#tw; writer's ptsd

[ssolessurvivor]

I think it's interesting (was gonna say funny but ptsd from past severed interactions is not funny) but I get super nervous when I want to chat about certain character traits or things with my current partners when I've been writing with them for way longer, like why does my brain do this to me??

I just get so nervous and clam up but like, I want to do another nsfw headcanon post for Logan, and it's not like he likes anything super weird or over the top, he's just as equally as shy as me to talk about it because he's been so sheltered since his recovery even he sometimes won't ask his partners what he wants to do because 'shy country bumpkin insert here' (plus he's still learning what he likes and doesn't like rip)

its so stupid, and I'm tryna work on it I really am, and I think I am improving in some things too on this which is good, it's just silly that I'm still struggling with this bullshit. those of you who know, well, know.

[heyitsme1040]

Don't Drown Me Out [b.b]

summary : Training in the gym, everything was going okay. Until Steve managed to knock Bucky to the floor, causing Bucky to have a flashback. His mind takes him back to what they did to him in Hydra. Slowly, reader manages to bring Bucky back to the present again, away from the painful memories that still affect Bucky. 

pairings : Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings : PTSD flashback, discussion of torture, (if I missed anything let me know!)

word count : 800

AO3 (x)

a/n : Day twenty-eight of Comfortember is here! The prompt was ‘flashbacks’. 

You were training at the gym. Natasha was guiding you through the steps to disarm someone while they have you in a choke hold. You could see across the room, on the mat, Steve and Bucky were sparring. Bucky seemed off, Steve was landing more of his hits than usual. You kept an eye on their session while focusing on what Nat was telling you to do. When Steve landed a harsher blow, Bucky stumbled. While he was regaining his footing Steve managed to swipe Bucky’s feet out from beneath him. The instant Bucky hit the map, you were walking over to them. It wasn’t the fact that Bucky fell, but the way he landed. It was like he wasn’t here in the present. 

As you stepped onto the mat, Steve held his hand out to Bucky to help him up. Except Bucky scrambled away from the offered hand. He was trying to keep as much distance between himself and Steve as possible. Steve’s brows furrowed and he took a half step closer to Bucky. At the movement, Bucky curled in on himself like he was trying to protect his vital organs. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky’s shaking voice whimpered out. “Please, I did my best. I’ll do better next time.”

Steve squatted, not moving any closer to Bucky’s curled up form. “Bucky.”

“I can do better, let me prove it.”

You walked behind Steve, making sure to stay in Bucky’s line of sight. You slowly walked closer to him, paying attention to Bucky’s form. As you got closer Bucky stayed still, not trying to distance himself. Holding your hands up with your palms facing Bucky, you knelt on the mat by his head before sitting fully and crossing your legs. 

“Bucky,” you lowly said, keeping your voice soft. “Can you hear me baby?”

Bucky turned his face toward you, but didn’t respond. His eyes were unfocused, but moved like he was watching something far away. 

You lightly set your hand next to his, “I need you to take a deep breath. You’re okay, love, you’re safe. You’re in the gym. It’s just me, you, Steve, and Nat in here. We’re at the compound in upstate New York.”

“New York…” Bucky slurred the word. 

“Yeah baby. We’re in New York. You were sparring with Steve, remember?”

“Steve?” 

You motioned for Steve to come closer, “He’s right here. He managed to knock you off your feet, that’s all. Everything’s okay.”

Bucky uncurled himself slightly and placed his hand on top of yours. 

“Hey pal,” Steve gave a small wave. 

You lifted your other hand to cup Bucky's check. He pulled away slightly before fully leaning into your touch. You gave him a tight smile, trying to keep yourself from falling apart. You hated how much Bucky's own mind tormented him. It was bad enough he witnessed the ghosts of his past when he was asleep, but now you wondered how often they haunted him while awake.

Bucky took a deep breath and wet his lips, "When am I?”

"It's the twenty-first century.” Steve spoke up. "And you've been free for a few years now.”

You stroked Bucky's check with your thumb. His stubble scratched nicely under your touch. "Can you tell us where you were just now?”

Bucky shivered despite the sweat clinging to him. "I was in the training cage. Back in some Hydra base. They used to have their best agents fight me. I was meant to fight them to the death, and they were told to beat me until I passed out. When I'd lose, I'd wake up strapped to a metal chair. That'd shock me. Except it was different.” 

"Baby,” your voice trailed off, your heart aching for him.

“They weren't wiping me to start over. They were punishing me. They only stopped when I passed out from seizing. That's how they discovered it takes my body longer to heal my mind than it did the rest of me.”

You wrapped your arms around him. You didn't care that the two of you were laying on a sweaty mat. You didn't care that Nat and Steve could see you clearly clinging onto Bucky. All that mattered was having Bucky close to you. You clung to him, trying to protect him from monsters that were no longer around. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, pressing you as close to him as possible.

"You're safe,” you couldn't tell which one of you your words were meant to comfort.

Bucky nodded against you. The two of you stayed there, present in the moment. You heard the door to the gym close, informing you of Nat and Steve leaving.

“I'm so sorry you had to go through that,” you spoke into his neck.

Bucky squeezed you tighter, "If it means I got you, then it was worth it. Every single time.”

Author's Note : Reblogs are appreciated, likes are welcome, and if you want to read more of my fics then maybe follow.

©heyitsme1040 If you find this post on any platform under a username different than heyitsme1040 it is not their work.

