#panic tw

[reflections-of-mobius]

WARNING. THIS THREAD FEATURES HEAVY THEMES.

[@familylightfox | From here!]

"...well...that hurt..." Bless groaned, rubbing at his head as he sat up. The destruction from his fall wasn't anywhere near as severe- he'd had the presence of mind to dig his hands into the metallic ground, resulting in a loud, angry screech as metal was abruptly ripped up yard-by-yard. It had awoken several mobians in the currently-sleeping city, and yet not one dared leave their shiny hotels and ironclad homes.

Moonlight and floating streetlamps served as illumination, alongside blaring holographic signs detailing the upcoming World Grand Prix. Bless glanced around, emerald hues searching the carnage for any sign of his supposed attacker... Only to pause as he realized there was a strange glow coming from below. He glanced down, eyebrows furrowing as he noticed a circle of green light- pulsing in time to his heartbeat. It wouldn't be quite so strange if it didn't seem to originate from under his fur.

"Crap..." He breathed in. The male stood, emerald hues flicking about. Most of the street was undamaged- the only sign of destruction were the holes he'd torn into the ground, alongside the massive dent where he'd finally come to a stop... By hitting a building. He didn't recall doing that- he barely recalled the hit of the object itself, before he'd been sent tumbling!

Bless' eyes finally landed on several items scattered nearby- his emergency ring, his phone, and a small bit of birch wood he was going to carve in his free time... Now broken solidly in two. He snatched his phone- just barely dodging a bullet as it fired off.

"Wh-?" He may have been slower in his werehog form, but the mobian was no less swift as emerald hues dilated, snapping upwards. Slick, silver-and-white frames hovered overhead, gunmetal gray barrels leveled in his direction. A strange light in his chest, and now robots that had guns trained on him..

He had an idea what was going on. He had to find Node- he had to warn Volt and Harmony. His world wasn't safe right now.

"Return the Ark of The Cosmos."

"The Ark of the what?" Ark of The Cosmos?... "What's that?" The machines... Merely floated, their engines thrumming.

"Return the Ark of The Cosmos. You have ten seconds to comply."

[]

At least he'd be safe. That was the one thought that kept Node from screaming, even as they'd fallen to the ground, clutching their own arms tight as panic wracked their mind.

"Stop, stop stopstopstop...!" Node's bitten claws dug into their fur. Unlike Bless, they'd had no emergency ring on their person- and they'd taken damage as a result. Their clothes were cut up on their back from crashing through so many trees, bruises littering their arms- but that wasn't what made them afraid.

No, their mind was running entirely on autopilot. Their plea rang through the forest, echoing up the road of destruction their body had cut earlier in the night. They were too deep to think, just trying blearily to focus on their own arms around their body. They had to get up-- they had to find out- what was going on--

Stopstopstopstopstop-

That maelstrom in their head screamed otherwise. Their hands were pressing into their arms, trying to find reality. They were searching for a grounding wire- anything to keep them rooted. They were here. They were alive. Bless had to be alive- he had to be- Volt and Harmony would get him out-

He'sgoingtodiethey'regoingtodie-

#familylightfox #took the pain/found my own way | Voltage Lightfox #cause every time we touch/I get this feeling | Velte #dark or light/always shining bright | Harmony Lightfox #Behind this soft exterior/Lies a warrior | Node the Fennec Fox #Hanging on the edge of tomorrow/From the works of yesterday | Sonic “Bless” the Hedgehog #Event | There One Moment Gone the Next #//throwing this before I go prepare for bed enjoyyy #panic tw #blood tw #implied injury tw #injury tw #guns tw #panic attack tw #death tw #implied death tw #//starting with a bang- #//or in Bl3ss' case many bangs #//not gonna use the n3on bann3rs for this so just gonna put that warning at the top #//and tag accordingly #//(though I'd try to tag accordingly regardless)----

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 27: Matches + Scars

Read it on Ao3

- Twilight & Time

- Summary: Twilight gets trapped in a burning building

CW for blood and injury, burn wounds, panic, and brief mentions of death

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

He hates fire. Absolutely hates it, with every fiber of his being, every bone in his body. 

It recalls memories of torches lighting the night, of his friends, his family, scowling at him, shouting.

“It’s one of those cursed beasts!”

“Monster! It took our children!”

“Drive it off! Kill it if you must!”

Twilight yanks at his chains again, a choked sob rising within him. He can’t breathe and it has nothing to do with the smoke beginning to billow from every corner of the room. Though, dragging in ragged, panicked gasps of it certainly isn’t helping matters. 

It sears his throat and lungs, burns his eyes. Everything is drenched in scalding heat. Everywhere are hues of furious, flaming crimsons and burning oranges and searing, golden yellows.  

A flame licks at his tunic sleeve and he jerks away from it. His hands are shaking, thoughts racing. Sweat and blood trickle in rivulets down his face.

Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout, his mind screams. But he can’t move. The shackles that encase his wrists and ankles, though old and rusted, are strong. They don’t yield even when he thrashes and pulls and tears at them until his nails are torn and bleeding.

Tears stream down his face, mixing with the soot. They dry almost as quickly as they appear, lapped up by the ravenous fire.

A ceiling beam cracks mere inches from where he sits and comes crashing down. Twilight’s heart climbs into his throat. 

He’s going to die here. The realization hits him heavily, pressing the air out of his lungs. He’s going to die here alone and terrified. All because he let some monsters get the jump on him.

Claws piercing his arms and legs and torso. Arrows skimming his limbs…some embedding themselves there. Deafening screeches filling his ears. Blood in his mouth, vision blurring as they drag him away. Drifting in a feverish haze as they chain him up and leave him there.

Leave him to burn.

Their master will be pleased, they had said, in their gurgling, bestial tones that he shouldn’t understand but now does. So very pleased to know that the hero that managed to fight off his influence is dead.

Twilight suspects that that is true (though he does have some doubts about whether the Shadow will be happy about not having had a direct hand in the murder). But either way, it doesn’t make it any more pleasant. 

He has people to protect, to save, to come back to; a mystery of vengeance and darkness to solve; a land counting on him to help improve it. He doesn’t have time to die.

And he certainly doesn’t have time to panic. 

He didn’t before, so long ago in Kakariko, when he had had to set the bomb shed on fire to get the job done. But that had been before…that had been before he had slipped up. Before he showed his beastly face once more in Ordon and this time received far worse than a few gashes from the angry talons of an attacking hawk.

Now…now he can’t face it – the bite of open flame. He can’t endure it. Not again.

He chokes on smoke and terror and sorrow. Still fighting even as he suffocates on the smoke that now surrounds him. Even as the inescapable heat begins to sear him like meat on a spit. 

His vision is going hazy, darkness crowding the edges. It won’t be long now…it won’t be long. Soon, he will pass out. And then how can he fight?

The flames crawl across the ground toward him. They catch on his pant leg, hungrily eating away at the fabric. And then they’re at his skin and Twilight is gritting his teeth in an attempt not to cry out. 

It’s fruitless. It hurts. Everything hurts. The sickening scent of burning hair and flesh mingles with that of smoldering old wood. He gags, tasting blood and cinders.

The chains are agonizingly hot now. Not enough to melt, of course. No, just enough to brand his wrists and turn his boots to ash. Just enough to draw out a harsh, agonizing scream.

“Help.” It comes out before he can stop it, desperate, weak, whispered on the tail end of his cry. “Someone help me. Please.”

There is no reply. Save, of course, for the sounds of his oncoming demise. Save for the crackling and popping of the house that is about to collapse atop him.

What will come first? He wonders, distantly. Will the smoke smother him and the flames burn his body? Or will he be buried alive, choking on the remains of the smoldering fire, unable to budge the heavy planks atop him?

He coughs a hacking, painful cough. Blood splatters onto his tunic sleeve. Gasping, he collapses sideways, chains clanking tauntingly. The room swims and he shuts his eyes to block it out.

Suddenly, there is a crash, far louder than the ones before it. It breaks through the incessant whir of nonexistent wind in his ears. Twilight curls in on himself, waiting for the inevitable. 

There is the sound of metal slicing through metal instead. The chains slide off of him and hit the ground. Twilight drags open bloodshot eyes, squinting to try and see past the blur of light and dark. A familiar figure leans over him.

“T-time?” 

It can’t be. It just can’t. 

And yet, it looks like him, tall form silhouetted against the flames. It sounds like him when he speaks.

“I’m here, pup. I’ve got you.”

Twilight coughs again. Breathing is harder than ever now. Every gasp is agony. But Time reaches down and draws him to his chest and he sags against him. 

“You came,” he breathes.

He almost doesn’t want to believe it. Death had seemed so terribly certain…

Sparks and wood clatter downward and Time lets out a sharp hiss. 

“Yes, I came,” he says in a strained tone. He lifts Twilight, murmuring an apology when a low, agonized whine escapes the hero. “I’ll always come for you.”

The words ring in Twilight’s ears as they leave the burning building. The flames still climb to the sky, twining with the plumes of smoke in a mockery to the sun. The ceiling falls in completely just as Time shoves his way out of what was once a door. His hold tightens and Twilight clings to him in return.

“Rancher!”

“Is he alive? Is he okay?”

“I swear, old man, going into that place by yourself. You could have at least waited for us.”

The voices of the others tumble over one another in their race to be heard. 

“He’s alright,” Twilight hears Time call, and then in a more hushed voice, “it appears you were missed.”

Twilight is too weak to laugh, though he wants to. But he manages a shaky grin instead. And as the heroes rush forward with potions and chastises and advice, he closes his eyes and relaxes in Time’s steady embrace.

#whumptober 2023 #no.27 #matches #scars #blood tw #injury tw #burn wounds tw #panic tw #mentions of death #trin writes #lu twilight #lu time #hurt/comfort #whump #angst

[plasmodiumpyrexia]

Thinking about a really specific thing: Characters putting their hands on their chest.

Like after a coughing fit (that already sounds painful), caretaker looks over to see whumpee with their hand on their chest, giving it a lil rub...

Or if their heart skips a beat and they automatically reach to their chest. And if their heart is racing, feeling each beat pound away under their hand.

And when they're struggling to catch their breath. One hand is on their heaving chest and the other is braced on the wall, lungs burning and dark spots dancing in their vision as they gasp for air.

Maybe it's the only outward sign of their inner turmoil. Unease building, making it feel like the air is being sucked out of the room, a hand on their tight chest.

Or maybe, it simply hurts.

And the gesture just looks concerning, like even if whumpee isn't fully clutching their chest, they still seem uncomfortable. Something's up and it's probably not good.

#whump #whump trope #little details #heavy breathing #cough #panic tw #hands #pain #(kind of?) #idk if this is weird to post it feels so weirdly specific lol #hands on chest

[exquisitexagony]

continued with @miidnighters (x) -> gore cw, cannibalism cw, blood cw, dismemberment cw, violence cw, horror cw panic cw, dry-heaving cw

They couldn't stop. They just kept going--bashing and ripping and tearing and eating, their clothes drenched in the rich blood, the walls sprayed with it. It seeped into the cracks in the floor, dipped down Arthur's elbows. So much blood.

It wasn't beautiful, it wasn't neat, and it certainly wasn't his usual way of feeding. It was desperate and painful and deliberate. Like he needed them to be dead--more than dead. Gone. Something in his eyes screamed of anger, dread, fear...And that wretched hunger.

He didn't quite stop when she called his name, bashing the guy's head in until the skull split open, the face disfigured, teeth marks covering his cheeks and arms, legs torn from his torso...Tears were streaming down Arthur's face, though they had mixed with so much blood it was impossible to tell. Their weapon finally clattered to the ground, bending over to rip more flesh from the body's throat--tearing, swallowing, spitting, growling, blood gurgling in the back of his own throat. It wasn't until she called them darling that they finally managed to stop.

Out of breath, broken, and dripping with blood, he froze where he was crouched over the body. A piece of flesh hung from his mouth, caught between his teeth. He spit it out almost immediately, blood splattering the ground in front of him and instantly mixing in with the rest of the mess. Turquoise hues landed on the disembodied form in front of him, the horrific display of the elder man's half-eaten insides making his stomach churn. For a moment, he thought he might just puke up his meal, his gag reflex kicking in immediately, but no...Nothing would come up. Bloodied hands grasped against the vinyl flooring, making a sticky wet squelch as his fingertips curved against the puddles of blood, nails pressing into the floor.

