#TW Past Panic Attack | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dreamties · 1 year

Text

there's nothing really wrong with me; i'm just choking almost constantly || Polyam! Ghostface x GN! Reader

title from Twinkle Lights by The Sonder Bombs

Reader is dealing with the aftermath of their sexual assault, to which they still haven't told Billy and Stu that it was even a thing that happened. After a particularly rough night, the boys comfort them.

1st person POV

TRIGGER WARNINGS: there is reference to past SA, but it's not too graphic. the reader talks about it and there's like, references about it through out the text- and I know it can be really traumatic for some to read it so PLEASE be careful and read at your own risk. panic attacks, nightmares, i believe that's it !! let me know if I need to add more warnings!!

I blink awake, filled with an erratic, heart-pounding panic. It takes a moment to realize where I am- home, in my bed, by myself. I'm not at the trailer and I can't feel his breath down my neck anymore.

I let out a shaky breath and sit up slowly, trying not to shock my body anymore.

My body feels unstable and wrong as I walk through the house. My mind and body caught in a fuzzy sort of dream state.

I dial Stu's phone number, because I know he'll ask less questions than Billy- and that's what I needed right now. Just a distraction.

I school my voice to properly fake that sort of "I'm fine, nothing bad has ever happened to me" tone.

I clear my throat. "Stuey? I know it's a little late, but-"

"Nah, it's okay, baby. Whaddya need?"

I laugh- of course Stu sounds so chipper, he was likely up looking at Play Boys or watching total torture porn (aka a load of trash).

"Could you pick me up? It'd be nice to stay at your place tonight."

I can practically hear him grin on the other line. "Ab-so-LUTE-ly!"

I kind of half-giggle and thank him. I pull on an extra-long hoodie and grab the handmade Michael Myers plush my friend gave me off my bed. I wait out on the front porch for him to arrive.

I settle into Stu's bed, and he hurriedly puts his magazines and other items under his bed, careless to the minor scrumpling to his merchandise.

“Hey baby,” he kisses the top of my head and I try not to shrink away too much when he does so. I know it’s Stu, I know I’m safe- I can still feel his touch around my body, his hands at my throat, though. It’s so hard not to think he’s there with me, in bed next to Stu and I.

I smile at him and let him turn his lamp off even if the darkness and the looming shadows in his room are wholly disorienting.

I can feel a light tickle against the shell of my ear, like someone is whispering, “I won't be able to stop myself.” I shake him off of me and turn to my other side.

Just leave me alone, please.

I probably toss in my sleep the whole night, but Stu doesn’t seem bothered when we wake in the morning. My eyes are bleary and blinking back tears, hoping he doesn’t see.

I should know better than to think Stu could keep any secret from Billy. I'm still surprised, however, that Billy jostles into the Macher's kitchen at 9am, already with a prickled attitude.

I drop the spoon into my bowl of cereal, milk splashing up and over onto the counter. I try to school my expression into something more neutral, so my surprise doesn’t hurt him.

“Billy,” I greet.

He replies back with my name, which I can only half-hear through the fuzzy, distant feeling in my body.

Billy sits on a stool next to me, moving my bowl a little further from my reach. “Why were you up so late?”

I half-laugh, still tired, still groggy. “What, I’m not allowed to stay up?” I tease. And the hurt sick feeling settles in my throat.

Billy shakes his head and sighs- he’s clearly frustrated.

Stupid. Stop teasing him, he’s- I physically shake the thought off. Trying desperately to repel the negative energy like water to oil. Get it together.

“C’mon,” Billy tries again. He seems abnormally pissy, and I wonder what Stu told him on the phone. It’s no way that either of them could have figured it out, but the lump in my throat still grows at the possibility.

“Just- missed Stu. That’s all.”

“You brought along your plushy,” he says, like that’s supposed to prove anything. “And that big hoodie of yours that you only wear when you’re sad.”

“Did Stu tell you that?” I try not to sound too antsy or annoyed. I know they’re only worried. Of course they’re worried- of course they know my tells like the back of their hands. I should have just stayed home, even if that meant waking up with the feeling of him pressed against my body.

He nods. “You always tell us what’s wrong,” and he whispers my name in that hard-soft tone he gets when he’s anxious. I shiver.

“Nothing’s. . . nothing’s wrong.” I try and I know it’s bullshit. It’s a dumb attempt and Billy sees right through it. “Nothing that you can fix.”

And I know Billy takes it as a personal attack- that I think he can’t take care of me. That his comfort isn’t enough, that he isn’t enough. I don’t know how to tell him that’s not what I meant, though, without telling him what happened. It feels hard to breathe, I take a shaky, sharp breath in. It doesn’t help.

I don’t even know what’s going on, my eyes teary and blurred. My ears are ringing out. My body feels so fuzzy and too soft at the edges. My thoughts muddle in my brain and I don’t know if I'm breathing or talking or breathing or- I gasp out.

Stu’s hands hold my shoulders tightly, trying to ground me. He’s done it a hundred times before, and it works nearly every time.

My breath is labored, heavy and quick. Too quick. I still can’t feel myself breathing.

Billy and Stu both try to reassure me- I think. Their voices still unclear through the fog.

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry, sorry, sorry,” I repeat, till the word feels unsafe and garbled through my lips. “Shouldn't have to- shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have to. Have to- have to worry.”

My voice sounds so far away, like I’m speaking into a dying microphone, to the clashing, screaming crowd before me. Feeling so unheard, so unseen, even at center stage.

The fog fades around Billy’s voice. “Hey, hey, it’s fine. Just- stop apologizing,” my name is slow on his tongue. “Can you hear me? C’mon, baby, you’re worrying Stu.”

And I should respond. But everything just feels so- off. I’m not even sure what I’d say. I don’t want to explain myself.

When the fog finally finally cuts through, I can breathe again. I’m sitting on the tiled floor of the Macher kitchen, with my knees pulled up against my chest. Billy and Stu sit on either side of me, their hands tentatively retracted from my body.

I can finally breathe in the clearing. I could cry, if feeling my feelings didn’t hurt so much. If everything didn’t hurt.

My breath takes a while to steady, and when it does, Billy takes this as a sign to pounce on me again.

“What happened, baby?” And he sounds so . . . concerned. It hurts to know I’m hurting him. My body aches with every pound of my heart against my chest.

“I think I had a panic attack,” I managed.

Stu lets out an awkward laugh, and I don’t freak out this time when he touches my shoulder. “No shit!”

He murmurs an apology and repeats himself, quieter now. It was sweet. Stu was so sweet and I can’t get over myself to just- live and not cause all this . . . all this angst and trial and tribulations between us. Billy would remind me- if I vocalized this ache - in my own words, that having tough emotions aren’t a burden. It feels like it is though.

“I’m sorry,” I try and Billy shushes me. He seems annoyed still, I know it’s just the look he has when he’s scared, though.

Fuck, he’s scared. Get yourself together.

I swallow down the lump in my throat.

“Okay, fine. I can’t apologize, I get it.” I realize now that my voice croaks out, like I'd been crying.

My eyes still feel hazy around the edges and they still struggle to focus on anything properly.

“What can I say then?” I teasingly ask, and I feel sick to my stomach.

Please don’t ask me why. Please don’t ask why. Please don’t ask why. Please.

“What’s up with you?” Billy asks. I’m not sure if that’s any better of a question though.

“I- I can’t tell you.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s wrong.”

Stu sighs, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. His fingers tense when he speaks. “Please? We won’t- Stu glances at Billy and then back at myself- I won’t ask any other questions, I promise.”

I give a humorless laugh in response. “Real assuring.”

“C’mon, I can’t control what Billy does,” he whines.

And there it is again. The lump in my throat. His breath tickling against my face. “I just can’t control myself around you.”

The attempts to shake off his incessant greed seem to only be in vain.

“Just- just get off of me, please,” I have to wrench the words out of my throat. “Please, ‘m sorry for- I’m sorry- just. Let go.”

Stu quickly winds his hand from my shoulder and puts his hands up, in defense. He looks at me all confused, his eyes wide and his brows furrowed.

He lowers his hands and gives me those stupid, big blue puppy eyes. “What’s wrong?” And he says it so gently. His voice felt warm and comforting.

“Just- I. Give me a moment.”

“Okay,” both boys reply.

“I- I think I was sexually assaulted.” My voice comes out in a tight whisper, lodged somewhere between my throat and the tension of the kitchen conversation. “I thought- I thought it was my fault or maybe it didn’t- it didn’t happen. Or- or maybe I misremembered it but-”

My voice gets caught and I let out a measly sob.

“Woah,” Billy carefully reaches a hand out towards me, but doesn’t touch me. “Woah, woah. Baby,” he whispers. “What- who did this to you?”

I sniffle. I didn’t want to tell them.

It felt so much more real speaking it aloud.

His voice feels dirty against my body, and I just want to get away from him. But he’s in the walls, he’s in my dreams. And I can’t escape. He’s sitting with me as my boyfriend’s try to comfort me.

“I know better than that. I should have known better than that and-” my throat feels all funny, like I can’t breathe again. A sharp intake in, a shaky breath out. “And I still let him put his grubby hands all over me.”

“Woah, baby,” Billy’s voice is impossibly quiet and calm. He appears more apologetic and concerned with how I am, than the dark, revengefulness that usually seeps out of him when someone hurts me. “Baby, look at me, okay?”

I keep my head snuggled at the top of my knees, straining my eyes to look in his direction. I hum, not trusting myself to speak without crying.

“It’s not- it’s not your fault. Whatever happened, it’s-”

My mouth seems to be on its own agenda. And my head feels impossibly fuzzy again. Everything is so . . . so disconnected. I tap my fingers against my shins, and they don’t feel like they’re really there at all. No matter how many times I tap them in the same familiar pattern.

Nothing feels right.

“I shouldn't have been such a tease. I- he told me to stop, said he wouldn’t be able to control himself if- and, and I didn’t listen, Billy. Was so confused, didn’t know where I was, Stuey and- and he- I told him that. But I should’ve listened. He w-warned me and I should have- I’m sorry.”

“Hey, shh,” Billy tries once more. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, baby. Whatever- whoever it was, who convinced you . . . it doesn’t matter, okay? He doesn’t- you didn’t make him do anything. You-” even Billy struggles with it.

He sighs, “what do you need from us? Just right now- what do you need at this moment, okay?”

Stu tries, as well. Learning from his previous mistake.

“Is it okay to hug you or touch your shoulder right now?”

I shake my head. His hands at my throat, his voice tickled against my face.

His hands at my throat, telling me to behave.

Taking my “i’m fine”s and “okay”s out of context, blatant ignorance of my confusion.

“Could we just- could we sit on the couch maybe?”

