#TW: pain attacks

[peargreen-jellybean]

too fuckin long, so sorry about that, but enjoy a 3k word count poolverine hurt/comfort ficlet from the prompt idea i posted

my writing skills suck a bit and i wrote this on my phone but i did my best. enjoy

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Logan’s woken up in alleyways, face down, with clothes torn from a brawl he instigated and the glass bottles he’d fallen onto. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, he wakes up slumped over a table in the back of a bar because the owner was too afraid to tell him to leave.

Afraid of his claws or just his name.

The buzz of alcohol never stays long, even with high proof liquor, but the tiredness of a fucked up life still lingers for awhile more after several bottles of booze.

So waking up exhausted isn’t new. It's about the only way he’s woken up for a long time.

And that’s what Logan expects, slowly coming back to consciousness.

Exhaustion. Some hard surface. Hopefully most of his clothes intact.

One eye begrudgingly cracks open.

Yup, definitely a little fucked up. His joints ache deep into the bone and his head is cotton-y.

But… Nothing feels hard or sharp beneath him. In fact, he feels… comfortable.

Huh.

Turning just a bit, he finds his face buried in softness. It smells lived in; skin, spilled food, a hint of… gunpowder? And, after a moment, he hears the soft sound of music- too quiet to be bar music but not muffled enough to be from a building he isn’t inside of.

Huh.

“Mmm.” Using his forearms, Logan props himself up just enough to leave the softness and get a look around him.

Not an alley. Not a bar. Not even a cheap, seedy motel.

A house- er, an apartment more likely. And he’s sprawled, a moment ago face down, on top of an old couch with a blanket over him and pillow under him. Neither the couch nor the general space is all that large, he’s practically spilling off the furniture, but everything feels warm and lived in. Home-y, if a little messy.

There isn’t anyone else here- the living room, a good guess- but noises, once he registers them, coming from an adjacent room says he isn’t alone. The soft music seems to filter through from there as well.

Logan flips himself over, a bit too groggy to be elegant about it, and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The feel of gritty grime on his face, more than he usually gets after a night drowning in alcohol, confuses him.

And then-

His head slumps back into the pillow and he groans. “Fucking hell.”

The TVA. The Time Ripper. The Void.

The red spandex-ed asshole who stole him from his timeline.

… Who, after everything, took him home, here, introduced him to his blind roommate- Althea, if he recalls- and offered him a place to stay and sleep for a while. And, vaguely remembering being too tired to shower, who also gave Logan some clothes to sleep in.

Groaning, only half heartedly after remembering the comforts offered and taken, Logan pulls back the blanket and, likey for the first time, actually checks to see what he’s wearing.

A gray, “I eat cement” T-shirt and blue, rubber duck shorts.

Yeah, that seems about right.

He huffs, but sits up to get his elbows onto his knees and scrub more of the sleep away from his face. Instant regret again. Both he and Wade- battle worn and disgusting- had forgone a shower in favor of just near instantly passing out. He is fucking gross; dirt, blood, and god knows what else covering him in a disgusting layer.

Logan feels a pang of shame for getting onto their couch with this much dirt and sweat coating him- maybe he can wash the blanket and pillowcase as an apology- but a clattering from the room with the music recatches his attention. The volume of whatever song is playing- a woman singing, pleasantly raspy- increases afterward.

Too interested to ignore whatever’s going on, Logan gets up to stand- with only a small groan, thank you- and, after a quick, satisfying stretch, slowly pads over to the doorway. Nothing outright sounds or feels dangerous, but from his experience and especially after the past few days, the need for caution can’t be shaken.

He must still not be fully awake, because the smell hits him only a few creeping steps from the doorway; pepper, eggs, something a bit burnt.

Food.

God, he didn’t realize how hungry he was until now. Even the burning smell is appetizing.

Popping his head in, the sight inside startles him awake completely.

With “I <3 hot dads” shorts, a red apron, and fucking crocs on his feet, Wade shifts around in front of the kitchen counter, swaying to the song he has playing from a radio somewhere. The place is a complete mess of egg shells and plates, but the table has a, rather large, plate of scrambled eggs, another plate of half burnt toast, and an assortment of other breakfast items. The smell of coffee also hangs in the air. And for the first time, maybe since knowing the man- and when he wasn’t unconscious- Wade is happily content not saying a word. He simply turns a toaster, with a fucking butter knife stuck into it, this way and that, and shakes it like he wants information from it.

It’s jarringly warm, and domestic.

Logan is again thrown for a moment.

When was the last time he woke up to clean clothes- even though he himself is gross as hell- the softness of a pillow, to the smell and sight of another person cooking breakfast in a kitchen?

Ever?

That sounds pathetically sad and incorrect, but in the doorway, watching it happen in real time, Logan feels lost and a bit raw.

Lucky for him though, Wade is still an annoying fuck and pulls him from his thoughts.

Like he sensed the presence of the other man half lingering in the doorway, Wade looks back at him and smiles wide. All bright teeth. No mask.

“Well, good morning Peanut! Did ya sleep well? I don't know about you but I think being torn apart and put back together finally got rid of the knot in my back. God, I slept like Al after she goes through waaay too many little baggies.” He motions over to the table with his chin. “I made some eggs and toast if you want. A true triumphant heroes’ breakfast! Hopefully you like them both a bit overdone. And there’s a pot of coffee over there.” He gestures to a machine on the counter now. “You can literally just drink from the pot if you want. Caffeine does not work on me, funnily enough. We don’t have creamer but there’s milk in the fridge and sugar next to the coffee maker…”

Wade goes on to babble about everything and nothing and, while Logan cannot count the number of times he’s wanted to stab the man for not shutting up, he can’t find the want to be actually irritated.

Not in the face of food, and coffee, and just… comfort.

Speaking of…

Logan clears the lump in his throat. “Thanks.” It’s all he can think to say, but he means it, even with the rough rumble of his morning voice.

Which Wade seems to find fascinating.

“Holy shit! How the fuck does your voice get even deeper? God, you would make a killing as a erotic audio book reader. Millions probably.” Wade flashes a flirtatious look before he turns back to the toaster and continues to mumble to himself, or perhaps the broken machine.

Logan huffs, but the call of coffee is stronger than his need for a comeback. The whole pot is grabbed per the offer, the sugar too, and now standing in front of the table he finds himself hesitating. No spots are occupied and nothing says ‘preferred seat’, but Logan can’t help but pause. ‘Make yourself at home’ feels like the unsaid, unfamiliar offer he can’t accept as easily as the coffee.

It feels too easy- another pathetic thought- and he can’t help but feel like he isn’t awake yet, and the reality of a cold, pavement bed will greet him if he gets too comfortable…

“Stupid fucking piece of metal crap!” Wade hisses, followed by the sound of the knife stabbing into the toaster.

Nope, probably not a dream. Logan is not a creative enough person to come up with something like this.

God, so just… sit, you fucking moron.

Picking a chair facing away from the toaster killer, Logan sets the coffee pot down- on a mat he also picked up, he isn’t an asshole- and settles in.

He feels awkward, like a kid at his first sleepover, but the eggs are there in front of him and his stomach is starting to growl. Awkwardness can wait until after a few bites, at least. There’s a lack of something important on the table though. After a quick glance around the plates and cups, and not finding anything, he looks over to Wade who seems to be completely brawling with the toaster now.

Wincing at the sight, and before he can rethink his decision, Logan clears the remaining sleep from his throat and uses that to draw the other man’s attention.

“Do uh, do you got a fork or somethin’?”

“Ah fuck, that’s what I forgot!” Wade sets, or slams really, the toaster down and moves over to a drawer, then rooting through it. “Didn’t run the dishwasher either and all the good forks are in it. Fuck…” He mumbles something else too, but lets out a triumphant ‘ha!’ when he pulls out two forks, one a little more bent than the other.

He skips, almost, over to Logan and presents the utensils. “Here you go Peanut, pick your favorite!”

Grabbing the more bent fork, Logan nods a silent thanks and begins slowly transferring eggs from the larger plate to one of the smaller, empty ones. Wade, satisfied with the choice, simply sets the other fork onto the table and goes back to the counter, and that damn toaster.

But before brawling again, he calls back, “Help yourself to as much as you want Babygirl! You deserve it for all your sexy hero work!”

Logan huffs again but grabs one of the toaster’s victims, once he’s gotten a fair amount of egg, and takes a bite of the slightly over cooked toast and just… enjoys.

The moment is pretty… nice.

Warm food. Morning sun from the window- god, he doesn’t even know that time it is. Wade isn’t quiet, hardly ever is, but he’s not overly inane or loud right now.

It’s all… good.

So… What does it?

An old memory, like deja vu, from another place and time with other people? The still lingering, ghostly sensation of his own body shredding and healing, just below his skin? Wade grumbling at the counter over the broken toaster, like a strange picture of domestic living?

It could be anything, everything.

But all he knows is that it’s twisting into something else. Something darker, and sharper, and cold.

Logan starts to tremble in his seat and the fork in his hand damn near snaps in his grip. The bite of food in his mouth tastes like blood- no, it is blood. He’s bitten into his tongue. His heart is racing, and something is tight in his chest, too tight and still tightening. Crushing.

Air isn’t breathable. His lungs won’t let it in.

Whatever stupid song is playing now is muffled by a white hot pulsing between his ears.

… He knows this.

Panic.

This is panic.

Of all the times to break, after days of one problem after another, pain after pain, this is when it happens? Now? While he’s sitting in Wade fucking Wilson’s kitchen, wearing his worn-soft clothes and eating at his table and listening to some soft song on the radio?

Yes, it is.

Pathetic.

Fucking pathetic.

He can’t focus anywhere anymore- it’s too much, too overwhelming, too fucking stupid to reason with- and burning nausea is creeping up his throat.

He’s spiraling. He’s breaking. And he can’t find the fight to beat himself out of it.

Perhaps that’s the reason he doesn’t hear the increasingly desperate ‘Logan?’s behind him or the quick footsteps moving towards the table.

He does startle, however, at a sudden touch to the side of his skull, making him gasp.

His claws gouge the surface of the table and knock over a half-filled water cup but, remarkably, they don’t thrust into the sudden presence pressing to his side.

It takes a good minute to process the situation, much slower than it usually takes him. But he feels the warmth of another person and the pressure of a hand on his head and his head is bent at an odd angle-

Wade, his mind breathes. This is his scent- gunpowder, spandex, and his own strange, unique smell. The touch to the back of his skull is his hand and the press to his cheek is the exposed skin below his shirt.

He’s cuddling him.

Uh-

And because it’s what he does best, Logan rages.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Logan snaps, and he yanks his head back from the other man’s grasp. Or, at least, he tries to.

“Eeeasy Peanut,” Wade hushes, not relinquishing Logan’s head. It's easy to forget the teasing, ridiculous man is incredibly strong. The battle lasts all of two seconds, and Wade’s stubbornness takes the victory. Logan’s cheek presses back to his hip and stays there under the weight of his hand.

“Easy, easy, easy…” Wade mumbles. He hesitates, only for a moment. “Vanessa did this… when shit got really bad.”

He’s quiet. He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to. The meaning and weight of the softly spoken words are enough.

There’s a growl starting to rumble in his chest and while he wants to fight against Wade harder- he doesn’t need sentimental crap or, god forbid, pity- Logan takes a breath just long enough to pause here in the moment, and let’s himself feel.

Wade’s hand is cradling his skull and his fingers are threaded through his hair. The weight of them is firm, but not crushing. No, they’re gentle. And they press his cheek and temple into Wade’s side, where the dip of his waist is. Even at the odd angle his neck is bent to, the shape of the dip fits to his face near perfectly and, if obliged to stay here, he would be comfortable. Wade’s body heat- much like his own, running high due to constant cellular regeneration- seeps into him. Into his skin, and then his flesh, and then his bones, settling deep into his chest.