"Fuck...Fuck, fuck, fuck...He--He--It was...I-- I saw--I...thought--"

His thoughts wouldn't fit together. He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. What had just happened? He had practically blacked out and could only remember what had happened when he first arrived at the old man's house. He remembered the plan--and this hadn't been it.

#tumblr never informed me of this ask being answered so i forgot it existed and i just found it digging through things :D #miidnighters #v; flesheater #cannibalism tw #blood tw #violence tw #murder tw #gore tw #dry-heaving tw #vomit mention tw #panic tw #this is probs the darkest thing i've written in yeeeeaarss and i kinda love it

[quotemenevervore]

Gonna be honest, I didn’t proofread this because my hands are pretty shaky rn as is so I’ll edit it if it’s bad

But @local-squishmallow I have your prison sequel ready : )

Content warnings: soft, safe, g/t vore, character terrified, character believing he is going to die, mentions of torture and description of panic attacks.

Tread lightly, but know it gets fluffy at the end : )

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

George felt better, now that he actually had something in his system. It wasn’t perfect, but it would be enough for now. Surely Sapnap would come back to get him more food- The small being in his hand fidgeted straight out of it, tumbling to the mattress. Right, and now he had to worry about that as well. “Where are you going, Dream?” “I-“ the blonde stiffened in fear, turning back to the other as to not seem disobedient. “I was going to-to get you more food.” “I don’t think you’ll make it down the stairs. Just stay here for now, Sapnap will come back and make something.”

Trembling harshly, he forced himself back to the brunette’s side, stepping out of the way as he laid down. “I think we both just need to sleep, really.” He scooped the shrunken man up, frowning at the intense shivers wracking his form, and cupping him to his chest. He was a little too tired to worry about the other’s emotions, figuring he’d do damage control later on.

When he woke up, Dream was sleeping, finally relaxing for the first time since he’d been caught. He wasn’t going to wake him up, of course. He didn’t want to deal with the fearful reactions he’d no doubt have when awake; He still had quite a bit of recovering to do himself, and he didn’t have it in him to take on more emotional baggage when he still felt weak and starving. Keeping the tiny admin to his chest, he got up and carefully made his way to the kitchen to make something to eat.

Dream began to stir as George finished reheating a bowl of rabbit stew, eyes snapping open and tensing up as he was gently placed on the table. The bowl was set a little ways away, the human holding two spoons. “I- I could have gotten you something if you were hungry..” He gripped one of his arms tightly, trying to pull himself together. If they wanted him dead, he’d already be dead. He had to keep reminding himself of that. They weren’t Quackity, they weren’t torturing him or drawing it out. It didn’t stop the shivers wracking his form, or his heart hammering painfully against his sore rib cage.

“Rabbit stew isn’t hard to make. Besides, it’s leftovers. I think Tina made it.” Dipping a spoon into the bowl, he gathered a generous amount of the stew before pulling it back out and setting it in front of Dream. The shrunken admin scrambled back, eyes wide as he stared down at the spilt broth. “What-“ “You need to eat too. Obviously you were starving.” Dream flinched harshly at the comment, sitting where he was and dipping his head down. With a sigh, George carefully nudged the spoon closer to the man. “It’s not poisoned, or whatever you’re thinking. Look.” He dipped his own spoon into the bowl, scooping up a similar amount he’d given Dream before popping it into his mouth.

“See? Not poisonous. I'd be taking damage if it was.” With that being said, he continued to eat, taking his attention off of the other. He knew Dream wouldn’t run. It didn’t stop the speedrunner from running through his head, however. The small form in front of him was Dream, through and through, but at the same time it wasn’t. This wasn’t his friend. This wasn’t the man who he’d joked around and playfully fought with. This wasn’t the man who had put him on the throne and then removed him without hesitation. This wasn’t the fearless, determined Dream he remembered. And it bothered him greatly.

~ ~ ~

Slowly, very very slowly, but surely, Dream was coming back to him. He stopped teasing the blonde, only asking necessary questions to keep him calm. He let Dream make the first, shaky, nervous jab, and he made sure not to react badly to it. The relief he felt from watching Dream’s shoulders drop so abruptly was almost euphoric, and he was sure to text Sapnap about the progress he made. He didn’t know how the fireborn felt about the other, his expression and movements unreadable every time he visited. He knew it intimidated Dream, and it was likely the point, but it didn’t make George feel any better about it.

After that initial jab, Dream loosened up significantly, and within a week it was like before. Granted, Dream was still tiny, and George still carried him to and from places and ensured he stayed hidden, but the two were on better terms. At least he wasn’t shying away anymore. He’d even started hanging out with George while he cooked, granted a little ways away from the stove.

At least, until it all came to an abrupt end. The two were laughing, Dream moving to lean against the mug beside him to catch his breath before yelping in surprise as the mug slid right off the counter, almost taking him with it. Collapsing onto the counter, he froze completely as the ceramic dish shattered on the floor, George backing up out of instinct. “Oh, shoot.” He mumbled, turning away to find a broom to sweep it up.

Dream stared at the shattered mug, eyes clouding over with fear. He’d messed up. He stepped out of line, he ruined everything, Sapnap was gonna kill him- he could only watch as George returned, sweeping up the broken pieces and tossing them in the trash. He hadn’t noticed how Dream had not gotten back up until he put the broom and dustpan away, deciding it would be safer to go hang out in the living room until the bread was done baking.

He recoiled harshly at the offered hand, and it was only then that he noticed how the blonde was acting off. “Dream..? What’s going on?” Don’t answer, don’t make it worse on yourself- “Dream!?” George was worrying, the tiny man’s chest was heaving as he hyperventilated, and his mouth was twisted shut, likely to keep anything from escaping. Trying to get a closer look at him made him recoil again, and this time he noticed the glazed over, fearful look in his eyes.

“Oh...” He brought his hands up, wincing when the other flinched, carefully scooping him into the middle of both palms. “Shh, Dream. You’re okay. It’s okay..” he kept his hands as steady as possible as he moved them to the living room, sitting on the sofa and bringing him to his chest as he moved the fearful tiny to only one hand. His other hand fumbled to get his communicator, sending a quick message to Sapnap before shutting it off and tossing it away.

“Dream, you gotta breathe, okay? Breathe with me.” He ran his thumb up and down the tiny admin’s back, trying to sooth him. “Please..” he whimpered, and George froze. “Please what, Dream?” “Please make it quick-“ he failed to choke back a sob, and that had dissolved the last of his resolve. He sobbed fearfully into the brunette’s shirt, barely pulling in a breath before another cry jerked his chest.

Sapnap had quietly entered, closing the door with barely a click and heading straight towards the sofa. “What’s going on?” “I don’t know, we were just hanging out in the kitchen and then he just started panicking. I mean, a mug fell, maybe the noise scared him?” The fireborn frowned, reaching out to take the shrunken man from him, but pulled back harshly when Dream shrieked. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please, I’ll do better, it won't happen again, please-“ “Dream, what are you talking about?” Sapnap’s voice stayed calm, quiet, like how he remembers him speaking to Karl when he was having memory problems.

“Please don’t hurt me..” George winced, and Sapnap’s frown grew larger at the comment. “Dream, tell me what happened.” The brunette went to mention that the blonde had only started shaking worse at the demand, but Dream had beaten him to speaking. “We- we were making bread, and George put it in the oven, and we were laughing about something, and then I-I tried to lean against a cup and it fell and I ruined it, I just don’t want to die I’m sorry-“ “Dream, take a deep breath in.”

He didn’t speak again until Dream had managed to do so. “Alright, breathe out.” He waited until the other let out a shuddery breath, then repeated the process. George counted up to fifteen times before Sapnap felt confident enough to stop, Dream breathing normally on his own. “Right, so you accidentally knocked a mug over. Why would you think we’d kill you for that?” “You said.. you said if I messed up you’d kill me.” The fireborn’s brow quirked at the sentence, sadness clouding his eyes. “Yeah? I also said I’d kill you if you escaped. Has it happened?” “No, but-“ “I’m not gonna kill you over an accident.” “He would have..” he whimpered, ducking away when Sapnap blinked. “Who?” “Q-Quackity..”

As if the mere mention of the man summoned him, there was a knock at the door. Carefully passing Dream back to George, Sapnap went to answer it, keeping his expression blank when he came face to face with his ex-fiancé as it opened. “Sapnap.” “Quackity.” He could hear George get up, walking towards the stairs. “What brings you two here?” “Looking for Dream still. What else?” “Geez, it’s like your whole life revolves around him now.” He tried to joke, but the look souring on the avian’s face told him it didn’t land. “Even if it did, whose fault would that be?” And then the man was trying to push past him, and he put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back a step.

“Let me at least tell George you’re here, he doesn’t do well with surprise visits, especially since he’s sick.” Quackity’s eye narrowed, but he relented. “One minute, Sapnap.” He nodded and closed the door in the duo’s faces, making a beeline to the stairs and up to George’s room. He found the two huddled under the covers of his bed, looking up at him with fear before recognizing him. “We need to hide him.” George whispered. “No time.” Sapnap whispered back, carefully pulling the shrunken man out of the brunette’s grasp. A confused look met him, but he shook his head. “Trust me.”

And then he popped the other in his mouth and George shot up like a bullet, intent on stopping him but the front door opened and he groaned, looking at the fireborn warily. When he held his hands up in a placating matter, nothing but concern in his eyes, he relented, leaving the room to go confront the others. Sapnap swallowed, deeming the other slick enough with his panicked movements, before joining them downstairs. He had to ignore the pangs in his heart while the other simply sobbed, not even trying to fight back.

He wasn’t in his stomach. Sapnap had a different anatomy than his human friends, and even if Dream had been safe in George’s stomach he wasn’t gonna risk it. He put the other in his storage pouch, a second hollow organ just to the side of his stomach. Dream was small enough that he would be completely unnoticeable.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he stayed at the edge of the living room, watching the tension between George and Quackity for a moment. The two were close enough to be in each other’s faces, throwing insults back and forth. Sam noticed Sapnap first, and gave Quackity a nudge. Quackity turned his glare to him, then to where Sam nodded at, before turning back to George with a huff. “If you’re not hiding him, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Without a word more, he entered the house more, beginning his search. Sam awkwardly joined, and George went to Sapnap’s side and threw his head against his shoulder. Before the fireborn could get a quip in about what he’d walked into, the brunette growled into his shirt. “If he isn’t safe, I swear to prime Sapnap-“ Resting his head atop George’s, he whispered back. “He is.” The tension oozed out of the Brit, and it took a lot to keep his tense and annoyed look up as the prison guards brushed past them to search the rest of his house.

“How are you certain?” “Wait until they leave.” Sapnap didn’t raise his voice above a whisper, even though the duo that had broken in had already finished climbing the stairs. “What makes them think he’s here anyway?” He then raised his voice, trying to make it seem like they were simply complaining and not scheming for being too quiet. “It’s me, Sapnap. What do you think?” “Maybe if you didn’t flirt with him so often-“ “Oh, fuck off with that, Sap. I don’t wanna hear it right now.” The anger seemed genuine, so Sapnap relented with a soft apology. A smile graced the brunette’s face. “Just playing along.” He whispered back.

Sapnap was going to say something more, but was abruptly cut off by a shout from upstairs. “That little shit!” Before either of them could do anything, worried they’d seen something of the shrunken man’s, Quackity stormed past them and out of the house, Sam in tow with a determined look in his eye. The two could only stare at the ajar door for a moment, shock settling in. Finally, George snapped out of it, moving to close the door. “Dream?” Sapnap asked, moving a hand to his stomach and gently pressing in. “I.. sent them a text. Told them I could see them through George’s window.” He smirked at the response. “Good thinking. You ready to come up?” “I guess.. I’m just-“ he cut himself off, thinking how to phrase his question.