It felt better, safer, in the openness of the living room.

Like I wasn't going to suffocate and, like, explode or something.

Stu's hanging his limbs off one end of the couch, and Billy tentatively perches on a couch arm. I assume Billy is sitting strangely to give me space- Stu's position is natural though. He always sits weird, and does things weird, which I love. I love him. I love Billy, and I'm just. I'm hurting them- I'm sitting in the middle of the couch, shaky and strange, and hurting them.

“What can we do?” Billy sounds gentle. He sounds sincere. I think . . . he is. The whole situation is strange and terrifying. I want to go back to sleep and hope when I wake that the past few months were some fever dream instead.

I let out a shaky, heaving sigh.

“I don’t- I don’t know.”

“That’s- that's okay. Baby,” his voice is sturdy, despite the uncertainty bleeding in.

“Yeah!” Stu smiles at me, and it feels sort of warm. It feels almost good.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with someone so damaged.” I stare at my feet and my hands fidgeting absently in my lap. Tears pricking, stinging at my eyes.

I stumble over and retract apologies in my head. Trying to justify what he had done to me, to pin what he said, to pin his hands around my neck and push me down, as my own fault. As my own actions.

I can’t tell Billy that. Not to him, not to Stu.

Billy has this restrained look in his eyes, and his face is twisted into an almost scowl. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I know I shouldn’t have said that. Because Billy thinks he’s broken, all the time.

He’s told me or alluded to his mom’s disappearance, to his asshole father. About the disconnect between himself and his own thoughts, his hands and his actions. He’s told us why he’s only ever felt safe and trusting in the arms of his lovers.

And that he’s so afraid that one day, we’ll up and leave him, too.

That he’s too damaged, too broken, to be loved.

And I go and fuck it up again. I only know how to hurt.

“That’s, wait- that’s not. I’m sorry, Billy. I-”

And his voice is uncharacteristically sweet. It’s calm and low, and I can’t hear held back anger.

“It’s okay.”

“What?” My voice is small and squeaks out, unsure.

“It’s okay. Baby," Billy says my name with my name with care. “You’re not- you will never be too fucked up to be loved by us.”

Stu smiles, protective. “I- we will never let that happen to you again.”

They offer physical comforts, they lean closer but not close enough to touch me.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so trusting. He had promised to never hurt me and I followed him blindly. But Billy & Stu aren’t him. And I should be allowed to put my faith into others, without fearing I'll be hurt again.

I lean into Billy's touch, allowing him to encase me in his strong arms. Stu leans against us, bringing his long, sweater-clad arms around the huddled mess of us.

Maybe it's against my better judgements.

Maybe it's a mistake.

But maybe, too, this is safety. This is love.

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 1 year

Text

Whump Prompt #1095

TW: alcohol / emetophobia / spiking

Did you know that the most common method of spiking is with alcohol?

That being said, your whumpee spends a carefree evening with friends. They’ve been sober for a while, and have truly worked hard to get to where they are now. So they sit back with a glass of coke at the bar, watching their friends do some drunk karaoke/fail miserably at hitting on people at the bar.

When someone offers to buy the next round, they of course say yes, and they are brought another glass of coke (or your whumpees preferred soft drink. Whatever works). They’re thirsty, so they drink at least a quarter of it pretty quickly... but stop when they see someone laughing.

Then it hits them. The taste of vodka on their tongue; clear as day. It burns.

The perpetrators laugh as he tries to use someone else’s water to get it off their tongue. But the damage has already been done, and your whumpee panics.

Maybe they rush to the toilets to make themselves throw up. Maybe they have a full blown panic attack, because they’ve ‘failed’ and don’t want to put their friends and family through that again. They’ve worked so hard, so fucking hard to get better...

A while later one of the more sober friends finds them in the cubicle, sobbing and apologising profusely. The sober friend tries to reassure them that it’s alright - that they’re still sober, and that they’ve done nothing wrong and they promise to keep an eye on your whumpee the next few days, as your whumpee is terrified of relapsing.

When word reaches the more drunk friends... they are more than happy to ‘have a chat’ with the perpetrators.

#whump #writing #ideas #prompts #angst #panic attacks #tw: alcohol #tw: alcoholism #past alcoholism #sobriety #worry #fear #tw: emetophobia #tw: vomiting #spiking #relapse

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aftgficrec · 8 months

Note

Hey! I love your page and getting fic recs! Do you have any fics where Neil goes or agrees to go to therapy? I’m good with Bee or someone else as the therapist too. It can be canon or an au. Thanks so much! :))

I was pleasantly surprised by how much we found for you! -A

previous recs:

‘another life to live’ here

‘Oakland’ here (completed)

‘you’ve been locked in here forever (and you just can’t say goodbye)’ here (updated)

‘If it means protecting you (I’ll pay my dues)’ here (updated)

‘Interlaced’ here (updated)

‘Regrowth,’ ‘To Be Close With You Is To Be Close With Myself,’ ‘I took a breath and took the knife,’ and ‘flashes of intimacy’ ch 4 here

‘call me in the afternoon’ here

‘The Wild Fox Den’ and ‘Roses Grow Between Bone’ here

‘(My Heart) Pierced By a Pin’ here (completed)

‘The Sun Still Rises’ here (updated)

‘day by day’ here

‘the shuffling of cards’ here

‘Ain’t it fun’ here

‘Breathe, idiot’ here

‘Healing’ series part 1 here, part 3 here (completed)

‘The Fear of Being Known’ here

‘That one party’ series and ‘keep telling me that it gets better (does it ever?)’ here

‘Affection can be shown in so many ways’ here

‘Ghost of You’ here

‘Make This Leap (Geronimo)’ here

‘Tenuous’ here

‘There is Nothing You Can Say’ here (completed)

‘of ice blue eyes & twisted veins’ here

‘don't break the glass’ (completed) here

‘Bad Apple’ here

‘Phantom Pains’ here

‘Therapy’ here

‘Birds of a Feather’ here (updated)

‘In which Neil had Aspergers and Andrew finds out.’ here

‘For You I'd Bleed Myself Dry’ here (updated)

‘I Wanna Get Better’ here

‘on the tip of my tongue (say something)’ parts 6 & 8 here

and more:

‘Ember’ here (completed)

‘leave the room (with a little dignity)’ here

‘Art Hoe’ here

‘Blame It On My Youth’ here (updated)

‘Black as is the Raven, He’ll Get a Partner’ (here)

‘Our body’ series, part 1 here, part 3 here, part 5 here

‘and all the roads will disappear’ here

‘crossed out’ here

‘Double Trouble’ series here

‘i had a dream (where you couldn't hear me screaming)’ and ‘hold me close, in fact bury me’ here

‘Just closed eyes with nothing behind’ here

‘doubt thou the stars be fire’ here

‘SCAR TISSUE’ here

‘Lighter Fluid’ here

you may also like:

‘The Sound’ here

historians by cielalune [Rated M, 21508 Words, Complete, 2023]

He remembers when she didn’t smell of ash, but perfume. The times they’d play the radio to fill the quiet of the car, and she’d hum along. How she never missed a single exy practice, and cheered for him each time. She wasn’t all too different from Cass in the end. Just because she was dead didn’t mean she was buried. Five times Neil tries to come to closure about the person Mary Hatford was, and the one time he accepts who she came to be.

tw: heavily referenced child abuse, tw: heavily referenced rape/noncon, tw: heavily referenced csa, tw: heavily referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: sleep paralysis, tw: depressive episode, tw: flashbacks with blood & gore, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation, tw: victim blaming

Mommy Dearest by chronically_peach [Rated G, 915 Words, Complete, 2022]

Neil doesn’t talk about his mother much but Andrew knows it’s a touchy subject for the redhead. After a session with Betsy Neil admits he’s been thinking about his mother and allows Andrew a glimpse into who Mary Hatford really was.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Pain of a Forgotten Face series by Rose_vine [Collection, 2 complete works, Updated 2021]

Part 1: Pain of a Forgotten Face [M, 3086 Words] Neil Josten is awoken by a face in his nightmares from twelve years ago, a face he barely remembers. When he tries to brush it off and go to practice, he realizes too late that some memories refuse to let themselves be forgotten.

tw: ptsd, tw: panic attacks, tw: nightmares, tw: hallucinations, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: blood/gore

Part 2: A Hand to Hold Me Back From The Cliff [Not Rated, 2132 Words] After Neil collapses on the court from a flashback from when he was younger, Andrew convinces him to go to therapy. This is his first session with Bee, and it is only Andrew at his side that gives him the strength to walk through the door.

tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

After the Beep by kanekei [Rated T, 1030 Words, Incomplete, Updated Sept 2023]

Neil works through his relationship with his dead mother by leaving her voice messages that she'll never hear. It’s healthy, Bee says. He can’t help but think having the Minyards as patients has skewed her perception of what that word means. The number you have reached is not available. Please leave your message after the beep.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced violence

The Foxes by akaashisramen [Not Rated, 3386 Words, Incomplete, Updated July 2023]

Trans Neil is on the run from his father and goes to his uncles house. His uncle promises him protection and allows him to play Exy as long as he goes to group therapy to process his mothers death.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: graphic nightmares, tw: implied/referenced torture

someday, we'll grow by nopunintended [Rated G, 2078 Words, Complete, 2021]

Andrew and Neil see Betsy for a couple's therapy session per Andrew's request.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Couples Therapy by P0tatonoah [Rated T, 2014 Words, Complete 2020]

I got a lot of comments (like 3 or 4) on my breakup fic asking for a part 2 where Neil and Andrew patch things up and live happily ever after… This is not it. But you can read it as an alternative ending if you want.

tw: implied/referenced nonconsensual touch, tw: implied/referenced violence

NB: find P0tatonoah’s andreil break up fic ‘Home...?’ here

They sicken of the calm, they who know the storm by EdgySpaghetti [Not Rated, 3162 Words, Complete, 2023]

After storm there always comes the sun. People born into the storm, who growing up sees only black clouds and lightnings striking everywhere, just learn how to live with it, how to protect themselves from cold, wind and rain. They recognize the pattern, know that lightning will struck sooner or later and are prepared for it. What are those people to do when there is no more dark clouds? They don't know how to live in this environment, how to dress to not get too hot and how to prevent potential sunburnt. They never had to do that before. They're still expecting the lightnings.

tw: ptsd, tw: anxiety, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: anger issues

Can I finally stop running now? by gracefromspace [Rated T, 12110 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil is intrigued by a blonde baker with piercings, two therapy cats and strong arms.

tw: heavily referenced torture, tw: flashbacks with blood/gore, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: anxiety, tw: negative self image

can't blame it on my youth by PoolToast22 [Rated G, 2650 Words, Complete, 2022]