All of it, it… helps.

The revelation startles Logan.

The weight and solidness of Wade is grounding; constant, steady pressure. His warmth slowly relaxes the painful tightness behind Logan’s ribs. Even his smell- showered now, likely before he started cooking, still strange but not unbearable- settles his mind just because it’s there.

Wade… is anchoring him.

Maybe he really should fight this harder, or be annoyed at the coddling, or pissed just because he’s being handled at all, but Logan can’t keep a grip on any of the feelings. He can’t stop the calm that pulls him in and brings him down. It’s so- He’s feels so-

…

… When was the last time he was held?

Not fucked by nameless faces, or hanging on to another person for dear life, or punch near through the stomach- Held.

Was it before- God does it hurt.

… Was it before, when he had his fellow mutant friends and family? Before that?

After?… Definitely not.

Warmth, gentleness, nothing of the kind was what he deserved afterwards. He could never reward himself with something he never showed, and no one offered it to him regardless.

Logan shudders, his breath likely teasing Wade’s skin but, if the other man feels it, he blissfully leaves the fact be.

Wade- warm, solid, annoying as hell Wade- who breaks his train of thought, unaware of it. “Better right? When Vanessa first did this, waaay back in the storyline, I fucking melted like a kid’s ice cream. It’s like the guilty, trauma victim’s morphine.” He pauses, and there’s a grin to his words now. “I also ate her out that first time, but we can wait to do that until the second mental breakdown session, Babygirl.”

Yup. There it is. Asshole.

But Logan just, non-committedly hums, although it's more of a grumble. Yeah, Wade will probably be insufferable after this, smug and a whole new level of too comfortable touching him, but right now, right here, he’s calming.

He’s- something Logan can’t quite name. Or at least, he’s unwilling to.

Call Logan weak, call him pathetic- because he truthfully is, just below the storm in his skin- and like hell does he actually deserve this, but he’s gonna savor it for as long as he possibly can.

Seconds pass, or maybe hours, and the gentle massage of Wade’s fingertips to his scalp continues during it before his hand slides away from Logan’s hair onto his shoulder.

The loss of that contact against his head is disappointing-a private thought- but when Wade shifts like he’s about to move away the disappointment quickly morphs into panic.

He isn’t ready to let go.

He isn’t ready for Wade to leave.

With pure, unthinking action, Logan latches onto the fabric of Wade’s shorts just below the hip he isn’t leaning against. He fists the material into a ball, like he’s afraid the other man will just disappear if he doesn’t hold tight enough.

Like he really is going to wake up, and be alone again with only the memory of coffee and warmth.

Embarrassment quickly reddens his face once he understands what he’s done but, instead of releasing Wade, Logan turns his face into his hip to hide. Clenching his eyes shut for extra precaution.

Weak. Pathetic.

Wade is quiet, his hand hovering above Logan’s shoulder after it was started off but, just as Logan is about to relinquish his hold of the man- he can't bear the unnerving stillness of him- Wade surprises him again.

Quick but gentle, Wade cups the back of Logan’s head and neck, turns ever so slightly to the side, and presses Logan’s forehead to the cushion of his stomach. And just lets the other man stay against him, as he rubs his head and shoulders.

Logan cries a small sound he’s never heard himself make before- something wounded, and relieved, and ragged- but he can’t be bothered to care. Not right now. He releases his death hold on Wade’s shorts and wraps his arms around the other man’s thighs, as flush against him as he can be in their current positions. His hold might be too tight, edging on painful most likely, but Wade doesn’t complain. Doesn’t do anything except this… hold him.

Thank you, thank you, thank you…

“Of course, big guy. Whatever you need.”

Ah, he said that out loud.

… He’ll care about that later. Logan will be pissed, and embarrassed, and in denial at some point, but it’ll all be later. When Wade isn’t cradling him or murmuring soft words. When he isn’t cooking warm food or listening to music on the radio.

When he isn’t making him feel like, for the first time in a long time, he’s allowed to have kindness.

Fucking… Wade.

[good-beanswrites]

If it's okay with you, could you write a drabble about the hypothetical aftermath of Amane getting attacked by Kotoko?

Welp thank you pal for making me absolutely insane with this request 👍 I ran through a few hypotheticals and realized I had to shift some things around since there were so many absolutely tragic outcomes. I worked something out but damn if it didn’t make me emotional to think about how uniquely rough Amane has it. Even making sure she's in a good place at the end, this got pretty serious, so warnings for child abuse and cult references. 

(So in canon, Kotoko goes in order and attacks Fuuta, but Kazui steps in. Then she attacks Mahiru while he’s distracted with his injuries. She’s about to attack Amane, but Mikoto gets in the way (my hc that he did it on purpose survives!). By the time they reach a draw, Kazui is back, and the two of them can prevent Kotoko from any further action against Amane. Sticking to this apparent system of three attacks and one rescue, I’m just shuffling around the injuries for this story. Fuuta’s attack went unnoticed, and he’s in the same state as canon Mahiru. Mikoto steps in before Kotoko can fight Mahiru, so Mappi’s the one who get out physically unscathed. While Mikoto checks on Mahiru, recovers himself, or discovers Fuuta, Kotoko is able to attack Amane next. Kazui comes to help, but not before she leaves Amane looking like canon Fuuta.)

Mahiru could practically feel her heart shatter into a million pieces when Amane finally cried in front of her. She hadn’t shed a single tear yesterday – it was the shock, Shidou said. Mahiru was skeptical. After all, she had been shocked, too, and cried plenty.

Amane woke as she came in with breakfast. She took a moment to survey herself, bandages peeking out from beneath her pajamas and an eyepatch securely over her right eye. As calmly as one might say “good morning,” she started to cry. Mahiru might have missed it, if Amane hadn’t wiped at her good eye with her sleeve.

“Oh, sweetheart…!” Mahiru rushed over to her. “It’s okay, I’m here.” She wanted nothing more than to wrap the girl in a secure embrace, but she remembered the mass of bandages that were around her chest. Shidou had mentioned broken ribs and bruises. It took everything in her not to cry along with Amane, at the thought.

“I can get you another ice pack, if you need. Or more medicine.” Her mind spun with ways to help with pain. Many of the first aid supplies had been used to keep Fuuta from the brink of death, but surely there were extras to spare for Amane. 

The girl just shook her head. 

She muttered, “I can’t… I…I’m going to be punished, I’m going to be punished…”

“No! You’re safe now.” Mahiru placed her hands gently on Amane’s arms. “Kotoko’s not coming back. We’re all watching over you. You’re safe. She’s not going to hurt you anymore.” 

“That’s not…” Amane pulled away. Her voice stayed level, despite hiccups interrupting her. A hand reached up to her eyepatch. “It’s this. It’s all of this. It’s sinful. I took it off last night, but he must have…” She started unwrapping it. “They’re going to punish me...” 

With a careful motion, Mahiru held it in place and took Amane’s hands into her own. She’d been picking up on the signs ever since they arrived here together, and a final wave of understanding washed over her. 

“I can’t let you do that.”

Amane’s expression twisted, though words came out far more frantic than fiery. “Let me go.” 

Mahiru didn’t. “I’m sorry. Amane, you need this treatment.”

“That is not your decision to make. That is not any human’s decision to make.”

Mahiru pressed her lips together. “I know. But I can’t watch as you… I can’t sit by again while someone…” She was careful not to apply any pressure, but she could no longer fight the urge to gather Amane up in her arms. “You don’t need to be afraid of those people, anymore.”

“I’m not afraid.” Amane hiccuped. “They love me, and I love them. I need to be good for them.”

“I love you, and I don’t want to see you in pain.”

“You just pity me because I’m young.”

“Why does your age matter? You are a lovely young woman – you are my friend – and I can’t bear to see you in pain.”

The two sat in silence for a moment. Mahiru doubted she would take that as an answer; Amane had refused to call any of the others her friend. At least she didn’t argue. In fact, it seemed she was leaning into the embrace a bit more. She sighed a shaky breath into Mahiru’s uniform.

“Listen, Amane. Can you do me a favor? I’m trying to be a good girl, too. To make up for something awful, I need to make sure you’re alright. Can you help me? Can we be good together?”

A long pause followed. Amane’s voice spoke up, ever so gently.

“I suppose I can consider it.” She added quickly, “for the sake of your redemption. Of course.”

“Of course.”

[whumpshots]

Whumptober #3

Trope of the day: “Make it stop.”

_

Tears run out of whumpee's eyes, who squeezes them shut, averting their face from caretaker who is still sleepy and confused. Whumpee feels their hand on their shoulder and flinches, the panic and pain too much to bear.

They hear the other's muffled voice, their own hands pressed to their ears to make the loud noises stop. All of them are overshadowed by their own racing heartbeat.

“Make it stop,” whumpee rasps through their gritted teeth as their body cramps in pain of old and new injuries, of hallucinations and invisible daggers cutting them. “Please, just make it - make it stop,” they repeat and feel caretaker's hands wrapping around them.

Whumpee is lifted up into the other's arms, holding them close, almost too close. But they don't let go, won't let go. Caretaker removes one of whumpee's hands from their ears, which is pressed against their chest.

The steady heartbeat makes them freeze and catch their breath for a moment, their body still shaking. “I got you, kid. Now breathe with me.”

[froggyphycosis]

Sleepless nights and something handcrafted

Fic based on a headcannon by @turtleblogatlast which is here (might contain spoilers so I'll link it at the end aswell if you want to read it after)

Summary

Pretty much all of Leo's comics are destroyed from the Kraang and Shredder so he has to read them all digitally. Mikey finds out and does somthing about it.

5899 words

Uhhhhh tw's and cw's real qiuck

Swearing

panic attacks

Nightmares

Implied/refferences to death (in a dream though nothing serious or majorly descriptive)

And characters being in pain

Eughhhh that sounds bad but I swear this fic is hurt/COMFORT so

(if there's anything in forgetting to tag let me know please!!)

______________________________

It's quiet, and calm.

Its reached that rare lull in the lair where everyone is off to do there own thing peacfully without another brother to cause chaos or niose along with them.

And suddenly, (and not at all surprisingly) Mikey finds himself bored, lying in his hammock and to tired to do anything and lonely without the immediate proximity to one of his older brothers.

It's an achievement if anything, it's the first time since the invasion that there hasn't been anything to do, no medical checkups to take care of, no panic attacks to be had... Just peace.

No one is actively dying, the chores are done, hes already cooked dinner (dad had even joined them aswell! He'd been doing that more often since the invasion, it warmed Mikey up a little on the inside he liked it when dad ate dinner with them and secretly hopes he keeps doing it).

So what does Mikey do then? he already knows he's gonna seek out one of his brothers, but who....

Well Donnie is busy in his lab right now using really loud machinery, and as much as Mikey *loves* sitting and drawing in the lab with him, it would be to loud to concentrate on anything.

He could go and hangout with Raph.... but he's training, trying incredibly hard to acclimate to the lack of sight in his right eye, and Mikey doesn't want to interrupt that.

So that means.... he can hang out with Leo!

Great! The portal duo for the win! He thinks triumphantly. Mikey can't think of anything that Leo could be doing right now. He knows that Leo isn't out with Usagi, since he went out with him before dinner, and he probably wouldn't have gone to April's without texting the group chat first...

So he's definitely free!

Mikey hops up from his hammock with more excitement than is probably necessary, and skips his way to Leo's room.

"LEO!" he shouts, slamming the door open with his foot, and happily watching as Leo jumps out of his shell.

"FU-JESUS Mike what in the all living HELL do you want??"

"Company!"

