#flashbacks tw

[whump-queen]

Break their ankles

An intrusive whump thought of the day

Content: broken bones, intimate whumper, medical whump, ptsd, brief needle & drug mention.

A whumpee with broken ankles desperately crawling for the door, clawing at it uselessly after whumper has slammed it shut, sobbing and begging to be let go.

Or trying to crawl away from whumper, painfully dragging their limp, broken bones along the floor behind them.

An amused whumper sitting and watching it happen, laughing at whumpee’s pathetic attempts to get away, knowing that whenever they’ve decided their captive has gotten far enough, they can yank them back by the chain around their neck and drag them back over with ease. What’re they gonna do, fight back?

Whumpee being forced to rely on whumper for every little thing despite loathing them with every fiber of their being.

Whumper having to carry them everywhere (bridal style)

Bonus points if it’s an intimate whumper and they scoop them up and coo sweet things into whumpee’s ear all “aw, poor sweet thing, don’t worry, I’ve got you,” While whumpee sobs hopelessly into their captor’s chest, disgusted with the closeness and absolutely horrified and ashamed at how helpless they feel like this.

Or maybe whumpee tries to claw their way out of their captor’s arms, and whumper just drops them, laughing at how useless and pathetic they look when they collapse in a crying heap on the floor, unable to go anywhere without whumper’s help.

More bonus points if the bones don’t heal properly and they can never walk quite right again, or if standing or walking for too long causes sharp pains to shoot up through their ankles and they collapse from the agony.

If they ever get a recovery arc, having to get their ankles rebroken and reset to heal properly— The sensation of their ankles breaking all over again bringing back horribly traumatic flashbacks, feeling like they’re back with whumper again, that they’re being tortured again, until they’re screaming and begging and calling the doctors sir and sobbing desperately to be let go. The medical staff is horrified.

And maybe they’re writhing around and thrashing so much that they have to be restrained and sedated in order for the medical staff to reset their freshly broken bones.

A nurse jamming a needle into their neck and emptying an entire syringe into their bloodstream with an “It’s alright, sweetheart, this is for your own good.”

Whumpee in a full-scale flashback begging through tears when they feel the needle, “please, please no— please sir, please don’t, please don’t do this— I— I’ve been good— please I— I can’t—please-“ until the sedative kicks in and their head lolls to the side.

Feel free to add your own prompts/ thoughts! this trope won’t leave my head rn

More prompts like this

#we love a whumpee who can’t escape! #🥰✨💅🏻✌️ #aww just adorable 🥰🥰 #broken ankles #broken bones #my prompts #my writing #whump prompt #my post #whump inspo #torture #whump scenario #intimate whumper #whump writing #whump prompts #whump queen #ptsd whump #flashbacks tw #trauma flashbacks #medical whump #medical setting tw #hospital tw #tw medical whump #tw needles #restrained #sedation #drugging whump #drug mention #tw drugs #whump-queen

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Don‘t mind me sneaking into your inbox playing a little peek-a-boo with Danny and Nate: Danny, wasn‘t there something you planned including rope and your very sexy husband in the bedroom?👀

CW: Survivor navigating boundaries around sex, two survivors actually, safe sane consensual spice, angst, ptsd, bad response to spice

-

"How does this, um, not terrify you?"

"Hm?" Nate looks up without raising his chin, mossy green eyes under dark eyebrows. Although even those are threaded through with silver, now. "Terrify m-me?"

"Yeah." Danny hesitates, leaning over him, face inches away from his own. Barely that, even. Nate never misses a chance to just... look at him, take in the scars and the freckles and the silver-red hair. The love that shouldn't have made it this far, but somehow still did. "I can't-... do any of it. Be tied up, um... how can you?"

Nate shifts, leaning slowly back against the headboard until his shoulder blades touch the intricately carved wood, stretching his hands just to feel the rope tight around his wrists. Well, not too tight.

Danny wouldn't agree to tie it tight enough to actually make it hard for Nate to escape it. Just in case he got scared and couldn't make his hands work well enough to untie the knots. Because some part of Danny is always, always afraid of the worst case scenario. Which Nate finds... sweet, but also confusing, because what is there left to be afraid of, anymore?

Still. His head tips back against the headboard, too, baring his neck in silent invitation. Danny moves forward in almost the same breath to kiss him along the thin, nearly-invisible scars that circle his neck. The collar he wore instead of a real one like Danny's had been. But Danny's tongue and mouth against his pulse are hot, not chilled, and he groans at the shiver down his spine, lets his legs open a little more. "I'm n-not afraid of an, anything you could do to m-me."

"Why not?" Danny breathes the question against his ear. Long, thin fingers tease between Nate's legs and then down his thighs, back up again, over and over as the blood rushes with Nate's pounding heartbeat to follow every touch.

He's panting, a little, and they haven't even gotten started.

"Because I l-love you," He whispers.

"But-" Danny pulls back, and Nate bites back a noise of frustration as those hands disappear, too. "I love you. And I, um... I still can't-"

"I d-don't know why we're d-different, but we are." Nate shrugs as best he can, awkwardly. Danny smiles in response and that simple look - of humor, of love - feels as much like a hand on his cock as anything else ever has. Nate nearly groans just looking at him, naked and, for the moment, unafraid to be. "But I l-like doing this with y-you. And it d-d-doesn't scare m, me. It feels... f-feels good, because I kn-know you won't hurt me. Danny. Look at m-me."

Warm blue eyes meet his own.

Nate leans forward. Danny is just close enough to catch in a brief, grazing kiss. "It feels good," He repeats, slow and steady, each word a beat in time. "With you."

"Hm. What... what else feels good, with me?"

"Oh. Well." His eyes drop to Danny's mouth. His eyebrows raise.

Danny takes a second to catch the hint, and then he laughs, dropping his forehead against Nate's shoulder. The sound of his laughter has always been incredible to Nate - in the cabin it had come so rarely, less and less with each year of captivity. And there had been some time even after where he struggled to feel safe even to do more than smile. Now, he laughs, and when he stops laughing he starts working his tongue over Nate's collarbone, mouthing over his chest hair, down to his stomach.

He makes it to Nate's navel - and Nate is hard and ready for that mouth, that tongue, his own hips shifting to encourage - when he comes to a sudden stop. His lips hover near Nate's pelvis, but all he can see is Danny's red hair, threaded with tinsel-toned silver, mostly going gray at the roots. He just stays there, and seconds tick by, the air heavier and heavier.

Nate swallows around the sudden lump. His heart goes from racing to pounding, all at once, with a lurch that he can feel somewhere in his chest. "Danny?"

"I can't... I can't do this," Danny whispers. Nate feels something on his hip, off to one side, and realizes when it rolls to the crease between thigh and pelvis that it's a tear. "I can't-... I can't-..."

"Sssshhh, it's o-okay, Danny, hey, l-l-look at m-me, okay, Danny-"

He doesn't meet Nate's eyes, just shakes his head, backing rapidly away from him on the bed. His face has gone gray, the freckles and old scars standing out like drops and streaks of paint on unfinished skin. His eyes are far away, and terrified. "I don't want to go down, I don't-... Go down, Red, go-... go down-"

"You don't have to, Danny, look at m-me, D-D-D-"

His words catch in his throat, or on his tongue, they're buried in his head. Nate breathes, trying to take his time. Trying to sound it out in his mind before he tries to speak it, to slow down, slow his thoughts and his voice to get it steady again.

But Danny isn't looking at him.

Or anyone.

At all.

"I can... I can try harder," Danny whispers, and Nate's heart shatters. Just like it always does, when those words come back out. Words Bram had beaten and carved and fucked into him with every so-called misstep, every accusation of imperfection, of not being grateful, of not being good.

"He's dead," Nate whispers. Insists. He can get those words out, at least. At least those haven't failed him, not today, not yet. "He's dead, it's y-you and m-me, now, it's okay, just-... just b-b-... just, just b-... d-damn it, inhale-"

"I can try harder. I can... I can be good... I can try harder. I can be good. I can be good, I can... I'm sorry. I can't-... I can try harder. Just try harder, do better, try-" His hands are up in his hair, pulling at it, as he curls himself up into a ball at the other end of the bed. Too far away. And he isn't listening any longer, or maybe can't hear Nate at all.

Nate swallows. Closes his eyes. Starts carefully, slowly working at his wrists. His bad hand aches, his knee throbs. The sudden drop from desire into despair brings all his aches and pains roaring to the surface. "Listen to m-m-me, Danny-"

Those tear-filled wide blue eyes meet his, and he can't see Danny in them at all. He watches his love take in a long breath.

Danny holds it.

One, two, three, four, five.

"No, D-Danny, no-"

Exhale.

"My name is Red," Danny says. Or Red says with Danny's voice. He's calming himself down. Another breath, held for five, exhaled. "I belong to Abraham Denner." One more breath. Hold for five. Exhale.

Nate hates the familiarity of it.

Hates the empty eyes that hold nothing but fear, eager to please, eager to escape the threat, to be good enough to earn a few moments of peace.

This was such a stupid fucking mistake.

"My body belongs to Abraham, and he can make it do whatever he wants."

Nate stops trying to talk to him, then.

Red won't listen, and Danny can't hear.

Instead, Nate focuses on twisting his wrists, back and forth, and working one slowly up through the coils of rope. It hurts like hell, but less than it hurts listening to Danny recite the endless parade of Bram's rules in his empty soft Red-voice.

He just has to pray their daughter doesn't wake up before he can get Danny back.

#daniel michaelson's story #whump #recovery whump #ptsd tw #consensual spice #gone wrong #dubcon #sorta? #frightened whumpee #scars tw #flashbacks tw #ptsd flashback tw

[galaxywhump]

wasn't sure since it didn't seem like you'd written anything in a bit and i didn't want to just put you on the spot! so we've seen wren experience panic/triggering from pre daniel trauma and daniel's reactions to that. i'd be interested to see daniel's reaction to wren getting triggered/having a panic attack/flashbacks from something daniel has done to him (whipping, breaking his fingers, stabbing through his hands)

Took me a while (what else is new), but here you go!