The one where Neil Josten is Fine TM. But he's also in therapy. And today Bee decided to ask him that question.

hold on to happiness by minyarday [Rated T, 551 Words, Complete, 2020]

"self esteem had never been something Neil cared about. when you are a runaway that don't even have a place to call home, you learn to prioritize certain things and forget others" only that now he has the time to think about it

I'll Come Back To You by mostly_maudlin [Rated T, 6900 Words, Complete, 2022]

Some of the things he’s learned today feel like stories about someone else: Neil switched to playing striker at a tiny high school in Arizona. Aaron lives in Chicago with his wife. Andrew’s cousin calls Neil every Tuesday, because Andrew is too stubborn to pick up the phone himself. But other things are clear truths, even if they’re more abstract: Neil’s mother died. Andrew is safe. Neil was supposed to stay, but part of him is gone. - - - - It's about dreams, reality, trust, patience, and determination. It's about making promises and keeping them. You'll figure out the rest.

tw: car accidents, tw: major character injury, tw: implied/referenced violence

I will help you swim by unojonex [Rated E, 11699 Words, Incomplete, Updated Oct 2022]

He’s slowed down, stayed in one place for more than a few months and it's all caught up with him. In his sleep, ghosts of his past haunt him. And they have no mercy. Dreams and imagination swirl together in a confusing mix of nightmares that don't go away, even when he's awake. -- basically Neil and Andrew getting together while also dealing with a lot of trauma

tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/refererenced torture, tw: heavily referenced child abuse, tw: suicide ideation, tw: graphic nightmares with blood/gore, tw: dissociation, tw: hallucinations, tw: panic attacks

But Touch My Tears with Your Lips by transjorts [Rated M, 4070 Words, Complete, AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2022]

Andrew is sitting across from him, expression neutral, fork in hand. He’d dragged the tinnes across the plate—purposefully, if Neil had to guess. Andrew has already cut the burrito up into tiny pieces and spears one morsel on the fork, lifting it to his mouth. “Hi,” Neil says. Andrew chews, very deliberately. “Do you feel better?” Neil frowns. “What?” Andrew eats another bite. “Did all that running make you feel better?” Neil sighs and glances down, noticing that his water has been refilled. He takes a sip. “No.”

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced sexual assault, tw: nightmares, tw: dissociation

let's just sit awhile by artiest [Rated M, 17291 Words, Complete. 2022, Locked]

Neil and Andrew don't have to keep fighting for their survival. They can settle now. It's hard, but they're trying. OR: During Neil's second year in Palmetto State, him and Andrew learn to take care of each other.

tw: severe mental health issues, tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: nightmares with blood/gore, tw: flashbacks, tw: dissociation, tw: violence, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: vomit, tw: alcohol abuse/alcholism

I could never give you peace by freshtaylorswiftduck [Rated T, 3407 Words, Complete. 2022]

Neil has both bad and good days. Today is a bad day.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: panic attacks

10 tips to stress less, without the tips by lumos_max [Rated T, 5404 Words, Complete, AFTG Exchange Fall 2020]

A lonely Neil lets his therapist bully him into checking out the clinic's support group without too much fuss, but little did he know he wouldn't be checking out the group that day, instead meeting a dramatic hunk of a man who drives a fancy car and forgets to wipe the cream off the corner of his lip. It's only fair that Neil tries to do it for him, right?

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

“God, I have my father’s eyes.” by perks_of_being_a_writer [Rated T, 673 Words, Complete, 2022]

This is based on Family Line by Conan Gray. In this short story, Neil is at a therapy appointment where he and Betsy dive into his parental issues. This covers Neil’s abuse from both parents (because, yes, Mary was abusive and a bad mother). This is Neil learning that it's not his fault his parents hurt him and accepting that he is loved.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

"There's blood on my/your hands." by markonasurface (idwir) [Rated T, 4667 Words, Complete, 2018]

The year after his 19th birthday, the other team decides to recreate the bloody locker scene complete with a ‘Happy Birthday, Jr.’ Instead of stuffing everything down, Neil has a complete freak out and sinks into a depression.

tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: blood, tw: panic attacks, tw: ptsd, tw: major depressive episode, tw: homophobia, tw: disordered eating, tw: vomit

Nothing is Safe series by hismiley16 [Rated T/M/E, Collection, 7 complete works, Updated July 2023]

Parts 3 and 7 recced here

Part 4: Written On His Skin [Not Rated, 11344 Words] The Foxes face the Ravens for the first time since Riko's death and things go as well as expected. Andrew is mildly injured on the court and isn't there to protect Neil when the new Evermore captain comes for him after the game. The team sees more than Neil ever wanted them to, including the ghost of Nathaniel he thought he'd buried in Baltimore.

tw: vomit, tw: bullying, tw: nonconsensual touch/assault tw: dissociation, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced animal death, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

The Josten Anxiety Method by orphan_account [Rated M, 1721 Words, Complete, 2022]

Neil talks to Bee about his anxiety.

tw: anxiety, tw: hallucinations, tw: dissociation, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Looking in the Mirror Never Felt so Good by Trimorphia [Rated T, 8693 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil Josten's journey to becoming a real person.

tw: nightmares, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Achilles Come Down by infernalstars [Rated M, 5017 Words, Complete, 2020]

Neil Josten was a liar before he was anything else. In the nest, sometimes his choices were between lying and dying. He’d had a decent amount of self preservation that he’d chosen the former. But now, being free, the world felt so heavy. He wished he’d chosen dying.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: graphic suicide attempt, tw: self harm, tw: blood, tw: eating disorders focus, tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: vomit, tw: depression

prompt: Neil x therapy bullet fic by @sadboyayeron [Tumblr, 2020]

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squishablesunbeam · 11 months

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Consequence of Action Pt. 13

Finally official chapter! Thanks for playing! I adore you all! Also, the first and last bits are from Prim's perspective. I know that's different but I couldn't help myself!

TW: recovering whumpee, panic attack, flashback, vomiting, mentions of past noncon, executions, death of minor characters

Prim couldn't tear her eyes away from the monstrosity.

She'd been helping her crew clear out the dead when Lopez found another body deep in the lower deck. It wasn't the man with his empty eyes frozen open capturing his last moments of terror or his crushed throat that held her attention.

It was the cage.

She'd heard some of what the prisoners had been saying about what had happened on this ship. The vile obscenities they spewed about Quinn in particular certainly painted a horrific picture that she wished were exaggerations but, deep down, she knew were not. She'd heard enough to make her blood boil before she had them gagged or else she'd skin them alive herself for what they'd done to that man.

They'd also mentioned a cage. This was undoubtedly it. With its rough edges welded together with clear intent to inflict agony upon its occupant. There was dried blood on the teeth of the grating that covered the bottom as well as a fair amount soaked into the floor beneath.

Her eyes trailed back to the body Lopez and Freely were currently preparing to transport to the incinerator.

Quinn had been flogged, recently. He was barely able to stand on his own two feet when she'd come upon him and Collins in the hallway. There was no way he would have had the strength to crush a man's throat in his state.

That meant-

They'd put Collins in that cage. God, how did he even fit.

Her mind morbidly attempted to imagine herself stuffed into that small space and a nauseating wave of claustrophobia washed over her. She immediately shook the thought from her mind.

Collins had been her team leader for just over a decade. They'd seen each other through the worst that human beings could do to one another and they always came out the other end just a little worse for wear. She was even part of the team that had gone in to rescue him after he was held captive by the enemy for three months. Prim had thought she'd seen him at his absolute worst many times over.

So why did seeing him with that collar around his neck fuck with her head so much?

They'd collared him, and put him in a cage. She was pretty sure they'd even-

Prim allowed anger to seethe throughout her body, for only a moment. Righteous or not, anger dangerously clouded her judgment. She knew that well enough. If she had her druthers right in this moment, she'd flog each one of those men in her custody to within an inch of their lives and force them to beg Quinn and Collins for their pitiful lives before tossing them into the incinerator along with the rest of them. They deserved nothing less, and maybe so much more.

The choice wasn't hers to make.

“Ma'am.”

Prim very deliberately let the anger slip through her fingers.

She turned to Freely. “I want this deconstructed immediately. Tear it down to its bolts. I don't want a single piece of this cage left on my ship. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Freely acknowledged assuredly.

She let out a breath and nodded. He'll take care of it.

She turned on her heels and headed back up to the main deck, swallowing the urge to speed up her pace just to get away from all the horrid memories that undoubtedly haunted the corners of that godawful room.

She headed for her new office, dispensing orders as she went. This ship had just begun to fall into disrepair while being under poor leadership and a skeleton crew it seemed. There was a lot to be done.

A few hours later, Prim called for Collins and Quinn to join her. She needed to discuss what to do with the prisoners, their possessions, etc. They also needed to track down any of Quinn's possessions as well, if they hadn't already been destroyed. This all could technically wait, but if she was being honest, she wanted the prisoners dealt with and off the ship as soon as possible.

She fussed at the desk while she waited, stacking piles of papers and log books that must have been the ship's former captain's, practically useless now. Most, if not all, would be burned.

The office was large but impersonal. She'd already taken the time to shift around the placement of furniture to make it more open and inviting. She dimmed the glaring overhead light and made a note to grab some of those warm light bulbs on their next stop at a safe planet. She would have to bring over some of her more personal items from the other ship as well.

A knock pulled her out of her thoughts and she turned, hitting the button that slid open the door.

"Commander," Collins greeted her with a warm smile, Quinn by his side.

She grinned wide, clasping arms with Collins and then Quinn.

"Prim is fine. You know that well enough."

Collins already looked so much better. Much more himself. She couldn't stop herself from casting her eyes briefly to his neck, assuring herself that the collar had actually been cut away and he was free from its weight.

She stepped back to allow them into the room, noting the soft hold Collins had around Quinn's hip.

It looked so incredibly natural for a man who rarely ever displayed even a hint of affection in the many years she'd known him.

A smile quirked up her lips.

She didn't know exactly what was going on between these too but it was clearly something, and it was only growing stronger. As far as Prim was aware, Collins had never had a significant person in his life, at least he'd never spoken of it if he had.

Seeing him so casually tender with Quinn was, well, it was adorable.

Prim gestured them into the office.

“Please, have a seat.”

She stopped short, her eyes flicking to Collins as the blood drained out of Quinn's face.

Oh, shit.

–

He'd already had a brief moment of panic in the hallway once he realized where they were headed but he'd convinced Collins that he was fine. Of course Prim would have taken the Captain's office. She was the highest ranking member of the crew after all. It made perfect sense.

Except right now, nothing made sense.