"The fuck do you mean company??"

"I'm like, reaaaaaaaaal bored right now, so I need a sibling to fill that void! And I'm obviously picking you!" he doesn't move from where he's standing, because if Leo is actually doing something he doesn't want to be interrupted from, Mikey will leave.

But just as he thought, (and maybe kind of planned) Leo rolls his eyes affectionately, switches his tablet to one hand and holds out his arm, Mikey doesn't need anymore encouragement than that, he dives into the bed and cuddles himself right up into Leos side.

"Sooooooo what'cha doin?"

"Reading comics," he snorts.

Mikey pauses, looking around the bed,"What where? thought you were doing somthing with your tablet?"

"Yeah I was I'm reading them on digital." Leo lifts up the screen, and holds it out in front of him, Mikey can see the grainy image of one of Leo's favourite JJ comics. "they all got destroyed remember? And I couldn't buy them so I just read them on here."

Mikey's stomach drops.

Oh crap, he had completely forgotten most of Leos comics were *destroyed*. He glances over at the corner of the room, where sure enough, a heap of his old comics were laying in a pile, destroyed beyond repair.

"Oh Leo.... I am so sorry, I had completely forgotten about your comics that must be awful," Mikey sinks a little feeling bad for even having come into the room now "sorry for bringing it up."

"W-what Mike's it's fine it doesn't even matter! I'm not upset really!" Leo looks midly shocked and a little guilty, which is stupid because Mikey brought it up.

He chucks the tablet to the side nonchalantly, rolling his eyes "Its fine! I don't even really read comics that much anymore ya know??" he smiles nervously.

Yeah, because you don't have any, is what Mikey wants to say, but he very patiently keeps his mouth shut.

Mikey knows he's lying, he can see it, he's far more perceptive than his brothers are. He can see the way Leo's eyes get a little bit shinier,the way his brow creases and he avoids Mikey's eye contact like it's the plague.

And the box turtle's heart sinks.

It's not okay, *it's not*, all of his old comics that are still intact enough to keep, but not enough to read, are piled up in the corner, a constant reminder of lost childhood.

It makes *Mikey* want to cry looking at it, he can't imagine what it must feel like for Leo to look at it every night.

Mikey doesn't push Leo on the subject, they end up going to play animal crossing with Dee instead but it doesn't leave Mikey's head for an instant, bugging him like and itch at the back of his skill that he can't itch.

He's going to find a way to fix this, even if he has to walk across a mile of broken glass to do so.

________________________________

Mikey doesn't sleep that night, even if his body is exhausted, (even months later his body still feels drained from opening that portal).

He probably shouldn't be awake, they did all agree on set sleeping times, or at least lying-down-and-trying-to sleep-times the name was a work in progress.

And he might be a little hypocritical for not following that since it was his idea-But! In his defense, he was on an important mission! So it was like totally 100% fine.

He was trying to find copies of jupiter Jim comics for Leo, because he was obviously sad about it, even though he wouldn't admit it. And Mikey was *officially*, the worst little brother in the entire whole wide universe, if he'd didn't *try* and do somthing about it.

So that's what he was doing obviously.

Leo was the bravest person he knew. He had been through hell and back for his family, and even the world, for people he didn't know.

He was an incredible big brother, and leader, and Mikey decided this was his way to give back just a fraction of that kindness in return.

Then again.... the universe seemed pretty against him right now, blessing him with the lack of any physical copies, of any kind of jj comics, on the entire internet.

Mikey spent the whole night, scouring the internet, and using every website he could think of to find them, but alas, not a trace. Dammit, why couldn't dad have found really well known dvds and comics thrown away in the sewers for Leo's and Donnie's birthday? This situation would have been so much easier.

Maybe like Harry Potter, or something, he wonders how much different their life would be if that ever happened, maybe Dee would've believed in magic sooner. (he makes himself snort with that one).

It takes him 5 hours before he finally stops and decides to throw in the towel, he's going to have to quit, there isn't anything anywhere. Which just sucks, because Mikey hates losing, and hates giving up on anything even more, but he closes the laptop down anyway with a sigh, and shuffles down into a more comfortable position.

He glances at the clock across the room, and eughh boyyy.... Well it's 7 o'clock, so he's going to have to get up in 10 minutes to make breakfast.

He stayed awake all night.

Whoops.

Stupid vintage comics he thinks darkly.

He'll have to go up topside to try and find some in a comic book shop tommorow he thinks as he finally let's his exhaustion give in and closes his eyes.

_____________________________

"UGHHHHHHHH," Mikey groaned loudly, dropping the comics in his now 5 fingered hands. His loud outburst garnering several odd looks from the staff and other shoppers in the store.

"April they have to be somwhere right??"

Casey and April both glanced at eachother, and then over at him sympathetically.

"Look Mikey..." April starts, before CJ pipes up next to her, having resumed flicking through the comics.

"Mikey, we have been to almost every comic shop in new York, big and small i mean this as politghtly as possible, I don't think we can get Leo's comics back." he looks at Mikey softly, "I'm sure he would appreciate the effort though."

He couldn't help but diflate at that, he's failed *again*, he's failed Leo....

April walked around the box, and pulled him into a hug that he happily buried himself into, and Casey, in a rare show of public affection, joins aswell.

But when he finally pulls apart and swipes an orange sleeve over his eyes, he suddenly gets a plan so cool, so ultimately awsome and incredibly smart that even *Leo* would be jealous.

"Okay, guys, I think i know what i need to do," he looked up at April and gave her the most mischievous grin he could offer "I think we're gonna need to take a trip to the art store."

"ohhohohohono what does that look mean?? What are you up to?" she squinted at him hands planted on hips

"hush now april," Casey places a hand on her shoulder, and the other on his heart "that look can only mean great things," he grinned "so Mikes where we heading?"

______________________________

Leo hopped across the platform over to Mike's train cart, his leg was acting up today much to his own dismay, not so bad to tell anyone though.... Just bad enough that walking was a little inconvenient, he probably didn't need any meds to be honest, he should be fine.

He gets to the door of the train cart and slams it to the side as hard as he can, (payback for the other day) it bangs when it hits the frame.

"Ohhhhhh Miguelllll!!!"

He gets sight of Mikey staring at his tablet, (it's almost a mirror of April without her glasses Leo thinks with a smile) before he slams his sketchbook closed, and shoves everything within arms reach off his desk, Leo has already been there a few seconds watching this unfold.

Okayyyy....That was....Odd...

"ohhhhhh hey Leoooo...," Mikey smiled nervously, hands tapping against his plastron. It's a stim he's had since was a tot, "so ummmm what are you doing in my room?"

"nothinnnnng.... So what were you drawing?" he glanced down at the sketchbook that had been shoved on the floor, still open, he could only make out the faint sketches of boxes and nothing else, before Mikey slammed it shut and held it to his chest.

"N-nothing," his little brothers face doesn't look caught anymore, it looks worried now, and that face twists somthing in Leo's stomach.

"wait, shit, Mikey have your hands been acting up again??" oh fuck oh no "Mikes we talked about this, if they start hurting you have to tell somone even if you don't think it feels that bad."

He feels a switch go off on his brain the second he thinks Mikey is hurt and everything else goes out the back window.

His little brother has a tendency to fix things, not in the way that Donnie does, with his intellect and his smarts, with nuts and bolts and tech and limitless knowledge.

Mikey fixes sadness, and hurt, he comforts and loves with a single minded focus that leaves anyone in its wake absolutely astonished at how plentiful and sincere it is.

No matter who it is, where it is, or when it is, if it's broken he'll fix it.

But he will *always* leave himself behind.

Its not intentional, he doesn't mean to, he'd take care of himself if he realized. But once Mikey has his mind made up? Its done. He'll get it done no matter what, leaving him to forget about himself.

He's lucky enough to have a family that recognises it, and help before it gets to bad.

"What no my hands are fine Leo seriously!"

"yeah Mikey, maybe so, but I'm still gonna take a look now put 'em out ."

Mikey doesn't retaliate, just takes his wraps off exasperatedly and lays his hands out for Leo to see.

He doesn't react when Leo softly presses down on the scars, and bends his finger and elbow joints gently so they probably weren't hurting.... And the shakes are small and unnoticeable unless you look hard.

So Mikey is fine.

Then why was he so jumpy before???

"hows your leg doing Leo?"

Leo's head snaps up to meet Mikey's gaze, feeling to shocked by sudden line of questioning to actually answer immediately.

"o-oh uhm my leg is fine Mikey, thanks for asking."

He feels the tension drain out of him now that he's sure Mikey isn't hurt, he looks fine, if a bit panicky, and Leo is starting to wonder what kind of secret he's hiding in his sketchbook. The blackmail opportunities could be unreal....

He's *definitely* trying to cover something up, now Leo *can* just outright say that he knows that, but watching Mikey try, and fail, to lie about it, would be waaaaay funnier.

"OH really.....?" Leo stares him dead in the face even though its not being returned at all "so if your hands aren't hurting, why won't you show me your art? what kind of things were you drawing exactly..?"

Mikey squeaks, and his face dips into his shell a little before popping out again fully, to yell "U-UH ITS TUPER SOP SECRET!!!"

Damn, Dontron probably heard that from his maximum security sound proofed lab, *and* with full volume music blasting through his headphones.

"awww come on, please tell me, please please please please!!" he clasps his hands together and makes what he hopes are decent puppy dog eyes.

His little brother doesn't answer him, instead he sinks down further in his shell.

"Mmmmmnnno, and you still haven't told me why you were in here either?"

Its probably the most awful attempt Leo has ever seen at changing the subject, but he takes pity on his brother and decides to go along with it anyway.

"Nothing really I was just bored and wanted to see if you wanted to come and play Mario kart with me?" he grins "you do owe me for the entertainment I provided you with the other day."

The box turtle visibly perks up at this face now fully visible.

"omigosh!! yes! absolutely! I would love to!!" he threw hi sketchbook behind him, and hopped off his chair "lead the way Leon!!"

Leo couldnt help the laugh that sputtered out of him. How Mikey could go from dying of fear, to sunshine and smiles in such a short time was beyond him.

"yeah yeah alright, would you mind giving me a hand though? my leg is kinda sore today."

Mikey swings round and looks at him accusingly "I thought you said it was fine??"

Oh shit yeah.

"Y-yeah it is!! its just a little sore, promise, now come on give me a hand you goof."

Mikey rolls his eyes, but can't help the grin that over takes his face and agreeably lends Leo his shoulder.

He won't bother Mike about whatever he's hiding, Leo may be crazy curious, but he knows that if Mikey does anything to dumb or to stupid, he's got him to rely on and go to when he's in need of help, so Leo feels comfortable in letting him hide whatever it is he's hiding, plus he thinks he'd know if it was somthing bad.

____________________________

It was roughly around 3am, and the little sleep Leo got these days was unfortunately interrupted yet again with another nightmare, another dream about the Kraang again, but this time it was concentrated on *Mikey*.

His mind kept playing a loop of the exact moment when Mikey left-when he was gone, gone gone gone gone gone, went cold in Leos arms and, and-Leo woke up. Drenched in his own sweat, hot and frozen at the same time, still stuck in the position he fell asleep in. Unable to move, it took him an eternity before his *useless* muscles finally dragged themselves upright and out of his bed.

He was sprinting towards Mikey's dimly lit glittery train cart before he even realized he was doing it. Chest heaving, and the ache in his leg only second hand awareness at best.

Warm orange light was pouring out of the cart, and the smell of that citrus diffuser his baby brother always insisted on using was so subtle, but so overwhelmingly comforting, that it sort of makes Leo want to cry.