[sleeplessv0id]

I don't believe in God. anymore

but I hope he loved me. at least once.

[the-alliance-maker]

Tw for non graphic talk about loss of body parts/injuries IRL!

SO, I lost part of my finger in an accident and now I have so much hands on (Ha!) experience with limb loss and minor amputation. As a writer, I feel unstoppable!

There's so much I had never realized came with losing a part of your body! From relearning how to use that part of you, to just straight up forgetting it happened.

I was finally able to clip my own nails the other day, and when I got to the finger that no longer had a nail to clip, my brain straight up shut down for fifteen seconds.

My poor brain was so confused. It couldn't figure out what was wrong, just that something desperately was. It was genuinely destressing towards the end of those few seconds until I remembered- Oh, Right! I lost a chunk.

I still giggle about it two weeks later.

Anyway, all I want to do now is cut Links' fingers off and write about it. (It sounds so horrifying when I put it like that)

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Drugged Hero Whumpee used as Party Favor at Villain's Party part 9

Warnings: living weapon whumpee, drugged sedation, torture, blood, medical whump, restraints, aftermath of torture, forced betrayal, friend pitted against friend

"What are you doing?" Shadow snapped. Fear leaked into her voice.

"Planting a tracker. Can't have my prized possession running off before my experiments are finished." Archenemy smiled wolfishly, a hunter with the trophy of a lifetime as he brought the blade to her arm. "Don't worry, it'll only hurt for a few minutes. And with your gift, you'll get over it... eventually."

The first slice across her forearm wasn't too bad, Shadow just gritted her teeth against it. But everything after that was pain. Pure pain.

An agonized shriek tore loose from her chest as Archenemy slowly cut deeper into her skin, taking his time and splitting the layers of flesh one by one with meticulous care and precision.

Shadow started thrashing and struggling, but there was nowhere to go, she was strapped down too tightly. She screamed her throat raw as the scalpel sliced through muscle tissue, yanking against her restraints hard enough to bruise and chafe her skin.

It felt like her arm was being dipped in lava -- the pain was excruciating, setting every nerve alight with it.

Shadow's blue eyes flicked over Archenemy's shoulder to lock with Ava's. Ava held her gaze, though Shadow could have sworn she flinched sympathetically as she let out another ragged wail of agony. But it was probably too much to hope for from the living weapon.

The seconds ticked by with no end in sight, everything was just pain, pain, PAIN. Sweat dripped down Shadow's forehead, and she felt something small and round like a marble being pressed in the wound and tucked deep into the center of her arm -- it felt like it was nestled against the bone itself.

She was gasping and panting for breath when Archenemy finally closed the wound with a few stitches, but it was hardly a relief. The pain stayed there, lodged inside her, like fire in her flesh.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it? You took it like a champion," Archenemy cooed, and patted Shadow's cheek mockingly.

Shadow tried to speak, but only a shallow rasp of air came out, her throat and vocal cords ruined by all the screaming. She was ashamed to feel tears of agony rolling down her face, and she squeezed her eyes shut to avoid seeing Archenemy's face any more. She just focused on surviving from one second to the next, breathing through the blazing pain.

She gave up, kept her eyes closed and didn't fight when she felt the leather straps being taken off, the typical cuffs being put back on her wrists and ankles. At least the brutal muzzle stayed off, the tiniest comfort.

Shadow stayed limp and lifeless as she felt herself being picked up by who she knew had to be Ava, because Archenemy would never do such dirty work as taking a mangled body back to a prison cell.

Every wound throbbed horribly, both the ones she got from the earlier fight with Ava and the fresh one in her arm. Shadow groaned weakly as Ava slid her off her shoulder, setting her down on the mattress on the floor.

"Open your eyes," Ava coaxed softly. "I need to make sure you don't have a concussion from earlier. Not that you won't heal from it anyway, but Archenemy prefers I keep an extensive log of injuries sustained by captives. For the records." But Shadow didn't care to, couldn't bear to see her friend seeing her like this. Didn't want to see Ava's reaction.

"Go away and let me rest," Shadow wheezed. It was barely more than a whisper on a breath of air, squeezed past her bloody throat.

"Do you really want to make this harder for yourself?" Ava's voice scoffed in disbelief. "You just took a serious beating. Just because you'll heal, doesn't mean it doesn't hurt in the meantime. I'm allowed to give you some painkillers to help you rest."

"And whose fault is it I need painkillers in the first place?" Shadow retorted with a cough. She didn't expect it to elicit a reaction, but she felt Ava recoil slightly as if stung.

"You did this to yourself," Ava said quietly, though she sounded sad... and maybe even a little guilty? "If you had come willingly, I wouldn't have had to intervene. You shouldn’t have tried to attack Archenemy.”

“Yeah, well, if you had helped at all – kff – maybe I would have won.” Shadow broke off into a bout of wheezing coughs, swallowing the blood in her throat.

“...You know I can't do that.”

“But you can. That’s the stupid part,” Shadow hissed. “Archenemy’s put some crazy illusion in your head that you can’t do anything without his approval. But you are alive, you are capable of making your own decisions. You don’t need to cater to his every whim. Has he ever given you a gift? Hmm? Anything other than what's necessary solely for survival? Sounds like he doesn't care a whole lot about you if he only puts the bare minimum amount of effort into keeping you alive. You are a tool to him, and he will never see you as anything more than a useful asset. He’ll dispose of you as soon as you stop being valuable.”

