#claustrophobia fic

[the-likesofus]

when the night is cold as it is long

9-1-1 on Fox | Buddie | 4k words | bthb claustrophobia | panic attacks, buried alive, hurt/comfort, nightmares, getting together

Eddie develops claustrophobia post “The Well Incident”, as well as frequent nightmares. Then on a call, he and Buck get stuck in a collapse and Eddie panics. Post 3x15 | @badthingshappenbingo

Eddie is shivering when he wakes up and his chest aches as he gasps for every breath. The light from the moon and street lamps outside is filtering through the thin curtains over Eddie’s bedroom window and yet his vision is too hazy to recognize his own hand in front of his face.

For weeks Eddie has been haunted by the squelch of mud and the stench of old sewer pipes. He has learned how to tire himself out to the point of collapse just to grab a few extra hours of sleep and is concerningly functional on a minimal number of hours. Even Eddie can admit that his current sleep schedule (or lack thereof) is unhealthy but it is also all he can manage at the moment. He would love nothing more than to bunker down under his duvet and sleep like the dead for 48 hours but he has obligations, a job, and a son. And even if he could fall asleep, which he rarely can, the terrors that haunt him while he is awake inevitably follow him into his dreams.

Tonight, however, is the third consecutive night of waking up in an absolute fit after only falling asleep only an hour before. He’s been barely functioning on four hours of sleep over the last four days and he is at the end of his tether.

Eddie’s thoughts are shaken by his phone ringing on the bedside table and he lunges for it instantly, answering the call without looking at the caller ID, yet somehow he just knows it’s Buck.

“Eds? You there?” Buck’s voice carries, thin and fragile down the line when Eddie takes too long to greet him after picking up the call.

“Yea-yeah, I’m here.” Eddie can hear the way his own voice shakes as he bites the inside of his cheek and twists his fingers into his sheets. “What’s up?”

There is a rustling on the other end of the line. Buck must be in bed too though why he is calling Eddie at four in the morning when they have a shift at seven is beyond him. Still, he waits, letting Buck collect his thoughts and listening to the steady sound of Buck’s breathing as it soothes the ache in Eddie’s chest. In this moment he wants nothing more than to reach out and bury himself in Buck’s chest, tuck himself under his ribcage and hide from the world. Eddie thanks small mercies that Buck is on the other end of the phone line rather than sitting in front of him, lest he does something stupid like follow through on the urge.

“Ah, did Chris find that maths workbook he left in the living room? I told him to put it in his school bag but I can’t remember if he did and he has that test at the end of the week and he was going to ask Ms. Jefferson about the questions on the worksheet.”

And the urge increases tenfold just as the pit in his stomach had opened up and he had wished for the ground to swallow him when Buck had left his house two days ago after watching Chris while Eddie went to the doctor for a follow-up appointment. He could have sworn that Buck hesitated in the doorway on his way out but Eddie was not feeling brave enough to ask him to stay, Buck probably had plans anyway, it was a Tuesday and he usually went around to Maddie’s. And so Eddie had bit his tongue and watched him leave.

Now he realizes that Buck is still rambling on about Christopher’s homework and pulls his attention back to his phone. “Yeah, yeah he got it. Buck, are you okay?"

“Me? Yeah, of course, sorry I didn't mean to wake you. I just remembered. About the book, you know.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Of course, no worries.”

There’s silence down the line and for a few passing moments Eddie simply listens to Buck’s breathing and tries to match him, breath for breath.

“Eddie?” Buck asks quietly after Eddie has sunken back under his covers and can feel sleep starting to pull at the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah, Buck?”

Buck breathes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Buck.”

Eddie falls asleep before the call ends.

Continue on AO3

[crow-with-a-pencil]

Hi @naffeclipse I'm very normal about your fic. Have some frantic midnight sketches as extra kudos along with some tag rambling :)

[spicycinnabun]

@galladrabbles for cuddles

~

“Could you watch where you’re sticking those bony fuckin’ elbows?”

“If you’d quit squirming,” Ian muttered. He frowned when he realized how shallowly Mickey was breathing, his forehead sweaty. “We’ll be over the border soon, Mick.”

“Yeah, not fucking soon enough.”

The car hit a pothole, and they groaned. Then, on a sharp turn, Mickey rolled. Ian caught him before he banged his head, locking his arms around him securely. “I got you.”

It said something about Mickey’s state of mind that he didn’t immediately accuse Ian of cuddling him. Instead, he let out a shaky breath and slowly relaxed.

[unlikely-gravestones]

I wonder if Hob's ever been buried alive.

I don't know how his immortality works- do his wounds miraculously heal within minutes? Hours? Has he sometimes had to pretend to be injured, because no one heals from a stab wound to the gut over night?

Or does it take him just as long as any other person? Does he spend weeks bed-bound while recovering, slowly but surely knitting himself together? And if that's the case...has he been buried?

Has Hob woken up, weeks after being 'laid to rest', starving and in pain because fuck does his head and chest hurt and- why can't he move. Why is it so silent. Has Hob ever trailed his fingers, shaking from the effort, across wood grain 5 inches from his face? Has he, head pounding with pain and confusion, frantically mapped the limited space of his chamber because why are the walls so close to him why is he lying down why does-

Has Hob ever realised he was buried six feet underground.

Has he ever clawed at what he realises now is his coffin, hands scrabbling and nails catching? Pounded at the lid of it and screamed? Has Hob ever had to climb his way out of the ground

Anyway :)

[necros-writing-stuff]

Sleep Paralysis: Collab'oween Day 1

GN!Reader/Male!Unspecified Creature.

Warnings: Rape/Non-con; Maybe feeings of claustrophobia and references to the ocean; Fear of death but no physical harm to reader; Utter helplessness; Cunnilingus/Analingus (you can read as either, I don't specify genitals for reader); Penetrative sex; Creature man has a prehensile pp; 3rd person POV.

Word Count: 2080.

Notes: I'm not doing all of the days, just the six prompts I wrote! Please make sure to check out all of us doing this together: @undead-merman @letstalktea @inkyquince @angrelysimpping Also big thanks to Merman for making the banner and divider and all of their wonderful work on this project.

It gets closer each night. They know as the sun fades, as their eyes shutter closed and the warm fingers of Hypnos keep their lids heavy that it's only a matter of time before the personification of sleep partially releases his hold on them and that reality will blend with their nightmares. 

For months it's happened every night. They awaken without control of their body, not even able to blink, as eyes watch from the darkest corner of their room. It's just a trick of the mind, they know this, but it doesn't make it any less terrifying. 

They'd gone to their doctor. Been referred to get a brain scan by a specialist to ensure it wasn't anything malicious causing the paralysis. All tests came back fine. They were sent home with pills and a regiment to follow. None of it had helped. The only time it ever left was when the dawn broke. Winter was on the horizon. Shorter days. Later dawns.

Then, they'd thought that it wouldn't be able to hide in the dark if there was no darkness. They'd filled their room with nightlights in every corner, left them on as they went to sleep, confident that they'd finally be able to get through the night. They hadn't. The creature cared not for the lights strewn about the room. It was a void of blackness, sucking in the light and refusing to let any stray ray out of its grasp. 

Fine then, it's sunlight it doesn't approve of. UV lamps were bought and installed. Their electricity bill would suffer, so they tried to stay away from electronics during the day to compensate. There was a pile of unread books just begging to be read, afterall. Yet, as night fell and sleep abandoned them once more, the creature remained in its corner. The blue hue of the UV lamps only made it more threatening. Cold, sterile. Dead. 

They couldn’t even sleep through the day. Something pulled at them, keeping them awake even as they lay with their eyes closed in their bed with the room made as dark as they could for the day. Only when the moon was out could they find a fraction of rest.

After months, they found themself getting used to the creature. It was a black blob with (admittedly creepy) eyes - no discernable features, no intent of ill-will it would seem. It just wanted to watch them through the night. 

It just had to move, didn't it? It had to reach a clawed hand it had never seemed to possess before out toward them, its frozen form a threat again for the first time in a long while. The skin (If it had skin) was a black as the void it made; it was hazy due to the smoke that rose from the flesh. The only part of it that continued to move. The smoke. 