The lights being on must me he's awake then, and Leo thanks pizza supreme in the sky, because waking up his brothers from the little sleep they got nowadays felt awful. And doing it to Mikey always felt the worst, because that was his little brother he was waking up, and for his own stupid needs too.

Stupid. stupid. stupid. Stupid.

He slides open the door as quietly as he can,his eyes taking a minute to adjust.

Mikey is passed out on the floor, pens pencils, headphones and other art supplies scattered around him and it makes his heart momentarily jump into his throat seeing he's not awake-not alive *not moving*. He snaps out of the spiral quickly though and realizes he needs to calm down right now or he's gonna pass out.

Having a panic attack in his little brothers room is not the most optimal place to do so, so the slider takes a minute to compose his frenzied nerves realizing how worse it's gotten since he woke up. So sitting next to his *sleeping* brother, he breathes in and out in slow even breathes, in the way they all learnt to, it was almost muscle memory by now.

Ha, if only it was that easy to actually calm down.

Leo stands up joints creaking and leg whining in the protest, oh right, he ran here, that's gonna hurt like a bitch tommorow he just knows it.

Picking Mikey up is usually no problem, hes small and lightweight compared to his brothers, but with his shaking arms and tired body, (that's currently down a leg) the task is almost monumental, and he feels out of breathe by the time he's dumped the box turtle into his hammock.

He can still hear soft music playing from Mikey's headphones and he picks them up and listens to it. His mind is still groggy from all the running and panicking, so it takes a second to realize whats playing.

Oh! It's Mr sunshine! Ha, he's so good.

Oh, wait. it's Mr sunshine. maybe they should talk about that later...

He turns the headphones off and puts it on his desk along with his pens, pencils, rubbers, rulers-who needs four rulers?? Where did he even get this all from?who needs this many art supplies and aren't half of these markers dried out anyway??

He can't even be bothered to ask right now, he unceremoniously dumps all of it back on the desk without further question, he picks up Mikey's phone, hoping that he was just listening to music and not staring at that it, would be awful for his eyes. But when he picks it up however he's not greeted with music, but a comic book. And not just any comic book, he notices belatedly,but his favourite.

Jupiter Jim and the eight giant dragons of evil why would he be reading that?

Leo blinks a few times, a bit confused to say the least, before he finally glances down at the sketchbook in his hands.

And sees and exact replica of the page but in pencil.

And then it clicks. everything clicks.

holy shit, Mikey is trying to recreate his favourite comic book. But there's no way??

Now Leo doesn't know much about art, he half listens to info dumps about trashy a.i art, and the hatred that Mikey has for wearing gas masks (against solid protests from himself, Raph and Donnie to do so otherwise

But Leo knows that making a comic book is *hard*, harder and more time consuming that it has any right to be, even for a good artist like Mikey-and he would know! He tried making his own when he was like 12 only to get frustrated an angry 2 minutes in, and quit (he hasn't tried since).

And secondly, how did he even realize he had wanted the real version of a comic anyway? He hadn't *asked* for one, hadn't hinted at wanting it. He swore Mikey was actually a fucking mind reader sometimes, maybe this was just another "mystic warrior thing" he doesn't get.

And then, the sudden, very violent urge to cry swamps him. Even if Mikey never finishes this project never gives it to him, he still *wanted* to.

The fact is, that Mikey, with injured arms, and a hundred other more intersting and wonderful projects more worth his time, is going to attempt to make a comic for *him* and it sort of makes Leo want to cry. It *does* make him cry.

He holds the sketchbook close to his plastron and let's the tears slip down his face. He doenst know what he'd do without his family, without Mikey, he doesn't know what he's Done to deserve the endless patience and comfort that his brothers provide.

He leaves after a minute or two, when the tears on his face stop flowing, leaving sticky trails down his face, and his breathing is no longer raggid from the crying. He leaves the sketchbook and phone where they are, closed and turned off.

Hopefully Mikey will think it was another brother that came in and fixed this all up for him. Or maybe he'll simply belive he cleaned up and put himself to bed and just doesn't remember.

"goodnight little brother, get a good rest."

_____~roughly 2 weeks later~________

Mikey took a deep breathe in, and a deep breathe out. His head was starting to ache from lying it down on his desk for so long, he had decided to take a short break from drawing Leo's comic a while ago, much to his disdain. Although he can't say specifically, since everything in his head feels like molasses, and he's to busy concentrating on the never ending pain in his hands to think about it for to long.

It feels almost nauseating. His body thrumming uncomfortable, the itchy, fiery energy getting stronger, hands shaking more fiercely until it reaches its peak, and his while body seizes up and let's go.

(Its his own fault, this doesn't happen unless he pushes himself to hard. Apparently 6 hours straight of art is not good for you.

Noted.)

He *wants* to pick his head up, he *wants* to carry on drawing, he *wants* to be able to do this for Leo, but he just *can't*. He's useless, his own body is betraying itself, consuming itself in and endless mystic well of power that it itself created, and Mikey can't do anything but sit here and whimper in the dark.

He feels pathetic, he doesn't even know how long it will last. The longest period was 6 hours, which is the closest to living hell he's ever been, beside watching Leo throw himself into the prison dimention, followed closely in second by opening the actual portal itself.

He can't even move enough to grab his phone and call his brothers, he can't scream or talk. So he sits there, and cries and sobs and hiccups openly, and loudly, praying that *someone* will hear him. Thankfully but no sooner than he had started crying, had the small sliver of light coming through his door begun to get bigger, and his train cart door began to open.

".... Angelo?."

It was donnie.

*Thank god.*

His voice was still failing him, unable to speak but overwhelmed with the desire to say *something*, he just cried harder.

"woah woah woah! Okay okay Angelo I'm right here okay? Your safe, your fine." he crouched down by the desk so he was closer to Mikey's face "I'm... I'm gonna pick you up now okay Angleo? If I end up hurting you in any way just uh chirp okay?"

Donnie put an arm underneath his legs and shell, and lifted him up into a bridal carry, pausing slightly to listen for the sound of Mikey's distressed chirp, before continuing forward towards his door. Mikey slumps and closes his eyes, pressing his warm face into Donnie's cool arm. He let's out a sigh of content, no longer cramped from being stuck in a stiff and awkward position, for who knows how long.

Donnie sighs,in that long suffering kind of way he always does when his family has done something stupid, but Mikey doesn't bother to open his eyes to see what face he makes.

Mikey thinks he must have fallen asleep at some point, because when he's next aware, he's being handed off to a very worried looking Raph.

"hey big man sorry to wake you up, you can carry on cuddling with Dee in a minute he just needs to do somthing okay?" Raph is smiling down at him and holds him just a little tighter.

Mikey nods, and rubs his eyes turning his head so he can look at the scene in front of him, (his hands barely even hurt anymore, maybe they rubbed that special cream that Draxum made on them) they're in the TV room now, illuminated by the projection screen paused hlaf way through on one of Leo's favourite movies, him and Donnie are placing various pillows and blankets on the floor.

Leo is whispering something to his twin in a frantic, worried, hushed tone that Mikey is to tired to parse right now.

But Donnie looks at Mikey for a fraction of a second, before rolling his eyes affectionately and placing down the last of the pillows, (they were probably talking about him, he hopes he isn't barred from making breakfast tommorow though, he wanted to make omelettes) huffing, when Raph unceremoniously flops down on top of them shell first, Mikey still being held against his plastron. Raph opens up his arms and Leo snuggles right up beside him, whilst Donnie snuggles into Raph's other side.

Mikey can feel himself start to drift off into comfortable sleep again, when he feels a familiar finger rudely poke him in the face. He opens his eyes just barely to see a familiar blue mask and worried brown eyes peering back at him.

"sorry mi hermano this'll be quick, I promise, what were you doing that caused your arms to flare up so badly?"

Mikey feels annoyed that he's being kept up for this but sighs and concedes "mmmmm I was drawing for a really long time.... and i didn't take any breaks..." he mumbles, shutting his eyes again, falling faster into darkness this time.

"oh....." Leo sighs softly "your to nice for you own good little brother..." Mikey barely even registers his brother's voice anymore, to busy falling asleep to even notice it.

_________________________________

Mikey grins and closes the comic book, he holds it out in front of him looking at all his hard work.

Its done. It's finally done. It took him a month of non stop drawing almost every day to do it.

But he did it.

He puts the Comic down, just to spin around his room and kick his legs, orange flecks of mystic trailing behind his flapping arms.

__________________________

"Oh Leoooooooo~," he sang, sliding into the living room hiding the comic behind his back, and directly away from the view of his older brother "guess what."

"What?"

"I said guess."

"....Mikey are you being serious right now?"

"Yuppers!"

Leo threw his head back and sighed "you know I may sound like Donnie right now, but there are an infinite amount of things to guess from so you may have to give me a hint."

"okay! So I got you gift, buuuuuut you have to guess what it is."

Leo's back straightens and he stares at Mikey with much more exitement "wait are you being serious? You got me a gift?"

"Yeah haha I did, would you like me to just give it to you?" he feels nervous now, he's not really sure he's ready for this, but is going to do it anyway against his own better judgement.

"Uhm yes obviously?? Now gimme" Leo puts out his hands and makes a grabbing motion like an impatient child awaiting to be given something, it's clearly to lighten up the situations which Mikey is making weird with his nervousness.

"Pftttt okay okay here take it."

He walks over to Leo and passes him the comic praying that he likes it, Mikey does, he's so proud, but that means nothing if Leo doesnt like it.

Leo takes the comic and looks closer, his eyes widen when he realizes what it is he's holding, "oh my god Mikey did you *make* this?".

"mhm! I noticed you didn't have any physical copies of your comics and they can't be bought like anywhere, online or off, so I decided to make you one!"

Leo's hands tremble as he deftly turns each page oddly quiet.

Mikey watches as his face morphs into something warm and touched, his smile big and eyes watery-

Wait what?!?

A big fat tear slips down Leo's face without a hand coming to wipe it away and Mikey stands there stunned.

He's watched Leo cry many MANY MANY times, whether it be due to a scraped knee, or a broken scateboard when they were little or due to nightmares over the Kraang, Mikey's seen it all. Him and Leo have always cried the most. But he's never seen Leo cry over something as simple and as meaningless as a comic book before.

"Mikes, did you *make* this for me?" his voice wobbles as he speaks, a disbelieving smile still stretched across his face, still holding the book and flipping through its pages slowly and carefully, scanning each page like he hadn't read them all a million times before, like they were something new, something precious.

Mikey feels slightly vulnerable and embarrassed when Leo looks up at him, remembering that there are definitley some really awfully drawn pages in there, nights where his hands wouldn't stop shaking, or the pose was just to difficult and seeing him cry over it is a bit worrying.

Mikey looks at the corner of the room, man he should really do some dusting, "um, yeah, sorry by the way, some of them are really badly drawn, a-and i know you've already read it a million times so it's really not that goo-"

Leo cuts him off by grabbing the strap around his shell and pulling him down onto the been bag into a 10/10, ultimate crushing big brother hug.

Mikey doesn't fight it these hugs are the *best* hugs.

"mikey- i cant-*holy fuck*, this is like, the nicest and most thoughtful gift i have *ever* been given the fact you even noticed I missed my comics makes me want to hide in my shell and cry so hard my tear ducts will explode, don't you *ever* apologise ok?"

Mikey felt HIMSELF tear up.

Your artwork is incredible and so so beautiful, Leo sniffs and Mikey feels so happy, (he's pretty sure his arms are glowing, not that he can see from where his snout is buried in Leo's shoulder) "i can't believe you put in the effort even with your hands to make a whole comic book just to make me feel better, that must have taken forever."

"I'm-im-yeah, I'm so glad you it Leo."

They stay like that for far to long, sitting on a bean bag that is way to small to fit them both, laughing and chatting and crying whilst look through the comic.

