#PTSD implied

[starstruck-flames]

Comfort - Mirio

A/N: Please… please forgive any shitty writing/typos! I still have a cold… recovering from a tattoo. My god it never ends!

You know, it takes a lot to feel ready to love again. I just want you to know I’m really proud of you.

Content includes!! Shower fluff, shower smut, implied trauma/PTSD, Mirio is a big ol softie but also he’s loving what he seeees, overall this is just a soft loving post but as always tell me if I miss something!, fingering, soft sex implied after

Song for your mood?

He could hear the shower as soon as he walked through your apartment door. Chances are you poorly timed it for his arrival, that’s okay! He smiles, striding over to the bathroom door. He can hear music playing but…

A knock.

“Mirio?!” He hears you call out, clearly you definitely didn’t realise what time it is… he can’t help but chuckle in response.

“Sure is! Mind if I come in? Or do you want privacy today?”

“…Come on in!”

He can’t help but smile softly, of course he wants you to know when those boundaries are set but it does always make it more fun when he can appreciate the natural state of your body. He gets himself all hyped up just thinking about it as he runs back out to the hallway, knowing EXACTLY which wall leads into your shower. He grins, letting his head phase through slowly.

Though, what he didn’t expect was for you to be totally ready for that, giving him a wet kiss on the forehead.

And my…

The view is impeccable.

“Haha… hey sunshine!” He calls out, glancing around. “I’m gonna come through, back up a little for me?”

You take a step back as Mirio phases through, his clothes obviously already off as he lets out a soft sigh at the hot water against both of you.

“I needed this…”

He looks a little surprised as he feels you press up against him, not in a… sexual way but it’s clear you needed some love right now. Mirio chuckles, pressing a soft kiss against your wet hair.

“And this. Is everything ok?”

“Rough day.” Is muttered out, your face smushed up against his chest. “…Memories is all.”

His smile flattens a little as he hears this, pulling you in more for a tight embrace. Mirio’s hand messing with your hair as he thinks on what he should say…

“You’ve come to trust me a lot more, haven’t you honey?” He asks softly, feeling you nod against his chest. “And I think… I really do think that’s incredible. I can’t imagine how it even feels but I can only imagine how incredible you are to be strong enough to keep going.”

You feel his chest let out a long huff, struggling to speak. He knows you don’t need words but he really wants you to know just how he feels. It’s incredible to watch from his perspective, and maybe it’s a little biased but Mirio truly, truly loves you for your strength. Even if he’s physically stronger, ehe.

He takes a step back, making you look at him as he smiles. “I really couldn’t be luckier to have met you, and to have your trust. I hope you know that.”

Planting a soft kiss on your wet skin again, he chuckles, noticing your wandering eyes. Maybe you hadn’t intended to look… there, but he knows sometimes you get embarrassed by these softer moments.

“Hey, hey, eyes up here sunshine.” He chuckles, leaning in ever so slightly. “Unless you…” He trails off, wondering if this is badly timed. “Hey, if I’m ever being a pig, tell me, okay?”

“You’re not.” Is all you can respond, fingers… ever so lightly trailing his abdomen. “I’m really glad you found the patience to love me.”

He smiles brightly again, his hair completely flattened by the water at this point as his hands wrap around your butt. He’s careful, pressing you up against the shower wall.

“Honey… I would have waited years for you if you needed it.” He chuckles. “Of course… I am glad to be here. Right now. With you.”

There’s a long pause.

“…Can I-“

“Yes.”

He smiles softly, pulling you into a gentle kiss. His fingers are careful, feeling around your hole before a single digit slips in. The small gasp and whine as he presses in is enough to already start making him go crazy but today… today he’s going to make sure you feel nothing but loved. His movements are slow, precise as he feels your body respond oh so positively to him. And his body aches for you.

“Now… one more question.”

“Mm?”

“Do you want to keep going here or…?”

[to0needy]

not being able to kill myself is the worst feeling

[bpdmaxxer]

“But he was just a child”

So was I

And I’m suffering and he’s not

[larrrrs]

I have been sad since a child, but now im running out of distractions and that scares me .. i scare me . This could be it for me..