“You’re wrong,” Ava instinctively blurted. “Archenemy is trying to make a better city. He says that once we win the war against the corrupt heroes, the city will be at peace. Then everything will be right again.”

Shadow finally cracked her eyes open, peering dizzily up at Ava. “War doesn’t determine who is right… it determines who is left,” she rasped quietly. “Just… think about that, at least for a little while. See if it changes your perspective.” Then she reached out a shaky hand and gestured meaningfully. “Now. You said something about painkillers?”

It almost looked like a genuine smile twitched at the corners of Ava’s mouth as she rolled two red pills into Shadow’s expectant hand. Shadow didn't have water, so she used the blood that had pooled in the back of her throat to swallow them. One minute later and her limbs started feeling heavy.

“...There was a sedative in there too, wasn’t there?” Shadow slurred drowsily with a groan.

“Sorry… but you need rest to recover. And I know you well enough to know that you'd stay up all night and run yourself ragged trying to find a way to escape.”

“Darn right… I would have…” Shadow’s voice faded into a mumble as the tranquilizer took over, plunging her into unconsciousness.

Just have to say, I think using someone's own blood to swallow pills is probably the coolest and most metal thing I've ever come up with to write. We can all agree on that, right? 😂

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @lavenderhousesposts

[aurae-rori]

“DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH”

— this is written in the same universe that my fic 'a heart, embark, a beautiful star' is written in - except this is diamond's backstory.

�� involves character exploration as well as kind of explaining how diamond came to be the person that he is today

— mm character study

— diamond's relationship with the devil that he's contracted to and how it came to that point :)

— i might post a second chapter to this after i finish the csm au in its entirety as to not spoil some things that will be mentioned as diamond climbs the ranks. but for now, just one chapter and 6.2k words!

featuring artworks done by my friends of diamond's canon design!!

done by the wonderful @nicoarts69

and!!

done by @cococosplay113 !!

thank you guys sm <33

[timberfigure]

Eventually, your roots grew into my spine. They found water and they became strong. I became your lifeblood and I hadn't asked for that. You put me here. You put me beneath you and as your source.

[unspokenwordsbyhb]

[lostmf]

Nobody teaches you what to do the day after

Day after you survive the storm

After you run away from home

I survived my parents, I survived the threats, I didn’t deserve what they did to me and I didn’t kill myself.

But the morning comes and you sit on the floor

A child without its parents

Cause he was too vile for them to love

What do you do with that ..

[jocollins]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Laura Hale, Peter Hale Additional Tags: Stiles Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves, Stiles Stilinski Finds Out, Past Abuse, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Protective Derek Hale, Protective Stiles Stilinski, protective Hales, Pack Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Acceptance Series: Part 5 of Broken Like You Summary:

Stiles discovers that Hales are werewolves! More trauma dump happening.

[bluebird-poetry96]

8/8/24  10:44am

The disbelief that he is 7 now.

My heart breaks knowing I had to leave the kids in that place...

I beg;

I pray to the Universe, he is doing okay, that he's in a living in a better place.

Pray that he's out of that household-

With a mom on drugs; with an emotionally and physically abusive boyfriend.

A mentally deranged boyfriend;

Mentally unstable and absent mother.

The trauma inflicted upon those children is

Unforgivable.

I made mistakes that I will,

Always. Regret.

I tried so hard to help.

So hard that they he started calling me mom.

So hard that I didn't have time or energy to shower, For Months.

So hard that my mental health took a turned for the worse- getting Furious over the smallest thing,

Including the children

When they were just being children.

So hard I couldn't take it anymore, I tried to kill myself- again.

When I think about it, I can't breathe.

I pray they are doing okay and living good lives, without abuse, without having to know the word Trauma.

But I know, the trauma has seeped into their souls,

They'll be right where I am.

Involved in trauma groups,

Inpatient hospitalizations,

Flashbacks years after all this, into their adulthood,

Hopelessness encompassing their mind,

Possible attempts, on their lives,

By there own hands.

I have major regrets.

Nothing I can do now, except worry, hoping, they are safe.

-Raven Blue Bell

[writingwithfolklore]

Call for People who Have First Hand Experience with PTSD

(Part of The Research Game, question by @z-mizcellaneous-z)

We are wondering if anyone who has first-hand experience can share with us what PTSD flashbacks look or feel like to you, as well as what it might look like from the outside perspective (such as witnessed by friends/strangers).

(please only share if you're comfortable. You can also send me an anonymous ask instead!)

Everyone else, reblog this around until we can find someone who has the answer!

(Otherwise, there's a Youtube channel I know of that aims to spread awareness of PTSD and may help you here: https://youtu.be/vdLfrJSzMY8, though it's important to note she has Complex PTSD, which is slightly different and is characterized by prolonged trauma rather than a single event)

[the-andromeda-effect]

20

TW - abuse mention, violence mention, injury mention, mental trauma, ptsd

Caliban had taken many women to his bed the first night he’d met them, and that was the only night they’d spent together.  Some he’d dated for a while before becoming sexual.  None of those had ever brought about the conflict that he currently felt with Adira as she returned to the bathroom to finish changing.  It was not that there was not the physical desire for her, or that he knew that it would be far more than one night with her, but rather that the physical was so far less important at the moment than making sure that she felt safe and secure mentally and emotionally.  The other could wait, and he would wait, because he knew how wounded she was in all ways. He did not want to add to that in any way; certainly not if there was a chance of losing the way she looked at him by rushing or pushing for anything.  Whenever her eyes and his met, there was something that he could not describe within them, something that awoke a part of him that hadn’t been touched before, and he was finding he liked it.  