______________________________________

It's not his old comic book, with ink smudged and faded colours, with nights spent rereading and loving. cherished, on its spot on the shelf, with worn edges and a broken spine. It's not the gift he was given when he was 9, a start of a long love for the franchise, and hours in the further of areas of the sewers to find more of them.

It's not any of that but it's something *more*.

Becasue it's *Mickey*.

It's his little brothers drawing, its long nights spent caring about him, and hope to make him just a tiny bit happier.

It's work, and shaking arms and passion. It's family and love and warmth, it's sleepless nights and something handcrafted, and Leo can see it etched into every line of the page. It's not old like it used to be, it's something wonderful, and something new, it's a gift, and every single line is different now because the adoration Mikey has for all of his brothers is radiating out of them.

Each mistake on the page is another mark of Mikey, another mark of his gift and it's meaning.

He can't ever get back what he's lost, he'll never be the same as he was, but he thinks now, whilst looking at the pages softly, this is maybe just a little bit better, just a little but more exciting and new.

Mikey will never know what this means to Leo, because to him, this is just another "small" act of kindness the same as he'd do for anyone.

And although Leo would never admit it, it makes everything he's been through just a little more smaller, and a little less scary, because if something this good can happen out of somthing so miserable? then maybe the future won't be so awful after all, and maybe it never was, his brothers will always be there for him, and he can't believe he ever doubted them in the first place.

_________________________________________

Please remember the idea for this fic was written by turtleblogatlast

And here's the the original little script they wrote!!! Read original script

Goooooood hahaha so uhm I hope you like it!! (Also sorry this became a little more Mikey centric than it was supposed to be I am a Mikey kinnie and tend to make everything about him😭)

I absolutely love your writing and the things you do so just think of this as a thankyou gift for being so cool!

I wanted to sprinkle more of your headcannon in haha but I didn't know where to start or when I could mention them sorry:(

Also apologies for all my head cannons I could help myself

"I will make this fic purely for someone else and won't add my own headcannons!......... F*ck."

[reflections-of-mobius]

WARNING. THIS THREAD FEATURES HEAVY THEMES.

[@familylightfox | From here!]

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Return the Ark of The Cosmos."

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

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

[]

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

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

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

Stopstopstopstopstop-

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

He'sgoingtodiethey'regoingtodie-

[ragingstillness]

One day I will write the Aleksander Wins AU I truly desire where he finally succeeds in some way getting freedom/respect/safety for all Grisha and the minute he gets it he just breaks down. Full psychotic break, massive depression, weeks of dissociation, non-verbal, unresponsive, constantly crying, everything he’s been holding back and enduring hits him all at once and It wrecks him. Trapped in flashbacks, unable to care for himself, touch adverse, catatonic, immobilized by chronic pain, unable to recognize people, needing to be restrained to prevent him from harming himself despite that causing him to have panic attacks, his personhood absolutely crumbling. And it’s terrifying and heartbreaking to those who love him and also horribly, horribly understandable. 

[sortofanobsession]

In the absence of light (Umbrella Academy Season 2) chapter 1

Author's note: Since people have encouraged me to post more for the WIll o' the Wisp series, here is what I have for Season 2. Unbeta'd Let me know if you want to be tagged in the future parts. I have most of it done but I have to check some canon points to make sure the story works. Enjoy part 1.

@crazycatmaddy

So as it goes, Y/N = your name. Y/N/N = your nickname. Reader pronouns She/Her.

Tag Requests are Open just message me.

Primary Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Female!Reader

Series/TUA Masterlist

Content warning: blood, pain, hospitals, needles, injury, head trauma, concussion, fear, angst

Separated and scared

Pain courses through the Eighth Hargreeves sibling as she hits the cold dark pavement. She groans in pain. She blinks a few times to clear her vision enough to look around. She had no idea where she was or what had happened. Last thing she knew Five was using his powers to send them through time as she clung to Diego for support. She forces herself to sit up. It’s painful and it makes her head spin causing her to retch. She shivered.

“Diego,” she calls out for him, but he isn’t there. She calls louder hoping they were just separated. When no one answers she starts to panic. “Klaus?” Nothing. “Five?” They had been right beside them. “Luther? Allison?” No response. “Viktor...” She knew that one was a long shot. A sob leaves her as she realizes she is alone. “Anyone?” She can see a street. She manages to get to her feet but barely makes it a few steps before the pain and dizziness gets to be too much. It’s unbearable. She grunts as she hits the wall, and her shaking knees give out. But someone must have heard her because she hears shouting and sees blurry faces.

“Someone call an ambulance!” She hears someone shout.

“Miss,” she feels a hand on her shoulder. Her head lulls slightly to the side as she looks up. She reaches out to the person. “Try not to move, help will be here soon.” She lets her hand fall.

“What happened to her?” Another blurry figure asks.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” the first person says.

“Can she talk?” the second asks.

“How should I know?”

“What is her name?”

Before she can answer the sound of sirens draw closer, and people start shouting again. They ask her questions she doesn’t have the strength to answer. She feels people touching her but her limbs feel heavy, like they aren’t fully hers. They ask her how she feels. She manages a single word answer.

“Cold,” she says in a weak tone.

Her vision goes dark around the edges as they shift her. She blacks out when they try to move her.

Y/N comes too with a bright light in her eyes and hushed voices surround her. She looks around and is confused by what she sees.

"Diego?" She calls out. Her voice sounds small and broken. She tries to sit up and falls back as her head throbs, her vision spins, and she gasps in pain.

"Easy, miss," a voice says as hands gently keep her from trying again. "You are in no shape to be moving around."

"Where am I? Where's Diego?" She looked around in confusion. Anxiety clawed at her as the pain in her head increased. "I don't understand." Panic grips her chest like a vice. She tries to call out to her other siblings, but nothing comes out but gasping sobs.

"Doctor!" The voice shouts followed more voices and hands.

She feels the sharp prick of a needle and the world seems to slow.

Consciousness returns slowly the next time. Her limbs are heavy, and she can't seem to move them.

"Welcome back," a male voice she doesn't recognize says. "We were wondering when you would join us."

"Where am I?"

"You are safe in the hospital," he tells her.

"You're a doctor?"

That earns her a chuckle. "That's what the paper in my office says." When she doesn't say anything, he adds. "That's a joke. How are you feeling?"

"Like I hit a brick wall at the speed of…wait…" she looks at her surroundings and it all looks retro. Very retro. The IV in her arm is ancient by medical standards. The lights, even the equipment, is old.

"Yes?" He asks.

"What year is it?"

"What year do you think it is?"

"2019," she says honestly. Earning an initial look of shock, followed by concern as the doctor pulls out a light to check her eyes.

"The trauma to your head must have really been something, that's quite the jump."

"What…what year is it then?"

"1963," he tells her. She begins to panic. They end up sedating her again.

"Luther!" She shouts when she sees a very recognizable silhouette in the hall. She nearly cries when he calls her name before making his way into her room.

"What happened?" She asks him.

"I couldn't tell you if I tried," he admits.

"How did you find me?"

"Newspaper story,” he tells her. “A couple of garbage men found you bleeding heavily and barely conscious. A woman in such a terrible condition, seemingly left for dead. Shocked a lot of people. Headlines were something else."

“Where’s Diego?” she asks.

"Sorry, no mention of him in the article,” Luther answers. "Don't worry about him, okay? You focus on you," Luther insists.

“What about the others?” she asks. “You had Viktor. Did he-”

“Got separated, like you and Diego. No idea. You’re the only one I’ve found so far.” She lets her head fall back against her pillow and takes a deep breath. She can’t let it get to her yet. She still has so many questions.

"Luther, is it really 1963 or did I really fry my brain back at the recital?"

He sighs. "Honestly, it seems like a bit of both. And you're lucky, I've been here for a year."

"Lucky?" she blinks at him. "They were debating drilling a hole in my head to release pressure from bleeding. They didn't expect me to regain consciousness because I was bleeding from my eyes and ears."

"Yeah," he says, and he frowns at how terrible that sounded. "I mean no, but okay, point taken."

"What do you remember?"

"Diego keeping me in the circle, holding Klaus’ hand, so Five could make the jump. Five miscalculated again, didn't he?"

"By a lot," Luther nods. "Then what?"

"Then I hit the pavement hard, everything hurt and I’m pretty sure I puked," she says. “Then some people found me. I’m guessing the guys from the article.”

"What about the Wisp?" he asks in a hushed whisper. "You don't have a glow."

"Remember when I said I had one shot, well I missed, and I think it was just too much damage. I can't summon it. I try and it's like someone is stabbing my brain with a needle, and I can't breathe and-"

"Okay," he reaches out to calm her. "It's okay, we'll figure it out."

"I really did fry my brain," she closes her eyes and rubs them. "Want to know the worst part?"

Luther hesitates but ultimately knows she’ll just tell him anyway. So he asks, "What?"

"I've never felt so cold and empty in my life," she tells him, with a sniffle. "It was shitty and lonely before, Luther, but now I don't even have the Wisp and-" she is cut off by a sob catching in her throat.

And that reminds Luther of how absolutely messed up everything really is. The one sibling he had that didn’t fight him on every little thing. He also realizes that he was more like their dad than he realized. He’d pushed her too hard more than once in the past, well, before they made the jump. They had been desperate but from the look she paid the price for most of it. He can’t help but feel at least a bit guilty about it. "It's okay, we'll figure it out," he repeats, awkwardly rubbing her shoulder to comfort her. It was the least he could do. That and help her get back on her feet. That was something he could do. She leans into him as he continues. "But you have to get better first so you can get out of here."

She nods.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

MASTERLIST #2

I had to create a 2nd Masterlist because apparently I reached the '100 links per post' limit LOL 😆

Original mega Masterlist is Here

I decided to split up my Masterlist so that Masterlist #1 has all my main stories, and Masterlist #2 (this one) has almost entirely just snippets and scenes from my in-progress fantasy book trilogy.

NOTE: I DON'T reblog anything, everything you see posted on my profile is my original work. Please ask before using any of my ideas.

STORY SNIPPETS FROM MY IN-PROGRESS FANTASY TRILOGY! 👇👇👇👇

All of the stories below are short scenes and sneak peeks into the fantasy trilogy I'm writing! I hope to become someone's favorite author one day! 😁

Important characters to know to get the context of these particular scenes:

Shadow: a different species from humans, that has fangs and wings, and ancient magic abilities. Morally gray anti-hero type, snarky, sarcastic, defiant and stubborn.

Thomas: her shy and kind human ally in the battle against an organization called the Jackals, whose goal is to perform science experiments on and find a way to weaponize or harness the magic that bird-people like Shadow possess.

Tanner: a morally good bird-man who lost his wings in a war against humans, Shadow's closest friend and advisor.