[badaziraphaletakes]

Making jokes and laughing about a frightening experience does NOT mean someone does not appreciate the gravity of a situation. Quite the contrary, in fact - it is a very, very common way of processing trauma.

In fact, I can't offhand think of any traumatized people I know who haven't make a joke about their traumatic experience/s. It's a deeply normal, human thing to do.

(And please don't try to tell me Aziraphale seeing Crowley be kidnapped and then being hit over the head with a crowbar (?), violently kidnapped himself, and dragged to hell, and then seeing the awful people and place Crowley had been stuck with for the past 100k+ years, witnessing the usher being murdered in cold blood before his eyes, and wondering if the same thing might happen to him, and/or if he hell was going to discover his and Crowley's secret, not to mention seeing for probably the first time what exactly the thermos of holy water would have done to Crowley if he'd used it, wasn't traumatic. First of all, that just is. Second of all, look at his irises. He was probably having a bit of fun - not surprising considering how relieved he was that the holy water didn't work on him and hell appeared not to have caught onto the deception; of course you'd be a bit giddy - but he was also terrified and scarred and angry and disgusted and I don't even know what else.)

There's a reason the rates of depression found among comedians are off-the-charts. And it's not because humor causes depression (we know it actually alleviates it). It's because traumatized people and people with mental illness (I mean, the Venn diagram between those groups is basically a circle, but y'know) gravitate to humor. It is one of the most powerful weapons we have to ward off despair. Humor can save us when nothing else can.

It can also stop you from wanting to punch someone when you're really, really angry. I propose that we can see smoldering contempt and fury and outrage and disgust on Aziraphale's face at the end of the scene, hidden just under that cheeky grin. It's some masterful acting work by Tennant, so many emotions going on at the same time.

Also - may I point out that Crowley loved Aziraphale's jokes about the whole thing. Aziraphale knows how to cheer Crowley up. A big part of the reason he was so sarcastic in hell was for Crowley, to score some points against the people who have been oppressing him for millennia without him ever being able to answer back. (And also he was acting that way because he figured it was how Crowley would act and he had to be convincing. If he'd gone in there and hadn't been 100% confidence and swagger, hell would have noticed something was off. They're paranoid, and Beelzebub, at least, is smart. No flies on that one. Heh, heh. Did Aziraphale overplay it a bit? Maybe. But the deception worked, so clearly his approach was correct overall.)

And finally: Don't tell me Crowley wasn't having a little fun with all this, too. His laugh on the bench was sincere:

He could arguably also be accused of overplaying it a bit with the neck cracking (which I don't blame him for; I would have done the same - but I don't see anyone getting mad at him for having a little fun the way they did with Azi):

And he LOVED getting to breathe fire at Gabriel & Co.

Which is exactly as it should be. :)

[dying-weeds]

I feel like it's not talked enough about how SA really strips you of your identity. Like someone violates your basic humanity and you're left to deal with the aftermath of having everything you are as a person taken away from you. It makes you feel subhuman.

[rottenn-angel]

I’m so tired of sleep not being safe.

[aftgficrec]

Hii ! Any fics where Neil reacts to Wymack subconsciously like he did the first time (flinching/afraid)? Preferably post canon but can also be AUs. Thank you!!

General asks like this can be difficult to search for, but here’s what we found for you. -A

canon divergent longer fics:

‘Hope Was A Dangerous, Disquieting Thing’ here

‘Up On The Roof’ here (soulmates, updated)

‘Pebble Brain’ here

‘Yes, Coach’ here 

‘Neil Josten's No Good Terrible Luck’ here (updated)

‘Take my Kidney. Take my Life.’ here

‘Deals With Devils’ and ‘Not Yours To Bleed’ here (both updated)

short au:

‘The Rabbit Becomes the Fox’ here 

kid fics with dadmack:

‘ten children, one acquarium’ and ‘For little monsters with fragile hearts’ here ‘slow down (you crazy child)’ and ‘Make a Home’ (updated) here ‘Raised on Little Light’ here (completed)

you may also like:

Mary & Nathan's impact on Neil here

Neil goes to therapy here 

post canon:

I Wish I Were Fine, I Thought I Was by pawnofkings [Not Rated, 2509 Words, Complete, 2020]

“Ow, shit!” Wymack exclaims, retracting his arm. There's a slight burn on his skin. Neil stands, frozen, feeling like time itself has stopped. But if it had, then Wymack wouldn’t be moving in his direction and - The pan clatters to the floor, and Neil is several feet away before he realizes he’s moved at all. But suddenly, he’s half-lying on the floor. He stares at his arms, thrown up in front of him as if to protect him, and on the other side of them is Wymack, looking down at him as if he’s just seen somebody die. --- Or: a Fox family dinner goes awry, and Neil struggles to come to terms with his own instincts.

tw: violent flashbacks, tw: child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: ptsd

How to Disappear Completely by miauhito [Rated M, 4850 Words, Complete, 2024]

“I nearly cut myself,” He cries, looking down at the floor, “I’m scared, please. I’ve been hurting myself, with cigarettes and getting bruises and fuck I don't know what to do.” He croaks out. He tries to stop himself, but he can't, not anymore. 5 times Neil Josten hurts himself + 1 time he asks for help.

tw: self harm, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: ptsd, tw: hallucinations

canon divergent:

The Wonder of You by KatherineF [Rated G, (we say T), 3872 Words, Complete, 2020]

Previously recced here

Neil is in complete denial that he is struggling with panic attacks. Andrew thinks it would be a good idea to get a support animal. They figure it out together.

tw: ptsd, tw: panic attacks

You Try Until You Can't by AliceTabitha [Rated T, 3129 Words, Complete, 2018]

Previously recced here

Neil knew before he opened his eyes that this wasn’t going to be a good day. Neil Josten has survived everything thrown at him, and he has countless scars to prove it. After all that, it's not unusual for his days to turn sour, but at least he's got Andrew and his team to help pull him back together in the end. With extra support and advice from Wymack, maybe things might somehow end up alright. For today, he just needs to keep surviving.

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

piece by piece, he restored my faith (that a man can be kind and a father could stay) by kal25 [Rated T, 2337 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2024]

Previously recced here

David Wymack did not raise kids, but he did raise his Foxes. Each one of them, whether they were past, present, or even future, will always have a place in his heart. He understood what it meant to be beaten by a man you called your father, to feel fear and hatred and another dozen emotions all at once. He understood what it felt like for guilt to eat you alive about things that never should have been wrong, and he understood what it meant to not have a place to call home. And he swore, when he became a coach, that he would create a home. He would build one from the ground up with his own two hands, and he would invite every single child who chased Exy like a beacon of hope and had no other place to call home—because that’s what he wished someone would have done for him.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

and more than a few bleed into you by brekker [Rated T, 4475 Words, Complete, 2018]

Previously recced here

Neil doesn’t know if this is considered protection or insight because Andrew has always been the quicker of the two to know that these moments are transient and Neil will wake up half a country away and want to come back home when this fear and ache to flee settles back down; either before or after he gets himself hurt. It might be one in the same if Neil thinks about it. It reminds Neil of that thing Renee had said once: This, too, shall pass.

tw: nightmares, tw: depression, tw: implied/referenced torture

Hold Each Other by exactly13percent_OLD (hymbeaux) [Rated E, Collection, Complete, 2018]

Chapter 15: I for an Eye [Rated T, 2544 Words] Previously recced here

Neil has his bad memories. He's managed to keep most of them down, but some start slipping out. It's a good thing he's learning how to make new ones.

tw: ptsd, tw: blood, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced nonconsensual kiss

spirits of martyrdom by sagely_enchanted [Rated T, 6416 Words, Complete, AFTG Fall Exchange 2024]

