#link has a lot of self harm scars

[avenin7]

pinterest redraw with some botw era kisses

[selfharm-harmreduction]

Reducing The Risk: A Guide To Harm Reduction For Self-Harm

[Pt: Reducing The Risk: A Guide To Harm Reduction For Self-Harm]

Disclaimer: I do not encourage self-harm. I am also not a medical professional.

**Warning! Crisis lines/hotlines/etc. in resources linked below may call the cops or other emergency services on you without permission**

Harm reduction is something everyone does. You probably engage in harm reduction all the time without knowing! Vaccinations are harm reduction, wearing a seat belt is harm reduction, using contraception is harm reduction, and so much more. Harm reduction can be used to reduce damage before it occurs, aka prevention, (i.e. wearing a seat belt), reduce damage as it occurs (i.e. emergency response), and reduce damage after it has occurred (i.e. rehabilitation). How does this apply to self-harm?

Prevention;

[pt: prevention; ]

Prevention dose not always have to mean delaying or stopping self-harming, this is not a possibility for everyone but is the most reliable way to prevent harm. Here are some resources if you want to reduce or stop self-harming:

Calm Harm (link), an app that helps provide alternatives and distraction to help you "ride the wave". Free in the UK, charges may apply else where.

'Delaying Self-Harm' (link) & 'Distractions and Displacement' (link) from Self Injury Support.

'Distraction Techniques & Alternative Coping Strategies' (link) from Cornell University

You may also want to call a crisis line (warning! many crisis lines and hotlines will call the cops or other emergency services on you without your permission (such as 988 in America), this can be very dangerous. You can find lists of crisis lines that do not do this in your country online)

If you don't feel ready too or don't want to stop self-harming that is also ok, and even if you are relapses happen and most people cannot stop 'cold-turkey' so it is always a good idea to be prepared for if/when you self-harm. Here are some ways you can prepare too keep yourself safe:

Prevent infection; make sure you are up to date with you Tetanus vaccination (link), adults need a booster shot every 10 years. Learn the signs of infection (link) and when you need to go to hospital. Make sure your tools are clean.

Prepare to treat wounds; make sure you have a fully equipped first aid kit and basic knowladge of first aid and anatomy. 'Cutting The Risk' (link) has information on a first aid for self harm, as well as other useful information.

Have safe(er) tools; this means, if possible, always have new tools on hand. If you can not access new tools you can disinfect used tools with rubbing alcohol or boiling. Remember to dry well. Always check for rust and dispose of your tool properly if any is found.

Plan for emergencies; Who will you ask for help if you can not care for your injuries alone? Do you know how to get to your local Accident & Emergency`? Do you know how to get there without driving (can you take a bus, can a friend drive you)? What will you do if you get an infection? It can be useful to have this written down, too.

As Damage Occurs;

[Pt: As Damage Occurs; ]

When you self-harm there are things you can do to keep yourself safer;

Keep your phone nearby. This is in case of an emergency and you have to call for help.

Be mindful of where you self-harm; some areas on the body are more dangerous to harm because of arteries, major nerves, and other things you can not see on the surface. This resource (link) has lots of information on how to harm safer, including safer locations and where arteries, veins, and major nerves are located in the body. Generally more fleshy parts of the body are safer, do not cut/burn/etc. your wrists, neck, groin, on or near joints, your face, or palms. Avoid cutting/burning/etc. on scars.

Think about anatomy; because ligaments, connective tissue, and muscle go vertically across the body it is safer to cut vertically instead of horizontally. Vertical cuts are less likely to damage your mobility, nerves, etc. because they go with the grain of muscle and connective tissue.

Try and reduce severity; this means lessening the depth of cut, the degree of burns, etc. and time you spend self-harming. Try making less injuries as well (i.e. 8 burns instead of 10). This makes it easier for your body to heal.

Make sure you can see what you are doing; this means clearing blood out of the way as you go. This is especially important if you multi-swipe.

Tend tend to wounds as you go; for cutters this means stopping the flow of blood by applying pressure before continuing and for burners rinsing the burn in cool water (warm water for a chemical burn). This makes it easier to tell what you are doing and asses damage as you go.

After Damage Occurs;

[pt: After Damage Occurs; ]

After you have self-harmed it is important to tend to your injuries;

Assess the damage: after you are done self-harming assesses the damage (How deep are the cuts? What degree are your burns? Are they clean? Are you bleeding heavily? etc.). If the wound is spurting blood or you go into shock (link), chemicals went into your eyes or mouth, or another emergency that needs immediate medical attention call emergency services (999, 911, 112, etc.). If you cannot stop the bleeding, the injury is on a joint, your face, or palm, something is lodged in the wound, you lose sensation or movement, or you do not think you can take care of the wound by yourself seek immediate medical attention.

First aid; if you have called emergency services follow the operators instructions. This (link) resource and this one (link) have useful information on first aid.

1. Stop the bleeding or burning; For cuts, apply pressure with a clean cloth that is not fuzzy (such as a t-shirt or clean tea towel), if the bleeding does not stop after 10 minutes of applying pressure seek immediate medical attention. For burns, remove any clothing or jewellery near the burn, if they are stuck to the burn do not attempt to remove. rinse with cool water for 10+ minutes. Do not use ice. For chemical burns, remove clothing surrounding the injury, rinse with room temperature saline if available, if not use warm water, for 30+ minutes 2. Clean the wound; For cuts, rinse the wound with clean warm water to remove any derbies. For chemical and heat burns, rinsing the wound will have cleaned it. Do not attempt to remove anything stuck to the wound, this will lead to more injury. 3. Dressing injuries; For cuts, if the cut is gaping you need to get stitches, seek intimidate medical attention. If this is not possible use steri-strips (link) or butterfly bandages (link) to pull the edges of the wound together and then apply a plaster or bandage on top. For wounds that are not gaping, apply a sterile plaster or bandage depending on the size of the injury or injuries. Use of antibiotic ointment is optional. For burns, loosely cover the affected area with cling film or other clean plastic. Using medical tape can help keep it in place. Never use a cotton or cloth bandage on a burn. For chemical burns, loosely apply a sterile dressing that will not stick to the wound after you have washed ALL of the chemical(s) off with warm water. 4. Wound care; For cuts, dressings need to be changed about once a day, change them if they become wet or dirty as well. Check for signs of infection (link) (see below for first aid for infections) when you change dressings. There is no need to clean your cuts again unless they become dirty. Never reuse wound dressings. For burns, dressings need to be changed about once a day, change them if they become wet or dirty as well. Check for signs of infection (link) (see below for first aid for infections) when you change dressings, burns are much more likely to become infected then cuts. There is no need to clean your burns again unless they become dirty. Never reuse wound dressings. For chemical burns, dressings need to be changed about once a day, change them if they become wet or dirty as well. Check for signs of infection (link) (see below for first aid for infections) when you change dressings, burns are much more likely to become infected then cuts. There is no need to clean your burns again unless they become dirty. Never reuse wound dressings.

Infection; if you believe a wound is infected after looking at symptoms of infection (link)...

1. Assess damage; Infections are similar across cuts, burn, and chemical burns. Symptoms of mild infection; spreading redness, heat, or swelling near the injury, increased or new pain, increased fluid leaking from wound. Some redness, pain, and fluid leakage can be normal. Symptoms of serious infection (seek immediate medical attention!); confusion or disorientation, feeling faint or dizzy, irregular heartbeat and/or breathing, cold, clammy, pale skin, fever (body temperature of 38c (100.4 f) or higher), fainting, severe muscle pain, painful muscle spasms, stiff jaw (lockjaw), and more (link). If you are unsure how severe your infection is talk to a medical professional. If you don't think you can tend to your injuries alone seek medical attention. 2. Treat infection; If you have symptoms of a series infection seek intimidate medical attention. If you do not feel able to get to A&E by yourself call an ambulance. If you do not feel that you can tend to your injury alone seek medical attention For mild infections, clean the wound with warm water and unscented soap, then soak in warm water. Apply antibiotic ointment to the infected wound(s) and re-dress the wound. Do not reuse dressings. Repeat 1 to 3 times a day daily until infection subsides. If the infection worsens or does not go away seek medical attention.

Resources;

[Pt: Resources; ]

**Warning! Crisis lines/hotlines/etc. in resources linked below may call the cops or other emergency services on you without permission**

Here is a list of resources for harm reduction, some of these might also be linked above.

Cutting The Risk (link), a (free) book all things self-harm , including lots of information on harm reduction, for any by self-harmer. From The National Self-Harm Network. (this one's my favourite)

Harm Minimisation (link) by Self Injury Support is a short guide to the basics of self-harm harm reduction. PDF version (link), I find this version easier to read.

Self-Harm: Limiting The Damage (link) from the NHS, main focus is on firs-aid.

Calm Harm (link), an app made by a mental health charity designed to help you "surf the wave" of self-harm urges.

Exploring Alternatives (link), by Self Injury Support provides a lists of alternatives to self-harm.

Distractions and Displacement (link), by Self Injury Support provides a list of things to do instead of self-harming.

Delaying Self-Harm (link), by Self Injury Support provides a list of ways to avoid self-harming.

How to tell someone about self-harm (link), from the NHS

Talking To Your GP About Mental Health (link), from Mind (a UK mental health charity)

First aid info;

Signs of infection (link)

Burns first aid (link)

Cuts first aid (link)

Chemical burns first aid (link)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

what I meant by my post about the boys not appreciating Yuu enough is about the trauma they inflicted on them and the lack of compensation we get because trauma=not guilty.

We just let them get away scott free without them facing serious consequences and get little to nothing in return. I got inspired by this post https://rose-tea-and-strawberries.tumblr.com/post/720285231576465408/justiceforyuu

So what are your thoughts on this?

[Referencing this post!]

Mmm… 🤔 While I do think the post linked is an interesting read (and OP does make valid points), I think a lot of it goes back to the nature of TWST’s design vs what the individual desires. It’s very easy to self-insert (meaning everyone’s mileage with the characters and plot will vary greatly), and with it being a mobile gacha game, there are definitely some limitations and design philosophies that must be adhered to in order to keep content flowing and thus keep the game profitable.

However, I don’t agree with some of the points suggested (whether by OP or by Anon), particularly that TWST presents “trauma = not guilty” and that Yuu should somehow be “compensated” or given something in return for the troubles they went through. To the former point, I completely agree that the boys’ punishments are far too light for what they’ve done (in OB form). As for their behavior pre-OB (which is, admittedly, still shitty)… I mean, we came into this game knowing the characters are twisted from villains, of all things. We shouldn’t be expecting them to be Super Nice and Empathetic to begin with, no? (So of course Riddle will be insulting Yuu’s background and lineage, Trey’s a bystander, etc.) It doesn’t excuse the behavior of course (it’s still objectively bad), but I thought we came into TWST expecting it??? Like it’s a major part of the draw…

I also believe TWST does a decent job at explaining the OB boys’ trauma while not excusing them because of their trauma; funnily enough, a major theme in book 1 was Riddle being held accountable for his actions for once. (This isn’t limited to just his OB behavior, but rather extends to prior; he was clearly harming his own dorm members well before Yuu got involved with Heartslabyul.) The OB boys were eventually punished for their actions, but because the sentences are relatively light, that’s perhaps where the “trauma = not guilty” perception of the fandom comes from. As I said before though, I think this can easily be attributed to TWST being constrained by the mobile game format (ie it has to be snappy); the light novel is able to expand on the consequences in greater detail.

The game devs likely don’t want to linger on how badly the OB boys truly acted because that could hamper their bottom line (ie endearing the characters to us enough so we sympathize with them and spend money). If they keep demonizing the boys or continuously bring up their literal murder attempts when they were fully lucid and aware of themselves (Leona almost sanding Ruggie, Vil trying to poison Neige), it looks “too” bad on the characters’ part. We also can’t haul the boys off to serious rehabilitation facilities because they need to be physically present to return for the subsequent book—and, of course. You can say “they didn’t get punished severely enough”, sure. But what exactly would that “more severe punishment” being called for entail, especially without disrupting the current story’s flow and not harming the OB boys further in the process? There are practical real world game design and business reasons for this.

To address the Yuu should somehow be “compensated” part, well… I’m not entirely sure if I understand it?? Thinking about it logically, what “compensation” are we looking for? Firstly, no compensation, in my opinion, is worth the anguish that “earned” it in the first place. Compensation will never make up for the mental scars 😔 Secondly, it implies that people are “owed” something for the general bad attitudes they’re given on a daily basis, which is not in any way how real interactions work. Some people will just be assholes to you, and we have to deal with it and move on. In the cases of the OBs and some events (like being kidnapped and basically held hostage in book 4), yes, those are much more serious and should be treated as such. But again, what exactly are we looking for here as “proper” compensation? Is acknowledging one’s faults and mistakes, and saying sorry for it and working toward being “better” not enough? What about the money Vil gives in book 5; is that also not enough? Where do we draw the line? When is it finally “enough” compensation? It’s so poorly defined and there’s no “blanket” compensation that would satisfy everyone and anyone 💦 I would personally be happy just knowing that the other person is aware they’ve done wrong and are taking that vital first step to changing. That’s very difficult to do, especially considering the pride of the average NRC student, so I commend them for at least doing that.

TWST’s story isn’t one that focuses on condemning people for their flaws and errors, but giving them a chance to recognize their wrongs and to grow from them. Its story promotes restorative justice over punitive justice. Overly punishing measures and reparations have proven to not smooth over “bad behavior” in real life; it’s something people need to consciously and actively work toward, so of course it’s going to be a hard process.

The reaction(s) Yuu has to the events going on around them are only as serious as individual fan interpretation makes them out to be. Official depictions thus far (manga, game, light novel) have not strongly indicated that Yuu has had any extremely adverse thoughts or feelings regarding the treatment they’ve experienced at the hands of their peers or any stress related to not being returned home. It’s also not clear (especially in the game) just how much physical involvement Yuu has in battles. Because TWST itself does not frame or portray these events as having super serious impacts on Yuu, that also informs the fans that absorb this content (so they, in turn, will usually also not take the story’s impact on Yuu all that seriously).

The interactive medium of the game (which is the main form people absorb TWST content by) plays such a crucial role in how Yuu is portrayed. Because Yuu is so inherently tied to being the player’s avatar/self-insert, there are limitations to the overt nastiness Yuu takes and their involvement. The manga and the light novel feature new versions of Yuu, yes, but these interpretations are wholly separate from Yuu (the game one). The manga and light novel Yuus can be treated as their own characters and not self insert vehicles, therefore there is a degree of separation between the player and the manga and light novel Yuus. This is why the manga Yuus are more shown to be more active in the story (most notably getting involved in battles). This is why the light novel Yuu is shown receiving more bullying (from mob students) than is depicted in the game. The manga and light novel are NOT interactive mediums, and they don’t have to worry about potentially alienating or offending players who self insert as the game Yuu. Game Yuu is intentionally kept vague for this reason; we aren’t necessarily meant to interpret that game Yuu gets as involved or is treated as harshly as what other mediums depict.

I really don’t think we (the audience) are meant to interpret most of the things (game) Yuu experiences as being deeply traumatic or scarring. In most instances, Yuu is either ignored or they act very nonchalant about what’s happening (groaning or joking about how “oh, not this again!”). The worst injury I can recall Yuu ever getting is when Grim scratches them at the end of book 5. They barely even ever bring up going home or the worry of not being able to get home (not counting very early and very late in the main story when it is plot relevant, or the occasional event story to shoehorn Yuu’s presence in). The game in particular glosses over any potential negative ramifications on Yuu’s part because endearing the boys (who often are Not Nice) to the player is an important component of the gacha model. You can’t have the players despising the characters because that doesn’t encourage spending money to roll for them on banners or to throw money at merch.