He was certain he'd be okay, stepping confidently into the room after watching the familiar exchange between Collins and Prim.

But then, Quinn laid eyes on that looming brown desk and his world just slipped right out from under him.

He saw himself, clear as day, curled up on his knees under that damn desk. Naked, his hands bound to his thighs like they always were the first however many times he'd been forced to open his mouth and obey.

It was as if he was watching from a far away corner of the ceiling but also not. He could feel it all. The way the hard floor bit into his knees and the coarse rope constricting his thighs and tearing at his skin.

He shook his head to try and clear the image but it wouldn't jar loose. The taste of the Captain's fingers filled his mouth and he gagged, choking on nothing as the taste turned to something so much worse.

His head felt thick and his world narrowed.

He felt like he might be falling but he couldn't bring himself to care. The room buzzed loudly in his ears and washed itself over him. He could feel all of its edges pressing against his body, forcing him to fit into the tight space under the desk.

Something pressed against his back and there was pain there, but also, it was good. The pain felt good, in a way. It sparked sharply through his mind and cleared some of the fog away. He dropped his head and tried to remember how to breath, clinging to that pain like a lifeline.

His entire body was suddenly shook, just once, and his eyes managed to lock into place, the spinning world around him suddenly centering on one point of focus.

“Collins?”

A hand touched lightly against his own and he looked down at himself, realizing he had pressed his wrists to his thighs. He could feel the ropes keeping him in place but he couldn't see them. He gasped his mouth open and tried to pry them up off his legs. It felt as if he was attempting to merge two worlds that simply weren't meant to coexist. He finally succeeded in detaching his hands from his legs and held them up in front of his face.

They were shaking.

He was shaking.

He still couldn't breathe.

Warm fingers brushed against his face and the here and now flooded his senses, coming back to him far too fast. His body prickled with sweat, his mouth filled with saliva.

“Oh my god,” he pressed a hand against Collins' shoulder and lurched to the side, vomiting onto the floor beside them.

“Oh my god,” he said again, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth before pulling it back and looking at his wrists, fully expecting to see marks from the ropes indented into this skin.

His thighs weren't bare. He was wearing pants and a button up shirt he found in Collins' closet.

Quinn dimly heard himself muttering Collins' name under his breath.

“You're alright. I'm here. Just breathe.”

His eyes numbly tracked Collins' movement as he wrapped his fingers around Quinn's wrist and rubbed his thumb back and forth over the thin skin.

There still weren't any ropes there, holding him in place. He kept his eyes on Collins' hands, each painless pass of his thumb a reminder that he was safe. Collins was here. The Captain was dead.

Quinn gasped out a harsh breath as the image of him shooting the Captain in the head flashed before his eyes.

He looked up, his eyes wide and wet with stinging tears as he searched Collins' face, too many memories battling for his attention at once.

“He hurt you, Collins, he-” Quinn said, his voice strained and panicked.

“Hey,” Collins drew their foreheads together, holding onto the back of Quinn's head. “I'm okay, Quinn. You saved me, remember? You killed him, Quinn. He can't hurt you anymore. He can't hurt either of us anymore. We're okay.”

Quinn drew in a shaky breath, and then another. Collins' hands were like an anchor, holding him to this reality, his shoulders firm and solid and real under his own hands. He breathed, his breath mixing with Collins' as the world slowed down to a manageable rhythm.

He became aware of another presence in the room and his eyes slid to Prim, sitting on the floor with them, just a few steps behind Collins with her arms draped over her knees.

“Holy shit,” Quinn said, pulling back slightly and breathing out a shocked breath, “That's never happened before. Not like that. I could see it. I could feel it.”

He held tight to Collins as Prim sat forward, crossing her legs underneath her, “Ironically, it's because you are actually safe now that this is happening. You're mind is trying to process everything. Collins can teach you some tricks to help you stay grounded, or I can. We've both been through it.”

Collins nodded sympathetically, scratching his fingers over Quinn's leg in a predictable, soothing rhythm.

It was helping.

“Grounded, yeah,” Quinn leaned his head back on the wall behind him, only now realizing that was where the pain was coming from. His sore back was pressed right up against it.

“God, I'm so sorry,” he groaned out, looking down at the mess he'd made next to him and trying to fight back embarrassment from swallowing him whole.

Prim waved her hand absently. “It'll clean just fine. Go rest. We'll talk later, okay?”

He nodded and leaned heavily against Collins as they moved to stand, Prim immediately moving to join them. They were both standing right in front of Quinn, blocking his eye line to the desk. He couldn't quell the need to look, just once more, to assure himself that the other him wasn't still trapped there, under the desk.

Collins moved to help him to the door and he stole a glance over his shoulder, breathing out a breath of relief only once he was assured the phantom was gone.

He didn't know why he felt the need to ask but he stopped himself before heading out the door, “What did you want to talk to us about anyway?”

She started to wave her hand in dismissal but paused, drawing her eyebrows down, seeming to study him carefully. He felt Collins' solid presence at his side.

“I was going to ask if you wanted me to have the prisoners executed. I thought the airlock might be appropriate but I didn't want to make that decision without you both.”

Whatever fear that had just sunk its teeth into him morphed into anger at the mention of the prisoners.

Jackson, Hawkins and Gibson.

It wasn't enough that the Captain was dead. Quinn's every waking memory was corrupted with the thoughts of these men. He could barely eat without the image of Jackson forcing his dick into his mouth through the cage before he gave him any food. Hawkins tore at his flesh and left behind too many scars for him to ever forget. And Gibson- Quinn shuddered, the pain of his care still a bright and sharp memory.

Quinn didn't want to think twice about it. He just wanted them gone.

“Do it,” he said, swallowing down the knowledge that with those two words, he just sentenced three men to their deaths.

“Would you like to be there?” Prim asked.

Quinn looked to Collins who shrugged, squeezing Quinn's hand once. “As long as they're dead, I'm okay with it,” Collins said plainly.

“I think I'm okay too,” Quinn said, looking back to Prim, “Will you do me a favor though?”

“Name it,” she said with a sincerity that put a weak smile on his face.

“Just, maybe, don't tell them what's going to happen. Don't say anything to them at all. Just take them to the airlock and open the door.”

The silence was always the worst part. Being led through the ship, never knowing his own fate before being shoved through an open door.

Quinn thought it fitting.

Prim apparently did too, if the look on her face told him anything.

“I'll make certain of it.”

“Let us know when it's done,” Collins added, him and Prim both sharing an understanding between them as she nodded her assent.

Quinn felt the warmth of Collins' hand at his hip and he let himself lean against him. He focused on carefully matching his breath to Collins' as they wove their way through the hall and back to the quiet and safety of their room.

–

Prim had done exactly as Quinn asked. She informed her crew to bind the men and take them to the airlock without a single word spoken.

It was admittedly gratifying to behold. She watched as Gibson lost it first. He screamed and thrashed against Freely as they were led down the halls, demanding to know what was going on and proclaiming his innocence.

Hawkins was next.

He fed off of Gibson's fear and spewed vile threats at herself and her crew. Mostly though, he cursed Quinn's name and screamed at the top of his lungs the horrific things he was going to do to him.

Except he was never going to have that chance. He was going to die. He was going to be tossed away like trash, without a second thought.

Jackson held out until they were all kneeling in the airlock and the door was being sealed shut between them. He launched himself up at the last minute and sprinted toward the door, hurling himself again and again at the thick glass that kept them safe from the vacuum of space.

Prim stood silently with her crew, all of them expressionless as the prisoners made their pleas and useless threats.

With a signal to Freely, he slammed up the lever and the screams of the three men died with them as they were sucked out into nothingness.

It was the most feared end for those who made their lives out in this vast emptiness. As much as they all craved it, loved it even, the enduring, ever expanding endlessness of space was utterly terrifying. Like the vast oceans back on Earth, space was to be respected and feared in equal measure.

These men respected nothing.

The silence that followed the closing of the outer door had a finality to it that she found both deafening and soothing in the same moment.

It was done.

Freely and Lopez headed back to their respective stations without a second glace and Prim headed to inform Collins and Quinn, hoping that they sleep just a little bit easier now.

“Come in,” Collins called from inside the room. Prim was surprised he didn't meet her at the door as was decorum. Not that she expected it or enforced that kind of nonsense on her crew, it was just Collins' way. Too many years spent in the service and not enough spent living his own life.

She realized why the moment she slid the door open.

Collins was propped up on a few pillows with a book in his hand and Quinn soundlessly asleep with his head on Collins' stomach.

The sight made Prim smile.

“He's good for you,” she whispered, easing quietly into the room.

Quinn flinched a little in his sleep and Collins moved to card his fingers through his hair for probably the hundredth time.

“Too good,” Collins whispered back, taking off his glasses and setting them on top of the open book by his hip.

He looked tired himself, and worried.

“Is he okay?”

“No. He's not," Collins said. He wasn't harsh about his words. He sounded sad.

“Are you okay?”

Collins sighed and finally look up at Prim, “No.”

She pursed her lips and nodded, “If it makes you feel any better, they died terrified.”

Collins frowned deeply as he looked down at the man in his lap, his head rising and falling gently with every one of Collins' breaths.

“I would have had them skinned alive,” Collins said, not looking up from where his fingers were curled into Quinn's hair.

Prim huffed out a laugh, “I had a similar thought. But at least it's done. Maybe there's some peace to be had from that?”

“I hope so,” he said, “He deserves it.”

“So do you, Collins,” Prim said, knowing full well that he didn't believe a word of that. “And for what it's worth,” she gestured between the two men, “whatever you've got going here, it's cute as fuck. You deserve that too.”

Collins actually laughed, a wide grin splitting his handsome face as a blush seeped into his cheeks.

He'd be okay, she thought. They both would be okay, she'd make sure of it. She'd fold them into her little family and give them a change to find their footing again.

She headed back towards the door, “You need anything at all, you let us know, you hear me? And when you're ready for a distraction, I've got plenty of work for you to do.”

“Will do, Commander,” Collins said, the smile on his face coming just a little easier, “And Prim, thank you. For everything.”

“Of course, sir.”

She left them to rest and turned to head back up to the bridge, her mind already on the myriad of tasks on her plate and plotting their next course through the skies.

Taglist: @peachy-panic, @ladygwennn, @whumplr-reader, @hold-him-down, @monochrome-episode, @dogface3000, @skyhawkwolf, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @whumpterful-beeeeee, @maddam-redder, @susiequaz12, @pigeonwhumps, @starlit-darkness

#recovering whumpee #rescued whumpee #mentions of past noncon #panic attack tw #flashback tw #emeto #execution #death of minor characters

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bones-of-a-rabbit · 1 year

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What if I told u,,,,, a RepairBot-Reader comic-tidbit was in the works,,,,

(WiPs!)