[SV-240 masterlist]

contents: forced relationship whump, slavery whump, creepy/intimate whumper, trauma, flashbacks, panic attack, creepy comfort, referenced: broken fingers, whipping, cutting.

~~~

Wren has gone through so much pain since he was captured; torture has become just a fact in his life, something Daniel loves too much to let it go. 

The regular torture methods he has gotten used to. They hurt regardless, but he's used to the sight of the whip or Daniel's favorite knife, and the way they bite into his flesh.

But then there are the others, the ones that have only happened once, in circumstances he'd rather not relive. The more time passes, the fuzzier the memories become - but the memory of the pain becomes exaggerated, and when he catches himself thinking back to it against his will, all he remembers is agony.

But all of that is behind him, hopefully. He's learned to block it from his memory - until now.

"Give me a break."

It's just a movie. They're sitting on the couch, Daniel's arm wrapped around Wren, holding him close, and they're watching a movie together. It means over an hour of relative silence between the two of them, since Wren's not in the mood for commenting on what's happening on the screen. He was relieved to hear that this was the plan for the day, that Daniel wanted to relax too.

Then he hears the words. They're just words, just that one common word that he's heard again and again here, but this is different, and it takes him back, like he's been punched in the face and sent flying backwards into the past, but then ended up here again, on the couch, in Daniel's casual embrace.

"You're breaking my heart."

His hands are trembling, fingers stiff; he's scared to move them, expecting agony accompanying a nauseating crack. He can hear it so clearly, one after another, and he can hear something else, laughter, so much laughter, Daniel's and Berkeley's, laughing at him as he sobbed into the couch, unable to resist while his fingers were getting broken one by one.

He jolts in place when someone grabs his hand, he can already feel the pain even though nothing has happened yet, tears gather in his eyes and trickle down his face, and he can barely breathe.

"No!" he cries out, wrenching his hand free and backing away, scrambling to the end of the couch, his breathing quick and shallow. Breaking echoes in his head, the word said in Berkeley's voice and the sickening sound reverberating from his fingers, which hurt so much.

"Hey."

Daniel's voice. It's different, there's genuine worry where there used to be sadistic satisfaction, and yet it's nowhere near soothing, it never is. He shakes his head, curling up, holding his hands close to his chest.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Daniel frowns, moving closer and reaching towards Wren, not stopping when he flinches away. 

"N-no," Wren chokes out when Daniel grabs his arm, but he can't free himself, it wouldn't change anything, he was only punished even more harshly for trying to run. "Stay away, d-don't-"

"I'm not doing anything. Did the movie remind you of something? Whatever it was, it's okay now. You're here, and you're safe with me."

"You did that to me!" Wren curls up more to protect his hands, terror only increased by hopelessness, because if Daniel really wants to repeat that torture, there's nothing that can change his mind.

"Did what?" Daniel tightens his grip on Wren's arm, looking him up and down, and realization finally seems to dawn on him when he notices the way Wren's hiding his hands from him. "Oh. You mean breaking your fingers?"

Wren shivers and doesn't respond, but Daniel doesn't seem to need his confirmation.

"Oh, sweetheart…" Wren can't back off any further and has no choice but to let Daniel pull him closer and wrap one arm around him again; Daniel doesn't let go when he feels Wren tense up, his breathing still strained. "That was ages ago, and I promise it was a one-time thing. I'll never do that to you again."

Wren exhales, doing his best to calm down, but Daniel being so close is anything but calming, and then he whimpers and tries to pull back when Daniel gently takes his hands.

"No…"

"Shh. It's okay. I won't hurt you like that again." Daniel squeezes his hands and smiles.

"You're still hurting me," Wren whispers, his voice shaky.

"I know, but there are things I won't do, again or at all. That is one of them."

And yet Wren's breath catches in his throat when Daniel takes hold of his fingers and curls them slightly.

"Relax, sweetheart. I won't do anything."

"Then let go."

"Just trust me." Daniel leans his head against Wren's. "We'll finish the movie some other time, okay? Or we can watch something else. For now just try to calm down."

It's hard when Daniel continues playing with Wren's fingers, squeezing his hands from time to time, knowing well that it’s counterproductive to his goal of making Wren calm down, but choosing to do it anyway. Not hurting him, just reminding him that he can, at any moment, whenever he pleases, while Wren can do nothing but follow his suggestion and do his best not to reminisce about that nightmare any longer.

~~~

taglist: @faewhump @inky-whump @whole-and-apart-and-between @whatwasmyprevioususername @procrastinatingsab @funky-little-glitter-bomb @goneuntil @redstainedsocks @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @renkocchi @whump-only @muddy-swamp-bitch @girlwithacoolcat @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @sophierose002 @whump-headspace @to-whump-or-not-to-whump @kixngiggles @ohwhumpydays @whumpvp @wibbly-wobbly-whump @stab-the-son-of-a @his-unspoken-words @pumpkin-spice-whump @onlyhappywhenitpains @suspicious-whumping-egg @morning-star-whump @burtlederp

#slavery whump #forced relationship whump #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #flashbacks tw #trauma tw #creepy comfort #fingore #wren rackham #daniel rooney #sv-240 #my writing #thanks for the request! sorry it took so long #please let me know if the taglist work because the post editor in asks is horrendous #i think i'm just gonna take screenshots of asks next time

[alexxcarrasco]

51. SALVAGE : for one muse to retrieve the other’s belongings from a thief. (Gael does the retrieving)

Alex had been waiting for Gael outside the bar. He was already ten minutes late, which wasn't exactly unusual but normally he kept her updated on his ETA. As she pulled her phone out of her pocket, someone jumped out at her from the shadows. Alex was shoved to the ground -- her phone flying out of her hands and falling on the ground a few feet away from her.

Hands were on her, searching until they found the purse which had nudged beneath her back during the fall. "Fuck off!" She screamed as her mind flashed back to when she encountered the stranger in the ally a couple of months ago. A stranger that she found out that she knew.

The thief yanked her purse from her body and took off running, leaving Alex on the ground, gasping for air -- trying to gain control over her mind that threatened to spiral. She hadn't thought she was affected by her encounter with Mathias. But clearly, her body still remembered. She was sweating and her hands were shaking as she heard footsteps approach her.

Her eyes lifted, brimming with tears, to see a blurred face that she'd recognize anywhere. "Gael." He came. Alex lifted the edge of her shirt to her eyes, dabbing at them to try not to mess up her makeup. She blinked and focused, noticing that not only did he have her purse, but he'd also retrieved her phone. "Thank you." She sucked in a deep breath and let it out before pushing herself back to her feet. "Shall we go inside?"

@gledesma

#alex answers #attack tw #flashbacks tw #trauma tw

[walker-extended-universe]

We Go Down Together, Chapter 3

Relationship(s): Cassie Perez & Cordell Walker, Ben Perez & Cassie Perez

Tags/Warnings: Captivity, Fighting, Escape, Trauma, Aftermath of Trauma, Poor Mental Heath, Flashbacks, Triggers

Summary: Cassie and Cordell escape captivity. At least, physically they do. Mentally is another story entirely.

Taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks, @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

-------

After what happened yesterday, Cordell wasn’t going to wait around for a rescue anymore. Seeing what they did to Cassie only proved to him that these guys weren’t playing around. They were going to break him or kill Cassie trying and he couldn’t let that happen.

“We’re getting out of here today,” he said quietly after their breakfast was delivered.

Cassie paused in her struggle to reach her MRE without agitating her broken ribs. “We are? How?”

Cordell got it for her, opening it as he handed it to her. “I’ve got a plan. I’m gonna need you to play along with me on this one.”

Cassie nodded and nibbled on her “meal”. “What’s the plan, partner?”

Cordell sighed. “You’re not gonna like it but… I’m gonna need you to play damsel in distress.”

She rolled her eyes. “If it gets us out of here, I think I’ll manage. What do you need me to do?”

At least she wasn’t complaining about it. “I need you to act like you’re really hurt. I”ll call the guards in and tell them they need to help you or I’ll never comply. Once they’re in, I think we can overpower them and get the keys and rescue ourselves and Julia.”

Cassie nodded. “Gotcha. I think I can handle that. Did I ever tell you I was a theater kid?”

Cordell chuckled. “No, but I’m sure that’ll come in handy.”

He waited until after they’d both eaten. He’d started to lose track of time during their captivity, but he knew they had a little time to prepare themselves before the guards would show up for their “fun”.

“Alright, just lay still and act really pitiful,” he said once they were both ready.

She rolled her eyes but complied. “Ready when you are, Walker.”

He winked at her and started yelling for help, hoping someone was wandering around close enough to hear it. As soon as someone answered his calls, he launched into the play. “She’s not breathing right! I don’t know what the hell you did to her but if she dies, you may as well kill me too because I’m not joining your little anarchy LARP.” He tried not to think too hard about how easy that rolled off his tongue. He also tried not to think too hard about how Cassie’s exaggerated coughs tugged at his heart.

With the men distracted by Cassie, Cordell made his move, tackling the one closest to the door and knocking him out against the metal bars. Cassie then kicked up, knocking back one of the other two guys. Cordell stopped the third from grabbing her and held him in a chokehold. “Where’s Julia?” he hissed. “The woman that was above us, where did you move her?”

“First floor, cell 3,” he wheezed as he ran out of air.

Cordell didn’t let him go until he was completely out and he looked up to see Cassie unlocking herself from her leash. “Got the keys,” she said, brandishing the key ring as she stood up. “Let’s go.”

Cordell nodded and grabbed a spare pistol and a phone off of one of the unconscious men. “Let’s do this.”

They moved through the labyrinth of halls quickly. Almost too quickly. There was no one around the halls to slow them down. Normally Cordell would be suspicious but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

They made it to Julia’s new cell and he quickly unlocked the door, almost getting a fist to the face for his trouble. Luckily, Julia recognized their voices and they were back in business. They stealthily made their way to an exit and were about to leave- until an alarm sounded for their escape.

They hid behind some boxes while guards ran back to their abandoned cell. Once it was clear, Cordell was ready to lead the charge out of there- until he saw the symbol on the boxes he was crouching behind. He’d seen that symbol before in his Marine days- he couldn’t let these maniacs use what was inside them.

