you, through you. Your boyfriend wasn’t seeing you anymore.

Carefully, you removed the sheath and its straps. Pulling the other smaller armor pieces off was easy enough. However, your hand grazed his shoulder, causing him to flinch. At first you assumed it was a bruise or type of scratch, yet you were still careful getting his shirt off and peeling off the dirty bandages.

It was worse. Much much worse.

A gunshot. Jagged, circular, and surrounded by dark spidery veins. Your boyfriend had been shot!?

“Oh my god…” You breathed, “Leon…” Checking his shoulder, you realized the bullet had gone through completely. “Has anyone seen you for this? A doctor?”

He didn’t answer you.

“Ok…” You sighed, calming yourself, “I’m gonna turn on the shower.” Your steps were quiet but hurried as you got to the bathroom. Your thoughts were racing as you turned the water on, setting it around the temperature you knew Leon liked.

Your boyfriend had survived something awful in a city that’s been bombed. He’d been shot. Taken in by the military. Returned to you traumatized and quiet.

You returned to his side, kneeling down and looking into his eyes. “Let's get you cleaned up, ok?” The both of you were silent as you got Leon to his feet and to the bathroom. Once inside, you put his hand on your shoulder again as you pulled off his filthy pants and boxers. You did your best to not react to the smell.

Christ. Did he run through a sewer ?

You tried not to ponder, leading your boyfriend into the shower. He grimaced once the warm water began to hit his skin.

This stupor he was trapped in scared you. He most likely wasn’t in control. Was he at least aware of the world around him? You didn’t know enough about catatonia. He needed a professional. A doctor. You’d take him to the ER after the shower.

The water around your feet had turned brown from the grime on Leon’s body. It slipped down the drain in a continuous stream as you grabbed some body wash and began to scrub his skin. Tonight, you’d use your shampoo, conditioner and soft loofah. If your boyfriend was in the right state of mind, he’d deny loving the vanilla and lavender smell you preferred for your soaps. But he wasn’t, and you used them anyway.

You grabbed your shampoo and squeezed out more than the ‘recommended quarter size’. Reaching up, you ran your soapy hand through his hair before scrubbing your fingers into the strands. Leon grimaced again when you began to massage the sweet smelling soap into his hair and scalp.

“I’m sorry, I don't mean to be rough.” You murmured, washing his hair as much as you could. With only one wash, you weren't satisfied. Neither would your boyfriend. You tilted his head back and poured more shampoo directly onto his head. You scrubbed again, being more gentle this time.

One more wash later and you could tell his hair returned to its natural blonde.

Hopefully…

Next battle was his skin. You started at his neck, being as careful as you could as you scrubbed. there was a slight flinch when you touched his neck, causing you to back off. Leaving that area of his body alone, you moved on.

You were as careful as you could be with his shoulders and arms, especially around the bullet wound. Leon grimaced again when you began to clean his hands. His empty eyes stared ahead as you worked to clean under his fingernails.

Thank god you had a nail cleaning kit. It came in handy as you cleaned as much as you could. It felt like you spent a good 10 minutes on each fingernail, removing grime, mud and…blood.

Once done, the bottle of body wash you used was empty. You mentally thanked yourself for picking up a new bottle just a few days before Leon left. Popping the tab open, you got to work on his chest and back.

He’d been stock still the entire shower. Even when you began to wash his legs and feet, he didn’t react. Normally he’d try and pull away, complaining of being ticklish. But tonight? Nothing was causing any sort of reaction.

By the time you felt your boyfriend was clean and the water streaming down the drain was clear, the shower had run cold.

Leon wasn’t even shivering.

“Come on…” Your words were soft as you turned the handle, shutting off the water. “Let’s get you dried and dressed.”

Lean remained unresponsive as you pulled him out. You wrapped a towel around his waist as you took another and began to dry his face and hair. From there, you dried the rest of his body. The towels were blessedly clean and unstained when you pulled them off. Good, you managed to get off all of the unknown gunk that had clung to his form an hour ago.

“Leon,” He was entirely lost to you. You weren’t even sure if he could hear you, “I don’t know what happened, but I’m here for you, ok?” Gently, you stroked his cheek, looking into his unfocused and dazed eyes.

Catatonia. Completely.

Once you managed to get him dressed, you got him sitting on the couch to rest a bit more. You stripped the comforter off the bed and threw it into the washer along with the towels. They’d run while you take your boyfriend to the ER.

It was late now. A little past 3AM by the time you got in. The intake nurse was kind and understanding, taking you and your boyfriend to a bed after a 30 minute wait.

Honestly, the ER was a blur. You held his hand while he sat on the bed. Some tests were run. You were asked questions. his bullet wound was tended to properly. You signed some paperwork, and by 4:45 in the morning, Leon was confirmed to be in a depressive catatonic state and treated with lorazepam.

An hour later you were sent home with a prescription once the IV was finished.

Once inside, you led him back to your bathroom to wash his face and prepare for bed. He needed sleep. You did too.

But a part of you wanted to remain awake in case he needed something. Leon’s stupor was terrifying. What if the treatment didn’t work? The doctor mentioned ECT…

No . it was too early. It had only been a few hours since he was given the medication.

You got your boyfriend to lay down. He was on his side as you knelt next to him, knees on the carpet next to the bed. Your hand pet his hair, trying to give some sort of comfort to him. “Leon…” You whispered, “I don’t know if you can hear me, but…I'm right here.” You sounded like a broken record at this point, “I love you and I’m gonna stay right here to help you.”

At some point, when you noticed the sun coming up, you joined Leon on the bed. Your arms wrapped around him, his back to your chest, holding his hands in your own. You drifted off, somewhere between awake and asleep. You don’t know how long you remained like that.

A strangled cry rammed you out of your state. You sat up, looking around in a panicked rush. Your eyes landed on your boyfriend, sitting against the wall, gripping his hair. He was hyperventilating, letting out a choked sob. His blue eyes were wide, staring at nothing.

“Leon! Leon, it's alright.” You shot out to him, kneeling in front of his face, “Shhh, look at me, ok? It's ok. Everything is alright, Leon.” You didn’t want to scare him or panic him, but all you wanted to do was hold him.

He sobbed, closing in on himself and shutting down.

Shit. Shit!

“Leon, Leon, please…” Your words were failing. He wasn’t hearing you. Not entirely, “Leon shhh, you're safe. It's over. You’re home.”

Stupidly, you took a chance. Very, very slowly, you raised one hand to his cheek. Something clicked in his mind feeling your touch. His terrified eyes flicked up to you. It took a few moments for him to fully register that it was you in front of him.

His lips trembled. You barely made out your name in his quiet and cracked voice.

“Can I hold you?” you asked tenderly. his consent mattered. He was extremely vulnerable. You refused to add to his fear and panic.

Your boyfriend nodded slowly.

In response, you adjusted your position and wrapped your arms around him. “Shhhh…” you hushed Leon as his shoulders shook with more weeping, “Shhhh, it's alright. It's alright…” You unconsciously began to rock back and forth slightly.

You didn’t know what Leon had survived. You didn’t know what he went through. But dammit …as you heard his cries and sobs, you swore you’d be there to help him through the aftermath.