Sebastian: Sadistic and tyrannical leader of the Jackals, who works to study and find ways to weaponize the powers of creatures like Shadow

Awesome list of 55 of my favorite OC's snarky, sarcastic quotes and humor

Saddest things my OC has ever said in my in-progress fantasy trilogy

Stoic character gets PTSD panic attack - Warnings: mention of death, pain

Trapped -- Crush Injury Whumpee - Warnings: physical trauma, crush injury, shattered/broken bones, building collapse

Revenge is Sweet... but the Aftertaste is Bitter - Whumpee Kills Whumper - Warnings - severe physical injury and trauma, torture, blood, broken bones, violence, death

Betrayal for the Greater Good - Warnings: betrayal, tranquilizer, counter-betrayal

Panic Attack - Claustrophobic Whumpee - Warnings: panic attack, fear

Pain & Panic - Fireworks Edition - Warnings: triggered PTSD, mentions of war

Defiant Whumper with Shock Collar - Warnings: torture, electrocution, shock collar punishment

Double Hostage Situation - The Ultimate Uno-Reverse - Warnings: threat of death, violence, morally gray anti-hero, blood

Whumpee Pulls Uno-Reverse on Whumper - Warnings: captivity, blood, broken bones, intoxication

Does Your Dignity Mean More Than Character B's Life? part 1

Part 2

Starved Weak Whumpee - Warnings: starvation, malnourishment, torture

The Experiments - Warnings: mention and threat of torture, shock collar, restraints, magic

The Great Escape - Warnings: violence, blood, death, torture, captivity, restraints, escape, severe injury

The Final Battle - Warnings: violence, blood, intense lengthy drawn-out fighting, sad character death scene

Hero Death -- The Afterworld - Warnings: post-death experience, mentions of coming back to life ((Takes place after "The Final Battle"))

Brought Back to Life -- The Hero Returns - Warnings: dead Hero brought back to life, attacking friends, pain ((Takes place after "The Final Battle" & "Hero Death - The Afterworld"))

POLL - vote on what types of whump I should write more of! Poll is closed but comments are still open!

Poll #2 - which of my cliffhanger-ending stories should I continue?

Poll #3 - story continuations?

Poll #4 - reassessment

@scoundrelwithboba @isikedmyself878 @lumpofsand @iamheretohurt

[emmaloo21butwriting]

Can He Save Them

@gay-dorito-dust for supporting the idea :) I was the anon, I don’t know why it went anon that was not on purpose @sweetheartlizzie07 because they said they wanted to read it, and btw it was inspired by Andrew Garfield y’know

warnings because it is a handful; Crying, Kidnapping, Screaming, Panic Attacks, Death, Acid, Denial, and tell me if you find more please

also, if you find a section that says she/her pronouns, tell me. That’s how I’m used to writing but I’m trying to switch to they/them. But I do still use girlfriend in this fic, I don’t like using partner because it seems kind of weird to me, any suggestions and I’ll change it

Also, it’s an angst fic

”My girlfriend has been kidnapped,” Billy said to Rosa, “Why would I not freak out?! How could someone know I’m Shazam! What did I do wrong?!”

“Billy, calm down,” Rosa hugged him, he was crying, then then the news channel sent out an emergency video to be watched.

Everyone turned to see it.

“Hey, Shazam,” a man in a black mask said, staring at the screen in front of him.

“I hope you’re seeing this, because, I’m not doing it again. But your poor dearest Y/n is with me and, I’m assuming you want them back, yes?” He chuckled, “Either, you give me your powers, or they die, or both! It is your choice, I know you love them, and how easily I could snap their little neck would hurt, would it not?” Then it switched back to the news.

Billy was having a panic attack on the floor, Rosa was in front of him, he was sobbing, he could not breathe, his whole body trembling.

“Billy, Breathe.” Rosa said, “I know people hate getting told that, but please try.”

He did, he really did.

“You go save your girlfriend, okay? But the others are not home, so it’s just you.”

“I..” He leaned into his mothers embrace, unable to bare his hurt.

•••

Shazam saw Y/n, tied up, upside down, about to fall into a pool of acid.

“Hey, where’s the staff?” The guy asked, his voice way squeaker than before.

“You sound so menacing,” Shazam chuckled.

“That’s what they said to!” He whined, “Now, where is the staff?”

“You don’t have it?” Shazam stared at him.

“No, I don’t, which means,” he pulled a lever and Y/n fell in, Shazam screamed.

“And to know it’s all your fault,” he grinned, disappearing with a snap.

Shazam stared into the bucket of acid, they were in there, he flew up, pulled the rope that held them, tying it up so they hung up, he untied them, holding their body.

He then flew away from the acid, down to a pond at a park and placed them in, acid going everywhere, they was dead, he was sobbing.

“No, that’s not fair!” He cried, “Y/n! Y/n!”

The commotion was heard and people went over, Victor stared at Y/n and Shazam.

Freddy went over, staring.

•••

Billy had shut everyone out of his life, he would no longer go on missions, anything, he just hated the thought.

He killed his girlfriend, his love, the person he could always rely on. The person he adored, he trusted.

Their funeral was today, he was crying and sobbing, but their body was not found in the casket, their mother screamed.

Billy had gone silent, his crying stopped, he said nothing, the ring he had in his pocket. The one he was going to propose to them with today if they still had been able to go on that date.

It was a mystery, no one understood. Billy had never been more freaked out, where were they?

•••

Billy was crying in his room, when the door rang to the house. He just so happened to be the only one home. He went downstairs and answered it.

“Hello, honey.” Y/n’s mother smiled, “I’ve got something to tell you…”

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Relationships: None

Word Count: 1,345

Summary: Lord Lunar gets kidnapped and Servant Eclipse realizes he does, actually, care about his brother.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Chronic Pain, Broken Bones, Mental Breakdown, Panic Attack, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, let me know if I should add anything else.

Notes: @madcatdaderpydrawer-blog made me do it. They invoked the writing Gollum.

That’s MINE!

Now that Lunar was meditating, Eclipse sighed, letting up on the facade. Pretending was difficult, especially calling that little runt his ‘Master’, but it ensured his survival and that Lunar wouldn’t simply kill him.

He sat down, standing at Lunar’s aid constantly made his back ache and throb with overuse. His knees creaked by now like some old man when he did so and his hip joints popped to release pressure now that they were relaxing.

God, he was turning into an old man. Has this millennia truly changed him this much into a fragile old animatronic? Or had it been the star having effects on him? He had been close when the star summoned the Wither Storm. Maybe the Wither Storm had effect on him.

Amidst his own struggles, Eclipse let his careful guard fall. He didn’t know someone was there until he heard Lunar scream. He was up as quickly as he could get himself moving, nearly tripping over himself to get there and collapsing at the door as he opened it.

His Lord was held by his throat at the hands of another Eclipse, a far darker one. One who was in a more robotic body. The one little Gregory had described vaguely. And now he had his Lunar by the neck.

“Tell him goodbye, Lunar.” The double taunted.

“Never.” Lunar growled. The other Eclipse pulled Lunar by his neck and shoved his faceplate to look at Eclipse.

“Say it!” He demanded.

“Guard the dimension, Apollo.” He knew that. He knew that fake name. Apollo was a fake name, the entire sentence was fake. It was a code Lunar had drilled into his fake non-sentience as a code for danger and to go with the situation. It brought him as much rage as having it drilled into him had been.

But the Eclipse dragged off his Lunar before he could stop them. He looked to the star his Lord left behind. It was his only chance. He needed his Lord back. He grabbed the star and felt it burn. Their star was unstable after the Wither Storm, painful to use for anyone but Lunar. It was a miracle it hadn’t wiped him last time.

With a painful flash and much more screaming at the pain of it, Eclipse stood glowing, gasping at the sudden lack of pain and his body was piloting itself without him. He moved his hand to open a portal and saw a ball pit as he stepped through, an unfamiliar environment where the double was holding tight to his little brother’s neck and two other animatronics were surrounding them.

Eclipse pushed past the other two animatronics and grabbed the other Eclipse’s wrist, squeezing tightly and hearing it snap and break. The scream he gave was gratifying and annoying at the same time.

“Don’t touch my brother!” Eclipse heard his voice as a thousand echoes, the power of the star, he as the star.

“Aph!” Lunar held his arm, his given name, Aphelion, a tell to get him calm.

“And what will you do!?” The other Eclipse screamed. Aphelion grabbed the Eclipse by the neck.

“I will rip every circuit you have and wipe you from existence. Every backup. Every code. Every line. And I will make it hurt every single step of the way.”

“You don’t have the guts. If I wouldn’t, you wouldn’t.”

“You miscalculated. I love my brother and you hurt him, you scared him. Feel that burn? That’s all your backups deleting themselves.” Aphelion growled in his face. The other was cringing with pain now, which slowly descended into him nearly crying and choking his pain back with the burn.

“Apologize and I stop.” He directed the other Eclipse’s face to Lunar and, eventually the burning of the deletion got to hurt too much, outrightly crying and nearly screaming from the pain in his processors.

“I’m sorry!” The other broke with practically a scream. Aphelion halted the deletion and smiled.

“Do you accept, Peri?” Aphelion asked. That cutesy little nickname his Lunar gave himself so long ago of that long ago renaming to Perihelion. It calmed his brother greatly to hear such an endearment, he could see the tension melt from his stressed form.

“I do, thank you, Aphy.” Perihelion thanked him.

“You may live. But you will never hurt my brother again.” Aphelion growled as he dropped the other and Eclipse simply crumpled to the ground, shaking.

“Thank you. Thank you.” In all honesty, it felt empty to see this Eclipse practically praying his thanks at his feet. He thought it would give him such wonderful joy but it just felt…empty.

“Get up, wipe your face.” He directed him and he did so, his hands wiping the oily tears off his face from the pain of the backup deletion and the fear he’d induced. He was shaking and still hiccuping, like he wasn’t able to use his artificial lungs.

“Deep breath.” He instructed.

“I can’t. I can’t breathe.” So he was having a panic attack. He himself had had them before, still had them even. It seemed he’d finally broken past the facade this Eclipse put up and finally cracked him enough to make him show an emotion like his brother had long ago.

“Come here.” He pulled him into his own shoulder and felt him grasp on tightly with those claws of his digging into his casing, making scratches he could fix later. The sob he let out was a bit startling but he rubbed his back regardless.

“You’re safe, you did exactly as I asked. You’re safe now, you’re loved.” The same assurances he’d given himself after his own last panic attack. And they worked wonders upon this Eclipse, settling him and the touch let him relax in his arms.

“Okay, what happened here?” A solar model asked.

“You look pretty neat!” The lunar model exclaimed at Lunar.

“Thank you. Your Eclipse attempted to kidnap me. From what it seems like, my brother touched my Star again to try to save me and now he is my Star. Also your Eclipse had a panic attack like my brother has sometimes.” Perihelion told them.

“Are you okay, brother?” Aphelion asked.

“I’m okay, just a little startled.” Perihelion assured him.

“What’s your names, probably Lunar and Eclipse?” The solar model asked.

“When we travel, which isn’t often, my name is Perihelion, or Peri, and his is Aphelion, or Aph.” Lunar explained.

“Well, we’re Sun and Moon. We’re sorry for what happened with our Eclipse. He has been going completely rogue lately now that he has our universe’s star.” Sun explained.

“I wouldn’t worry about him anymore. If there’s one thing Aph can deal with well, it’s Eclipses. He broke the shell, I doubt he’ll be an issue anymore. If you want, we can take him with us when we leave. Give you a break for a bit to fix everything.” Peri offered.

“Thank you. When will you leave?” Sun asked.

“Given my brother looks tired, probably after he rests. He’s our way back after all.” Peri gestured to Aph, who did indeed feel a bit tired and he assumed his dimming glow was a tell now.

“Stay as long as you want.” Sun offered.

“Thank you. You’re kind. If you ever want to visit us, the door will always be open.“ Peri assured Sun.

“Family cuddles?” Moon asked.

“Only if they want to. Go ahead and ask, Moon.” Sun told his brother.

“Can we cuddle!?” Moon excitedly asked.

“Of course. Cuddles must be better with more than two people.” Peri smiled, coming to hold Aph’s hand to lead him after Sun and Moon, leading them to a bed they could rest in with their Eclipse in his arm still, nearly asleep against him from his sudden emotional outburst.

The bed felt almost heavenly under him as did the bodies against him, Eclipse buried in his arms and Perihelion against Eclipse’s back Aph’s arm around the both of them. Sun and Moon were on either side of them, everyone going into rest mode or recharging.