“Just..?” He prompted the other. “Are.. you okay? Your stomach hasn’t done anything since you ate me. I thought,” he laughed bitterly, tears falling once more. “I thought you were trying to kill me.” “Sorry, Dream. I wasn’t gonna hurt you, I just didn’t have time to explain. They were at the door and already pushing into the house, we had to be fast or you were gonna get found.” “Right, but is your stomach okay?” “My stomach’s fine. You’re not in my stomach.”

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” George was in disbelief, and Sapnap smiled. “Let me bring Dream up, and I’ll explain.”

~ ~ ~

With Dream wrapped up in a soft washcloth after being rinsed off, the trio returned to the couch. “So, I’m not human. You guys already know that.” “Yeah?” Dream looked over the hands cradling him, nodding at the fireborn. “My biology’s different from humans, it’s better suited for the nether. Me and Bad both. So we have this pouch that we can store stuff in. Bad used to use it for me when we still lived in the nether, but most people use it to keep their treasure from melting.”

“And it’s.. safe?” “Attached to airways, closed off from everything else, except my throat.” Sapnap shrugged. “I know it’s weird, and I didn’t mean to scare you guys that bad. But..” his eyes trailed back to the door.

“I don’t know what Quackity’s done to you, Dream. Just based on your reaction to the mug earlier, I can tell it was bad. Besides,” he chuckled humorously. “I couldn’t kill you even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. It’s not like you can do much damage like this, and we still don’t know how it happened.” “Oh. I, uh, did this. I messed with my code, I just had to get out of there, I was so sure he was going to kill me that last time and-“ His breathing had begun to stutter, a small tremble rising back up in the shrunken form.

“It’s okay, Dream. I’m not gonna let him get you again.” “You mean we, George.” Sapnap reached a hand out, keeping it distant from the smaller but close enough that he could see the intention. “But.. he’s your fiancé..” “He ditched us. Well, I guess he didn’t mean to, but he and Karl got into it pretty bad. He hasn’t been the same since El Rapids, honestly.” He sighed. “Oh.. I’m sorry, Sap.” The fireborn simply shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it now. My home’s here, and whatever he’s done to you makes me wonder what all he’s been up to anyway. Clearly, it can’t be good.”

“What do you mean, you can’t kill me?” Dream’s brows had furrowed, the sentence lingering on his mind. “I.. don’t think I can answer that. Not without getting smited or something.” “Oh..” “And like I said earlier, that was if I wanted to. I don’t wanna kill you, Dream. You did some fucked up shit, yea, but you’re still my friend. Plus, I trust you’ve probably learned your lesson..” he grimaced as he said it, and Dream nodded grimly. “More than enough, yea. It’s not like I was gonna leave the kid dead anyway, there was a reason I was keeping the revival book. Besides, I don’t wanna be anywhere near him. Not at normal height, if I can even undo this code change, and absolutely not at this size.”

“That’s a fair point.” George mused, gently brushing the blonde’s hair with a finger. “He can’t do much if there’s nothing for him to fight against. He’ll keep bothering people, but I think the rest of us know not to react cause that’s what he wants.” “Easy for you to say, it’s not your world that was getting messed up or your friends- never mind.” “What? Dream, what were you gonna say?” George prompted, but gently, and kept his movements going to show he wasn’t bothered, just curious.

“I.. was just gonna say it wasn’t your friends getting tormented by that little gremlin but that’s kinda silly to say.” Dream looked down sheepishly. “Since a lot of them are your friends.” “That’s fair, but you also have a point. I’m not an admin, I can’t control anything that happens in this world. I can only imagine how stressed that makes you, you’re the only one.. aren’t you?” “There’s not many others, I think.. maybe two.” “Then, yea. You’re essentially running the world yourself, of course you’re gonna get bothered if someone starts messing with it.”

“Wait.” Sapnap interrupted the conversation, mind stuck on the ‘if’ Dream had mentioned. “You don’t know if you can undo this?” “I don’t. I’ve never done anything like this before, Sapnap.” The implication of that sunk in heavily, and a feeling akin to dread crept up his spine. Dream could be stuck tiny forever. He was already at risk, but it morphed to danger as soon as he’d shrunk. And he could be in danger for the rest of his life. George had a similar look in his eyes, and his hands only tightened around the other.

“Then we’ll make the most of it.” He looked at Sapnap, and the worry in his eyes steeled his resolve. “We will. We’ll do our best to get you back to your normal size, but if we can’t, then we’re not gonna let it stop us from having fun.”

He grinned down at the smaller man, determination flooding his body at the hesitant, hopeful grin he got back from the smaller man. “We’re gonna make the most of it.”

Small bonus:

Dream was shivering when Sapnap woke up, the brunette beside him still dead asleep. “Dream?” He whispered carefully. “Sorry, I’m freezing…” he answered softly, tiredly. The fireborn frowned. It was pretty cold outside, with it being winter. He gently scooped the other up, bringing him up towards his neck. “Is that better?” “A little.. thank you.” With a soft smile, Sapnap had started to drift back to sleep, only to be stirred awake once more by a small voice.

“It’d be a lot warmer in his pouch..” It was obviously not meant for him to hear, more so just Dream mumbling to himself, but it didn’t go unheard. “We can do that if you want. Don’t wanna scare you again though.” Dream flinched, sitting back up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-“ “I sleep lightly, Dream. It’s okay.” He didn’t say anything more, letting the smaller man think about the offer. “Well.. it’s not like I don’t know it’s safe..” the fireborn hummed softly. “I’d like a definite answer, though. I don’t want to scare you.” Dream didn’t think about it for much longer. “Yeah. We can do that if you’re okay with it.”

It did not take long once he had permission, and only moments after was Dream settled down in his pouch, the faint earthy taste lingering on the back of Sapnap’s tongue as he settled back down with a content sigh. They’d have to tell George what happened, but if Dream was okay with this arrangement, Sapnap couldn’t help but be eager to do it again.

#mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #mcyt vore #safe vore #g/t vore #soft vore #fic for squishy : ) #torture tw #panic tw #fear tw

[lietwice]

@jsbashirmd said: "Hey, hey hey, Garak, my love, I need you to breathe with me. squeeze my hands and take a big breath. Trust me."

COLD AIR SAPS OXYGEN FROM HIS LUNGS, STEALING EVERY BREATH HE TAKES. There's not enough space in the room, not enough air, but every cell in his body is fighting to breathe it in anyway, and it hurts. Each dizzying attempt to take a new breath only makes him shudder, chest tight and throat raw with his panting. He can't tell how long he's been here, bent over his workstation, trying pointlessly to control himself, to control the swirling panic in his head and the way his eyes flick from wall to wall. A disciplined mind ought to be able to work through this, and yet, it feels like he's been struggling for hours. It could've been mere minutes, though, for all he's able to accurately assess his surroundings and the passage of time. All he knows is this: "I can't--- breathe."

HE CAN SQUEEZE JULIAN'S HANDS. He's not sure when Julian got here, actually. He's not in the infirmary. But as he tries to recall, or figure a reason for his arrival, he finds every strand of thought evaporates too quickly for him to catch hold of it, replaced with the clawing grip of anxiety. He wobbles, and all at once, loses the ability to stand. His knees hit the floor hard, and it should hurt, but it registers only as a distant sting, knocking at the very furthest door of Garak's panic-filled consciousness. His grip on Julian's hands tightens, even as his chin drops, wide eyes fixing on the floor in front of him. Black hair, usually so sleek and immaculately styled, falls forward over his face.

#thank you for this!!!! i love you #jsbashirmd #verse. ( tbd. ) #panic tw #answered. ( how mortifying to be the one who remembers. )

[nightwhispcrs]

he hadn't slept or left his home in a few days really , but craig hadn't heard back from j.t. since yesterday and his stomach was in so many knots that he ended up here , banging on the other male's front door with panic in his chest , before he even realized what was happening . "j.t. !!" craig yelled frantically . "open up !! please !!" he prayed he was on the other side of that door , normal and safe . / closed event starter for @rainbowmuses

#u didnt ask for this but idc #( craig manning ⟶ jt yorke ) #( ✰ interactions ⟶ craig ) #hwevent15 #panic tw

[aquaticsoul]

anonymous has returned to haunt him:

"Sielu, darling, I hope you have missed me as much as I have missed you.

"I know it's only been a short while, but I think I shall like my pretty pet to come home now. Where you belong."

Need to Hear || ACCEPTING

-> @shiroi---kumo may need to get in a fight.

The first trip he's taken outside is already going to hell. He doesn't know why he expected differently than to hear the damn plants - they're everywhere. They're always everywhere.

He'd only slipped out of the window for a moment. And the very next one, he hears it. He hears the sound of poison rolling off sickly-sweet lips and he hears the way she calls for him.

The most devastating part is the fact she somehow got ahold of his name. Then again, he wouldn't be surprised if she had it this whole time without him knowing.

It's followed by that awful word he hates so much, the one that has his head dropping in submission and tears stinging the edges of his eyes. All at once, there are hands on him yet none touching him. There are fingers that wind themselves into his hair, trailing along the surface of each of his horns to send a disgusted shiver down his spine - they trace that too. He writhes in his place as if to free himself, his breath halting against the rock that seems to have formed in his throat.

His pulse is racing, roaring in his ears as his heart struggles to prepare his muscles for what's to come. The vines will be here any minute now if he doesn't do something, here to take him away back to that hell, back to her.

A sob wrenches itself out of his mangled lungs. His shoulders curl in. His head drops further.

It already hurts.

It's going to get worse. It always gets worse.

Finally, his legs unlock as he scrambles to get back into the window. The pane rattles in its frame as he slams it shut behind him with sweat-covered palms, but still that's not enough.

He's not safe. He's running out of time. His vision is dark around the edges already. He's not safe.

It feels like he can't will himself to go as fast as he needs to. The shambling form of broken half-sobs and failed attempts to breathe makes his way down the hall, searching for his companions so that he can warn them of doomsday now that it's come.

His muscles are trembling almost out of his own control by the time he hits his knees at the dawn's feet. His body hunches over, hair falling to obscure what parts of his face are left exposed by his mask.

"C-Can't breathe," he forces out, gasping several times before he continues. "Can't go back. Don't want to. Don't want to. I can't. I can't breathe. Hurts. Not- safe. Can't breathe. Bad pet. Awful pet. I love - I love you. Can't breathe."

#[[ sielu and the very bad horrible rotten no good very awful day ]] #sing a round of love ; answered. #r ; the image of evil itself [ herba ] #objectification tw #abuse tw #ptsd tw #panic tw #topic ; herba #topic ; fears #r ; beast of the dawn [ aamunkoitto ] #arc ; show me how to fly (post rescue)

[apothmuses]

Closed for @mvsicinthedvrk Lee Rang

A dead end leads to an open coffin in the ground. In order to progress at least one character must get in and close the lid.

MaoMao's face paled to an off white color. That was a coffin. A real ass coffin. MaoMao let out a screech. What was with this maze and making her worst nightmares come to life. MaoMao tried to run the other direction but collided with a figure. Feeling disoriented and panicked, MaoMao tried to speak.

"D-don't g-go there." She warned her hands shaking as she pointed to a coffin. "D-don't go." She said pleading afraid for the stranger to become shell shocked like herself.

#mvsicinthedvrk #c;lee rang #m;maomao #panic tw #coffin tw

[ambercast]

where: front steps of clinic who: open

Avery could only stand being in the small patient room in the clinic for a little while before she felt her chest tighten and got short of breath. She went outside with the water bottle the doctor gave her, sitting down heavily on the front step and sipping the water despite the urge to guzzle it. She knew she’d get sick if she did.

She dropped her head into her hand, elbow on her knee, feeling exhausted. It didn’t seem like Sir had followed her, but at the sound of footsteps approaching, she jolted upright in fear, scurrying a few more steps up toward the clinic before registering that it wasn’t her captor.

“Shit, sorry,” she gasped out, her heart still pounding.

#huntsvillestarter #avery:threads #avery:open #panic tw #ptsd tw

[flameleads]

@shiroi---kumo + @forgotten-teammates

In the kitchen, packing the meals he prepared for himself in his bag, no one saw the Colonel’s hands shake. 

