#tw panic attacks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bokettochild · 3 months

Note

Fenuwhump request for day 3, how about make it about Wild & Legend, where Wild’s the one who’s injured enough to need to bite down on something while Legend it trying to treat him. Maybe they need to get a spear or something out of Wild before using a Fairy. Whump for both of them basically except for Legend it’s emotional whump.

Oh boy, this one was fun! Took me a hot tick (and it's late, whoops!) but it was worth it!

Wordcount: 5,157

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Hemophobia, panic attacks, graphic descriptions of injury and LOTS OF BLOOD

They’ve been wandering for a week.

Normally, that’s expected, only normally they find at least something in their path while they do so. A village, a town, a couple of farmhouses- be they occupied or not, there’s always something. Here though there have only been monsters, and lots of them. He'd think, based off of the abundance of enemies, that it was his own time, or something very close to, except even his era has more in the ways of civilization than this! At least back home, the paths lead to somewhere, and even if homes and villages aren’t prosperous, they’re at least existent!

Legend sighs. Maybe it's the rain, maybe the stiff joints and the sore muscles caused by the heavy downpour of the last two days is the cause of his ire. He's not usually so fussy about where he’s walking, as long as it’s on a path, although this era of Hyrule doesn't seem to have much in the way of those either. He really had wondered if they were in his time though, but the lack of civilization and the sparsity in monster species had convinced him otherwise. Not that there’s a lack of monsters, just that there’s only been three or four main types they’ve run into in the last week, and they’d all been familiar, almost easy to take down, and frankly boring. He’s used to having changing targets, things that challenge him and make him actually try in order to stay alive, but so far most of the monsters they’ve met on this journey, here in this era or in the ones before, have been familiar. Although, the strange black blood does tend to make them more violent, resilient and intelligent, so fighting them isn’t exactly easy either.

Wherever they are, no one else seems to enjoy it either. Time looks most miserable, his armor no doubt incredibly uncomfortable while wet, but saying he’s the most miserable isn’t saying much about the comfort of the rest of them. Twilight slogs through the field, leading Epona beside him and hunching in under his heavy fur hood. Likewise, Four has donned his hood, shivering as he walks along at the center of their group, grumbling softly under his breath about whether rain is or isn’t the worst sort of weather. The consensus so far seems to be that sandstorms are worse, but by a thin margin because they’re incredibly rare in comparison.

Personally, Legend finds hail to be the worst sort of weather, seeing as the chunks can get as large as some stones in his era, but he keeps that to himself. It’s not like Four’s asking for his opinion after all.

“Anything?” Sky calls ahead, his sailcloth pulled over his head and, surprisingly, not soaking up the water. Legend wonders what the thing is made of, maybe he can ask later, or give it a look once they’re somewhere dry. He’d never expected it to be waterproof.

Beside their leader, Warriors shakes his head, water dripping off the ends of the hair that’s now well and truly plastered to his face. The captain had leant Hyrule his scarf, and while seeing him without it is strange enough, seeing his hair as flat and ruined as it is, is even stranger. “Nothing, sorry, Chosen.”

The skyloftian sighs again. They all know, from previous conversation, that rain is very much a new sensation for Sky still, and while he’s apparently past the stage of thinking the sky is falling, something he’s apparently still in the process of teaching his fellow skyloftains back home, he still doesn’t like it at all. Like the vet himself, their chosen hero seems to be wary of storms, and lightning storms for the man, as with himself, are the worst.

Actually, you know, maybe hail isn’t so bad. Maybe lightning storms are worse, especially after Four said that your chances of being struck increase with each time it happens. Or something like that.

“We’ve been walking for days,” Wind whines, a true testament to his frustration, because their youngest hates whining. “How is there still nothing?”

“Because life hates us.” Four drones, “life hates us, and the goddesses are pissed we are still alive.”

Even he stares at the smithy for that one.

“Four,” Warriors pauses in his walking, and most of them follow suit. “Would you like me to carry you?”

The genuine request is shut down very quickly with some foul language that no doubt would earn a very harsh stare if anyone could still see the captain’s face. Good grief, their captain looks like a drowned sheepdog with his bangs hanging that low, he desperately needs a trim (not that Legend’s offering).

“Sumthin’s sure t’come,” Twilight tries, and it’d be assuring if it wasn’t the thirteenth time he’s said that in the last few days. “jist hod in there, sailor.”

“How many times have you said that already?” Sky sighs.

“Thirteen.”

The rancher shoots him a glare and Sky chuckles, adjusting his baldric as he walks, head shaking under the white sailcloth. Strangely, he looks like the pictures of the old priestesses like that, and while Legend’s not in the best of moods, what with his hands and joints burning and aching from the rain, he still smirks a bit at the thought, although he doesn’t speak it. Catching eyes with Hyrule though, face half hidden by blue fabric, he sees a similar sort of smile playing over the traveler’s face, one that glints a bit as it turns on him, as though asking if he sees it too. He grins back, only to wince as his feet stumble some over the uneven ground.

He flounders for a moment, almost catching his balance only to have the muddy earth slip under his newly settled feet and make him trip further. It’s Wild hand, shot out to catch his own, that stops him, and he grips back tightly as he finds his feet again, panting maybe a bit harder than necessary once he has. When he glances up to thank the champion though, he’s met with flat eyes and a blank face, none of their young knight's typical cheer and playfulness present.

“Champ?”

“Watch your step,” it’s not harsh, but the other’s voice is distant as the other withdraws. Wild’s been quiet for a while, since the rain started actually. Usually, bad weather is met with some hair-brained anecdote or story that has Twilight shaking his head and Time cracking secret smiles, but these last couple of days are different for some reason. Legend can’t name why, but he supposes it’s not his place to ask either, seeing as how it’s not like they’re close or anything. Maybe more so than they were before, but not nearly as much as the champion is with Twilight and Time, or Wind is with Warriors.

Oh well, Wild being weird isn’t new either. As long as the young knight doesn’t do anything, it should be fine. Still, he makes a note to keep an eye on the kid, at least until he starts acting like himself again. For now, though, the champion walks- no, marches- along at their center, just in front of him and granting him direct view of set shoulders and a tense jaw. He’s making that same face he does when he’s in a memory, although he’s proven to be more responsive than when he fades out into one of those. Glancing around, the vet wonders if maybe this place reminds their champion of something, or maybe he’s just equally off put by the lack of people, places to stop, and opportunities to warm up by fires or cook. They haven’t been dry in over twenty-four hours after all, and that’s got to have an effect on anyone.

“What the heck is that?” The voice of the captain has all their attention drifting to the front, watching their medic dash hair and water out of his eyes for what’s got to be the thousandth time, peering out into the rain with a squint. The rest of them follow suit, staring out and trying to make out anything against the grey sky and thick curtain of water that pours down around them.

He hears it before he sees it. It’s a strange mechanical whirring noise, steady and unbroken, but very, very unfamiliar. He can’t even tell where it’s coming from for a moment, but then, out of the deluge around them, he sees a faintly pink glow.

Wild, directly in front of him, stiffens, hands flying for sword and shield.

“Cub?”

“Guardian,” the champion bites out, and while that word means nothing to any of them, they all follow his example, arming themselves and crouching low. If the thing, the guardian, is a threat, it isn’t doing anything yet, just wandering around on long, spider-like legs that almost remind him of a tektite, or maybe a gohma.

“Threat?” Time asks, glancing back, as though they aren’t already prepared for that very thing.

Wild nods, sharp, firm, jaw set.

That’s the last thing any of them are able to do either, as a moment later there’s a sharp, alarming beeping that makes some part of his soul scream in response, a red beam cutting through the rain around them, drifting over them briefly before settling on the champion, who’s closest. Harsh blue eyes blow wide at the sight, and the champion’s voice, a soft rasping whisper a moment ago, rises in a shout. “Run!”

They scatter, like so many keese out of a cave, they dart off in all directions, Twilight swinging up into the saddle and catching Four by the belt as he does so, kicking his mare off and away even as the rest of them rely on their own two legs. Some of them slip, some of them fall, but they’re all well accustomed to moving and moving quickly when enemies appear. The important thing is not letting the red beam settle on them. He’s not sure why, but he knows, and he’s ever been one to ignore instinct.

An explosion, not unlike one caused by a beamos, lights up the grey world not far from where they’d all been standing, and Time’s form darts across his vision as the man circles around the creeping monster as it glides on far too many legs towards their quickly fleeing group.

“Cub, weaknesses!” Is shouted over the sound of their feet and the rain, the steady mechanical whirr of the so-called guardian sending his mind screaming in warnings that any normal person would take as a sign to book it out of there. They don’t though, because heroes never run when they should, unless it’s to run towards the thig trying to kill them. They’re a bit dumb like that.

The champion is somewhere on his left, no, right- blue tunic standing out against the grey world, even despite the sheets of rain making it muddled against the cloudy sky and churned up earth. “Eye!” Except the blasted thing is a mechanical monster, so there isn’t an eye. Legend supposes the blinking blue and pink circle on what seems to be the front of it is rather like an eye though, and it doesn’t take much to send an arrow flying towards that point, a whisper of a prayer on his lips that it’ll do some good.

The red beam tracing after Wind disappears, pink and blue lights blinking in and out for a brief moment as the whole creature shakes and shudders, the top part swiveling wildly for a second before turning, slowly, as the lights come on again.

The red beam focuses on him.

Shit.

“Vet, run!”

He does. He didn’t even need the warning, he just breaks into a full sprint the moment he can, boots kicking into use to give him a little extra speed. Pegasus boots aren’t nearly as effective in the rain, or on muddy ground, but it’s better than his normal speed when it’s wet and cold and his joints are aching enough to make walking miserable. Unfortunately, that does require him staying upright, something that’s exceedingly more taxing on his body as a whole.

“Do not take it on!” The champion shouts, and Legend has no clue how the usually rasping voice of the young knight carries so clearly over the drenched field, but he can hear it as clearly as if the champion is right next to him. “Move away! Get as far as you can!”

They rarely warn each other to not take on monsters, usually only in the case of the worst ones, but the utter and complete terror he’d seen on the champion’s face the split second before they’d all darted off had been clue enough that that is the case now. Even if the others didn’t see the champion’s face though, the run. Twilight is already out of sight, Four with him. Time stops to grab ahold of Wind and then they both plunge off into the wetness, Hyrule and Sky taking off in the opposite direction, north and northwest.

Southwards of the strange thing, Legend’s got no chance at following any of them, and the blinking red beam fixed on him is making his steps more and more desperate as he weaves this way and that, desperately trying to throw off its aim as it trundles steadily closer, hardly hurried as the blink of its beam quickens its flash.

In a last-ditch attempt, he throws himself down into the mud the moment he hears the blast fire. The ground in front of him bursts into flames, unaffected by the rain pelting from the sky, but at least he’d escaped. This time.

The sound of another blast charging has him darting up, but the ground and his joints are no aid, making him slip and slide and falter for a moment before he finally gets his feet underneath him and takes off again.

The second shot strikes the ground just a few inches from him as he darts to the side, once more at the last moment.

“Hang on!”

He doesn’t know why Wild’s still around, the rest of the heroes now absent by both sight and sound, but he can hear the other flying through the mud and the muck towards him, arrows pinging harmlessly off of the sides of the giant, multi-legged hell-beast that’s chasing him. For some reason though, its sights remain locked on him, not faltering even for a moment towards the champion whose breathing is becoming more and more shallow by the second, terror painted clearly in its pulses.

The thing is getting closer, he’s losing ground. Instinct says that he’s not outrunning this thing, not even with all his magic poured into his boots to try and speed him along. The moment he runs out is the moment it catches up, and he’s not making great distance anyways. They need a new plan.

He turns around, shield raised.

The champion’s throaty scream rings out at nearly the same pitch as the firing laser.

The blow makes him stumble back, force like nothing he’s faced before, even a lynel, but the mirror shield does its job, sending the horrid blue light rocketing back to its source with a flick of his arm.

The spidery monster stalls, lights blinking and fizzing, top spinning about again, this time for longer than what the arrow had done as the things stops moving long enough for Wild to reach it. The champion’s sword, freshly forged for the second time, swings for the legs, hacking and cutting in a motion he darts to mirror, tackling the twisting limb that’s closest. Two legs hit the ground, still writhing, sending the not-a–beast teetering and then tipping, unbalanced with the loss of two of its eight awful legs. That isn’t enough to stop it though. No, the thing’s glow returns, top spinning again, seeking them, and Wild’s hand catches his wrist before it does, the champion pulling him away.

The red beam follows them as they dart off, and the monster does too, although it’s slowed by the loss of its legs, and a quick shot from the champion’s bow at the last moment has it spinning and fizzing again, stopped in its tracks a moment more and granting them both long enough to gain some ground.

Wild’s hand is a vice on his wrist.

He doesn’t dare pull away.

Their feet slip and slide, and more than once he nearly falls, only for the hand nearly bruising his wrist to pull him up again. An arm wraps round his shoulders to steady and pull him up, Wild’s blue eyes cast all the while towards the thing behind them. There’s fear in those eyes; desperate terror that makes him almost miss the empty coldness from on the road. Makes him miss the wild child streaked with dirt and all too eager with a stupid plan. The ma beside him, soaked to the skin, dirt streaked and desperate, is like a whole different person, but even that doesn’t stop the fact that his brother is there, standing beside him and getting his ass out of danger as best he can rather than darting off as his own mind is likely demanding he do.

Didn’t Wild say his scars came from a guardian? Didn’t he die to these things? Are they going to die?

The mechanical whir picks up again, the steadily increasing beep that he’s quickly learning signifies preparation of a shot is sounding in their ears and they only have so much distance between themselves and the monster that outpaces them without even trying.

“Keep running,” Wild orders, eyes finding his for a moment, startled at the contact, but the other pulls back all the same.

Legend finds his own feet skidding to a stop, already whirling around to ask what the champion’s plan even is, but a harsh “that’s an order!” has him obeying. He's not sure if it’s the firmness, the desperation, or maybe even fear of the champion himself, but his instinct takes the lead to send him stumbling away as quickly as possible.

This is Wild’s monster, he knows it’s weaknesses, he knows how to fight them. This is Wild’s world, he knows what he’s doing, he does. Wild knows what he’s doing, Wild knows what he’s doing Wild knows-

The champion’s grunt of pain, a bit bac scream and the sound of something falling stop him in his tracks.

The champion is wincing, ash floating around him, shield now notably missing as the enemy closes in on the hero who is running and darting with a speed Legend didn’t know he had in him. Running towards him, eyes locking on him, blowing wide and full of terror as they catch on the vet’s frozen form.

The red beam locks onto the running form of his brother.

They don’t have time. Wild doesn’t have a shield any longer and Legend’s not confident he can replicate the parry he’d done before on total accident. Their options are slim, but they have some.

His bow is easy to equip, arrow flying off the string in a second, aim easy to take as the mechanical monster crawls steadily towards them, target never shifting. The single shot does little, save restart their timer, but that at least is something. He fires again.

“What are you doing?”

“Distracting!” Depleting the health, if this thing even has health. He's doing damage though, he knows that much He’s doing damage because they’re out of time for flight, it’s time to fight now.

The champions snarls, a foreign, harsh sound that rips across scarred vocal chords, but he’s not challenged. No, instead, the other darts in, sword ready and already hacking the moment Legend fires off another arrow. The new sword screams against the metal legs of the guardian, but after some heavy, terrible looking blows, yet another twisting, writhing limb falls to the soaked earth, and the spinning head of the not-creature turns to focus instead on the champion. The red beam pulses, already too quick, eye faced away and out of sight of Legend’s bow.

“Wild!”

Resignation is already clear in those eyes as the other hacks away, darting and jumping and flipping about, moving too fast but not fast enough, rough voice still so harsh against his ears. “Run! I’ll hold it off!”

He’s not going to.

“I’ll be fine!” The champion’s voice breaks on the words. He won’t.

The pulsing light is blinking faster than his pounding heart, lights blurring his vision as his feet slide in the dirt, running as bidden. Rather than away, he’s headed towards, but even with sword and shield raised, with all his magic streaming into aiding his stride, he’s not fast enough.

The beam of blue light strikes Wild in the center of his chest, and it’s like time stops for a moment. The scream of his brother rings over the field, no doubt echoing in the ears of their fled brethren. He’s frozen, watching, as the champion falls, as though in slow motion, but then Wild’s body slumps against the earth and the guardian is turning on him this time and time catches up again, returned to normal, ticking on as though he hasn’t just witnessed the stuff of his brother’s nightmares.

And yet Wild still get’s back up.

“Go!” Those eyes are so wide, so pained, so terrified. “Zelda! Run!”

Wild doesn’t know it’s him. Wild doesn’t know it’s him! Oh crud, Wild doesn’t know it’s him! Wild is running, stumbling, one hand to his sodden and bloodied chest and the other clutching tightly to his sword, gaze fixed on the vet with the same sort of desperation that screams and pounds fit to make Legend’s own heart burst.

If Wild takes another shot, there’s no promise he’ll get up again. But Wild isn’t seeing Legend, he’s seeing his princess; his desperate, defenseless princess, and there’s no way in the Dark World that the dutiful knight he knows would let Zelda take the blow of an enemy, even if that means he has to make himself into a living shield.

What to do? The things bearing down on him, target set, lights already blinking in a too quick countdown. He can’t parry the beam back twice in a row, there’s too much distance to use his sword. He can shoot but for how long? How long till it’s on him? How long till he runs out of arrows?