Featuring! A small and sweet moment for ReaderBot making a new friend <3

(don’t worry, there’s some nice angst in there, too)

: )

What do you see, ReaderBot ?

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shayyprasad · 5 months

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happy halloween to all, i guess | peter parker

tw: panic attack

posted to wattpad on halloween just putting it up here

also, can i marry mj

sorry this was posted late lololol

don't hate me for having y/n dislike horror movies cuz me personally, ik that horror movies can trigger things like trauma, loss of sleep (insomnia), and panic attacks

it depends on the person and they shouldn't ever be judged for that, because you simply cannot control these things

anyways thats it lmao

this is kinda based of smth that happened irl except i'm hopelessly single and don't have a peter parker, quite sadly

i bet u enjoyed this super long authors note

summary: halloween starts off fine, and then... well, it's not so fine.

you tried not to smile as you applied a layer of lipstick to your lips, eager to begin the night that lay ahead of you.

halloween was no doubt one of the best days of the year, and yes, despite being almost 17, you still went trick-or-treating. dignity was a mere price to pay at the rate of your happiness (in candy, of course).

but it had also gotten better after you starting dating peter in the 8th grade, because since then you and peter would always dress up together. this year it was peter pan and wendy, and you were beyond excited. you were dressed in her outfit, a blue dress, with your hair in a half up-half down hairstyle, held up with a blue bow. you hadn't done much with your hair, aside from curl it.

"i got it!" you screeched as you raced down the stairs, almost falling to your death multiple times, to answer the door. your parents locked eyes, clearly amused as you cleared your throat, straightened up and answered the door.

"hi, peter!" you grinned, grabbing your tote bag, because it would hold more candy, and yelling out a quick "love you, be home sometime today, i think" and closing the front door behind you.

he kissed you on the cheek, admiring your costume. "you look really pretty," he blushed.

"thanks, babes. you look pretty, too."

he helped you get in the car before getting in himself, "aww, love, you saved me shotgun!" you grinned, sticking your tongue out at mj and ned in the back. mj was a giant cardboard book, and ned was yoda.

peter looked at you, a sweet smile on his face as he rested his hand on your thigh. "'course, i gotta have my passenger princess with me at all times."

"god, gross. can you not eye-fuck each other for, like, 5 seconds?" mj rolled her eyes.

"we weren't-" peter tried.

but it didn't matter because you and mj were already catching up, even though you saw each other at school. something about brad and jessica, but he hadn't bothered much. his hand was still in the same place, with yours on top.

"okay," ned interrupted, "mj's neighborhood, right? you know they have the best candy?"

"then why'd you pick me up?" she asked.

you shrugged, "the candy's okay. you just like her place because that one house was handing out starwars figurines."

"that's not- yeah, no, you're right," ned shrugged.

"okay," nodded peter, "mj's place it is."

"again, why'd you pick me up then?"

the next couple hours were spent getting weird stares and collecting candy until most people went inside. at that point, you and the others decided to go to peter's and spend the rest of the night binge-watching halloween movies and stuffing your face with candy.

"i think we should watch the exorcist!" peter declared and you instantly frowned.

you hated horror movies. why would someone willingly want to be subject to a heart attack? that was completely, totally, nonsensical.

but peter did really seem excited about this, so maybe for one night you could suck it up. besides, when was the best time to watch a movie? halloween, right?

mj shrugged, "i don't care what we do."

"we totally should!" ned pumped his fist up and you mentally groaned.

"can weeee? pleaseee?" peter pouted.

"god, i can't think straight when you give me that face. but sure, i guess. i don't really care either," you said, trying to seem nonchalant. but mj must have seen right through your whole facade, because she rose a brow at you.

"awesomeeeee!" peter and ned high-fived each other before your boyfriend eagerly lunged for the tv remote, searching up the exorcist.

for the entire time you had your eyes on the screen, your heart rate never went down. you were trying to power through for peter, considering how happy he looked for it, not that you understood why. you squirmed and fidgeted against the couch, trying to muster up the courage to say something.

you could only take about about an hour until you felt like you'd reached your limit. your palms itched and your chest felt constricted. clumsily excusing yourself for the bathrrom, you stumbled out the front door, feeling the hot flashes against your skin, making your brain go fuzzy.

pulling up your knees to your chest, you clutched both sides of your head with you hands, heavy, ragged breaths leaving your mouth. you couldn't breath at all, and it felt like the edges of the world were blurring together, making everything feel hazy, sending you into a dark, starless oblivion.

hot tears were streaming down your face, and you were struggling to calm down.

"y/n? y/n! there you are! you'd been gone a long time, so i thought you were taking a dump, but you weren't in the-"

you didn't bother to look up, still focused on yourself.

"hey, angel, is everything okay? well, that was a stupid question. i-i'm here, love, i'm here," he wrapped his arms around you tightly, engulfing you a tight bear hug. you tried to pry yourself out of his grip, but he didn't let go.

you felt your breaths slow down and become more full, and you weren't crying anymore. you eased yourself into him and rested your head into the crook of his neck, sniffling quietly.

"feeling better now?"

you nodded.

"yeah, uh, i read somewhere that bear hugs help. b-because i know you, um, get those often, and i wanted to be able to help... because, you know, i love you," you cheeks flamed red as he spoke, the two of you had over only exchanged those words twice and counting.

"i love you, too," you murmured.

"w-what happened, baby?"

"um, it's stupid. like, really stupid," your voice broke and you knew he'd find it pathetic.

"i won't, i promise. you can talk to me, y/n, i'll never, ever, judge you."

"i just- i don't like scary movies," you cringed slightly at your words and how they sounded.

"that's it?"

"see? i knew you'd find it stupid," you pulled away from him, "because it is. and i'm stupid because i can't watch a freaking make-believe movie, and i'm so sorry because your girlfriend is a big, pathetic, stupid baby-"

"no, no, no, that's not what i meant! first, don't call my girlfriend any of those things, because she's not," he continued when he saw you smile. "and second, i'm the one who should be sorry. because that's on me. it's on me that i didn't know, and that put you in that position and made you feel like you had to watch that stupid movie." you didn't say anything, paying attention to the cracks in the steps.

"i'm so sorry, love, i had known, i wouldn't have put it on. and, hey, don't feel stupid. everyone get scared. i'm scared of spiders and i'm spider-man, for god-sakes," well, that made you laugh.

"it's okay. not your fault," you moved back into this side.

"we're good, right?"

"right."

"rad. now how about we watch monster house intstead? wanna know a secret? that's what ned's afraid of. he calls it a fever dream," he snickered.

"that's 'cause it is. also, did you just use 'rad'?"

#spiderman #tom holland #peter parker #tom holland x reader #halloween amirite #tw panic attack #yay still copying and pasting

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posallys · 2 years

Text

Anchor

percabeth (sort of) | 2.7k -> rated T for mentions/references of past abuse, panic attacks -> could be canon -> based off this post and the fact that nobody ever talks about percy's trauma and fears that come with that (and just fears in general)

Moments like these were supposed to be memorable. There was supposed to be joy. He was supposed to wrap his arms around her, to bury his face in her hair and hold her close until he couldn’t keep his grip anymore. He expected those things, along with nerves and anxiousness and excitement, and maybe he expected to be a little scared, too. Percy can think of several short, life-altering phrases he’s heard Annabeth say before, from “I love you” to “I do” up until now, but none of them compare to the six she’d just spoken.

keep reading

#so i did a thing #i didn't edit it. if there's a mistake not there's not #there are also like 193404123 run on sentences but i simply do not care #tw mentions of abuse #tw panic attack #im really upset nobody talks about percy's past more actually?#also this was like a mix of me thinking about how his past affected his view of himself in a domestic role and also percy's struggle with #his own powers (since that's also not talked about enough)#taylor tries to write #fic: anchor

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 1 year

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Being Afraid Doesn't Mean You're Weak (Part 1)

Fandom: DC, The Suicide Squad, Rick Flag

Summary: Rick has known about your fear of flying for a while. So when your plane heads directly into a storm on the way to a mission, he tries his best to make you as comfortable as possible.

Word Count: 2014

TW: Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Panic Attack, Past Trauma

Part 1, Part 2

Series Masterlist

You hated flying. It was the one thing that really scared you. Not guns, not snakes, not bugs, not public speaking, not even death. But flying….. On your first tour overseas, you had been in a terrible helicopter crash that left you broken and burned and the only survivor. From that moment on, flying was a torturous event for you.

Rick had learned all of this the hard way soon after you joined ARGUS. On the first few missions after you joined the team, he had noticed your odd behavior on the cargo planes to and from your locations. That you always found a spot as far away from any window as possible. That you kept your eyes squeezed shut the entire flight, lips occasionally moving in silent conversation, while your knuckles turned white as you firmly grasped objects around you. That you always fell asleep on the return trips, sometimes needing him to shake you awake or even half drag you from the plane when you got back to Belle Reve.

But he didn’t find out the truth until Waller sent both of you to DC to debrief some senators on your latest mission. As the two of you boarded the commercial flight, you seemed just as anxious as usual, if not more so. However, Rick just figured you were nervous about presenting in front of a room of government big shots. So, he settled down in his seat and drifted off to sleep.

But halfway through the flight, everything had gone wrong. Rick was startled awake by the sounds of your muffled screams as you tried desperately to stifle your terror. You were doubled over in your seat, hands pressed firmly against your mouth as tears streamed down your face. As he frantically reached out, asking what was wrong, the plane hit another patch of turbulence that had you ripping off your seat belt and fleeing to the small bathroom in the back of the plane. Ignoring the flight attendant who was trying to figure out what was going on, Rick quickly followed you. When you refused to open the door, he kicked it open only to find you huddled on the floor sobbing into your hands as your whole body trembled. He asked for no explanation, he just scooped you into his arms and held you tight as he whispered words of comfort into your hair for the remainder of the flight.

When you reached your hotel in DC, you had explained everything to him: the helicopter crash, your flashbacks, how Waller knew but didn’t care, that you were allowed to take medication to knock you out on return flights but not on the way to missions, that the smaller the aircraft or the closer you were to the windows the worse it was. You had waited for Rick to tease you, or to say he thought you were weak, or to tell you he didn’t want you on his team anymore. But instead, he had just nodded and given you a reassuring smile.

Since that day, Rick had done everything in his power to make the flights as comfortable as possible for you. To start with, everyone on Task Force X was under strict instructions: you do not bother the sergeant while in the air. All questions as to why were immediately shut down. Then, he would try to get to the airfield a few minutes early to create an impromptu barrier around your seat in the back of the plane that gave you some privacy from the rest of the team. He even started carrying a few of your sleeping pills for the flight home after one time your supply had gotten ruined on a mission.