“Cassie, you’ve gotta get Julia out of here,” he said once they reached the door.

Cassie stared at him with wide, confused eyes. “What? What about you?”

“I’ve gotta take care of what’s in those boxes. I know what it is, it’s nasty stuff.”

“I’ll help-”

“No, Cass. You need to go.” He handed her the phone. “Call James once you’re a safe distance away. I’ll catch up.”

Cassie took the phone. “Good luck. We’ll be back for you, partner.”

Cordell nodded. “I know.”

With that, they parted ways.

Running into Sean on his way to hide the dangerous chemicals in the radiation wing was unexpected. So was the grenade Sean pulled out after Cordell shot him in the shoulder.

Cordell didn’t really remember how he made it out. He just remembered that it didn’t really matter once he had his eyes on Cassie again.

They were alive. They were okay.

Everything was gonna be okay.

—----

They were free. The nightmare was over.

She fidgeted in her loose hoodie while she waited in the atrium. She’d already given her statement and was waiting for Ben to pick her up and take her home. But first, she wanted to talk to Walker.

She didn’t even know where to begin on recovering from this. Her injuries would heal, the bruises would fade, but she wasn’t sure when she’d stop seeing that cage every time she closed her eyes.

If anyone would have answers, it would be Walker. He’d been through things like this before. Or, at least, similar things. He’d know how to answer questions she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to ask her new mandated therapist.

“Hey, Cassie.” Speak of the devil, Walker stepped in and walked up to her table. “You need a ride?”

“Uh, no. Ben’s coming to pick me up. But actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Uh, sure. About what?”

Cassie took a deep breath and tried to get her thoughts in order. “I…. You’ve dealt with stuff like this before. I mean, probably not exactly this but given your history…. You know how to deal with it, right?”

Walker nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“....How do you deal with it? Because I’m not really sure what to do. It’s like every time I close my eyes-”

“Cass- Cassie.” Walker pet her shoulder and smiled tightly. “We- We don’t need to unload all that right now. We’re out, there’s arrests being made across the state. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but we’re okay. And after some time… you’ll feel okay. We just gotta keep going, alright? The only way out is through.”

That was…underwhelming advice. She’d been hoping for something a little more actionable. “I… If you say so….”

“Cassie!” Ben’s sudden arrival and crushing hug stopped her from pushing the issue further. She returned the hug just as tight. Part of her wanted to make a joke about missing Ben too but it got caught in her throat. “Thank god you’re back,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” was all she could say.

Ben pulled back just enough to Help her out of her chair. “Thanks for waiting with her,” he told Walker. “I’m just gonna take Cassie home now.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask y’all if you wanted to come to the ranch. Mama’s making a roast and I know the rest of the family would be happy to see you.”

Ben looked at her and Cassie tried not to look back. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s late and I think Cassie just needs some rest. Maybe we can come over tomorrow?”

Walker smiled the way he usually smiled at members of the DPS brass he didn’t like “What? And waste a perfectly good welcome home party? Come on, it’ll be fun. Why wait to start things off on a good note?”

“That’s a kind offer, really,” Ben said, smiling the same smile he gave to demanding customers. “But I think-”

“I think it sounds great,” Cassie interjected. “I love a good roast.”

Walker smiled a little more genuinely. “Great! I’ll let everyone know. It’ll be great having you there.”

To his credit, Ben stayed quiet about his disagreement until they were in his car. But then….

“You know you don’t have to go if you don’t want to, right? We can just let them have their little family thing and I’ll just take you back to my place. I can just text Liam-”

“It’s fine, Ben.” Cassie tried to smile. “He’s right. Why wait to take things in the right direction? I’m sure I’ll feel better once I’ve eaten real food.”

“I have real food at my place.”

“But they’re expecting-”

“Cas, stop.” Ben sighed. “I know you don’t actually want to go to this thing, okay? I knew as soon as he brought it up. You’re gonna be miserable the whole time because people are going to be asking you how you are and you’re going to worry about slipping up and telling the truth and you’re probably not even going to be able to eat whatever they put on your plate. Just let me make an excuse for you and take you home? You’ll feel better, I promise.”

She shook her head. “Ben, I- It’s not about me pretending and failing. I know I’m not fine and they won’t expect me to be. I just…. I don’t know how to deal with this except to just push through it. It’s not like I’ll feel any better in the morning if I don’t go.”

Ben sighed. “Fine. But we’re leaving as soon as it’s over. Because you are tired and they have no excuse to keep us there longer.”

“Fine,” she agreed. “Just try not to be too ‘overprotective brother’ about it, okay? They’re not the bad guys here.”

“Sure.”

That was as good as she was going to get out of him and she wasn’t going to push it.

Though, as soon as they arrived, Cassie wondered if maybe she should’ve. It would’ve given her an excuse not to go in.

Even though she’d accepted the invitation and really did need a distraction from everything, she wasn’t sure she was ready for something like this. The Walker family had a tendency to be intense on a good day and it only got worse when emotions were high. It was only the thought of having to deal with Walker’s worried texts for the rest of the night if she didn’t show that made her walk through the front door.

In all honesty, it could’ve gone worse. There was too much worried hovering and Walker’s disaster of a “graduation speech” didn’t exactly set things off on a good note. But Abeline’s food was as good as ever and no one seemed to want to talk about the elephant in the room.

All in all, she’d had worse family dinners.

After they left, Ben drove her back to his apartment because it was closer. “I’ll take you back to your place in the morning,” he said. “Why don’t you grab a shower and I’ll make some sleepytime tea?”

Cassie smiled. “Sounds like a plan,” she said as she headed toward the bathroom. With the door closed behind her, Cassie got undressed after she started the water. Once she was ready, she put her hand in to test the temperature.

The cold water beat down on her arm and she jerked back, hitting the wall with a cry.

Cold. Cold. Waves and waves of cold. Choking. I can't breathe. They’re laughing. They’re enjoying this.

I’m going to die here.

“-ssie? Cassie?!”

Cassie flinched away from the voice, throwing off the hands that were shaking her shoulders. It took her a few moments to calm down and remember where she was, who she was with.

“You okay?” Ben asked softly.

Cassie shook her head. “I can’t- The shower, I can’t-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay….” Ben rubbed her back and turned off the water. “How about I just run you a bath, hm? I think I have bubbles somewhere if you want them.”

Cassie nodded, not moving from her spot on the floor until he finished.

#walker #walker fic #walker fanfic #captivity tw #fighting tw #flashbacks tw #my writing #my fic

[thesleepiesthufflepuff]

Written for @drarrymicrofic’s prompt “Seven” by Taylor Swift - 7/22/22

Thank you for the beta @phoebe-delia!! <3 

TW for childhood abuse and flashbacks

A car door slams outside.

Harry crawls to the closet, eyes squeezed shut, lungs deflated. He smells Vernon’s musty aftershave and Petunia’s honey shampoo, even after all these years. Remembers hands on his neck as he’s shoved away. 

He cries quietly in the closet so no one finds him.

So he can pretend he doesn’t exist.

But Draco knows. 

“I’m here, love.”

#drarry #drarry microfic #draco x harry #drarry fanfiction #my fanfiction #abuse tw #flashbacks tw

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 23 - The Shadow of Death

This is canon 'verse and takes place after the captivity with Kane. Bruno belongs to Izzy! For this piece I used a different line of the prompt song as inspiration.

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @sssunshinebreeze

Masterlist

No. 23: “Please forgive me I’ve got demons in my head.”

Contains: dude whump, lady whump, PTSD, flashbacks, panic attacks, vaguely implied noncon, beating, stabbing, guilt, romance, mild blood, stitches

.

.

She’s not sure what started it all. A nightmare, most likely, he was lying down resting when she left him and probably fell asleep. Reasons and explanations are far from Kamaria’s mind right now, though, all she knows is that she walks back into the clearing to find Bruno deep in the throes of panic. 

He’s standing, too close to the smoldering campfire for her comfort when he’s out of it like this, and he looks ready for a fight but in no condition to be in one. His forehead is soaked with sweat, turning his hairline dark. He’s panting, eyes darting around as if seeing an enemy that isn’t there, and as she watches one hand comes up to clutch at his shirt over the scars on his chest. 

It hurts her heart to see him like this. He doesn’t deserve to be so afraid. 

“Bruno.” She calls to him from a distance to start with, setting down the armload of firewood she gathered. He doesn’t acknowledge her presence, still lost in his memories and fears. 

So she walks a little closer, getting in his line of sight, and raises her voice. “Bruno. Istulta!” Sometimes that works. Today it does not. “You’re alright. You’re safe. Can you hear me?”

He stumbles backwards, thankfully away from the fire, and spins around, putting his back to her. 

He’s warned her before about getting too close to him when he’s like this. She’s never had to help him out of one this bad, and yes, he’s lunged at her a time or two, mostly when she first wakes him up from a nightmare. But he’s never hurt her. And even if he might, she can’t just leave him to suffer. Hurt is nothing new to her, anyway, she can handle it. 

“Bruno.” Circling around, she approaches him slowly from the front. “Come on, amachari, you can do this. Come back to me.”

He’s looking straight past her, straight through her. Talking alone isn’t going to help. Kamaria reaches out, debating for a split second where the safest place to touch might be, then lays her hand gently on his arm. 

The effect is instantaneous. His hand closes over her wrist in an iron grip, too quickly for even her normally lightning-fast reflexes to evade, and he slings her to the ground. It wrenches both her wrist and elbow, but she barely notices. She’s too busy trying to scramble back to her feet. 

He doesn’t give her the chance for that, though. Before she even rolls over he’s there, punching her across the face. The force of it knocks her back to the ground. 

He’s seeing her now, finally. But he sees her as an enemy.

A deeply ingrained, instinctual part of her desperately wants to pull a knife, but she can’t. It’s Bruno, and he’s not trying to hurt her. She has to stay calm, to help him however she can even if she gets hurt in the process. 

Even if she wanted to fight back, he’s moving with an intensity that she rarely sees from him. He grabs her by the shoulder and slams her back into the ground, then straddles her hips, pinning her down. 