When Adira was once more behind a closed door, she leaned against it, holding the PJ pants to her as her heart thudded within her chest.  She had no idea what had made her so bold as to walk over to Caliban like that and just assume he would welcome her touch upon his bare skin and her help in disrobing.  It hadn’t been until she had actually been in the act of doing it that her brain had kicked in.  By then it had been too late and the only thing she felt she could do was continue, and now she was thankful that she had.  Just his initial response of covering her forearms and hands with his own had almost made her knees give way in relief and also a warm and safe sensation that had flooded her whole body.  She craved him in a way that she had never craved Mircea, in a way that she couldn’t even put into words. It wasn't blind lust, it was something deeper. 

From the day that she had met Mircea, she had known that they would be married.  It was why her father had introduced them.  Also from that day, she had alway tried to garner his approval, to please him, to make him proud, to elicit praise.  He had at least pretended in the beginning to be somewhat fond of her and that her efforts were more than enough.  The lack of overt affection understandable due to theirs being an arranged marriage, but it was one he seemed to desire, something that still confused her with how things eventually went.  However, the longer their relationship went, the more it was obvious that she was not who he wanted and that her efforts would never achieve the results that she hoped for.  She had still tried, no matter how many times she failed to live up to standards he seemed to change on a whim.  Up until the day she had been kidnapped, she had relentlessly tried.

Caliban was completely different from Mircea in every conceivable way.  One could say that their marriage was no less arranged than hers with Mircea had been.  It was not built on love, but an agreement to provide for her and keep her safe.  The difference was that even in the beginning of her relationship with Mircea she had not felt as safe and secure with him, nor had she felt as accepted.  Then there was something about the way that she felt when she was held in Caliban’s arms, the way just his voice calmed any fear or anxiety in her, the look in his eyes when he looked at her, his gentle and soothing touch when she was upset or hurting - it was all so new to her;  at the same time, it was like what she had always been looking for in the past, but never found.  

It was in wondering how he had not found a wife previously, with everything he had already shown her of who he was, that Adira came upon the thought that made her stomach turn: what if there were other women he was in a relationship with when he had saved her?  Could she do that again?  Could her heart take other women also being in a relationship from someone other than Mircea?  If there were, could she even do a fake marriage?  Her breath caught and her heart burned at the thought.

By the time that Adira finally opened the door again, Caliban had started to worry if things were okay with her.  The room had been too quiet, and she had seemed to be in there too long.  He had to keep reminding himself not to rush her.  Patience was never one of his virtues, but he knew that if he wanted to unwrap the delicate gift that was the true nature of the woman he now called his wife, he was going to have to learn some.  There was something about her that made him confident that whatever new skills he might have to learn or test he might feel like he was enduring, in the end, it would be worth it.

“Is everything alright?” He finally asked as she silently crossed over to the bed and began to place her jeans in the bag that he had brought up for her.  She hadn’t looked at him when she came out of the bathroom, nor even when he spoke to her, and this concerned him.  Before she’d gone back in, they’d once again been affectionate with one another and she’d seemed to be relaxing.  Had she had another panic attack of sorts?  

Still not looking at him, Adira’s voice came out soft and stuttered, “I hadn’t thought to ask before if…” She paused, gathering the courage to say what had come to her mind as she realized how much she was attracted to Caliban. It was as if the question was stuck in her throat, refusing to come out.  There was a fear of hearing the answer once it did.

“If what, sweetheart?” Calban asked cautiously, as head cantered.  He had heard the hesitation and nerves in her voice.   He pushed off of the dresser he’d been leaning against to walk over to her.  There was definitely something wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what could have changed in just a few minutes.  

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her head still bowed as if looking down into her bag.  “If you had…someone you were with..you know, when you..we...”  As she let her breath out, she steeled herself for the answer.  Her hands had balled to fists around the clothing she was holding, as if that would somehow protect her from the answer hurting her.  She had known many men who would be with multiple women simultaneously.  It wasn’t like she was naive to the way the world of rich and powerful men who looked like him operated.  Even those who were married often had more than one girlfriend on the side besides their wife. This was often the life wives of family heads led.

So that was the issue that had suddenly come to bother her.  The tension Caliban had been feeling waiting to hear what had upset her faded instantly.   He was glad her back was to him because he could not keep the devilish smirk off of his face.  Not that he was laughing at her, far from it; no, he was delighted that the beauty was concerned that she might have competition for his affection.  To him that meant that she too was starting to feel something for him in the same way he was for her.  Otherwise she wouldn’t care if he was in a relationship with someone else while being fake married to her.  Being fake married to Adira seemed to get better every time he turned around, and now he was going to have at least two weeks secluded with her in a mountain cabin.  Who knew what could happen then?

“And it would bother you if I did?”  The shaky inhale of breath after his question gave him his answer, just before his arms wrapped around her from behind.  She couldn't hide the slight tremble in her body from him, a tremble that he hoped his next words would quell.   Placing his chin on her shoulder, he let his warm breath fan across her neck with his next words, “my darling wife, if there had been, the moment I slipped that ring on your finger they no longer existed.”  He gently kissed the crook of her neck and continued, “there is now, and from now on always will be, only you, unless it is you who wants things otherwise between us.”  Caliban was never one to share a woman, nor did he expect a woman to share him.