Kain’s worsened injury was the last straw. He didn’t wander far from the Comodeen, and yet—and yet—if White Cloud hadn’t found him in time… Roy wanted to just be thankful. He was thankful he could still look into his friend’s eyes every day. But, that emotion brought friends he didn’t care for, and they overstayed their welcome. Guilt flooded his veins whenever he looked at Kain, and he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if he helped cause the man to flee their safe haven in the first place. Anger followed shortly thereafter, lighting his blood on fire, as he dared to answer in the affirmative. 

Fear, though, was the most unwelcome. Heavier than the albatross, it sat on his chest and made it nearly impossible for him to breathe. Something attacked Kain and nearly killed him—he nearly died. What else existed in Wonderland? What other beasts roamed the lands for easy prey like those already injured like Edward? It hadn’t been that long since their excursion in the south. Neither of them fully recovered since then, and Edward couldn’t breathe like he used to. He couldn’t fight like he used to, and that was detrimental.  

Never mind Gaudium. And White Cloud couldn’t be everywhere at once to save the day. That was far too much to ask from one being, never mind one a dying one. 

He couldn’t keep asking White Cloud to search for his boys like this when he had much more pressing concerns to deal with. He couldn’t do that to his friend. Not only that, but he couldn’t… he couldn’t keep staying safe within the walls of the Comodeen doing what felt like nothing. Cleaning probably helped, and he taught himself Wonderlandian, but it wasn’t enough. Edward and Alphonse weren’t in his arms. For all he knew, they could be fending off beasts like what Kain dealt with or worse, or… or…

His breath hitched as he stopped packing for a few seconds. No, no no no no. He needed to push the memory down. He couldn’t let it resurface. All he needed to do was finish packing and—

“Colonel?”

Goddammit, she found him before he finished. 

Quiet as always, the Lieutenant appeared at his side without saying much, the question in her eyes as she met his gaze. Her stance said a lot for someone to someone who knew her: feet apart, as if ready to go at a second’s notice, but shoulders squared toward him to give him her undivided attention. Her eyes traveled to his bag and back to his eyes in milliseconds, a hint of concern present along with her business as usual. She wouldn’t say a word until he replied to her, and she wouldn’t leave his side until she got her answer. He knew that. With a heavy sigh, he stopped packing, and he turned toward her. 

“I only packed enough for me.” No, that was the wrong thing to say. She gave him a blank stare before she replied.

“I’ll be fine. When are we leaving?”

“… Ten minutes.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not trying to stop me, Lieutenant?”

“Trying to stop you will only end up with you being reckless without me. At least I can keep an eye on you this way.”

“As long as you’re sure.” His hands returned to packing the rest of his meals. Thankfully, he was almost done when the Lieutenant arrived. 

“My duty to you doesn’t waver, Sir. I will see you in ten minutes.” With a formal salute, the Lieutenant turned on her heel and walked back to her room. She had her weapons to prepare along with Hayate. While she did just get him back, a trip out into Wonderland wasn’t the wisest idea for him. There was no telling what they’d find out in the wild, and they didn’t know how long they would be gone. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be more than a few days, and the Comodeen wouldn’t miss them that much. They did just get most of the team back together. That, and leaving without saying goodbye… 

She was not in charge of this pseudo-mission, though. The Colonel was, and he did not deem it important to tell anyone else that he was leaving. He had one thought on his mind and nothing else: his boys. After seeing the two of them return to Central… she wished she could blame him.

#shiroikumo #forgottenteammates #ic; light a fire | roy #verse; eventually you'll see my ascendancy | pre pd #arc; amestris no more | group ua #thread: Soul on Fire #long post tw #grief tw #panic tw

[seldomscilence16]

Whumptober Day 3:

"Like crying out in empty rooms, with no one there except the moon." 

Journal | solitary confinement | "make it stop."

Fandom: Voltron

Prompt used: All

Soooo this ones a little intense- at least to me as I write this. Its never specified but Lance is alone for awhile, so tread carefully just in case. I think I may do a continuation on one of the other days for this one so keep a look out if you like this one.

TW for self harm, and Torture

...

There was little light in the room. He'd tried to figure out where it was coming from, scratched at the lips in the walls until his nails were broken and bleeding. He'd decided they simply glowed. 

There was no window, and the door disapeared- no it blended in, it had to be there still it had to, it could just be gone that made no sense- after that first day. That first day when he'd woken up, confused and in pain, and had a strange alien come in and speak to him. He couldnt tell you everything they said, broken translator glitching every couple words or other sentence. But it was an experiment, and a punishment. 

Lance wanted to go home.

"Journal entry uh… whatever. The water and bread like stuff appeared when I passed out again, I dont remember falling asleep… It tastes weird, but they got angry when I didnt consume it before… the walls are still glowing… or maybe it is dark and Im going crazy… how many days has it been journal? Why… what did I… its not like your gonna answer anyway…" 

His head hits the wall with a solid thump, the sound better than when all he can hear is bodily functions, so he does it again. And again, until his ears ring and his head aches, and the noise has blended in too much to be different and he stops. His heart and head beat to the same toon, he holds his breath to stop hearing the inflation of his lungs only for the beating to get louder. Frustrated tears come to his eyes as he releases the breath in a shout, which turns into an angry yell as he turns and pounds his tender fists into the wall.

Its not the first time, there are smears of blood- old and new- from his many little moments. He thinks hes allowed such moments after all, locked up for who knows how long with no interaction. He cant even talk to Blue, the thin connection in his soul the only thing telling him shes okay. In the beginning, he equated his moments to Keith, when he went ham on the training gladiatiors. But now… staring at his ruined fists, and wall still intact besides the smears, he feels as pathetic as ever. 

He knows for a fact the rest of the team would have found a way out by now. Pidge's curiousity and spite always leads her to solutions of some kind. Hunk would have found out how this box worked and rebuilt it ten times over. Keith would have samuraied his way out of course, and Shiro would probably find this childs play. But really the main difference… is they arent him. Lance did something wrong. Lance was stupid and weak and easily caught. Lance hasnt been able to find a way out. Lance- is referring to himself in third person. Again. 

He deserves to be here. The team hasnt found him yet, blue is out of range, and Lance is being punished for something. He wouldnt want any of them in his situation anyway, theyre probably off saving the universe still, probably relieved hes gone. He… he hopes theyre getting enough sleep. That Pidge isnt stuck with her face in a screen, refusing to sleep. That Hunk isnt spreading himself thin, and bottling things up. That Allura is recharging her quintessence, and taking care of herself and not pushing too hard on her own mind and the teams. That Coran isnt lonely and doing everything by himself. That Shiro is remembering to laugh and relax and chill. That Keith isnt isolating himself and training to death and… 

He misses them.

Lance thought that… even if he never saw Earth again, never saw his parents again, thatd at least, the last thing he saw would be his friends- his space family- safe and alive. Not some creepy alien, or the four same walls, but the people he cares about. He knows… he knows he wasnt their first choice. That Blue deserves better, the team deserves better. But… he still loves them so much. He just wanted to know they were okay. 

A stinging sensation disrupts the static ache hes fallen into, his motions drag like paper through water and he looks down at his arms. His nails, brittle and broken and cracked, have still managed to drag angry red lines across his arms. Blood and that watery fluid have bubbled to the surface in some areas, and he feels a detached sort of dissapointment. His nose whistles.

The not bread and the ucky water have appeared again. Hes on his side, he doesnt remember falling asleep, from how tired he feels, hes not even sure he can call it that. He knows they get mad when he ignores the susstenance, but he can only stare at it blankly. What was the point anyway? If he was just gonna keep waking up here, he didnt want to anymore. 

He thinks he counts for moment, to determine how long it takes them to get mad, but when he tunes back in to his own brain hes simply repeated the same line of lyrics over and over. He cant recall the song, or any other lyrics, and all its really doing is annoying him, but he cant find the energy to yell at his brain to stop. 

'One. I can count to one. Two. I can count to two. Three. I can count to three. Four. I cant count no more. I can only count to four, I can only count to four, I can only count fooouuuurrrr-'

The room brightens and Lance tenses as a noise fills the room. But the noise was always there, a ringing in his ears, but it grows louder and higher until everything is screaming. He hold his hands over his ears, finds a warm wetness with undertones of crusty, his mouth is open his throat feels shredded, hes curled up as much as his ribs will allow- they poke out, he can see where theyre wrong, they warp as the noise increases. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, tears streak his face, he cant see anything, theres red in his blurred vision before it whites out completely, a warmth below his nose. Shivers wrack his tense body as the cold he'd been trying to ignore sets in bone deep.

"P'ease…m…m-make it… st…stop…" 

He doesnt know when he went limp, eyes open but seeing nothing, the ringing is everywhere, the feeling of liquid drying on his skin makes him itch, but he cant even twitch. 

"M'ke it st…stop. Make eh stop… make it stop." A sob from deep in his chest, voice hoarse, everything hurts. "Make it stop please." 

He couldnt even tell you if he'd actually spoken, or if wordless noise escaped a ruined throat. The pounding of his heart, the ringing of his ears, nothing seemed to exist past that. 

Warmth on his cheek, he must be crying again… 

Pressure on his back, his shoulder thanks him for rolling over, he cant recall doing it.

Something touches his neck. 

He flinches violently, surprising himself and whoevers touching him. He throws his arms up, his back now against the stupidly familiar walls.

"Make it stop! I dont want to anymore! Just kill me already, Make it stopmakeitstopmaKEITSTOP!!"

Something rumbles in his mind, loud enough to block all the stupid noises, filled instead with crashing waves and warm sand, foreign yet familair. 

"Lance." He flinches, he can only half hear what was said, head in a fishbowl of water and one ear clogged, but it was definetly his name… 

"Leandro, please look at me hermano." 

Tears bubble in his eyes as he realizes what this is.

Hes lost it completely.

Hes halucinating now. Maybe it really is finally the end-

"Lance please." It sounds so broken, she should never sound like that-

He looks up. 

The door. It did exist, lying in sparking pieces as it is. Shiro is in the doorway, face drawn in concern, galra arm still smoking from whatever he used it for. Behind him Keith is glaring down his sword at something Lance cant see. Infront of him however, curled up in the too small room, knees an inch from his own, back bowed so his head wont hit the ceiling, arm brushing the smaller one next to him. Two sets of warm eyes, wet with tears and dark with bags, look at him with mournful sadness and yet, tentative hope, relief. 

The tears spill over, his lips wobble as he sobs,

"Make it stop please. I cant handle it if youre not really here. Please." 

"We're here buddy. Hermano, we're here. Give me your hand Lance, I promise we're real." Hunks voice wavers with emotion, Lance knows he's seconds from breaking down. 

"We're late, but we're here Lance. Please." Pidges voice is small, hand held out beside Hunks, both tremble. 

Lance is going to regret it. He is. He's gonna regret it. 

His hands- cold, achey, maybe broken, filthy- meet the warm calloused palms of his friends. He slumps forward like his string have been cut, but the two dutifully catch him. Warmth. Not from blood or tears, but from real people. Lances eyes slipped closed, feeling safe for a moment, if he wakes up alone… at least he got to see their faces one last time…

>>next

#whumptober 2023 #no.3 #“like crying out in empty rooms with no one there except the moon #journal #solitary confinement #“make it stop.” #voltron legendary defender #fic #blood tw #panic tw #self deprication #? #angst #lance angst #he doesnt do well alone #poor boy #part 1? #implied good ending #langst #found family #self harm tw

[kalevalakryze]

Back In The Warzone

Fandom: Star Wars – All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV) Pairing: Bo-Katan Kryze/The Armorer, Minor Bo-Katan Kryze/Ursa Wren Warnings: Injury, Blood, Violence, Ahsoka Episode 4, PTSD, Trauma, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort Notes: For @whumptober 2023 Day 1. It’s short, and I couldn’t not add fluff, because they deserve it Prompt: Swooning | "How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?" Word Count: 1,550 AO3 Link: Here!

There was a loud, insufferable ringing in her ears, were comms being jammed? Thermal charges rumbled the ground around her, only further disorienting her as she tried to regain her bearings. Where am I? She staggered, knees hitting the dirt below, hands flying out to catch herself as she tried to peer through the dust coating her visor.