Perhaps it was the home. The place they lived was haunted, wanting to torment the poor soul living within. With little money left due to the lamp expenses, they desperately pushed every new lamp into a large box and took it to a car-boot sale. They were all new, but half price anyway. They just needed enough for one night in a local hotel. Just one. To see if it would work. 

Each night that passed as they sold the lamps, the creature got closer. Like it knew. More limbs came out from the haze; the other clawed hand, long seemingly muscled legs, the torso unfurling and appearing to be as large as the rest of it. A beast. A tall beast that could rip someone apart just by strength alone. Still it's face remained shadowed, the smoke dripping down like hair.

Not every lamp was taken, but enough so over the weekend event that they had the money to stay in a hotel. A single bed, no TV, shitty water pressure in the shower. It was only on the first floor but the windows were painted just all the same. At least it smelled clean.

Hope sent them to sleep that night - a tentative hope that was on the verge of snapping as each second ticked by on the old clock on the wall. 

That hope snapped the second their eyes opened with the street lights sneaking through the curtains. It was here. Worst of all, it was closer than it had ever been. Crouched on the edge of the bed, tall frame leaning over so that it looked down at them with those bright white eyes. This close it was easy to see that there was no pupil. No iris. Just white. 

Tears welled that they could not blink away, blurring their vision and making the creature even harder to make it. Panic grasped them tightly, their heart hammering in a chest that refused to twitch. They needed to breathe more, to take in deep, filling breaths. But they could only take in standard breaths as their head began to swim. It felt like being suffocated. 

If they could scream, they would. Especially when it moved right in front of them. It never moved when they could see. Never. It was now. That elongated hand reaching down, a claw tracing the path of the tears as they fell down their face into their hairline. Some of the tears fell into their ears. It made them itchy. 

The creature didn't keep its attention to their face. Its claw wandered down their body, pulling the blanket with it as it exposed them to the cold air of the hotel room. Their pyjamas were lifted, their tummy exposed. Would it start there? Rip of their innards and eat them as they could do nothing to watch? 

Slowly, it pressed its hand flat to their skin. The warmth was a surprise. A creature of such darkness should emanate frost, but its flesh bordered on burning as it pressed down. Would it crush them? Would it contribute to the suffocation that felt it was taking hold? 

It would not. At least, it wouldn't yet. Every touch was gentle as it flipped them over, every adjustment it made of their body made for their comfort as their head was turned to the side so that they could breath with their body laying on their front. It didn't feel right. It shouldn't be so gentle. 

The tears from their left eye now fell over the bridge of their nose and into the eyeline of the other. It merged with the other falling tears as they wet the pillow. 

Beside from the ruffling of clothes and the creaking of the old mattress, the room had been silent. As had the creature. No neighbouring rooms made bangs or bumps in the night. A harsh ripping broke the silence. Their clothes. The creature was removing their clothes. Tearing it to shreds with its knife-like claws and discarding the fabric on the carpeted floor below. 

Goosebumps rippled over their skin as the night's air fell on it. The creature's flesh was the only warmth they could wish for - and they couldn't only wish that it would stop and leave them alone. 

It was a coward. Turning them over so that it didn't have to look in their wide eyes as it tore them apart from behind. Taking their clothes as a butcher would a pelt. Taking advantage of their sleep condition, or perhaps causing it itself so that they couldn't run or fight back. 

Such a strange thing, to feel anger after all of that fear. If creatures like this beast could wander the earth, then perhaps their anger would fuel their spirit enough to find a second life after death and seek vengeance on the wretched thing. 

Despite the feeling that they couldn't breathe, they did not pass out. They wished they would, that they could drift off into nothing before they would feel the beast's claws in their back. This mercy would not be for them. 

And neither would the claws. Not as the creature lowered itself, the bed shifting as its long legs came to sit on the floor and its hidden face lowered to the back of their thighs. 

A tongue, long and thick, teased up their thigh until sharp fangs nipped at the flesh of their ass. The tongue returned quickly, flickering as it found its way to their hole. 

More anger. More rage filling their heart as they desperately plead with their libs to just move. Just the littlest amount of movement - a twitch, anything! Nothing would come. 

It kept poking, prodding, lapping away at their exposed hole while disgusting pleasure whispered up their spine and choked their breaths. ‘Stop,’ they tried to beg. To scream it until their throat would bleed. But what was the use? They’d been begging for months and yet no one was listening. If there was a god or even multiple of them, they’d long since been forsaken to this demonic presence. 

There’s a strength to the beast. It lifts them as if it were nothing, their limp body folding as it hoists their hips up and presses it’s face even deeper into their core; that damned tongue flattening and giving a smooth, languid lick that has their eyes rolling back in their head. It should have stopped at this indignity. Why didn’t it just stop there?

It took its fill of their hole, still following with its tongue as it lowered their body back onto the mattress. As if it couldn’t bear to part with them. And sure enough, its stocky form rose over them again, that red-hot skin pressing to their back as something new wriggled and writhed against their saliva-dripping core. It meant to mount them.

One last push. One last demand for a finger to curl, to prove that they weren’t locked away inside of their own body. Underneath its body. A wall of flesh pressing down, closing in and taking away all of the air in the room as their anger slowly drained into sorrow.

That tentacle-like cock of the creature burrowed its way into them, spreading them open and penetrating deep. Strange guttural noises were snarled by their head, the beast having its pleasure while their tears returned. Every thrust of the hips was more like a roll, like a wave coming in toward the beach and retreating once more. It was graceful, powerful, threatening to take them away with it into the depths below. 

How could they swim against the tide without the ability to move? How could they possibly stop the water from encasing each and every part of them, leaving not a single inch of skin dry? 

Their mind refused to wander away, instead it focused on the smell of burning the creature emanated. It grasped onto every touch and grab the creature made at their skin. It couldn’t kick or scream anymore. Just like the body it inhabited. God, they were so tired.

Sweat gathered on their skin, the heat from their creature making it feel like a sauna in the cheap room. Sharp nips were given to their neck and shoulders, fanged teeth having a taste or maybe even marking what belonged to it. Its tongue came back to clean their cheeks of tears. 

Why did it have to feel so sweet? The slow build to the orgasms that hit in waves matching its hips pulling in and out. Its cock moved by itself while it would thrust, slowly undulating, causing their throat to seize from how intensely their nerves lit on fire for it. 

Almost. Almost they were freed from being there. It was exhausting being used so thoroughly, their eyelids were heavy and promised the sweet release of unconsciousness. It never came.

Who's to say how long it stayed on top of them that night. They couldn’t see the clock, couldn’t say when the beast woke them from peace. It stayed until the sun’s rays peaked through the cheap old curtains. But it left with a promise, a lingering hand on the back of their neck as it rose up, thumb rubbing over the freshest bite. It would be back. 

They still felt numb when control returned to their limbs. Felt numb for the rest of the day until night fell once more and that fear built. All they could focus on was the fact that the semen dripping from their hole never cooled in their frigid winter air seeping into the room.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Lily of the Valley

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Jason Todd dies and comes back to life. As the League takes him in, he navigates his morality and family values over the years.

Chapters: 14/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Talia al Ghul, Ra’s al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Sheila Haywood

Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Character(s)

Additional Tags: Immortal Jason Todd, League of Assassins Jason Todd, Protective Talia al Ghul, Good Parent Talia al Ghul, Jason Todd Needs a Hug, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Adopted Children, Resurrected Jason Todd

Chapter Fourteen: Baby's Breath

His tenth nightmare or hallucination in three days. Ra's didn't allow anyone to see Jason during that time. The first two days, all Jason did was sleep and wake up screaming, but the third day was different. Jason sat up in a panic, but there was no screaming. Ra's waited for Jason to speak, but he didn't have anything to say. Instead, Jason broke down and wept. Ra's hesitated before wrapping his arms around Jason. "It's alright-."

"I'm sorry I failed you-."

"You wouldn't have fallen had you not been ill. In fact, I'm proud of how you carried yourself despite your attraction to Saru," Ra's grinned.