As much as his words comforted her, she also felt like they were too good to be real. “Are you sure that you can be happy that way?” Adira was afraid to even hope, even if she prayed, to a god she had long since stopped believing in, that it was true.  She was under no illusion that Mircea had ever been faithful in their marriage, even from the beginning.  He’d always blamed her; of course it was her failure as a wife that led him to have to find others.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”  He kept his chin on her shoulder and laced his fingers with hers now that she’d covered his hands with her own.  Every time he thought he’d figured out how much damage that Mircea had done, something more was revealed.  There was no doubt the coming days and weeks would reveal more, and he would try his best never to repeat those wounds.  If he could, he would instead heal them.  

“Well,I…I don’t know.  I just know that no matter what I tried, I was never enough for Mi-” Suddenly Caliban’s hand was over her mouth, cutting her off as she felt herself fully pulled back against him.  Her eyes closed, her breathing stilled, and she waited for the pain.  Pain always came after the wrong things were said.  Hopefully Caliban would not be as brutal as Mircea had been.  She still ached from being dragged by Kondrat and the abuse in that basement.

banners by: @cafekitsune

[starryvomit]

no one talks about how hard it is to set and respect boundaries when you lived your entire life relying on everybody but yourself in hard situations.

i have allowed toxicity to follow me around for a lifetime because i relied on abusive parental guidance for over 20 years.

breaking the cycle is incredibly difficult.

and anybody even trying to learn boundary-setting deserves recognition and celebration.

you endured hard things. you can do hard things. you know because you have done so your entire life.

believe in yourself

even when nobody else does.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

"I Want You to Scream" -- Hero Tortured by Villain, Intimate Whumper part 4

Warnings: betrayal, PTSD, chains/restraints, severe torture, blood, cauterization, iron rod branding, knives, intimate whump, etc.

The poll I posted asking which of my stories people wanted me to continue most is over, and this was the #1 most wanted continuation!! So as promised, here's a new chapter for it! I'm always open to continuing other stories too if requested.

Hero woke up screaming. His whole body was on fire with agony, there was something stuck to his face, and several sharp things buried in his arms. He started clawing frantically at the thing on his face, hyperventilating because he couldn't breathe right -- but strong hands grabbed his wrists and kept them down.

"It's okay, it's just an oxygen mask," a soothing voice said, but it sounded too far away, hard to hear over the blood roaring in his ears, his own terrified, skittering pulse. And his vision was blurry, all he could make out was the dark silhouette of a person looming over him.

Where am I? WHERE AM I?! Hero fought hard against the firm hold, a ragged wail escaping him as another wave of pain washed over him.

"Can't you do something?!" The voice hovering over him said.

"I'm working on it! He wasn't supposed to wake up so fast!" A second unknown voice barked.

Hero panicked, thrashing and struggling as much as his ravaged body would allow, maddening screams filling the room as several pairs of hands grabbed his limbs, pinning him down. Vaguely familiar voices were talking all around him, but he couldn't figure out where he knew them from.

An animalistic, primal fear reared up inside him, the desperation to get away and escape -- but there were too many enemies, too many hands subduing him. Amidst his weak flailing, something sharp pricked him in the shoulder, and he felt a cold liquid flood into his veins. A needle. What was he being injected with?? What was this some new form of torture?!

His struggles were lessening, his heartbeat slowing against his will despite the adrenaline pounding through him. He tried to scream again as another agonizing muscle spasm ripped through him, he really did, but the sound only ended in a high whine.

Someone's fingers were running soothingly through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. At first Hero flinched, throwing his head to the side to escape the contact -- but then he focused on the feeling, using it to distract himself. It felt good, he admitted, and he was desperate to cling on to any sensation that wasn't more blinding pain.

Hero instinctively leaned into the soft touch with a pathetic whimper, craving even the most basic touches of kindness.

"It's okay to let go, let it all slip away..." a voice murmured.

But Hero was terrified of the darkness closing in on him, dragging him back. The edges of the world were turning an awful shade of black, sapping his sight away.

It's okay to let go...

It's okay to let go...

It's okay.... to let go...

He latched on to the words, the echoing thoughts slowly dying out in his mind... until the empty void that awaited him swallowed him completely.

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

The crawl back to consciousness was much harder this time, like wading through thick mud. The first thing Hero noticed is that he wasn't in searing agony like before -- the pain was still there, sharp and insistent, but lessened to a throbbing ache. But even so, his anxiety climbed. He still didn't know where he was, what was happening. Had Villain taken him back to her lair to torture him further? The hands that had pinned him earlier... who knows how long ago it was... did they belong to her henchmen?

He could hear a quiet beeping noise that kicked up a notch in speed, beeping faster, and through his delirious mind he somehow recognized it as a heart monitor. But if that was the case, was he in a hospital? Villain would never give him medical luxuries like this.

"His heart rate's spiking too fast." A gruff voice made him jump in his skin, heart springing to his throat with fear. "I'm gonna have to knock him out again before it climbs too high."

"Wait, let me try something first." A new voice, right next to where Hero was laying. "Hero? Can you hear me? Are you awake?"

Hero hesitated, then twitched his hand in acknowledgment -- he hardly had the strength for anything more. His pulse calmed a little at the genuine concern lacing the voice -- concern for him meant he wouldn't be hurt, he reasoned.

It took a gargantuan amount of effort, but Hero managed to slowly crack his eyes open, blinking dizzily until his vision focused on the face looming over him.

"...Sidekick?" He whispered hoarsely in disbelief, his voice barely more than a raspy breath of air from all the screaming.