An armored shin swung back, knocking into her helmeted head. The world spun on its axis as she collapsed into the dirt. Where was Ursa? Did Ursa get out? The sound of metal smashing into plastoid and cracking bone under its weight was lost on the woman as she stared at the dirt beside her head.

There was blood coating the small pebbles, moistening the soil with ichor. It was beautiful, in a way. Would the ground reclaim her too? Part of her hoped so, the stinging ache in her body wished for release, and wished to sink into the ground at the feet of soldiers as they fell. If I died here, would my ancestors still be proud of me?

“Lady Kryze!” A smooth timber called through the ringing. There were hands on her arms, trying to pull the beskar plated woman from the ground, though she clawed at the dirt that was dented in the impression of her body, the earth trying to swallow her up.

Her feet touched the ground, muscles remembering how to work just enough to keep her standing, and barely enough to keep her from going back down. She swayed dangerously again, though the golden helmeted savior reached to hold onto her. “Gotal’ad?”

The Armorer cursed, far too quiet for Bo-Katan to hear over the echoes of blasterfire and explosions. “goran’alor,”

The Armorer was grabbing onto Bo-Katan’s arm and pulling her somewhere; part of her wanted to panic, to break the hold the goran had on her arm and run. Where was Ursa? Was Tristan okay? Was Alrich safe?

“Clan Wren,” She stammered as she was pulled behind cover at last. There were less bodies here, dead ones, at least. The colors of their armor blurred and all she could make out were splotches of blue; part of her also realized that she must have been knocked around too hard, although the rest of her was more focused on throwing her body into panic mode without the sight of gold and grey armor. “Where’s Ursa?”

The Armorer looked between Bo-Katan, still swaying on the spot, and the hand she’d sent to her hip, where the darksaber may have been. “Koska, send a call to Lady Wren. If she cannot get here, have her call,” She instructed, attention pulling back to Bo-Katan.

They should have known better than to use explosives to blow away the crystal on the surface, they should have known better than to follow it with with heavy laser cutters that sparked, and they should have known better to secure the falling debris to avoid this mess.

The paint on top of Bo-Katan’s helmet was scratched from the first crystal that hit her, the back of her helmet was scratched from the second, and her abdominal plate was scratched from the third that caught her along the side and sent her to the ground. There was no fighting, and the danger passed once the Mandalorians were pulled away from their positions.

Their cover had been one of the newer constructed buildings, the insides were empty, save for Koska and Axe drafting the Armory.

“Lady Kryze, how many fingers am I holding up?” The Armorer questioned, raising seven fingers between both hands, just in front of the Mand’alor’s face.

Bo-Katan had flinched back at the blurred shape in her face, she couldn’t see the separations of The Armorer’s fingers in the glove and took her hands as a threat.

Before her blaster could be pulled from the holster, The Armorer was advancing; Her arms wrapped around Bo-Katan, letting the blue painted warrior twist simply so she could pin her front against her back, sending a silent thanks to the makers that the woman had forwent the jetpack.

The Armorer was careful as she pressed Bo-Katan’s front into the wood and stone of the wall, pinning her in place to give her the room she needed to take both blasters as the redhead tried to free herself. “Lady Kryze, the Countess of Clan Wren will need you to be calm,” She tried to reason while trying to avoid the variety of close quarters weaponry at the woman’s disposal.

Thankfully, they managed to find Clan Wren on world, since their hospitals reopened and her physical therapist had taken the job on planet to help with the plethora of Mandalorians who needed help.

Ursa’s cane tapped along the dirt as Tristan and Koska hurried behind her. “Bo,” Ursa called, bringing the woman to stop trying to stab The Armorer, her helmet scraped across the wall, leaving a streak of blue paint as she turned her attention over.

Ursa limped over to Bo-Katan, offering a nod to The Armorer for her to back off. “Bo-Katan, I’m going to remove your helmet,” She warned, reaching to grab the lip of the metal, waiting for the shorter woman to nod her acceptance.

There was blood streaking down the side of her face from the inside of her helmet catching against skin, following the same path as the scar she received long ago, if not a few inches off. Yellow-green eyes were cloudy and unfocused, red-rimmed and brimming with tears, Bo-Katan managed to find a basic point to focus on, the kar’ta against Ursa’s chest, though her eyes did flicker with each blurred sway Ursa’s body made.

The helmet was handed off to The Armorer, who peeked at the inside to check the damage and how much blood was staining the inside of the visor.

Ursa placed her hands on each side of Bo-Katan’s face, frowning as she turned the Mand’alor’s head side to side. “She’ll need a medic for sure, though that won’t be wise if she’s reliving...” The night of a thousand tears plagued many of their people who had been alive for it. In the forms of nightmares or obsessive habits born from the fighting, or in some, in visual and auditory hallucinations that would put them back in the fight… And if Bo-Katan started to ask for Korkie, she wasn’t sure if she could make her relive that pain again.

Bo’s hand reached to grab Ursa’s wrist. “Your family?”

“We’re all okay, Lady Kryze, but you need a medic,” She moved to pull away, but Bo wouldn’t drop her hand. “Bo, the battle is won, we’re all safe,”

Tristan moved next, his hand settling against Bo-Katan’s shining pauldron. “You made sure we were all right, now let us make sure you are, too,”

She couldn’t use Ursa for stability, not with the older woman’s blown knee, so when Bo looked away and nodded his agreement, the young man moved to wrap an arm around the Mand’alor.

The little entourage must have looked ridiculous, with the planets leader still bleary eyed and trying to process the city around her, blood dried painting her face, two members of Clan Wren closed in on either side of her, with The Armorer and Koska trailing behind. Still, no one gave them a second glance. “Sabine?”

“She’s alright, she got your call, I’m sure she can make the visit soon, or she will call you,” Ursa promised idly, hoping that her daughter wasn’t too busy with the Jetti training to make an extra call.

▬▬ι═══════>

She wasn’t sure how or when she made it home and in bed, but it was comfortable. The bed creaked beside her, prompting her eyes to open. 

A candle was lit on the opposite side of the room, and she could hear the soft sound of a heavy book being placed on the metal nightstand. “Bo?” Her voice without the filter was always a pleasant surprise. 

“Hmm?” Bo shifted to roll over, eyes squeezing shut in immediate regret. Her hand raised to press against the center of pain between her eyes as she pushed her head under the pillows. 

The bed creaked again as The Armorer moved. “Open,” The tips of her bare fingers brushed Bo-Katan’s lips until they parted to allow the pain relief tablets to drop onto her tongue. With some help sitting up (and some very angry joints that popped their distaste of movement), The Armorer held the glass of water to the Mand”alor’s lips until she drank enough to swallow the tablets. 

“How are you feeling?”

“I lost a lot of time on this one,” Bo-Katan admitted, defeated as she closed the small space between them to rest her head on The Armorer’s shoulder. 

“I know… We’ll get through each one though,” 

“What are you reading?” Bo switched the topic as The Armorer grabbed her book again.

“Documented Armor Practices Across The Outer Rim,” Bo-Katan reached across The Armorer for her reading glasses, perching them onto her nose before settling in. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” 

The Armorer chuckled warmly before her arm wrapped around her Riduur to pull her closer, turning the page as they read in silence together only when Bo noted that she had finished the pages.

Translations: “Gotal’ad?” - "Maker?" “goran’alor,” - blacksmith commander/leader kar’ta - beskar heart

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #swooning #safety net #star wars #fic #fanfic #nitearmor #ptsd tw #blood tw #hallucinations tw #panicking tw #panic tw #bo katan kryze #the armorer #the mandalorian #ursa wren #tristan wren #hurt/comfort

[exquisitexagony]

open to all! plot: probably high and/or overdosed or something like that, sam’s called your muse to bail him out of these situations before, probably too many times and your muse is starting to think that continuing to help him is doing more harm than good relationship: close friend, best friend, love interest?? (totally down if your muse is interested in sami but he doesn’t know or doesn’t feel the same or somthing--can be any gender!! love me some unrequited shite)

"Don't say that. Don't- don't- just don't. I need- I need you right now, please. Please." A hitched breath. "Please don't hang up..."

Their voice was muddled by tears, desperation taking over as they begged. A brief pause, considering what the other had said, but not leaving the conversation hang long enough to let them hang up without a second thought. "I know I’m not— I- I- I don’t deserve your help. You've...done more than enough in the past, but I just--I don— I can’t—“ Their throat scraped hoarsely through the wet sobs, cracking as they heaved out a breath.

“Please. I don't have anyone else...”

#drug mention tw #panic tw #addiction tw #pre-established relationship starter #open rp starter #open #open roleplay starter #open to all #oc friendly #crossover friendly #canon muse friendly #indie rp blog #indie roleplay starter #original character rp starter #angst rp starter #unrequited love rp starter

[quotemenevervore]

The long awaited Eggpire fic is finally done : )

Content warnings: soft, safe, g/t vore, panic, fear, crying, character believing they’re in danger, mentions of violence/death, mentions of schlatt

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

“Bad, this is going too far. Even you have to admit that.” Skeppy stood firm against the glare the demon fixed him with. “What do you mean?” “You- the red banquet? Trying to murder everyone? That’s too far.” “They threatened us. What else was I to do but make an example?” “Bad. You’re talking about people’s fucking lives!” “Language- And they threatened us! They killed Antfrost!” “After you killed Foolish! All over this stupid egg!” “It is not stupid!” “Come on, Bad! You’re gonna put this egg ideology over the lives of your friends?”

Bad stopped, thinking over his response, but Skeppy didn’t want to hear it. When he heard what had happened, he couldn’t fathom what had happened to his friend. Bad had never been this hostile before, and now he didn’t even care that he was murdering people. He wasn’t going to keep trying to pull him out of this mindset when he obviously didn’t want to leave it. He moved towards the door, not missing the sudden raise in Bad’s voice.

“Where are you going!?” “I’m done, Bad. I’m not doing this anymore. You obviously care for this egg more than you care for your friends, and I’m not waiting to be the next person killed.” “What- you can’t leave! Skeppy, I’d never threaten you!” His demeanor changed in a snap, and he crossed the room to try and stop the gem golem. “No, Bad. If you refuse to change, I can’t just stand by anymore. I’m not gonna sit by and just excuse you hurting people.”

Bad was barely paying attention, mind running a million miles a second. But.. the egg promised! The egg promised that Skeppy wouldn’t be taken from me? Why is he leaving? He can’t.. he can’t! “No! You can’t leave.” He slammed the door shut, standing between the wood and his friend. His closest friend, who he didn’t even notice backing away as a wary look came to his face. “Bad.. you can’t trap me here.” “But you can’t leave! Skeppy, please-“ “Bad, I’m not standing by and letting you hurt people. Let me out, or I’m breaking the window.” “No.. no! You’re not leaving!” Skeppy backed up further, looking for the closest window and trying to hide his panic. He needed to go get help, he needed to get away before-

Glass shattered at his feet, and Skeppy didn’t even get the chance to see what potion it was before it took effect, his fear only making the vertigo worse as he fell to his knees. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, unable to keep his eyes open as everything began to spin. The last thing he heard as his mind darkened was Bad sighing heavily, louder than before. “I didn’t want to do this, Skeppy. You pushed me to do this.”

When he woke up, he was somewhere warm, which immediately set off his red flags. His eyes snapped open and confirmed his fear: Bad was holding him. Bad shrunk him, and held him with both hands, the same gentleness he was used to present. But it meant nothing to him now. All he could think of was Bad’s intentions. “Bad, what are you going to do to me?” He didn’t bother sitting up, trying to meet the demon’s gaze. But the white eyes wouldn’t stay focused on his own, it seemed that guilt was starting to settle in. “I can’t let you leave me.” “That doesn’t answer my question.” Skeppy stated nervously, pulling himself to a sitting position. He wanted to be ready to jump if he had to. He prayed it wouldn’t come to that point, but his friend had turned himself into a broken record and he wasn’t trusting anything that came out of his mouth.