[twistedappletree]

broooooooooo

[blue-lollipops-and-ice-clouds]

Panic attack having, rock in hand stabilizing. Squeezing good rock.

[thecouncilofidiots]

Our day has been completely derailed and I don't know how to handle that

We're not DONE with what we need to do, we were just trying to take a break but now but now we are no longer okay

And of course, because we can't finish our self-assigned tasks, the brain is fucking SCREAMING at us to finish cleaning we have to finish cleaning we had a manageable list of plans! We were going to do a reasonable amount then stop, which is hard to do! But now but now we can't and that makes everything Bad and Wrong and Not Good

We can add the rest of today's plans to tomorrow, but that makes tomorrow's plans less manageable and that means breakdown! If we can't do it! We're supposed to do smaller amounts that the body can handle over a longer time to not induce a PEM! Or an obsessive-compulsive episode induced panic attack!

Edit : Yes this is related to the PSA about properly tagging triggering content post, because fun fact! Being negatively triggered can derail your whole day!

[unfilteredrealities]

Had a panic attack and a meltdown the second I arrived home today from work. All my muscles tensed up so badly that after they released a while later I fell asleep but when I woke up my lower back was hurting again and my subconscious stress is back…

I’m crying on and off since I’m awake. I managed to eat something but it was very hectic and chaotic.

Rn I want to just not exist for a bit or at least step out of my meat flesh suit and not feel the chronic illness the chronic pain rn because it’s fucking me up.

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Chapter 21 ~ Blurry (out of place)

Hidden Depths

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

Also on ao3

Genre: Fantasy whump

CW's: ANGST, omg the angst there’s so much o.o, flashback fun for everyone! 😅, brief nonspecific flashback to csa, panic attack(s), painful wound cleaning, wishing for death, unsure of what is real but not quite unreality so make of it what you will, oh shit-almost forgot: captivity tw, restraints tw :') been awhile since i needed those lol

WC: 4237

Taglist (😱 I remembered this time!): @clairelsonao3, @dont-touch-my-soup, @kixngiggles (i've been having trouble tagging you, but i wanted to put this up here in case you see and were wondering where your tag was)

In which reality is a bit fluid, folks, and no one is happy about it

AN: Including me, I was also unhappy writing this. I need that bunker to protect myself and also to piece my heart back together.

You know that whole bit about how things get worse before they get better? Yeah, that is this :')

Carr

Carr had plenty of time to review her options as she returned to the wreckage of their carriage to search for supplies. 

If she “stumbled” into the camp’s clearing, would the reaction be more favorable if she dressed as a man or a woman? Had it been long enough for the bandits to assume the other people in the carriage had died? Surely they had searched and been curious about the lack of bodies, though. Carr tapped a grimy finger on her lip, barely even seeing the gown she’d found stuck in a bush some ways from the crash site. 

Aside from the cut on her brow, Carr was also fairly sure she didn’t look like a survivor of the kindling strewn across the ravine. Which meant she could pretend to be a runaway, but… from where? Maybe she could get away with not wanting to say. Fuck if she could even remember the places they had visited. 

So. Girl or boy? Child or adult? Found on the outskirts of camp or by the guards on the fringe or just stumbling straight into the camp, bypassing the guards altogether? 

While she could physically pass as a child at first glance, it wasn’t a ruse she could keep up for long, and she needed these people to feel sorry for her and take her in. She wrinkled her nose and smoothed Orla’s dress out on the ground in front of her. It was torn in places, which was fine since Carr wanted it to look like she’d been roughing it for a few days. It would be too short, but not by much, so it might make her look… poorer. The material was still too fucking nice, though. Maybe if she got it dirty enough, no one would notice. 

Carr left the dress behind and returned to the carriage. Or what was left of it. After a bit of digging, she found one of Orla’s headscarves, this one a pale pastel blue. Perfect; the dumb dress was blue, so it would even match. She rolled her eyes at the thought. 

Her hackjob haircut was acceptable for a boy or young man but less so for a woman. She’d never cared about her hair before and wasn’t going to start now, but if she went with the fairer option of subterfuge, she’d need an excuse for that, too. Gods, this sucked. Why did that place have to be filled with what seemed like halfway-decent people instead of a bunch of lowlifes who’d look better with a few more holes in them? 

Which was another question. How many weapons could she get away with carrying? Carr ground her teeth, knowing very well she’d be lucky to justify just one, if it was found. 

Even if she went in posing as a man, she couldn’t carry as many blades as she had on her right now. But she’d all but decided on pretending to be a woman–it seemed more likely she’d just be killed straight off as a man–so one blade it was. She’d hide the others somewhere close to the camp so they’d be nearby if she needed them. 

She tried not to think of the last time she’d donned a dress while she stripped to her underclothes and pulled on Orla’s garments–which were slightly too small in the chest and shoulders as well as too short. 

The clothes she’d discarded served as a wrap for her extra blades; the only one she’d kept was strapped to her thigh beneath her skirts, which ended at mid-calf instead of her ankles. Each breath she took was stifled, and her range of motion was shit. This was starting off just wonderfully. 

It just needed to get her into the camp, she reminded herself. Too small clothes, chopped off hair, small and skinny with a bruised face… someone would take pity on her. They had to. 

Carr hadn’t caught sight of Resh in a day and a half. She’d spent all damned day watching the fucking camp. Now dusk was approaching, and she wasn’t willing to wait another night. She needed in now, and gods help these people if she didn’t like what she found. 

~~~

Resh

Resh’s head hurt–like ice-picks stabbing his eyes, vice-grip around his temples, skull about to crack like an egg hurt. 

The pain about drowned out the red-hot pulsing under his collarbone. The rest of his body didn’t feel all that great either. 

He groaned soundlessly and tried to curl up on his side.

Resistance. He couldn’t move his arms. 

Nothing but darkness greeted him when his eyes snapped open. Which his head appreciated, but his mind not so much. Resh yanked on his arm, but the motion had no effect except to send shards of agony lancing through his chest. Shit, his ribs… gasping shallowly for air, he stilled. 

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

The air went nowhere as everything he thought he knew splintered and warped, aided by the throbbing in his head. He was lying on something hard, in the dark, his limbs tied down, pain splintering through every facet of his being. 

It was a dream. It had to be a dream. He squeezed his eyes closed, willing himself to wake up. To not be back there. The last weeks couldn’t have been the dream. They couldn’t have they couldn’t! 

He started struggling again, hoping he would wake up if he hurt himself in real life, but a voice penetrated the weighted silence, its owner sounding as if the person was moving. Straining his ears, Resh paused, listening.  

“Burning pits, Lox, did you see his forehead? He’s a royal mage, we can’t be stealing royal mages!” 

A royal mage? Horror washed through him at the thought. Is that what the prince had done when he’d branded him? Claimed him for the Crown? Fuck; fuck! 

And who was that talking? No one spoke in his dreams but the prince, which meant… 

His stomach twisted. This was real? But then, the prince shouldn’t know about his magic, not unless he’d used it without realizing… He cringed as a vicious throb tried to liquefy his brain. It felt-it felt like a reaction headache–oh gods, what had he done?

“If such a thing even exists, we could surely ransom him. If not, could you imagine how useful a Kinetic would be? I’m not interested in killing people–I don’t want another such occurrence as what just happened. Robbing people is annoying, sure, but killing them will get us hunted down and exterminated.” 

The unknown voices moved on, becoming indistinguishable before fading away completely. The meaning of the words barely penetrated the fog of Resh’s panic, but one thing stood out. 

Ransom? But–he tugged on his wrists, wincing as coarse rope chafed his skin. Everything felt muddled and upside down and wrong and–Carr! Killing people? Carr killed people, but… that’s not what that person had meant, now was it. Resh’s heart was beating so hard he thought it might break through his chest. His eyes couldn’t penetrate the darkness, his thoughts couldn’t…

Flashes of memory, purple light flooding a carriage. He had tried so hard to cushion them with his magic… Lightning speared through his head, obliterating the memory. Resh cried out, nothing emerging but a puff of air. 

Hot tears trickled down his temples, tracking down into his hair as his breathing quickened. He’d failed. If killing people was bad, if they wanted him so it wouldn’t happen again–it meant he’d failed, that Carr and his sister were–were dead. 

He keened silently at the thought until the pain in his chest left him too breathless to continue. His mind twisted again as he lay there, panting through the waves of physical and emotional agony. 

But was that–was that real? The carriage, the crash–had that happened? Or–he pulled on his arms again–was he still in the prince’s torture chamber, awaiting the man’s next godsforsaken sadistic whim? 

Resh shuddered, his heart beating erratically while his skin flushed hot then cold, leaving him clammy and even more uncomfortable. He couldn’t–he couldn’t… His thoughts scattered, his mind shutting down. 

As pain and despair dragged him back under, he couldn’t decide which reality would be worse. 

~~~

Carr 

Branches whipped past Carr as she ran, one etching a line of fire across her cheek when she misjudged the distance in the waning light under the Seleni Wood’s canopy. Shouts echoed behind her, and an arrow whizzed past, barely missing as it embedded into a nearby tree with an ominous thud. 

Fuck fuck fuck. She’d meant to get close enough to the camp to approach one of the women, figuring she’d have better luck appealing to them than just walking into a bandit camp and looking stunned, an easy target for archery practice. 

The perimeter had been guarded more heavily than she’d been able to tell from afar. Now, she was a moving archery target. Less easy, surely, but fuck it all, not ideal. Her heart thrummed quickly enough that the individual beats were indistinguishable as she ducked under a low-hanging branch and swung around a tree, heading deeper into the underbrush. She could get away, probably. But that would defeat the purpose, so she needed to allow herself to be caught. Without getting killed, preferably. 

But the men chasing her would tackle her, take her down. The thought made her skin crawl–would they stop there, buy the not-so-much-an-act she’d put on, or would they prove to be the brand of bandits she’d originally thought they’d be? 

It’s for Resh. She repeated the thought over and over as she “tripped” and curled up on the ground, covering her scarf-wrapped head. Her body quivered for real as she awaited either an arrow to the back or rough hands grabbing her. 

Thankfully–but also not–callused fingers wrapped around her wrists in a bruising grip, forcing her arms to the ground by her head as a large man dressed in patched leathers straddled her body. 

“The fuck,” he said, staring down into what Carr supposed were her saucer-wide eyes. 

Eyes that rapidly filled with tears as she put up a weak struggle against his hold. It took everything she had not to wrap her legs around the man’s waist and flip him off her–would’ve been hard to do in the stupid too-tight dress anyway, and moreover, would’ve been suspicious. But gods. 

“What’ve you got?” another male voice called from somewhere to her left. 

“A fucking woman,” her captor responded, gripping her wrists even harder. He moved, placing one knee between her legs, which effectively pinned them in place within the prison of her skirts. 

Carr went limp, focusing all her energy on convincing her body not to fight and flee. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure the man could hear it. 

“Are there more?” a third voice asked. Crunching followed their question, the person moving with no care through the detritus of the forest. 

The man cocked a dark brow at her. “Well?” 

She shook her head frantically. “N-no. No. Please–” Her voice cracked, and she snapped her mouth closed, swallowing against the tears thickening her throat.  

Rotten breath wafted across her face while a hand swept under her skirt. 

“That’s right, be a good girl now and I’ll be nice to you, I promise.” 

One hand pinned both her wrists now while the other swept over her body, then beneath her skirt, unerringly finding the blade strapped to her thigh. 

She shivered beneath the too-large body, her cheek throbbing where he’d already hit her, her wrists aching beneath his hold. 

Her wrists ached beneath the man’s hold as he held up the dagger and laughed. “Do you even know how to use this?” 

A mixture of rage and shame set her face aflame, and the cut on her cheek throbbed. Her breath caught. 