All of the oxygen is suddenly sucked from her lungs. It’s no longer Bruno above her, it’s Kane. It’s happening all over again, she’s trapped underneath him, she can’t escape. She’s already broken for him but it’s never enough. He’ll never stop.

The first punch doesn’t break her from the memory. The second does, if only briefly, long enough for her to see Bruno’s face - both angry and terrified at once. She throws the arm he’s not holding down over her face, trying to protect herself, gasping and sobbing all at once.

“Bruno…Bruno please…”

He tosses that arm aside and presses it into the ground and the moment of clarity is lost. “Please…please don’t!” 

There’s blood filling her mouth. Her vision is blurred, ears ringing. Kane’s voice echoes in her mind, laughing at her pain, at how pathetic she becomes as soon as he’s on top of her. She sees Bruno again, but it’s like she’s drowning, coming up for gulps of air and glimpses of reality before she’s plunged back into the turmoil of the past. His fist won’t stop coming down, over and over.

She has to stop him. Has to help him, has to stop him, he’s hurting, she can’t do this again. 

A knife finds its way into her hand without her consciously deciding to draw it. She doesn’t know who is hurting her anymore, all she knows is that it has to stop, and that Bruno’s safety depends on it. With what little leverage she has from the position she’s in, she stabs upward.

The man above her cries out, almost crumples on top of her, then rolls to the side and disappears from view. The pressure on her hips vanishes, but still she struggles to breathe. Her face throbs. Kamaria turns over onto her side, wanting to get up and run far away but unable to move any farther with her head pounding and the ground spinning beneath her. She spits out a mouthful of blood, then curls into a ball, shuddering. 

She wants to scream. 

She does scream, and it hurts all through her nose and cheeks and temples.

“Ka-...Kamaria…”

Bruno.

Shoving her hands into the ground, she pushes herself up to sit, mind still whirling as she tries to place what just happened. There was no Kane, was there? It was only Bruno the whole time. He hurt her. But she can’t hold that against him, not when she knows exactly what it feels like to be trapped in your own head like that. He didn’t mean to. He’s not Kane, not in any capacity. 

He’s going to feel terrible when he realizes what happened.

She has to go to him, though, she has to see if he’s okay now. She pulls up her hood that she uses to partially hide her face on missions, knowing it will do very little good but trying to put off the inevitable as long as possible, and crawls toward him. 

He’s lying on his back, eyes filled with pain as he spots her. “Kamaria…love…are you…?”

“I’m here.” Her voice sounds raw. “I’m coming.”

As she approaches, she’s alarmed to see blood coating his shoulder. Did she…she did, didn’t she? She just barely remembers it, the feeling of the knife in her hand, the desperate need to get him off of her. She picks up her pace, half crawling, half stumbling.

“You…I heard you scream. Are you…are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” She drops down next to him, bent over the wound on his shoulder, fingers gently prodding around it. He hisses in response, neck arching.

“What…happened?”

“Don’t worry about it right now. I need to take care of this. It’s not too deep, thankfully.” It’s not through his heart, thankfully. 

She gets up, swaying in place for a moment before she can see straight enough to walk over to the bag with the medical supplies. She’ll have to take care of her own wounds, eventually, but his is more pressing. Automatically she’s trying to figure out how she can keep it from him, whether or not she can wash up enough that it isn’t noticeable and how long she can keep the hood on before he gets suspicious.

He’s going to find out, though. Better she focuses on breaking the news as gently as possible. 

“I feel like I’ve just run the length of Ethorcon.” He’s got his uninjured arm draped over his face. “Did you…stab me?”

“Perhaps?” Setting the bag down next to him, she rummages until she finds the alcohol and a clean cloth. “This will sting.” 

Bruno grits his teeth as the liquid sloshes over the wound, letting out a quiet groan while she begins to pat the area clean. “I’m so confused. I was just lying there, waiting for you to come back with the firewood, thinking about dinner, and…”

He’s starting to understand, she can tell by the way he trails off. “I was afraid. When…when I woke up bleeding, before I ever realized I was injured or heard you scream, I felt afraid.” His arm drops to the ground and he turns his head to look at her. Kamaria keeps her head carefully ducked toward her work. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

She gives a sympathetic smile that he probably can’t really see, split lip smarting in response. “I think you must have had a nightmare. You were awake when I got back, but…”

He lets that sink in for a moment. “Right. That…explains why I’m so exhausted now.” He’s too quiet, still thinking, trying to make sense of it all. 

Setting the cloth and bottle to the side, she gets out the needle and thread. “I need to sterilize this.” 

The fire that they were supposed to be stoking to cook dinner is nothing but coals, so she busies herself throwing in a couple of the pieces of wood she’d brought and stirring up some flames to hold the needle in. Her body aches with exhaustion, as well. After this, she’ll rest. They both deserve a good rest.

“You stabbed me.” 

She turns her head slightly toward him. “Yes. I…I’m sorry.”

“Kamaria, did I…?”

She’s frozen in place, unable to respond. She wants to say no, of course not, she’s fine. But he hates it when she lies about being hurt.

“It’s…you…” She swallows and shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have tried touching you. It was the wrong choice.”

“Kamaria…” He sits up and starts scooting toward her. She keeps her back to him, hands clenched into fists. 

“You need to lie back down. You’re going to make it bleed and I’ll have to clean it all over again. This needle is ready, I’ve got to sew you up.”

“Please look at me, love.” He’s sitting right behind her, and the pain in his voice makes her chest hurt. His hand comes up and lightly grasps her hood. She tenses, but doesn’t move to stop him.

Ever so gently, he tugs it off. She ducks her head as she finally turns to face him. 

Bruno swears under his breath. “Kamaria. I don’t…I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean it.” Tear-filled eyes come up to lock with his. “I’m not upset with you, you weren’t trying to hurt me.”

“But I did!” She can see the anger growing in him, fists clenching, ready to hit something until his knuckles bleed as if he can punish himself for his mistakes. 

She knows he’s hurting, but she can’t take it right now. Quickly reaching out, she grabs onto his wrist. “Please, please don’t get angry. I can’t…” She can’t handle seeing that expression on his face again, not this soon. “It wasn’t your fault. If it was anyone’s, it was mine, you told me I shouldn’t touch you and I did anyway.” She will again, too, if she thinks it will help him, but that’s a discussion for another time. “And this is nothing compared to…I stabbed you. I could have killed you.” 

“I deserved to be stabbed.”

“No, you didn’t. You could never.” She says it firmly, but hunches over after, sucking in a shaky breath. “I didn’t even know what I was doing. I was…confused, you were on top of me and I couldn’t think straight and…I could have killed you!”

“I was on t-...” He cuts himself off and tips his head back to stare up at the sky. “Please, please tell me I didn’t.”

She squeezes his wrist tighter, blinking away the memories of that moment that press at her mind. “It’s okay. Please, you’re…you’re making a bigger deal out of my pain than you should. We both experienced bad memories. Yours lasted much longer. I got cuts and bruises, you got stabbed.”

“You were defending yourself.”

“So were you!”

“From a real threat. You were actually being hurt. By me.”

She shakes her head. “No, you weren’t the one I was trying to stab. If I’d been thinking clearly, if I’d known for sure that it was you, I would have fought you off another way. I would never have hurt you like that…just like you never would have me.” 

Looking up at him, she tugs his arm a little to get his eyes on her. They look as wet as hers feel. “We both got hurt because of being stuck in our memories. Neither one of us are at fault.” It certainly doesn’t feel that way, when her knife is still laying nearby with his blood on the blade, but it’s what needs to be said at the moment. “Now please, let me take care of your shoulder before it bleeds any more.”

Lips pressed together, he gives a solemn nod. They spend the next several minutes in silence as she expertly stitches the wound shut and ties it off, dousing it with alcohol one more time to be safe before wrapping his shoulder in a clean white bandage. 

He catches her hand in his as she starts putting things away. “Now it’s my turn.”

“You don’t have to -”

“Let me do this.”

She nods, placing her hands in her lap as he gets out a new cloth and pours some of the alcohol onto it. One hand comes up to cup her chin and she stiffens for an instant. Bruno pauses, waiting without touching until she lets out a breath and whispers, “I’m okay.”

His touch is gentle and feather-light, carefully dabbing at her split lip and cheek and bloody nose until they’re clean. He takes a sweet-smelling salve from the bag and spreads it across the cuts and bruises. 

“I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for the swelling at this point. Hopefully it will go down soon.”

She helps him repack the bag, then they sit silently for another moment, each staring at the other’s wounds. In the quiet, the exhaustion has settled fully over her, weighing her down. She imagines he feels much the same.

“Will you hold me?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

Kamaria gives him a half-hearted glare for still thinking ill of himself, then reaches out to take his hand. “I think we both need it.”

Without another word, he holds his arms open, and she moves forward to curl up against his chest, watching his reaction to make sure he’s comfortable with it. Gingerly, he lays them both down next to the remains of the fire.

They both fall asleep entwined in each other’s arms. 

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

Vaya translations -

Istulta = idiot

Amachari = loved one

#whumptober2023 #no.23 #song #original content #fic #ptsd tw #flashbacks tw #panic attack tw #beating tw #stabbing tw #mild blood tw #stitches tw #implied noncon tw #shadow of death #kamaria the assassin #bruno stenberg #brumaria #lady whump #lady whumpee #dude whump #romance #assassin oc #fantasy oc #whump series

[damagedspear]

OPEN STARTER.

" F... forgive me, Lady Miranjo... " His hands dragged down his face in his moment of extreme panic, teeth clenching. In the room he stood in, there was a mirror-- a simple mirror, no magical properties, no mage hiding within, none of that nonsense. But ever since his experiences with Miranjo... well, it'd been nearly impossible to handle even being in the same room as an actual mirror.

And yet, in his panic-- he couldn't see that there was someone there that'd walked in.