“I’m not going to let you leave me.” “Bad..” agitation built up, mixing with his nerves and creating a whirlwind that made his veins ice and his heart race. It only grew worse as he was lifted above his friend’s face, staring down into the large maw below. He… wasn’t serious, was he? Apparently he was, because before he could even open his mouth, he was dropped in. Instantly, he began to struggle against the steep incline, risking grabbing at the other’s fangs to get leverage. “Don’t do this, Bad!” Normally, the gem wouldn’t be so concerned, it was far from the first time he’d been stored by the demon. But.. with the way he was talking, and the lack of morals the man had been showing lately… he wasn’t so sure this time.

Alas, gravity was not his friend, and he slipped right back to the other’s throat and was swallowed quickly. His panic rose tenfold, and he thrashed wildly in the tight confines, desperation filling his every move. Even as he slipped further down, and into the other’s stomach, he still thrashed. “Let me out!” He hadn’t expected a reply. “No. You tried to leave. I’m not letting you leave me, Skeppy.” “Bad, you can’t keep me here..” “I didn’t want to do this. You gave me no choice.” “Bad-“ “No. I’m going to make sure you don’t leave me again, even if it’s by keeping you in there.” The brunette tried not to let his fear show, he really did. But.. he didn’t even know if Bad had stored him or if he was in his actual stomach, and the way he was talking was not giving him any idea where he was. He didn’t even realize he began to shake until something rubbed against him.

“Don’t be upset, Skeppy. I’m not going to hurt you.” Ignoring the larger’s words, he curled up. What else was he supposed to do? His communicator settled against his thigh, and he gasped. Well… there was something he could do..

~ ~ ~

Sapnap had Quackity pinned to the floor, laughing at the squirming avian beneath him. His face was flushed red, and his breathless gasps were interrupted by giggles as the fireborn’s hands skittered against his sides. “Stop- Sapnap!” He laughed, unable to buck the other off him. The only break he got was when the netherborn’s communicator rang out, and he sat back to retrieve it from his pocket. “Who-“ he cut off, residual giggles still escaping him. “Who is it?”

A frown settled onto Sapnap’s face. “Skeppy..” he answered. His adopted father hadn’t gotten in touch with him since Bad had started getting too involved with the egg thing, and Quackity shared Sapnap’s own views on the whole situation. Despite that, Skeppy didn’t normally call unless something was wrong. God, had he wished he was wrong.

“Skeppy?” “Sapnap, you have to help me.” The gem was quiet, voice hushed and shaking. It was so unlike him that it shifted the entire mood of the room, the fireborn getting up and heading to the door. “What happened?” “Bad, he ate me. I don’t know- I don’t know if he stored me, he won’t talk to me. All he keeps saying is I can’t leave him.” A shuddery sob came through the communicator, and it made him move faster, yanking the door open so harshly it creaked on its hinges. “Sapnap?” Quackity questioned, but his mind was focused entirely on his conversation at hand. “Is he at his home or yours?” “I think he’s still at the mansion, he won’t answer any of my questions otherwise. I don’t know his intentions-“ “I’m on my way. Just hang tight, I’ll get you out of there.” “I’m sorry-“ “Not your fault. I bet that stupid egg has to do with it.” He was already well on his way towards the prime path.

He didn’t get off the call until Skeppy admitted that knowing he was coming to save him comforted him enough to end the call. Only then did he register the second set of footsteps behind him, and he turned and saw Quackity trailing him. “Qua-“ “I don’t know what’s going on, but if that egg’s involved with it I am too.” “Bad has Skeppy trapped, won’t let him leave.” “Trapped how?” They were walking again, getting closer to the prime path. “He ate him. Skeppy can’t even tell me if he was stored or not, he’s shaken up pretty bad.” “For fucks sake. This is going too far, I don’t know how Bad doesn’t even realize how he’s ruining everything he claims he’s doing all this egg shit for to begin with.”

“I don’t know, Quackity. I don’t know.” His own thoughts were whirling, concern and worry and anger clouding his mind. He didn’t want to hurt Bad, he really didn’t. But… he wasn’t going to stand by and watch him hurt his stepdad. It should have never gotten to this point. He shouldn’t have let it get to this point. Exhaling deeply, he didn’t miss the smoke that filled the air. Quackity didn’t either, a frown tugging his lips further down. “Don’t blame yourself, Sap. Let’s just get this taken care of.” Stepping up to the front door, Quackity rolled his shoulders back before knocking loudly on the door.

“Bad? It’s Quackity. Just want to check in.” Sapnap had to admire how well he hid the anger he displayed not a moment before, sounding friendly and chipper. And it was that hidden anger, the fake positivity, that led to the door opening and Bad peering out. “Oh, hey Quackity, Sapnap. Do you guys wanna come in?” “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” The demon stepped aside, opening the door for the others to step in. Sapnap didn’t miss where his dad’s other hand lay, over his abdomen but high enough that his shoulders relaxed slightly. Thank Prime, he actually stored him. Bad led them to the couch, saying he’d be back with some drinks before walking towards the kitchen. “Did you see where his hand was?” Quackity whispered. “Over where our storage is. He stored him.” “Good. But how are we gonna get him out?” “Anyway we can.” Bad returned to the living room with some water, setting it on the coffee table in front of the two before he took a seat opposite them.

“So, how have you guys been?” “Pretty alright, Las Nevadas’ been keeping me busy and Karl’s doing okay right now. Sap?” “Yeah, Kinoko’s doing good. How have you and Skeppy been?” The demon visibly wilted at the mention of Skeppy, but Sapnap kept his expression casual, neutral. He had to. “We got into it a little bit ago, about some.. stuff.” “Sorry to hear that.” Quackity mumbled. “Is he still around?” “Oh, uh…” They knew they had him pinned, Bad couldn’t lie to save his life. Sapnap thought about starting the confrontation then and there, but Quackity’s hand tightening around his own stopped him. “He said he had to.. do some stuff.” “Right, yea. Stuff pertaining to the egg, maybe?” Both demon and son sucked in a harsh breath at the avian’s words. “No, you know he’s not a fan of it.” “Well, I can’t really think of anywhere else he’d be. This is his house, after all.” “I didn’t do anything to him. I don’t know what you’re trying to accuse me of-“ “Bad. We know the truth.” Sapnap finally stepped in, cutting the argument short.

A stunned silence filled the room, nobody knowing how to respond to the bombshell the fireborn just dropped. “..what?” “Skeppy called me. He told me everything. The fight, you storing him, you not even telling him he was stored- Bad, you made him think you were going to kill him.” “What!? No! I’d never hurt Skeppy-“ “But you have. You’re not even realizing your actions anymore, Bad. You’ve hurt him since the moment you let that egg overtake your life.” Quackity stopped him, standing up. His movements were slow, his body language neutral. “You’re hurting him now, by trapping him inside you and not letting him free. And for what? An egg that tells you what you wanna hear?”

“But…” Bad’s voice had quieted, becoming more vulnerable than either fiancé expected it to. “The egg promised me that Skeppy wouldn’t leave me..” “By trapping him?” Sapnap countered. “Bad. The egg is the reason Skeppy’s leaving you. If you really don’t wanna lose him, let him go. Stop the whole egg cult thing you have going on. If you can’t do that? You’re gonna lose everyone. Skeppy, me, Sapnap, everyone you care about. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the Red Banquet so quickly.”

Bad couldn’t help it. Tears began to stream down his face as he took in the avian’s words, hands starting to shake as he thought about everything he’d done thus far for the egg. Everyone he’d tricked, everyone he’d hurt. And for what? For the egg to not do what was promised. “Oh my gosh..” “You can fix this, Bad. We can help you. But you have to let us.” Stifling a sob, he looked up to Quackity first, then met Sapnap’s gaze. “What do I do?” “You let dad out.” The fireborn spoke softly, matching his fiancé’s tone. He nodded, pressing down harshly into his abdomen. Not a moment later and he gently spit the gem into his hand, only wanting to cry harder at the trembling form. “I’m sorry, Skeppy..” he went to dry him off with his sleeve, yanking his hand back when the other flinched away. Sapnap gently took him from Bad’s hands, drying him off himself.

“Bad.” Sapnap had to keep his resolve firm when he saw the demon’s face. He looked like someone had just kicked his dog out the window. “Skeppy’s gonna stay with me and Q for a while. He needs time to recover. I can’t tell you when- or if- he will forgive you. All we ask is that you don’t go back to the egg while we help him. Okay?” “Okay. I’m not going to go back to it. I’ll distance myself, I’ll go hide in the nether-“ “Just do whatever you need to. I’ll be back to check on you, okay?” Quackity rested a hand on his shoulder, giving him a soft smile. Bad couldn’t return it, but he nodded regardless. “I'm so sorry..” “We accept your apology. But give us some time to recover first, and we’ll see about forgiveness, okay?” “Okay..”

“Can you stay here, or do you need someone to stay with you? I think Dream’s free..” “I can- I can stay alone. I’ll stay at my house.” “Alright, I’ll see you after a while.” Bad nodded, seeing the other two- three out before closing the door himself, locking it so nobody could break in. His emotions finally got the better of him, and he fell to his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. He prayed he hadn’t messed up so badly he lost everyone. He couldn’t handle it, being left alone with nobody all because of the egg controlling his mind.

But only time could tell. After he’d cried himself out, he got up, wiping the tears away, and started towards his own home. All he could do now is wait, and give them the space and time they needed. But one thing was certain for him: He is not going to let the egg get away with hurting anyone else.

~ ~ ~

Karl was pacing the floor when the trio returned to the home, picking at his nails and colors rapidly shifting in his eyes. When he noticed them, he had to stop himself from jumping into their arms. “Where have you guys been!” “Skeppy’s. We had to take care of the egg situation.” The brunette gasped, eyes shifting colors rapidly again before settling to his normal color. “What happened?” “Bad stored Skeppy, wouldn’t let him out. Skeppy’s staying with us for a while.” It was then that his gaze trailed down to his fiancé’s hand, and he nodded. “I’ll get a growth potion.”

Once the gem was grown back to his normal height, Karl ushered everyone to the dining room and dished up dinner, a simple meal of chicken Alfredo. Setting one in front of Skeppy, he wasn’t too surprised to see him push it away slightly. “Skeppy..” Sapnap started. Guilt and worry clouded the man’s eyes, and he pulled the plate back to him.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it-

Scooping up a forkful of the pasta, he put it in his mouth and focused solely on chewing it. It could have been his body crushing under the- he slapped a hand over his mouth, shuddering at the image. “Skeppy?” Quackity looks worried, as well as Karl. The brunette was just about to open his mouth, tell Skeppy he didn’t have to eat tonight, but he shook his head, pulling his hand away. Forcing a few deep breaths through his nose, he swallowed the mouthful.

It’s him. He’s squirming and screaming and pleading, but Bad’s ignoring him, angry at him, he’s scared, he doesn't want to die-

He didn’t even know he’d started crying until Karl pulled his chair away from the table, plate having been shoved away so forcefully it flipped over. Sapnap was hot on the other’s heels, crouching down in front of him with borderline fear in his eyes. “Breathe, Skeppy. You gotta breathe.” Karl’s hands ran up and down his shoulders, starting to coach him through breathing exercises while Sapnap warmed his hands with his own. “I don’t- I can’t-“ “Skeppy, you’re at my house. He’s not here.” Quackity had started cleaning the table, smiling when he realized he’d caught the gem’s attention. “He’s not gonna get you here.” Hesitantly, he nodded, and Quackity waited until he looked back to his son to continue clearing the table. Karl regained his attention, walking him through more grounding exercises until Skeppy felt that he wasn’t still panicking.

With the adrenaline leaving his system, it flooded with guilt. He’d ruined their dinner, and he was already being a burden on them when they were changing their whole lives to account for him as well. “…I’m sorry, guys.” “It’s fine, dad.” Sapnap looked apprehensive, as if the title was too much. He made sure to smile at him, the grin becoming more genuine as his son’s shoulders slumped. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” “Yeah, how about we turn on a movie or something? Get our minds off tonight? Fundy helped me set up our TV.” Quackity strolled back into the dining room, shirt slightly wet from washing the dishes.

He nodded, eager to distract himself and the others, and Sapnap helped him up and walked with him to the couch. He sat at the end, wanting the fiancés to sit together and tried his best to pay attention to the film.