I also want to add that many people make Yuusonas to have fun and to escape into a magical world (which is likely reflected in the nonchalance Yuu demonstrates toward going home for most of the story); it’s far more common to see these lighthearted takes because I can’t imagine many people want to self-insert being deeply traumatized by the same magical boys they’re likely big fans of. If you personally want to make or to see a Yuu that becomes traumatized and jaded from what happens during their time in Twisted Wonderland, then yeah! Go for it! All the more power to you. Just remember that this isn’t a universal take.

All of that being said, we come back to something I’ve said time and time again: since Yuu is such a blank slate, you get out of it what you put into it. This means every person’s individual interpretation of the events and how Yuu engages with and reacts to those events may differ wildly. It’s all in good fun, just try to be cognizant of canon vs fanon, as well as others (who may have very different interpretations of the same events and characters).

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Your Mihawk has me weak on my knees so I wanted to request something for him.

S/O has scars on her body, mainly on arms. She does fight but some of them look… too precise. One time after she loses a fight she is really pissed and nervous, she goes to a place alone. There he sees her just giving herself a scar with a knife on her arm. Turns out she was taught scars are signs of losses and if she doesn't get one in battle then afterwards she needs to do it herself. That's why she's so determined to always win. She hates scars.

@patisilence tagging since I'm not sure if you'll get this since I had to save it as a draft to format everything right.

Anyway.

I DID IT I ACTUALLY FINISHED IT

I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG 😭😭

And I honestly really really want to thank you. This is my first ever fic-request, for one.

And also, writing this has been an absolute emotional rollercoaster. I have kind of a personal history with self-harm and I wanted to depict it as realistically as possible. Which resulted in heavy focus on character development, which resulted in this practically turning into a novella. I'm going to split it up into a few chapters to streamline things and link them all in this post.

If I do it right, then the entire thing should already be posted when I post this, but I'm still pretty new to Tumblr so bear with me. Each chapter should be between 3k-4k words.

And ALSO ALSO I've been planning a longer Mihawk X OC fic, and I really hope you don't mind me using this concept for it? Because it honestly ties a lot of things together for me

Soooooo without further ado, here's the whole author note thing.

Your Scars Are Mine

Ch. 1

LA! Mihawk X AFAB!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Mentions of Violence, I guess that's it, I'm bad at this

⚠️ MASSIVE ASS TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️ : Self-harm, Blood, Implied PTSD

Summary: In the few months that he has known you, Mihawk has noticed the scars on your arm. You've refused to talk about them and skirted around the subject successfully, but a trip to Shells Town throws everything out into the open in a way that neither of you were prepared for.

Ch. 2

Ch.3

You were hiding something.

In the few months that Mihawk had known you, he had come to learn a fair bit about you. He knew, for instance, that you had over the past few years made something of a name for yourself as a sword for hire, typically among pirate crews who required a more discreet touch.

That this reputation of yours had led the Buggy Pirates to hire you to assist in stealing a map of the Grand Line from a Marine base in Shells Town. You had failed to procure the map before it was stolen by other hands, leaving you in their debt. Buggy had sunk your sloop to prevent your escape, and you had gotten stuck working for the ridiculous crew for a brief time, remained stuck with them until the Strawhat upstarts offered you passage with them.

Mihawk knew you had traveled with them as far as Baratie, where you had crossed his own path for the first time at the bar on the ship's deck. Where you had approached him with a bargain—if he left Roronoa Zoro alive after their duel the following morning, you would serve him for a year, an errand girl to send off on whatever menial tasks the World Government assigned him.

"And why would I want a little bird flitting around after me around for an entire year?" Mihawk had asked coolly.

And yet you had made a fair point—acting as a government lapdog was growing old. He had been sent after the vice admiral's grandson, for heavens' sake, as if he had nothing better to do with his time than to handle the old fool's family disputes.

Though the surly pirate warlord wouldn't have dared to dream of admitting it at the time, you had his attention. Your offer of unquestioned devotion, your confident demeanor as you sipped a glass of whiskey and kept your eyes on his without showing an ounce of fear or intimidation. You were certainly an interesting diversion from the otherwise dull task that had been laid before him, and your certainty that he would accept your offer had irritated and intrigued him in near equal measure.

It was intrigue that won out in the end. He had left his challenger clinging to the edge of life and taken you with him on his departure. You stayed toe to toe with him in wit and banter, and that alone would have been more than enough to draw him closer to your charm. He had wanted you before two weeks were out, wanted to claim you as far more than his "errand girl," and it was easy to see from the way you effortlessly returned his subtle flirtations that you wanted the same.

And now you were lying back across his broad chest in the hammock aboard your new sloop, a book open over your chest and his hand resting over your stomach, his other tucked under his neck as he frowned thoughtfully up at the roof of the small ship's cabin, pondering over the whirlwind of events that had led up to this moment.

It had been just over two months since the pirate lord had taken you as his lover, and you had been an open book about most things. Your training under your grandmother. Your setting out on your own from a small island village to find your parents, or some clue of their disappearance. The many and varied pirate crews you had served as a hired hand.

Yet you refused to discuss your scars.

Any seafarer with a history as sordid as your own had their share of battle scars. Mihawk had a fair few of his own; one didn't become the most renowned swordsman in the world without a few losses, after all. Yet your voice turned to clear contempt when yours were mentioned, even in passing, and you tensed like a statue when his hands brushed over them. You were confident to the point of near arrogance, yet you clearly held nothing but shame and contempt for the many marks that marred your delicate skin.

Some of which appeared oddly...uniform, for having been gained in battle.

It was in part—in great measure, honestly—the mystery of you that had drawn him in to begin with, and this was just another mystery that Mihawk intended to unravel.

You closed your book abruptly, stirring him from his thoughts as he glanced down at you. He watched you gaze thoughtfully toward the ceiling for a long moment, your hand resting over his at your stomach, before you finally spoke up.

"Reading a book is just staring at a dead tree and vividly hallucinating."

You tilted your head back, grinning as his mouth turned down in a frown and his brow furrowed at your ridiculous statement. Mihawk sighed wearily, plucking the book from your hands and lightly rapping you over the forehead with it.

"No," he scolded, as you giggled softly. He sighed heavily again, dropping the book over the back of the hammock before pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Are you trying to give me a stroke?"

"No," you said, imitating his scolding tone. You stretched your arms out over your head, arching your back for a moment, before rolling over to lay across his chest and brush your lips to his. "But it's fun seeing the look on your face."

"You irritate my very soul, little one," he said, shaking his head as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"And I enjoy every second of it," you countered, grinning as you laid your forehead against his.

"I can tell."

Your grin managed to draw a small smile from him, before he lifted a hand into your hair and pulled you down into a slow, deep kiss. Your fingertips came to rest at his broad shoulders, the hammock swaying slowly in the steady ocean waves carrying the ship along. He knew as well as you did that he wasn't honestly irritated—your strange sense of humor had grown on him, as starkly as it contrasted to his dry sarcasm, and he rarely had the pleasure of meeting anyone as adept at keeping up with his own banter.

You lay your cheek at his shoulder when your lips parted, your eyes slipping shut and your contented sigh tickling against his neck.

"If the wind holds steady it will be a few hours before we make port," you said, your voice low and soft. "I suggest we don't move from here in the meantime."

"I'm not sure I've ever heard a finer suggestion."

Mihawk pulled one of your hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. He pulled his hat down over his eyes to block out the sun pouring through the windows of the small cabin, tucked his hand back behind his neck again, and shifted beneath you to get comfortable as he closed his eyes. His arm remained curled around your waist, his hand slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt so his thumb could rub slow circles over your soft skin as you both drifted off toward the peaceful recess of sleep.

The first thing that struck Mihawk when he woke was that you weren't in his arms.

Every day and night for nearly two months, he had fallen asleep and woken with you against him, and the absence of your warmth jarred him instantly awake and aware. His eyes scanned around his surroundings as he sat up, taking in where he was—the small cabin of the sloop he had recently bought you as a replacement for the one Buggy's crew had sunk.

His sharp yellow eyes darted toward the door, taking in the sound of unfamiliar, muffled voices outside the cabin.

He was standing in an instant, straightening his hat and pulling Yoru onto his back as he slipped silently through the door and onto the small deck of the sloop.

There was another sloop tethered to yours.

A pair of no-name pirates holding you against the bow ny your arms, their captain pressing the barrel of his pistol to your forehead as they bickered.

"There has to be something on board."

"We could just take her. Looks like she's probably a feisty little thing."

"Still have to check the cabins. Could be—"

Mihawk cleared his throat.

The trio turned their heads in almost comedic synchrony, their jaws dropping at the mere sight of him leaning against the door of the cabin. Mihawk's eyes flickered from them to you, and you averted your eyes, clearly ashamed to be seen in such a compromising situation.

So he shifted his gaze back to the opposing pirates, his eyes flickering between each of them.

"You will remove your hands from the girl or I will gladly remove them for you," he said levelly, lifting his eyebrows.

They quickly let go of your arms, and stepped away when he moved forward to wrap a hand around your wrist and pull you to him. He curled his arm around your waist, lowering his head over yours for a moment and murmuring quietly, "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head no quickly, your jaw set at a rigid angle as you turned your gaze down to your feet, your shoulders tense. He pressed a light kiss to your temple for a long moment before lifting his gaze back to the trio that had dared board your ship, his eyes narrowing in an unspoken threat.

"Go." They remained frozen, glancing between each other. "Now."

They scrambled back over to their ship immediately, severing the ropes that were tethering it to yours. Mihawk kept his arm around you, but his eyes remained trained onto the opposing sloop as it drifted away on the wind, debating on just drawing his sword and splitting it in half on the spot.

He turned his attention back down to you when you began to pull away from him. He pulled you in close again, frowning. It wasn't at all like you to be bested by a few no-names, and it was clear that you weren't taking it very well.

"Tell me what happened," he said finally.

"I woke up," you said curtly. "Thought I'd check the charts and see how far we were from Shells Town. They were already on the deck. Seemed to think this was a small merchant vessel since there's no flag. I'd left my knives in the cabin and I was still half asleep when I came out here. By the time I registered what was going on, one of them had a pistol to my head."

You really weren't making a very good case for him to not sink their boat. He cut his eyes briefly toward the sloop before looking back down at you, your face shadowed by your hair as you stared down at the deck floor.

"Their captain started questioning me about cargo," you continued. "Told them there wasn't anything valuable on board. They were discussing taking me as compensation." You sighed heavily. "And that's when you chose to enter stage left and take approximately twenty years off the end of their lives."

He rolled his eyes the slightest bit at your quip. "I would have taken a great deal more than that had they hurt you."

"Well, they didn't," you replied, your voice still curt. Mihawk lifted an eyebrow. "And it's perhaps best not to go splitting any boats in half a stone's throw away from a naval base," you added, nodding back toward the bow of the vessel.

Mihawk gave a quick glance as well. He had been too focused on the fiasco he had just awoken to to notice that Shells Town was visible on the horizon now. It wasn't as if the Marines could do much about it if he did sink the sloop, but you were right—it would still be more of a hassle than it was worth. He sighed, shaking his head a little, and curled a hand under your chin to lift your gaze to his. You still kept your eyes averted, your jaw set. He hadn't seen you lose a fight before—apart from sparring with him while training, but that hardly counted.

You had proven to be quite the fighter when he had decided to test you. You were nowhere near his equal, but you knew precisely how to play to your strengths with your pair of daggers and your throwing knives. Your stature made you difficult to target even in single combat, your movements a graceful dance that toed the line between evasion and power.

Yet one loss—and a rather inconsequential loss, at that—and you were beating yourself up over it quite a great deal more than what constituted normalcy. Mihawk wasn't sure whether to scold you for being dramatic or attempt to comfort you.

"You were caught off guard, little one," he said after a long moment, brushing a thumb across your cheek. "There's no need to be so upset over that."

"I'm not upset, I'm annoyed," you retorted, pursing your lips a little. "Blades or no, I should have been able to take care of those idiots."

"Annoyed, then," he allowed with a small sigh. "And I've no doubt you would have had I not woke. I was simply able to handle it a bit more...subtly."

"Oh, yes, because sauntering out onto the deck with a giant sword and threatening to cut off their hands was so subtle," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you finally rolled your eyes over to his, lifting your eyebrows.

"Don't be a brat," he chided lightly. "We still have at least half an hour before we make port." Mihawk abruptly wrapped his hand around your chin and pressed his lips to yours in a brief, deep kiss that made you draw in a sharp breath. He parted just as you started to lean into it, resting his forehead against yours. He lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. "I would truly hate to have to spend it punishing you, my little bird."

You quirked an eyebrow, your lips curving in a small, coy smirk. "No you wouldn't."

He gave you a thoughtful frown and a small shrug of his shoulder. "Perhaps not." You let out a small cry of alarm when he stooped down and quickly scooped you up from the deck floor, one arm beneath your knees and his other curled around your back. "I suppose we'll just have to find out."

You chuckled lightly as he carried you to the door of the main cabin, plucking his hat off of his head and placing it on your own as you brushed your lips to his in a soft, teasing manner. Mihawk lifted his eyebrows when you nipped lightly at his bottom lip.

"You're really pushing your luck, my dear," he cautioned.

He lowered you down to the double bed in the cabin, his thumb rubbing small circles at the back of your neck. You lifted yourself onto your elbows, your lips nearly brushing his before he pulled back just far enough to stop you, lightly gripping your hair at the nape of your neck to keep you from sitting up any higher. You gave a small whine of protest, but didn't try to struggle against his grip—you and he both knew there was no point.

"Lie down." His voice remained low and intimate, but there was a subtle command in his tone, in the way his gaze burned into your own. You bit your bottom lip lightly, lowering yourself back down onto the bed fully. A soft, quivering sigh left your lips as he slowly began slipping the buttons down the front of your shirt loose. "Hands over your head. And you don't move them an inch until I tell you you can."

"Mmm..." You hummed thoughtfully, and Mihawk paused in unbuttoning your shirt as you lifted your arms from the bed, holding your hands high above you, straight up in the air. "I think my arms might end up getting tired."

Your lips pursed a little, clearly struggling to keep a straight face, and he lifted an eyebrow at you. "You're certainly in rare form today."

Mihawk wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, shoving your hands down into the plush white comforter over your head, and a couple giggles escaped you before you bit your lip again. It was honestly a bit endearing, how cheeky you were being—and all the moreso, as it appeared you were being so brazen just so he could have his fun with your punishment.

You were enticing him more and more every passing day, beyond the physical desire that had led him to claim you as his a couple months ago. It wasn't a feeling he was particularly accustomed to, nor was he quite sure what to make of it yet. He knew only that when he had seen you held captive against the bow of the boat, an emotion had flashed through him for a moment that he hadn't experienced in years.

For the briefest moment, Dracule Mihawk had felt fear.

He was not ready to contend with the connotations of that.

And he was a bit too busy at the moment, anyway. He let his forehead touch yours, his lips hovering a breath away from your own.

"You don't move your hands," he repeated, tilting his head to just barely graze his lips against your neck, drawing a small moan from your lips, "until I give you permission. Understood?"

"Yes, sir..." you sighed softly, your eyes slipping shut as he kissed down your collarbone, pushing your shirt open. His hand released your wrists and trailed down your arms, down to knead at the soft tissue of your breast through the sheer lace of your bra, feeling your nipple harden against his palm. He tugged the cups down, just a bit too hard given he felt one of them tear in his grasp, but that was a problem for later, not now.

You gasped out when he briefly pulled one of your stiff nipples into his mouth, his grip tightening slightly around your ribcage as you arched your chest toward his swirling tongue. His gaze flicked up to watch you writhe and shudder under his touch, your fingers digging into the bedsheets behind you, your hands searching for anything to keep occupied with.