Jason blushed and pulled his shirt up over his mouth. "Is it obvious?" Jason asked. Ra's shook his head.

"But you are attracted to her?" Ra's questioned. Jason sank into his pillow as he nodded. It was just Jason's luck that Ra's decided to show his more casual side as soon as Jason developed his first crush. He wasn't sure if he preferred this side of Ra's or the cold and distant one. "Jason... I've been thinking. I was going to send you on another assignment straight away, but I've decided I'll give you a choice." Ra's was sincere, and Jason felt like he was being tested.

"Would you like me to go?" Jason asked.

"It's not a test. I'm asking you what you want," Ra's replied.

Jason answered without thinking and wasn't sure he said the right thing. He didn't get a chance to ask Ra's anything further before Ra's left him alone in the room. Jason climbed out of bed and tried to follow Ra's into the hallway, but it was empty. He awakened with a start and nearly screamed as he met eyes with the Ra's he knew. "I'm not dreaming, am I?" Jason questioned. Ra's felt Jason's forehead.

"What did you dream about?" Ra's asked. Jason bowed his head.

"You want to send me away again... Don't you?" Jason mumbled. He bowed his head and hid his face in his hands. Ra's took Jason's wrists and shook his head.

"No, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about," Ra's whispered as he felt the healed wound on the back of Jason's head. "Restored..."

"I'm ready to do whatever you ask," Jason replied.

"Good... Go see your mother and get some rest. There'll be no training for you today or tomorrow," Ra's commanded as he helped Jason out of bed. Jason looked into Ra's' eyes hoping for approval or forgiveness for his failure. "You're an al Ghul in every sense of the name. Now go to your mother."

Jason smiled and stepped forward until he mustered the courage to embrace Ra's. "Thank you for accepting me. You have my undying loyalty," Jason swore to him. Ra's wrapped his arms around Jason, and he let go. He seemed confused by the outward display of affection, but it didn't shake him the way it would've shaken Jason had the tables been turned.

Jason ran down the hall, searching for Talia, and she grabbed him, cradling his face in her palms. "You must be starving," Talia smiled. Jason nodded and embraced her. She kissed the top of his head and led him to the kitchen. "I worried you wouldn't be on your feet this early."

"Is Damian awake?" Jason asked.

Talia nodded. "He's in the kitchen. He's eating a snack before training," Talia replied as she wove her fingers through his curls. "It's midday... I'm sure something is cooking for lunch."

Jason took her hand and followed her to the kitchen, where Damian sat at the counter eating jicama. Jason snuck up on Damian and wrapped his arms around the child. "Could I sit on your training today?" Jason requested.

"Gē! Of course," Damian replied excitedly. Jason smiled and sat next to him as he grabbed a bite of Damian's raw vegetables. Talia looked fondly upon her sons as they ate and whispered for one of the cooks to serve Jason's dinner early.

Talia told him he wouldn't be training until the week's end as he gorged himself on his meal. "You've grown," Talia noted out loud.

"I have?" Jason asked. Damian nodded.

Talia nodded. Jason beamed and pulled his hair back into a bun before returning to his meal. Damian waited patiently for Jason to eat. Once Jason finished his meal, he picked Damian up and spun him around. "Di, you ready to go?" Jason asked. Damian nodded as Jason set him down. "Are you training with Saru again?"

Damian covered his mouth, and Talia shot him a glance. "Didi," Talia warned.

"But she told me," Damian whispered loudly.

Jason's eyes widened, and he crouched down to meet his eyes with Damian's. "Didi," Jason sternly whispered, "What did she tell you? Did Saru say something about me? Because I'm willing to fight her again. I'm not afraid of her." Jason's heart raced as he considered the prospect of seeing her again.

"Do you want me to tell her you'll fight her?" Damian asked.

"In four days... Ra's won't let me fight before then," Jason replied, "Will you go tell her for me?"

Damian nodded and pressed a kiss to Jason's cheek before running off. Talia smiled and shook her head. "Can we talk later?" Talia asked. Jason nodded. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm confused... I feel like things are different than before I left," Jason confessed as he followed her to the training room.

"Is it frightening for you?" Talia asked.

"Ra's said something kind to me," Jason replied. Talia stopped in her tracks.

"He did?" Talia questioned. She knew it wasn't in her father's nature to give a kind word without reason. It wasn't something that came easy for him.

"He said I was an al Ghul," Jason answered. She nodded.

"Never think otherwise," Talia grinned.

[arthropod-concoctions]

King Joel of Mezalea had died of a broken heart.

That's the conclusion he came to, at least.

He had felt rage, at first, at the destruction of his palace. Months of work, ruined in a few minutes; he'd have to start all over again. He had stormed off to find Lizzie, or Jimmy, or anyone, really, willing to listen to him complain for a bit. But they had both vanished. Citizens of the codlands had mentioned seeing Jimmy run off into the distance, seemingly crying and refusing to speak with anyone; and the Ocean Empire had no citizens left, the shoreline having receded so far it left the aquatic city completely dry. No one had seen Lizzie anywhere, but he didn't give up on her. She has been able to live on land before, surely she would be alright...?

He did find her, days later, among a ragtag group of refugees; but she wasn't the same. She had become shorter than him again, there was no trace of her aquatic origin, and worst of all, she had no memory of him or anybody else. Joel had tried getting to know her again, but to no avail; she wasn't his Ocean Queen anymore, and eventually she simply faded into the crowds of foreigners flowing into Mezalea. After all, the mesa kingdom had fared far better than most others; although the matral palace was still in ruins. Joel knew he should have rebuilt it; but what was the point, with no wife to show it to, no best friend to visit and look around in awe?

And so King Joel stopped building; he stopped visiting other empires (what was the point? Everything has fallen into ruin), he stopped speaking with the populace, and eventually he stopped paying any attention to the world around him at all. The Mother Tree withered, smothered by the unchecked crowds, and one by one the Mezaleans born from it lost their life force. Mezalea became a place of broken towers and silent statues, slowly getting covered in sand by the winds.

There King Joel laid. His clay body needed no air; eventually his world was reduced to nothing but the sand covering his body and his own thoughts. He had never experienced death for long; there was always respawning, always another Mezalean body for his soul to enter. But now, laying immobile in the dunes of his former glory, his mind stayed, alone.

This must be what death is.

…..

….........

A bout of sharp pain struck his arm.

Joel felt as if he was waking up from a deep sleep. He hadn't felt anything but the sand against his body and the subtle vibrations of the earth for... years? Decades? He thought it must have been at least a decade. But now something had hit his arm, and the sand was shifting around him, and... did he hear muffled voices?

Suddenly the sand was removed from his face. He was blinded by sunlight, but when his eyes adjusted, the first thing he saw was a familiar face. He was getting excavated by none other than King Pixlriffs, who looked less like a king and more like a guy who explores ruins for fun. He was frantically writing notes in a book, muttering to himself while doing so;

“This is an incredible discovery. Seems like the god Joel was around even when ancient peoples lived here, and had enough influence to have statues made in his honor...”

So Pix still remembered his name, although he was talking about things that made no sense to Joel. He also didn't seem to realise Joel could hear him. He tried to sit up, but failed miserably; his lower body was still covered with sand, not to mention he hadn't moved in a century. Baby steps; maybe try talking first.

“...Pix?”

(part 2 | AO3)

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 5: Pinned Down

Read on Ao3

- Sky & the Chain

- Summary: in the depths of a cave, Sky encounters a deadhand

CW for allusions to claustrophobia and blood and injury

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

Sky can’t say he particularly likes caves. The one on Skyloft had intrigued him as a child, to be sure. But stepping inside of its constraining walls, stumbling and falling in near-darkness, praying that he won’t be attacked by a keese or chu…that is an experience he will never forget.

The ones on the surface are even worse. The surface air already presses down on him (he wonders if he’ll ever grow accustomed to it.) But inside the caves it is nearly suffocating. It only adds to their stifling feel, closing around him like a vice.

And now, as the door slams shut behind him, caging him and the other heroes in gloom he decides that he doesn’t just dislike them. He hates them.