" I... I won't-- I-I won't betray you again, I swear it... I'll do anything you ask to prove my loyalty... just please let Dorshe and Her Majesty live a little longer... "

#[ a possible battle | open starter. ] #[ i swear my spear to the true king | ic / in character. ] #[ the head of a once regal spear. it's seen many things | main. ] #ask to tag tw #ptsd tw #dissociation tw #flashbacks tw #trauma tw #implied abuse tw #abuse tw

[ohanahoku-ao3]

Whumptober Day 23

This may be my favorite prompt fill so far. Hope you all like it! This is a continuation of my new Teen Wolf series, Tethered by the Shadows, so check that out first if you haven't! <3

Teen & Up - Gen - Teen Wolf

Control

     It was the weekend, five days since the incident, and Stiles still hadn’t slept. He was running on fumes, on caffeine and energy drinks that could only help for so long. He knew that avoiding sleep wasn’t sustainable. He knew he had to face it eventually, and at the rate things were going, it would happen sooner rather than later. If he kept pushing himself, it would be out of his control, and Stiles didn’t want that to happen. He had to control the situation, and that meant he had to welcome sleep willingly, a terrifying concept but one he couldn’t avoid.

     Thankfully, Stiles had a foolproof plan.

     After a late dinner, the sheriff left for his night shift, and Stiles watched his father leave through the blinds in the living room. As soon as the car disappeared from view, he moved into action. Firstly, he went around the house, locking every door and window as a precaution. It was less to protect himself and more to ensure the safety of anyone who might come by. The window shades were pulled on every window, and Stiles even went so far as to connect the mountain ash he had lined the house with shortly after the Kanima incident. The black dust fell through his fingers with a quiet ‘shh,’ and Stiles held his breath as he completed the circuit, imagining the forcefield it would make around his house. He exhaled shakily when it was done, always a bit breathless after working with the ash.

     A water bottle was procured from the kitchen, and Stiles moved to his room, surveying it for a moment before setting the bottle on his desk. He moved to the bed, reaching under it and dragging a storage box out from underneath. Metal gleamed when he popped the lid off, and Stiles hesitated for a moment before reaching in and grabbing the heavy chains. He pulled them out and looked at his desk with a critical eye before painstakingly wrapping the chains around the heavy wooden furniture. He checked to ensure they were tightly fastened and sure not to slip and reached into the box again, producing a set of sturdy manacles. After Scott had broken the handcuffs that night, Stiles had prepared for the future. Of course, he never wanted to have to chain Scott up again. It was merely a precaution and one he hadn’t foreseen as a tool he’d use on himself. Funny how that worked out.

     The manacles were carefully threaded through the chain and set on the floor. Stiles’ gaze lingered on them for a while, rubbing his thumb over the teeth of the small key that unlocked them, pressing the sharp mountains into his skin. At length, he set the key down next to them and pulled himself away. His sleeping bag and pillow found their way to the floor next to the desk, and Stiles huffed a breath of mild amusement to himself as he set the water bottle down next to them. If he ignored the chains, it would almost be like he and Scott were camping inside the way they did as kids. Not that Scott was going to be joining him. His best friend knew nothing about this, and that’s how Stiles wanted it, at least for the time being. Scott wouldn’t understand the situation. He had complete faith in the Yukimura’s and would likely assume Stiles was just being paranoid. He'd protest Stiles putting the chains on, thinking that he was enough to keep Stiles safe from his nightmares. But in truth, it was more than probable that Scott would be the one who needed the protection the chains provided. Scott wouldn’t be helpful in this situation, and Stiles knew that. He was alone, and it was fine. He had it under control.

     With his plan nearly ready, Stiles headed to the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. He stared listlessly at the floor while he brushed his teeth, eyes catching on a fragment of glass from the broken mirror. It sat in the corner, silently mocking him from the spot his father must’ve missed when the sheriff cleaned up Stiles’ mess. He left without picking it up, feet carrying him down the hall and into not his room but the glorified closet that had once been his mother’s sewing room. He walked in, ignoring the memories of his mother as he grabbed the huge, square mirror tucked away in the corner of the room. The mirror was soon propped up against Stiles’ bed, across from his sleeping bag, and Stiles stared down at the reflection of his feet for a moment before glancing towards the window nearest his bed. He grabbed the tilt rod, twisting it until the blinds separated just enough to let a little light in once he flipped the switch.

     A yawn overtook him as he stepped away from the window, and he took his time getting dressed, letting himself feel the onset of exhaustion in a way he hadn’t let himself dwell on in several days. The sleepless nights had taken a toll on him. He could feel it in the way his muscles ached, how his very bones felt weary and discouraged as they held him up. His eyes felt bloodshot hot, and one of his eyes had developed a subtle twitch sometime during the last forty-eight hours. His hands shook in a mixture of tiredness and anxiety, and his head felt too heavy to keep upright. All this to say that Stiles needed sleep desperately, and he was finally ready to surrender to that need.

     He surveyed the room one more time before flipping the switch. Light leaked through the slitted blinds, pale and weak from the streetlamps outside. Stiles’s heart sped up as he shuffled to his sleeping bag through the dark. He slipped his legs into the bedroll and found the key on the floor, heart racing as he held the tiny bit of metal in his hand. It would work. His plan was foolproof.

     With a short cry of determination, Stiles threw the key away from him, watching as it hit the wall beneath the window and fell into the dark below it. Immediately, he wanted to go after it, heart pounding in his ears as he held himself back. He was going to sleep. He was going to confront the thing inside him on his own terms, and the chains were necessary to ensure he couldn’t hurt himself. Or anyone else.

     The metal was cold as it closed around his wrists, and Stiles’ breath hitched as panic-fueled adrenaline flooded through him. Suddenly, he felt like he was back in Eichen House’s basement, trapped and hurt and terrified as the Nogitsune paced around in the dark. He wasn’t back there, though. He was home, in his room, and the chains on his wrists would keep him safe. He wasn’t trapped; he was protected in this way. He just had to ignore the panic, breathe through it, and calm himself down. Slowly, while taking practiced breaths, Stiles slid further into the sleeping bag, laying his head down on his pillow as he closed his eyes. He could do this. It was going to be fine. He was in control.

     Following that train of thought, Stiles turned his head, staring at himself in the mirror for the first time since the incident. His reflection stared back, a perfect imitation with no indication that it wasn’t him. Its hand moved when his did, and in the minimal lighting, he could see its mouth moved along with his. “This time, we’ll do this my way. I’m the one in control, not you.” He waited a moment for a response, and when none came, he looked away and closed his eyes. With a slow breath, Stiles let the exhaustion take over and tumbled headlong into slumber.

Tethered by the Shadows

     “Stiles.” A voice called to him. “Stiles, I know you can hear me. Wake up and face me.”

     Stiles’ eyes snapped open as he woke with a jolt, arms flailing through an aborted movement as the chains limited his mobility.

     “There he is. The man with a plan.” The voice mocked, and when Stiles looked over, his reflection stared back at him. The moon had come out, and its light streamed through the blinds, its pale blue shine casting a ladder of shadows onto the floor between them. It was brighter than the streetlamps, and as Stiles’ eyes adjusted, he could make out his rogue reflection in whole. “Didn’t think this through very well, did you, Stiles? After all, who’s going to unlock you come morning?”

     The shadow was staring down at him, sitting up with its hands listlessly laid in its lap while Stiles was still lying on his back. Looking up at it, Stiles couldn’t help but feel small under the thing’s gaze in the mirror. He scrambled to sit up, ignoring the look of amusement on the shadow’s face. “I don’t care.” He spat. “I’ll tell the others, and we’ll find some way to get rid of you. For good this time.” 

     A hum answered him, and the shadow reached up to itch its nose in an oddly normal gesture that made Stiles feel off-kilter. The reflection glanced at its fingers and made a flicking motion like he was brushing away dead skin from his fingers. “I don’t think you will.” It said, dark gaze finding Stiles once more. “I think you’re too scared to tell them about me.”

     “I’m not afraid.” Stiles retorted, clenching his hands into fists as he glared at the mirror.

     “It does you no service to lie to me, Stiles.” The thing answered with a smirk. “You’re terrified of what they may do to you. They may have to kill you for real, isn’t that right? Or worse? Perhaps they’ll put you back in Eichen for good this time.” It suggested, and Stiles couldn’t hide his flinch at the idea. A wicked smile gleamed in the mirror, and the shadow leaned forward as far as the manacles on his wrists would let him. “You think you’re crazy, don’t you, Stiles?”

     Stiles found himself leaning away from the reflection, pressing his shoulder into the desk behind him. His heart raced as he stared into those manic eyes, but he didn’t deny it. The shadow wasn’t just in the mirror but in his head, and Stiles’ lies wouldn’t fool either of them.

     The shadow tutted, leaning back and looking down at their- its wrists. “I suppose they’ll believe it too when they see you like this, hm?” The questioning hum sent chills down Stiles’ spine.

     “They won’t. They’ll believe me when I tell them about you.” Stiles said, his throat feeling too dry. He reached for the water bottle beside him, willing his heart to stop beating so fast as he took a drink. He was in control. The shadow couldn’t do anything like this. He set the water bottle back down and lifted his head to meet the reflection’s eyes. “I’ve trapped you. You can’t do anything while I’m tied up like this. You have no control.”

     “Don’t I?” The shadow asked, and a spark of mischief in its eyes had Stiles’ heart rate ratcheting back up. Its head tilted toward the window, and Stiles’ head whipped to the right when he heard the soft sound of something dragging across the carpet.

     Panic wrapped its hand around Stiles’ throat, and his eyes widened as he watched the key slide into the first stripe of light on the floor. Speechless, he watched as the blind’s shadow bent and enveloped the key, pushing it forward, each strip of darkness following suit as the key was slowly nudged across the room.

     “You forget I’m much more than a mere reflection, Stiles.” The Nogitsune said with a grin as the reflection grabbed the key once it got close enough.

     “No. No, stop!” Stiles finally managed to find his voice, letting go of the breath he’d been holding. His chest heaved with panic as his facade of control crumbled around him. The key was inserted into the manacles, and Stiles screamed in time with their click before everything went dark.

     When Stiles woke in the morning, he was tucked into his bed, and only the evidence of the night before was the chafing around his wrists.

#whumptober2023 #no.23 #it's gonna get me by the end of the night #shadows #teen wolf #fic #psychological horror tw #the nogitsune tw #flashbacks tw #post nogitsune stiles #mieczyslaw stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski #nogitsune #read on ao3 #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 fanfiction #ao3 link #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #teen wolf au

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🤝 for Jameson?