He was exhausted, to say the least. His body felt achy and sore from struggling, his mind completely overwhelmed and borderline shut off. He wanted so badly to sleep, to let his eyes close and rest up. Just as he’d managed to convince himself to shut his eyes, it happened. A character on the screen spoke to another one, told them that they weren’t letting them go. Skeppy was off the couch and halfway up the stairs to the guest room he was staying in before he even realized what was going on, and he tried to slam the door behind him only for it to get caught. Instead of the intruder coming in, they softly closed the door and leaned against it. “Skeppy, it’s Q. Is it okay for me to come in?”

He couldn’t answer, his mind was buzzing and every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire, he needed to run, to hide, to do something..! “It’s okay, you don’t have to. But can you at least breathe with me?” The avian began counting up to seven, down from four, then up to seven again, instructing the gem to inhale and exhale to his counts. It was difficult, his brain kept getting tangled up with panic, but after the fifth time he’d finally managed to get the hold of it. Quackity walked him through the breathing exercise fifteen times before he felt comfortable enough to stop, waiting patiently for the other to get his thoughts together.

He hadn’t expected the door to open. He looked up to the man, offering a kind smile. “Doing better?” He nodded hesitantly, opening the door wider and stepping aside to let him in. The avian led him to the bed, sitting him down and sitting beside him with a wing draped around the gem’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Quackity. I’m sorry to all of you, I know this is the last thing you all probably want to deal with and it’s stupid and it wasn’t even that big a deal-“

“Skeppy.” Quackity cut his rambling off, putting a hand on his other shoulder. His face was oddly stern, and nothing short of serious. “Something like this isn’t going to disappear overnight. You went through a really traumatic experience, you have to give yourself time to heal. Take it from me, I’ve been there twice now. And me, Karl and Sapnap are gonna be here every step of the way, okay?” “I..guess.” A pause, and then Quackity gained a certain look in his eyes.

“When I first started living with and dating Sap and Karl, after Schlatt, I thought I’d never recover. I flinched away from their touch, apologized every time I cut them off or said something they obviously didn’t like, I was just a husk.” Skeppy looked surprised, wary but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure where the other was going with it, but he wanted him to continue. “I was barely present, always overthinking my actions and words because I was scared to get hurt again. It took me a very long time to get over that. Hell, I’m still not over him. There’s times where hearing the word Pumpkin pushes me over the edge and I spiral. It was a lot of adjusting to each other, Sapnap and Karl forcing me out of my comfort zone at the time so that I knew it was okay to start being who I actually was, and.. here we are. It took us a long time to get to this point, several months, honestly. And I did the same thing you did, panicked over every little thing, and I felt horrible every single time. But those two never let me stay guilty for long.”

“I’m not saying it’ll take that long for you to recover, or that it’ll never happen, but you do have to forgive yourself for acting out in fear. We all do, and will every time something happens that makes you afraid. It’s not worth beating yourself up over every time it happens. We all know how that kind of shit works, we know you don’t mean to panic or seem disrespectful.” Skeppy had no words. He didn’t want to seem rude, like Q had mentioned, but he just had no words to everything he’d just been told. As he mulled over everything, Quackity patted his shoulder again. “Try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll be here if you need us.”

Skeppy nodded, ducking under the covers as Quackity took his leave, and soon after he discovered he could hear through the guest room walls. For better or for worse..

“Sapnap, how are we gonna get him to eat?” “Karl-“ Quackity started, but he stopped when Sapnap also began to speak. “I don’t know, but forcing him to isn’t gonna do anything but make him scared of us. He’s a gem golem, they don’t have to eat a whole lot anyway. It may be best if we just leave him be. He needs time to process and recover.”

Skeppy heard their conversation through the wall, sighing softly into the cover he had tucked under his chin. He didn’t mean to worry everyone, he just… he didn’t know what he wanted. Maybe he just wanted to be off grid for a while, but..

They had a point. He wouldn’t take care of himself if he was alone. Plus, Sapnap hadn’t yet calmed down. He’s known the fireborn long enough to know his tells, the flicking of his tail and shifting of his eyes, hiding his hands from everyone and not touching anything easily burnable. The only difference was when he forced himself calm to calm him. The best thing he could do is stay here, at least he knows they won’t ask him about Bad or try to send him back to him.

Maybe he should try to sleep, at least.

~ ~ ~

Karl made him a smoothie the next morning, believing it to be easier for him to drink than try to eat. Quackity had already left for Las Nevadas, and Sapnap was taking on his and Karl’s jobs for the day, therefore leaving the brunette and the gem golem alone.

“It’s okay if it still doesn’t work, I just want to try everything I can first..” he sat down at the table, working on a pancake of his own while Skeppy took the empty seat. “I appreciate it, Karl. Maybe it will work.” Karl offered an encouraging smile but didn’t push him to try it, simply eating his pancake and looking over his memory book. Between bites, he picked up a quill, dipping it into the ink pot and then writing a sentence.

“What is that?” Skeppy gave the smoothie a single sip, trying to distract himself so he could actually get it down. “It’s my memory book. I.. don’t think you’re aware, but my memory isn’t all there anymore, so I’ve been trying to keep a book so I can remind myself of events and people if I forget them.” “Oh. I’m sorry, Karl.” Despite that, Skeppy found himself wanting that ability. He just wanted to forget that yesterday happened at all.

“It’s alright. I’m just glad it hasn’t caused me to lose anyone yet. I know the gap between El Rapids and now was pretty rough for me to remember Quackity, but thankfully we were able to work through that.” He sighed, setting the quill down and taking another bite. “Yea, I get that.” He really didn’t, but he could imagine the argument that the fiancés must have had the night Quackity found out about Kinoko Kingdom, especially after what the avian told him last night. He was glad that they’d managed to work things out.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been drinking the smoothie until a loud noise startled both of them, the noise that usually came from trying to drink from an empty cup. He looked down, shocked at the fact that he hadn’t even realized he’d drunk the whole cup, and Karl’s eyes turned scarlet as a smile came to his face. “Oh, that’s great!” The gem chuckled, feeling a little better with something actually on his stomach. Better than the nausea he’d been battling thinking about eating solid food, at least.

Karl took his plate to the kitchen, grabbing the other’s cup and taking it with him. “Oh, wait, I can help-“ “You don’t have to, it’s okay! I got it.”

~ ~ ~

They continued like this for a month, the situation falling further to the back of his mind. He became excited with his own progress, from being able to sleep without nightmares, to being able to hear the demon’s name without panicking, to even being able to eat a whole meal without once getting sick or panicked.

Finally, the day came where he felt he would be okay on his own again. Sapnap walked him back to the mansion, an eye kept out for any glimpse of his other father. Though, nothing was out of the ordinary, except for the pile of letters sitting on the staircase. “What the..?” Skeppy knelt down, scooping them into his hands. There were quite a few from Bad, which he decided to look into later, but one stood out the most to him: The one from his rival, Technoblade.

Sapnap led him into the house, taking the letters from Bad and setting them on the table while he opened the remaining letter, reading it under his breath.

-Skeppy,

Normally I wouldn’t reach out like this, but I’ve visited twice already and you won’t open the door. It’s not like you to not reach out, usually you’ve got a prank or a troll up your sleeve for me if for nobody else. Just wanted to make sure the egg fanatic didn’t get you, respond if you receive this.

From, Technoblade.

He sighed, rereading the letter. “What does he want?” “He wanted to make sure I was still alive.” Sapnap snorted, patting him on the back. “Well, I’ll let you sort that out yourself. See ya around, Skeppy.” “You too, Sapnap.”

He waited until the other had left the mansion and was out of sight before he set the letter down, heading back out the door and towards the nether portal. He had a trip to make.

~ ~ ~

“Hey.” To say that Wilbur was surprised when he’d opened the door was an understatement, and normally he’d laugh at the shock but he wasn’t there for the brunette. “Hello?” “I came to talk to Techno.” Nothing more had to be said, as Wilbur stepped back from the door and held it open for him, closing it softly behind the gem. “I think he’s making tea, hang on.” He led the man to the sofa, letting him sit down while he went to the kitchen.

Techno came out of the kitchen a moment later, amusement turning the corners of his lips upwards. “Look who finally decided to reach out.” “Yea, well, you’ll understand why once you hear what happened.” Just like that, the smile faded, and Techno took a seat beside him. “Egg stuff?” “Yeah. I told Bad I didn’t want to be involved with him since he started believing it was okay to murder people over the egg bullshit, and his response was to tell me I couldn’t leave and forcibly shrinking and storing me. He didn’t even tell me that he was storing me, Techno. I thought I was going to die. I had to call my fucking son to come save me, you know how fucking bad things have to be for me to go that far?”

A growl had started reverberating through the piglin’s chest, and he reminded himself it was piglin nature. “So I’ve been at Sapnap’s place. I mean, I couldn’t even eat for the longest time because I just kept getting sick. I.. couldn’t stop imagining it being me.” It was a strange sense of dread and relief that kept him continuing to explain what he’d gone through the past five weeks.

“… and then I found your letter when Sapnap walked me home. So, I figured I owed you an explanation at least.”

Store him

Offer to store him

Comfort him

Kill the egg

Store him-

He shook his head, mentally berating Chat for pushing him to store the traumatized gem. “Tell me he finally gave up on the egg at least.” “I dunno. Quackity’s been keeping tabs on him, you’ll have to ask him. I’m not reaching out to him until I know for sure what’s going through his head again.” Techno nodded, giving the other a pat on his shoulder.

“For what it’s worth, you shouldn’t have had to go through that. We’re rivals, sure, but that doesn’t mean I wish actual harm on you.” “I mean, it wasn’t really-“ “You seem to underestimate how badly mental harm can affect a person.” Wilbur spoke from behind the couch, resting his arms over the top. “I mean, you know about what went down in L’Manburg.” “I… guess.”

Techno silenced chat again, eye twitching as he fought with their voices and his own instincts. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” “You kicking me out?” “I-“ “Well, I couldn’t call it kicking you out. More of a suggestion, though I will warn you that Techno seems to be having a hard time with his instincts right now.” the pinkette swung an arm over the couch, attempting to hit the avian as he dodged, snarling at him. “I can speak for myself, Wilbur.” “Mm. Wouldn’t be the first time I hung around someone instinct driven. But I’ll go ahead and leave, I think I’d like to have some alone time for a while.” “That’s fine. Stay safe, Skeppy.” “You too, Techno. Just you wait, I’ll have a troll ready in no time for you.” “You know how to reach me.” The easy grin on the piglin’s face eased a lot of Skeppy’s worries somehow, and he grinned back. “Of course.”

~ ~ ~

Twelve letters. That was the amount of letters that Bad left on his doorstep. After he made dinner, picked up, did literally anything he could to distract himself before his curiosity got the better of him and he finally sat down on the sofa, pulling the first one to him.

Skeppy,

Words cannot describe how sorry I am for everything that has happened between us thanks to this egg situation. I don’t expect forgiveness, I just want to reassure you that I’m not going to go back to it. I’m at the nether house, and I’ll stay here for a good while. You deserve space, and time to recover. And I understand if you decide you don’t want to be around me anymore.

-BadBoyHalo

Each letter after that was simply the other writing down his progress in separating from the egg, destroying the bond he had with it and working to get the others away from it’s control. Quackity was mentioned in those letters a lot, congratulating him on his own progress recovering as Quackity told it. The last letter expressed that he’d finally succeeded, once again expressing how sorry he was, and how he understood if Skeppy decided he never wanted to see him again.

The gem gave a long suffering sigh, rereading the final letter again and again until he finally came to a decision. Pulling out his communicator, he typed up a single message.

Bad, do you wanna come over and talk about what happened over some muffins?

It took less than a minute to get a reply.

I’ll be there whenever you want me there.

Now?

On my way! :)

#mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #mcyt vore #shrunken manhunt #safe vore #soft vore #g/t vore #dsmp g/t #fear play #panic tw

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 46: February 1997

Logically, Jon knows it isn’t possible to curl himself into a ball so small that it cancels out and he disappears, but he’s giving it his best attempt anyway. He should disappear, he deserves to be gone, to not exist anymore,    but he does still exist and it hurts. For right now, he just hunches over his knees and tucks himself into the cupboard portion of his bedside table, where he is absolutely not supposed to be but where he won’t be noticed as long as his grandmother doesn’t look too hard if she comes into his room, and tries to will himself away.