He and his brothers had entered the cave earlier this morning. A nearby town had reported that a monster had made its home there and the heroes had decided to look into it. Which had led them here to this tiny room…where arms stick grotesquely out of the floor.

Sky takes an unconscious step back and bumps into the barred door. An unnatural horror creeps through him, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Slowly, he draws the Master Sword.

Its glow is a comfort, but only slight.

“What in Hylia’s name is that?” Wild asks. He stands beside Sky with his own weapon in hand and a look of disgust on his face.

“A deadhand.”

Their leader answers in a voice that lends no reassurance. His tone is steady and cool, but Sky can detect the fear hovering just past it.

He swallows, hard.

“And what, pray tell, is that?” Legend inquires, snappishly. His discomfort is plain to see, even past his front of annoyance.

Time unsheathes his sword in one swift motion. Though his face is hidden from view, Sky can see the tension in the way he holds himself, hear the catch in his breath when he speaks.

“A terrible monster that burrows beneath the ground to await its victims.” He turns now, skewering his companions with a piercing glare. “Do not let it grab you.”

“So,” Hyrule says, slowly, “how do we kill it?”

A grim smirk lifts Time’s lips. “You can either walk right into its clutches and hope you can squirm away before it removes your head from your shoulders,” — Twilight's eyes go wide — “or you can do this.”

He produces a small, circular object from his pouch and holds it up to his eye.

“Hey, that's cool! What is it?” Wind pipes up, but Warriors shushes him.

“I’ll tell you later, sailor.”

Time remains still for a moment, studying the ground. Sky leans forward, peering at the spot, trying to see what he sees. But the ground appears empty.

…except for the horrifying arms sticking out of it, of course.

Then, the older hero draws a bomb out of his pouch. Bending, he sends it into a gentle roll. It slows around the middle of the room and tips over. Its fuse begins to spark.

“Prepare yourselves,” he says. “When it shows itself, aim for the head.”

Sky shifts, his grip on the sword tightening. The tension in the room makes the atmosphere even more oppressive and he struggles to breathe through it.

But the sound of the bomb going off shatters it. And in the next moment, something large and white and horrifying erupts from the ground and Sky can focus on nothing else.

It turns its long neck, angling itself to face the heroes. Grinning at them with massive, crimson-tinged teeth, it begins to move its gelatinous form forward.

Time lunges for it, sword held high, and the other heroes quickly follow suit. But even as he moves, more arms emerge. He cuts them down with a swift, horizontal swipe and then lifts his weapon, ready to cleave through the deadhand’s skull. Multiple others erupt in front of him, though, and he is forced to leap back. He only just evades their grasping fingers.

“Are these things supposed to have this many arms?” Wild asks as he fights his way through some that have come up around him. 

Time lets out a grunt of frustration and exertion as he slashes at the offending arms. 

“These monsters have infinite limbs. Neglect to kill them quickly and they regenerate. But no, they don’t normally have quite this many. There may be a second one still hiding.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” Legend snarks. 

Sky can’t help but agree with him. He casts a glance down to the ground beneath his feet, praying the second monster isn’t lying in wait there. 

“Can anyone reach this one’s head?” Four asks. “If we cut it down, I’m guessing these arms will retract. Is that right, old man?”

Time nods, just barely dodging another claw-like hand.

Sky takes a deep breath, forcing the idea of the other monster from his mind. “I can reach it.”

He raises his sword, waits for the telltale zip of power, then frees the beam. It soars toward the deadhand’s head. But at the last moment another arm shoots upward like a gory plant and absorbs the hit.

The monster turns toward him with more speed than Sky would ever have imagined it possessing. He grits his teeth, steeling himself. He raises the sword again.

“Sky! Look out!” 

The sailor’s shout is just a moment too late. A new bunch of limbs erupt around the Skyloftian like a morbid cage. Eyes widening, panic streaking through him, he tries to cut them down. But they are too fast.

They snake outward, dagger-thin fingers clamping onto him like vices. They curl around his neck, his arms, his legs and waist. He chokes on the rancid air he can no longer inhale. The Master Sword clatters to the ground. 

“Hold on, Sky, we’re coming!” 

The sounds of the struggle surrounding him fill his ears, yet Sky hardly hears it. He fights desperately. But his efforts are useless. Hands continue to come, grabbing at his face, dragging fingernails across his scalp, tightening around his body. 

And then, the second monster appears. He rises from the ground only a few feet from him, enormous mouth already beginning to open.

Sky chokes on a mouthful of tears and blood. Already the world has begun to take on a grayish tinge. Unconsciousness is coming fast, heralded by the tightening of the hands around his neck. But not fast enough to block out the sight of the deadhand.

It is inches from him now. Sky drags in short, fast breaths that garner him no air. His heart thunders in his chest, every beat reverberating throughout his body. He is smothered by his unearthly bonds; by the walls that press close on every side; by the terrible, inescapable stench of death and decay. 

Desperately, he tries to reach for his fallen sword. But the hands constrict further, as though they know what he is attempting to do. For a split second his vision bleeds white, ears filled with a ringing and rushing that sets his stomach churning. And when it clears the monster is right in front of him. 

He has mere seconds to steel himself for what is about to come. 

The gaping maw is all he can see now, a dark chasm filled with yellowish teeth that drip with blood. 

How long has it been since this thing last devoured someone? He wonders, distantly. Who was the unlucky soul who suffered such a fate?

Terrified as he is, he can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for them. 

But just as quickly as it comes, it is gone, replaced by a vice-like panic. Because in the next moment, the deadhand’s mouth closes around his face.

Sky goes rigid, a strangled scream breaking free of his constricted throat. Pain explodes across his face. The smell of blood and death and centuries-old decay fill his nostrils, smothering him. He chokes on it. 

He can feel his own blood trickling down, now, from the places the deadhand’s teeth have sunk into. It stings his eyes, cascades past his lips. The sickly taste of iron sits heavy on his tongue. 

Sky has seen sinister creatures on the surface — grinning bokoblins and leering moblins, chasing him with their clubs and swords, eager to bring him down. But never before has he been prey to one like this. 

It moves closer, ravenous for human blood and flesh, fingernails penetrating deep into his skin, hold continuing to tighten until Sky is certain his bones will break. 

Desperately he tries to thrash, gulping gasps of rancid air that never make it to his lungs. His fingers stretch outward, trying once more to pull the Master Sword to him. But she doesn’t budge. 

Tears stream down his cheeks, mingling with blood and dirt. He is suffocated by agony and terror. This is so different from the sky, where everything is fresh and cool and free. Where the biggest threat are the octoroks he and Zelda used to plow through with ease. 

Down here, there is no air, no safety, no escape. There is only darkness and gloom and whatever horrors may hide within it.

Oh, how he misses the sky.

“-ky, Sky! Hang on!”

Hang on. He can do that, can’t he? Yeah, he can…he…

Another breath catches in his throat. A nauseating crunch sounds from far away. Pain rockets through him so fast he nearly blacks out. But through the darkness that crowds his vision is the tiniest bit of light. He clutches it with every bit of his remaining strength.

And in the next moment, he is free. 

There is a terrible jolt that sends shockwaves through his aching form. Then an unearthly scream fills his ears, as the monster finally disappears in a cloud of black smoke.

The arms go with it and Sky crumples without their hold. But Time is there to catch him before he hits the ground. He cradles the Skyloftian to his chest and Sky blinks dazedly up at him.

“T-time?” He mumbles and the old man nods, eye sharp with worry. 

There are scratches carved along his face, their bloodied lines stark against his skin. Sky frowns, trying to find the words to ask if he is alright. But he can hardly manage to cling to consciousness, much less formulate a complete sentence. So, he settles instead for lifting a clumsy hand, trying to brush the blood off the old man’s cheek.

Time catches his hand before it makes it there, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips.

“Don’t worry about me, Sky. Rest. You’re safe now. The monsters are gone.”

Sky blinks again, then nods. Gentle hands brush his face, turn his head slightly to inspect his wounds, and he lets them. Everything hurts and his lungs are on fire from too long without air. The stench of death still clings to him like a disease. 