"Very good," he praised, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes and brushing his lips to your jaw. "You see?" He wrapped his hand around your jaw and lightly pressed his lips to yours. "It's much better when you're a good little bird, isn't it?"

"This—doesn't feel much like a punishment," you commented, gasping softly as he circled the pad of his thumb around your nipple, lightly skimming across it once or twice.

"Yet," he corrected.

And gave you a small, devilish smirk, before lowering his head and biting down on the tender skin at the crook of your neck. Just hard enough to leave behind a small bruise, to draw a sharp cry from your lips and send a shiver through your body.

He straightened out as you heaved a sigh, standing over you. Your eyes remained glued to him while he shrugged away his long coat and tossed it back into a chair behind him, noting how your hands tightened down on the bedsheets again.

"Remember we still have a half an hour before we reach Shells Town." His fingertips curled around the waist of your shorts, the lace of your panties beneath them, and slowly inched them down your hips. "I could spend the entirety of it teasing you." Mihawk noted the movement in your throat as you swallowed in nervous anticipation, your eyes glued to his as he pulled them up the length of your legs and off, flinging them aside. "Making you beg for release but never allowing you the satisfaction."

How beautiful it was that it only took a few words to pull a blush to your cheeks and make your breath hitch. He brushed a light kiss to your calf and pushed your legs apart, rubbing his palms up your inner thighs.

"You're going to have to be on your best behavior if you want more, my sweet little bird." Trailing a single finger up your soft folds, dragging through your slick arousal and across your clit, pulling a small whimper from your lips. "Or would you rather I just torment you?"

You bit your lip, shaking your head quickly, your eyes flickering between his eyes and his fingertips trailing up. It was a struggle for him not to chuckle at you—always just cheeky enough to be amusing, but you knew the pleasure he could give you, were so desperate for it that you folded like a cheap deck of cards under his slightest touch.

Absolutely perfect.

Mihawk moved his hands up from your thighs, curling an arm under your back to lift you up and shift you further back on the bed. Your breathing was ragged with anticipation as he brushed his lips to your stomach, trailing his hands back down to your hips, his lips lower and lower, grazing slowly across the soft skin between your hip bones.

Shifting lower and dragging his tongue slowly up your slit, circling the sensitive bud at the apex, giving a quiet growl of approval as your breathy, shuddering moans filled the small cabin and your hips arched in his hands.

His gaze turned up toward your face, watching you draw closer to falling apart with every passing moment. This was only the beginning, and he still hadn't decided if he was going to give you what you wanted...but the sight of your divine, nearly naked and writhing under his touch with his hat still resting on your head made him just a little weak.

He moved from between your legs before he could get lost in the sight of you and the sweet sounds of your moans, reveling in the agonized whimper that left you as he trailed his mouth back up your stomach.

Across to your ribs, pausing at your breasts to brush his lips and his skilled tongue across your sensitive nipples.

Dragging his tongue up the column of your throat, seizing a fistful of your hair and crushing his lips to yours in a deep, possessive kiss, shoving your hip down onto the mattress to keep you from grinding against him, shifting his hand between your thighs to circle a finger around your tight entrance without pushing in. Your low moans and whines of protest were like music to his ears, your knuckles gone white from the force with which you gripped at the sheets over your head to keep your hands from wandering.

Every slow pass up and down your body brought you closer to the peak of pleasure but never quite there—and brought him closer and closer to caving in and giving it to you. He had to wonder whether you had any idea just how much of a temptation you were to him. It had been years since the pirate lord had allowed any woman to affect him quite as strongly as you had.

How much time had passed couldn't be ascertained for sure when he reached his breaking point—his mouth pressed into the crook of your neck while you moaned and begged desperately in his ear, one of his hands squeezing your breast hard enough to bruise the soft flesh while his other worked his belt buckle open and shoved his pants down his hips in a desperation that rivaled yours.

He shoved your open shirt up your shoulders and arms and flung it away; gripped one of your thighs, pushing your leg up as high as it would go, and the low growl that left his throat as he thrust into you was drowned out by your own cries of abandon. Your hips arched up from the bed to meet his, one of your arms flinging around his neck and your hooking beneath his arm to grip hard at his shoulder.

"I don't recall giving you permission to move," he breathed into your neck. He gritted his teeth as he pushed his hips forward hard, shoving yours back down into the bed as you cried out again, your slick walls tightening around his cock.

"I—I'm sorry, I can't—I can't—please—" You gasped, your head falling back as he moved in you in deep, hard thrusts, your fingernails dragging down his back. "Oh God, please—"

He lifted a hand to grasp at your hair as he crushed his lips to yours, delving his tongue into your mouth and drawing in a deep breath as you moaned desperately into the fierce kiss. The prospect of punishing you, of what the hell he had even been punishing you for was forgotten in this rush of unquenchable lust and desire, of pure carnal need for your body.

He normally hated losing control, but this was on another level entirely. There was no room to hate this, no room for anything but pure pleasure, for getting lost inside you as your walls tightened around his cock, as every muscle in his groin tensed and tightened in anticipation of impending release—

Your lips breaking away from his, your cry of abandon as your climax swept over you pulled him right over the edge with you. He pulled your hip up from the bed to slam into you as he came, gritting his teeth against a low groan, the rhythmic contractions of your tight channel milking him dry. His hips jerked toward yours with each intense wave of pleasure, fingers tangling in your hair as he pressed his lips to your neck, the two of you shuddering and tangled together over the bedsheets.

Mihawk heaved a shuddering sigh into the crook of your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair as he brushed his thumb across your temple. Maybe it was the lingering euphoria, but he didn't even think about the next words that left his mouth before he heard them himself.

"God dammit, (Y/N), I love you."

But it was impossible to deny any longer. You really were everything he had never realized he craved. No, it wasn't just the euphoria in the moment—it was that brief flash of fear earlier at the thought of you being hurt, at the thought of losing you. The utter fury at the morons who had briefly held you captive. How perfectly you balanced and complemented his desires.

He felt as much as heard you draw in a small gasp beneath him. "Y—you—wh—?"

"You heard me," Mihawk interrupted your quiet, almost cautious stammering, murmuring against your neck. He brushed his lips against one of the small, round bruises he had left on the soft skin, and said it again, quietly, "I love you."

You were quiet for a long moment, but he wasn't concerned, still trailing kisses up the side of your neck. He had seen it in your eyes before now, heard it in the softness of your voice when you lay against him, your fingers in his hair and your lips brushing his.

Several seconds passed, before you turned your head slowly and pressed your lips to his, tentatively at first, and then deepening the slow kiss with a soft sigh. He shifted onto his side, tugging you to him by your hip. Your forehead came to rest against his as your lips drifted apart, still barely a breath away, your eyes closed, your voice a quiet whisper.

"I...love you."

(Ch. 2)

[daeyumi]

hcs for Link, GO!

cw: mention of possible self harm; mention of injury

spoilers for totk events & end of totk

okay so i’ll be doing these for botw/totk link since he’s the link i feel the most familiar with

also i’m sorry that this list ended up like 8 miles long lol & believe me i had to restrain myself a lot

- transmasc (he/him or he/they)

- aroace

- sleeps on his back

- NOT a morning person. he likes his sleep & has trouble waking up sometimes (so many ppl seem to hc him as an early riser but i just. don’t see it lol. i think he’s the kind of person who woke up from that 100 year nap asking for 5 more minutes)

- /can/ talk, chooses not to. when he speaks his voice always has that quiet scratchy quality to it like he hasn’t used it in a while

- likes having his hair brushed

- his hair is full of leaves & at least 4 different sticks at any given time

- loves puns. the stupider the better

- likes dressing pretty. he doesn’t get the chance to do it often & most of his clothes are caked in blood & sweat so it feels good to look nice occasionally

- #1 questionable food enjoyer

- big gremlin energy

- naturally warm hands

- probably has a sweet tooth

- a bit of a hoarder. a habit he picked up from being alone in the wild for so long

- favorite fruit- apples

- probably musically inclined & would be good at playing an instrument

- loves animals (also great with animals)

- really spontaneous & gets distracted easily

- his arm doesn’t magically grow back post-totk. after the end of the events of totk, he is missing his right arm up to the bicep & has heavy scarring around his right shoulder, basically the same area where the zonai tattoos were when he had rauru’s arm

- heavily scarred in general. this one is basically canon, but i figured i’d include it since link’s character model doesn’t have any visible scars (even tho robbie in botw mentions needing to see link’s scars as proof that it’s really him. give link visible scars nintendo u cowards)

- self conscious about his scars, especially the ones from pre-calamity era that he can’t remember how he got them. they’re a constant reminder of the missing part of his life

- (totk) extremely uncomfortable with having rauru’s arm attached to his body. he hates that it is not his own and it feels alien and strange to him even tho it still operates as if it’s a part of his own body. borderline wants to self harm bc he does not want “his” arm that does not belong to him- hates the sight of it but has to deal with it because of its usefulness to him

- doesn’t do well in social interactions that involve more than 1 other person. /maybe/ 3-4 if he knows them Really Well

- extremely uncomfortable with being known as the hero of hyrule actually

- moderate to severe insomnia. he’s been through a lot & has a ton of nightmares as a result

- definitely has some degree of ptsd

- feels extremely guilty about all the ppl he can’t remember from 100 years ago— he regrets their deaths, but more so than missing the people themselves, he feels guilty that he can’t even remember them to mourn them properly. complicated emotions surrounding this, he doesn’t like to talk about it.

[triforce-of-mischief]

legend is a peacekeeper, not a bully. in this essay i will-

heck yeah i'm doing this for real, let's go.

x

let's take a closer look at his initial list of traits:

"chooses not to be a leader type." so, this is a guy who has the experience and maturity that he could take charge, but has consciously decided to leave it to the elder links. taking responsibility for eight men and boys is a lot, and legend simply doesn't have the energy and/or personality to keep it up at all times.

"the most reliable, you want him on your team." legend is a good person to be around! the others genuinely appreciate his company! i love how this is worded; out of a lineup, legend would be chosen.

x

instead of calling out to wild or trying to physically stop him (both pretty dangerous moves around somebody with a nocked bow and arrow), legend simply shoots wild's arrow out of the sky with his own. which is a pretty sick move itself. sure, now wild will have to replace that arrow, but it's hyrule. you can't go two feet without finding a vendor. anyway, we don't get to see wild's reaction but it must not have been extreme because legend is calm around wind moments later. even when they're still getting to know each other, legend makes the right move.

x

legend just gives away an entire freaking fire rod. that's pretty significant if you ask me. he doesn't trust the others with his secrets, but he's willing to provide tools for the job.

x

this is a playful quip during a lighthearted moment. wild probably knows about the impression that he gives off, and he doesn't seem upset about legend pointing it out.

x

then, legend's mood immediately shifts to serious as wild reveals the full extent of his scarring. he settles into a mediator role between wild's casualness and time's concern.

x

as stated before, legend is worried about people breaking his stuff. wild isn't bothered by the veteran's attitude, as he clearly just wants to get in, grab his stuff, and get out.

twilight: "i don't know what his problem is, but you shouldn't let him push you around like that." sky: "oh it's fine. it's harmless. he just doesn't give a second thought about his attitude is all. trust me, people like him aren't bullies." twilight: "hmm. that's very true."

x

THIS. COMIC. any time legend is stereotyped as a bully, i just point to this comic. sky says it himself: people like him aren't bullies. i could stop there, but why would i? sky mentions legend's attitude; i think that legend genuinely isn't always aware of the tone of his words. he says what he wants to say, and it can sound blunt but he never means harm by it. also, note legend's body language in the panel i chose. his hand is behind his head, likely touching his neck. that's a self-soothing gesture and a telltale sign of nervousness. whatever legend's saying, he's not as confident as twilight thinks he is. sky sees legend as he truly is, and that's what's important.

x

the prior subject being everybody else fruitlessly guessing at the monsters' motives. it's late at night, the heroes are probably tired, and the conversation is clearly going nowhere. therefore, legend takes it upon himself to lighten the mood. heavy topics can wait for tomorrow; now, the mystery of wild's arrows will make for a sufficient distraction.

x

legend may be used to being a loner, but he pays just as much attention to the others. he frequently joins small conversations and, at the very least, will observe from close by.

x

this is arguably the only time that legend's teasing continues at the expense of somebody else. it's not an isolated attack, though. all of the eldest heroes are in on the bit, except for time who lets it happen with a resigned look on his face.

x

apologies for the lack of legible conversation, but i really wanted to demonstrate the range of emotions that these two go through. legend and warriors bicker like true brothers; tempers flare for a split second before legend realizes that warriors is purposefully making a mountain out of a molehill. they take turns balancing snark and sincerity, and no harm is done from their initial disagreement.

x

once again: THIS. COMIC. legend is a bit disappointed by the thwarted attempt to tease, but wild makes it obvious that this is not the right time or place so legend acts accordingly. legend tries to make amends by asking a question as he returns the diary, and all hints of prior teasing are gone when he offers not one, but two apologies. legend and wild might be different in many ways, but legend knows all too well how it feels to lose a loved one.

x

legend is aware that he's not the best with words. this is both a subtle jab at himself, and at time- since the elder has taken the leader role, he needs to act like it. legend is reminding time that he needs to be better about praising his group after a hard-won battle.

x

by bringing up the topic of magic swords, legend is the one who caused a moment of tension in the first place. when four quickly tries to ease the mood, legend easily agrees.

x

legend loses another few points here: he's too fast to assume the worst, then snaps at wind as tempers run high after a rough battle. thankfully, things seem to be fine again by the time they make camp.

x

all right, old man, angst time is over. legend isn't thrilled to have to be the one to speak up, but at least time is done being cryptic and creepy.

x

it's not the most ideal subject change, but thinking about ganon is certainly easier than being helpless to wild's plight.

x

can we just... appreciate how legend didn't hesitate before stepping through the portal first, alone? if that's not selfless, i don't know what is.

x

once again, it's time who doesn't realize that his words are hurtful. legend diffuses the situation, leaving twilight to console sky about the master sword.

x

this argument has clearly been repeated for however long legend and wild have been traveling together. even though legend is likely older than wild, he doesn't attempt to force the champion to go with his plan. even one on one, legend chooses not to take the leader role, simply trying to get wild to listen to reason. when four shows up, wild reignites the bickering before legend sighs and admits defeat. as long as they're actually going somewhere, legend knows that there's no point in arguing anymore.

x

legend is pretty set on making twilight admit that he's the wolf- until they're attacked, and legend's thoughts go right back to the group. he then touches the crystal which causes another distraction, but it's important to note that, yet again, legend quits teasing when there's something more important to focus on.

x

twilight points out that legend's teasing isn't supposed to be hurtful. self-defensive, yes, but legend chooses to be this way- even if it's not ideal, he thinks it'll stop him from getting hurt again. so why would he use his quips to bully the others, if that's exactly what he's avoiding himself?

x

legend isn't used to asking for help, but what's the first thing he does? he says thank you! then sky picks up on his awkwardness and it's the skyloftian's turn to introduce a distraction.

x

while the others heroes look nervous or just solemn, legend is embarrassed. twilight and sky were egging four on just as much, but legend still sees it as a personal failing that he didn't act more maturely.

x

legend coming in clutch with another small quip that he hopes will cut the tension. time's interrogating the kid, who clearly doesn't want to give away the elder's story. legend lets them carry on with their important conversation, but kudos to him for trying to lighten the mood prematurely.

x

twilight is out for the count with time, sky, and warriors going to help. so, legend acts as the temporary leader even though he's not accustomed to it. nobody listens to him unless he physically drags them away from a fight, but he still tries to keep the team safe.

x

legend so badly wants to check on twilight, but he knows that four is right. his restless energy then returns and he wastes a few minutes arguing with the smaller heroes before storming out of the inn to look for help.

x

and finally, we have the rare instance of legend wanting to be the peacekeeper, but not knowing what to say. he hasn't left twilight's side since he recovered, but that doesn't mean that he knows how to react to wild's poking at midna. thankfully, wild backs off and legend is able to remind twilight to save his worries until he has his full strength back.

x

so, there you have it! hopefully that was more than enough proof to convince you that legend is a pretty great guy, not the bully that people are so set on making him out to be.