Rick told himself he was doing this to help a fellow soldier, his right hand, his partner. But as time went on, he knew that you had become so much more than that. And every time he caught a glimpse of you, jaw clenched, knuckles white, and eyes squeezed tight, it felt like a knife to his heart. Because he knew that as much as he tried to lessen your pain, there was nothing he could do to take it away completely.

Today’s mission was already a disaster, and the Squad hadn’t even made it to their location yet. Half the team was comprised of new recruits with no idea what they were really in for. Once on the plane, they wouldn’t stop bickering or yelling at each other. Plus, something about the mission felt off to Rick. And now…..

With a sigh, he left the bickering Squad members and headed back to your private hideaway. He knocked gently on the crates surrounding your seat and squeezed past them to see you better. You glanced up quickly before shutting your eyes again. Rick cleared his throat. “Sorry to bother you…”

“You could never bother me, Colonel. What’s up?” You were trying to keep your tone light, but Rick could see the firm set of your jaw and the tightness in your shoulders.

“I’m sorry darlin’, but the pilot just informed me we’re headed straight through an incoming storm. No way to avoid it.”

Your fingernails dug deeper into the material of your tact pants as you nodded. “Thank you for letting me know. I, um, I’ll try my best to……you know.”

Rick nodded back, he knew how bad normal flights were for you and how a single bump of turbulence could send you into a full-fledged panic attack. He couldn’t even imagine the hell you were about to go through. He started to head back up with the rest of the squad, but he couldn’t help asking, “Would you like me to stay with you? Just so you’re not alone.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but it seemed to help a little the first time. I just want to help you through this.”

“Rick….” You stared down at your hands. He knew you only called him by his first name when things were really serious. “I don’t want you to see me like that again. It’s bad enough that you know….I don’t need you to be reminded how weak I am.”

He knelt down in front of you. “Darlin’, I know what it’s like going through this. Just because mine happens at night in my dreams instead of up here in the sky, doesn’t mean I don’t deal with these same kinds of memories, these same fears. We’ve both been through some real shit in our lives. The kinds of things people aren’t supposed to go through. That doesn’t make you weak. Being afraid doesn't mean you're weak. But the fact you climb back on this plane mission after mission even after what happened makes you the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

You bit your lip as it began to quiver, and Rick could see you were fighting to hold back tears. “Thank you, Rick. If…if you don’t mind, I would like you to stay.”

He nodded and settled into the seat next to you, both of you silently waiting for what came next.

The storm came out of nowhere. One second, it was smooth sailing, and the next, the entire aircraft was shuddering. As the plane hit a particularly rough bump, your hands flew to the armrests, putting them both in viselike grips. But you were too scared to notice that your right hand hadn’t actually grabbed the armrest. Instead, it had wrapped tightly around Rick’s hand. You squeezed it so hard, Rick could feel the bones in his hand shift painfully. But he didn’t make a sound.

Once the plane settled, you relaxed slightly, loosening your grip. When you realized you had been grasping his hand instead of the armrest, heat rushed to your cheeks. You tried mumbling an apology and pulling it away, but Rick held on tightly. He linked your fingers with his and gave you a reassuring squeeze. You actually gave him a small smile in return, before the aircraft was once again shaken by the storm outside.

Your free hand flew to cover your mouth as you released a muffled scream of terror. Without a second thought, Rick lifted you over the armrest and into his lap, his one hand never leaving yours. You buried your face in his chest as your free hand clutched wildly at his tactsuit. Your breathing was wild and panicked, just on the cusp of hysteria. He gently rubbed your back, whispering, “It’s alright darlin’. I’ve got you. I swear, I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe.”

You nodded into his chest. And soon, your muffled cries grew quieter, your trembling lessened, and your grip on him slackened. You were still curled tightly against him, but Rick could see your terror slowly melting away even as the plane still shuddered and rocked. He felt your breathing synchronizing with his, and soon the two of you were breathing as one.

About ten minutes later, the storm seemed to have passed as the plane resumed its normal flight pattern. Rick stared down at you still resting on his chest, seemingly asleep. You appeared more relaxed than he had ever seen you on a plane, even when you were passed out from your pills. You looked so beautiful that he couldn’t help himself from softly stroking your hair.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?”

The unexpected sound of your voice startled Rick, causing him to flinch slightly, but he said, “Of course, darlin’. Anything.”

“What are you scared of Colonel?” The question was barely more than a whisper.

He thought for a long moment, then quietly muttered, “I’m scared of you….of this.” He lifted his hand that was still tangled with yours. “I’m scared of how you make me feel when I’m around you and how I feel when I’m not. I’m scared I’ll lose you before I ever have you. I’m scared of us taking a chance because of Waller and I’m scared of us continuing to deny what’s here. So, yeah…You terrify me.”

You smiled brightly as you snuggled deeper into his chest. “Huh. Well, I’m not scared of any of that.”

“Oh really? And why’s that?”

“Because I’ve loved you since the moment you found me on the floor of that airplane bathroom and just held me with no judgment or explanation. Because you are the one person I trust completely, mind, body, and heart. Because you are the only person who has ever made what I just went through the least little bit better. Because you’re Colonel Rick Flag and when you care about something, you do everything in your power to protect it. So, yeah….I could never be scared of you.”

Rick chuckled, “Like I said, strongest person I ever met. Bravest too.”

“Well, maybe I can teach you to be a little braver.” You cupped his face in your hand and drew him into your lips.

Rick had thought about this moment for months, practically since the moment he had laid eyes on you. And once again, he silently praised you for your bravery, for making the move he had been too afraid of making. And it was everything he had dreamed of and more.

But moments later, the sound of Rick’s alarm beeping broke the two of you apart. Groaning loudly, Rick glanced at his tablet and cursed under his breath. Shifting you off his lap, he stood up with a sigh, “I wish we had more time darlin’, but we have to get movin’.” You nodded sadly, but he knew you understood. “Are you sure you’re good to go?”

“Of course. You know I have no problem jumping out. Anything to get off this thing faster.” You laughed as Rick helped you to your feet.

Rick smiled at you as he grabbed his tablet and left your makeshift hideaway. He quickly read through the list of the current Task Force members. “Harkness, Javelin, Quinn, Mongal, TDK, Hertz, Weasel, Savant. Line up and get ready to jump. We’re here.”

#sfw repost #fic #being afraid doesn't mean you're weak #rick flag #rick flag x reader #rick flag x you #colonel rick flag #joel kinnaman #dc #dc x reader #hurt/comfort #hurt & comfort #hurt and comfort #ptsd tw #panic attack tw #past trauma tw

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pigeonwhumps · 11 months

Text

Gemma rescues Phoenix AU: Part 3

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Everything: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch

Phoenix struggles, and Gemma helps.

2.3k

CWs: hospital setting, panic attack, past crucifixion, flashback to said crucifixion, aftermath of crucifixion and resurrection, partial nudity, talk of impaling, use of 'kiddo' for an adult, immortal whumpee, long-term injury/chronic pain, traumatised whumpee, low self-worth, past abandonment, past death/resurrection

Gemma stays there on the floor, arms wrapped around a sobbing Phoenix. They're alive. She still can't believe it, but here they are, warm and breathing and traumatised to all hell but alive.

"Sorry. Sorry."

Gemma tightens her arms. "Shh. It's okay, god, don't apologise."

Phoenix buries their head in her and sobs harder.

Gemma's so busy trying to keep herself and Phoenix calm, reminding herself that they're alive, here, god they're alive, they're not dead, that she barely notices the presence appear beside them. She only realises when Phoenix tenses, and they both look up.

A nurse in a blue polo shirt is standing there, arms folded. She smiles tightly when she sees them looking.

"Are you the woman who came in with the crucified girl?"

Phoenix flinches, and Gemma tightens her arm around them, suddenly angry. It's not entirely the nurse's fault, she doesn't know who Phoenix is, but still. Phoenix has a morgue sheet on, it should be obvious something's wrong.

"Yes. And I think you'll find your morgue is missing a body."

The nurse blinks. Blinks again. Looks hard at Phoenix.

"You came back to life?" They nod. "Do you have any injuries?" They shake their head. "Okay. You'll still need to be checked out, and the police are here. They'll want to speak to both of you."

"Can we have a chance to breathe and get Phoenix some clothes first?" Gemma snaps. Inexplicably, the nurse's face softens at this.

"The police are interviewing the staff, so yes, we have plenty of time. There's a donation box at the end of the corridor, or the hospital shop."

Gemma shakes her head. "No money. Didn't think about that."

"In that case, we'll go to the donation box. Follow me."

Phoenix stumbles as they rise, clinging onto Gemma to stop themself falling.

"Sorry."

"Shh." Gemma helps them to their feet, supporting them as they lean against her, seemingly about to collapse. "Just focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Doesn't matter how fast we go."

Phoenix nods but still continues to walk faster than they probably should, stumbling every few steps. It's only a couple of minutes before they reach the donation box.

"What size are you, kid?"

"Um, eight. Or six. Mostly."

Gemma nods and lets them go gently before diving in. She doesn't know what style Phoenix usually wears, but she finds a t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms in their size, as well as an unopened packet of pants and a pair of flipflops. The latter are rather large, but they'll do.

She's about to hand the whole pile to Phoenix when she notices a small stuffed monkey. The kind that has magnetic hands and feet, designed to attach to something. It's a bit worn on the top of the head, but not much.

"Here you go. I hope they fit. And it might be a bit childish, but there's this, too."

Phoenix takes the monkey and holds it tenderly over the pile of clothes, lip trembling as they mouth something. They don't seem to be able to speak but Gemma gets the message, smiling.

"That's alright."

The nurse clears her throat. "You might want to get something for yourself as well. You're covered in blood."

Gemma looks down at herself. Oh, god, Phoenix's blood, she'd forgotten about that. It didn't seem to matter once Phoenix was alive again. But now it does, of course it does, it's unhygienic and it's Phoenix's blood. She digs herself out a t-shirt and shorts, stealing glances at Phoenix every few seconds to make sure they're still there, that Gemma didn't imagine them coming back to life, they didn't die on the operating table and they're right here.

"Right. Right, ready."

Phoenix stumbles as they start walking again and Gemma takes their arm to stop them from falling. She doesn't really notice where she's going, too busy holding up the exhausted kid, until the nurse ushers them into a room with one bed and an en-suite.

"Lucky for you there's a side room free. The police will be here soon, let them in when you're ready."

"We will."

The nurse nods and exits. Gemma turns to Phoenix.

"You take the shower first. Can you manage it on your own, do you think?" Phoenix nods. "Anyone you want me to call while you're in there?"