He feels oddly light too, as though he is floating. Floating on waves of agony and an eternity of darkness. 

He drags in another breath, thankful at least that he can breathe once more.

“Is he okay?” Someone asks. Wind, Sky believes.

With an effort, he opens his mouth to reassure the sailor that he will be. But all that comes out is a rasping cough. It sends waves of pain through him and tears spark hot in the corners of his eyes. 

When at last, it ends, someone maneuvers his head up and tips a potion to his lips.

“Here, drink this.” It’s Warriors now. “It’ll help.”

“He’ll be okay, sailor,” Twilight is saying from far away. “We’ll patch him up.”

“And then we’re getting the heck out of this cave,” Legend says. “We took care of the monsters, yeah? There’s no need to stick around and see if they regenerate.”

A glimmer of hope alights within Sky, shining just past the haze he drifts in. And as the potion slides down his throat he does his best to swallow it all. He’ll do anything he can to make the healing process faster, so he can escape this place. 

It seems the others agree with him. Because once they have bandaged Sky and he is secure in Time’s arms (the old man had staunchly opposed his offers to walk, despite his assurances that the potion had greatly helped), they practically race through the cavernous hallways. Sky closes his eyes as they turn down paths that all look the same, blocking out the memories of his horrifying ordeal and waiting for the wonderful moment when the sunlight will fall on him once more.

He only reopens them when Wind cries, “hey, look! The exit!” And then they’re stepping out into the blinding light of day and he is gulping great mouthfuls of fresh air, staring bravely up at the sun, heedless of the way it makes his eyes tear up.

“Doing alright, Sky?” Time asks as he carefully sets the Skyloftian down beneath the shade of a large tree. They all need a short breather before setting out to find a good place to camp for the night.

Sky smiles up at him, reveling in the feel of grass beneath him. “I’m alright. But I would rather not explore any more caves for a while.”

Time chuckles. “I believe we can all agree with that sentiment.”

And sure enough, a chorus of assent erupts from the group. With a small chuckle of his own, Sky leans back against the tree and closes his eyes.

[fourohfourrealitynotfound]

that night, the bugs and the dirt

For @flashfictionfridayofficial #FFF239 - Seal It Tight

(916 words)

When the door slammed shut behind them, a lump formed in Lockwood's throat. He whipped around and tried to turn the knob: nothing. The door was sealed fast.

"Ugh, Poltergeists," Lucy grumbled somewhere behind him.

Lockwood pulled and pushed at the door, but it wasn't budging a millimeter. Nothing was sturdier than old construction. He slammed a fist against the door.

"Woah, chill," Lucy said. "You're just going to piss it off more. George'll realize we're missing in a few and . . ."

She kept talking, but Lockwood's pulse raced in his ears and drowned out her voice. His breath was catching now, and it felt like a giant hand was wrapped around his lungs, slowly squeezing the air out. Lockwood tried to step away from the door, but his arm bumped into Lucy's shoulder. When he pivoted to give her space, he ended up with his back against the far wall of the closet.

Why the hell were they both searching for sources in here? There wasn't enough room for one person to breathe, let alone two. Wait, how well was that door sealed; were they getting any fresh air in here?

Panic clawed up his chest and throat. Lockwood pushed off the wall and fell on the door; he could barely see it, between the darkness and the tears starting to blur his vision. He threw his torch to the ground and started digging at the place where the door met the frame, desperately hoping he could somehow pry it open—

His arm was snatched away from the door, and hands spun him around until he was forced to face Lucy. There was a shock of cold on his face that forced him to gasp in a breath, and musty air filled his lungs. He realized that the cold was Lucy's freezing hands cupping his jaw, forcing him to look at her.

"Lockwood!" she said. Her tone was forceful and gentle all at once. "Breathe with me! Can you do that?"

He nodded as best he could with her hands holding him in place. He was unable to take in enough air to choke out any words.

"Okay," Lucy exhaled. "One . . . two . . . three . . ."

She guided Lockwood's breathing in time her own, a simple in-four-hold-four-out-four pattern that he was eventually able to start counting along with in his head. When he started to catch his breath a bit more, Lucy pulled him down until they were both sitting on the floor, their knees pressed together and Lockwood's back resting against the wall. Her face was calm all the while, guiding him down from the panic with gentle little encouragements like "you're doing great" and "good, keep going."

At one point, Lockwood tried to blink away his tears, and one rolled down his cheek. Lucy, without a thought, swept it away with her thumb, a firm touch trailing along his cheek and back to her hand. The little motion reminded Lockwood so much of Jessica—who used to wipe away his tears the same way, back when he would get overwhelmed as a child—that tears began to stream down from Lockwood's eyes anew.

"Shhh, you're okay," Lucy murmured. "Keep breathing: out . . . two . . . three . . . four . . ."

Lockwood wondered, idly, where Lucy learned how to do this. It sounded like her mother wasn't the type who was capable of such a gentle action. She had sisters, though. Maybe she had a younger sister that she had learned to help, like Jessica helping young Lockwood through his fear when they lost their parents in the Tesco. Or maybe Lucy got panic attacks too, and an older sister had done this for her. Either way, she was great at this. Lockwood stopped feeling like the walls were closing in on him; he felt instead like nothing bad could happen so long as his face was between her palms.

Eventually Lockwood's sobs and panic lulled enough that he was breathing whole, complete breaths on his own. Lucy pulled the sleeve of her jumper over one hand and used it to wipe away his tears, the other hand tilting his head for better access. "Doing better?"

"Yeah," Lockwood said. He tried for a reassuring smile, but it felt watery. "You, uh . . . you can probably tell I'm not a fan of enclosed spaces."

"No shit."

Lockwood barked a wet laugh. "Thanks. For, uh—"

"Don't mention it," she said. Lucy pulled her hands away and sat back, then winced. "Ugh, there's something—" She reached behind her and came back with her discarded torch and then a tiny rib bone.

"Shit," Lockwood said. "That's not a . . ."

"Have you got a spare silver net?"

"Yeah." He rummaged in his inner coat pocket for the square of netting and passed it over.

Lucy stood and turned to place the net. She gasped. "Oh, it's—I think it's a cat?"

"You're kidding me," Lockwood said. "A cat did all of this?"

"One way to find out." Lucy dropped the net and then turned and tried the door. It opened with ease. She turned to look at Lockwood with a shocked expression; they both burst out laughing, somewhere between astonished and relieved.

Lucy offered a hand and pulled Lockwood up to his feet. As soon as he was out of the room, he spread his arms wide and took a few deep breaths. Lockwood looked up and caught her watching with some concern and gave her a relieved smile. "Thanks for helping me out back there."

Lucy smiled back. "No problem."

[the-likesofus]

find the word challenge

rules: share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

tagged by the wonderful, incredible @swiftiediaz xx

my words are: love, scream, heaven, stars, home and peace

love (from the claustrophobia fic)

Even Eddie can admit that his current sleep schedule (or lack thereof) is unhealthy but it is also all he can manage at the moment. He would love nothing more than to bunker down under his duvet and sleep like the dead for 48 hours but he has obligations, a job, and a son.

scream (from the orphan au fic)

When he wakes up, someone is screaming. He thinks it's Adriana and he tries to reach for her but something is pinning him down, his shoulder aches. There are hands on him and he can't see for the flashing all around him and the screeching just won't stop.

heaven (from the 5+1 hold me fic)

Eddie holds Buck close, his hands splaying across the warm, broad expanse of Buck's back as he lets his forehead fall against the other man's collarbone. Buck smells heavenly, like champagne and soft cotton and Eddie drinks him in slowly, savoring the moment for as long as he can.

stars (from the orphan au fic)

The boy sits resting his cheek against the glass, his golden head illuminated by star shine.

home (from the claustrophobia fic)

Now he realizes that Buck is still rambling on about Christopher’s homework and pulls his attention back to his phone. “Yeah, yeah he got it. Buck, are you okay?"

peace (from the orphan au)

It is a kind of peace that Eddie has not felt in years, that he is not sure he has ever felt.