Arrows! Zelda!

He’s not sure, hasn’t time to think, hasn't time to do more than send a prayer heavenward that Hylia did more than curse him with her blood, but then it’s there, shining and bright and light arrows are at the tips of his fingers, bright and warm and pulsing as they fly to his string. He pulls back. The guardian’s light pulses once. He releases.

The thing flies back, rolling and crashing against the wet earth, sparking and fizzing out, twitching and spluttering as the ever-present whine of its core gives out. Legend doesn’t care, he has eyes only for his wavering friend, the brother whose eyes are flickering, and legs are faltering. He tries to quicken his pace, but even as he reaches out his arms, the strain and the mud have them both tumbling down into the muck, the chapion’s breath stuttering with a pained groan as they slide and roll.

He comes out on top, something he alters quickly, pulling himself to the side and upright, knelt over his brother’s sprawled out and boody form. He gags.

The beams effects are immediately obvious, flesh burnt away, bubbling at the edges as blood seeps out from the wound, running thin under the rainwater but in no ways washed away by the downpour. There’s charring already, and where there isn’t is exposed muscle that trembles and spasms, veins pulsing as pained shudders shake the champion.

Shit shit shit, he;s going to be sick, he’s going to be so sick!

“Zel-” the pained whimper has him tearing his eyes away, wide violet finding fluttering blue, holding as one hand lifts, the champion trying to catch hold of him in some way or another.

For a brief second, the image of his uncle, gaping wound leaking blood across the floor and into the sewage drain behind them, flashes in is head. Wild’s eyes are just as glazed over, words fumblinga nd slurring as a hand reaches clumsily for him. He catches it, pushing it down and out of his way, motions a echo of ten years ago when he did the same for the man who raised him. “H-hey-: his voice is shaking, trembling, foreign even to his own ears, “h-hang in there, y-you're- you're gonna be fine.”

He doesn't know how to treat a burn like this. Doesn’t know how to deal with the hole that’s been seared through his brother's chest. He’s no medic, no healer, and his magic may be enough to end but it can do nothing to heal.

“Zel,” his brother wheezes, still fighting his hands, finger slipping easily across soaked skin to grip his own, tight but not tight enough, not as tight as the bruising grip before. “y’gotta keep-” his breath stutters “-keep running. Calam-”

“No,” Wild’s eyes aren’t focused enough to see him shake his head, but he’s not thinking about that right now. “No, no, Wild I am not leaving you like tis i got it, it’s dead, I got it.”

“Zelda-”

“No!” His voice is sharper than the sound of the blast, “Din dang it, Link, I’m not leaving you!”

Wild’s blue eyes flutter open, breath straining, hands fumbling even as he tries once more to push the away, to turn his attention to the smoking hole in the man’s chest, the blood oozing out to turn the mud beneath them faintly pink, blue tunic unrecognizable beneath the crimson flow and spattered earth.”You have-”

“I have to save you!” Not save the world, not save zelda, not save his sister or chase his destiny or leave becasue he is not leaving again! Not again! He’s not wandering off and leaving the champion to bleed out, letting precious life-blood spill down the drains of Hyrule castle as though it’s worth as much as the sewage it flows alongside. He's not taking the sword and the shield, he’s tossing them down and pressing his hands over the gaping would, trying desperately to stop the bleeding even as his vision swims and weak hands fumble against his own.

“Princess!”

He ignores the cry, the scream at the contact of his hands with exposed muscle, with blood that seeps between his fingers and stains them, flows past even despite his efforts to trail over skin and ruined clothes.

He needs to close the wound! He needs to stop the bleeding and close the wound, but the hands reaching for his have become violent, clawing at his wrists and tearing to pull them away, the champion’s scream of agony rattling his heart, his mind, making his vision swim and his own breath falter and catch in a cry he can’t hold back.

He needs the screaming to stop!

He tears his hands away, plunging them into his bag and grabbing the first thing that gives way under his touch. For a moment he stalls, mind flicking through his inventory, praying a potion or fairy hides beneath the mounds of supplies, but he’d used his last one in their last battle and they haen;t seen fairies since Time’s world. He grabs the soft feeling thing, ripping it out of his bag and sparing uit not a single glance before shoving it towards the champion’s outh. “Bite down on this.”

Be it in relief or desperation, his order is obeyed, and sharp teeth close tightly on the old belt, sinking into it and granting blessed silence long enough for his brain to function again.

Blood, he needs to stop the blood.

The blows too close to the heart, there’s no cutting off blood flow, there’s no stopping the blood seeping through except by packing the wound and praying it’s enough. Pack and bind, like Fi taught him. Use any scrap of clean cloth he’s got and hope the blood will stop long enough for someone to find them- or him to find them- or any blessed miracle to grant itself to them and provide a way to end the wound!

His hand flied to his bag again, sorting by touch alone, finding wool socks he’s mostly certain are clean and pressing them to the wound, one hand holding them there een as another stifled scream escapes his brother, the champion’s back bowing forwards, body surging up under his hands to writhe in pain, a motion he only barely responds to, pushing back down again as his other hand paws and grasps wildly for anything, anything at all to stuff into the gaping hole that pours blood, so much blood, red crimson ooze that stains his hands and is warm, far too warm, burning hot against trembling, froze hands.

There’s so much blood. God, why is there so much of it! Why isn’t it stopping? Why cant ke make it stop!

His own sobs ring in his ears beside the agonized cry of his brother. He can’t even feel the grip of the champion’s fingers clawing at his wrist anymore, mind a stuttering and stalling haze as he somehow manages to press another wadded up piece of clothing to the endless stream of red.

Bandages, he manages to process. He needs to bandage them in place, tie the packing in so that it won’t get out, so the wadded-up fabric and wool will catch the blood and stop more from coming out, make it finally stop. Stop staining his hands, stop burning, stop rolling in his stomach and pounding in his heart and clogging in his throat as his breath catches on it, lungs seizing on it, vision lost to red red red.

Somehow, he manages to bind the wound. He doesn't know how had he doesn’t know what with, but he knows that he does and then he’s pulling Wild in, holding close and clinging, rocking slowly as the champion whimpers.

His fingers are red, streaking red across white features as Wild’s screams fade to moans and whimpers, the champion's nails still clawing at his wrists, at his arm, painting them both in more red red red.

He whimpers, body shaking, breath stalling, chest stammering and seizing.

He did it. It’s bound. The blood is stopping. He did it. He didn’t run away, and he didn’t leave. He didn’t leave the blood to flow, flow, flow, dripping into the sewers, staining the stone, painting the dungeons in blood blood blood.

He did it. He did it this time.

He did good.

He stopped the blood.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #lu legend #lu wild #tw hemophobia #tw blood #tw violence #tw panic attacks #tw injury

79 notes · View notes

soleil-in-retrograde · 1 year

Text

At the end of Tower of Nero, when Rachel is issuing the prophecy to Will and Nico about their quest to Tartarus, Apollo has a panic attack.

His own oracle issuing prophecies is now a trigger for him due to the fight with Python.

#trials of apollo #tw ptsd #tw panic attacks #lester papadopoulos #talking about trauma for fun and profit #whump the blorbo #whump the sunshine

200 notes · View notes

universitypenguin · 9 months

Text

Chapter 17

The Princess & the Lawyer

Summary: Elliot reveals what ‘Mercury’ referred to, unleashing a flood of bittersweet memories in Lloyd that lead him to re-explore the darkest parts of childhood and uncover evidence of a devastating betrayal. Meanwhile, Princess deals with the aftermath of her near death experience and grapples with doubts about the true identity of her stalker.

Masterlist

Word Count: 6,021

Warnings: Contains descriptions of child abuse, memories of being buried alive, description of taphephobia - aka, the fear of being buried alive, vivid description of a panic attack - written in a manner intended to draw the reader into the physical experience of a panic attack. Contains content related to police corruption, murder, criminal behavior, police investigations, a scene involving emergency room care, and stalking. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors allowed.

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

Chapter 17

Lloyd skirted around a thicket of weeds and ducked under the branch of a towering giant hogweed, scowling at the unwelcome intruder. The disrepair of the property grated on his nerves. He added another mental note to his to-do list for tomorrow: call a weed removal service to clean up the invasive species his father had allowed to thrive in the backyard. They rounded the thicket and the beam of Elliot’s flashlight fell on the dilapidated garage. It was halfway hidden in the woods behind the house and screened from view by the untrimmed weeds.

“What are we doing here?” Lloyd asked.

“Hang on,” Elliot said.

He pulled on the garage door handle and to Lloyd’s surprise, it swung easily into the rafters. Elliot flipped a switch on an extension cord by the door to turn on the overhead lights and Lloyd stared, speechless.

“This is what ‘Mercury’ was referring to,” Elliot said.

“A Mercury Cougar… my mother’s car,” Lloyd murmured.

“Yep. Your Dad asked me to restore it last year. She turned out gorgeous. The keys are inside, if you want to take it for a spin.”

His throat felt thick as he stepped forward to inspect the bright metallic blue paint on the 1971 Mercury Cougar. He knew every inch of this car, from the cassette player his mother had installed in the dash herself, to the buttons on the radio dial, the white leather bucket seats and the fold-down rag top with squeaky hinges. He ran his hand over the glossy paint.

“It’s beautiful. You did a great job.”

“So, you remember this car? I think she must have had it before my time,” Elliot said.

“Yeah. I don’t think I was in school yet when she was driving the Mercury. She’d let me sit on her lap and pretend to drive when we drove into town. I remember she put the cassette player in the dash by herself… She was always listening to music…”

The rush of memories startled him - crystal clear and bittersweet, they grabbed him by the heartstrings and twisted, sending a painful bolt of emotion through his chest.

Elliot shuffled his feet. “Anyway, this was where Holbrook thought I’d stashed the drugs. Everyone in town knew I was working on it all last year, so it was only logical.”

His cousin cleared his throat awkwardly and reached for the flashlight he’d set on a tool chest. “Know what? I’m gonna head in for the night. See you tomorrow.”

When there was no one around as a witness, Lloyd bowed his head and let the emotions sweep through him. He waited, expecting tears, anger, something, to come out of him… but nothing came. He felt empty. Cold. Alone.

… Abandoned.

The joyful memory of riding on his mother’s lap while she drove only stirred faint echoes of anger. It mostly dragged up a raw feeling of pain, the kind he had little experience handling. The emotion burned in his belly like whiskey and he swallowed hard as his mind replayed the scenes from the past. Even decades couldn’t wash away the smell of her heavily perfumed hand lotion as it reached across time to fill his head with its musky scent. He could remember the exact shade of her nail polish - Kelly Green - and the softness of her hand stroking his hair. Even perched on her lap, he hadn’t been tall enough to see over the wheel.

Lloyd turned away. He shut the garage door and started back to the house before the thought of Elliot waiting for him made him pause. Company was the last thing he wanted right now. He was a riot of conflicting emotions, which was exactly the state of mind Dr. Blair recommended he should avoid. Odds were, Elliot was locked in a bathroom, either shooting up or smoking meth. That wasn’t a confrontation he needed to have right now so he changed directions and headed for the barn.

It was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop himself.

In the barn he checked on the sick calf and gave Jane a bag of oats. His mind mechanically ran through tomorrow’s to-do list, as if on autopilot. He needed to call the gravel company about repairing the washed out road and coordinate the pick up of the sick calf with April. He’d have to help her load up Jane, along with what remained of the fresh hay. The horse would board with her for a few days before her new owner came down from Coeur D’Alene on Wednesday. Then he needed to contact a weed removal service about the Giant Hogweed in the backyard and… take his cousin to rehab.

Lloyd sighed, rubbing his eyes. Yeah. He needed to do that more than any of the rest of the final chores. April had asked him to help Elliot. He had, but the job wasn’t finished yet. The decision settled his nerves, and he moved down the aisle, ready to initiate the confrontation.

Then, a chill ran down his spine.

He hadn’t realized where he was standing. He was in the middle of the barn, equidistant from the back exit and the front doors, in the center of the aisle facing the east wall. Straight ahead was the half open door of the tack room. Goosebumps raised on his arms and crawled up the back of his neck as the chill wrapped around his lungs and spread into his heart. He dragged his gaze away, but it was too late.

It was cold. It was so very, very cold.

His hands were shaking.

He watched the shaking spread to his forearms and felt it rattle through his chest. His muscles clenched and shuddered. He grit his teeth against the wave of dizziness and reached out to brace himself on the wall, but missed. Numbness came after the cold. He recognized the fumbling reaction and knew it meant he’d entered the phase where his sense of spatial awareness disappeared. Fighting for breath, Lloyd panted. He had the presence of mind to drop to his knees as the room tilted, and then he was down on his hands and knees, trembling.

He tried to move but it was as if the force of gravity had quadrupled. Lloyd groaned. It came out like a whine. He needed to get out of here. Pressure built in his chest, discomfort and then a sharp pain. It ripped through his sternum and sliced into his back, climbing up his neck. This feeling was why he’d thought he was having a heart attack when the first panic attack struck him in the middle of the night, when he was alone in his cell in France.

His muscles were rigid as the attack rocketed through him. When it eased, they went limp and Lloyd slumped to the ground. There was no point in trying to move - he’d been through enough episodes like this to know. His head was swimming, his throat hurt, and nausea roiled his stomach. Gradually, the symptoms eased, and he was able to sit up with his back to the wall. The position had him facing the tack room door.

The events that had occurred inside the tack room were known only to three individuals. One of them was dead and of the two who remained alive, Lloyd was the sole person at liberty to speak. Joe was the one who was dead and Dr. Blair was bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, and Lloyd… He was constrained by the same intangible force that had kept him muzzled for over thirty years. In therapy, Dr. Blair had resorted to hypnosis to help him shed the gag that choked him. The treatment helped. Afterwards he’d been able to talk about it, at least in his therapy sessions, but never anywhere else. Never to anyone else.

He’d painstakingly translated the ugly memories into words and then repeated those words, over and over, until he could recite them as if reading from a script. He’d written them down and burned the pages. Dr. Blair’s approach was to expose him to the memories until he could dominate them, instead of the other way around. Lloyd hated it, but it worked. The boiling temper that had been his constant companion all his adult life eased to a simmer. A few months later, the panic attacks stopped. Except for flare-ups brought on by acute stress - which only seemed to happen at night - they’d disappeared.

He hadn’t been naïve enough to think that years of therapy could overcome the effect of being confronted with the physical reality of the tack room. That was why he’d tried his best to avoid this place all week until his inability to grieve had drawn him to it.

What if he went inside? Would it help?

Just the thought of it made his guts twist with the urge to vomit. He could go inside, Lloyd told himself. His father was dead. Joe was dead, and maybe going into the room as an adult would give him some sense of victory.

Victory? He doubted that was possible. Maybe closure was a better word. You would probably use a word like closure to describe what he was hoping to achieve. He didn’t know if he believed in closure. For people like you it seemed to work, but people like him held onto things, especially negative things.

Lloyd inhaled sharply through his nose, huffing the alfalfa scented air in an effort to calm his racing heart. Having a high level of self-awareness was a major downside of prolonged therapy. He hated knowing what was wrong with him, but being unable - though, perhaps ‘unwilling’ would be a better adjective - to change. Whatever it was, inability or unwillingness, he couldn’t embrace ideas like closure. He needed the hatred and rage foraged inside of this barn because it had built a nuclear reactor inside of him that powered his every waking moment and kept him alive. That reactor was still alive inside of him, there was just a better containment system for its toxic fumes.

None of his justifications made much sense, and he knew it. But he also knew the unhealthy coping mechanisms worked, and that was why he couldn’t let them go. He held onto the irrational belief that if he let go of the hatred, he’d turn into dust, like Lot’s wife. She glanced back at Sodom and Gomorrah and had become a pillar of salt. He imagined himself in a direct inversion of that tale - if he didn’t look back, then he too, would crumble.

Lloyd used the wall to help him climb to his feet. His chest heaved with effort. The half open door taunted him. He’d already gone inside once, on his first day here, in the middle of a sunny morning, to gather up Jane’s tack. He hadn’t stepped foot in it since and had even gone as far as avoiding looking at the room. This wasn’t a good time for this showdown. It was dark, and that was a problem. Acknowledging that fear made him feel like a child, but it was too strong of a compulsion to ignore.

Lloyd moved toward the opening, feeling as if he was being sucked into a black hole. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to turn around, but something more powerful than rationality drew him forward. He stared into the dark until his eyes adjusted. There, mounted on the wall, was the bull whip his father had beaten him with. You’d think he’d be covered in scars, but that wasn’t how Joe used the whip. He’d tied Lloyd’s hands to the upper saddle rack and shoved a bandana into his mouth so no one in the house would hear.

There was a slim chance that Ingrid or Josephine would be bold enough to come down to the barn if they heard the noise.

Joe never whipped the girls - just Lloyd. When he was strung up, his father would unfurl the whip and double it over. He swung it like a billy club and stuck Lloyd in the back. He held the thin part of the whip that would have broken the skin by coiling it around his fingers. Then he’d use the thick part to cover his son in bruises. The bruises were deep because his father was a strong man with bouts of temper like a hurricane. Lloyd could take almost any beating without a sound by the time he was five. That’s probably why Joe had to think up a worse punishment. Lloyd couldn’t remember a time before the worse punishment, so he figured he must have adapted at an even earlier age than his memories could reach.