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 10}

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

Summary: Toro Callican using a sedative to capture you has many effects, some you were all to familair with and one that is completely unexpected.

Word Count: 6.5K

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical gore, mention of injuries, blood, mention of past injuries, description of self-inflicted scarring, mentions of past self harm, depression, mental illness, body high, head high, angst, reader is drugged, reader is under the influence of a sedative, body dysmorphia, body image issues, feelings of uselessness, feelings of weakness, altered mental state, ptsd, arousal, sexual themes, offer of sexual favors by reader, reader is tied up, reader is held captive, talk of past sexual encounters (not detailed), argumentative dialogue

A/N: there is a lot of angst and dialogue in this! it helps to set the tone for the budding relationship between din and our dear san. please let me know what y'all think? this was a rather hard chapter to outline and i wasn't sure if it was the right pacing but i feel comfortable enough to make it an official part of the story instead of abandoned scenes that sit in a document forever

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

It was pitch black, when you began to come back to yourself.

Blinking your eyes open rapidly, you tried to adjust to where you were. Trying to take stock of your body and how everything felt but it was hard with so many senses taken away from you. Mind fuzzy and body feeling like your nerves were untethered. Drugged, the rational, subconscious part of your brain that was struggling to operate supplied you. It was jarring, to feel so disconnected from your body, too familiar in the way that it made you feel to weak and defeated. So much like the person you had been trying to overcome for weeks now, all of the progress you made vanished in the plunge of a needle breaking through your skin.

Weightlessness, untethered, dizzy.

Your head felt so heavy in comparison, it was hard to shift around in an attempt to piece where you were and how you got to where it was. Ropes that were knotted far too tight were around your wrists and ankles, maneuvered behind you to make the task of detangling them worse.

“Looks like you need another dose, Mando sure is taking his sweet time considering you and that thing are in danger.”

“Please,” You tried to hold your head up long enough to catch the young man’s eyes. The high of whatever he gave you all encompassing, overwhelming.

“You can’t offer me anything that’ll change my mind.”

“I’ll help you,” The words tumbled out of your mouth like you were just learning how to string sentences together, jumbled and full over your tongue that was dried out. But you needed to get them out, to convince him this was all so reckless. “I’ll help you make your name known.”

“Not interested in anything other than turning in Mando, he will make my name known.”

“He’s…strong.” The words pushed out your lungs on a harsh exhale, the ‘r’ rolling as a growl rumbled in your chest. The need to defend the man who treated you like an equal, gave you space in his ship, allowed you a way to maintain your freedom with his protection.

“He tarnished his reputation for you and that thing. Which means he’ll do anything to keep you both safe.”

Words failed you as your concentration waned, the weightlessness taking over and robbing you of all the languages you were fluent in, mind struggling as it drowned.

“See, the thing is, I think he’s going to do exactly that.” He stepped closer to you, something glinting in his hand. When you leaned your head back against the side paneling of the hold, your eyes narrowed as you tried to focus on his blurry visage. You spat the words out, trying to put as much behind them as you could.

“Or he’ll kill you.” His gloved hand descending on your cheek was loud, the force of the action whipping your head to the side and all you could do was groan and take it. Pain so dulled by the drugs in your vein that it barely registered beyond a prickling sensation.

“I’m sure he’ll want to, I know he’ll want to. But he’s got a weakness now and it’ll play out exactly like I want it to.”

There was a sharp sting that broke through the fog of the drugs, demanding attention on your exposed arm. A needle was plunged deep into the muscle in the same spot as before, Callican’s hand holding it there as he administered something into your system, the needle hurting as it moved underneath your skin. You tried to cry out, the pain troubling with how starkly you felt it but all you let out was a warbled sound before you slumped back against the wall.

The coolness of the floor was soothing on your heated skin, tears brimming in your eyes as you clawed at your arms. Trying and failing to dig out the foreign feeling that was cascading over you, your nails only succeeding in creating marks along your skin, delving no further for desperate relief. The ice-cold sensation of something traveling through your veins making you feel trapped in your own body, sweat dripping off of you as it tried to make itself feel like home again, like your own again.

You startled when a deep, modulated voice called your name. Wide eyes cast up to gauge the figure that was standing in front of you. It was vaguely familiar, your fogged up brain not able to make a definition of who it was aside from them not being a threat to you. Not caring much beyond that, you pressed your forehead flat to the ground again, the thud of it making contact reverberating all along your neck and shoulders. Groaning, you curled your legs and brought them up to your chest, hugging them close. Your arm brushed across a bandage wrapped around your thigh and you hissed as it sparked a sensation that should’ve been painful but only felt like tingles spreading across your skin.

Nerves responding to what should be pain but felt like a wave of cold prickles over your body, making you groan as they skittered all over. They didn’t do anything to combat the heat licking at your senses, if anything they made you realize how intense it felt all over again.

Vision wavering, you could hear a low buzz of something around you. Not paying it much mind, you dug your fingers into your thighs, trying to relieve the tingling that was coursing through your veins. The bandage wrinkled under your hands, pulling on the wound below and you felt the rush of blood as the cut reopened, allowing some of the intensity of the heat consuming you to wane. You signed in relief as the tingling ceased at least on that part of your body, replaced with something that was a dull throb.

Suddenly there was a weight, pulling your hands up, that insistent buzzing now louder and closer. You brought your hands up to grip at your temples, fingers digging into your hairline before you dragged them down the length of your face, over your cheeks. The action smeared a metallic tang that was too strong on your nose, and you felt your stomach lurch. Scrambling, from your side to push yourself on your knees and hang your head over the toilet basin beside you, fruitless dry heaving wracked your body.

A weight landed on your shoulders, pulling at your hair and bringing it to lay over your back away from your face. The action caused arousal to flare in the apex of your thighs, warming you even more so as you felt the need for touch so strongly, for relief from everything that was barrage on your senses, on your body. Panting with the effort it took to catch your breath, you cast a glance over your shoulder to see a shadow kneeling beside you. It was comforting, despite being so far under the fog that was occupying your mind. The thought crossed your mind that they would be able to help you, but your eyes wouldn’t focus.

Suddenly, you recalled the sensation of floating. Of being buoyant while you simply let small currents jostle your body in slow motions, swimming. The cool of salty water washing over you, surrounding you, smelling so comforting. The weightlessness of your real body intertwined with the recollection of it and you felt tears prick at your eyes as you yearned for something you had tried to forget.

“I want to go home.” You cried, voice broken and fragile, words barely spoken above a whisper. “But home doesn’t exist anymore.”

“You’re safe here, mesh’la.” He knew what you were talking about, not just the physical world you hailed from, but the feeling of childhood you both had been ripped from too soon. Things from the past that developed into complicated places and feelings, tainted by the world that was cruel to you both. He held your hair back as you cried for something that could never be again. “I’ve got you.”

As the nausea waned from you, he lifted your weak body and took you up to the space behind the control room he converted into a small room for you. A cot slotted against the right wall, the trunk he had given you up against the left, your bags and things placed atop it. As he settled you in the bed, your eyes barely opened when howling wind sounded outside the ship. The hush of sand and debris coursing through the air was loud, almost deafening and your hands gripped his arms tightly, preventing him from stepping away from you.

“Just a storm, mesh’la.” His voice was a soft display through the modulator, as he took in the wide eyes you were now looking at him with, your pupils blown out and your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“I can’t stay with you, you’re still fighting off the sedative.”

His name sighed out on a long exhale was a good argument, but he stuck by his words.

It wouldn’t be right, to give into your request to lay beside you. He was only as strong as he could be, and he was realizing when it came to your distress he was unprepared. You were so far gone under the influence of what the medic at the small clinic had said was a sedative and muscle relaxer combination that you were most certainly high off the dose administered to you. They said it would take a few days to work out of your system, something that concerned him, but they said you should be fine. He hadn’t told them about the withdrawal you had already suffered through when he first brought you aboard. He worried for those long hours as they steadily neared.

“I’m comfortable with you, you make me feel safe.” Fingers tight around the part of his arm that didn’t don any armor, you could feel the way his muscles jumped at the contact through his shirt. It stirred arousal, to feel that underneath the armor was a person. The visage of him in nothing but his sacred helmet and sleep pants from a former time stoked flames in your lower abdomen. The broad expanse of his shoulders and chest, dark hair not a shocking but pleasant discovery that spanned across his pecs and trailed below his belly button. The way his biceps had moved as he carried you across the hold, the feel of his body against your own. The scent you had breathed deep from the crook of his neck, it was all so dizzying…so alluring, and you wanted it.  

“I know, mesh’la. But it’s for the best, I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.” His words came out even despite his muscles jumping underneath the wandering touch of your fingers as they carefully began to delve underneath the bottom of his pauldrons. He wasn’t strong enough to pry your fingers away from him despite his words saying he felt this was wrong, the play of something so pulling while you weren’t complete of mind.

“But there are none,” Your voice lilted, laughter in your tone as you smiled serenely up at him. There was something glinting in your eyes that he hadn’t seen since meeting you, something he recognized as dangerous should he ask after it. Your head knocked back, eyes roaming over his form from top to bottom as he stood beside the cot. But he didn’t need to, you gave it to him all the same in a sultry voice that he’d think about for days to come. Pitched low like it was for him and him alone. “I’d let you do anything you wanted.”

He grunted in response, feeling himself twitch below the waist. He was completely unprepared. Your eyes were so bright, your face so relaxed. Your words so earnest and alluring, the lines of your body long and enticing as you shifted atop the cot.

“I’d let you put your big, soft hands-“

“Enough!” He barked, his anxiety and worry getting the better of him. His guilt. He tore his arms out from your grasp and turned his back to the cot. Taking a deep breath to center himself, to collect himself, he could hear you shift behind him. He worried you were going to reach for him, play on his conflicting emotions in your altered state. The guilt he was feeling burned in him, to think such things of you when you had done nothing to suggest you would take from anyone in such a way. You weren’t wholly yourself right now, he was completely unprepared for who you were under the influence.

He spared one last look over his shoulder before he left and his resolve almost crumbled. Your bottom lip was trembling, your hands wrapped around yourself as you sat up, hunched over as your eyes shone with unshed tears. A complete shift from the energy you had just been using to entice him, an entire shift to your mood. Because of his reaction to it.

All he could picture for the rest of the evening as he busied himself setting up the ship to withstand a sandstorm was that last glance he had taken of you and the one of you sprawled on the bathroom floor with bloody handprints staining your face and legs as you fought against the drugs pumping through your system.  

Din could hear you stirring about, in the space of the ship beyond his personal quarters. The Child was asleep, exhausted from the unsettling events of the night. His quiet snores comforting Din in his agitated and anxious state. Sighing, he kicked the blanket from where it covered him. His armor was piled neatly beside the cot, some comfortable sleep he thought would help only resulted in him laying and staring into the darkness through the visor on his helmet.

It had been…alarming to see you ricochet back and forth between such extreme emotions. All of them amplified by the drugs in your system, something he felt tortured over, as if he had been the one to administer them to you. He sat with his legs over the edge of the cot, bare feet flat on the cool metal of the ship’s flooring. His mind replaying the events even as he tried his best to shove them out and move past them.

‘“Took you long enough, Mando.” Callican’s voice projected around the hangar.

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now.” The mechanic slowly walked out from the dark interior of the ship, steps light on the metal of the ramp. Callican behind her with a blaster shoved into her back and the Child in his arms. “Partner.”

“Drop your blaster and raise ‘em.” The younger man paused at the top of the ramp, not stepping further, with the threat aim of a blaster trained on him. Din didn’t make a sound as he tossed the blaster in his hand to the ground in front of him. It landed with a dull sound as he raised his arms out to show he was further unarmed. Slowly, he dragged his palms over his torso as he moved them up, grasping at a flare with his palm. He placed his hands on the back of his helmet, the Child cooing as if he could sense his caretaker.

“Cuff him.” He shoved the blaster into the mechanic’s back twice, urging her to move down the ramp and toward where he stood.

“You’re a Guild traitor, Mando.” Callican voiced the very thing that echoed in Din’s mind every time he was alone, but when faced with the soft coos of the Child, or a brightening of your face, it didn’t seem like such a tragic thing. “And I’m willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape.”

“Fennec was right. Bringing you in won’t just make me a member of the Guild, it’ll make me legendary.”’

Anger at the overly confident actions of a younger man he had seen a glimpse of himself in had him shoving off from the cot. He had been fooled by the earnest attitude of Callican wanting to make something of himself, to prove to whoever had told him he would amount to nothing that he could be something, to make a difference in the world by bringing in trash that was sought after for their indiscretions with the Guild. The door of the small space hushed closed behind him as he padded toward the makeshift table.

Making sure that the ship was still locked down and there was no chance of anyone sneaking aboard or disengaging the settings, he moved about the space freely,

He hadn’t cleaned up the mess he came back to yet, so focused on getting you comfortable and making sure you were alright. That the Child was alright, not too worked up by seeing you taken down and not knowing where he had been must’ve been hard on such a young one. Ad’ika, you had begun to call him, the term holding endearment and care when it passed through your lips for the first time over the comm link. His chest had hurt at the call, the sounds of you moving about his ship comfortably, the sounds of ad’ika cooing in the background.

It had been so domestic, a feeling so foreign to him and yet….it had felt like it had always been as such. It had felt so normal, like a facet of his life that shone when spotted and simply was something his life was made of, that he was capable of. His chest had hurt… and for a fleeting moment he had thought of his parents. The fast beating of his heart had been loud in his ears as he tried to keep his voice even to a listening Callican, lest he pick too much up from the exchange. The lightweight feeling of the memory twisted into something darker as he recalled the way Callican spoke of you.

‘“But it is rather telling, which quarries you decided to keep all to yourself.” Toro smirked at him, overly confident with no reason to be. The deep scratch marks that were angry and bright on his neck displaying as much, that he could barely handle his own against a woman he ambushed and sedated.

“The one on the ship must keep your bed rather warm, seems like a good exchange for the bounty you’re missing out on.”

“She was so unsuspecting, said some really interesting stuff while the drugs were working through her system. Told me she would make it worth my while if I were to let you and this thing go.” Callican jostled the Child in his arms, causing louder sounds of distress to bounce into the tense air. 

Din seethed at the filth falling from the younger man’s mouth, baring his teeth underneath the helmet and he pictured tearing him limb from limb, pummeling him until he was nothing more than a collection of broken bones and bruises for even thinking of laying a hand you. He must’ve taken you completely off guard, to not get thrown about or struck down by your saber. The mental image had his hands fisting at his sides, of you just standing there busy with something only to be drugged and tied up all before you even knew what was happening, where he was.’

The helmet hissed as he disengaged it with a bare hand and the weight of it clunked as he set it atop the makeshift table. Running a hand through his thick locks that stretched to curl about his ears and the nape of his neck, he pressed the button that opened the panel storing the scant few kitchen wares he owned. He ignored the hotplate in favor of turning on the caf maker. It was already set up, the water full up to the line indicating it would make exactly one cup. The drawer he opened for a pod of the compressed caf was full as well, despite not being able to remember the last time he even thought of seeking them out in a marketplace or shop.

He tried to picture you flowing through an open marketplace, hair braided as it had been the last time he had seen you fully conscious and aware of your senses. Bringing the pod up to his nose to inhale the rich scent of the caf, he let his mind wander as he closed his eyes and thought of you.