words for people I tag: quiet, hold, cover, first, together and small

tagging (no pressure): @spotsandsocks @lilbuddie @bekkachaos @loveyourownsmiilee @monsterrae1 @rewritetheending @thosetwofirefighters @jacksadventuresinwriting @wheelsupin-five @wh0re-behavi0r @rogerzsteven @elvensorceress @shortsighted-owl @eddiesbleps @singlethread @ashavahishta and anyone else who wants to join it! xx

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

Closeted Fears

The Captivating Princess/Original Character Elias Leroux Teen and Up (mild swearing) Word Count:1,336 Claustrophobia, PTSD, Intention Triggering, Abelism, Hurt No Comfort, Imprisonment, Nosebleeds. Summary: The Princess has been searching for a way to break in her newest toy, and finally figures out how Perfect hands held an iron grip on their handles. They were supposed to be safe, in the middle of a party, but when they strayed too far from the crowd. She had caught them, and pulled them off to a secluded hallway, claiming she needed "help" with something. Elias, though inebriated, could see a trap being laid. Pins and nets laid out before them, snaring the Socialite. A trap with no way out. The best course was to steer through as carefully as they could. It was their best course. They could have left their chair, but they knew they wouldn't make it far, and leaving their chair behind was akin to leaving their legs, so no dice there. They were neither strong enough, nor brave enough, to wrestle control back from her, either. So through the trap they must go, and hope that she would be kind. She never was.

This was hardly the first time something like this had happened. Ever since they came to the Palace after winning the Marvelous, the Captivating Princess had been deliberately and methodically going through ways to upset them. A well-fixed smile, a polite demure, and a well-practiced mask of unbothered indifference had gotten them through every trap thus far. They'd rendered awful stabbings into polite jokes, saying they knew many doctors. Chemical spills that ate away their favorite dress were 'nothing worse than what happened at their lab'. When she wanted to do something worse? Well, she was just as much a prisoner of the public eye as they were. She was a darling and beloved Princess, and Elias was darling and beloved Regent. They had many lovers, who could accompany them to any ball, salon, or suspicious meeting in the gardens. For those who weren't their lovers? Elias was not above manipulation and obfuscation to save themself. They could even make one of the Princess' own devotees giggle at her expense once or twice.

Without those people, the Socialite lost much of their defense against her. No one to sway, no one to distract her.They'd only been one on one with her a mere handful of times, and avoided it at every chance. Yet here they were, alone together, sitting and standing, in front of an open closet. Barely more than a cupboard. Elias took a deep breath at the sight, calming the rushing river in their veins. They knew she wanted them to go inside. It was tiny, and cramped. Had someone told her? Or was this simply another thing to check off on her list? If they stayed calm, she would never know, and that was that.

Carefully and calmly, they spoke. "You said you needed my assistance, Your Highness?"

"Yes," she responded. "I'm afraid I need that jar," she indicated a golden jar on the top shelf "and I'm not tall enough to reach. I thought I would find the tallest person I know, and that happens to be you, dear."

It was true, Elias was exceptionally tall, moreso in their heels, but she seemed to be neglecting a detail. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Your Highness. My chair won't fit in there, and you have the highest reach between us."

"Well, you'll simply have to stand."

"But-"

"I've seen you do it before," she pressed. "It won't be long, and I really must get that jar."

Elias had no memory of standing within sight of her, but clearly that was a moot point. She had already seen, and made her assumptions. They'd been rather hoping not to overtax their body today fetching a damned jar. "I... yes, Your Highness."

"Good," she purred.

They stood. They walked exactly as far in as they needed to. They kept calm. They reached for the jar. They heard their wheelchair being rolled away, and whipped around too late. They thew their entire body weight against the door, but the click of the lock sealed their personal trap. Solitary confinement.

The rushing of their blood returned, rapids so fast no seasoned Gondolier would dare navigate them. They twisted around and around, desperate for an exit. No mirrors. No tools. An empty space where the tools had been. Their skirts reached the walls of their tiny cage. It was suffocating. A sudden, earthy taste filled their mouth, causing them to gag. Nothing came out. Nothing was there. They ripped off a heel, and began to attack the door, the lock, any possible weak spot. They would do this until their hands were raw and blistered. They would cry so hard their nose would bleed, and their eyes would be swollen shut the next day. They would scream so long they would have no voice for a week. Again and again they would ram into the door, bruising and battering their body. When they could no longer stand, they would curl themself as small as they could, and try not to think of locked rooms, barred windows, and velvet-lined boxes. The Socialite would try their hardest not to think of how they would surely be forgotten, locked away in here until they were nought but dust, with no one to love them.

~

The party was long over when the Princess decided she had waiting long enough. The guests were gone, the servants were asleep. She made her way into that hallway once more, and retrieved both key and chair from where she had hidden them. As she approached the disused cupboard, she could hear right away the impact it had made on Hearts' little splinter. Their anguished sobs were the most beautiful music she had heard all night. 'Lovely,' she thought. She had finally found a way to break them. That Lively Gossip would be well-rewarded for the tip. Maybe now she could have fun with them. Oh, but first, she would need to set them free.

She rapped her knuckles, lightly, on the door.

A desperate wail of "LET ME OUT!" was their reply.

Oh yes, this was exactly the result she had wanted. "Only if you make a promise-"

"I PROMISE, I PROMISE!"

"That you'll spend the night with me."

"YES, PLEASE, I PROMISE, ANYTHING, LET ME OUT!"

They choked on their last words, and she laughed. "How sweet you can be," she muttered. It did not take long to open a door, but she drew it out as much as she could. The Princess wanted to savor their fear. he made certain to keep a firm grip on their chair's handles as well. When the door was finally open, she could see what a mess they had made. Two heel-less shoes, and two broken off heels, were near their skirt. The Socialite was looking more stained than usual, blood dripping from their nose and ruining their bodice. They were adorably pitiful. She had hardly enough time to take in the art, when they got up, and bolted out the door, sidestepping their chair entirely. Bare feet slapped against the floor as they ran. Her own heels clicked calmly after them. It was below her dignity to push a rider-less chair, so she dragged it behind her.

Elias had only made it halfway down the hall when they collapsed, loosing their glasses in the fall. She was quick behind them. They began to lift, to try again, but she planted a heel firmly onto their spine, and stopped that nonsense before it could begin again. "I promise, I promise," she sing-songed in a mockery of their panic. "Come along, little Regent."

"Can't... move," they said.

"Beg," she commanded.

"Your Majesty, please, help."

"Oh, Majesty? Better not tell my mother. Of course, sweet flatterer, I'll help. Royalty must help royalty, after all." She moved her hell from their back to their fragile glasses, and crushed them underfoot. She lifted the whimpering Socialite into a sitting position, then dragged them up and into their chair. A servant could clean this mess later. Elias began to cry once more, as she steered them off to a private room.

[redwinterroses]

Xisuma stepped through the nether portal—

And instead of hellish heat, he was hit with a wave of cold washing over his body and sending a seizing shock through his limbs. He fought to suck in a deep breath, ribs constricting. What in the—had he fallen through the world somehow? Darkness and cold—but this wasn’t the void. More like… Water?

He floundered, confused and disoriented, his hands waving wildly. They met with resistance, cutting through something that felt like a thick gel.

There was something on his face. There was something on his face—

Thrashing, his knuckles smashed into a curved, hard surface, and he gasped in a breath of stale, machine-flavored air, unable to expand his lungs enough to scream—

“Whoa, hold up there, man,” a voice chimed in his ear, “Don’t panic now, man. We’ll get you out in jus’ a sec—jus’ hang on, m’kay?” The voice was tinny and distorted, as if played from an old jukebox a hundred blocks away.

But it was familiar.

Renbob. He knew that voice—Renbob. Which meant…

A greenish light appeared in the darkness ahead of him, and Xisuma squinted, his eyes unexpectedly stinging and watering. The light quickly bloomed into a line—a gap, he realized. It widened, opening top to bottom like the maw of a dragon and he found himself blinking in the bright glow of endrods, shaded green by the thick liquid that surrounded him.

Suspension chamber.