Also: 🌸 for Jameson bb pleaseee

CW: Panic attack, PTSD, trauma recovery, references to murder and dehumanization/noncon

Through the noise in his mind and the frantic gasping inhales he manages, the pet can hear Nat outside the clouded glass of the bathroom window, singing some old song to herself as she hangs sheets on a clothesline. Sunlight cuts through in a diffused haze, and it's slightly dim thanks to the angle the house sits at. Not quite direct sunlight, a little yellow from the glass. Dust drifts in the air, the legacy of a very old house with too much dust to ever quite get clean.

"God money, I'll do anything for you," Nat sings in a strong alto. "God money, just tell me what you want me to, God money nail me up against the wall..."

The pet pushes himself into the corner of the bathroom, squeezing with effort into the space between the toilet and the outside wall, just under the window. His heart races, and the smell of shower cleaner is up his nose and pounding into his brain. The bathtub, half-scrubbed, has a ring of soap scum still staining the front half, not quite visible from here.

He dropped the scrub brush when he felt it, the brush of fingers on the back of his neck, jerking at his collar. His collar which he isn't wearing, only he can feel it.

It's there, he knows it's there.

The wall is cool against his back, the porcelain of the toilet chills the scars on his arm until he shivers, hiding behind his hands. He can't feel the collar with his fingers but he can feel it on his neck, cutting tight. The straps of the muzzle digging in to his skin, wearing hair away in patches, leaving him with spots for Robert to rub his thumb into and laugh over.

Ugly fucking mutt.

It smells like bleach and soap and underneath that, he can smell the bodies. Seeping up through the floorboards from Robert's basement, sickly-sweet decay and the tastes of all their screams layered over with endless pours of lime and whatever else was in those giant goddamn barrels Robert brought downstairs every couple months or so.

The pet digs his own fingernails into his scalp, scratching hard enough to bleed. His breaths are starting to wheeze as his throat tries to close. Robert must be just outside the door.

He's right outside. He's right outside.

Where the hell have you gotten to, dog? I got some tricks for you to do, you little shit-

There's another body to bury and he'll want the pet to help him again. He can't he can't he can't-

There's water in the tub beneath the ring of soap scum, there's water in the tub because someone's body is in there. If he looks up he'll feet their hair over the edge. He'll see painted fingernails on a hand hanging limp. He'll see a bracelet he'll see wide open eyes that can't look back, not anymore, not ever again.

Toes gone wrinkled with too much time submerged. He'll remember the taste of her voice when she begged not to die. He'll remember her, because he remembers them all, he hasn't forgotten a single bone he's seen peeking up from the loose earth in the basement.

Here, puppy... here boy, where you get to, huh? Oooh, I bet I know. I bet I know where you are.

Footsteps right outside the door, a shadow under the crack. The pet shudders and shakes his head, eyes closed as tightly as he can get them. Hot tears well up and run down his cheeks. His lips pull back into a snarl to hold back his sobs.

He has to be silent, or Robert will come in. He'll come in, he'll open the door and he'll-

He'll see-

"Jameson?"

Startled, he jerks back and whimpers, covering his head with his hands, ready for the blow. But when fingers close around his wrists, they don't feel like Robert's heavy, thick, calloused fingers smeared with oil and grease from the shop. They're... careful, and gentle.

He looks up as she pulls his hands slowly away from his own scalp.

"Hey," She says, voice low and soft. "Hey, honey. Is cleaning the bathroom a bad chore?"

He breathes, swallowing hard, staring up into her warm eyes before he manages a tight, shaky nod. "Please," He whispers. "I-... I can s-see the bodies in there, in the-... the tub."

"Gotcha." She doesn't question him, only helps him to unfold himself, to slowly stand on shaking legs. When she pulls him into a hug, he goes easily, his arms around her so tightly she gives a soft little 'oof' she can't quite hide and that he doesn't really notice. His head drops against her shoulder. "Today's a rough one, huh? I'll handle the rest of the bathroom. While don't you go and lay down for a while, hm? Or go sit outside and just... feel the breeze."

"The breeze?" His voice is muffled against her.

"Feel where you are," She says, rocking slightly back and forth with him in her arms. It's comforting in that strange way that maternal motions sometimes are - the baseline need of a child to be held, only he's a grown-ass man but-

But he still needs held, sometimes, and Dr. Berger says everyone does. Everyone. Just not all in the same ways, and not the ways they told him he needed.

"Go outside," She whispers against his hair. "And find five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. Then come back inside and we'll talk it out, once you've calmed down. I'll make you some tea, something to eat, we'll walk through what set it off so we can write it down for Dr. Berger for your next appointment. Okay?"

"Oh-okay." His voice is shaky. "I'm... I'm really fucking sorry, Nat, I know I volunteered for the bathroom but-... but all I c-could see was, Robert fucking killed people in there-"

"It's just fine." Her voice is firm. She doesn't waver. Doesn't sound scared or worried. He clings to that certainty, even if he knows sometimes she tries to sound certain even when she doesn't feel it. "Not a problem at all. I cleaned this bathtub for years on my own, I can handle it. Now we know the bathroom isn't a good place, we'll remember that. You go on outside, now. And... your puppy's out drying there, too."

"My-... my goddamn what now-" Then he realizes what she means. He pulls back, ducking his head in a kind of embarrassed annoyance with himself, flushing.

She smiles and shoos him out, and he goes. The sunlight is brighter outside and he can breathe deeply.

His bare feet prickle on the underside from the grass he walks on, switching between cool earth and the hot concrete of the patio and walkway. Big pots sit out with tomatoes and squash growing up little trellises. He can smell, that, too - something subtly sweet in the tomatoes, the verdant scent of squash vines.

With each step in the sunshine, the terror of the bathroom seems further away. He isn't there - he's here, and here there is a clothesline with sheets blowing in the breeze and-

And the little ancient stuffed dog, which he picks up and holds in his arms, dropping his head to press his face against the patchy, worn-away fur.

It smells like whatever special soap she uses to clean it, something delicate. There are new stitches along one side, and he smiles a little against it.

Five things he can see, he thinks, taking a deep, deep breath and lifting his head to look around. Houses up and down the street. Trees, bright and green. Flowers in landscaping beds and pots in front of nearly every house. The clothesline, the sheets. His own feet, pale skin against green grass.

Four things he can touch. The grass - prickling and itchy. The earth, cool with a give beneath his toes. The soft fur of the worn-out animal in his arms. The warm concrete of the walkway.

Two things he can smell - the lilac on the breeze, the soap Nat uses to wash the dog. The scent of mowed grass mixed with sunlight, subtle but everywhere around him.

That's three things, but he lets that one go.

And finally...

One thing he can taste.

He takes a breath, and looks over towards the bathroom window. He can hear Nat singing again.

"Head like a hole, black as your soul, I'd rather die than give you control-"

Nat's voice.

He can taste Nat's voice.

He's right here.

#whump #trauma recovery #recovery whump #ptsd tw #ptsd flashbacks #flashbacks tw #panic attack tw #jameson bb #natalie yoder: here to help the rescues #box boy universe #box boy #bbu #pet whump #past noncon #past dehumanization

[tommyssupercoolblog]

Me: ugh god why am I getting so much worse?? I'm BACKSLIDING, I had been growing less sensitive to my triggers over time BUT NOW they're getting worse and worse and I keep having flashbacks and snapping at people!!! This is awful this makes no sense it is NOT POGGERS and my sensory issues are worse too!! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO MEEE

Our body, which has been steadily falling apart over the last few months (yes, months, plural) with even surgeries resulting in zero diagnosis, and symptoms worsening day by day: gee man that's so odd. Yeah crazy how that happens.

#i made a textpost #Vent #CW vent #Tw vent #Health issues #Health issues vent #Sensory issues #Sensory issues vent #Flashbacks tw #Flashbacks CW

[whumpwillow]

whumpee-turned-caretaker having a nightmare or flashback to their past with whumper, and then whumper-turned-whumpee trying to comfort them because they hate seeing their caretaker in pain, but the sight of their face just makes everything worse because they’re the one that hurt whumpee-turned-caretaker in the first place

#whump #whump tropes #whump trope #whump prompt #whump prompts #whump ideas #whump idea #whump scenario #whump scenarios #whump inspiration #whumpee turned caretaker #whumper turned whumpee #flashbacks tw #trauma tw

[monstersfear]

cut loose // teddy & emilio

TIMING: immediately after this post and around the same time as bursting at the seams. PARTIES: ​@eldritchaccident & @monstersfear SUMMARY: teddy experiences the effects of levi's ordeal with sigas, and emilio is totally fine CONTENT: ptsd symptoms (panic attacks, flashbacks, dissociation)

The dots danced on his phone screen for longer than they should have. Emilio shifted his position on the sofa, glancing towards the closed bedroom door and rereading the last message he’d sent. He tried to figure out if he’d said something wrong, if he’d been… too cavalier again, too reckless. He was trying to be better after his last bout of carelessness threw Teddy into sea monster mode for the better part of a month, but he wasn’t — He wasn’t good at this. He knew that. 

When a message finally did come through, it did little for his nerves. He was on his feet and halfway to the door by the time the thud sounded, his heart in his throat. The door was open, and Teddy was on the floor, and for a moment, Emilio was somewhere else. Those Mexican streets, strewn with bodies, that warehouse with smoke clawing its way into his chest. His mind took him on a greatest hits tour, a time travel journey of everything he’d lost all stuffed into that tiny bedroom. 

He was standing at the door and then he blinked and he was on his knees next to Teddy, hands hovering over blue, glowing skin. “Oye, oye, quédate conmigo. Baby, please, it’s okay.” Teddy was too hot, a sweltering heat rising up from him, and Emilio felt nauseous. “Por favor no haga esto. Teddy, please.” He sounded as desperate as he felt, which was to say very. His hands shook in a way he didn’t bother trying to hide, his eyes wide and his chest tight. The world continued to shift around him, and Teddy was still on the floor and, Christ, Emilio couldn’t fucking breathe. 