Without needing to turn on the lights to find his way, Lloyd stepped into the tack room. His feet took him to the far corner behind the lower rung of saddle racks. It was too dark to see his hand in front of his face on this side of the room, but regardless, his fingers immediately found the latch. He raised the lever and opened the small trap door. His heart was racing as the scrape of the hinge triggered an unexpected rush of adrenaline.

He was nine years old all over again. His back burned, his legs stung, and blood dripped down his temple. Of course, he didn’t cry - that would only make things worse.

The stoicism had stayed with him, a permanent feature of his personality. There was no undoing it - the abuse had carved it too deep. Even now he couldn’t offer a genuine reaction to his most intense emotions if his life depended on it. Intense emotions, except for anger, which was a different matter altogether, had an unusual effect on him. When those feelings came, he felt as if he were shoved into another room where they couldn’t reach. They still existed, but weren’t a part of him. That mental space was like Schrödinger’s box - there was something there, something brewing; it was neither real nor unreal, because he was inside the box and everything else was outside. He liked that frame of mind. It could last for hours sometimes. Lloyd wished it was permanent, because it felt blissful, like the mindset people aimed for when they were meditating.

At present, he couldn’t draw up the stoicism or enter that calm, peaceful mindset that usually protected him in moments like this. He felt panic swarming up, but even so, he just couldn’t stop. He raised the trap door and found the lip of the cover underneath. It moved like a pocket door and slid out of the way. He pushed it into the recessed compartment under the floorboards to reveal the box.

The box was cut into the floor. It was approximately the size of a coffin, but deeper than a typical coffin would be. Its thick oak boards were double wide and sealed with linseed oil. Lloyd swung his feet down, one, then the other. He tried to stand up and his knees buckled. He caught himself on the edge of the box and realized he was panting.

Unlike in Singapore, there was no smooth hardwood floor to assure him everything was okay. You weren’t here, just a room away, where all he’d have to do was cross a threshold to reach the comfort of your presence.

Instead, it was hot and the tack room was stuffy.

The box was double walled, so no one could hear him scream. Joe had always shoved him in the box after beating him. Spans of time in the box varied, but he’d recalled that he’d spent three days in it once. When he was younger, he’d tried everything to get out, expending every ounce of his energy until he was exhausted. That changed as he grew older. By the time he’d gone to kindergarten, not pre-school, there was no pre-school in these parts in those days - he’d known how to handle the box. He knew to lie still and count his breaths. To cry silently, because when he was silent, Joe would let him out faster.

Lloyd’s vision blurred. It was still too dark to see, but he felt around, searching the floor. This was where he’d hidden the pouch of rocks and arrowheads he and Ingrid collected in the woods. He remembered stashing them in here the summer after he’d passed five-foot four and had officially outgrown the box. When he couldn’t find them, he considered using the light on his phone, but decided against it. This place wasn’t meant to be seen. He could feel Joe’s ghost breathing down his neck as he ran his hands over the floorboards.

There was no leather pouch in the right upper corner, where he remembered putting it. On the chance he was mistaken, Lloyd reached into the far side of the box. His hand brushed something metal and he felt around its contours and realized it was a square metal container… no, rectangular. It was about the size of a tackle box.

Had Joe re-purposed the torture chamber as a hiding spot for drugs? It would be just like him…

Lloyd climbed out of the recessed grave and slid the lid closed, then shut the trap door. He carried the box into an empty stall and turned on the overhead light.

It was a tool box. He recognized it by its unusual teal color - his mother had kept it in the trunk of her Toyota, a vehicle Joe had bought her after the Mercury broke down. He pried open the rusted lock with his pocket knife and found a leather pouch in the top tray. Lloyd unlaced the leather ties and found the polished treasures of his childhood. They were nearly in perfect condition, if a little dusty. He rubbed one on his shirt and held it up to the light, admiring the shiny chunk of obsidian. It was a rock he’d spent hours polishing. He sorted through the pouch and recognized several pieces. A jasper stone, smokey quartz, an agate nodule, and the prize of the collection - trio of star garnets.

Lloyd lifted the tray and found a pile of cassettes. On top of them was a blank envelope, which he opened to find a couple wallet-size photographs. The first was of a little girl with pale blonde hair. She was missing both of her front teeth. He’d been the one to persuade her to tie a piece of floss around the second front tooth and fasten the other end to a doorknob. He’d even helped her slam the door to remove that final stubborn baby tooth. Josie had screamed and bled and rightfully blamed him for the painful ordeal for the next three weeks. The second photo was of a girl with sable hair. She had high cheekbones, dense eyebrows, and a full mouth. Ingrid bore such a strong resemblance to their father that it was almost hard to look at her. His eyes misted, and he felt a spasm in his chest. Anger rose as grief sliced through his soul.

They’d vanished. There had been no warning to allow him a chance to prepare for the blow. It had wrecked him. He could still remember the agony and confusion in the following days. He hadn’t known what to do with himself in the time between their disappearance and Joe’s return. At first, he’d figured they’d come back. Then it clicked - she’d really done it. His mother had snatched his sisters and taken off and they had left him behind. That moment of comprehension was when the grief set in and overpowered the anger.

He couldn’t tolerate staying in the big empty house alone, so he’d packed a backpack and headed into the woods. The following days were filled with denial. He’d pretended he was a wild boy who lived in the forest and didn’t have a family and that his sole connection with the big ranch house in the clearing was that sometimes he’d watch the people who lived there. He told himself he was only sad because the family who occupied the house was on vacation in California and he missed watching them.

He’d loved them.

He’d loved his mother, even with her psychotic episodes, because she’d loved him. The memory of riding on her lap in the Mercury proved it. Despite her erratic moods and the uncontrollable outbursts that had scared him, there’d been a level of awareness, even as a child, that she couldn’t control those things. He’d loved his sisters, too. He’d loved them more than anything in the world. If they were still alive, he still loved them.

There was a piece of paper at the bottom of the envelope. Lloyd fished it out and recognized the tri-fold pattern of a letter. It had a small piece of tape holding it shut and when he turned it over, he found his name written on the back in a looping scrawl. The handwriting was instantly familiar, though he hadn’t seen it in thirty years. The handwriting revealed the identity of the person who’d left the cassettes, preserved his rock collection, and chosen this tool box to store them in.

His mother hadn’t left him without a word. She’d left him what appeared to be the entirety of her cassette collection, a few pictures of his sisters, and she’d written him a letter.

By themselves, the items were innocuous enough but placing them in his torture chamber… that was an arrow to the heart. It was proof that she’d known what Joe was doing to him. He’d often wondered if she had a clue about what he was going through in the barn, but until now he couldn’t be sure. There was a part of him that questioned if it was possible for her not to know, but he’d always given her the benefit of the doubt. Now, there was no benefit left to give.

His mother had known Joe buried him alive under the floorboards of the barn. She’d known that he was down there, breathing in the thick, humid scent of earth that still reverberated through his nightmares today. Lloyd could forgive her for allowing the beatings. Hers were just as frequent, if not more so, than his. But the fact that she’d known about the box…

He crushed the letter into a ball.

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

An emergency room doctor who looked as if he’d witnessed enough history to make textbooks jealous, splinted your wrist. You accepted his referral to an outpatient clinic and promised to schedule a follow up next week. Detective Diskant was in the waiting room with Zach. He took your statements and asked lots of questions you didn’t know the answers to.

By the time Zach unlocked the door of Lloyd’s townhouse, you felt like a zombie. The combination of adrenaline crash and pain medication was a potent one. Landon showed up with a duffle bag for his boss and they both grilled you on the finer details of Aiden’s text messages for two more hours. You tried your best to be helpful, but it was useless. They were clearly questioning whether Aiden was behind the messages and the other incidents. While you saw their point, you couldn’t think of an alternative suspect. You agreed with Zach that you should reach out to Mr. LeDoux in the morning and that you would work from home one Monday.

Lloyd was due back Tuesday. That would be a hard conversation and you weren’t looking forward to hurting his feelings, but you’d made your choices and still considered your actions to be in his best interest. Landon left at midnight and you checked that the downstairs guest room had fresh sheets and stocked the bathroom with towels before going upstairs.

Ten minutes later you were in the shower, crying.

It was so unfair. You’d only dated Aiden for a few weeks. Why would he do this? Did his bruised ego really demand such disproportionate retribution? What if he wasn’t your stalker? Who else could it be? The last two questions nagged at you, especially considering your recent confrontation with him. He’d had you alone, and he’d been free to harm you, just like the text messages threatened. The exchange with Aiden had been belligerent, but not overtly threatening. Maybe it wasn’t him.

In its overwhelmed state, your mind couldn’t tolerate that version of reality. With so much uncertainty already hanging in the air, the one fact you’d come to terms with was the identity of the threat. Knowing Aiden was your stalker helped you understand his motivations and respond accordingly. If it wasn’t him, then what? What options did you have to fight a shadow?

Your mind swung briefly to the Nguyen case, and the missing identity of Julia’s “sister.” Her identity was even more shadowy than your stalker’s and that was another question you needed to tackle. First thing tomorrow, you promised yourself. Right after you and Zach called Mr. LeDoux. The thought of calling him made your stomach pitch. Tears came even harder as your imagination took flight, bringing up questions and asking you to consider possibilities you didn’t want to think about. What if you’d accused Aiden prematurely? What if he was innocent? Then, you cried because of how miserable crying made you feel, and because of the whole horrible, rotten situation you were in, and because you were scared that it wasn’t Aiden who was stalking you after all.

You finished showering and were in the middle of your skincare routine when your phone rang. Lloyd’s name flashed on the caller ID. Sobs were still shaking your shoulders, which caused you to watch the phone ring for a moment. You worried about his reaction if you answered in this state, but he’d been so busy that he hadn’t called much this week and you needed to hear his voice. Swallowing back your tears, you answered.

“H-h-hello?”

“Princess?” The sound of his silky baritone eased the painful tension in your shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“What’s wrong?” Lloyd asked.

“I… uh… I’m watching Marley & Me.”

Silence. “You refuse to watch that movie because you know the dog dies in the end. What’s really going on?”

“I had a fight with my sister,” you lied.

“About what?”

“A lot of things… we just sort of… got into it.”

“Are you okay?” Lloyd asked.

“I’ll be fine. How are you? How’s the ranch?”

“I sold the last of the cattle, but I’ve got a sick calf in the barn. And two days ago, this evil bitch tried to kill me.”

You giggled. “Was the evil bitch an actual bitch?”.

“She was a blonde.”

“You pissed off a golden retriever?”

“Think bigger. She was a Charolais heifer with the longest horns I’ve seen on that breed. My father clearly wasn’t trimming their horns these past few years. Of all the chores to miss…”

“What did she do? Try to trample you?”

“I had a plan to get her into the trailer, she had a plan to resist, and then seized an opportunity to try and gore me.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds awful. What happened?”

“I roped her.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“It seems some skills come back under pressure. I haven’t roped anything since I was eighteen.”

“Lloyd, were you a cowboy?”

He laughed. “Every ranch kid is a cowboy, honey. It’s not that remarkable.”

“Well, I think it’s remarkable. Can I see your cowboy skills sometime?”

“If it would cheer you up, I’d give you an in-person tutorial.”

You perked up. “Will you bring your lasso home? I can think of all kinds of uses for it…”

Lloyd wasn’t amused. “I don’t think you realize what a lasso is made out of. It’s meant for animal hide, it would shred your skin.”

“What about chaps? Spurs?”

“It’s too hot for chaps in August, and if you need spurs, get rid of the horse.”

“Seriously? You’d just get rid of the horse?”

“That was my father’s philosophy. He liked his horses like he liked his people - well trained.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Lloyd, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Not really. My cousin got into some trouble, and I helped him out of a jam. He’s here with me now and… Joe’s funeral is tomorrow. I don’t think I’m going to go.”

“What kind of trouble is your cousin in? Is there anything I can do?”

“No. I took care of it. We aren’t close or anything. He’s my father’s sister’s kid; she died, and he grew up in foster care. The only place I ever saw him was at school.”

“That’s so… sad.”

He chuckled. “That sums up my week. I spent Friday hunting down the last of the cattle and ended up hip deep in a mud puddle.��

“How did that happen?”

“I was chasing a cow. She figured out that the only place she could go, where I couldn’t - at least not on horseback - was a giant mud puddle.”

“Did you rope her, too?”

“Yes. And don’t ask me how I got her out, because it’s a four hour window of time I deeply want to forget.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, fighting back laughter.

“On a totally different subject, I’m bringing home 800 pounds of beef…”

“Lloyd!”

“After what she put me through, I’m damn sure going to eat her.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“It’s called the food chain, baby.”

“I’m not eating any beef you serve me for the next two years,” you said.

Lloyd snickered. “Hippie.”

“You’re really going native on me aren’t you?”

He laughed, but it sounded tired.

“Have you been sleeping well?” you asked.

“I can’t sleep. I miss you.”

Tears filled your eyes, then spilled over. You sniffled.

“Princess? Are you there?”

“Yeah…” your voice came out as a half sob.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m sorry. I just… I’m not having a great day and the last thing I want to do is dump it all on you. You’re already handling so much.”

“Don’t worry about me. Tell me what’s going on.”

You stared at the splint on your wrist, and thought about what could’ve happened if Zach hadn’t been with you tonight. You thought of your confrontation with Aiden and the photo left on your car on Friday night. Lloyd would get on a plane if he knew what was going on and because of you, he’d miss the chance to attend his father’s funeral tomorrow. While you understood his hesitation about going, you wanted him to at least have the opportunity to go. If there was even a tiny possibility that putting his father in the ground would help him lay his demons to rest, you needed him to have it.

“Princess?” Lloyd asked.

You took a deep breath. “I’m having some problems with… Aiden. He’s… um… you know, this isn’t a conversation we should have over the phone. When you get back, I’ll tell you everything, okay?”

“Zach would be more than glad to rearrange Aiden’s face, if you asked him to. He’s been itching to do it since he met the kid.”

Your laugh was watery. “Hey. I could totally do it myself. Landon and Jake gave me a self defense lesson.”

“Because of Aiden? Why? What did he do?”

“He’s probably harassing me. Zach found out today and confronted me about it. By the way, he’s staying in your guest room tonight.”

Lloyd grunted. “Good, and you didn’t answer the question. How is he harassing you? When did it happen? Does Jake know? Nevermind, of course he does. He was probably your first call.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought I could handle things and it turns out I was wrong.”

“I’ll be home by Tuesday afternoon, maybe sooner,” he said.

A day and a half. You could make it that long.

“You know, this is the longest we’ve ever been apart,” Lloyd said.

You blinked. “It is?”

“Yeah. Since we started working together, we’ve never been apart for more than five days in a row.”

“What about when I had the flu? I was out for a whole week.”

“I brought you soup and medicine that Friday night.”

The memory made you smile. You hadn’t been working for him for very long and opening the door to a scowling Lloyd had been quite the surprise. He’d carried a pharmacy bag under one arm and a carry out container from his favorite restaurant in the other. The soup was vegetable noodle, with extra broth.

“I remember it now. Did you know you’re an amazing friend, Lloyd?”

“It was probably weird of me to show up out of the blue, but I had to do something. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I couldn’t cope if I lost you.”

The pain in his voice worried you. He was hurting and you wished you could stop it. Tears filled your eyes again.

“Do you need me to come out there?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ve tied up all the loose ends.”

The catch in his voice made you frown. “Lloyd, what happened?”

“I had to take care of a few things with the less than legal side of my father’s business. He wasn’t just a rancher and I had to motivate some local thugs to… move to a different scene.”

“Ah. I see. Should I find a lawyer in the area, or do you have someone on retainer? I’m only asking in case your methods attract the wrong attention.”

He grunted. “Local law enforcement is a bit tied up at the moment, but just in case, there’s bail money in the safe. The passcode is 917889 - if you can’t remember it, tell Jake it’s my three favorite Super Bowls in order. He’ll understand.”

You rolled your eyes. “I tend to forget they play the Super Bowl on a yearly basis.”

“I can help you out with that. We’ll watch my favorites together when I get back.”

“Can I take an Ambien first?”

He laughed, and the line fell quiet. You wondered if you should tell him exactly what was going on, but figured plenty of people knew already. You’d filed the official complaint with the police and Detective Diskant was putting more resources into the case tomorrow. Besides, in thirty-six hours, Lloyd would be home.

“Lloyd? I’m glad you called. It’s nice to hear your voice.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I am, I just need some sleep.”

“Don’t work too hard,” he said.

“You’re the one who spent the last week playing cowboy. How’s your back feeling?”

“I’d rather not say because it would make me feel old.”

You giggled. “If it helps, I’d be out of commission within an hour if I tried that kind of work.”

“Princess, you don’t like your shoes getting dirty in the rain. You’d shrivel up and die at the amount of dirt and mud out here. Especially if you saw the amount of it I’ve tracked into the house.”

“I can imagine it, and it’s not pleasant. But if you need me, I’d be there in an instant. You know that, right?”

“It goes both ways. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

His words were spoken so tenderly that a lump the size of a golf ball swelled in your throat.

“I know.”

“Shit, I made you cry again.”

You wiped your face, laughing. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess, but I wanted to talk to you.”

“You never told me what Aiden did. Did he call you? Show up at the office? Your apartment?”

“It’s not important. Zach is downstairs and I’m safe. We can talk more tomorrow, just come home safe.”

“Alright. Sleep tight, Princess. I’ll be home soon,” Lloyd said.