Cautious but aware of your surroundings, polite but not overly talkative to vendors. Kind enough to warrant free samples and discounted prices, toting around a large collection of wares you deemed important. He wondered where you had even gotten the credits from, for the things still laid out on the makeshift table around his helmet. Smile soft and small as you tried out all the different fruits and felt the sun on your skin. But the image bled into the one he had come back to.

‘The metal rings you had been fastening into armor were scattered around the floor of the ship, crunching underneath Din’s boots as he slowly advanced inside. It was dark, all the lights and mechanisms shut off, the only light in the space was what sunlight could sneak in around his frame in the doorway. His steps faltered when he spotted your unconscious form by the ladder leading to the control room. Your hair loose and fanning around you, your hands and feet were bound with rope, the knots looking tight around them, you were on your side, arms pulled behind your back and legs bent at the knee.

Bruises could be seen up and down the length of your arms, visible without the cloak he had gotten you, it was shucked off and crumpled beside you. As if you had been fighting and someone had snatched it, pulling it from your frame forcefully. There was a prominent, irritated spot on the outside of your arm, indicative of someone stabbing a needle deep into the skin there.

Kneeling beside you, he turned started to untie the rope, but it seemed to make the knots wind tighter around your wrists. Growling low in his chest in frustration, he took the knife from inside his boot and cut it away, rubbing his fingers along the marks to sooth them as best he could. He did the same with the ties around your ankles before turning you gently onto your back with a soft call of your name.

Faint whimpering startled him, your body jostling beneath his hands as he removed the rope from around your limbs. You didn’t stir beyond that, lost to the world that the contents of the needle had plunged you into. It was then that he noticed the rip on your thigh, the deep cut already beginning to scab around blood-stained skin. It must’ve happened hours ago, but you didn’t wake.

He stayed beside you, stretching to reach over to pick up the syringe you that was discarded on the ground. It looked small in his hands, but the casing was empty, not even a stray drop rolling around inside. He gripped it tight in his palm, the leather of his gloves crinkling with the force. He pocketed it despite wanting to crush the glass in his hand, to hear the crunch of it as he destroyed the very reason you were unconscious beside him on the floor of the Crest.’

He had to concentrate on placing the pod into the machine before he activated the brew to begin, not wanting to wreck the one thing you had been comfortable enough to use as your own on the ship. He had to focus on not slamming the mug into the space below to catch it. As it began to sputter and drain the water from the storage reservoir, he leaned his hands on the lip of the small inlaid counter and hung his head. The action stretched out his shoulders, underneath his long sleeve shirt, popping where kinks had developed from his ride back into the city.

The wind howled outside of the ship and the caf dripped into the mug as he turned around and began to clean the metal rings scattered across the floor. There were hundreds of them, but he managed to get them all. The different sizes all found themselves in the same pouch, Din not having the energy to separate them. He contemplated just getting you a whole new collection when he spotted the sketches you had drawn up of what you were making. It was armor. A set of pauldrons made of chain mail you were creating yourself with the rings.

The detail and notes on the pages of a small book looked professional and it intrigued him. Is this what you had been raised to do? Or something you had taken up after leaving home, after the attack on the temple as a way to make credits? As he flipped through to the next page, he was greeted by sketches for a design that looked masculine. The top of the figure’s body only went so far as their chin, but it was dusted with scruff much like his own face was. The outline of the figure’s body an exact replica of how he would look without the bulk of the beskar armor.

He closed the book, not wanting to invade your privacy any further than he already had, but his heart was thumping rapidly in his chest as he realized you had been thinking about him.

His mind replayed the way you had been so unnervingly still even after he had untied you from your restraints. He had moved you atop his cot, hoping that you would wake and recognize that you were safe in his personal space. As he had been tending to ad’ika, talking over with the mechanic about waiting out the storm in the hangar, he had hated stepping away from where he could keep an eye and ear out for you. As he had trudged back up the ramp, it was closing and locking just as he heard your muffled cries in the fresher. He had quickly placed the small sleeping figure in the small hammock before going to you, only to find you having a fit on the floor. It had been…painful to see you so worked up and in such a state. Fingers digging into your own skin, over scars he hadn’t known you possessed, that you had carved into yourself…

He shook his head, not wanting to think about that and he began to move once again.

He gathered up all of the tools and metal pieces you had been working with and placed them in a crate, so it would all be in one place for you when you were feeling better. The caf warmed the mug he cupped with both his hands as he sat there and listened to the storm rage on.

Groaning, you stretched a handout to feel for the blanket that had fallen down by your feet. You had all but shoved it off during the night, too hot underneath its confines. You could hear ambient noise from down below, securely in your bed, in your space, in your room. All things Din had provided for you while you had been wrestling with reality while your body rode out the wave of drugs and subsequent withdrawals. You had shut yourself in the room as soon as you were alert enough to handle being on your own, embarrassment making your skin burn from the inside out and shame bubble up to join it.

Rain pelted down on the ship, pinging as thunder rumbled overhead. The sandstorm you vaguely remembered from two nights before delved into a thunderstorm in the early hours of the morning. It ate most of the day after and yesterday, allowing you an excuse to stay in your new room and keep to yourself as the ship needed to stay stationed there at the hangar. The thunder had woken you up some time ago, and you lay atop the cot trying to recall everything that had happened the last day and a half.

Your hands idly traced the scars along your thighs, the recent indents of your grappling nails, the bandage around the right one shielding a tender cut from the open air. You recalled digging your hands into the skin there, as you often did in moments of weakness, of needing to feel something other than the emotions storming inside. You recalled rubbing your hands over your face, of pressing it to the cool metal of the floor, of writhing around as fever and chills warred over the territory of your skin.

The white-hot pinpricks of anxiety could be felt over the entirety of your body, making you restless.

There was a sudden knock at the door to your space, but you turned around to face the wall your cot was pushed up against and curled up. You feigned sleep as the door opened, footsteps nearly silent as the Mandalorian entered. You could hear the rustling of his clothing as he kneeled down beside the cot, a hand resting on your shoulder.

“I know you’re awake.”

You shifted until his hand fell to the top of the blankets. You pulled the blanket up further, prompting him to stand up. You could feel his eyes roam over your form, hiding in the blankets and not daring to cut your eyes at him lest he see something you didn’t want him to in your current state. The motion caused your hair to fall over your forehead, some of it resting on your cheek.

“You’re not feeling well.” A feather light caress of bare fingers moved the fallen hair from your face, you tried not to startle too much, not having heard the man move behind you. They brushed over your forehead, feeling for something that you weren’t sure of. When he made a small remark about your temperature, you didn’t respond, continuing to stare at the wall in front of you.

“You…rejected me.” You whispered after a beat of somewhat tense silence.

“You were drugged, you were high on whatever Callican dosed you with.” His voice was even, as if he was trying to keep it from displaying too much of what was going through his own mind.

“I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know how to tell you what I want. If I’m even allowed to…”

“I don’t want anything you aren’t willing to offer. If you wish to remain cordial, I will adhere to that. If you wish to allow casual touches, I will adhere to that. If you wish to…explore other parameters of touch, I will adhere to that.”

“You won’t. I’m tainted, I’m dirty, I’m used.”

“You are you, and I admire who that is.” He didn’t dismiss your words, the thoughts that plagued you every time you thought about the things that happened to you in your life. He took them and let them sit in the air, let you voice them even if he didn’t agree with them.

“Strength, abilities, weapons, Mandalorians put so much worth on those. Admiration on skills.”

“Listen to me and hear me,” Din’s hand reached for one of your own, bringing it up to clasp his ungloved hand with your own. His thumb brushed the back of your hand, sparking tingles down the line of your arm. He had sat himself on the edge of the cot, to reach out for you. His fingers were warm against yours, bringing forth a wash of heat up to your cheeks, coloring them for him to be witness to. That such a simple touch from him could stir such a response was dizzying. “Yes, my religion places importance on those things. But you are the most important factor. You are important to me, and I will show you in any way you wish for me to.”

“What if…I get scared…or nervous…self-conscious.”

“Then we will share the same sentiment. My body…is not perfect and I have never shared any part of myself with anyone. Well…” He trailed off, modulator relaying a deep exhale the told you of his trepidations and worries.

You shifted under the blankets, sitting up to face him. His armor was gleaming in the faint light, and you wondered if he had tended to it recently. It was a comforting image, of him sitting at the makeshift table, armor in hand as he gave it all his attention and meticulously buffed out any indentations or scratches, polishing it to make it shine. The love he had for the precious metal of his people, the adoration he placed on caring for it, the pride he took in wearing a full suit of it, of having been the one to return so much of it to his own people.

You mulled over his words, aware that it was a conversation that needed to happen. Some things that needed to be addressed, on both your parts. You lifted your eyes from the cuirass over his chest, to the visor with a slightly furrowed brow. He needed to speak plainly, as did you.

“Yes, you have.”

“Yes, that... I have, but only a handful of times. With consenting partners and with nothing in mind other than chasing a base need.” His words were expected, he was a grown man, free to be who and what he wanted within the parameters of his Creed. You didn’t fault him, but it just made all of your own feelings so much more complicated, jealously flaring at the idea of him with another person, touching another person, wanting another person. You pushed it down, not willing to delve into that just yet.

“This is new… for me…these feelings. These desires,” You ducked your head, bashful. His other hand reached up and tucked under your chin, bringing your head back up for him to rest the forehead of the helmet against your own. When he leaned back, the heat of his gaze through the visor was scorching, the direct attention making you flustered paired with your confession. “And I know that might be…daunting for you. A big…commitment…for you.”

“My life is about commitments, for my Creed, for my people, for my work.” His hand squeezed around yours, bringing them to hold to his chest. The armor was cool against your skin, but it was nice to combat the flush you were suddenly overcome with. You felt your breath get caught in your throat as he paused to gather his thoughts. “I would be honored to make one to you. If you’d allow me to.”

The tears were sudden, the feeling of being seen, of connecting with someone.

Two more days of the incessant storm brought thunder, pelting rain, and blinding washes of sand over the city before it lightened up. You had remained in your room most of the time, body still going through the motions working the drugs out. Din gave you the space you needed but had asked you each time he fed ad’ika if you wanted to join them for the meal. It brought a smile to your tired features to see the small child enjoy spending time surrounded by you both, safe and happy.

The tabac was soothing as you inhaled deeply, a thin cigarra held between two fingers. A bad habit, one that you had only picked up to stave off the feelings of loneliness, something to fill the void that had been your life on the run. Slipping to the market for a quick trip while there was a lull with the storm with a quick wave to Din had allowed you the opportunity to track some down. He had been busy, nodding at you as he held a large panel of metal for Pelli to weld to the side of the ship. A large piece of debris picked up by the strong winds had grated harshly and caused some damage.

“Don’t.” Was all you said as you felt a figure come around the side of the ship toward you.

“Wasn’t going to say anything.”

“It’s a bad habit, I know. But it’s helping,” You blew the smoke out with a long exhale, watching as it wafted in the still prevalent wind. “With the withdrawals.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just a lull as you both mulled over things in your respective minds.

“I think I’m through the worst of it, might take ad’ika to the marketplace to get something hot for dinner.”

“He’d like that,”

“Maybe…you could come too?”

“He’d like that too.”

“And you?” A gentle, hesitant question.

“I’d like that.” His voice rumbled closer that it had just moments ago as he stepped toward you, one of his arms reaching. His gloved hand was a comfort as it brushed your bare arm, fingerless gloves and vambrace left atop the crate in your room. Warmth bloomed in your chest as you turned away from him to take a long pull of the cigarra.

“Hmm, but I’m paying.” Mouth lifted up at one corner as you smirked over at him, eyes taking in the shine of his armor in the dull light of the suns.

“Is that right?”

“You gave Pelli everything you had, everything you took off Callican, no?”

“The mechanic?”

“Please tell me you knew her name.” A stern edge to your voice had Din’s stomach jolting as he gazed at you through the visor. You had never used a tone like that with him and it was rather endearing to know you were comfortable enough to do so now.

“She didn’t introduce herself.” Was his flat response and you snorted at the way he worded it.

“Neither did you! You strutted down the ramp and fired on that poor droid as greeting.”

“That droid was going to mess something up, didn’t you notice how shifty it was?”

“Shifty? Kriff, Din, you’re…something.”

“So are you, mesh’la.” His hand that had been caressing you gripped and turned you. His other reaching out to knock the last bit of the cigarra from your hands to the ground where he scuffed it out with his boot. You let him move you, wanting to see what he was up to, how he played along with your harmless teasing. You let him pull you to him, chest to chest and he rested the forehead of the helmet against your own. “Something good.”

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

dividers by the lovely @/saradika, saradika-graphics

[the--rebel--fae]

Heyy, I have a little one shot request for Sanji (if that's okay). So, basically how would he reacts when he finds out that the reader has some old (like 5+ years old) self harm scars? Like, the reader is doing okay now but I have a feeling that Sanji's heart would probably break for them. Could be a little NSFW if you want. Honestly, I have a feeling that in this type of scenario Sanji would be the one who needs the comforting lmao (but go with what feels right to you ofc)

A/n: Hi!!! Of course it's ok my dear! I love writing for our little love sick chef! I hope you don't mind that it came out a lot more sappy than I initially thought it would. It kinda got away from me a bit. Eheh. But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Tw: slight allusion to self harm and nsfw suggestiveness. But elsewise nothing but sappy fluff!

Love Can Heal

Fem! Reader x Sanji

“(Y/n), oh you are so beautiful mon ange.” Sanji groaned out as he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses from the corner of your mouth to your neck.

You let out a soft groan at his ministrations but then flinched slightly when he pulled the top and sleeve of your low boat neck shirt down. ‘Hopefully he doesn’t notice. Please don’t notice.’ You chanted in your head.

You hear Sanji let out a sharp gasp and you can’t help but cringe.

‘Dammit. He noticed.’

“My love, are these what I think they are?’” He murmured softly as he scootched closer to you on your shared bed.

Letting out a soft sigh, you look up into his beautiful eyes. “They are. But I can explain. More than five years ago, I was in a very dark place. So, I tended to do…that to try and relieve myself of my grief. But then, you guys found me and took me in as a Straw Hat, and that made everything better. Not right away, but you and everyone else fixed what I thought was long dead.” You grabbed Sanji’s hand and placed it in yours. “I’m alright now, Sanji.”

Sanji pulled his hands from yours and cupped your face. “That makes me happy that you are happy, my love. But what breaks my heart is that you felt you had to hide this.”

You glanced down at your lap and moved so you were snuggling into your boyfriend. “I was worried about what you would think of the scars.”

“(Y/n).”

Your head snapped up at hearing Sanji say your name so harshly. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met. Yes, I think all women are beautiful. But you outshine them all. You are my goddess. And the fact that you have come out the other side of this trial…alive, is a testament to how strong and amazing you are. And how lucky I am to be able to call you mine.”

Tears began to form in your eyes at Sanji’s beautiful words. You quickly pulled him into a passionate and sweet kiss. “Thank you, Sanji. That means the world to me. More than you’ll ever know. I love you so much, my handsome prince.” You whispered against his lips.

Sanji kissed you once more before gently bumping his forehead with yours and looking you in the eyes. “I love you, my beautiful princess. Forever and always.”

You let out a light giggle. “Yep. Forever and always.”