—

It had started as a hum in the back of his mind. A prick in the center of his sternum that blossomed into a whirlwind of bright searing pain. Teddy tried to scream but the heat welling up inside him seemed to burn up all the spit in his mouth. His throat was raw and ragged in an instant. The feeling of flames licking at every inch of his flesh sending shivers that kept him from gripping tight to anything. It was like someone had just thrown him into a blast furnace. The brittle bridge to reality he tried so desperately to strive towards was growing thinner than the eye of a needle. Teddy was aware that Emilio had come in, he was aware of the scared, strained voice that should have hit his ears if not for the immense ringing that wouldn’t quit. 

The ancient writing on his ribs glowed brighter with each passing second. Seemingly wanting to burn to the surface. This wasn’t anything like he’d ever felt before. There wasn’t something he was changing into. No, it felt like he had been plugged into a nuclear reactor. Like he was burning up from the inside. Sweat poured out of him, chased away and evaporated nearly instantly as the heat from his skin only grew. 

“E-Emilio- Em- Eh–” He croaked. Pushing through whatever the fuck was going on to call out his name. If this really was the last word on his lips he wanted them to count. Wanted to taste that name to drive out the acrid taste of his own insides burning.

— 

Rosalita tried teaching them all first aid a few times. Back in Etla, before the shit, when they were a family that operated more like a platoon but together, at least, in a way they never would be again, she’d gotten the idea that they ought to understand how to heal the same way they understood how to hurt. You should know how to put people back together, she’d told Emilio once with a fond roll of her eyes. And it had been light but it hadn’t at the same time, because they’d all known that first aid wouldn’t do any of them much good in the long run. They’d all known they were destined to die the way hunters always died, all known that knowing how to stitch a wound only meant something if the wound was a thing that could be stitched to begin with.

This, what was happening now… It wasn’t something Emilio could stitch up. He couldn’t apply any of the basic first aid Rosa had insisted he learn with clumsy fingers to the otherworldly glow beneath his boyfriend’s skin, couldn’t use a tourniquet to stop Teddy from burning from the inside out. And there was nothing to fight, either. The fight, whatever it might be, was happening someplace else, with Levi. And as much as Emilio wanted — as much as he needed Levi to suffer, he couldn’t stomach the thought of Teddy suffering alongside it. He wasn’t sure he’d ever find peace with Levi alive, but he knew he wouldn’t find it with Teddy dead. 

The thought, along with Teddy’s broken voice rising up from the floor, sent the hunter into another tailspin. The past was clawing at his throat, the world was standing still, and Emilio performed the godawful magic trick of being in three places at once, of transporting himself into three different events and living them all. Mexico, the warehouse, the bedroom floor. Abrakadabra, watch the magic happen. It was a trick he’d mastered by now, after all. He could map out that street in Etla with his eyes closed, could recreate that warehouse fire blind. Other things joined in as he ran a trembling hand through his hair — the interstate outside New Orleans, the cave with the burning chimera, the cliffside where Levi told him how and why Silas died. And the bedroom floor, the bedroom floor, the bedroom floor with Teddy in a heap, glowing and burning like that warehouse, like that chimera, like Silas, like everything. Emilio let out a sound that didn’t sound human, some twisted mixture of a whimper and a growl that got stuck in his throat in a way that hurt. “No puedo... No puedo hacer esto. Por favor, please, don’t —” He let his hands rest on Teddy’s chest, desperate to feel the still-present heartbeat, the movement of the florist’s chest. Terrified what he’d do if it stopped. 

—

But it wasn’t stopping. If anything Teddy’s heart beat out louder and louder. Clamoring and banging against his ribcage. Energy crackled out of him, surely stinging at the hunter’s hands against his skin. That touch felt like salvation. Grounding both the lightning inside him and the mind that whirled at a thousand knotts. Why was it always like this? Why was Teddy always clinging to the mast of a ship that was always one breeze away from being caught in a typhoon. He wanted to feel stronger. He wanted to be the hero, for once in his goddamn life.

Breath after breath, Teddy chose life. He was sure that this was it. How could it be anything else? But he was going to give it a fight. For Emilio. For Metzli, Ari, Rhett. For Sloane, Marina, Mateo, Cass. Hell even for Levi. Even if this meant that it was gone now too. For the memory of the times it was kind. For the times it tried. Teddy pushed. Felt the fire fall away. First in his fingertips, which he realized were firmly placed against Emilio’s. They traveled up, found his face. He even managed to open up his eyes. Obsidian and teal locked in against honey brown amber. Glowing enough to shed a tint onto the man’s rough features. 

“E-Emilio.” His lifeline. His heart. “H-hey.” Teddy crashed forward, the flame gone but something worse taking its place. It felt like he was being split in two. A thin trickle of blood welled up in the center of his forehead. Dripping down but not ripping open any further than a deep scratch. The bond with the Leviathan was ripped open wide. Raw and gnawing in a way it hadn’t been since the greater demon was at the height of its power. But without context to the pain, without knowing what was actually happening; Teddy assumed the demon was dying. Even if the reality was quite the opposite.   

—

Electricity crackled under Emilio’s palms, but he didn’t feel it. He would later, when he returned to his body, to the present, to burned fingertips and seared skin, but in the moment? He wasn’t attached to those hands spread across Teddy’s burning chest. On the best of days, Emilio’s mental health was a frayed rope with just enough thread left intact to keep him tied down to where he was supposed to be. In moments like this one, when there was a very real fear of events that mimicked the massacre in Etla… The ends of that rope were blowing wildly about like they were in the midst of a tornado, so far from one another that it seemed impossible they’d ever touched at all. He was no use to anyone like this. He knew that. But he didn’t know how to be anything else, either. He tried to come back to himself, tried to stave off the panic to cement himself here with Teddy, to give his boyfriend that much, at least, but it was like treading water with blocks of cement tied to his ankles. 

Distantly, he was aware of a touch on his hand, conscious of it moving up to his face. He flinched without knowing why, jerking back so violently that it knocked him off balance, sent him scrambling. How was it that only a few moments ago, they were planning a hunt? How did things always go wrong so quickly? 

But… maybe things weren’t going as wrong as he’d assumed. Teddy’s voice rose up, his body shifting, and he sounded — better, at least, than he had a moment before, though that wasn’t saying much. There was blood on his face, and Emilio’s eyes locked onto it, hyperfocused on the bright red instead of the glowing teal of the wide open eyes beneath it. “¿Qué está pasando? ¿Por qué está sucediendo esto?”

—

“Slow down, slow down.” Teddy tried to crack a smile. The pain was ebbing away, slowly but surely. Replaced with something different. A growing power. “I-I don’t– I haven’t got that far in my lessons.” The florist pushed forward, one last heave from the fight he hadn’t even walked into. He found his head on Emilio’s shoulder. Now that the fever had broken, that the heat had subsided, the slick sweat began to condense. Running rivers with the blood that had seeped out. Now melding outward onto the slayer’s shirt. 

“How–” Teddy struggled to catch his breath, like he’d just run a marathon. Like he wasn’t over the last of the supernatural seizure that rocked through him, but he was done with it. He just wanted to hear his man, hear the voice that calmed him and carried him. No matter what language it was in. “How do you say, fuck, shit that hurt, in Spanish?” He even managed an airy laugh as he shook with another wave of… something. “Auughh–” Teddy grasped at his side, feeling like he’d split a seam. “Make that really fucking hurt.” 

— 

Teddy was talking. It took a moment for that to register, took another for the realization that it wasn’t the broken tones of a dying man to settle in alongside it. Teddy was talking, making comments and jokes that were very Teddy all around. There was blood soaking through Emilio’s shirt, or maybe there wasn’t. It was hard to be sure, when he was like this. 

(It felt like a strange modifier that hung around his neck, like a sign chained to him. Like this, like this, like this. He wished he weren’t. He wished he was the man he’d been three years ago, who could see someone he loved hurt and jump into action instead of dissolving into a useless mess. It was funny, in a terrible way, that his fucked up head granted him the power of time travel only so long as it was used to take him back to all the things he never wanted to see again.)

“Eso me dolió,” he replied robotically, closing his eyes for a moment. It was like coming down from the world’s worst high; the adrenaline was still pumping through him even as the exhaustion from the ordeal began to sneak in behind it. “Qué —” He cut himself off, clearing his throat and giving his head a violent shake, bringing the heel of his palm up to smack against his temple as if trying to physically force himself back into his second language when his throat was clinging to his first. “What the hell was that? I thought — Christ. Chingados. I thought you were dying. Are you — You’re okay? ¿Necesitas un médico?” It was a stupid question; he knew it the moment it left his lips. What would they tell a doctor? That a demon deal had caused some sort of physical breakdown that seemed mostly finished now aside from the blood coming from Teddy’s head? Even if there was something a medical degree could do to help the situation, they wouldn’t be able to get the question out without being laughed out of any sort of doctor’s office. Emilio knew that. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t — What can I do? Does it hurt?”

—

“Feels like daisies.” Teddy lied, without any attempt to hide it. “Shiny and golden.” He wasn’t making any sense. His head was far too gone with the endorphins and residual waves of pain that crashed through leaving him gripping onto Emilio’s arm far tighter than he should have been able to. Far, far more than he would have been comfortable doing to the hunter. Regardless of Em’s proclivity for pain. Teddy never wanted to actually hurt him. “Just-just stay here for a moment. Whatever it was– it’s– it’s going away. Sorta.” He winced then tried to wrap the arm that wasn’t clutching at his side around Em’s shoulders. Teddy fell into the embrace, laughing. 

He should have been tired. Teddy was always just a little bit tired. But especially after these kind of things happened. Well. After big demon shifts and panic attacks. Instead, a different sort of magic began to fill his veins. Cold and bracing like the Atlantic. Like he’d taken a deep dive on the first of the year. Dizzy on adrenaline, letting the new power wash away any hints of pain that remained. Teal spots of light freckled his arms, arcs of it crackled along them and up to his finger tips. Dancing along to the manic music that played at the back of his mind. The song Emilio had sung in the cave. Half remembered recreation of a half remembered tune. 

But he couldn’t keep from smiling. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m still here. I’m-” Another fit of laughter had Teddy leaning against the slayer’s cheek. “I’m really sweaty.”