A choked sob, and then someone was hugging him, arms wrapping tight around his torso in an awkward embrace on the medical bed. At first Hero recoiled, but relaxed a second later at the familiar presence. He was safe. He didn't know how, but he was at the hero headquarters in the medical bay, he was sure of it now. How else would Sidekick be here? And the first voice -- it must have been Medic's.

"What... happened?" Hero croaked, noticing how dry and parched his mouth was. How long had he been out...?

Sidekick's gaze dropped to the floor, his demeanor turning uneasy and tense. "Our team tracked you down just in time to get the drop on Villain," he started. "But it was bad. We thought we were too late, there was so much blood everywhere..." Sidekick grimaced. "Half of us thought you'd die on the way here... you needed a lot of work from Medic and a bunch of transfusions to save you."

"And Villain...?" Hero trailed off expectantly, but his stomach twisted with fear and nausea at the brief pause that followed his words.

"...She got away," Sidekick mumbled.

Hero's chest seized, it was hard to breathe. "...How?" His voice came out in a racking cough that shook his whole body.

"We barged in and thought we got the drop on her, but she had everything planned out from the start, Hero. She was already five, no, ten steps ahead. The instant we kicked down the door she jumped out the window and fled. And she even left a note. She knew we'd find you like that. She wanted us to." Sidekick's lip curled with disgust and hatred.

Hero wet his lips uncomfortably, apprehensive with sudden fear as he remembered the one thing he hadn't brought up yet. "Sidekick -- about those pictures of me on the bed--"

Sidekick raised a hand to cut him off, and Hero's mouth instantly clicked shut.

"You don't have to worry about any of that, the whole team knows you'd never agree to something like that of your own free will. Villain tried to create a trust rift between us, but failed. We believe in you, Hero. You've done nothing wrong."

Maybe not this time... but I did do something wrong in the past. So terribly wrong, Hero though miserably. A rattling breath wheezed out of his lungs as he sighed. Then he stiffened, remembering.

"Sidekick, about Villain..." He chewed the inside of his cheek, mulling over his words before speaking. "Villain isn't just another criminal... she's Old Hero."

Even the heart monitors themselves seemed to go quiet at that in shock.

"She... what?" Sidekick sputtered, then whirled to face Medic, who had been watching things unfold without saying a word. "Just how much pain meds did you give him?!"

"I'm not that high," Hero rasped indignantly. "And I'm serious. Villain is Old Hero. The same hero thought to have been killed by the citizens after I revealed her affair with a villain. Everything that's happening right now... it's all my fault. I shouldn't have gone sticking my nose into other heroes' business. If I'd just kept quiet when I learned about what Old Hero was spending her free time doing--" his breath hitched, and he swallowed dryly.

"So that's how Villain's stayed so many steps ahead of our team," Sidekick breathed with dawning realization. "It's because she knows us. Our strengths, our weaknesses, our tells in a fight... no wonder we haven't caught her yet! Because she used to be one of us." His voice came out in a hiss, eyes huge as he started pacing anxiously next to the medical bed.

"So that's why--the note she left--" Sidekick shook his head grimly, talking to himself.

"...What did the note say?" Hero hesitantly asked. He wasn't completely sure he wanted the answer.

Sidekick's alarmed eyes flicked up to meet his, and he reluctantly pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket to read aloud. "It says... 'Say hi to (Superhero's real name) for me, she's next on the list. P.S, Hero might need therapy'. And then... a smiley winking face emoji?"

Hero snorted a humorless laugh. "Yup, sounds like Old Hero all right."

Sidekick's face was ashen. "You weren't lying... Villain really is Old Hero. How could we have not seen it sooner..."

"Villain played her masks well," Hero admitted grimly. "That's why she was the best undercover spy in our hero team. She can don a dozen different personalities on a whim." His heart sank to his stomach, and he sat himself up with a grunt, carefully pulling out IV lines from his arms, white gauze shifting with his movements. "I need to talk to the other heroes, after I get cleaned up. We need to make a plan, and fast, before Villain makes her move. Knowing her, she'll use the ripples of shock she created by torturing me to slip inside our base of operations unseen while everyone's busy worrying over me."

Sidekick suddenly looked nervous, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. Suspicious. "Oh, uh, I don't think you should be moving just yet--"

"Sidekick."

"You must be exhausted after your ordeal, why don't you just take it eas--"

"Sidekick." Hero said it more firmly this time, his voice shaky but stern. "Why don't you want me to get up yet?"

Sidekick's gaze dropped to the floor, filled with guilt and sorrow, two emotions Hero hadn't expected. "Ah, it's... it's your wounds, I--" he glanced over at Medic for help. "C-Can you tell him instead?" He squeaked.

Medic quickly raised his hands, scooting his chair back. "I'd rather not. I'm the one who spent hours patching Hero up, that should earn me a break."

Sidekick's shoulders drooped, his face crumpling as he turned back to Hero. "It's hard to explain... it might be better if I show you instead..." His voice was a strained whisper. Why was everyone so uneasy about Hero's wounds? It wasn't like they hadn't seen vicious battle wounds before.

Hero's stomach churned with unease at how cryptic Sidekick's words were, but he nodded, sliding over the edge of the medical bed to try out his legs -- and promptly collapsed. Not even the strong painkillers in his system could override the blasting agony that streaked up his whole back and shoulders. The intensity stole his breath away, leaving him drowning in air -- before arms caught him, holding him up so he didn't hit the floor.