A/N: Well, I hope you liked the one shot! It was really sweet to write. I'm glad I got to write this! Feel free to request something again soon! And if anyone wants a personalized fan fiction story of their own from One Piece to Pokemon and more! I have many options! And I’d be happy to write y’all a story that you’d love! Just click this link below! And if you wanna keep up with what I’m doing with stories and updates on my shop, feel free to follow me here on Tumblr and on Instagram under Rebel Fae Productions

[our-destiny]

If you’re comfortable with it can I request a blurb or headcannons (whatever you prefer) with yandere Bucky Barnes with a darling who never wears anything that goes above the knee but eventually they get comfortable (assuming they haven’t been yoinked at this point) with Bucky that they take a chance and wear something that’s above the knee, and they just have a lot of SH scars on their thighs. I struggle with it still so it’d be v comforting.

That or a darling with an eating disorder because they feel like they don’t deserve to eat, or others deserve it more than them (I also struggle with this) (multiple skill issues on my part👎)

Tyyy!

-💪🌝

Thank you for sending in a request, in this post I'll do SH scars but I'll do another post for an ED, and I'll link it here when I'm done. Anyway, we're gonna do headcanons! <33 Also I hope this helps comfort you bb

Yandere Bucky sees GN!Darling's self harm scars

Trigger Warnings: Self harm (both past and present), implied suicide, stalking, kidnapping, Bucky's a perv and watches you change + a sappy note at the end from yours truly - if I missed anything please let me know

Want to read more of my work? Check out my Masterlist

. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ . *  ✯. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ .

First off, our baby boy here definitely stalks you, and has probably seen your scars when he'd watches you get changed (little pervert). So when he sees you wearing something that shows them, he won't be very surprised. Chances are he'll just gloss over them and not mention them to hopefully make you more comfortable. But let's talk about how he first felt when he saw them.

Bucky was absolutely heartbroken when he saw them. You hurt yourself? Why? He thinks you're the best person in the world, he would move Heaven and Earth for you, what made you do that? He's not judging you, no he would never. He's just worried.

He probably stays awake at night for the first few days when he finds out. Worrying if he's gonna lose you, or if he's done something wrong. His stalking gets more intense, wanting to make sure you don't do it again, or hurt yourself worse.

If they're fresh ones he thinks about confronting you. About giving you a long speech about how he loves you, trying to intervene and help. But then he remembers that you don't know he knows. He shouldn't know. So that idea gets scrapped. So now he has two options.

1. Take you home with him (he doesn't like the word ''kidnap'') so he can physically stop you, even if he has to tie you up or lock you somewhere.

Or 2. Physically stop you by just taking away whatever you're using to hurt yourself. Knives would be the easiest, he'd just take them when you weren't looking, and if you bought more he'd take them, too. But if it's something else (your own nails, burning yourself, hitting yourself) he'd have to do something else. In that case, he'd be forced to take you, to keep you by his side and under his watch so you didn't hurt the person he loves any more.

Either way he is incredibly worried, and would act as soon as possible to try and help you from the shadows. He'd also insist that he's here for you, that you can call him whenever you want, even if it's the middle of the night, your safety comes above anything of his. He just wants to make sure you stay by his side, and happy. Is that so bad?

If they were old ones and healed up he wouldn't be as worried but still heartbroken.

Even the thought you did something like that just makes him want to cradle you and kiss your cute face all over, reassure you for hours on end. But he can't, because you don't know that he knows.

Either way, he becomes a lot more clingy and reassuring, telling you he's here for you if you should ever need him and showering you with even more love. Again, once you actually showed him, he wouldn't mention it or make a big deal out of it, not wanting to make you uncomfortable or pressure you into talking. But if you do want to talk, he's all ears. And has snacks and cuddles at the ready to comfort you.

As always, don't hesitate to reach out if you are struggling, there are many resources available to help you, pkease use them. Even if you feel no one cares, I care. And I love you. So take care of yourselves <33

[angeart]

AU Masterpost [tags]

I think it's time. So I can keep track, and you guys know what's out there and how to search for it <3 I'll try to order AUs based on how much there is to them. Some AUs will only have a single thought/art underneath their tag, but there might be more added to them in the future, and if you're curious about anything, you can always ask. (I'm very easily convinced to drop rambles, as has been proven in the past—)

*

Help Me To Breathe [hmtb]

my main multi-chapter story, set in s8 boatem. deaths abruptly hurt on hermitcraft, and each respawn makes it worse. scar dies a lot by grian's hands, before grian even learns (the hard way) that things hurt now. welcome to a scarian angst hellhole where 3rd life flashbacks hit like bricks and guilt is mercilessly spilled everywhere <3

this fic is the epitome of it gets worse before it gets better. trust me.

cws: violence, ptsd, anxiety attacks, delusions, unhealthy coping mechanisms, suicidal ideation, suicide, temporary character death... please check tags on AO3 which i try very hard to keep updated

tags: #hmtb - an all-encompassing tag for fic updates, rambles, and art. (sometimes #hmtb art is also used in tandem, where relevant.)

fic: Help Me To Breathe on AO3

*

Hunted hybrids [hhau]

hermitcraft s8 got code-attacked and all the hermits got scattered into different worlds, lost and stuck in unfamiliar places, not knowing if their home still exists. the au follows scar and grian who ended up in the same world (although originally unaware)—a world dangerous and hostile to hybrids. grian is an avian, scar is a vex, and they're hunted relentlessly. also, it's permadeath <3

this au is self-indulgently used in RP and co-owned by linkito

cws: violence, blood, dehumanisation of hybrids, self harm (feather plucking), mentions of suicidal ideation... [updated cws in the hhau masterpost]

tags: #hhau

this one got out of hand so >> hhau masterpost <<

*

Boatem circus

scar, a sea-lion hybrid, builds a circus as a safe haven for all the hybrids and misfits that have nowhere to belong and need a place to heal. they all carry their own traumas and wounds, and scar gives them what they never had: gentleness and options and freedom to roam or leave. but it's not easy, navigating a growing community of varying triggers and buried pasts.

au put together with stiffyck

cws: ptsd, panic attacks, fear of fire, loss and grief, mentions of captivity/torture/abuse

tags: #boatem circus au

fics: don't be afraid, little bird (there are no cages around you now); elegy

[AO3 series link]

*

Sleep demon Grian

grian is a sleep demon, existing in the dreamscape, able to manipulate dreams and thriving on giving people nightmares. he meets scar in a dream, immediately intrigued and amused by his reactions, and he keeps coming back to him. scar, despite all the nightmares being thrown at him, catches a glimpse of his perpetrator, and grows curious in turn. they start talking, everything eventually culminating into a ritual and a summonning circle. grian, in the waking world, needs to learn how to exist somewhere where he can get actually hurt, and come to terms with the fact that he has locked away memories and trauma.

cws: injuries, fear, panic, nightmares(?), trauma, violence, memory repression

tags: #sleep demon grian au

au rambles: here

fics: the nightmare snippet; even if it hurts (and even if it isn't a dream) you can have a home here

*

Cursed forest

found family boatem, where each of them carry their own heavy past and an attached curse. they thought they'd never find a place to settle that'd accept them and let them heal. but they found each other, deep in a hidden away forest, littered by bones and flowers, death and hope. (honestly, just see the au rambles.)

au put together with stiffyck

cws: animal death, necromancy, grief and guilt, body horror

tags: #cursed forest au

rambles: here

fics: even with death haunting your footsteps, your flowers will bloom again

*

Ari au

grian (he/she) is ariana giande (ari), a famous singer beloved by the crowds. except things start getting a bit too out of hand. there are stalkers and people who think they have the right to ari's personal life, the right to see and dictate everything. the press gets out of hand. maybe the crowds get too rowdy. maybe—

more scared and overwhelmed by the second, grian gets a bodyguard. that bodyguard is scar. things continue to escalate though, and by the time ari calls a break in her career, everything's irreparably breaking down around her.

(If it wasn't clear yet, this is one very dark, very heavy, very human story. There's love and so, so, so much despair. Things go wrong and then worse.)

au with Ben

cws: papparazzi hounding, stalkers, lack of privacy, blurring of self, drugging and [attempted] SA, physical assaults, self harm, overdose, medical trauma, restraints, seizures, ptsd, depression, suicidal stuff (including several attempts)

tags: #ari au

au rambles: [part I] - [part II] - [part III] - [part IV] - [part V] - [TBC]

au art:

downfall in three stages - here lake scene art - here

*

Assassin au [work title]

grian is an assassin, scar is elven nobility. one day, grian is sent to kill scar, but upon meeting, they find out that they know each other. i promise i'll add a better description at some point.

cws: blood and violence, mind control, being generally oblivious about life, survival scenario, murder, possible animal death

tags: #assassin au (subject to change)

*

Misguided Heroes

scar is secretly hotguy, a hero meant to protect the people. grian is a shopkeeper at barge, but with self-proclaimed king ren wreaking havoc on economy and making life of ordinary citizens so much harder, he decides to secretly play vigilante, cuteguy, and stage a one-man rebellion.

also, scar and grian are roommates.

au for rp with sima <3

cws: injuries, illusions messing with perception/reality, [to be determined]

tags: #misguided heroes au

*

Ghost Scar

grian is a paranormal investigator. scar is a ghost. they meet, they talk, and grian resolves to do his best to make scar feel less lonely.

cws: dead character??? he's a ghost dw he's fine-

tags: #ghost scar au

fics: you exist in silence (i'll help you make a sound)

*

Silly vampire Scar

scar is a vampire living in a mansion too big and too lonely for him. grian and mumbo are survivors in a world riddled with monsters, which they learn to hunt and kill. one night, they seek shelter in what seems to be an abandoned mansion—

cws: general vampire stuff, [to be determined]

tags: #vampire scar au

fics: [one day]

*

Cuteguy au

things do be angsty in this one. scar is hotguy, grian is his sidekick cutecuy. one day, things go wrong and a building explodes with scar still inside. the body is never found. hotguy is presumed dead. that is, until cuteguy comes face to face with a new villain that is oddly familiar—

idea loosely bounced off of stiffy's TOGH au

cws: blood, violence, delusions, brainwashing, grief, loss of identity, presumed major character's death (twice. wild. huh.)

tags: #cuteguy au

*

Papers please au

what it says on the tin. scar lives with his cat jellie in a cold, small, state-provided apartment and gets assigned a job as an immigration officer at a border checkpoint. he... isn't great at the job, but doesn't have a choice, and needs the money to keep them fed and healthy. grian is the head of resistance, because of course he is <3

cws: dystopian world, cold, hunger, sickness, potential pet death, injuries

tags: #papers please au

*

Spirit au

grian is an avian living freely in a patch of forest. that is, until he gets caught by people who think hybrids are on-par with working animals, and is shackled and hurt and trained, to serve. there is a looming war, and flight-capable carriers are very valued (but not much cared for). scar is a vex hybrid, coming from a settlement that's kinder to hybrids, who also gets captured. they meet in captivity, and things happen.

cws: hybrid slavery, hybrid dehumanisation, loss of freedom, abuse, warzone stuff

tags: #spirit au

*

DL rp au

grian and scar in double life, soulbound and with vague memories of previous life games. their soul connection transfers not only all the pain and injuries, but also emotions. and they both feel. a little too much. (they're a mess, but also in love, as they should be)

au for rp with sima <3

cws: they very sad; self destructive tendencies (sorry there's no self in this one, they are linked and there's always collateral-)

tags: #dl rp

*

Half sea town au

a town half-submerged into the sea. the upper half is reserved for humans, who are seen as better, richer, the posh and the nobility. the lower half, the submerged part, is slum-like, reserved for seafolk, seen as lesser. many seafolk learn to live on land, to improve their standing (not necessarily living situation; they do need water). mumbo lives amongst the nobility. scar lived his whole life in the sea. grian, even though he belongs to the seafolk, lives on land. mumbo's best friend, forever trying to be something he isn't.

a crackers collective au

cws: er.. class divide?, self worth issues, needs denial in a way?

tags: #half sea town au

*

The underwater au that somehow fails to have a name the first thing i ever posted on tumblr woo.

an underwater au set somewhere in the wide, deep sea. merfolks. mumbo is a prince, grian, jimmy, and joel are his guards. scar is a deep-sea fish, and tales say those are scary and horrendous and dangerous. (he's just a silly guy, pls)

stiffy/crackers collective au

cws: injuries, idk

tags: #mer au

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

smaller aus/ideas:

last life scar: #post-ll scar's issues with touch

fixing double life scarian: #fixing dl au

puppeteer scar: #puppeteer scar au

cannibal scar/forest (the game) au: #forest au

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

others' aus that i have yoinked and might have content for:

#grumbo apocalypse monster au - ben's au that i slinkered my way into <3 - ben's au masterpost here - grian is very much a (horror) creature :3

#space grian au - also belongs to ben. also burrowed my way in to this one. hehe. (ben none of your aus are now safe from me.)

#snifflins au - crackers group au, based on that one time jimmy and scar were piglinmynose, and joel and grian were sniffermyfeet - twisted into snifflers and piglin hybrids (snifflins!) in the aftermath, trying to get used to their new bodies and instincts and needs.

#desert alien scar au - belongs to stiffy

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

+ a whole bunch of aus (some collective ones) that i haven't talked about on tumblr yet <3

(for example, the zombie whisperer scar/dancing zombies au - postapo, (mum)scarian, with one redscape-focused fic (written for stiffy): the blooms in a dead world)

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

(if i missed any cws for any of the aus, please let me know!)

reinstating that if you're curious about anything, i don't bite! come ask!

[my AO3]

[bunnidid-reviews]

DID Short Films

Something I really enjoy is watching short films about DID :) it's always intriguing to see what sort of representation can be showed in a few short minutes, and just how much care and attention to detail is put into it.

I don't have the energy to do a full review of each, but here's a lil list of my favorite short DID films, along with some trigger warnings!

___________

Petals of a Rose

Triggers to watch out for:

a non-explicit incestuous childhood sexual abuse flashback (there's a safe version to watch with this part cut out in the same link!)

a safe and gentle non-explicit sex scene

dissociating and switching during sex

spiraling, hitting self, friction between parts

over-crowded dialogue

Things I love about this short:

We get multiple stellar scenes of what it can feel like to have DID - like being overwhelmed in the grocery store, talking yourself through the steps of it all. I really related to a lot of this

A good representation of how both positive and negative triggers can cause switches

communication between parts!

the implication of there being more parts yet to be found and how that's just kind of an accepted reality? I don't know if thats relatable for anyone else, but it really is for me

A LOVING AND HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP :DDD a partner who loves and supports and listens even if he doesn't fully understands, but clearly wants to. The amount of relief I felt when the partner STAYED with her after experiencing triggers during sex!!

The reiterations at the end that Now Time Is Safe and also, We Deserve to be Loved, and also, Each and every part is appreciated and loved

________________

Alter

Triggers to watch out for:

mild friction between parts

time loss + confusion

Things I love about this short:

The actress who portrayed the parts did a really stunning job with expressing complicated emotions surrounding time loss and the acceptance of a new part showing up

portraying a well-established system with functional multiplicity!

the use of color to portray parts is something I always remember about this one! I love that each part represents a color! I love that you can see all those colors throughout the home and in the outfits!! I love the rainbow-striped shirt she wore in the end with all the alters' colors + extra space, as if to signify that they're ready to accept more parts!!! aaaa!!! Such a great aesthetic to this film

I was SO pleased there really isnt anything triggering about this film. It's important to indicate that trauma creates the disorder, but it's SO nice when we get a bit of a break from the Horrors

supportive therapist :D

_____________

Alters and Me

Triggers to watch out for:

Mentions of trauma/abuse (very general + vague)

use of Alcohol to cope

self harm, visible scars

yelling/crying

Things I love about this short:

I like that this one's more like a general overview of the alters and how our main character came to understand and accept her DID

nonhuman alter representation!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (a doggo)

The alter who struggles with alcoholic coping and self harm has a realistic reformation arc and turns out to be a cherished caretaker!!

Overall this one's pretty short, but very down to earth and realistic without being too triggering. I liked it a lot!