It was… this was the Hermitheus. It had all been a dream—Or, not a real dream. A simulation. A way to pass the time between seasons.

As memory flooded back and the sound of the tank draining gurgled in his ears, Xisuma let himself relax. His heartbeat pounding in his ears slowed, and he spread his fingers against the curved glass of the chamber’s glass front, pressing against it and reassuring himself of its solidity.

The moon… That hadn’t happened. They were all fine. The world wasn’t destroyed—because it had never existed, except in their imaginations. Everyone was safe. Everyone was—

Oh.

Xisuma tapped one finger on the glass. “Renbob?” he called, his voice distorted through the breathing mask that covered his face. “No panic anymore, but I need to get out of here asap, please.”

“I’ll get right on it, man! Just ooooone sec.”

Xisuma waited—trying not to be impatient, he’d been in here for months, he could stand a few more minutes—while the last of the gel drained through the grate at his feet and fresh air hissed into the chamber. Finally, with a clunk that rattled the pod, the glass front slid open, and he reached up to unhook the facemask strapped over his nose and chin.

“Here, man, lemme take that for you.” Renbob stepped around the edge of the pod’s door and grinned, holding out one hand. “How you feelin’, man?”

“Wobbly.” Xisuma passed him the mask and reached for the wall, steadying himself as he stepped down and out of the chamber. “And insanely hungry. And I might die if I don’t get a real cup of tea in the near future—ah,” he winced. The world spun around him, and he closed his eyes for a moment, catching his breath. “But I have… something I need to do first.”

“Pretty sure you just need to sit down, man—you really shouldn’t be up and about so soon after getting out of the pods.” Renbob gave him a shrewd once-over, his cheerful expression failing to hide the evaluating gleam in his eye. “But I don’t think you’re going to listen to me.”

“I listen all the time, my friend.” Xisuma shook off the wave of dizziness and pushed himself back up straight. “But this is really important.”

Renbob squinted at him for a moment, then gave a decisive nod. “You know what you’re doin’, man,” he said. “I’ll trust your judgment—but if you keel over, just shout and I’ll be right there, m’kay?”

“‘Kay, sounds perfect.” Xisuma blinked and focused past Renbob on the larger room. “No one else is awake yet, right?”

“Nah, man. You’re the first.”

“What about—”

Renbob held up a hand, cutting him off. “You’re the first,” he repeated. “I swear, man. It’s just you, me, and Goatman up and about right now.”

Xisuma nodded. Hesitating for a moment, he lowered his voice—as if one of the other hermits floating in the shielded suspension chambers behind him could somehow hear his words. 

“Something went wrong, Renbob,” he said. “He was there.”

One eyebrow almost vanished into Renbob’s shaggy hairline. “He wasn’t even part of the season eight program, man. He’s got his own—”

“I know, I—” Xisuma took a deep breath. “I know,” he said again. “I need to check on him.”

Renbob stepped back. “Same place as always, man,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything.”

...

(to be continued)

[ganymedesbussy]

WIP: Garak claustrophobia fic

Garak felt his way through the narrow corridor. Too small, too small, his instincts screamed at him, but he deepened his breathing and continued. The thin fiberoptic strands Tain had left as a light source guided him to his work. He tried to focus on the light, on his work; he was too warm, for once, but he could breathe freely, and the only way to get out of this damned Dominion prison waited for him at the source of the light.

The other reason he needed out, of course, was waiting for him at the other end of the passage. Dr. Bashir, alive and waiting for him and real, real, real. His instincts were yelling quite a lot about that, as well, conflicting messages of elation at having found him at last and fear of having allowed him to observe the last words between himself and his father. But he had far more experience with reining in the push-and-pull of his feelings on this subject, and had only to stop and listen now and again to hear the voice of his dear friend coaxing him forward. He could do this - he WOULD do this. He would rescue the lot of them, federation and non-federation prisoners alike, would bring Bashir home and be lauded as a hero. Dear Julian would be so grateful that he would quite forget about all of those silly darts games with the Chief, and he would— he would—

Too small, too small, too small! He closed his eyes and focused on his work.

Later, he wasn’t sure how long, the cable lights began to flicker. He could taste his own fear hanging thick in the air, and feel his pulse quickening, toosmall toosmall toosmall! Trying his best to speak in a calm voice, he chided himself and the light. “I’m sorry, but that’s absolutely unacceptable,” he explained to it. “I’m under enough strain as it is, I can’t have you quitting on me!” he gave himself a small shake, and tried to bargain. “Get a hold of yourself, Garak. After all, you haven’t had one of these attacks in years. Yes, this is a tight, enclosed space. Yes, there’s not a lot of room to move. But a disciplined mind does not allow itself to be sidetracked by niggling psychological disorders like… claustrophobia.”

It could almost be his father’s voice admonishing him; it was painful and comforting and exasperating in turns to imagine it so. “Besides, this isn’t like Tzenketh: the walls won’t collapse in on you, your friends are nearby, there’s plenty of air, so there’s nothing to be concerned about. Focus on the job. You’re the only person who can contact the runabout. People are depending on you.” Julian is depending on you. Ah, but that wouldn’t do, would it? Not when trying to keep his poor heart from racing. “Ziyal is depending on you. You promised her you’d come back, and that young lady has had quite enough disappointments in her life without you adding to them,” the entire life history of her father, for one, “so control yourself. You’re stronger than this. A disciplined mind—”

The light vanished.

He could feel his spacial awareness shrinking, insisting to his otherwise rational mind that the walls were moving closer, would crush him; the space was too small, too small, he had to escape, he had to breathe, but he couldn’t find the exit any longer. Had he turned around? There wasn’t space enough to turn now, any way he moved he banged into the wall, the panel, shocking himself again and again, in the dark, close space that was small, small, small!

And then, he was there - his Doctor, his Julian, the sweet scent of him rolling over his tongue and his so’c, that unmistakable taste that he had missed for so long, that no changeling would ever be able to duplicate. He was babbling, he knew it, but all he could focus on was clinging to the dear man’s arm as he led him out of that terrible hole.

Light, and air, sweet and cool. The good Doctor laid him down on one of the cots, wrapped him in a blanket that carried his comforting scent, and a vague time passed where all he could manage was to keep his breath coming deep and even, and focus on the increased space available in the barracks.

For the rest of the day, he couldn’t quite manage to allow himself back into the passageway. Once, Bashir caught him staring guiltily at the panel that covered the entrance, and he came over and sat with him on the cot and wrapped his arms around Garak’s shoulders and held him until his trembling stopped. If he had had enough resolve left within him to protest, it would have been outrageously embarrassing, but as it was he only leaned into the touch and tried to ignore the presence of his fellow prisoners as they were politely trying to ignore his own.

When it was close to time for the evening meal, the Klingons shared a look between themselves, and the Romulan glanced his way before nodding. With the still-silent Breen, they filed out towards the cafeteria, leaving him alone with the good Doctor for the first time since before he’d been abducted. “My dear,” he said wryly, “I do believe we’ve been abandoned.”

“More like granted some privacy,” Bashir confirmed. “I thought it might be easier, tonight, if it was just the two of us for a while. Martok has some friends in another barracks, and with the other Cardassian prisoners gone there’s plenty of space to go ‘round.” He came and put his hands on Garak’s scalp and collarbone, checking his pulse where the scales were thinnest as he must have learned to do for Tain, and Garak allowed it for a moment before turning to rest his forehead against the other man’s chest. Bashir, in turn, pulled him closer and stroked his dark hair.

“I’ve missed you,” Garak said quietly. “I was certain you had died, or were so far beyond where I could ever get to you that you may as well have.”

Bashir stilled for a moment, then hugged him hard and sat down beside him. “You would be the one to see through my double, wouldn’t you? How… how did you know? That it wasn’t me? And why didn’t you tell the Captain?”