Hero instinctively jerked away from the hands with a terrified shout, because for one second he was back with Villain, at her mercy as she cut into him again and again -- for one second, he could feel the hands disguised as help turn right back into hurt.

"Hero! It's me! Calm down!" Hero snapped back to himself, head swimming as a low whine escaped parted lips. He hadn't realized he was shaking so hard, trembling violently as Sidekick held him to his chest. He sucked in shallow, uneven breaths, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to spook you," Sidekick hastily apologized. "I didn't think about how you'd react, given what you've been through..."

Hero felt cold fingers on his wrist, and realized that Medic had appeared right next to Sidekick, checking his pulse with worried eyes.

"I'm f-fine," Hero snapped a little less-than-convincingly, shoving Medic's hand away. Medic let it happen, and shared a glance with Sidekick before backing off.

"Come on, let's get you to a washroom," Sidekick muttered, and slung one of Hero's arms across his shoulders, pulling him up.

Hero gasped at the pain that speared him, but it was a little more bearable now that he'd braced himself for it. He leaned heavily against Sidekick for support as Sidekick guided him out of the medical wing.

But Sidekick hesitated once they reached the bathroom door. Hero was the one who took the first step in, taking his arm off Sidekick and limping on his own until he reached the sinks, a giant mirror mounted above them.

"Hero, you might want to wait before you--" Sidekick started to speak, but Hero was already ripping his shirt off, tugging at the gauze and bandages wrapped around him. He winced and flinched in pain at every small movement, and soon he felt Sidekick's presence standing right behind him, and could see his friend's reflection in the mirror as he wordlessly helped remove the medical dressings one by one without comment.

Hero froze when the last of it was discarded, leaving his torso bare. He gaped in horror at the mirror, shocked at the extent of the damage.

On the front of his shoulder a large emblem was emblazoned into angry red flesh, charred and blistered around the edges. Villain's mark from when she was Old Hero. It was perfect, too perfect, clear that Villain had taken great care to make it last and make sure the shape was pristine. A permanent brand from his torturer. Every time he ever saw himself again, he'd be forced to remember her. For the rest of his life.

Hero swallowed the bile in his throat as he angled himself to see his back, and had to force himself not to gag and vomit on the spot. His back was practically shredded, long lines of dried red criss-crossed over his skin. It made a pattern -- an intricate form of art, and what was worse was that it was his own hero emblem. A star with a triangle in the middle. The same sign engraved into every piece of the hero suit he wore to battle, the emblem that gave people hope when they saw it.

Seeing the wounds like that hurt Hero on a deeper level. And that was exactly what Villain had intended, he knew. Villain was one who always went right for the heart above all else.

'The best way to break someone is to leave something behind that will last an eternity,' she'd once told him. 'Physical pain is temporary. It hurts and then it's gone. But invisible pain? That stuff will stay with you... forever.' Hero had found the words odd at the time, spoken by Old Hero as she sat with him on the roof of a skyscraper drinking wine over the latest victory thanks to her skills. The irony was revolting.

"...Hero?" Sidekick's worried voice brought him back from the haunting memories, and he realized he had a white-knuckled grip on the sink ledge.

His stomach lurched violently, nausea rushing up his throat, and he couldn't stop himself from retching, heaving the last feeding tube-fed meal into the sink. His body was shaking when it was finally over, and he spat a last mouthful of bile and stomach acid out before wiping his mouth with a towel.

He felt like crying, like shouting, like screaming at the ceiling how unfair it was. All his anger, the excruciating pain he was in both inside and out… it was too much to handle. But Sidekick was here with him. And he didn't want to fall apart in front of his teammate. He wanted to cling to that last shred of dignity that hadn't been stripped away by Villain.

So he forced down that agony in the place where hope goes to die, pulling the broken pieces of himself together into a man-shaped figure and composed himself, dissociating. He didn't have time to break down. Villain… Villain was on the loose. And he had to find a way to stop her with his team, before she found another victim to claim.

But the hollow void in him ached with something dark and twisted as he caught another glimpse of his ruined and violated body in the mirror, shaking his resolve.

Hero shook his head with a shiver, gritting his teeth. “We have to talk to the team,” he forced out. “Put a plan together.”

“But don't you want some time to yourself to recov–”

“NO!” Hero cut Sidekick off a little harsher than he meant to, and Sidekick's eyes widened.

“No,” Hero repeated, softer this time. “I can do this. I have to. Villain needs to be stopped… no matter the cost.”

⏪️ Back

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal

[peaches2217]