_______________________

I'm sure there are others that are good too, but that's my list for now! I tried to choose ones that didn't lean too far into horror trope editing or twists so they're safe for anyone to watch :) I might add to this sometime in the future if I see more

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy! Feel free to let me know your thoughts or share some of your favorites with me, you know I'm always curious to hear about this stuff

[syndxlla]

Some Angsty Post-Calamity hurt/comfort Zelink Thougts

(Tw: implied eating disorders and self-harm)

Zelda can’t keep food down. She hasn’t eaten in a century, and it takes a long time for her to be able to again. Link tries desperately to help, but he doesn’t know how.

When they encounter monsters, Zelda often has a post-traumatic response to them. She gets better as time goes on, even assisting in battle.

Link doesn’t sleep, not often. When he does he’s out for a full day at least, but he goes a long time without it. He doesn’t like his nightmares, but more specifically, he’s afraid of losing Zelda again. He holds her close in the night to be extra careful.

Zelda also struggles with sleeping, and often has night terrors that Link struggles to wake her up from. When he does, he holds her teary face in his hands, trying to calm her breathing.

They don’t often fight, but one time when Link gets over-tired he mumbles something snarky under his breath about how Zelda can’t use her powers anymore. She leaves for the entire day and doesn’t return till it starts to get dark out. He went searching for her in an absolute unraveled, nervous wreck. When she comes home he collapses at her feet.

The two have imprinted on each other because of the trauma-bond they share. They become the others half, and act out when they’re separated.

“We are two seriously fucked up kids, aren’t we?”

Zelda gets mysterious scars. Link’s afraid to bring them up.

Zelda cries in her sleep.

Link hears voices a lot. Maybe its the sword, or the koroks, or his own bizarre mind. He listens to them instead of Zelda sometimes. She takes it personally.

Link gets hurt badly one day fighting the Hinox at digdog. Zelda feels useless when all her mind can remind her of is the day he died in her arms.

She falls on her knees in Gerudo town at night after their first day. The two of them placed in an extra chieftains room, the sun blazing orange at sunset. He cries and blames herself for everything again. What triggered it was her noticing how much the Gerudo population has dwindled since her days there before the calamity. Link brushes her hair back from her face.

His voices get louder.

Link notices Zelda desperately working on her powers again, like how she did a century ago. This time it’s different, she actually knows what she’s doing now, but still no results. He tries to bring her back inside because he can’t watch her torture herself like that again, she refuses at first but eventually lets him guide her to some dinner and bed with a gentle hand on the small of her back.

[hanasnx]

I got something for you, Magic Mike Anakin

oh?????

oh really?????

alright so i’ve seen both magic mikes and i gotta say i like the second one better just cos its about men exploring positive masculinity and pursuing their passions for fun instead of profit. also “the kid” annoyed the hell out of me, so did his sister. and ill be honest amber heard’s character in xxl annoyed me too :/ its a give and take really.

i did like XXL a lot because of that groom scene?? hello??? it was with “big dick richie” and it was the only dance that made me have a physical reaction. i was so skdjksjd heres the link

☥ its so very anakin coded to me for some reason. like he’d totally lean in to say something naughty in your ear after you were just “married” and brings you to the stage.

picks you up and hooks his arm under your legs effortlessly

sit you down into the sex swing. chain up your legs. whipping his tie around like he would actually whip you with it given the chance.

picking himself up like that using the bars and pretending to fuck your face. hanging upside down to shake his hair out over your crotch and tickle in between your legs.

☥ this scene had so much good energy to me it looked so fun and juxtaposed the idea of you either get one or the other when you marry— you get a gentleman that marries you and treats you right, and a freak that treats you like the slut you are when its time to consummate the marriage. very anakin

☥ i know ive talked about anakins character not being very sexual unless hes with a person he really likes, but who says this dance cant be between him and you aka his lover?

also i love the idea of a demisexual stripper that just shatters a harmful stereotype “if youre a stripper you must love sex right?” “im basically asexual” “oh” sumn about it scratches my brain

☥ anakin running around with his 501st crew to dance for fun and have beach parties and compete in a drag bar for cash bcos you only live once. he’d definitely be the thrill seeker of the group and the guy that does the most stunts just cos he can. like sets up the stage to like do a bunch of flips through hoops of fire ?? he has no sense of self preservation!! hes doing it!

☥ the way he’d be able to move his hips skfjddsfklj plsss. hed be so fluid and we all know hes already jacked. one of his hobbies is def working out and dancing like this requires a lot of work and training!

☥ not to mention those hips would be amazing in bed,,,,, aye yai yai. he’d push and pull and direct you and position you like a rag doll— hit spots inside you you never thought possible. make you clutch the sheets and drool all over yourself.

☥ he’d revel in the attention tbfh he loves making ladies feel special

☥ he’s probably a fan favorite just because of his personality. also theres a big air of mystery surrounding his scar that only adds to his sex appeal

☥ eeee imagine him flirting with you after the event like “you like what you see? interested in a private show?” he’d be such a tease

☥ he honestly would use any excuse to wear less clothes

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 23: I Stay When You're Lost, And I'm Scared, And You're Turning Away

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: You just want to disappear.

Warnings: ANGST, depressive episode, panic attack, talk about suicide & suicide attempts, talk about self-harm, mention of self-harm scars; this chapter is heavy, so heed the warnings and take care of yourselves!

Word Count: 4.2k

A/n: I wasn't sure whether I should post this or not because it doesn't do much for the plot, but it does a lot for character development. This is very personal and I think it will be very personal to a lot of you as well. Still, be careful because these topics are not at all light. (also, check out my previous post from today if you like my writing, especially the angst and the spice, and if you're curious about my original work. I've linked a second blog for you to follow <3)

You surprisingly sleep through the night. You must have been so exhausted the night before that your mind didn’t have the strength or time to conjure up a nightmare before deep sleep took over. When you wake up though, reality crashes back in. And you know that’s when the actual nightmare begins.

Michael has his arm draped over your waist and his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck. He’s still sleeping peacefully when you open your eyes and the sun greets you through the thin curtains. 

Gently, so as not to disturb his slumber, you shift slightly to get a better view of him. The lines of worry that had etched his face are softened in sleep. 

You lightly brush your fingers through his hair, feeling the soft strands dance around your fingers. The sound of his steady breathing and the rise and fall of his chest against yours create a gentle rhythm that calms your anxiety. 

You are so close, your foreheads almost touch. 

“You’re starin’,” his groggy voice fills the room. 

You blush. You got lost in the sight of him, and you lost track of time. “Guilty as charged,” you murmur. 

He chuckles softly. ���Knew it.”

“Can you blame me? You’re quite the sight to wake up to.”

Michael stirs, his eyes fluttering open. His gaze lingers on your face. “I could say the same ‘bout you,” he says.

His hand moves to gently caress your cheek, his touch tender and comforting. He draws circles on your cheekbone and your eyes flutter shut. 

“How’re ya feelin’ today?” he asks.

You take a moment to assess your emotions. You don’t understand what’s happening inside of you, you only know that you’re drained. Sleeping the whole day away sounds like something you wouldn’t say no to. At least when you’re asleep, you don’t have to face reality. 

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“That’s alright.”

“I guess I’m just…thinking a lot.”

“Is there anythin’ I can do?”

“Can you just–” you inch closer, “Hold me?”

Without hesitation, Michael wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. His warmth envelops you. He’s laying on his side the same way you are, but your head still fits perfectly underneath his chin. You hold your arms to your chest; it’s a silent plea for him to wrap his arms around you as a cocoon would form around a caterpillar, and he does so.

He holds you tightly but gently as if he wants to shield you from all the worries and troubles that have been weighing on your mind. 

You tremble. The tears come suddenly and without warning, but they burn in your eyes, clog up your throat and make it impossible to control your emotions.

“Fuck,” you quietly curse to yourself.

The dam breaks and the wave crashes into you. Tears are streaming down your face and onto Michael’s white shirt. You want to apologize, but you can’t talk. Every time you open your mouth, a broken sob comes out, your breathing shudders and you feel your limbs growing heavy with pain. 

“Hey,” he whispers when he realizes that you’re crying. “What’s wrong?” 

Michael brushes his fingers gently through your hair, trying to ground you. But you struggle to find the words to explain what’s wrong because you simply don’t know. You feel as though you’re drowning in a sea of pain and sadness.

“I don’t know,” you sob. “It’s just…it’s too much.”

You don’t want to be awake. Right now, you don’t even want to be alive. You want to rot and never leave the house again. You want the world to end so you won’t have to worry about anything or anyone anymore. It’s such a selfish train of thought, but the demons are drilling into your brain, and if it weren’t for Michael, you would have run. You always do when you’re hurt. It’s a coping mechanism.

He shushes you. “It’s okay…”

You shake your head, unable to talk. Michael doesn’t know what else to do but hold you close as you cry. Your sobs pick up momentum and grow louder to the point you don’t know what air is anymore. You don’t know what’s worse, not knowing why you’re crying or feeling so consumed by pain and self-hatred, it consumes you whole and makes you cry even harder for the sole reason of making you cry. You’re not even having flashbacks, the emotions just burst out of you and there is no way to stop him. You didn’t dream, but you woke up and now find yourself in a living nightmare where everything has gone to hell. 

You wish you could go to hell so that just for one moment, you wouldn’t have to be alive. Just for a little while, you want to disappear. It’s not like you want to die, not at all, you just need a break, and if that means falling into a coma until things have calmed down around you, you would take that opportunity over anything else. 

The tears die down eventually. You’re not sure for how long you cry, but there comes a point where your body physically can’t produce any more tears and your sobs turn dry. You’re shaking, quivering even, and your body trembles in his arms, but as the tears subside, the air returns to your lungs in sync with his heartbeat. 

Michael reaches for the box of tissues on the bedside table and hands you one. You shift to blow your nose, drying the tears on your cheeks in the process. Laying side by side now, he can look at your face, and the helpless look in your eyes breaks his heart. 

He gently reaches out to touch your face again. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face that got stuck to the tears that already dried, and your eyes flutter closed at his soft touch. 

“Wha was that all about?” he asks, keeping his voice quiet because he knows how vulnerable you are, and he doesn’t want to sound like he’s pressuring you into anything. 

Whatever your state of mind is, you’re not capable of dealing with any more stress right now. He’d rather walk on eggshells around you than hurt you, even if it’s unintentionally. Michael knows better than that. 

You exhale through your mouth, your bottom lip trembling as a stray tear slides down your cheek. “I don’t know,” you repeat what you said before, calmer now. 

You cried all of the strength you had left out of your body and now you’re just empty. You can’t even feel the pain anymore, that’s how numb you are. Maybe you lost your soul and now you’re emotionless. And maybe that’s better. Like this, you won’t hurt anyone. Like this, you can’t be hurt. Once you’re broken, it’s irreparable. 

But you’re not broken, are you? You just have to look at Michael for the demons to get a slap in their faces. Still, it hurts so badly to be numb, the pain turns into a  thudding of guilt that feels like toxic waste on your skin. 

He alternates between stroking your cheek and running a hand through your hair. Your breathing steadies, but he continues. He gives you time. 

It all crashes down on you, and you realize what is happening to you. It happened once before. You got punished for it and you thought taking the easy way out would fix things, but it only made things so much worse. Even then, you couldn’t manage to escape. 

“Talk to me,” Michael says. “What’s goin’ on in that little head of yours?”

You sniffle.

“You can tell me anythin’. I won’t judge.”

You know he won’t. He’s the last person that would judge you for feeling a certain way, and he somehow always understands the scramble that is your brain. You’re not sure how, but he does, even when your words don’t make any sense.

You’re too tired to fight it. “I wasn’t doing so well as a child,” you confess.

He tilts his head a little to hear you better. “Okay,” he answers, signaling that he’s listening so you won’t misinterpret his reaction.

You gather the last of your strength before you continue. “I mean, I had to pretend I was okay, but I was drowning under the weight of pleasing everyone but myself,” you say. “I tried not to let my father’s words get to me, but I did anyway because I was a child and I believed what he told me. And eventually, I started hating myself the same way he hated me–” You take a deep breath to stop the burning sob in your throat. “I was in a bad place,” you say, “and…and I got very sad.”

Why is it so hard to say a single word? It’s not ‘sad’. That’s not what you’re feeling. That’s not the feeling that made you so miserable. 

His eyes soften visibly. His hand stops moving, but he continues holding your head. “Are you depressed?” he asks without missing a beat. 

Depressed. He doesn’t even play along, he says it as it is, and somehow the revelation hurts like a punch to the gut, rendering you unable to breathe. 

You shrug. It’s a loaded question that isn’t so easy to answer. You don’t even have an official diagnosis. Your therapist told you she thinks you have it, and that you have much more than that, but you never saw a psychiatrist for a clinical assessment because you were taught that asking for help is a bad thing. His words have stuck with you from the beginning, and it is hard to put down such an integrated mindset. You want to be strong, but you can’t always be. Perhaps that’s why you had been so delusional and dissociated from the reality of your situation for four years before Michael came around. 

“You don’t have to put a label on it, y’know?” His thumb resumes its circular motion on your cheekbone. “It’s okay to feel like shit sometimes. No need fer a reason.”

You shift to lay on your back, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes. “I used to hurt myself,” you state. “Because I thought things would get better. I used to, uh, get drunk before school…” You wipe your cheeks. “And I smoked a lot, more than I should have. And I did a lot of other things I’m not proud of. Things that would hurt me…”

“Oh,” it almost sounds pained as he moves a little closer, yet granting you your space. “Jesus, love, I–I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

How could he? You never told him. You never told anyone before him.

You don’t even have to say it out loud. He may know your body inside and out, but just like he hadn’t noticed the scar on your temple, he hadn’t paid much attention to scars other than your stretch marks before, and even those he didn’t consciously see. 

He takes your wrist into his hand and looks down on it. In the faint sunlight, it takes him a while to spot what he’s looking for, but when he does, his eyes close for a moment. You know that face; he’s trying not to cry, and it makes you cry again. Your tears must have recharged during those five minutes of not shedding a single one. It’s a new record. 

Instead of recoiling or looking at you weirdly like other men that picked up on your scars, Michael wraps his hand around your wrist and holds it close to his chest. 

“Did ya–” he takes a deep breath, “Did you ever think the world would be better off without ya?” he asks. “Like life wasn’t worth livin’ anymore?”

The rain of your tears turns into the size of a hailstorm. 

“Did you–” 

You can’t let him finish because then it will become real. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Once.”

One might think attempting suicide will end you up on suicide watch for quite a while and make it possible for a victim of abuse to get the help they need, and pull them from their abusive family indefinitely, but when there is no proof, they blame your distraught state on some kind of mental illness and try to numb you. 

You can’t talk, you’re a victim, so as soon as you get to go home, the cycle repeats itself from the beginning, and it only gets worse from there on. Not all systems are like this, but the one you fell into as a kid did work like it, and your father even managed to cut your stay in the psych ward short because “it was just a childish mistake”, and then he took his anger out on you at home, making your already shitty situation so much worse.

He doesn’t judge you. Michael wipes your tears, still holding your scarred wrist close to his chest, and then he finally speaks again. “I used t’ feel helpless too,” he says, his eyes meeting yours. Instead of pity, you only find empathy. “My father…given the circumstances, I think ya know tha he was a bastard,” his voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m a Kinsella. I was born into this family. So I thought I had no right t’ feel this way, ever. ‘Cause I was told to always be strong.”

“What happened?” you ask. 

“I just couldn’t deal anymore, and I thought it’d be better if I wasn’t here anymore. Y’know, just for a little while, I thought...”

“Being dead is better than being miserable?” It’s not often you find the right words when it comes to your feelings, but you seem to hit the nail right on the head with this one. 