Dark hair curled around his face, framing amused blue eyes that quickly darkened with concern. “Hey, are you alright?” 

The hand covering her mouth after she’d screamed for help was too big. It covered her nose as well and she couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe couldn’t 

She couldn’t breathe, the air she sucked in between choked-off sobs going nowhere as she battled her past to stay in the way too similar present. 

“Shit.” The man scrambled off her, calling out to his friends. 

The words he exchanged with them made no sense through the ringing in her ears. Pinpricks of white flashed before her eyes, and aside from tucking her hands beneath her chin, Carr didn’t move–couldn’t move.  

Memory flickered in and out of her mind’s eye–no matter what, it was always this one she was thrown back into. This one that haunted her dreams. This one that paralyzed her, highlighting how fucking helpless she’d been–

Carr pushed up with a wheezing gasp, flinching as hands reached out to help her. She was not helpless; she was just pretending. Pretending pretending pretending

A hand moved over her back, up and down, up and down, and she trembled, desperately trying to keep still and allow this strange man to comfort her. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” he murmured. “I’m sorry about before, we thought… it doesn’t matter what we thought.” Leaning forward, he caught Carr’s eyes. “You with me now?” 

She nodded, averting her gaze so he wouldn’t see how much she wanted to turn and rip his hand off. Her skin prickled. 

“Look like you’ve been through it. You need help?”

Not trusting her voice, she nodded again. 

Someone scoffed. Movement caught in her peripheral vision, and she twisted her head, rearing back. The man’s hand moved, tightening around her shoulder. 

“Just gonna take her at her word? Probably some thief putting on an act.” 

Her captor-turned-protector pulled her back against his chest. She made herself melt into him, pulling up her legs to make herself smaller while the new bandit glared at her suspiciously. 

“You didn’t see her when I had her pinned. No one puts on an act like that.” Her bandit’s voice dripped with derision. 

Carr couldn’t decide if it was directed towards her or the other man. Didn’t matter, long as he decided she was worth helping. Take me back, take me back, take me back, she chanted in her head. Her body shaking like a leaf was entirely unfeigned; the reaction disgusted her, but she didn’t suppress it, letting her fucking weakness serve its purpose.  

“She needs help.”  

“So bring her some supplies and send her on her way. We gotta get back to our post,” the suspicious one said. 

“More help than that!” her bandit responded hotly. 

Carr let a small whimper escape, pressing a hand to her mouth after in a show of embarrassment. Her bandit held her closer, and she closed her eyes, trying to imagine he was Resh so she wouldn’t do something stupid like pull his dagger and slit his throat. She wanted to crawl outta her skin. She couldn’t. Couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t.

“You gonna take responsibility for her?” another voice cut in. There was an extra layer of meaning beneath their tone that Carr didn’t trust in the slightest.

Shit, she’d forgotten about the third bandit. She snapped her head around, watching that one’s approach closely. Tall and slim, with toned muscles evident beneath gear in better condition than the other two, they moved fluidly through the brush towards her. Both her bandit and the suspicious one went still, waiting quietly as they studied Carr. Clearly, that one was the leader and would be the deciding factor on whether she was getting into the camp or not.  

Carr dropped her gaze when they crouched before her, jabbing their bow into the ground to lean upon. Their gaze felt like tiny bugs crawling across her skin, and she shivered. 

After what felt like forever, they finally nodded and stood, strapping their bow over their shoulder. “Fine. Let’s get back. Lox’ll have your hide for this, just so y’know.” 

The suspicious one huffed, sounding dissatisfied.

A thrill went through Carr as her bandit assisted her to her feet, but she kept her eyes wide and expression fearful. 

“C’mon,” he said gently, settling his arm around her shoulder. 

Ugh. But she leaned into him, allowing him to lead her back to the camp. Her eyes snagged on her dagger, shoved without care through the man’s belt, and her fingers twitched, itching to thieve it back. 

Not yet. She had to pretend a bit longer. For Resh. 

~~~

Resh

A cool cloth brushed over the sensitive skin of Resh’s forehead, waking him. 

His head didn’t hurt as badly, but gods, he felt like he was on fire, his flesh burning, set aflame from a single pulsing point on his chest. 

Subtly, he pulled on his arms, only to find they were still restrained. A shiver went through him, and the cloth pulled away abruptly. 

Resh cracked open his eyes to find a stocky figure sitting beside him, the lamplight flickering over their shoulder-length blond hair. He caught a flash of green as they turned their head to the side, and his insides froze over even while the heat scalded his skin. 

“Good, you’re awake,” the figure said, turning back to him holding a wooden cup. “You need to drink.” 

He shook his head, even though his mouth was dry, so so dry. No. No no nonono he wasn’t back with the prince he wasn’t he wasn’t he–

A hand gripped the back of his head, forcing it up as the cup was pressed to his lips. Liquid poured in, and he choked, unready. It kept coming anyway, so he forced himself to drink through the coughing. It was that or drown. 

“Good, that’s good,” the prince said. 

Resh sobbed as he was released, then pressed his lips together to suppress another bubbling cough. He squeezed his eyes closed, unwilling to look at the rest of his surroundings. Unwilling to see white limestone, the final confirmation of his delusions. Real, this felt so real. Too real. 

But so had everything else! Carr, finally, finally talking to him in that meadow. Her small hands removing his gloves, resting against his cheek, soothing him after a nightmare. 

His sister, healthy, her hair growing, her skin losing its pallor. Laughing and joking and enjoying their journey. 

Had it really all been a figment of his imagination? A fever dream? He certainly felt like he had a fever. His heart cracked, the pieces crumbling as he came one step closer to believing the torture chamber was his reality. Maybe he would actually die this time, and it could all just be over. 

“He looks like shit,” a different voice said. Deeper. 

“Yeah, well. You shot him. Don’t know what you expected, really. Don’t think it hit a lung, at least, or surely he’d be dead by now.” 

He wished he was. Gods, how he wished he was.

“I need your help. Need to wash the wound out again, but he always fights, even restrained. Tore the stitches out once already.” 

A sigh, then hands clamping on his shoulders–his bare shoulders–pressing them flat against the hard surface he laid upon. Pain lanced through his chest, and he cried out soundlessly, trying to pull away. Another figure straddled his hips, pinning him down even more. 

“We’re just trying to help you!” one of them shouted at him, but he didn’t, couldn’t trust the words, especially as the liquid poured over his chest. 

He could feel it bubbling in the wound, the fire multiplied by a thousand, burrowing in to burn him alive inside now as well as out. He would’ve screamed, had the prince not ripped even that away from him already. 

“I know it hurts, and I’m sorry, but I have got to clean out the wound.” 

Lies. He wasn’t sorry. Resh shook his head from side to side, straining, desperate to get away from it. Lies lies lies lies

“He hasn’t made a single sound, but he looks like he’s screaming.” 

“Have you seen his chest? This guy has been through some shit. I don’t like doing this, Lox.” 

“It needs to be done, or he’ll die. Do you want that?” 

The words washed over Resh, a haze of agony coating everything. They didn’t make sense. Who the fuck was Lox? But he blinked as the pain died down a little, saw the prince bending over him, and didn’t know anymore. 

What was real? This pain was real–but was it? Sometimes it wasn’t, he remembered, but then more liquid poured and his mind whited out under the blistering pain and his throat strained to make sounds it was no longer capable of producing. 

When he came back around, the shape of familiar words flying off his lips–please, no more, please, no more–someone was gently patting at his chest, saying the last words he expected. 

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts. I’m trying to be as careful as I can. Sorry.” 

Exhausted, Resh laid his head back down. His shoulders were no longer pressed down, and there was no weight across his waist. He opened his eyes but allowed them to skim past that person who was the prince who wasn’t the prince because they kept apologizing every time he flinched. 

A flash of blue caught his attention, just past the large man blocking most of the doorframe across the room. The room with whitewashed wooden walls, not stone. Or was it? Oh gods. He blinked. Hazel eyes peered under the man’s–Lox’s?–arm, there and then gone so quickly Resh wasn’t sure he’d seen correctly. 

But he’d know those eyes anywhere, and his heart leapt. 

It just didn’t make sense. Nothing was making sense. 

The cup was pressed to his mouth again, and Resh swallowed this time instead of choking, grimacing at the sticky sweetness left behind on his tongue. The other man was gone by the time he finished, and so was the person in blue. 

It couldn’t have been Carr, then. 

It couldn’t have been anyway because if this was not the torture chamber, then Carr was dead. Orla was dead. He had as good as killed them, making them travel across the country with him. 

Resh turned his head away from the cup when it was offered again, and this time the prince not prince didn’t push it on him. 

He watched dully as they dimmed the lamp, then left the room, the sound of a lock snicking closed horribly familiar. 

And yet, he didn’t care. 

Worse, he decided as the room began to waver in his vision. As his heart caved in and left what felt like a jagged, fist-sized hole behind. As his chest heaved with the silent sobs he no longer bothered to hold back. This was so much worse. 

His crying sparked lancets of agony radiating across his body from the burning wound under his collarbone. Every stuttering gasp felt like inhaling shards of broken glass. He welcomed the pain. 

But whatever had been in the water fuzzed his mind, and his eyes eventually drifted closed, his breathing leveling off. The tears tracking down his temples followed him into his drugged sleep. 

~~~

Carr

Carr’s bandit marched her straight into the biggest of only three cabins in the bandit’s little valley, past the watchful eyes of probably most of the place’s inhabitants. 

Demex, he’d told her his name was.  

Well, Demex bore up against the scrutiny well, even as Carr cringed away from it. Maybe because she cringed, which he could very well tell with his arm around her shoulder, dragging her body into his side. She permitted it. She had no choice, now did she. 

For Resh. 

Demex bore up less well under Lox’s scrutiny. Carr flattened herself against the wall, ostensibly hiding behind her bandit while he got his ass handed to him, but really the positioning allowed her to see under Lox’s arm into the room he was trying to block with his body. Kind of. 

She caught flashes of someone moving around a bed. What looked like medical supplies on a nearby table, some bloodied bandages. 

And then–a pair of red-rimmed brown eyes. Their gazes met for all of five seconds before the person at his bedside blocked her view, but Carr was certain it was him. 

Her heart sped up, her breaths quickening. So fast! She couldn’t believe she’d found him so quickly. And he was alive. Her knees buckled as relief sluiced through her, and all that saved her from sliding down the wall was Demex’s hand slipping around her waist. 

“Hey there, you alright? Rowan is a little busy right now, but they can check you out in the morning, if that suits?” 

“Alright,” Carr said faintly. She willed strength back into her legs. “Wh-what now?” 

“What now is you get to talk to me,” Lox said, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.  

The only thing that stopped her from snatching her dagger back, burying it in this guy’s chest, and bursting into that room to get to Resh was that it appeared as if they were caring for his injuries. 

And the small matter that a move like that would certainly get her killed. But she would’ve done it regardless, if she’d thought it necessary. 

Not yet, she told herself, staring up into the eyes of the man who’d chased their fucking carriage down.

Next

[i-never-grew-up]

You'll often see posts on this blog about silly quirky system things like 'hee hoo silly introjects brain go brr'

But those are just the parts we choose to disclose.

You don't see how much sleep we lose over not knowing who we are, you didn't see what happened when the host first discovered the system and forced a protector into dormancy, you didn't see when the host went dormant and his 9 year old self formed as an alter and the fear in her eyes when she looked at her phone and saw how long it'd been since we were actually 9, you don't see the fake claiming, the imposter syndrome, the flashbacks to our past, being told that our trauma isn't severe enough to have a dissociative disorder..

You don't see that shit! You only see the 'hehe quirky brain people' mask we put on because we're scared of trauma dumping!