Useless

TW: Dissociation, Implication of Trauma/PTSD

EDIT: AO3 link!

~~~

“Come back to me.”

This was the second time he was hearing it, Mario realized, that exact combination of sounds. He hadn’t understood it the first time. Heard it, but couldn’t process it. That was Peach’s voice, right? So those sounds were probably directed at him. Maybe?

“Come on,” she spoke again, “come back to me, darling.” Her voice conveyed urgency, yet it was soft all the same. Was she in distress? Where was she? He hoped she would say it again. Something in his chest fluttered at the sound of her voice. It tickled, come to think of it. Was that good or bad?

He tried to breathe, and he did a bit too well at it; it came in a deep, audible gasp, strong enough to drown that fluttery feeling. It kind of hurt, actually. He forced the air back out as quickly as he could and that almost made it better, but now his eyes were watering.

Bad, he decided. Definitely bad.

He blinked. Pink. His hands hovered over pink fabric, partially obscured. They looked strange. They were undoubtedly his hands, callused and hairy, but what was that attached to them? Peach whispered a few more sounds, but he couldn’t quite process them, and the attachments on his hands moved. The sensation was familiar enough, ingrained enough, that he recognized them as another set of hands. Peach’s hands, slender and soft.

Where were his gloves? He had been staring at his own hands for what must have been hours. He remembered, or at least he thought he remembered, her hands peeling back the upper layer of his skin. She had taken them off. She wasn’t wearing gloves either. It had always amazed him, how soft her skin was, how cool her hands felt within his. But now they felt oddly warm.

His right thumb stroked the back of her left hand. Some dull thought permeated the back of his skull, some mix of dread and surprise. His thumb barely moved, tracing an aimless line back and forth across her skin, yet his hand tensed and shook from the effort of moving it.

“Good,” Peach said, and her hands tightened around his fingers. “Squeeze back?”

He worried sometimes, worried that he might hurt her, worried he might forget his own strength at the worst times in the worst ways. So he did his best to follow her request as gently as possible. His fingers twitched. His thumbs pressed into her hands. A tingling sensation crawled up his arms and into his shoulders; the discomfort made him tighten his grasp, which made the unpleasant sensation spread.

“Good!” she repeated. The pink fabric shifted and her voice came nearer. “Very good. There you are.”

He pulled air in too quickly again, and all at once he was slammed back into his own body.

The weight of it was crushing, the numbness in his legs, the tingling in his arms, the ringing in his ears. He relaxed his grip on Peach’s hands and hunched over, shutting his eyes tightly. Dizzy. He was dizzy. The world was spinning around them, as though trying with all of its might to fling them apart, and the very thought of losing her made him groan with terror and grip onto her even harder.

She shushed him, a lone source of calm in the chaos that ensnared him. “Can you speak?” she asked. He could feel her now, her nose pressed into the top of his head, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her, kiss her deeply and endlessly until his feet felt solid on the ground again. 

But he couldn’t find the energy. He couldn’t lift his head, and he couldn’t pull her any closer, and he wasn’t even on his feet to begin with. He was sitting on his knees in some dark room not far from the meeting hall. She had pulled him in here and urged him into this position; the memory was hazy, but he remembered all the same.

What happened? he wanted to say. He knew what happened. Thinking about it just made the world spin faster. Maybe if he could hear it again from a voice that brought him nothing but comfort, it would stop, it would all go away. Maybe he would realize definitively just how stupid it was, how inconsequential the trigger for this episode, and that would snap him back to normal.

No sound came out when he opened his mouth. His eyes stung, and he grit his teeth against the unshed tears.

She let go of his hands and drew him in closer, and Mario couldn’t help but sigh in both shame and relief. Her sweet perfume washed over his senses and wrapped him in another layer of familiarity. 

“That’s okay,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his hair. “It’s okay. We’re safe. Everything is alright.”

If everything was alright, then the great hero of the Mushroom Kingdom wouldn’t be crumpled in a quivering heap on the floor, unable to speak or even raise his chin. He couldn’t express his frustration properly, in words. All he could do was huff.

Peach shushed him again. Another kiss. “Here, lie down. You’ll feel better if you lie down.”

Mario wanted to protest. They had been in the middle of— they needed to get back to— there were people waiting on them, on her, because she had— because he was too weak to even open his eyes.

He nodded instead.

Letting her hands guide his motions, he collapsed heavily to the floor, curling into himself on instinct. Carpet. Not as plush as the carpets in the private chambers, a bit scratchy against his cheek. Peach’s fingers cupped the side of his head, lightly pressing upward; he somehow found the strength to lift his head and keep it there, just long enough for her to make whatever adjustments she needed.

A sound like a whimper escaped his throat as his cheek met silk. He was so disoriented he felt it in the pit of his stomach. He gulped and made a few more pathetic sounds, because he was almost certain he would vomit otherwise.

Fingers in his hair brought him back. He focused all of his attention on them: the gentle scrape of nails against his scalp, his curls bouncing back into place with each pass, the sweat dripping down the back of his neck. He was clammy, he realized for the first time. He was cold. 

His guardian angel’s voice cut through his shivering. She was giving more instructions, and he held to them like a lifeline — “…without us. Just take good notes and I’ll review them later. If you could bring us some water first? Thank you.”

These weren’t instructions for him. There was a world beyond these few square feet around them. She was willfully shunning that world for his sake. He willed himself to open his eyes, get himself together, go on about his day so she could go about hers because he wasn’t supposed to be dragging her down with him. He wasn’t supposed to be like this in the first place.

All he could see was pink. His head was in her lap. That knowledge sent a wave of solace crashing over him, intense enough that his breath caught in his throat and he began trembling uncontrollably once more. Or maybe he hadn't stopped trembling in the first place.

Pathetic. He was supposed to make her feel safe. He was truly pathetic.

“Stay with me,” Peach said, her urgency replaced with quiet tenderness. “Take your time. Rest. But stay with me.”

Gulping again, Mario nodded. This wasn’t right. His burdens shouldn’t be hers to bear. He shouldn’t be a burden, much less her burden. But for now, he was, and she had ordered him to stay. So he closed his eyes and focused on her fingers in his hair, steadying his breath and coming back little by little, back into full awareness of the world outside of him and her and all of his uselessness.

“You’re alright, Mario,” she soothed, and just for now, just until he was strong enough to cram his weaknesses back down so that they'd never bother anyone again, he let himself believe her.