—

“Daisies.” Teddy wasn’t making sense, but it wouldn’t have made much of a difference if he were. Emilio was still only half present, hopped up on his own adrenaline and swimming through time. Teddy’s grip on his arm, tighter than it had ever been before, helped ground him a little, and he pushed into the touch with a hint of desperation even as he tried to keep the motion subtle. If Teddy realized how tightly he was holding on, Emilio knew, he’d likely let go, and Emilio didn’t want that. The bruising grip was pulling him back into the present little by little, but he feared the moment it vanished, he would too. “Hey, I’m right here. Okay?” He leaned into the awkward embrace, trying to steady his heartbeat through will alone.

Teddy spoke, chest rumbling against Emilio where they were leaned against one another like another reminder that there was air in his lungs. Air in both of their lungs, despite what the slayer’s pounding heart might be screaming at him. Emilio tried to embrace that knowledge by taking a deep breath, trying to keep it from becoming a shudder as it filled his lungs. He tried for a laugh to match the one that came from Teddy’s lips, though it was a piss poor attempt, all shaky and uncertain. He pushed his tongue against his teeth, sharp and painful. It helped a little. “Yeah,” he agreed, “and kind of smelly.” He wanted it to sound lighter than it did, but his voice was still flat, still half-there. “That — That was a Levi thing, wasn’t it?” A big one at that. Emilio remembered what they’d been talking about just before — that Levi was trying to somehow prevent a banshee’s scream from coming to fruition, that if it failed, Teddy might go right along with it. But… Teddy was still here. And that, whatever it had been, wasn’t anything a human without demonic enhancements like Teddy’s would have survived. “Do you think it’s dead?” The question was perhaps a little blunter than Emilio might have been under normal circumstances, but these circumstances weren’t quite normal. He couldn’t muster up anything resembling politeness in this moment, even for Teddy’s sake.

—

Carefully, he tapped a smoother rhythm on Emilio’s back. A steady heartbeat. Something to sync with. He tried his best to even out his own labored breathing with some great effort, it started to work. It was pretty clear that Teddy wasn’t doing great, but he was feeling better than he had just a few moments ago. Another bark of laughter escaped as the hunter joined in with the jokes. As distraught and out of it as he seemed to be. And that helped to bring Teddy down too. Back to the moment. Back to his body. Back to the unanswered questions, and smelly accusations. His brows furrowed, not with pain or anger, but a sort of perplexed and playfully betrayed. 

“Oh yeah? Well–” Figuring the slayer needed something to pull him out of his own brain Teddy thought a little shock might do it. Though, not with electricity, as easy as that might have been at the moment. Instead, he opted to rub his filthy face all over Emilio’s. On his shirt and neck and cheeks. Like a cat trying to leave their scent. 

“It was.” Clearly this had something to do with Levi. Unless tying his shoes had some ancient secret eldritch knot that was the key to unlocking something great and terrible. But that seemed a little less likely. “I don’t– I don’t know.” The other question was far harder to parse. It didn’t seem possible that whatever he’d just gone through Levi had survived. Emilio might have gotten a one to one, pain to pain thing, when he was linked with the greater demon. But it’d been muted for Teddy for quite some time now. Pretty much since it had been turned into a human. 

And whatever that was, sure felt like something that could have killed a human. It felt like it should have killed Teddy. But he was here. He was holding onto Emilio. And he was feeling more and more energized by the second. “If it did— what does that mean? I’m just–?” Had he amassed enough of his own power to stand without the greater demon? Was Teddy fully his own demon now? It hardly felt like the time for these questions. For the first time in a while he was just happy to be alive. 

—

They were a goddamn mess, to be sure. Racing hearts and shuddering breaths, adrenaline coursing through the both of them like static electricity ready to offer a jolt the moment they made contact with anything outside themselves. Teddy’s hand tapping on his back helped a bit, and Emilio let the sensation ground him a little more, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to slow his breathing as best he could. He knew what the aftermath of this would feel like, even if he didn’t have the mental tools to call it what it was. He was bitterly familiar with the restlessness that would cling to him for the remainder of the night, the way he’d be simultaneously full of energy and utterly exhausted. He’d done this shit so many times now that he was a goddamn expert at it.

He was less of an expert in having someone there for him. He wrinkled his nose as Teddy rubbed his face against his, pulling back in a motion far more controlled than his earlier jolt. “Gross,” he complained, as if he had any kind of room to talk when it came to this sort of thing. They’d definitely need a shower after this. At least they could take one together, he figured.

Searching Teddy’s face, Emilio found his own suspicions reflected there. If Teddy felt a smaller fraction of what Levi went through than Emilio had when he was tied to the demon, maybe this was what a smaller fraction of death looked like. A world of pain, a few heartstopping moments of terror, and then… This. A jolt of extra strength, a little extra demonic power. Emilio told Teddy he wasn’t sure if he still believed in God, if he ever had to begin with, but maybe this was someone’s way of making things up to the both of them. Maybe this was some cosmic wrong being righted, some balance being restored. Maybe it meant…

“You’re free of it?” If Levi had died in whatever that blast of terror had been, maybe it meant they both were. Emilio felt a little lighter with the thought, even as the guilt tinged in the back of his mind. Teddy had cared about Levi. He knew that. If the demon was dead, some part of Teddy would mourn it. But all Emilio could feel with the possibility was a suffocating sense of relief. He’d needed this to be over, and now maybe it was. It was a good thing. He couldn’t make it anything else. 

Slowly, Emilio rose to his feet, legs unsteady underneath him. His knee ached, trembling a little as he straightened it, but he ignored it in favor of looking Teddy over. “Are you sure you feel okay? Me asustaste. You scared me. I don’t — You’re really all right?”

—

It was… a mix. A toss up. A shit salad with sprinkles on top. Free. What did that even mean? It meant he lost the only tether to something that could explain what was going on with him. It meant he wouldn’t have a teacher if something like… the whole last month happened again. Meant that future where things might be a little better was gone. But– Levi still had hurt so many. Hurt Teddy. Something he’d been used to, even willing to forgive. If he hadn’t also hurt Emilio. So fucking much. Every turn, finding the new wound to salt. Things would be easier. Hell Em might even go over to the lighthouse to help Marina grieve. 

Marina.. Fuck. When things were less… everything all at once, he’d have to check in. She’d probably have a lot more information on whatever was going on. For now though, Teddy was just about ready to run a fucking marathon. 

“Yeah, yeah! Feeling– Great actually.” He followed Emilio’s example, standing up and testing out his limbs. Everything seemed to move how he expected, but faster. The sinew in his muscles tensed tighter, leaving him stronger for having suffered so. “Still wanna go hunt that thing?” Teddy grinned, eyes alight and stance proud. Looking maybe a big manic as he was still fairly covered in blood. “I think I really need to kill something.” 

—

Emilio watched the florist carefully as he rose to his feet, sharp eyes peeled for any sign of pain that might cross his boyfriend’s features with the new motion. Surprisingly, there didn’t seem to be any. If anything, Teddy looked a little… looser than he normally might have. Lighter on his feet, like moving was easier. Any sign of the clear agony he’d been in just moments before was gone now, replaced by a new strength. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t left him permanently damaged; if anything, it appeared the opposite was true.

The realization allowed Emilio to relax just a fraction, some of the tightness leaving his shoulders as they slumped down a little. At the mention of the hunt that they’d been planning only a few moments ago, the slayer glanced up. It felt like a thousand years separated them from that conversation now, but he had to admit… it’d be nice to kill something. He was still so full of the nervous energy that had flooded him when he’d found Teddy on the floor, still aching with the anxiety and adrenaline that came along with the… episode. 

“Yeah,” he agreed with a quick nod. “Yeah, we can definitely still kill something. Christ, maybe more than one thing.” Lord knew he’d need it. “C’mon. Finish putting your shoes on, and we’ll head out.”

#eldritchaccident #teddy: cut loose #ptsd tw #flashbacks tw #panic attack tw #dissociation tw

[curiosityshop]

As that last reply hinted at, and as canon has hinted at, Sid’s life has not always been ideal.

CWS FOR: parental death, World War II, the Blitz, bombing, homelessness, and criminal activity, PTSD, nightmares, and some references to religion because of the source material. Please stay safe!

Sid spent the first nine years of his life living in London with his parents-- loving and pretty ordinary, his mum was a secretary for the WI-- until the day his house was leveled by a bomb during the Blitz.

His parents died in the blast, but Sid was buried in the rubble, barely alive. 

He had to fend for himself in the midst of all the wreckage and destruction, and this is where he picks up most of his criminal habits and skills; the streets were not kind to him.

Eventually, the government caught up with him, and he was shipped off to the country to wait out the war with the rest of London’s children. 

He winds up in Kembleford, and does not get adopted by a foster family. Nobody wants a scrappy, streetwise kid, traumatized and haunted by nightmares and flashbacks.

Or at least, that’s what he thinks at first, before finding out that Father Brown and parish secretary Mrs. McCarthy are only too happy to take him in, refusing to let the little boy be left alone again.

It doesn’t take long for Lady Felicia Montague to take him under her wing, and even the taciturn Inspector Valentine winds up developing something of a soft spot for him. He makes fast friends with Bunty Windermere, Lady F’s young niece, and Sam Gillespie, an older boy also haunted by the scars of war.

Though he still keeps up his bad habits and still wakes up in a cold sweat some nights, he knows has his family to love and support him.

#ooc. #headcanon. #sidney carter [muse.] #bridgette mccarthy [muse.] #felicia montague [muse.] #sam gillespie [muse.] #bunty windermere [muse.] #parental death tw #parental death mention #war tw #bombs tw #bombing tw #homelessness tw #criminal activity tw #ptsd tw #nightmares tw #nightmare tw #religion tw #flashback tw #flashbacks tw #ask to tag #honestly i could go on for Hours about this little family and how important they are to me #about how s.id calls father 'father' more out of the fact that he sees him as his actual father than out of any honor to the church #how fiercely protective he is of all of his family because he's terrified someone or something will take them away again #i just... i JUST... #clenches fist... #i love him so much