Your heart fluttered. There was a wealth of affection in his voice that wrapped around your heart, and though it wasn’t spoken, his words held more love than any explicit confession could convey.

“Goodnight. I love you.”

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

Next - Part XVIII

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

Masterlist

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

Taglist:

@denisemarieangelina

@before-we-get-started

@buckysteveloki-me

@patzammit

@badassbaker

@meetmeatyourworst

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@thiskindahotkindamusic

@jesgisborne

@charmingprincess

@amiets2

@seitmai

@elle14-blog1

@chaoticsteverogers

@kaleidoscopepov

@fangirl-and-doctor-help

@jesevans

@openup-yourmind

@kandierteveilchen

@adoreyouusugar

@awkwardgiraffe726

@pono-pura-vida

@mysweetlittledesire

@liecastillo

@marantha

@literaturelove

@babyevansblog

@lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa @thegirlnextdoorssister @ladygrey03 @cynic-spirit @rosedpetal @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @bambamwolf87

@yiiiikesmish @lavenderx0 @calwitch @peachiestevie @texmexdarling @here4thefanfics @rogersbarber @spikeluv84 @dear-fifi @crayongirl-linz

123 notes · View notes

icedmetaltea · 1 month

Text

Yesterday was ok, today anxiety's been awful again...

(rambling abt anxiety and nonsense venting below)

felt dizzy/bit of vertigo throughout the morning and when I checked my BP it was 154/108 so that scared the shit out of me... I took a bit of propranolol and that seems to be helping but I'm worried bc when I asked about what a dangerous BP was my stepdad said 160 and up and that's uncomfortably close. The last time it was high it was only like 140/90 so this was really scary

I called the number the crisis ppl give me from a resource sheet on friday again since I never got a response after leaving a message on monday but this time they told me to call yet another number and they said I couldn't get any kind of help till I came to their office to fill out some forms and like??? I CAN'T LEAVE MY FUCKING APARTMENT

Do these people never get ppl with severe agoraphobia?? The last time I had a full-on panic attack I screamed at the top of my lungs and had to call 911 to get ppl to calm me down so I'd stop hyperventilating, you want me doing that in public again??????

Anyway she told me I can call the supervisor and see if she could make an exception in my case BUT ofc she wasn't available and I had to leave a message, no clue when I'll hear back and when I do I doubt she'll even be able to help me

I fucking hate this system. This is why so many people kill and hurt themselves. When they are lost, when there's nowhere else to turn. When the crisis ppl come they give you a whole list of resources but what is there for people like me who are stuck at home, broke, unable to work bc they literally cannot function like this when it gets this bad every couple of months (sometimes more frequently)

it's either go to a psych ward where they'll pump you full of meds that'd just give me the same "locked in" panic attacks which trust me are far worse than toughing it out at home where at least it isn't bright and loud and horrible or face shit on your own

I thought it was starting to get better, yesterday I cooked 3 meals for myself, I went outside and sat on the step for 5 mins, today I can't get out of bed bc every time I try the room spins. Even when I'm laying down like this it's bad. Even if I close my eyes it's bad... I slept better last night and I thought I was doing well but no, midway through the day everything's horrible again. I keep feeling out of breath no matter how many deep breaths I take... other times I feel like there's "too much air" and I'm breathing too fast and can't slow it down... how do I even describe it??

I feel like I'm going insane but at the same time I know it's been this bad and worse before. I remember my childhood. I remember laying on the floor struggling to breathe, alone. I remember begging god to take this sensation of dread to go away, or to just let me die. Anxiety has a habit of always seeming... idk unfamiliar? No matter how many panic attacks you have, they always feel new

and what's worse is I can't even remember how I eventually always overcome these phases bc I ground rule growing up stemming from OCD I had at the time was I wasn't allowed to write anything in a journal bc it was "bad luck" or something (at the very least my OCD isn't nearly as bad these days) Idk if it takes days, weeks or months to get better. If I spend half a year or longer just waiting for things to get better then like um... it kinda becomes a quality of life issue, doesn't it?

Idk maybe it's the weather. It's 65 rn, yesterday it was mid forties, so maybe that's it. Well then I'm fucked bc it's only gonna get warmer as it approaches summer, and ya know climate change and everything wooooo

Doesn't help that the past two times when my stepdad witnessed me having those really bad attacks he said I should go to a padded cell or something... I know where he grew up there was no such thing as mental illnesses or therapy, only "crazy and not crazy", but damn it hurts. At least my bio dad understood what was going on to some extent. He knew anxiety was out my control, that I was going through it but that it didn't make me "crazy", just that my body was reacting physically to something seemingly unsurmountable on a mental level.

My stepdad was even surprised when I told him anxiety is the second most common mental illness nation-wide. I've talked to many other bad anxiety-sufferers, the reason you don't see us outside a lot is bc most of us are inside afraid to leave our houses! We're literally just trying to survive in bodies with malfunctioning nervous systems and in a society that literally is built around causing stress on a daily basis- on normal people, so just think about how that is if you literally have the being-stressed-out disorder my guy

it also seems like whenever I talk to my mom about this she tries to immediately talk about something else. Like I messaged her earlier today and when I brought up feeling dizzy and having a high BP she just said "Sorry you're having a challenging day! We're at the library getting library cards. Libraries are nice!" like sure some ppl like talking about light hearted stuff to distract them but sometimes I just need someone to be there and listen, you know? All it does is make me clam up and bottle all my emotions in, which ofc makes it worse.

I'm scared to check my BP again. I feel like there's something terribly wrong with my body but it's not as if I can see a doctor if I can't 1. afford it till medicaid processes or 2. fucking go to the doctor. You want me to have another one of those soul-crushing panic attacks and shriek around some stranger in an uber?? Hell no

So yea idk what to do. I have a math test this weekend and I've barely studied at all, can't get myself to focus on anything. I can't drop out again, I've already failed this class twice. I don't think they'd let me take it again and I'm pretty sure I've run out of financial aid to pay for it

Ofc mom and dad are gone, my sister said she'd visit me the other day but "forgot" to, so I'm alone. Completely and entirely alone.

The one thing I have going for me is the PMDD won't start up for another week or two so at the very least I have a will to live rn. Anxiety and depression usually go hand-in-hand but since it's just anxiety atm I'm still able to have the motivation to cook and clean when I'm not ya know unable to get out of bed bc my heart is beating out of my chest

When it does come back, well... I'll keep those crisis numbers on speed dial. I've survived all this horseshit, I might as well make it worth something. Idk maybe the thing I'll keep living for rn is a fucking pet fish someday. I have to hold on to every tiny thing that gets me through the day bc there is a chance, even if extremely slim, that things will in fact get better

#irl stuff #vent #tw anxiety #tw panic attacks #tw suicide #tw mental health #journal #kinda

13 notes · View notes

morganski-19 · 6 months

Text

I Think Your House is Haunted

@bylerween2023, prompt: Haunted House, rating: T

Mike remembers the first time he went over to Will’s house. They were seven and Nancy was having friends over, so he couldn’t invite over Will. Instead, he went over to Will’s. His house felt weird, but that was probably just because he wasn’t there a lot. It wasn’t until later that night he figured out why.

Late at night is when the secrets of the house are whispered through the walls. It’s when parents have whisper arguments that turn into screaming matches. It’s when your best friend in the whole world covers his ears, squeezing his eyes shut hoping to escape it to the noise. It’s when big brothers turn on the music so loud you forget what’s going on around you, even if it’s just for a little bit.

Ever since that night, Mike didn’t stay over at Will’s that much. Instead, he begged his mom to have a sleepover with Will in the basement. Promising to clean it up the day before and after. Do a few extra chores and take out the garbage every week. Anything to get Will out of that house, just for one night.

They were seven, but that didn’t mean Mike couldn’t understand that houses could be haunted by something other than ghosts. He saw it in the way Will acted when his dad left their family behind. Words that cut deeper than they should, actions that made him jump. Will was perfectly safe except for the ghosts that were left behind.

Mike was seven when he promised to protect Will from haunted houses and the ghosts that followed. He might have failed a few times down the line but that didn’t stop him from trying. Not even now.

Now things were different. They were older, over double the age when Mike made that promise. He still kept it as best he could, but he couldn’t stop himself from slipping every once in a while. Sometimes he forgets that Will has to be protected from himself and not just other people. The things he says and the way he acts can hurt Will too. But he’s better at it now, especially since Will means so much more to him than he did back then.

“Mike, you can not already be scared, we haven’t even walked into the house yet,” Dustin teases next to him.

Mike blinks out of the stare at the house in front of them, the haunting view still looking back at him. “What, no. Why would I be scared?”

“Cause you’ve been standing there looking at it for like five minutes now,” Max points out.

“You know you don’t have to go in there if you don’t want to, man,” Lucas says.

Mike swallows, still looking at the house. Dark windows with spiderwebs hanging from the panes, fake spiders, and skeletons decorating the walls and the yard. Flashing lights of various colors emit from cracks in the doors and walls. A haunting laugh that vibrates the house with each guest that enters.

He knows it’s fake, it’s the same thing every year. A house that is constructed to scare, filled to the brim with fake monsters and fears. It’s far less scary than anything that he’s seen that was real, but that didn’t make him not want to do this any less.

“No, you guys want to do it, so I’ll do it,” he says, finally breaking his gaze with the house.

“Great, then let’s get going,” Dustin says, already walking toward the house. “Can’t keep waiting for whimps to get the nerve to do it.”

Lucas smacks his arm. “Dude.” Max and El snicker beside them.

“What, it’s true.”

The group walks away to the line in front of the house, leaving Mike where he stood. He takes a deep breath, clenching his fists. Preparing himself for the fear that is about to rush through his body with every turn, every jump. Every horror that was carefully crafted to scare people or give them a good laugh, but will inadvertently haunt him more than they realize.

“You know you really don’t have to go in,” Will says softly next to him. “We could just go do something else.”

Mike looks at Will, seeing the person he’s tried so hard to protect. “That’s not fair, you want to go in, so I’ll go in.”

“Mike, you’re scared. You don’t have to go in.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not scared. I’m fine really, let’s just go catch up with them.”

Truth is, he’s terrified. But he can’t let Will know that, can’t let his fear show. He’s not supposed to be scared. He’s supposed to be the first one on the frontlines, shielding everyone behind him from harm. Especially Will. Always Will. It was the promise he made when they were just little kids and a promise that he still keeps to this day. It’s always him in front of Will, even if the scares are fake.

Will has already been through so much that was out of Mike’s control. Being kidnapped, possessed, and moving across the country. There was nothing that Mike could do, but he still blames himself. If he had just had his mom drive him back that night, nothing would have happened. Or even just convince her to let him stay over, it’s not like it never worked before. But he didn’t, he let the guise of safety lapse his judgment, and now Will has seen terrors beyond either of their imaginations.

The worst day of Mike’s life was the day that he saw the fake Will body get pulled out of the quarry, because that was the day he realized he failed. Broke the promise so secret that he never told it to anyone else. His best friend was dead, and he couldn’t help but blame himself. It wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t matter. His entire purpose for five years was to protect the boy he cared so much about, and now that boy was dead.

Even though he really wasn’t. Will was brought back, healed. He was alive. He never was really the same though. There was always something gone that could never be returned. A part of his friend died that day, and both Will and Mike had to learn to move on from that.

Sometimes Mike thinks he never really did.

When they get to the front of the line, Mike feels Will hook a finger around his, subtle enough that no one will notice, but just enough to comfort him. “You know you really don’t have to do this,” he whispers.

“It’s fine really,” he says with a squeeze to Will’s finger.

“Ok, if you say so.”

With that, Mike steps foot into the house. It’s almost immediately terrible. Loud noises and bright flashing lights. Blinking slow enough that you still feel trapped in the dark but fast enough that you don’t walk into a wall. Creatures, which he knows are just people dressed up but that doesn’t matter, jumping out behind corners and chasing you down the hallway. Laughter and screams melding into one big nightmare.

Except this nightmare he actually chose to be a part of. He had every chance to walk out. Turned around before he entered and just dealt with the stares and jeers that he was a wimp who wasn’t man enough to go through with it. He’s faced monsters the average person would never dream of seeing, so why can’t he just suck this up this one time to make Will happy.

As they turn the corner, a guy in a bloody mask and chainsaw scares them, faking sawing off another person’s arm while maniacally laughing. Will starts to laugh, pointing out how unreal it all is, reveling in the fake scare. Mike, however, grabs onto Will’s hand, squeezing it tighter than he would ever admit. But he doesn’t say anything when they pass one of the emergency exits, because Will’s enjoying it and he has to be there too.

All Mike has ever wanted was for Will to be happy. While his judgment may have been skewed a bit more than he realized, it’s true. When he messed up, he had the gnawing feeling in his chest that would only go away until he fixed it, until he made Will smile again. It drew him in, like a moth to the flame. For the longest time he didn’t know why, but that never mattered. Until it did.

That’s what led them here, to this. To dating his best friend and still feeling the overwhelming pressure to make sure that nothing ever happened to him. Now Will means more than he did before, but it really doesn’t at the same time. But now Mike would lose a boyfriend and a best friend all at the same time. He barely makes it past losing his best friend, he can’t lose the person he loves again. Never again.

So he insisted on going into the house because Will wanted to. Because even though he knows that all the scares are fake and that Will would be fine going in with the rest of their friends without him, he couldn’t let that happen. Will would be in a place, out of his sight, that is so eerily close to the real horrors they went through. Bad things happened when Mike let Will out of his sight, and that wasn’t going to happen this time. Even if the rooms feel smaller than they should and the noise is buzzing around his skull. Will is here and alive, having fun. Mike can’t ruin that by being scared.

It’s the last hallway, he only knows that because Will tells him. Tells him he just has one more hallway to get through before they leave. Both of his hands grip Will’s arm, and he can’t get them to stop. All he can think is wrong. This is wrong. He’s not supposed to act like this. He’s in the wrong spot, they’re both not supposed to be scared. That way if Will got scared, he could comfort him. If they were both scared, how was Mike supposed to comfort Will?

But there was only one last hallway to get through, so he could do it. Until that hallway starts to flicker the lights like crazy. Will and Mike’s eyes meet in fear, both all too knowing what those lights mean. Behind them, something roars. Turning, they see a man dressed in a very poorly made skin-tight outfit and a mask with only a mouth as its face. It’s nowhere near as similar, but just similar enough for shivers to be sent down Mike’s spine.

Will reaches up to the back of his neck, almost trying to determine if what they’re seeing is real or not. Though the fear never leaves his eyes, he turns and says it’s all fake. To hell with fake. As far as Mike’s concerned, this is his worst nightmare, and he lets Will relive it.

The creature, because it’s morphed far from just being a man in a costume in Mike’s mind, starts running after the group, leading them to the outside door. Mike grabs Will’s hand, tugging him in front of the group to the sweet relief and safety of the outdoors. Will runs alongside him, panting and turning his head back every so often to look and see if it’s still following them. It’s instinct, habit at this point.

Even after passing through the door and back into the night illuminated by the streetlights and booth attractions, Mike doesn’t stop running. To him, the lights are all flashing and the monster is real. He’s come back for Will and he can’t let go. Can’t stop running. He keeps pulling Will with him, their fingers interlocked. Will’s calling to him, but he can’t hear it. Can’t hear anything other than the screams of his friends and the disgusting screech of the demogorgon.

He’s back in the classroom where El disappeared. Back in the tunnels and the mall. Everywhere those creatures were chasing him, chasing Will, and he couldn’t leave. Won’t leave until he knows that he and Will are safe. Not until Will is safe.

It isn’t until they’re deep into the woods that the clouds covering his vision start to fade. Where his legs start to slow down and the ringing in his ears stops. He can hear Will calling for him to stop, telling him to calm down, that it was all fake. Letting go of Will’s hand, he falls to the ground and leans against a tree, breath stuttering as his heart frantically keeps beating.

“Mike, Mike,” Will comes into frame, crouching down in front of Mike and cupping his face. “Mike, are you ok?”

In an instant, Mike is back on again. “Am I ok? Are you ok?” Mike grabs Will’s face, frantically jolting it around looking for injuries. Grabbing his arms next and doing the same. “I-. I didn’t know it was going to be there. You look fine, it didn’t get you. I’m sorry, we should have never gone into that stupid house-.”

“Mike, look at me.”

He does, swallowing as his heart thumps in his ears. Before realizing it, tears start to stream out of his eyes, blurring his vision again. “I’m sorry,” is all he says before he crumbles.

“The hell are you sorry for, Mike? There was no way you could have known they thought of a creature like that. Probably because of the whole Hellfire thing that happened in the spring. But we’re ok, it was all fake.”

“But what if it wasn’t.” Mike looks up at him with pleading eyes. “What if it wasn’t and I lead you straight into a trap. You’d be hurt again and it’d all be my fault. It’s always my-.”

A mix between his sobs and Will pulling him into a hug cut him off. “Nothing about this was your fault. Nothing about anything was your fault.”

“But it was. I failed.”

“Failed what?” Will says, impossibly soft.

“To protect you. I broke my promise.”

Will shushes him while running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you didn’t break anything. Just calm down, ok? Just calm down and you can tell me what you mean.”

Mike pulls Will closer, gripping him tight enough that he can hear his heartbeat. His steady, healthy, unaffected heartbeat. A heartbeat meant life, Will was ok. Mike’ll be ok. Ba-dum. He breathes in. Ba-dum. He breathes out. With each beat, his breathing calms, and his mind slows down. The tears don’t stop, but slow from a steady stream to a drizzle.