From the other room, he hears a snippet of the local news program emanating from the radio, which his grandmother always has running while she prepares supper. “—search is underway for Thomas Warner, age eighteen, who was last seen yesterday afternoon at the corner of—“

Jon begins rocking slightly. He resists the urge to cover his ears with his hands and simply wills his grandmother to turn the radio off already, to declare that she’s tired of hearing about this, to listen to music or something instead. Anything but the reminder of yesterday.

It’s his fault. It’s all his fault. He’s the last person who saw Thomas alive—probably—and of course nobody will believe him. He stumbled home, panicked and crying, and tried to tell his grandmother what happened, and she only scolded him for wandering again and made him go to his room without supper. He tried to protest, tried to tell her they had to call someone to help, but she merely sent him to bed at once, no arguments, no discussion. She emphasized that he was not to stay up late reading, either, but was to get straightaway into bed.

She needn’t have worried. Jon’s afraid to go near the books she brought home from the most recent trip to a charity shop.

Some small part of him hurts over that. Books are the one thing he has, his one escape from his strange, lonely existence. Books never judge him, never mock him, never condescend to him. Books don’t trip him in the halls or pelt him with balls and stones or take his things. Books don’t pretend to be his friend and then turn on him when he least expects it…at least, they never have before. If he can’t trust books, if he’s afraid to ever open one again, what is there left for him? What will he do?

Stupid! Selfish! Jon digs his fingernails into his shins for a moment and bites his lip hard. Here he is mourning the possibility that he might not be able to read books when a person is missing, probably dead, and it’s all his fault. How can he be so heartless as to think his worries are more important than that? It’s, it’s, it’s not right, he doesn’t deserve to have books if he can’t even hold onto them, if he can’t stop someone from…Thomas died, probably died, and it should have been Jon, and how can he act so, so spoiled as to think that a fear of books isn’t exactly what he deserves after that?

No. No, this isn’t—he can’t think straight, he needs to calm down. It’s not, it is a problem if he can’t read, he’s going to have trouble in school, his grandmother won’t understand, she’ll force him to read books and what if one tries to hurt him again? Maybe if he wanders off now, if he runs far enough, she won’t be able to catch him and neither will the police and he can get away and won’t be a bother anymore, won’t be a burden, won’t have anyone else get hurt in place of him. Nobody here will miss him if he does, anyway. But he needs, he needs, he needs to focus and think.

Jon hugs his knees closer to his chest and tries to conjure up a dream-friend.

They’re not imaginary friends exactly; Jon doesn’t really believe they’re there with him, and he doesn’t try talking to them out loud anymore, not after Pierce got the whole class laughing at him for it. But whenever he gets particularly lonesome or upset, he finds somewhere quiet to curl up and tries to picture the kind of person who would want to be friends with him. It’s not a simple matter like wondering what book characters he would get along with, or if his life would be better if he was the best friend character in a television program—he tries to be as realistic as possible. Actual people who might actually exist. And it’s not necessarily people that he wants to be friends with, although he supposes that all he really wants in a friend is someone who likes him for who he is. He doesn’t want to be the kind of person that the kids in his town would like, but who would choose to spend time with someone like him?

He’s come up with a few, and sometimes he pulls them up in his mind in situations where he needs them. A round-faced girl with no fears and no care for the opinion of others when he gets called up to work a problem on the blackboard or turns up late for lunch and has to walk the gauntlet. A pair of dark-haired boys, identical save that one is older and one younger than he is, who know how to be liked and play a lot of sport when he needs to talk to people or do something challenging in gym class. A girl much his height and build and with the same tastes and sense of curiosity but much more confidence when he wants to investigate something or go on a private adventure—she’s probably his favorite, he imagines her quite a lot, although she’s the one who gets him in trouble with his grandmother most often because he pictures himself running off with her. A taller girl, smart and quick-witted, when he’s having trouble with his homework or wants a challenge. Even an older boy who wears all black and has tattoos and smokes and maybe even rides a motorbike when he’s being taunted by his schoolmates and wishes he had someone to rescue him, like a cool older brother who would make all the other kids jealous, or at least afraid to torment him.

He needs something…different right now, though. He needs a friend who will make him feel…safe. Someone who will take his hands and look at him kindly and let him be scared, understand that he’s scared, and hold him and promise him it’s going to be all right. Someone who will just be there for him without judging him, but who will also stand between him and the world if he needs them to.

Would it be someone older? Jon doesn’t think so. He imagines someone closer to his age, maybe physically bigger but not too much older. Someone soft and round and warm. He pictures a pair of sympathetic green eyes, the same color as his favorite jumper, and curls the color of cinnamon, and a dusting of freckles across the nose. He pictures the boy sitting across from him, knees up against his chest too, but his hands held out and his gaze steady, waiting for Jon to reach out to him, waiting for Jon to tell him what kind of comfort he needs. He can almost hear a voice: I’m here. I’ve got you. It’s okay. It’s okay. Jon finds himself uncurling slightly, reaching out with both hands, wanting to close the gap and get that comfort, to be safe…

“Jonathan!”

Jon starts and bangs his head against the top of the cupboard. It breaks his concentration, and he rubs the top of his head, but he stays where he is. His grandmother sounds annoyed, and he’s not keen to find out what he’s done wrong this time.

“Jonathan, come out here at once.”

Well, there’s no arguing with that, as much as Jon wants to. Reluctantly, he crawls out of the cupboard and dusts off his knees, then stands up and takes a deep breath before heading out of his room, wishing very much that his newest dream-friend was actually real and was following him.

His grandmother stands in the living room with the familiar look of disapproval on her face. With her are two men Jon recognizes instantly—P.C. Smith and P.C. Williams, two of the officers from the local station. P.C. Williams is a huge, beefy, intimidating man with a formidable mustache and a receding hairline; P.C. Smith is slighter, younger, and gives Jon a soft, wry smile when he spots him. Williams has been around forever, while Smith is fairly new in town, but they’ve both brought Jon home from his…explorations before. He’s never seen them together, but he does at least know them both.

“Jonathan, these men want to talk to you.” Jon’s grandmother, somehow, purses her lips a bit more.

“You’re not in trouble,” P.C. Smith says, his voice almost too kind to be trusted. “We just have a few questions is all.”

Jon’s grandmother gives him a steely look, one that says behave as loudly as if she shouted it from the rooftops, then disappears back into the kitchen. Jon grips the door frame for just a moment and stares at the two officers, not sure if he really believes that he’s not actually in trouble.

“Have a seat, then,” Williams says gruffly.

Jon complies, folding his hands into his lap and setting his spine ramrod straight. He’s scared to death, but if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that it’s easier to pretend he isn’t if he hides behind a cold, emotionless face. He’s also learned to wait to be asked questions before he answers them, so he sits silently, even though he wants to immediately start apologizing. And crying.

The silence stretches on for a bit, broken only by the sound of pots and pans clattering in the kitchen. At last, Smith pulls out a pen and notepad. “All right, Jonathan. We just need to ask you some questions about yesterday, okay?”

Jon’s blood runs cold. Somehow, it didn’t occur to him that could actually be what they’re here to ask about. Visions of prison, of life in a penal colony, of being shoved into the belly of a ship and shipped to Australia, swim before his eyes, and even knowing they don’t really do that anymore doesn’t stop him from panicking on the inside. He manages, with superhuman effort, to keep his voice steady. “Okay.”

Smith looks at the top page of his notepad. “Someone told us they saw you with Thomas Warner at the park yesterday. He was talking to you. Is that true?”

“Yes.” Talking isn’t really accurate; taunting might be the better word, but Jon doesn’t volunteer that yet.

“What did he say?” Williams asks. “Tell you where he was going? Offer to take you somewhere?”

“N-no.” Jon licks his lips nervously. “He took my book.”

Smith and Williams look at each other. Smith is the one who asks, “What book?”

“It’s—it was called A Guest for Mr. Spider. Grandmother bought it for me at Parson’s on Saturday.” Jon bunches the cuffs of his jumper up in his hands.

Haltingly, with substantial prompting from the two officers, Jon tells them everything. He knows they’ll never believe him, not really, but he tells them about the book, about the strange fascination it had for him, and how Thomas took it from him and read it, how he wandered off down the streets, how he put the book in front of the door and knocked. Williams and Smith listen to him talk, and other than encouraging him to go on when he falters, neither says a word.

“And then it took him,” he concludes at last. “I didn’t see it, I—I came home. It was after dark, and…I wanted to get Grandmother, but…” He trails off, not wanting to accuse her of not listening, not wanting to put the blame of Thomas’ disappearance on her or imply that if she’d only listened they might have been able to save him. It’s not her fault. It’s Jon’s fault and no one else’s.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice small and miserable.

Slowly, P.C. Smith flips the cover of his notebook closed and slides his pen back into it. “And there’s nothing else you can tell us?”

“No, sir.”

“All right. Well. You’ve been very helpful.” Smith gives Williams a questioning glance, then stands. “I’ll just go and have a word with your grandmother, and we’ll be on our way. Thank you, Jonathan.”

He leaves the room. Williams doesn’t move, only regards Jon with a serious, almost worried expression. Jon knows how unbelievable his story sounds, and he’s suddenly struck with a new fear—that they’ll tell his grandmother he’s ill, or worse, dangerous, that he’ll be taken away and locked up in a hospital instead of prison.

“It’s the truth,” he says, unable to hide the anxiety in his voice. “I swear it’s the truth.”

“I know.” Williams’ voice is unexpectedly soft and gentle. “I believe you.” He hesitates for a moment, then glances at the kitchen and leans forward close to Jon to look him in the eye. “Listen to me, boyo, and listen well. Do not go looking for that house again, do you hear me? Don’t try to find it. Don’t try to find that book, either. You don’t worry about Thomas, or about the book, or about any of that. Just leave it alone. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Jon says automatically. Then he looks more closely into Williams’ eyes, and the tears he’s been holding back brim up. “You do believe me.”

“I do. Every single solitary word,” Williams assures him. He pats Jon on the shoulder. “If you ever see another book with that man’s name in it again, throw it away. They’re dangerous.”

Jon’s eyes widen. “There are more of them?”

“He had a whole library, from what I hear. Not all for children, mind you, but you read above your height, or so I'm told.” Williams straightens up as Smith comes out of the kitchen and adds, in a close approximation of his usual gruffness, “Honestly, the most unbelievable part of your story is that Thomas read your book. I don’t believe that boy can read.”

Jon smiles for the first time since yesterday.

Later that night, when he’s alone in his room, he kneels on his bed and stares out the window. It’s been grey and raining for most of the last few days, so even if it wasn’t after dark it’s not like there would be anything to see, but he looks out anyway.

He thinks about his dream-friends, especially the new one he came up with today. Not for the first time, he wishes they were real, and really there, and that they could help him. He imagines the cool older brother turning up with his motorbike and whisking him away, and meeting the others and having them hold his hands and tell him they’re glad to see him. He imagines his newest dream-friend, the boy with the soft jumper and the kind eyes, hugging him and promising him he’ll never have to be alone again.

It’s a good dream. It’s too bad it will never be real.

Still…Jon has to give his dream-friend a name, so it’s easier to think of him later. Something soft and warm and maybe a little old-fashioned, but brave and kind and true, too. Something to give him strength when he needs it.

Even though he’s trying not to think about books, he does recall one of his favorite books, a story rich in description and adventure, a story he really got himself lost in, the only book he’s actually read more than once and liked both times. He thinks of a character who was never really there, exactly, but who made the main character feel brave and strong, and he knows that’s the perfect name for his dream-friend.

Good night, Martin, he thinks, and then he climbs down from the window and wraps himself in his quilt and hopes he can sleep without nightmares tonight.

*A/N: Statement 9971402, marked “Internal Use Only”, of Police Constable Thad Williams regarding the disappearance of his good-for-nothing nephew, is definitely somewhere in the Archives. Whether or not Martin ever finds it and recognizes that the “bright young lad” who gave Williams his lead is Jon is up to you to decide.

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest) #jonathan sims #child harm tw #panic tw #minor self-harm #death mention #bullying mention