They shake their head. "No, I, um... no."

"Okay. Go on, I'll be here when you finish."

Phoenix nods and heads into the bathroom, setting the monkey down carefully on the bed first.

Now Gemma just needs to wait. She hates waiting, especially alone with her thoughts when they're like this. But Phoenix is alive. Alive, alive, alive, and as long as she keeps repeating that to herself she'll be fine.

Phoenix drops the bundle of clothes on the bumpy vinyl floor and sits down on the floor of the shower. The head goes drip... drip... drip... but it's different from the warehouse, it is, the pattern is monotonous, there's a pattern, and anyway they can see here. If they just focus on what they can see they'll be okay.

They rub their wrists, feeling the new rough scars there. Scars, not nails, not open wounds.

They need to get up and turn the shower on. They need to wash, they know they're filthy, even if it's barely noticeable anymore. But they can't move. Can't get themself to, can barely remember how to, how long is it since they could, anyway?

Aside from the walk here. That was... weird. The woman's weirdly nice. They're not sure if she's told them her name, their memory's shot, but either way they don't understand why she's acting this way. It's not like Phoenix is important, and she didn't know them before this. So why does she seem to care so much?

Why would anyone?

How long were they in the warehouse for? Why did nobody come? Surely Abbie wouldn't assume they could rescue themself for so long. Maybe it wasn't as long as it felt. Maybe something happened that meant no-one could.

Maybe they sent that woman. Maybe they did send help, and that's why she's here.

Stop. They need to stop thinking about not being rescued and take a shower. They can figure out the rest later.

It's just... the drip... drip... drip... is relentless. Phoenix's vision swims in and out, seeing the warehouse, the dark, the metal and concrete, back to the bright white of the hospital, round and round, hearing the dripping and their own ringing screams and barely able to breathe. They dig their thumbs into their thighs, trying to concentrate. If they can see more than shadowed metal and concrete, it's okay. If they can move, it's okay.

They twitch their toes, wiggle their legs. If they can see and move, it's okay.

Their skin looks unblemished. They know it's a lie, they've automatically camouflaged, but they can see it, unblurred by pain and oxygen starvation, and if they can see and move, it's okay.

There's a pop. One quiet pop, and the bathroom is plunged into terrifying, looming, crawling darkness.

One quiet pop, and Phoenix is thrown back there entirely.

The warehouse is quiet and still aside from the drip... drip... drip..., all they can see is metal and concrete, light slanting in at an angle. Everything aches, they can't move, can't even catch their breath.

Their wrist spasms, pain bursting through it like the nail's being hammered in for the first time. They can't move it voluntarily without their whole arm screaming in pain as shocks reverberate up it. It's all far, far too much, and it's going to be forever.

Phoenix screams.

They scream. And they scream. The pain and the dark and the fear is too much, and they scream, scream until their throat's raw.

"Phoenix! Phoenix, you need to breathe, can you do that for me? Can you hear me?"

Phoenix gasps, unsure whose the voice is but it sounds warm and familiar, and they flinch as warm hands touch them.

"That's it. Hold onto my forearms, tight as you like, and breathe. Take a deep breath, just like that, and another."

Phoenix clutches the woman's forearms like a lifeline, fingers digging in, keeping themself here, and breathes like she says, one after the other.

"That's it. Now, tell me five things you can see."

"You. And, um, and I don't know your name, and light, and tiles, and, um, I don't, concrete? I don't know, I can't concentrate."

"Hey. It's okay, you did well, just breathe. You got three. No concrete here though, we're in the hospital, remember? No warehouse. My name's Gemma."

"Gemma," whispers Phoenix, voice rough from screaming.

"Yeah. Can you tell me four things you can feel?"

"Your arm. Um, the tiles under my feet, and, um, the air, and, and, um, my hair?"

Hair they realise, with a start, is coated at the ends with dried blood. From their wrists which are still bleeding and– and–

No. No, they're not.

Gemma smiles. "You're doing well. Three things you can hear?"

"Your voice. My heartbeat. And, um, murmuring."

"Two things you can smell?"

"Blood. Blood, I– I– um–" Oh, god, there's so much blood. They tighten their hold.

"Easy, Phoenix. You're not in the warehouse, you're safe. Can you give me one thing you can taste?"

"Salt."

"That's it. Come on, breathe, easy now. Do you know where you are?"

Phoenix closes their eyes, bows their head, digs their fingers into Gemma's arms.

"Hospital. With you. Gemma. No– no more crucifixion. No warehouse. Safe."

"Yeah. That's right. Safe."

Phoenix nods. Safe, safe, safe.

The block starts to recede from their mind as they repeat it, the hospital coming into sharper focus. They release a deep, shuddering breath.

"Thank you." They pull their hands back, tucking them into themself, and that's when they notice the red marks on Gemma's arm. They don't have enough left in them to feel any more scared, now, but it doesn't stop them remembering what Abbie's punishment for that would be. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to– I mean, I didn't know, I, um, I didn't mean to hurt you, I–"

"Hey, shh, it's okay. I know you didn't. I knew the risks. It'll just be a couple of bruises, it's fine, kiddo. Okay?"

Phoenix nods. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising for everything. None of this is anything you need to apologise for."

"Okay. I'm– right." They let out a weak chuckle. They're not used to this. No-one's ever told them *not* to apologise before.

"Shall we get cleaned up? Both of us. I'd like to get your blood off me at some point." Phoenix nods. "Great. Can I wash your hair?"

Gemma sounds hopeful and Phoenix doesn't know what they've done to deserve this.

"Please."

Please, let someone else take care of them for once. Gemma's so soft and warm and they need that, they crave it, and they find themself for once not caring too much about what she might want them for afterwards.

She must want them for something, right? To be doing all this?

"Right. You might want to take off your dirty underwear. And I guess I should undress too. If you're comfortable with that. Let me sort the shower head."

"It's, um, it's fine." Phoenix pulls off their stiff and dirty underpants, only vaguely aware they were still wearing them. Didn't... didn't they have a t-shirt on before? At some point? When did they lose that?

"Ready?"

They nod, and Gemma turns on the water.

Phoenix gasps as the spray hits them. Oh, it feels so good. Cool then warm and clean and pounding, pounding, pounding on their sore shoulders, their itchy scalp, turning light brown as it swirls down the drain.

And now they're thirsty. So thirsty, suddenly, and they tip their head back, mouth open, desperate to catch some. Water streams into their mouth, warm and not very nice to taste but water.

"The police will be here soon," Gemma murmurs, rubbing the roots of their hair. "They'll want to talk to both of us. Do you want me to stay with you or would you prefer to answer the questions on your own?"

Phoenix swallows hard. Given the choice, they'd rather not talk about their experience at all. But they don't have that choice.

"I– I can do it on my own. I need to do it alone."

They're determined not to be a burden any more than they already have been. They're not entirely useless, and they need to prove it both to themself and Gemma. Even if they're still barely present half the time and their memory's an incoherent jumble, their body even worse. They're not sure they can even walk properly, and the wrist spasm catapulted them back to the warehouse. It all makes them want to scream. They don't know how to make any of this better, but they know they need to do this alone.

"Okay. Let me know if you change your mind. However you do this, it's okay."

Phoenix knows that's a lie. It has to be. There's no way Gemma would be happy with them being even more dependent on her. But when she briefly places a hand on their shoulder, they rest their own on top anyway.

It's not enough. None of what they do is, and they know Gemma knows it too, but as long as she doesn't say anything they can pretend it is. Pretend they're enough.

They don't know what they're going to do if Gemma admits that they're not.

#whump #whump writing #immortal cannon fodder #phoenix oc #gemma oc #immortal whumpee #hero whump #hero whumpee #hero caretaker #whumpee and caretaker #hospital setting #crucifixion #panic attack tw #low self worth #past abandonment #resurrection #aftermath of resurrection #flashback

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justascrollingghost · 1 month

Text

As a girl who grew up with a very religious mum and still struggles when in any form of religious setting or conversation I have mad respect for Rhett and Link’s ear biscuits episodes about religion because it’s probably the most comfortable I’ve ever been listening to a religious discussion

#rhett and link #the fight/flight truly kicks in #yet I’m okay listening to this #if you think I’m joking #I was once in A&E with a friend and there were nuns there #I had a panic attack #this nun walked past us 3 times #and I went green #tw religion

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ashintheairlikesnow · 2 years

Note

🤝 for Jameson?

Also: 🌸 for Jameson bb pleaseee

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugly fucking mutt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He'll see-

"Jameson?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And finally...

One thing he can taste.

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

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

Nat's voice.

He can taste Nat's voice.

He's right here.

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

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squishablesunbeam · 1 year

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Defiance Pt. 5: Measuring Distance

Note: Look, they love each other okay. I'm going to struggle with this but it's the direction we are headed. I apparently have two ocs on my hands that are very much in love and they will be very messy and cute about it 🙄 please forgive any obvious relationship blunders. I don't usually go here! This is new territory and I tried to talk them out of it but they wouldn't listen!

TW: mentions of past noncon, recovering whumpee, ptsd symptoms, startle response, panic attack

Prev.

Cameron was learning.

He knew that Levi needed more space than most people. He'd always known that, but he also used to resent the hell out of it.

He realized that now.

Before, he'd taught himself to draw back from Levi and let Levi come to him when he was ready. But never without making Levi earn his attention back again. Cameron didn't fully realize what he was doing but he sees now that he'd been punishing Levi for needing to take time away from Cameron's company. He'd always taken it so personally, as if Levi was saying that Cameron was too much for him. It hurt, but he's coming to understand that it wasn't exactly the truth. So many assumptions were made back then, and zero communication. At some point, Cameron had stopped reaching back when Levi was ready to take his hand again and he'd let the only man he'd ever loved slip right through his fingers.

Things had to be different this time. They were getting a second chance.

Cameron swallowed down bile that rose up into this throat at the thought. Their second chance came with too heavy a price and Cameron was having a hard time separating them being able to reconnect with why Levi showed up on his doorstep in the first place.

He swallowed down a painful gulp of too cold water, thinking back on the long lists of therapists he'd looked up for Levi to try out whenever he was ready. Maybe he should give one a call for himself. Couldn't hurt.

He stole a glace across the table and couldn't help the grimace that marred his face.

Levi looked miserable, sitting across from him in the middle of a crowded restaurant. It was too much.

It's not that Levi hadn't gone out at all since the...incident? The rape? Since the attack? Fuck.

No, he'd gone out a handful of times but always alone. He'd insisted on that. Cameron knew that Levi was just testing himself, seeing what he could handle before allowing Cameron to see him so vulnerable.