When he emerges from the hug, Will wipes the tears from his cheeks, pressing a kiss to Mike’s forehead. Mike closes his eyes, relishing in the moment he almost didn’t have. If things had gone differently, if he had taken a misstep, Will wouldn’t be here in front of him. That constant fear, constant regret weighs on Mike’s soul, only evident by this moment.

“Can you tell me what happened now?” Will asks softly, tucking a piece of hair behind Mike’s ear. “Or do you need more time?”

“How are you not terrified?”

“Who says I’m not? Definitely not as scared as you. But after the initial shock, I could tell it was fake.”

The absurdity of that statement shook Mike. “But that was a recreation of one of the most terrifying moments of your life. And it literally chased you down a hallway. How can you not be terrified by that?”

“I was until we left the building. But while we were running, I did what Jonathan would walk me through when I would wake up from a nightmare or have a panic attack. I named five things around me that were different from the upside down and it calmed me down. And you kept running, so I guess my concern of that took over more than the fear.”

“Ugh, this sucks.”

“I mean, yeah. Really didn’t need that flashback-”

“No I mean, I was supposed to be you.”

Will blinks at him blankly. “What?”

“I’m supposed to be the one that the concern takes over and that’s all I can think about. I protect you, always. And tonight,” he plays with the grass, avoiding Will’s eye contact, “I failed.”

“You didn’t fail. It’s not up to you to protect me.”

“But it is. I made a promise to protect you and I’ve already broken it too many times and I promised myself I wouldn’t break it again, but here we are.”

“Hey, you didn’t fail. I’m stronger now, I can take care of myself. We can look after each other now.”

Mike huffs. “But that’s not the point. The whole point is I look after you. You’ve gone through so much and you didn’t deserve a single bit of it. I couldn’t protect you a lot then, but I can now. So I promised-”

“Yeah, you keep saying that but I don’t remember doing much promising.”

“I sort of made it, to myself. The first time I stayed over at your house when your dad was still there.”

Will’s eyes soften with understanding. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Ever since then, I promised myself that I would do anything to protect you. And then the upside down happened and I’ve been failing ever since. But, but then you became much more than a friend. A lot more. You became something I never even knew was possible and I started caring for you in a whole different way. I just wanted to keep being the one to protect you, and I couldn’t.”

“Well, you did kinda. You brought us away from the danger, even if it was fake. But still, we’re pretty far from the house now, and we’re ok. We’re safe.”

Mike laughs. “I guess we are.”

“Is this why you went into the house? I know you didn’t want to”

“Yeah, I had to protect you.”

Will exaggeratedly rolls his eyes. “It was all sweet and stuff before but you do know that I can take care of myself right. Hell, I could probably protect you more than you could protect me.”

“How dare you,” Mike gasps. “Bring my past trauma up all over again will you.”

“What, it’s true,” Will smiles.

Mike smiles back, the pounding of his heart now subsides as he looks at his boyfriend. Alive and fine. He looks around, making sure no one is there even though they’re in the middle of the woods probably a mile from the fair, before cupping Will’s face and bringing him into a kiss.

“How about we make a new promise, an actual one this time,” Will whispers when they break apart.

“And what would that one be?”

“That we protect each other. Not one more than the other. Both of us looking out for each other, equally.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “I think I can deal with that.”

“Good, Because now that I know you’ve been harboring this one-sided promise, I’m going to make sure that you are looked after. You know, during every horror movie, haunted house, weird floorboard creek.”

“Yeah, go ahead. I’m a wimp, I get it.”

Will gapes. “You are not a wimp. You are very strong. And brave. Just not all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead make fun-”

“I was not making fun.”

“There you guys are,” Lucas’s voice calls out from where they came from. “We were looking for you.”

Dustin pops into view after fighting with a tree branch. “Some house that was. It was so lousy until that freak demogorgon came at us.”

“How did they know what it looked like,” El asks.

“Probably a DnD book,” Max adds.

Their voices fade into the background as Mike and Will look at each other again. Will stands, extending a hand out to Mike. Taking it, he stands wiping off any stray dirt on his pants. The group walks back to the fair, arguing about which scare, other than the obvious, was the best in the house and how it wasn’t that great overall. But Mike could care less right now. Because his hand was in Will’s and that’s all that matters. They would look out for each other, which he guesses they were probably doing all along. He was just too distracted to notice it.

#bylerween2023 #seven is byler's song and you will never convince me to stop bringing it up #bringing back this tag for this one #totally not what the first few paragraphs were based on #they totally were #hanted houses #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #max mafield #dustin hernderson #el hopper #established relationship #tw panic attacks #tw ptsd

25 notes · View notes

spn-fanfic-reblog-writes · 2 months

Text

Artist Name: @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

Author Name: @celestialstarlight27

Fic Title: Blackout Curtains

Summary:

John Winchester died last year, torn to shreds by a werewolf. Dean killed the monster and dropped out of high school, taking Sammy on the run. Since then, Dean’s had weekly nightmares of being chased by monsters until a black-haired boy in a trench coat emerges from the shadows and protects him.

After Sam gets injured fighting off a nest of vamps, he and Dean hole up in a motel for a few days. Dean notices someone watching them – someone who looks strikingly similar to the boy in his dreams. He confronts the boy, Castiel, who tells them Dean’s nightmares are turning lethal.

Sam is ecstatic to have a new friend, one who’s an angel no less, but Dean doesn’t trust Cas, no matter what he says. Cas challenges his superiors and risks everything for the brothers, forcing Dean to rethink the person he’s told himself he is and the life he’s carved for him and Sam, as well as the future he might have with Cas.

#art post #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #spn #blackout curtains #tw nightmares #tw panic attacks #tw violence #deancas #destiel #casdean #fall out boy natural #fobnatural

12 notes · View notes

sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 7 months

Text

Those of you who deal with panic attacks, what are some of your methods in maneuvering through them and how do you feel after?

Picture of Tika as a thank you for your thoughts on the subject

#personal #tw panic attacks

22 notes · View notes

wounds-seen-and-unseen · 3 months

Text

Vagdhandaja-Prologue

The actual fic scenes will be under the cut. This is world building of a sorts before the cut.

Arjun’s character here is very, very removed from canon (obviously, seeing that canon is an epic that is more than a 1000 years old) so I am only going to explain whatever is relevant to this story.

The milieu I am going for is an alternate universe of Delhi (India’s capital, in case anyone does not know) where the Kauraveya family are quite influential politicians for the most part. Arjun is the cherished youngest son of the family, very close to his mother, having lost his father as a child. He is a decorated war hero, known for both his battle prowess and his gallantry. He is an old school gentleman, so to speak. He values all human life, he prefers to avoid loss of life as much as possible. He married his wife, Subhadra, for love. Her brother, Krishn is his best friend. At the beginning of this story, he is escaping from a place he barely remembers.

Satyaka, the PoV for the prologue, is distantly related to Krishn, and by extension, Arjun’s mother Pritha, (Krishn is canonically Arjun’s first cousin, in this story, their blood relationship may be a little more removed). His son, Yuyudhana, not mentioned in this chapter by name, is Subhadra and Krishn’s friend here. I think that’s all the background needed for this story for now, but if something is unclear, please feel free to DM or ask me!

Trigger warnings: Panic attacks, discussion of intravenous drug use, disoriented character, brief emeto mention, distressed character.

Tagging @blue-lotus333 and @whither-wander-whump

Please ask or message if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list!

There are a few Sanskrit terms used here, meanings given below:

1. Pitr-shraadh: Shraadh is a Hindu ritual, in which one honours the dead. Pitr-shraadh specifically, as far as I know, is a ritual in which one honours their ancestors.

2. Pooja: Prayer ritual

3. Mata: Mother (respectful)

Prologue

Satyaka Varshney, on the way to the capital

I click the ignition off, glancing cursorily by my side at my son, fast asleep. I suppose a small break wouldn’t hurt.

Cracking my aching knuckles, I open the car door, sliding out and stretching. The wind is rustling through crowded forest greenery, fresh and clean. An unfamiliar thump directs my gaze to my son once more, still peacefully sleeping in the car. Keeping him in the line of my sight, I edge forward.

That doesn’t turn out to be a very wise thing to do in the pitch black of the depth of night, as I knock into something. Blindly reaching out, my hand hits solid flesh.

I can feel the flinch beneath my fingers, hear the faintly clicking, chattering teeth.

‘S-so-sorry. Plea-please don’t-don’t-they-I’- I blink. In front of me is a young man, hardly visible in the dark.

Whatever little I can see of him, he is obviously scared, shaking, streaks of mud on his torn shirt, what once used to probably be military camouflage. ‘I’m sorry, s-sir.’ He says, cringing away from me. ‘Hey there, young man,’ I whisper, the boy putting in my mind a spooked horse. ‘It’s alright. I’m not going to turn you in. You on the run from those outlaws down there?’ ‘Out-outlaws? Sir?’ The frank confusion in his voice has me backtrack. What the hell has happened to this young man?

‘Never mind that. Where are you coming from? Do you have anywhere to go to?’

He blinks. Looks pensive for a moment, then, face tight and eyes on the floor, he whispers, voice hoarse, ‘I…I am not sure, sir. I don’t-I don’t know what this place is. Where are we?’ I sigh. ‘Are you alright?’ The boy seems disoriented enough to warrant that insipid question. He looks down at himself, then musters a smile as he looks back up, still not meeting my eyes. ‘I think so, sir? I will be.’

‘You sure don’t look it,’ I mutter, shucking off my coat, looking critically at him, the ceaseless shivering, the remnants of bloodstains on his face. I hand the coat over to him. ‘Here. You look like you need it. And this place isn’t safe. Would you like to come with me?’ His gaze skitters away from me. ‘I-thank you sir, but I’m dirty. I wouldn’t want to be a burden.’ He’s clearly making effort to pronounce his words right. ‘And you aren’t. I have a son your age. I’d want him to be safe, just like I’m sure your family wants you safe and sound.’ I wrap the coat around his shaking shoulders. ‘There.’ He flinches away from my touch. ‘Easy. It’s alright. Can you walk?’ He nods. ‘Yes. I will. Where’- ‘I’ll tell you. Follow me.’ He does that obediently enough, although he looks over his shoulder for every step he takes. From what I can understand of his situation, I don’t blame him for the same.

Once we are leaning against the hood of my car, I probe gently. ‘Look, kid, I want to help you. Honestly. But I can’t do that if you don’t tell me anything.’ Frustration echoes in his voice as he replies ‘I am grateful, sir, but I really don’t-I remember, I had been on duty. I had asked leave from my senior so that I could do the pitr shraadh. I finished the pooja. I drank some water that was in my canteen, and then…then my head spun. Some people were trying to-to drag me off. I don’t know why, I’d never seen them before. I fought as best as I could. But I lost. That’s all I know. Then I woke up shaking on some unknown floor. I escaped as soon as I could. Honestly, sir, I’m not-I don’t lie. I don’t. You’ve done so much…I wouldn’t.’ His shivering increases as he finishes his speech, and he stumbles. ‘Whoa!’ ‘I…sorry, sir. I’m dizzy.’ ‘I can see that, kid. How long has it been since you ate?’ I ask, keeping a firm hold of his hand. He shakes his head. ‘Okay. Okay. I think these outlaws did you in. We’re at the edge of their outpost. You seem to be real lucky that they haven’t caught you yet. Tell me where you want to go, ‘kay? I’ll see if I can help you there.’ ‘To the capital. The Kauraveya Mansion.’ ‘You’re one of ‘em, huh? Some distant coz of mine married into that family. The younger son, the legitimate one, that is. I remember attending her wedding, barely married myself, too besotted by my own wife, with eyes for nought but the food. I hear the lady is mighty beautiful, though.’ He smiles, I can see the flash of teeth in the dark, feel the tense pull of his shoulder relax slightly under my hand.

‘The most beautiful in the world,’ he says, softly. ‘She is my mother. I’ll tell her that I heard the food in her wedding was really nice.’ I laugh. ‘You’re one of the Vrishni clan, then, sir? Krishn said that his clan is huge.’ ‘Aye. So you’re one of us, too, in a way.’ He shrugs. ‘I suppose so?’ ‘Of course you are. However distant, ain’t a matter. Once a connection is established, it’s there forever. You know Krishn?’ I shake my head. ‘Course you do. Never mind that, come in,’ I open the door of my car. ‘Get a bit warm, have somethin’ to drink. Wouldn’t want you to collapse like that again. Should coz find out her kiddo fainted on my watch, I’m sure she’d have my head.’ He laughs, soft and sincere. ‘Her name is Pritha. I’m Arjun. And you’re probably right, mata is very…protective.’ ‘As she very well should be, a handsome young lad like you.’ He looks down. ‘Is that a blush? I see you aren’t used to teasing yet.’

He peeks into the car. ‘Careful there. My young bison is snoring in here.’ ‘Dad. ‘M not a bison of any sort! And who’s this?’ ‘Cousin o’ yours. Arjun Kauraveya, I take it?’ He nods. My son starts upright. ‘Krishn’s brother-in-law? His best friend? Whoa. I met their family a few days ago. Both the ladies were…pretty distraught.’

The boy at my side closes his eyes, obviously affected. ‘My fault,’ he whispers. I cuff my idiot of a kid. ‘Motor mouth, can’t you think of what you speak?’ I hiss at him, jerking my chin at the distraught younger man.

‘And you.’ I turn to Arjun. ‘None of that, kid. You didn’t ask to be captured like that.’ ‘No, but’- ‘Hey, you’re gonna go home, alright? They’re yours to take care of.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,’ my son murmurs. Arjun shakes his head. ‘It’s alright…you were honest, thank you for that.’ My son shakes his head in return. ‘No. It’s not like you ran off on your own. You were on duty, right?’ Neither I nor Arjun correct him, leaving him to his ignorance. ‘You’re doing your best, that’s all you can do.’ The other man doesn’t look very convinced but nods his head.

I hand him a bottle of water. ‘There you go. Drink up.’ His hand shakes as he takes the bottle. I drank the water in my canteen, I remember him saying. And then my head spun. Small wonder he is scared. I take it back, drinking a gulp myself. ‘There. It’s safe, son.’ His gaze flies to mine, finding the floor again in a flash. ‘I’m’- I cut him off. ‘Nothin’ to say sorry for. Given what you’re comin’ from, it’s perfectly understandable.’

Once he’s had the water, I gesture to a sandwich. ‘Get some food inside ya, ‘kay? I can drive you to the capital, sure, we gotta go there, too. Not your house, of course not, but Lutyen’s street should work? He’s wide-eyed, staring at me as if afraid to believe. ‘Sir..I can’t ask that’- ‘Nah, you ain’t askin’. Don’t worry about it. Go on, eat the thing.’

He tries. A bite later, he stops. ‘I don’t think I can,’ he says, sounding guilty. ‘What’s the matter, kiddo?’ ‘I might be si’- he’s cut off as he gags, shoving his head out of the window. ‘Whoa. Okay. Want me to stop the car?’ He shakes his head jerkily. ‘N-no. It’s ‘kay.’

‘Wait.’ My son’s voice is cool. ‘Yeah?’ Arjun asks. ‘Those marks on your arm…did you do that? Are you an IV user? Is that why you’re confused?’ ‘W-what?’ ‘Hey!’ I interject, the kid clearly struggling to understand the pointed question. ‘He was kidnapped, bud, he didn’t’- ‘No!’ It’s the loudest I’ve heard his voice. ‘No, I wouldn’t. Mata hates that kinda stuff, I don’t even drink.’ He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t do this, please believe me.’

I glare at my son. ‘Apologize. Seriously, is this the kind of question you ask?’ Arjun blanches. ‘I-I didn’t, but…they held me down, I’m-I’m remembering.’ His voice is blank. His eyes are flaring wide as they turn to me. ‘Could they have drugged…’ he trails off. ‘They might have,’ he answers himself. ‘Maybe that’s why I feel sick. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I fought, I did, I did, I’-

‘Hey.’ My son intercedes as the younger man’s breathing quickens. ‘I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t know. If what you say is true, and I believe it is, you are not to blame. Take a breath, okay?’ He does. ‘Good. Now, just get it out, what you remember. Maybe we can help you piece it together.’ ‘Yeah…’ he murmurs, shaky. ‘Okay. I…oh. Oh, no. No, no, no. No…’ His voice falters and breaks as he repeats a frantic denial. ‘What happened?’ I ask, trying to break him out. ‘I-I broke my vow, I broke it!’ He’s vitriolic, sheer loathing in his voice. ‘God, I broke it…How could I have done it?’ ‘You did what you had to survive, kid, it’s-you can make it better, okay?’ ‘No,’ he says, his voice a knell of grief. ‘What I did…it’s unforgivable.’

#my writing #nila writes #fic: vagdhandaja #arjun kauraveya #arjun #satyaka #prologue #tw panic attacks #tw iv drug use #tw disorientation #tw vomiting #archer writes

10 notes · View notes

janetbrown711 · 1 year

Text

A Sadness Runs Through Him

Pigsy confronts his feelings of guilt around his past, and more importantly, around Sandy-- though it takes a panic attack or two before he's really ready.

tw for PTSD, panic attacks, past murder, and brief mentions of suicidal thoughts.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Ao3 Link

Moving.

A task universally hated by all those involved, especially if they happen to be of pig-demon descent and also run a noodle restaurant.