A bitter laugh. He leaned close to Bashir’s ear and made an exaggerated show of sipping the air around him. “My dear, I am ashamed that it took me several days before I could be sure. I’ve spent enough meals with you that your scent and taste is as familiar to me as my own, but living in your quarters allowed enough of it to stick to the changeling wearing your face that at first I wasn’t certain what I was perceiving.” A lie, of course; he had spent enough time in his quarters late at night, conjuring the memory of the good Doctor’s scent, that it was far more than merely familiar to him. “When I was all but sure, I simply asked if my favorite customer was ready for that new suit we had discussed before your trip.”

Bashir’s skin had flushed an attractive, deeper gold color at the mention of how he tasted, but now he laughed and shook his head. “And I’m guessing he didn’t bring Kukalaka down to your shop the next morning? That’s fantastic. Saved by a stuffed bear. Captain Sisko will love that.”

Garak turned slightly away. “I’m sure that he will.”

A hand on his shoulder. “But Garak, why didn’t you tell someone? Who knows what sort of damage the Changeling might have done already?”

“Do give me some credit, my dear - my computer skills aren’t limited to those in miniscule corridors. I kept a lookout for any anomalies I could find. I dare say Odo himself couldn’t have done a better job, though I’m sure he’ll claim otherwise on our return. And besides,” Garak sighed, “If I revealed the Changeling, who knows if they would have kept you alive? I couldn’t risk it. Much better to observe it, until I could find a way to bring you home.”

“Garak, that’s — the entire quadrant is in danger! How could you possibly justify risking that, all of that, for just one —” Bashir raked his hands through his already-disheveled hair, and Garak felt his pulse start to quicken again, his instincts speaking more clearly and more freely now than they had even in the tiny passageway.

“I’ve already told you!” he exclaimed, turning back and placing his hands brazenly on either side of the Doctor’s neck, thumbs moving to caress the short stubble that decorated his jawline. “Sentiment, my dear Doctor, my sweet and beautiful Julian, is the greatest weakness of all.”

And then he kissed him.

In all of the nights he had spent imagining, he had been wrong, wrong, wrong. Julian’s scent around him, the taste of him on his tongue, the feel of him under his lips, it was so much better than he had ever dared guess. He had started to pull back in surprise, and Garak felt his heart plummet, but then he was being kissed back with a ferocity that matched his own. Julian was warm beneath his hands and his mouth,

[WORDS GO HERE, THEY SIT ON BED]

The scrape of stubble against his cheek made him growl as Julian pressed a line of sharp bites along his aural ridge, until he felt soft lips brush against him, and the whisper of a beloved voice.

“Elim Garak, if you let yourself get captured just so you could kiss me—”

Now that was a delightful thought. “You'll what?”

“— I shall… well, I’m going to let you, clearly, but I’ll be very cross about it later!”

A pleased hiss escaped his throat. “As much as it pains me to admit, my dear, I’m afraid even I’m not quite that much of a romantic. As delicious as you are,” his hands slid over Julian’s sides and under the hem of his uniform top, “I much prefer scenarios with a greater chance of survival.”

“I have every faith in your abilities, Garak,” Julian said. “Especially with the promise of a proper bed at the end of it.”

He looked down at the plain cot they sat on. “What exactly qualifies this one as improper?”

“Only what I plan to do to you in it, I should think.” Julian gave him a predatory smile, and pulled his shirt up and off. His chest was starkly minimalist, decorated only by a few soft bits of fur and two small, round nipples. Garak felt a bit adrift without the familiar roadmap of scales and ridges, but the subtleties of hue more than made up for it - even with a month spent in such terrible conditions, the doctor’s skin glowed a lovely bronze, flushing red on his cheeks and chest. His body radiated heat like a furnace, and he’d known they were warm but this was wonderfully akin to a Cardassian sauna, and he could have lain in contentment against him for hours… were it not for a few other pressing concerns.

“My darling exhibitionist,” he said affectionately, then tilted his head coquettishly to the side. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find you celebrating your victory with the battle yet unfought. Tell me, Doctor, are you this impatient in all your romantic encounters, or have you simply been too long without pleasant company?”

“Oh no you don’t,” His smile was radiant, his fingers were quick, and he’d undone half the latches on Garak’s tunic already. “Now you’re just trying to pick a fight. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how uncharacteristically honest you’ve been with me since you got here.”

He pressed a kiss to Garak’s chufa, and pressed his forehead against it before speaking softly. “Which means quite a lot to me, you know. Even without all this.” A few more heartbeats passed as they simply held each other close, before Julian’s lip twitched into a smile. “But also it has been a very lonely month. And don’t you ‘Doctor’ me, Elim.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me,” Garak huffed “Your changeling friend might have looked the part, but I haven’t had a truly rousing debate in weeks!”

“I’ll show you a rousing debate…”

“... Really, my dear, it’s fortunate that you’re so lovely. I can see how you were made salutatorian of that fine federation school of yours with such compelling arguments.”

Warm human hands slipped his tunic and thermal shirt from his shoulders and teased the ridges just above his hips. “My sweet Elim, we’re currently prisoners of war bunking six to a room with no promise of tomorrow, the only real comfort I can offer you is physical, and you kissed me first. Now, may I please suck your cock?”

Well.

Ahem.

“I suppose if that sweet mouth of yours is going to be useless for arguing anyway…” Garak said, aiming for lofty but landing somewhat closer to breathy. Julian kissed him hard,

[EYYY IT’S COCKSUCKING TIME]

[cottoncandysprite]

Realized I could use my comfort character as free therapy and wrote a oneshot in one sitting about it. Enjoy

(Btw if you have serious claustrophobia you might wanna sit this one out trust me)

[kckenobi]

Nowhere to Run

Whumptober Prompt No. 2: Caged, Cornered, Confrontation

Summary: For the first time since Qui-Gon’s death, Obi-Wan finds himself trapped behind red ray shields once again. But this time when the awful memories come, a friend is there to pull him back. (3.3k, cw: claustrophobia, derealization & panic attacks)

It should’ve been Obi-Wan’s mission. Obi-Wan’s alone.

He’d been a Knight for four months now. Four. And the Council had yet to give him a solo mission, insisting he and his new Padawan needed time to adjust to their sudden and rather significant life changes. Which, to be fair, they did. The transition hadn’t been easy, for the Padawan or the Master. 

Which was all the more reason Obi-Wan needed to get out of the Temple.

And all the more reason it took years of carefully cultivated Jedi patience to keep him from audibly groaning when the Council informed him that the mission would be his, and his Padawan’s, and…

"Yo, old friend! Been too long!”

Obi-Wan felt himself physically shrink.

Quinlan Vos.

"I can’t believe they put us together,” Quinlan continued, striding down the Temple hallway. He threw an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and Obi-Wan very patiently did not squirm away. At least…not immediately. “But I was getting tired of solo missions, you know?”

That makes one of us. “Quinlan. So…nice to see you.”

"I was just talking to Bant about the last time I saw you. Ages ago, before I was off-world for a year or so—right? When we went clubbing on the lower levels and you and that guy were—?”

"Um, yes. I remember.” Stop talking, stop talking, stop—

 But this was Quinlan Vos. Voracious and full of impulsive energy and, therefore—completely and utterly exhausting.

It wasn’t Quinlan’s fault. Obi-Wan often felt like this, around anyone, these days. He tried to ignore the way that the room swam, the way Quinlan didn’t exactly look real. He blinked, trying to place himself in this moment. Trying to make the universe seem concrete again, instead of something he was watching on a holoTV.

"So, you’ve been briefed by the Council?” he managed to say.

Quinlan nodded. “Sounds simple enough. Just some trade negotiations in the Mid Rim.”

Obi-Wan sighed. Simple enough indeed. Simple enough that Obi-Wan could’ve handled it alone. And gotten a much-needed break from…

"Anakin will be joining us,” Obi-Wan said. “My…Padawan.”

He still stumbled on the word. 

Quinlan was kind enough to pretend not to notice. 

Keep reading

[jihancheolover]

ushijima is claustrophobic but keeps it a secret. tendou likes to arrange games to play during shiratorizara training camps, and usually the whole team will play together. but there's one night when he ushers ushijima off to sleep before the others, and they play 7 minutes in heaven. tendou tells the others that it's because ushijima wouldn't approve of such a game but it's actually because he knows of ushijima's claustrophobia.