The tear that escapes his eye and slides down his cheek lands on your index finger as your hand softly caresses his face. He nods. You don’t know what to say. It sounds so familiar and yet your lives couldn’t be different, especially the trauma of your respective childhoods you both had to endure. And even though he claims he wasn’t alone, deep down, Michael has always felt that way because he always had to somehow function, no matter the context. 

“I didn’t try,” he tells you, “but I was very close to doin’ it. I can’t tell ya why I didn’t do it, so I can’t give ya the moral of this story, but…but maybe you see that yer not alone. There’s a lot of people that feel this way,” he says. “Your pain is real. And the world wouldn’t be better without ya in it ‘cause then I would have never met you. That’s somethin’ I can’t possibly imagine.”

You whimper. His words hit deep. 

“Hey. You’re good, my love. And you deserve t’be loved. You survived somethin’ horrible, and that shows how strong you are.”

You open your mouth, but your voice breaks before you can speak. 

“Shh–” Michael bridges the gap between you. 

He pulls you back into his arms, your head resting just underneath his chin, your leg draped over his as your weight now rests almost entirely on top of him. You nuzzle your face into his chest, inhaling his scent, and your sob turns into a whimper. 

His hand comes to rest on the back of your head. “I’ll just hold ya ‘till you feel better,” he says. 

“But I don’t wanna burden you,” you whisper. 

“You could never burden me.”

You choose not to fight this time. Instead, you let him break your fall with his arms, resuscitating you with a simple touch and making sure you don’t fall apart. 

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but the soothing motion of his fingers in your hair causes the exhaustion to break into you like a tidal wave. Michael looks down to find your eyes closed and your breathing steadied, and he grabs the blanket to drape it back over you. In response, your fist closes around his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline. 

A few hours pass by. You’re dead asleep in his arms. If it weren’t for your shuddered breathing every once in a while, he would have gotten worried, but you were so out of it, he doesn’t blame you for falling back asleep. 

Michael stares at the ceiling, rubbing your arms and back, and occasionally moving on to your hair. The room is quiet. He rarely gets moments like these, and while you are both hurt, he cherishes this moment with you. At least here, you’re both as safe as you can be, holding on to each other. 

When his phone rings, he almost smashes it. You stir, and he can tell you’re on the verge of waking up. He covers your ear, whispering something along the lines of, “Shh, it’s just a dream.” You believe it.  

His phone has been blowing up with texts from his family for hours, so he silenced them. He must have forgotten to do the same for calls. In a moment of desperation after seeing Birdy’s name pop up, he turns off his phone completely. 

Looking down, you’re more than peacefully asleep, and he leans down to kiss your forehead. He needs to focus on you, and he needs to focus on the meeting with his solicitor that he had to reschedule for the second time due to life throwing bricks his way continuously and making it impossible to be on time for anything. Now Jamie is dead, and he neglected Anna’s case because life has been so goddamn messy lately. 

Michael gently brushes a strand of hair away from your face. He wishes he could shield you from all the pain and confusion, but life is rarely that simple. All he can do is be there for you, and he somehow has to make sure he doesn't forget himself along the way. 

For now, though, he decides to let you sleep. He continues to hold you close, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back.

The room is quiet, and the world outside feels distant. In this moment, it's just the two of you, and even though nothing is the same as it was, you have each other and that is at least some sense of familiarity that gives you both a sense of direction. It doesn't help you to decide what to do, and it doesn't stop Michael from thinking about what's right and wrong and what he is willing to sacrifice for love and family, but it gives him hope that you'll be able to face it together as a team rather than apart. At least like this, he can keep you safe. 

The circus is over. You lived years pretending everything was okay because for once in your life, you had a plan. You had control over your life. But your plan was never really a plan and more of a dream you didn’t know how to fulfill, but you pretended you did. 

You put smiles on people’s faces in the café in the hopes you would be seen. You wanted to be entertaining, someone people liked because no one ever did before. Sarah came into your life and she’s ever since treated you like an equal. She’s your friend. 

For a long time, you thought you had to fight for it, and you still do because she still doesn’t know the truth, she only knows the picture she painted of the person you pretend to be on the outside to people who don’t know you. She knows you, but she also doesn’t. Michael does, but there is no one else but the man who caused you this pain in the first place and the rest of your immediate family who knows who you are and what you’ve been through, and their perceptions are very different. 

The life of the party you pretended to be is gone. You’ve returned to the same sad and empty shell you were before you moved to Dublin, something you tried to avoid by leaving in the first place, but you didn’t heal. You didn’t allow yourself time to work through your issues. You didn’t show the people around you who you are and the different colors that reflect off the mirrors of your soul. You kept spinning, but you were locked in a cage. 

With Michael, you allowed the broken bird to break free. You can’t fly yet, but he has made it his mission to try and fix your broken wings so you can be free again. There is no one else that could understand you quite like he does, you think, and it makes you wary of telling Sarah or anyone else the truth. 

Birdy called you an enigma before, and maybe she wasn’t entirely wrong about that. You even are a stranger in your own body. 

Michael busies himself with untangling your hair when you suddenly roll off of him in your sleep. He pouts. Your warmth leaves him, and you take the blanket with you. 

He inches closer, slides back under the blanket, and hugs your body close to his from behind. He should probably set an alarm, but it’s still morning and you could both use some more rest, even if it’s just him lying in bed with you and listening to you breathe as you sleep. 

With each passing moment, each rise and fall of your chest and steady beating of your heart, he finds himself falling more deeply in love with you. You entrusted him with all you have and all you are, and he vows to hold it dear to his heart, protecting you with his life. He won’t shatter your heart because he knows you would never do the same to him. Not anymore, at least. You’ve come too far to give up now. At least you have each other.

He brushes a gentle kiss against your neck. You let out a soft noise, snuggling further into the pillow under your head. 

Michael chuckles, nuzzling his face in your neck and inhaling your scent which is now a mixture of the laundry detergent he uses for the sheets, his cologne, and the natural smell of your skin. 

“I love ya,” he whispers into your ear. 

You’re still asleep, but that doesn’t stop you from smiling at his words. 

The sky outside opens up and the rain soon starts to patter against the window. While a storm is raging outside, Michael keeps you warm in his arms, and you allow yourself to rest for a few more hours before having to face whatever else the day has planned for you. 

He lets you sleep the whole day. You’re well aware it’s bad for depression, but you just need a day to rot, and Michael doesn’t leave your side throughout. He tries to get you to eat when you wake up, but you’re not hungry. You feel like you’re stuck in a ball of cotton and you can’t get out. 

And then it happens. After moving, you had a rough time adjusting, and you’d get these panic attacks in the middle of the day before your mind would conjure up a picture of your father or project the words he used to say to you into your mind, and it triggered your fight or flight response. 

You sit up. It feels as if a rubber band has wrapped its claws around your soul and is contracting the muscles that are keeping you alive. You press a hand to your chest. Your heart is hammering. The sensation only makes it worse, and your skin tingles, making you want to scratch it all off while struggling for breath. 

Michael is by your side in seconds, his eyes filled with worry. He moves closer to you, gently placing his hand on your back, trying to provide some comfort and stability.

“Hey, hey, it's okay,” he says, his voice soft and soothing. “I'm here. You're safe.”

He watches you carefully, trying to gauge the best way to help you. He knows a thing or two about seizures and panic attacks, but yours are different from his. 

“Focus on your breathin’,” he says. “Take slow, deep breaths with me. Inhale... and exhale. That's it. You're doing great.”

You try to focus on his voice and his steady breathing, trying to listen to his heartbeat as his hand gently rubs circles on your back. The storm outside rages on, but the only thing that matters to him is helping you find some peace.

As you begin to steady your breathing, the tightness in your chest starts to ease, and the tingling sensation subsides. You can still feel the remnants of anxiety lingering, but it's more manageable now.

When you’ve calmed down enough to accept physical contact again without feeling like you’re on fire, he pulls you back against his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” your murmur. 

Tears are flowing freely from your eyes, but you’re too tired to care. 

“You have nothing ta apologize for,” says Michael. He rubs your shoulders. “Just know I’m here for ya.”

You can only muster a faint, “Thank you.”

So, you stay like this for a little while longer, until it’s getting dark outside and Michael urges you to take a shower. Then, he finally tucks you back into bed, and you don’t feel so bad for closing your eyes anymore because he settles in beside you and you know he’ll fall asleep with you.

The texture of his beard against your bare shoulder offers a welcomed distraction, and it doesn’t take much longer for your eyelids to flutter. You can hear him whisper, “I love you,” again, but his touch pushes you over the precipice of sleep before you can say it back. 

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocksstarlight

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

I don't know why everyone's pretending and saying Till's scars are because of stage props. Some may be, especially back in the day, but definitely not now. We all know from what those scars are. And lately, for clearly obvious reasons, they've gotten much worse. It's truly horrible to look at and not be cause it's grotesque, but just how low was he feeling to have done that.

And tonight, with his arm profusely bleeding because one of the wounds opened...horrific!

It's really painful to see a man his age still going through it. In various ways, you can tame whatever is going on in ones head, but unfortunately, Till's never been successful.

(warning: skip this post and definitely the links if you are triggered by self harm)

It *is* horrific 🥺 very troubling to watch 🥺

Unfortunately Till gets hurt and hurts himself a lot, has for years and it is still the case. And equally unfortunate is that it's not just simply for one reason either, because if that were the case i would hope that someone would step in and just remedy that one cause.

We know that he did occassionally get hurt by problems with equipment, the Engel wings are said to have left their scars, and he has mentioned in interviews getting burned by pyro. If that were the *only* reason for his injuries, then Rammstein crew or management really would need to step up their game, and try to prevent that from happening.

We also know that some of the stage antics have left Till getting hurt as well, most noticeably Flake breaking a tl lamp on his back in their early shows as a regular act, they talked about it in Rammstein in Amerika (how US lamps are much tougher to break). We know Till in earlier shows made a habit of hitting his head against a microphone or a metal stand (vividly remember Schneider wincing at that) and laughing maniacly after it. This is imo part of the way Till likes Rammstein stage antics to be. Same with the videos, the band is always applauded for their integrity of doing everything 'real', but that also means selfflagellation in the Rosenrot video is part of it. This is Rammstein, they like to do things like this, even if it makes some fans cringe.

Then we have the offstage stories of Till doing a drunk bar game with Peter Tagtgren of who could hold their hand over a flame longer (no points in guessing who won, and as i remember it, had to have a skingraft afterwards). Or cutting himself to bleed over his poetry pages to make it less boring and his entourage helping to swap the pages (there's another video of this where we see the entourage actually laughing and enjoying themselves while doing so, but i can't find it right now, and to be honest...i didn't really look that hard...when i say i don't really like Till's entourage, this is one of the things i mean)

And then we also know Till has difficult times in his life of depression and extreme lows. These fuel his poetry in parts, he writes about his darkness, and imo that is a great outlet. But I could very well imagine that he hurts himself at those times as well, seeing how easily he hurts himself in other times. He has said before that he isn't one for therapy (i think said that he doesn't know anyone who got therapy and improved from it) but i really hope at some point he would find some way of dealing with what happens in healthier ways, without the need for self-harm. When a fan said something similar on one of Zoran Bihac's ig posts, Zoran replied something like "it's handled" with a picture of pills, which i understood in a 'Zoran and Till' kind of way (they both like to hurt Till in Lindemann videos imo) but it still made me feel uncomfortable..

The bleeding on stage in Paris was imo likely a combination of a recent arm wound (we saw it when he was photographed 'out and about') that had closed up, but that got torn open again when changing clothes or equipment, which i can imagine happens easily when your skin is damaged anyway.

And although i don't like to pull the 'age card', aging also has a detrimental effect on the skin, even a small bump can cause bleeding, let alone everything that Till subjects his body to..

Whatever the cause, the tour will be over soon, and he can be out of the limelight, doing stuff he likes. I hope if depression and dark times are the cause, that he is open to talking to friends or family about it Let's just hope that with age he will grow kinder with himself as well

Maybe he just needs to hear that he doesn't need to hurt himself for people to love him 🌺

[ask-the-totally-real-peppino]

Quick Info

Current Location: Peppino's Pizza (By the forest outside the building)

Available for Asks

Primary: Fake Peppino (Goes by 'Pep')

Secondary: Brick (the Rat),

Read the story from the beginning here!: [https://ask-the-totally-real-peppino.tumblr.com/tagged/story%20post/chrono]

Read the intermission from the beginning here!: [https://ask-the-totally-real-peppino.tumblr.com/tagged/intermission%20post/chrono]

Read the bonus story posts here! (Bonus story posts are self-contained stories, typically celebrating a special occasion or showing a past/future event, that occur within the canon of the story, but are not direct continuations of the main plot line.): [https://ask-the-totally-real-peppino.tumblr.com/tagged/bonus%20story%20post/chrono]

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Reference Pit

(References for all characters that have appeared, regardless if they are available for asks or not. These are also tagged as 'reference' for easy finding.)

Pep (Fake Peppino) - (Toyhou.se Version)

Peppino Spaghetti (ref pending)

Gustavo (ref pending)

Brick the Rat (ref pending)

??? (ref pending)

Bean (the mod)

Fake Bean (the fake mod)

Clone OCs (Toyhou.se Link)

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Hello, and welcome to my ask blog! Primarily featuring Fake Peppino, but many of the other Pizza Tower characters and definitely some OCs will appear here too!

This is post-game, so spoilers are abound! Also, due to the nature of Fake Peppino, there will be a lot of body horror, ranging from mainly mild to occasionally severe! (More on content warnings below!)

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Rules

M!A (Magic Anons) are allowed! This can range from sending small gifts to transforming characters for a set amount of posts!

Fanart is a-okay! Please try to represent the character the best you can, and ask before making significant design changes (such as a 'Genderbend' or 'Species Swap')

Please ask beforehand, if you would like to dub my work! And please be sure to credit and link back to me!

No Sexual Content in asks (The occasional innuendo/suggestive joke is fine)

No sending or tagging me in RP starters (this is not an RP blog and I do not RP in private either!)

No spam, such as repeated messages, reblog bait/ask chains etc

Please do not repost, trace or edit my art (unless given written permission)

Please do not use my art/characters in A.I. chatbots etc

Please do not tag my art as 'kin/me' (Nothing against kin! Just my art is very personal to me)

Please be patient! I am only one person, and I am doing this for fun!

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Content Warnings

While I intend for this blog to mostly be fluffy and silly fun, I do want to explore some potentially squicky topics, so here is a list!

Common, will not be tagged: Mild Body Horror (ie Pep's goopy skin etc), Scars, Foul Language, Depictions of Panic Attacks/Meltdowns, Use of Caps and Glitched/Zalgo text

Uncommon, will be tagged: Eye Strain, Alcohol Use, Smoking (mostly regular cigarettes, but maybe weed too), Partial Nudity (bare chests mostly), Emetophobia/Vomit, Blood, Violence, Moderate to Severe Body Horror, War (via Peppino flashbacks), Guns, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied Gore, Implied Cannibalism, Implied Death

Rare, will be tagged, and under a read-more cut: Suggestive jokes, On Screen Gore, On Screen Cannibalism, On Screen Death

Not a content warning, but make a lot of OOC posts bc I have a lot of thoughts! These will all be tagged with 'ooc post', if you don't wanna see them! (But some do have lore in themmmm)

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About Mun

Hi! You guys can call me Bean, Ben or Ruben! I use they/them, and I’m 28. Pizza Tower has taken over my little brain, and so I made this blog to be a bit silly with my favourite character, Fake Peppino~

Main Blog: @smalltimidbean-reblogs (semi-active) (Follows are from this blog!)

Art Blog: @smalltimidbean (active)