While the apartment came pre-furnished, Pigsy still had to think of a way to bring his own pots, pans, spices and everything else he knew either wouldn't be provided or wouldn't be how he liked it. And that meant planning.

And if Pigsy was bad at one thing, it was planning– the only reason he was good at planning out his restaurant was because his grandmother helped set up and regulate everything for the first two years. Even when she died, she left him a bunch of resources to help the transition.

He was grateful, but his grandmother couldn't help him now.

"Sir? I've been ringing this bell for five minutes!" A huffy woman clutched her purse and tapped her foot as Pigsy realized he had been spacing out again over his "moving plans" paper– which was blank, obviously.

“Sorry– what’s your order?” Pigsy asked, and the women huffed in content.

“She wants the Liangpi! I heard her while she was on the phone!” MK called from where he was mopping two feet away– Pigsy and the woman’s faces both instantly turned red.

“Kid– what did I tell you about yelling in the restaurant?” Pigsy glanced apologetically at the woman before looking at MK.

“...Don’t?” MK scratched his head.

“Yeah kid, don’t,” Pigsy sighed, punching in the order. “71.54 yuan.”

“You know you really shouldn’t have kids here if you can’t keep them or your restaurant in order,” She snipped as she handed him her credit card.

Pigsy didn’t have the energy for this.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he faked the biggest forced smile he could and handed her the receipt and card back with force.

She continued to mutter under her breath as she took a seat at a table, and Pigsy got to cooking again.

He was able to go into autopilot in an instant, so his mind naturally wandered to the subject of moving again.

It was so high up and there would be a good amount of boxes– Pigsy wanted to avoid going down to the lobby to gather his things as much as possible, but at the same time he really didn’t want to hire a moving team either since it wasn’t like it was too much– just– things. Nah– Pigsy could handle the stares, he was grown. It was fine, a-okay. Totally cool– like– uh– ice, ice cool?

Pigsy needed to stop letting the kids watch TV.

Pigsy got to slicing the beef for her dish before all he really had to do was wait, and so he went to rinse the knife in the sink, when suddenly a familiar green flash ran right past him– causing Pigsy to fall back and almost drop the knife.

“KID-!” He barked, but was ignored by the girl climbing onto the counter and leaning beyond the outdoor bar.

“Hi Mister Tang!!!” She called and waved excitedly, and Pigsy could hear his familiar laugh from a bit aways.

“Kid– get down from there– you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Pigsy took a deep breath and shook off the scare before going to rinse off that knife like he had meant to. Mei still didn’t listen, continuing to wave until Tang was at the outdoor bar.

“Hey kiddo, what’s up?” Tang said, stepping through the door, which was the key to finally getting Mei down from there.

"I helped Mr. Piggy make today's noodles," she beamed with pride and Tang gave the chef a surprised look.

“Did he now?” He asked Pigsy more than Mei.

“Kid was practically begging yesterday– ‘sides, she learns fast,” Pigsy informed, done with rinsing and returning the knife to its proper place and checking on how everything else was cooking.

“I did a really good job,” Mei informed the scholar who laughed fondly.

“I can’t wait to try them,” Tang smiled, opening his laptop as he did every day.

“Thanks! I’d help more, but Mr. Piggy here says that it’s ‘too dangerous’,” Mei shook her head and got out of the kitchen to sit next to the scholar.

“I’m not wrong,” Pigsy rolled his eyes a little.

Mei didn’t say anything, but the chef knew she was sticking out her tongue at him.

“Mr. Pigsy knows what he’s talking about, Mei,” Tang sympathized with the girl, who now flopped onto the bar dramatically.

After a bit though, Tang added with a whisper, “though he can be kinda mean about it, huh?”, which sent Mei into a giggling fit.

More looks from customers. Especially that one lady.

"Yeah, Mr. Piggy is kinda mean," The girl laughed a bit more.

Pigsy gripped his ladle tight and continued to stir.

After a deep breath, Pigsy was able to completely tune out his surroundings, moving like the well oiled machine he was. Add a little bit of ginger, slice some mushrooms, check the noodles, pour it in a bowl, add the garnish and voila.

“Order for Wu Lian,” the chef called out, ringing the bell and placing the bowl on the counter before going to start Tang’s dish next.

Everything went silent again, as he carefully chopped onions and added just the right amount of ginger to the pot and began to stir– which was when he realized the bell was ringing incessantly in the background, forcing Pigsy to snap himself out of this.

“Yes..?” He asked.

It was the lady again.

“I found a hair in my noodles,” The lady frowned and crossed her arms.

I…is she serious? Pigsy had nary a hair on his chinny chin chin since– ever really (except that one time he attempted a mustache in the military but he didn’t like to think about that).

“Y…you aren’t serious, are you ma’am?” Tang spoke up for Pigsy.

“Do I look like I’m joking here? This is serious stuff– my husband works in the Health Department and I could call him right now to inform all of your customers that this– this demon is trying to poison us!” She raised her voice to get the other customers' attention.

Pigsy thought of a reply– something huffy and quick– but when he tried to speak, his tongue was heavy and a strange sensation washed over him and he felt disconnected.

Tang must’ve noticed, because he continued to speak for him. “Yeah, sure, call him over– I’d love to see you try and explain how the hair from a bald pig demon got into your noodles.”

“Ha! I’m sure this place is a real pigsty back there– so either remake the noodles, or I’ll call,” She finished her sentence with a big phony smile.

Tang clearly ran out of ideas, and now all eyes were on the chef, who was still standing around, almost watching himself and waiting to see what he’d do as well.

“Get out.”

Looks like he was going authoritative.

Wu Lian gasped. “Well– I never– my husband will be here so fast– I will just–”

“Get. Out.”

The woman scoffed again. “You demons are all the same-! Oh just you wait– I will sue you so hard and then you’ll see– you’ll see,” she continued her proclamations as she walked outside.

“...Pigsy? Are you okay?” Tang asked.

Pigsy shook his head in an attempt to feel connected to himself again.

“I’m fine. Just thinking about moving and stuff,” He waved it off and went to make sure none of Tang’s food burned.

“That lady was very mean,” MK set down the mop against the bar and sat on one of the stools.

“She was,” Mei agreed, crossing her arms.

“She was– but what do you mean moving,” Tang briefly acknowledged the two of them before returning his focus to Pigsy.

“We’re moving into a big ole penthouse uptown,” Mei informed.

“Ooh, you found a place?” Tang asked.

“Yeah– I just gotta plan how to carry everything at once,” Pigsy huffed as he continued slicing green onions.

“I can totally help-! I-if you need it– What day would you be moving?” Tang immediately offered.

“Tomorrow!” MK said excitedly.

“Tomorrow?! Pigsy! Why didn’t you think to ask for help sooner?!” Tang sounded genuinely baffled, which was a little funny to the chef.

“Tang, it’s fine– like I said, I can manage,” Pigsy shook his head, adding the onions to the pot and stirring.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you need to.”

Pigsy poured Tang’s noodles into a bowl, taking a deep breath before eventually nodding, going over to serve him as he said “Fine– fine, just… Yes, you can help.”

Tang smiled that stupid smile he always had, with its stupid little tilt before he grabbed chopsticks and began eating.

“I can show you how I fit under the sink!” MK pointed out, kicking his legs excitedly.

“Yeah! And I can show you the cool TV! And Mr. Piggy can show you his bedroom!”

Tang choked on his noodles and Pigsy felt his heart stop.

.o0o.

Yeah, the lady was totally bluffing about the phone call, no health inspector ever came, and even if they did Pigsy knew he’d pass.

The rest of the night had gone without a hitch, though Tang did have to leave earlier than usual, which meant it got quiet pretty quickly. The good part to that was that it meant Pigsy was comfortable with the idea of closing early for once in his life, and so they all got to bed at a not-so-shitty hour.

Pigsy still fucking despised his alarm’s painful tone the following morning, of course. Especially because it was set even earlier than average so Pigsy could go get the moving truck from the rental place– though not without waiting for Tang to arrive so he could watch over MK and Mei (which was something he realized he hadn’t quite thought about before).

Once that was settled, and Pigsy checked in with Tang to make sure the kids ate, they got to putting the dozen or so boxes into the truck downstairs and it was go time.

Now… let it be known that Pigsy was a law-abiding citizen most every single day. He understood and had great respect for the rules of the road.

However…

The truck only had two, maybe three seats if you think you can place someone in the middle.

And so Pigsy drove, Tang sat in shotgun, and MK and Mei… Well, MK’s skill of fitting under the pipes was put to use in the space under the glovebox, and Mei was managing fine in that “middle seat”.

Look– neither Pigsy nor Tang owned a car and calling a cab seemed like a dumb idea so— it’s what they had.

“We are so going to get pulled over,” Pigsy muttered to himself as he got onto the main road.

“It was your idea,” Tang said.

“Hey– that’s my face,” MK giggled from the floor of the vehicle.

“Sorry MK,” Tang apologized and readjusted himself.

“I know! I know! I just–” Pigsy sighed. “It’s fine. We’re fine.”

Pigsy could feel the look Tang was giving him burning on his skin, but he kept on driving anyway.

Green Light.

“Pigsy–”

“I’m fine, Tang. You’re right. Sorry,” Pigsy shot. Tang raised his hands in his defense but didn’t say much so silence filled the truck momentarily.

This, however, was shattered instantly when Mei asked, “Mr. Piggy, what’s ‘booba’?”, which startled Pigsy so much it affected his steering.

“W-well, that’s– uh– hmm– that’s–” Pigsy tried to think of a response, but words were unable to form as his heart started to pound.

“It’s pronounced bow-ba, n-not… that way,” Tang touched Pigsy’s arm lightly while speaking to Mei. “And it’s a type of tea drink with tapioca pearls– it was big in the 90s, not so much right now.”

Green Light.

A car behind Pigsy honked at him for his sporadic driving and Pigsy wished he could give him a piece of his mind. The car gave him the opportunity as they switched lanes just to cut in front, to which Pigsy almost responded by flipping them off, but Tang put the hand down and gestured to Mei and MK with his head.

Yellow Light.

Pigsy sighed as he pumped the brakes to a halt, annoyed at both the difficulty of the action due to the truck’s age, and slightly annoyed Tang didn’t let him flip off the other driver. He was made even more annoyed though when the previously mentioned car made it past the intersection.And somehow even worse, another car behind him honked at him, and needless to say Pigsy was starting to feel his blood boil.

“Mr. Piggy, why are they honking at you?” MK asked from under the glovebox.

Pigsy rubbed his forehead as the car finally halted. It wasn’t like he was a piss poor driver, he just… hadn’t been on the road since– a while– but it was fine, everything was fine. If only he could actually fucking tell MK that, but whatever.

Tang took a glance at the mute chef and decided to handle that too. “Well, MK, some drivers are… mean.”

Mean.

Mei laughed, “Mr. Piggy’s mean too– maybe that’s why.”

Red light.

Blood instantly began pounding in Pigsy’s ears, his grip on the steering wheel causing his knuckles to turn white. Tang was saying something but Pigsy was just watching the light– the red one– the one on the right. He was going to drive straight ahead and he was in the front of his lane. He wasn’t going to be mean, he was going to be attentive and then everything would be fine and they’d all get there on time and they’d be all moved in and everything would just be so fucking fine.

Still red.

A hand attempted to touch his shoulder, which made Pigsy jump. Tang said something while Mei spoke even quieter behind him. Pigsy didn’t care– he was so fucking focused on driving. It didn’t matter that it felt like he’d walked up fifteen flights of stairs, Pigsy was doing what he was supposed to and he was doing it fine. He was fine, everything was so goddamn fine it was like they were at the apartment already. Sure he wasn’t nice, he was never nice. Who gives a shit if you reach your location anyways? He didn’t need to be loved. He didn’t even need to be liked. He was fine. This was fine. He deserved this anyways.

Green light.

Pigsy immediately began driving again, trying to stop his eyes from darting in every direction as hazards and sounds made themselves very present in his overstimulated ears. Especially the people in the car.The ones he was responsible for. The ones he wasn’t supposed to fail or let anything bad happen to. Was that a siren? Pigsy couldn’t think about that right now. Driving. Obeying the law to hide breaking it.

Green light.

Almost there now, just a few more blocks. Just don’t have a fucking heart attack and kill everyone in this vehicle because if you end up responsible for their deaths, you’ll never forgive yourself. What happened to Hai Xin is your fault. You remember how happy Sandy was. How in love he was. You remember your military friends too. Gone, shell of himself, gone, murdered, murdered, dead, dead, dead, dead, fucking dead.

“Pigsy–”

You didn’t go to court that day. You couldn’t stand looking at him. You still can’t. You broke him. You destroyed his life. You are beyond mean, you are cruel– violent– explosive– hideous– revolting–

“PIGSY– WATCH OUT–!”

The screeching of tires sent Pigsy out of his spiral as he slammed the brakes with full force, and the red light runner barely avoided a full-on collision. Everyone lurched forward, but Tang kept Mei from flying into the dash board. In a breath, Pigsy was able to pull off to the side, where he immediately parked, grabbed the pack of cigarettes and lighter in the cupholder, and got out of the car, ignoring Tang’s confused calls (not that he understood them anyways).

Pigsy walked.

He walked and walked and walked until he found himself a suitable bench by the–

Of course he was by the goddamn pier.

When Pigsy started to feel himself choke on the lump rapidly forming in his throat, he lit a cigarette and took a nice, long drag. His eyes tingled at the sensation as the usual sting filled his senses, but he was used to it. It was relaxing. Pigsy was relaxed right now. Especially with the ocean waves. Especially knowing Sandy probably doesn’t live too far from here– that he and–

Pigsy took another drag before he could think more. Again, calm washed over his body as the hot air flowed through him, giving him an addictive peace of mind.

“Pigsy? Pigsy, where are you?”

Tang was calling for him.

Pigsy didn’t care. He kept on inhaling the toxic fumes.

“Pigsy? P– Pigsy-!” Tang found him and immediately ran to the bench.

“Pigsy, A-are you okay? You were–”

“Fuck off, Tang,” Pigsy looked away from him, silencing Tang instantly.

“I… what?” The scholar stepped back. “Pigsy, what is going on? Why are you acting like this?”

Pigsy’s eyes were tired and sore as he unwillingly glanced at the ships on the docks, wondering if any of them belonged to Sandy or he managed to leave this shithole for good and leave him behind.

Another breath.

Tang sat down on the bench. “I… didn’t think you smoked.”

Exhale.

“Sometimes. What’s it matter to you?” Pigsy now looked at the ground, the brightness of the morning sun against the ocean waves hurting his eyes even more than the cigarette smoke.

“Pigsy,” Tang warned.

“What?” Pigsy grunted, still refusing to look at him.

“Pigsy– just– stop–! Stop acting like you don’t know that the kids and I care about you so just– tell me what’s wrong-! What happened back there? Please– I need answers– we need answers,” Tang grabbed his arm, and Pigsy finally looked at him.

…

Fear.

Tang had overwhelming fear in his eyes.

“I… I don’t know…” Pigsy was as honest as he could be, flicking his cigarette.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Tang asked, his voice low and soft. Pigsy shook his head, taking a drag.

“I don’t know, Tang. I just– I guess it started yesterday– I just– I keep losing control of myself– it’s like I’m just watching myself and feel like my hearts just all– tense and weird and shit and it’s all at the same time– I dunno,” Pigsy knew how stupid he sounded but it was the best he had.

“Oh, a panic attack,” Tang nodded to himself. “Is… that also what happened yesterday?”

“Yes? No? I don’t know, Tang,” Pigsy rubbed his eyes.

“Hey, that’s okay,” His customer got a little closer to the chef and wrapped an arm around the bench, his hand slightly hovering over Pigsy’s back. “Do you know what might’ve triggered it?”

Pigsy shifted uncomfortably, taking a long drag as he tried to and then immediately tried to ignore the possibilities.

“Pigsy, you have to tell me so I can help– because I do know a little bit about these things and– yeah I’m no ‘expert’ or anything but– I want to help,” Tang pleaded with the pig again.

Pigsy leaned back, releasing smoke before he closed his eyes and sighed. “I… god, it sounds so stupid but– I think… If I had to guess, then it was when the kid said I was…mean,” Pigsy mumbled that last word, but Tang understood.

“What? But Mei didn’t–”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Pigsy turned to him sharply, smoke flaring out of his nose (which had the fun side effect of making the chef’s head spin).

“R-right– Sorry,” Tang quickly apologized. “I’m sorry she said that– and I’m sorry I encouraged it.”

“Sorry for snapping,” Pigsy sighed and went back to looking at the ocean. If it didn’t remind him of his crushing guilt, Pigsy would find it calming.

“If… you don’t mind me asking… Why does that upset you so much?” Tang looked at the ocean briefly too.

Pigsy’s cigarette was just about done, so he put it on the ground and smothered it with his foot before grabbing and lighting another, all while Tang watched on, his expression unreadable.

“Because it’s… You’re gonna deny it, but I know that I’m not exactly ‘nice’ and you are and it just– I try to convince myself I can do this but every time I hear something like that it just reminds me of how much of an asshole I am or have been– and then I think about when I was in the military– and then I think about Sandy a-and–” the lump in his throat returned, so Pigsy choked it with smoke.

“Oh– Sandy…” Tang nodded slowly. “You… never told me what the deal with him is.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“Right…” Tang took a deep breath, before clearing his throat a bit.