He'd gone out for coffee a few times, or a walk around the block. He even went to get a few ingredients they needed to complete a pasta dish Levi had been wanting to make. Anything to try to get back to living again.

He still wasn't ready though.

Cameron knew that.

He knew it in the frazzled, clumsy way he'd always come back home, bumping into the corner of the wall or the kitchen counter or half missing the bowl that he usually put his keys in. He knew it in the way he lost the words he meant to say and had to just close his eyes and give himself a minute before trying again.

It shattered Cameron's heart every single time and he was desperate to just go with him. To hold his hand and tell him that he was safe and that he didn't have to always do it on his own, not anymore.

But Cameron was learning, and Levi did things in his own time.

Today though, Levi surprised him. He actually asked Cameron if he wanted to go out to lunch with him and Cameron couldn't breathe. His entire world exhaling into that singular moment.

Yes. Of course. Please. Anything you could ever want, it's yours.

At least, that's what he'd wanted to say.

He knew how big of a step this was for Levi, for them both, and he tried his best to keep his reaction as casual and nonchalant as possible in an effort to put Levi at ease.

Looking at him now though, Levi was anything but at ease.

“Hey.”

Cameron flinched when Levi did, both of them reaching for the water glass Levi almost knocked over in his surprise. It didn't spill. Levi steadied the glass and then breathed out a huge breath, steadying himself as well.

“Sorry," Levi pushed the word out from his chest, shifting awkwardly in his chair.

“No, nothing to apologize for. I'm sorry I startled you.”

This was too much. They should leave.

Levi's eyes wouldn't meet his, focused on his now wet fingertips from the dew that had collected on the glass. Brushing the wet pads back and forth, frowning at the sensation as if it had personally offended him.

He finally shook himself, wiping his fingers off on his pants and looking up at Cameron's painfully open face.

“I'm okay,” he attempted to reassure him.

Cameron felt the corners of his lips twitch into some semblance of a sympathetic smile. He wasn't okay. He knew that much, but he would be. Cameron had faith in this man more than anything else in the world. He was strong and resilient and fiercely independent. He would be okay. Cameron just prayed that the gnawing ache in his gut that told him he'd never get to see it, that Levi would leave, again, he prayed that feeling was wrong. Cameron didn't know how to get them to that space where they both felt safe. But he was sure as hell going to try.

He would try to listen, and learn, and adjust to what Levi wasn't saying. Or better yet, just ask him.

“So, do you want to maybe talk about it? Or do you want me to just pretend like this isn't hard? Honest question,” he lifted up his hands in placation, “Whatever you need.”

Levi's lips twitched up into a small smile before falling again and Cameron felt a small stitch in his chest release. Ok, that sort of worked. Levi ducked his head so Cameron couldn't see his eyes under the brim of the old baseball hat he'd grabbed from Cameron's closet before heading out the door.

Always hiding.

“I just- I feel like everyone's staring at me.”

Levi lifted his hand, brushing his fingers lightly over the fading bruises on his face; yellow now and almost nothing at all. The cuts would take longer of course.

Two in particular. A thick purple line from the corner of his left eye, cutting over his cheekbone. The other hadn't healed much better. It was smaller and a bit lighter but, jagged, as if it wasn't cut so much as torn. He knew that's exactly what had happened. That one told a horrific story. Set at the edge of his mouth, split about a half inch down past his lip. That one had reopened many times in the first few days. Even now, it looked painful.

Cameron absently bit at his own lip as it itched in sympathy.

Levi brushed his fingers over the healing cut under his eye, for the hundredth time.

“No one is staring. I promise.”

Cameron caught a flash of Levi's eyes, the deep lines set between them softening just a little.

“You are,” he said with just a hint of a teasing smile. Cameron loved to watch Levi, and Levi knew it and loved to point it out.

Cameron beamed, teeth flashing in a wide grin at the familiar banter.

“Well, you are very handsome. Can you blame me?”

Levi ducked his head again, his hat almost shadowing the blush that was seeping red into his cheeks, almost. The spray of freckles across the bridge of his nose that Levi hated so much darkening against the soft bronze of his skin.

Goddamn, he loved this man so fucking much.

Cameron's hands itched with longing. Finally, achingly, he gave in and reached across the table. His eyes were on Levi. Watching him track Cameron's own fingers as he brushed one under Levi's palm, just under his pinky. He was asking, as gently as he could, and waited patiently for an answer.

His heart burst into rolling flames when Levi shifted, easing his hand into Cameron's and curling his fingers around his own.

“You ready to order?”

Levi jumped at the perky waiter's overly chipper voice, his knee smacking into the bottom of the table, his hand clutching desperately to Cameron's before he abruptly let go. Leaving him feeling empty, that burning fire in Cameron's heart rushing through his body with fear instead of hope.

“Oops. Sorry, man,” the waiter smiling brightly, seemingly amused by the show, “I snuck up on you two didn't I?”

Levi wiped his now sweaty palms off on his jeans, never looking up at the man.

“It's fine,” he said, the words catching in his throat.

“Did you have a chance to look over the menu?”

Cameron watched Levi trying desperately to calm down his body for just half a second before smiling warmly up at the waiter, “Could you give us a few more minutes?”

“Sure thing,” the man grinned brightly and whipped around with a bit of a flourish as he set off to help another table.

The silence that settled around them felt thick. Cameron could feel it cloying heavily in his ears. It wasn't the silence between them that was the problem. He wanted to freely give Levi whatever space he needed but without the overwhelming shame that he could tangibly feel rolling in waves off Levi's body. Levi deserved to take all the time he needed, and he shouldn't have to feel like he has to run away and hide in order to get it.

“Hey, babe, I have an idea,” Cameron offered, gently but with a small measure of hope threaded into his tone.

Levi looked up, swallowing thickly, his hands never stopping the nervous drag up and down his jeans. He was desperately trying not to spiral in this very public space.

“Listen," he said, firm but calm, holding Levi's panicked gaze, "There's a food cart a couple blocks away. It's pretty nice out. How about we grab something easy, kebabs maybe? We could find a quiet spot in the park instead? What do you think?”

Levi breathed, maybe for the first time in the span of a minute, the color that had drained out of his face slowly coming back again.

Cameron watched the muscles in his jaw jump as he fought with his own thoughts.

“You want to leave?”

Cameron made face as if he was considering his options, looking around the restaurant, “I mean, yeah, but only if you do. It's too crowded in here anyway. But if you'd rather just go home, we can do that too?”

“No. No, I, um, kebabs sound good. We can do that.”

Cameron pulled out his wallet and left $10 for his coffee and for the waiter's trouble, watching Levi take two full, measured breaths out of the corner of his eye. Once he looked a little more steady, Cameron reached out and flopped his arm down across the table, palm up.

“Shall we, my love?”

Levi huffed out a breath and actually managed a smile, dramatically dropping his hand into Cameron's, “You're such a dork.”

Cameron smiled triumphantly as they stood up, leaning against each other's shoulders, and sneaking out of the busy restaurant and into the sunlight.

~~~

Levi sat overlooking the quiet pond with his back pressed against a huge oak tree, Cameron's back pressed firmly against his chest.

He felt solid, for the first time in weeks, months even.

He took another slow, deep breath of what seemed like the clearest, cleanest air in the world and let it out even slower. Just like he'd watched on the youtube videos he'd found after Cameron fell asleep one night.

He'd panicked, at the restaurant. It wasn't the first time. Six out of the eight times he'd managed to leave the apartment the last two weeks had ended in a panic attack.

Cameron didn't know.

At least he didn't think he did. He knew Levi wasn't exactly fine, especially since the day he'd come back without the onions and garlic bread that he'd specifically gone to the store for. He just hoped he didn't know exactly how bad it really was.

It was so embarrassing.

That might be the worst part.

After suddenly finding himself unable to breathe in the middle of a crowded coffee shop and damn near blacking out on the floor, he found himself wondering if you could actually die of nothing but sheer mortification. He could still feel the way the floor seemed to dip and stick to his hands when he tried to push himself back up, only to end up on is ass again, a frail, old lady having to help him to his feet as everyone else just gasped and watched.

He felt his heart thump greedily in his chest and took another slow breath, scratching his fingers through the silky blonde curls of Cameron's hair. Levi kissed the side of his head and felt the man in his arms hum quietly as he held him just a little tighter, pressing his bare feet into the cool, green grass.

This was good.

Cameron hadn't said a word once they arrived at the park. He just sat Levi down, pulled his shoes and socks off, and snuggled up against his chest. He was surprised at first, half expecting Cameron to just step away and leave him to spiral until he got control over himself.

Levi had sat stiffy, arms not even touching him as Cameron leaned all his weight against him, until he realized that Cameron was giving him a different kind of space. Cameron was here, grounding him, but he couldn't see him. Not really. Just his legs, his feet, but not his face. He couldn't watch the tears that fell down his face, or see the redness that blotched over his nose whenever he cried. He couldn't see the panic and fear that took hold when the thoughts got the better of him or when he lost control of his breath.

He could feel him though.

Levi knew he could.

He could feel when his breath hitched or when he moved to wipe at his face. He could feel when his heart raced out of control, his lungs dragging in ragged, incomplete breaths, over and over again. He could feel his tears fall into his hair.

But this was different somehow.

Cameron just laid quietly against him, breathing evenly, his heart beating a steady pace under Levi's palm.

It was a kind of vulnerability that Levi had never felt before.

He felt safe.

Cameron twitched in his arms and Levi smiled. He must have dozed off. He took the opportunity to nuzzle his nose into Cameron's hair, breathing him in. The scent of his shampoo filling his senses. God, he used to get made fun of so badly for that when they were teenagers. Always buying the prettiest smelling shampoos and never giving a shit what the assholes said about it.

Levi had never told him, but he had always loved it. He loved trying to guess the scent when Cameron showed up smelling like a different kind of fruit or flower.

Cameron jerked himself awake this time, sighing heavily when he realized where he was, his hand coming up to squeeze at Levi's arm across his chest.

Levi kissed his head again, smiling into his hair.

"You smell like lilacs."

He took Levi's hand and hummed sleepily, kissing his fingertips.

"It's your favorite."

Something warm and fond spread through Levi's chest. He'd never told Cameron that, but he was right.

Lilacs were his favorite.

Taglist: @starlit-darkness, @the-soup-is-burned-too, @pigeonwhumps, @honeycollectswhump

#my ocs are being all angsty and cute #make them stop!#defiance #levi and cameron #past noncon mention #recovering whumpee #ptsd tw #panic attack tw #this will be a fucked up love story now #be warned #I keep feeling like I need to apologize for that but it is what it is #my brain can happily torture ocs but god forbid they fall in love!#ignore me 😂#help me tag this if I'm missing things please

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