“Look,” he started. “You’ve already told me a lot today, and it’s not like I can force you to tell me anything anyways– just know that– yeah, it sounds really really stupid and obvious, but you shouldn’t keep all these emotions and past feelings to yourself– it’s not– uh– healthy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Pigsy said flatly, flicking his cigarette once again.

“And whatever you tell me, I promise I won’t le–”

“Don’t.”

Tang blinked. “Pigsy–”

“Don’t. You don’t know–”

“Then tell me, so I can know and I can make that decision for myself.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Pigsy, you don’t have to tell me anything, but I can’t keep watching you torture yourself forever,” Tang placed his hand atop Pigsy’s and gave it a squeeze.

Pigsy rubbed Tang’s hand with his thumb, the embrace warmer than the pollution in his lungs and throat. He then looked into Tang’s heavenly brown eyes, and remembered all the promises he had made the day after they had kissed. About not hurting him– especially on purpose.

Get your shit together, Pigsy.

“...Later. Maybe after we get everything settled in the apartment.”

Tang squeezed his hand even more. “Good.”

When they stood, Pigsy was filled with an overwhelming desire to hug or kiss him, but ultimately smothered his cigarette before stoically heading back to the truck.

However, the pair came to a halt when they heard panicked whispers coming from behind a trash can, and when Pigsy went to look, surprise surprise, MK and Mei had been spying on them.

“Hi Mr. Piggy,” MK waved, before smelling the smoke and making a face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah kid– I’m sorry for scaring the both of you– I lost myself a bit back there,” Pigsy scratched the back of his neck.

MK winced at that, but Mei hugged him, which startled the chef.

“A-are you okay kid?” was the only thing Pigsy could think to say.

“I-I’m really sorry I made you run away– I-i won’t do it again, promise!” Mei said, looking up at him with desperate eyes.

“Hey now,” Pigsy broke her embrace to get on his knees and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault I got… scared. It’s just something that happens to me sometimes– I’ll work on it, I swear. Don’t stress yourself.”

“Okay Mr. Piggy,” Mei nodded slowly before hugging him again, this time around his neck since he was level with her. Not knowing what else to do, Pigsy returned the embrace, almost startled by how comforting it was. Soon enough MK joined in too, and Pigsy felt like he was almost going to cry.

He hadn’t had a hug this good since his grandmother was in good health.

“C-c’mon, let’s get to our new place, hm?” Pigsy forced himself to break the embrace before he broke down again. The kiddos nodded and they were back in the truck in no time, headed to their (mostly) new hoity-toity lives.

.o0o.

It took roughly two hours to get everything all settled, then unlocked, then transferred from the truck to the apartment, and by then everyone was hungry and so Pigsy used it as an opportunity to look for new local restaurants, frustrated by the overwhelming amount of chains. They eventually found a stupid expensive sit down restaurant and ate there, and while some of the waiters were confused by Pigsy, it was generally okay. They then returned the truck, got boba– not booba– at Mei’s insistence, and when they finally got back to the apartment, MK and Mei went to their rooms to set up what things they had and hopefully not fall asleep until dinner.

And then it was just Tang and Pigsy alone, unpacking his things, which took a lot longer than expected since Pigsy was a terrible planner and the boxes were…disorganized to say the least. It took at least three hours before the two of them were able to reorganize all of the boxes so they had a system they could then work with, and by then the sun was starting to set.

“Woah, nice jacket Pigsy,” Tang whistled as he pulled out a thick brown shearling jacket.

Fuck. Of course it was that jacket– that stupid stupid, really nice jacket from back then. Of course it was– and now He was going to have to talk about… that because he was acting all weird. Great.

Don’t make promises you can’t keep.

“Yeah, it’s from my time in the military– hence some of the patches– though I… tried to remove most,” Pigsy admitted, hanging up his one dress shirt in the walk-in closet.

“Ah,” was all Tang said. “Still– this is really nice– and I bet you look cute in it,” Tang said, before slapping a hand over his mouth, which made Pigsy laugh.

“Ohmygod I can’t believe I said that out loud,” Tang’s face was rapidly turning red, which just made Pigsy laugh even more.

“It’s alright, Tang,” Pigsy patted his shoulder and took the jacket, examining the folds and stitches in the leather carefully.

“When’s the last time you wore it?” Tang asked innocently.

“B-bajie– I swear I didn’t mean to– I didn’t mean to– It was an accident– I thought sh-she– A-and now– I-i can’t live with myself– Bajie please–”

“...Are you okay Pigsy? Is it the jacket?” Tang asked, and Pigsy realized he was gripping the jacket so tight his knuckles were white again.

“Bajie y-you have to help me– you know I didn’t mean it– I never would– I loved her– I love her– please–”

Pigsy took a deep breath. “Kind of…” he grabbed a hanger and placed it on the rack next to his other jacket.

“O-oh– oh no– I’m so sorry Pigsy– Forget I mentioned it– we aren’t done yet, so let’s just–”

“No… I need to tell you some time tonight and I get the feeling that if I don’t do it now I’ll just try to make myself forget,” Pigsy clenched his eyes shut for a moment, memories of Sandy flashing in his mind.

“Do… you want to go somewhere else?” Tang asked carefully. Pigsy glanced around and thought.

“I could use some fresh air,” He shrugged, referring to the balcony attached to his room, and so the two of them headed out there, both leaning against the railing and taking in the view for a bit first– which was especially gorgeous because of the previously mentioned sunset.

“So…” Pigsy started, though he was quick to realize how hard it was to find the proper words to describe his predicament.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to Pigsy– remember that,” Tang touched his shoulder in assurance.

“I know, I know, but it’s like you said– it ain’t exactly healthy, and you deserve the choice to know what I’ve done and then leave me– it’s unfair to keep you hostage,” Pigsy sighed, the remaining pack of cigarettes sitting heavy in his pants pocket.

“I’m not a hostage here, but whatever helps,” Tang said half jokingly.

“Right– well– um…” Pigsy took another breath. “So… I– well I– I was a really terrible kid, okay? Like– just the definition of a punk who needed a good whack over the head until he got his shit together,” Pigsy started, and though he could see Tang was trying not to judge or interrupt, he was very clearly struggling from his expression alone.

“S-sorry-! Sorry, I’ll try harder not to– express– emotion…” Tang apologized, clearing his throat and trying to set his face to neutral, and Pigsy decided it was best if he just kept his eyes forward for now.

“Well, anyways, I was a little shit and I– I had a friend– Sandy– who I knew through school and– Jesus, he was a real nice guy. Big and tough and scary, but nice deep in there,” Pigsy blinked away images of him to keep his focus. “We were quick to become a duo of punks, though I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was clearly the one who was “influencing him”. His folks were absolutely terrible and all, but he was always more hesitant to start shit than I was.”

Pigsy glanced at Tang, who he confirmed was listening intently. Pigsy took another breath before continuing.

“When we were teens, we got into some steep shit– and being demons and all meant we were set up to be in prison for a long, long, long time… unless…” Pigsy dug his nails into his skin.

“...Unless you joined the military, right?” Tang guessed. Pigsy nodded.

“Since we were little shits of course we took the first opportunity to get out of trouble and wipe our slates clean– but– jesus– W-we made a lot of friends– demon friends, which I guess was our first mistake since it’s basically fact that most demons don’t… make it back from the military too often,” The pig demon’s breath was starting to get shaky so Tang placed a grounding hand on his back and rubbed it soothingly, which did help quite a bit.

“I-i was a real big coward, s-so it’s easy to say more than a few of their deaths are more than likely on my shoulders, you know? I-i mean I know– I know I didn’t get them enlisted, but I just– I didn’t jump on that grenade, I didn’t act fast enough to save Dino or Ace o-or anyone– but all that I-i think I could’ve lived with if…”

The cigarettes were taunting him in his pocket now, as well as the sake in the cabinet. He hated this. He hated every single part of this. He desperately wanted to run or to leap right off this balcony and– No, no. He owed this to Tang.

“When we got back– I-i just wanted to forget it– all of it. Meanwhile Sandy was keen on remembering them all– he even had a little shrine for them in his place– we fought like hell that day– but other than that w-we were okay– well, I thought he was doing okay– he even managed to find himself a-a nice girlfriend–”

Hai Xin.

“Oh, well that’s nice…” Tang said. Pigsy knew it was to try and comfort him, but his words just made Pigsy want to slam down fifty bottles of sake.

“S-she was a saint, l-like how he kinda used to be– she brought out the best of him like that,” Pigsy nodded along, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

“S-she and him– they were gonna get married– it would be in the summer on a boat with the sunset behind them a-and then they were gonna have kids– a bunch of ‘em– Sandy told me and everything– he even asked me to be his best man even before he proposed– it sounded so nice, Tang– he was so happy,” Tears were streaming down the chef’s cheeks now, but when Tang opened his arms for a hug, Pigsy shook his head and continued.

“B-but one n-night I get a-a call… from him, from Sandy– a-and he’s just– he couldn’t stop crying a-a-and apologizing a-and swearing he didn’t m-mean it a-and– he kept swearin’ it was an accident– it took fifty goddamn minutes before he was able to get himself together— a-and– a-and when he did I-i could see why…”

“No…” Tang gasped softly.

“H-he killed her, Tang. The court declared it as PTSD induced violence– a nightmare woke him up and in his confusion h-he attacked her a-and– he was sentenced to prison for five years and court mandated therapy a-and– god– It’s all my fault, Tang– it’s all my fault-!” Pigsy buried his head in his hands and embraced his tears now. “I broke my best friend a-and the love of his life is dead because of me.”

“Oh Pigsy–”

“N-no, because you know what? Th-that’s not even the worst goddamn part-!” Pigsy’s breath hitched before he laughed like a madman. “T-the worst part is that I could even testify for the best, kindest, most loyal friend I’ve ever had in my whole entire fucking life! I-i mean– Jesus, what kind of a friend am I?! F-first I made him a delinquent, almost got him placed into prison, basically force him to join the war which emotionally scars him forever, a-and then when his PTSD takes away what little joy he had, I-i couldn’t even be there for him– and then he went to prison anyways-! This is why you should hate me, Tang– why everyone should hate me– god, I can’t do this–”

Pigsy went to leave, but Tang grabbed his arm and forced him into a tight embrace. Pigsy tried to fight it, but Tang was surprisingly steadfast and kept him in his embrace until he gave up and buried his head into Tang’s chest.

“I’m so sorry Pigsy…” Tang whispered as he stroked his back.

Pigsy wanted to fight that. He was tempted to say, “you have no fucking right to say that” and “you didn’t know them– you should be sorry for them, not me” or even “serves me right” but Pigsy was exhausted, and so let Tang have this one as years of repressed sobs and shakes released themselves onto Tang’s scarf.

“Pigsy, listen… it’s not your f–”

Pigsy snapped right back.

“Tang, don’t.” The pig broke the embrace and tried to wipe his own tears away, but it would’ve been easier to dam up Huangguoshu Waterfall.

“Pigsy–”

“No. I don’t need to hear it– I don’t care– I-i need you to accept it. Denial’ll just hurt both of us– It’s just something I have to fucking live with– you too, i-if you want me.”

If you want me.

Pigsy knew he wouldn’t now.

Tang was silent, his emotions clearly all over the place and Pigsy stood there, feeling like a fucking baby with how many tears were just falling uncontrollably at this rate. Again he thought of the cigarettes in his pocket and the sake in the kitchen, but he decided to wait until after Tang told him he was leaving them– he needed to face the consequences for his cowardice completely sober.

“Okay. I’ll drop it. I’m sorry,” Tang said.

Pigsy blinked. “N-no.”

“No? I just apologized– what’s there to ‘no’?” Tang was genuinely confused.

“I said ‘no’ Tang– y-you’re supposed to be angry-! You’re supposed to hate me– kick me– scream at me– leave me– You aren’t supposed to just– accept this!” Pigsy shouted, nostrils flaring.

“Well I’m not and you can’t make me!” Tang shouted back. “I-i really care about you Pigsy– a-and I meant what I said earlier– I won’t leave because of what you did in the past– all I care about is the here and the now.”

“What kind of a moron are you?!”

“A moron who’s practically been in love with you for a year-!” Tang gestured furiously at himself, though lowered his hands when he realized what he said.

“L-look– what I mean, Pigsy, i-is that… I-i’ve cared about you for a long time, a-and–”

“I didn’t know your name a week ago,” Pigsy cut him off, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

“I don’t care, Pigsy! That’s the thing– I don’t care– I didn’t care when you weirdly had two kids in the back of your restaurant, I didn’t care when you adopted them that day out of the fucking blue, I didn’t care when you went silent as a ghost after I kissed you, I didn’t care when you had a panic attack at the wheel which could’ve almost killed us, I didn’t care when you told me to fuck off, and I sure as hell don’t care now.”

“Why not?!” Pigsy shook his head violently, and Tang grabbed his hands.

“Because I’m a fucking idiot, Pigsy, a-and I meant what I said, I-i– I love you,” The scholar squeezed the chef’s caloused hands tightly, forcing Pigsy to look into his eyes, forced to confront that the man in front of him was telling the truth.

He was telling the truth.

Oh god– what was he supposed to do with that– oh god oh god oh god–

Before Pigsy could overthink and ruin this, he hugged Tang as tight as he could. He didn’t know what his goal was, but he just stood there, holding his favorite customer, never, ever wanting to let go of him. Tang returned the embrace right back, and Pigsy buried his head in his shoulder and the tears came back in an instant.

It took a moment before Pigsy realized Tang was crying too, which made Pigsy hug him tighter and stroke his back in a similar fashion that Tang did earlier.

After a long, long time of standing like that, Pigsy croaked, “I’m so sorry, Tang.”

“Why?”

“I-i… doubt humans are this complicated,” Pigsy half-joked, which made Tang laugh a little.

“I’m not a clean slate entirely either,” He admitted. “But even if that wasn’t true, I wouldn’t mind. You mean a lot to me, Pigsy.”

Pigsy’s shoulders tensed at how much he was sounding like Sandy, but Pigsy wouldn’t ruin this– not right now.

“You mean a lot to me too, Tang. A-and I swear I’ll be everything a-and anything you need in the future– really– I-i–”

The chef would’ve rambled more, but Tang lifted his chin and kissed him.

“All I ask is for your company, and if something’s bothering you, tell me. I’ll help however I can, even if it’s just listening,” Tang smiled softly and Pigsy hugged him again.

“I-i can try that,” The chef whispered and Tang nodded in approval, kissing his forehead which still somehow managed to send butterflies fluttering down the pig demon’s stomach.

“I’ll hold you to it then,” Tang embraced the chef once more.

Once again, the two remained in their caress for a long, long time as cool night air settled over the two of them and their heartbeats became one.

After five minutes, a knock on the sliding door broke their embrace. Pigsy and Tang quickly wiped their eyes before they opened the door and allowed MK to step out.

“Mr. Piggy, I can’t find my uniform,” MK got straight to the point and informed his legal guardian.

Pigsy chuckled tiredly. “We’ll find it later, kid,” he said, ruffling his hair.

“Oh– well– I thought we might wanna find it now since we start school tomorrow.”

Pigsy froze.

“...Kid?”

“Yyyyyyyes Mr. Piggy..?” MK bounced on his heels.

“What day is it?”

“Sunday,” MK happily enformed.

Well… Shit.

The kid was right– tomorrow was their first day of school and Pigsy hadn’t thought about preparing them for it at all today.

Well this is gonna be just swell, ain’t it?

40 notes · View notes

turtle-loving-enby · 6 months

Text

Not me lowkey wanting to go to a queer party in my city despite knowing I do not do well at parties.

#like the last time i went to a party (as in genuine party with music and lights and people dancing) i had a literal panic attack #because my brain doesn't do well with too loud noises and too many lights #so going would be a terrible idea #but at the same time i feel like i'm missing out #most people my age go to partys every weekend and this would be an awesome chance to meet more queer people #but i know i would a) hate every second of it and b) probably get another panic/anxiety attack #so uhm. not good #vent #kai rambles #tw panic attacks #autism #actually autistic #actuallyautistic

9 notes · View notes

lost-between-letters · 2 years

Text

Nothing To Wear

Pairings: Sam Winchester X Reader (she/her), side destiel (blink and you'll miss it)

Requested by: anon

Warnings: panic attacks, body image issues, allusions to an eating disorder, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1,243

Summary: Sam noticed some oddities in Y/N's behaviour. As the good boyfriend he was, he helped her with her problems

A/N: one day I will learn how to write interesting summaries. Today is not that day

Something was off. Sam knew that much.

Y/N wasn't as smiley as she usually was, even Dean's meltdown about Dr Sexy being cancelled ("Why would they do such thing? Sam, please tell me that you didn't piss off Gabriel again." "I guarantee you, I did not." "Then why did they stop Dr Sexy??") didn't get her to laugh. And Cas had been on the ground at that point.

So Sam kept an eye on her.

What he found worried him. Y/N was constantly tugging at her shirt as if it was sticking to her skin though it was one of his and consequently at least three sizes bigger than necessary. Usually, she would sit across from him at the library, curled up in a chair while they were doing research but today Y/N kept moving around.

It was as if she wasn't feeling comfortable in her own skin. Sam suspected briefly that she was getting sick.

Another clue showed itself when Dean gathered them for a rare self made lunch. It was a damn good lunch too.

Salad for the healthy ones among them, a steak with mashed potatoes and broccoli as main course and pudding for dessert. If Sam didn't know better, he would think that Dean was up to something. Truth was, his brother was just happy. And that a certain angel was suddenly even more up in his personal space and smiling all the time surely had absolutely nothing to do with it.

But as happy as Sam was for Dean, Y/N was his bigger concern. While she was taking part in the conversation, her plate never seemed to empty.

"His giant feet apparently make it hard to walk," Dean was currently telling the story of how Sam had slipped on a perfectly normal slippery piece of sidewalk and nearly dragged their suspect down with him. Under tears of laughter.

Y/N was chuckling along with Cas and Dean but she merely pushed the food around. Now that Sam was paying attention to it, he wasn't sure if she had taken a single bite so far.

Yeah, something was off. But starting that conversation now would not help. So instead, Sam put on his best grumpy face and defended himself. "The ground was frozen! I don't know how you didn't fall."

"It's called balance," Cas supplied helpfully. His expression was a tad too innocent to be convincing though.

But Y/N was smiling. And a forkful of mashed potatoes found its way into her mouth so Sam was far from complaining.

Later that day, they were getting ready for a night out. Though they were doing it under the pretence of collecting info about a potential haunting, Sam was pretty sure that his brother had just instigated a double date. Not that he was ever going to admit that.

What Sam did not expect when he walked into their room, was to find his girlfriend surrounded by clothes on the ground, shaking and tears streaming down her face.

"Y/N?" Sam crouched down next to her, hand outstretched.

She kept crying, her sobs becoming more shallow with each hurried breath she took. It seemed like she wasn't getting enough air into her lungs.

That was when Sam realised what was going on. "Y/N, listen to me. Focus on my voice, Baby. You're fine, no one will hurt you, I'm here. Breathe slowly. Like this."

With his arms outstretched but not touching, Sam settled down in front of her and took a few slowed breaths. He did that long enough until Y/N's breathing fitted itself to his rhythm.

Only then, he dared to get closer. Y/N followed. She was still crying but the shaking had stopped and she was leaning into him rather than curling in on herself.

Without having to think about it, Sam wrapped his arms around her and allowed her to press herself into him. He could feel her choking on her own sobs against his neck and it broke his heart.

Sam kissed the top of her head, his mind reeling. There had to be something that had caused this.

His eyes drifted over the clothes again, over Y/N herself who was wearing the baggiest hoodie that either of them owned. And then, Sam remembered her weariness towards the food earlier.

Oh no. His poor beautiful girl.

Sam wanted to kiss every part of her, every stretch mark, every patch of skin she thought to be imperfect - to show her that she was perfect exactly as she was.

Y/N was holding onto his shirt now, as if she was afraid that he would leave her. Yeah no. Not happening. In like ever.

"I'm not going anywhere," Sam whispered and pressed his lips against her temple.

Another quiet sob.

For a while, neither of them moved.

Eventually, Y/N calmed down slowly and her breathing evened. Soon, the tears stopped as well.

Only then, Sam dared to speak up. "Love, you know that you're perfect as you are, right?"

"'m not."

"You are," Sam insisted. He put a finger under her chin and softly pushed her head upwards.

Now that they were eye to eye, he could clearly see the doubts on her face. So he leaned forward and kissed her nose.

The soft touch startled a wet laugh out of Y/N. "What was that for?"

"I wanted to see you laugh." Sam cupped her cheek then, the edge of his thumb resting on her lip.

The honesty in his words had Y/N turn her head away but Sam could see the smile she was trying to hide.

And that was all he wanted. For the first time since he had entered the room, Sam allowed himself to relax. His shoulders slumped and the death grip he accidentally had on her hip loosened.

"Sorry," Y/N mumbled, her eyes skittering over the floor.

And there was the tension back. Sam all but pressed her back into his body, as if he could suffocate the bad thoughts out of her mind. "There's nothing to be sorry for, Y/N."

"But-"

"Nope," Sam interrupted her again, hands on her back protectively while his chin rested on top of her head, "I'm not letting you go until you're feeling better. And then, we'll find you a great outfit that you're comfortable in and go on our double date with Cas and Dean."

"He looked so happy when he said we'll go out," Y/N said and looked up.

Her eyes were swollen from crying and her face was blotchy but the smile on her lips made her the most gorgeous person Sam had ever met. The statement had caught him a little off guard though so Sam took a moment to answer.

"He is happy." Sam stated and squeezed her hip, "and so am I."

And because he could, Sam leaned down once more and kissed her. It was just a short peck but it made the blood rush into Y/N's cheeks all the same.

"Stop being so sweet," she scolded gently.

Sam chuckled. "Or what?"

"Or I might fall even more for you."

"I'm good with that." he grinned and ruffled her hair.

Y/N huffed and ducked away from his hand. Then, she pushed away completely and started recollecting her clothes. "Do you think it would be okay if I wore jeans and a sweater?"

"Of course, Love," Sam said and got up along with her to help fold up the various dresses and shirts.

General Taglist: @immrbrightsideeee , @fandomfoodiedancer , @lovesfandoms , @nyotamalfoy , @stixnstripesworld , @foxyjwls007 , @amythedoctor , @alexxavicry

Sam Taglist: @tiggytaylor , @danzalladaggers , @lelapine , @baby-banana , @borhapparker , @maddiebwrites

Join a Taglist!

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam x you #sam winchester fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #tw eating issues #tw panic attacks #tw body image issues #hurt/comfort

170 notes · View notes

randomwriting-misc · 2 years

Text

Endangered | Chapter Four

Paul Lahote x OFC

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Summary: Vampires and wolves are not the only supernatural creatures to walk the earth, and they are certainly not the only ones in Forks, Washington when Charlotte Annabeth Swan, "Anna", moves in with her uncle after the unfortunate demise of her parents.

Some may misidentify her as a witch, but that’s fine, she would rather them think that anyway. But the Volturi know the truth, and they are closing in on her.

Over the last few weeks, most of my time was devoted to being on the Res in some way. Either at Emily’s with Paul and the pack or with Jacob, who was starting to question where I was running off to half the time. I am lying in bed, reading when I hear my phone go off.

Paul - Morning sunshine, there’s a bonfire tonight. Would you like to join? I haven’t seen you in a while. ☹

I smile at Paul’s term of endearment before answering.

Me- You saw me on Friday silly. Will Jacob be there? I haven’t told him we are hanging out yet, and he doesn’t know about you or me. I don’t know what to say.

Paul- Just tell him we are dating.

Me- Is this your way of asking me out? It might need some workshopping.

Paul- Haha, no, it’s not. It’s just the easiest explanation for now. With how touchy you are, it’s sure to raise a few eyebrows.

Me- Me? Touchy? Okay Mr. Can’t-let-me-walk-without-holding-on-to-me.

Paul - You’re clumsy, what can I say.

Me- I fell ONCE.

Paul - Yes, and almost fell down a whole cliff.

Me - It was a hill.

Paul - Mhm, sure.

Me- Fine, yes, I would like to go. But I have to back early. Bella’s birthday is tomorrow.

Paul - Got it. I’ll pick you up at 6.

I set my phone down but get another text from him.

Paul - Oh, Anna? When I ask you out, I promise it’ll be more than just a text.

I let out a surprisingly girlish squeak before throwing my phone down. Heat rushing to my whole face. He said when, not if.

I don’t know when I came to the conclusion that I had feelings for fall beyond just a close friendship, maybe I always knew, but he was true to his words the day we first met. He was letting me lead us.

I text him back before getting out of bed.

Me- I’m looking forward to that.

Downstairs, Charlie is eating breakfast that Bella had made. He’s already in uniform, and he hands me a cup of coffee as I sit across from him.

“Thanks, Uncle Charlie.”

He smiles, “You’re welcome kid.”

“Did Bella already head out?” I question and Charlie nods with a sigh.

“Yes, Edward is apparently taking her hiking. Bella. Hiking.” He can’t hide his eyeroll and I laugh.

“Young love can do strange things to a person,” I remark and sip my coffee.

He grimaces when I say young love but shakes it off.

“Speaking of young love, you’ve been spending a lot of time out in La Push. Any particular reason why?” He’s trying to come off nonchalant but fails extremely to do so. I’m sure someone has said something to him. I choke back a laugh.

“Yeah actually, I’ve been hanging out with Paul Lahote.”

“Is that one of the boys who work with Sam Uley?”

I nod, not knowing exactly what he was told about them. He gives a curt nod.

“He’s a good kid, you should bring him around sometime.”

I narrow my eyes at him, sometimes I swear Charlie has a supernatural sense of his own.

“He’s actually picking me up at 7 to go to a bonfire. Maybe you’ll see him then.”

Standing up to put his empty plate in the sink, he grabs his lunch from the fridge and winks at me.

“Maybe I will. I’m glad to see you making connections here.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze before saying goodbye and heading out the door, the irony of his words lost on him.

I spend the morning cleaning up around the house and trying to finish my book, but a lot of anxious energy sits inside me.

Jacob Black was my best friend. He knew the pain of losing a parent when I moved here, and he knew how to handle being around me. Everyone treated me with kid gloves, but Jacob treated me like a normal person. I hated lying to him, and he already knew something was up. I didn’t want to spring Paul on him without warning. I set my book down after re-reading the same page over and over again and texted him.

Me- Hey Jake, are you going to the bonfire tonight?

Jacob- Hey! Yeah, I am. No offense, but how do you know about it? It’s a Rez thing.

Me- Paul Lahote invited me.

I wait as the minutes go by with no response.

Me- Jake?

It’s half an hour before he responds.

Jacob- Is he who you’ve been spending all your time with?

Me- I don’t spend all my time with him, Jacob. We started hanging out recently.

Jacob - He’s trouble, Anna.

Me - He’s really not, I just wanted to be the one to tell you that I’m going with him.

Jacob - Wow, out of everyone, you were the last person I thought would follow Paul around like a puppy. Just as sad as the others.

Me - Jake, please.

I don’t get a response after that, and my anxiety skyrockets. My panic attacks had started after my parent’s death but had finally subsided in the past few weeks.

My chest tightens, and I put my head between my knees, practicing box breathing as I feel the walls caving in on me.

In, 2, 3, 4. Hold 2, 3, 4. Out, 2 3, 4.

I’m cut off by my phone ringing, making me jump. The caller ID says Paul.

“Hey,” I say. My voice is hoarse.

“Anna?” He sounds frantic, “Are you okay?”

Immediately, I’m up and alert.

“What’s wrong?”

“I… I just felt this intense panic and I knew it was you. Please, Anna, are you okay.”

“You could feel that?”

“Anna,” Paul interjects, voice tense.

“I’m okay, I’m at home,” I provide hurriedly, “I just talked to Jacob, and he didn’t respond very well. I started having a panic attack.”

He lets out a deep breath.

“You never told me you had those.” His voice is softer now.

“I hadn’t had anyone since before meeting you, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Can I come see you early? I know it’s only 3 but I don’t feel like I can be away from you after that.”

“Of course. I’ll see you soon?’

“Yeah, I’ll have to drive, so I’ll be there in about 20.”

We hang up, and I leave a message for Charlie at the station letting him know Paul would be here early.

I rush to make myself presentable. My hair’s natural curls had become frizzy over the last two days. Cursing, I frantically wet them and try to tame them to an acceptable level. I was already wearing an outfit I deemed presentable enough for a Sunday. Jean shorts and an oversized t-shirt. I tucked in the front and let the shirt hang to show my collar bones.

I hear Paul’s truck before I see it, and I race down the stairs.

I open the door before he knocks. He doesn’t even stop as he sweeps me up in a hug. My arms cross at his neck as he lifts me, so we are face-to-face. His arms are around my waist, holding me up.

“Hey there,” I whisper.

He kisses my temple, an act he’s never done before but fills me with joy.

“I was so worried about you. I thought you were in danger,” He sets his forehead against mine and closes his eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea you feel what I’m feeling.”

He finally sets me down but grabs a hold of my hand as he shuts the door.

“Until today, I had only been able to get a vague sense of it when we were together.”

I lead him to the couch and push him gently to get him to sit. I go to sit next to him, but he frowns and grabs me again, pulling him onto his lap. Sighing, he lays his head on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I just need to be able to feel you and hear your heartbeat, know that you are safe,” he admits quietly.

I nod and rest my chin on the top of his head, placing my arms on his shoulders.

“Don’t be sorry, this helps me too.”

We spend a few minutes surrounded by silence, as he thumbs circles on my waist, and play with his hair. I can feel his emotions calming.

“Jacob’s mad at me,” I whisper. Paul tenses a bit before raising his head to meet my eyes.

“What did he say to you?”

“Just that you are trouble and that I shouldn’t “follow you around like a puppy” and that I was “just as sad as the others.”

Paul scowls at that.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Sam suspects he will eventually change, just like us. His dad is an Elder, so he knows about it all. Jacob just doesn’t understand.”

“I know, but I don’t know what to do. If I wait for him to find out when he changes, he will be so mad.”

“Anna, he won’t understand now. And it might put you at risk.”

I groan, “I am a bad friend.”

“No, you’re not. He shouldn’t condemn you just for being around someone he doesn’t particularly like.”

I fall back onto the couch, my head hitting a pillow, but the rest of me still on Paul.

“I hate this,” I mumble.

“I know, beautiful. It’ll be okay.”

His eyes dance over me, stopping at the spot where my t-shirt had ridden up, showing my stomach. I smirked at the hitch of his breath.

He cleared his throat with a cough and lightly rubs his fingers over my legs, giving me chills.

Falling into a comfortable silence, I hand Paul the remote as I grab my book, both of us content with just being with each other, with the stipulation of Paul touching me in some way, but I wouldn’t complain.

Charlie came home around 5:30, and Paul made sure he was on the other side of the couch when he walked in.

“Hi Uncle Charlie,” I said cheerily, trying to disperse my nerves.

Paul stood up, and I was suddenly grateful Paul had at least thrown on a shirt before coming over instead of just his usual cut-offs. Paul had me in height by more than a foot, but even next to Charlie, he towered over him.

“Sir,” Paul says, holding his hand out, “It’s nice to meet you officially.”

Charlie shakes his hand and looks at me, raising an eyebrow.

“Nice to meet you too, Paul. I appreciate the work you and Sam do, helping out the hunting for the animal responsible for the attacks on the Reservation.”

“Of course, it's our pleasure to help.”

Charlie huffs and I smile at him.

“Will you be out late? It’s a school night.”

I shake my head, “No, I promise. Paul knows it’s Bella’s birthday tomorrow.”

He nods, finding the answer acceptable.

“Don’t forget, Bella wants you to come over for her birthday dinner at the Cullen’s.”

I can feel Paul’s knee-jerk reaction of anger from across the room.

“I won’t, Alice already dropped off what I’m supposed to wear. Apparently, my usual attire is “too casual.”

Charlie nods his head, directing his attention at Paul.

“I’m happy Anna’s found some good friends around here. Just be safe, okay?”

“Always,” Paul says with a feigned smile. Charlie announces he’s going to go upstairs for a shower. Paul waits for him to be out of earshot before turning to me with a glare.

“You’re going over to the Cullen’s house.”

I whine and put a pillow over my face.

“It’s not a big deal,” I grumble into it, but Paul can hear me anyway. He sits next to me and pulls the pillow away, careful to do it gently.

“It’s a big enough deal that you didn’t tell me.” He might be a bit angry, but I know he is hurt more than anything.

“I just found out about it yesterday when Alice stopped by. I know you hate it, but they aren’t unkind to me. It’s not even about me, it’s for Bella. Honestly, they aren’t ever over-friendly with me, just polite. I don’t think they like me very much.”

“I doubt they would try to be friends with you since Sam told them about us.”

I give him a look, “What do you mean told them about us?”

“He let them know you were under our protection.”

I throw a pillow at him, but he just catches it.

“I can protect myself Paul, and, the Cullens haven’t done anything to me.”

“That doesn’t mean they won’t. It’s just really a respect thing Anna, they know better,” he says pushing some hair out of my face and behind my ear.

“I hope you can feel how annoyed I am at you. That’s not fair.”

He smiles.

“I can, but I can also feel how much you like it when I touch you.” He winks at me.

I kick him, but he just throws his head back in a laugh.

“I’m going to go get ready. You,” I point a finger at him, “stay down here until I’m done being mad at you.”

“That’s fine, I’ll just hang out with Charlie.”

“Have fun with that!” I call over my shoulder and climb the stairs.

It doesn't take me long to get ready, it was starting to get cold at night now as September brought us into fall. I pulled on comfortable jeans, fitted at the waist but loose on the legs, with a tight cropped Henley shirt on top. Grabbing a thick knit sweater for later and my high-top Converse, I deemed myself ready.

Downstairs, Paul seems to be having a pleasant conversation with Charlie. They both look up when I hit the bottom stairs.

One thing I love about Paul is the way he looks at me. As much as he can be tough and quick-tempered, when he looks at me, his entire demeanor softens, and he always smiles. It’s enough to make a girl swoon.

“You look lovely,” he says. I blush and thank him before grabbing my bag.

Charlie bids us good night and we head out, the closer we get to the beach the more nervous I am.

“It’ll be okay Anna,” Paul says, his hand sliding into mine.

“I don’t want to get into it with him, but I don’t want him to ignore me either.” I frown.

“Well, Emily will be there, and she misses you, so I’m sure your time will be preoccupied. He would be bold to say something in front of her.”

“And in front of you?”

Paul scoffs, “I dare him.”

Read Chapter Five Here

211 notes · View notes