Neil is pretty sure that he’s drowning, a phantom feeling of a washcloth and water rushing over his head as he stares into the never ending hazel. The blonde of his hair is so bright that it nearly blinds him when compared to the dark of the dorm. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, willing the image to disappear when he opens his eyes next, but Andrew is still there. - Andrew gets released early from Easthaven and finds Neil at Evermore.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: anxiety, tw: major character injury

till my breathing stops. by plugastwo [Rated E, 94304 Words, Incomplete, Updated Jan 2025]

Neil Josten was a psycho. Foxes knew it. Wymack knew it. Everyone knew it. He and his manic grin were the definition of psychotic. Andrew liked to think, that it was pretty amusing.  ___ where it’s Neil, who takes drugs.

tw: nonconsensual medication, tw: drug addiction, tw: vomit, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: nonconsensual kissing, tw: medical abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: violence 

canon divergent a/b/o:

just tonight (i won't leave) by pyruismagician [Rated E, 116319 Words, Incomplete, Updated Oct 2024]

"I told you I don't belong to anyone." "And I told you to quit lying to me, or did you come here to explain why you're pretending to be a beta?" Or Neil just wants to play Exy before he dies but the world has other ideas.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: child abuse, tw: animal abuse, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction, tw: recreational drug use, tw: homophobia, tw: medication addiction, tw: vomit, tw: violence

raven!neil au:

hoping, until the day it dies by infernalstars [Rated M, 27481 Words, Incomplete, Updated Jan 2025]

Nathaniel Wesninski ends up in the hospital with two broken legs. Cast out of the Nest, Kevin Day brings him to the Foxes to recover - emotionally and physically.

tw: self harm, tw: blood, tw: dissociation, tw: flashbacks, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: ptsd, tw: nightmares, tw: panic attacks, tw: vomit, tw: psychotic episode, tw: homophobia, tw: suicidal ideation

one where Andrew flinches from coach:

What Is It To Truly Lose Control? by BisexualChaosDemon [Rated M, 21281 Words, Complete, 2024]

Most of the Foxes still think Andrew is a monster, or a sociopath, but Neil knows better. He knows that Andrew cares deeply about a handful of people but struggles more than he will ever admit with that fact. The thing is, despite Andrew’s commitment to apathy and to denying that he cares about anything, he is often self-sacrificing in his efforts to protect the people he cares about. As Aaron’s trial approaches, Neil gets the sick feeling that Andrew’s self-sacrificing streak is going too far.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: psychiatric abuse, tw: implied/referenced trauma reenactment, tw: ptsd

Art

THE RUNAWAY art by @coppakee

Poor boy with his precious bag art by @/tryashaa on instagram 

Neil Josten art by @estrophysics

Second Chances, vol. II: Runaways eye shadow palette edit by @mistyyed

[it-never-gets-better]

MY BODY TURNED INTO A CORPSE WHEN YOU TOUCHED IT VIOLENTLY.

[traumatizedjaguar]

“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling."

- Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace.

[devilboycomic]

The prettiest sinner 🌼

[lunameimei]

"Maybe you're on top now. But sometimes, even after death, you still can't just cut out everything that happened at the bottom."

comic continuation below under cut

TW ‼️ PTSD, Implied abuse (please be careful 🙏)

Important Note (!)

I am not trying to defend or make anyone look better. “Bad experience” may be an explanation, but not an excuse. If you don't like this ship/HC/art, you can always block/ignore my acct/hashtag. This is fine. Do what is good for your health, but don't attack others.

That's all.

[paingoes]

a softer destroyer AU…..2!!!

(part 1)

wait why is writing family drama so fun

SORRY THESE TRANSITIONS ARE KINDA CLUMSY….. bro trust

also i imagine older sabina’s voice being similar to glados :)

(Content: living weapon whumpee, royal whump, familial whump, parental death, dehumanization, beating, PTSD, implied child abuse, implied domestic abuse, brief reference to past noncon, elderly abuse?, verbal abuse, angst)

In the far corner of the room, the kid was curled up against the cushion. The needles he held moved softly, like he was afraid to make too much noise with them. Sabina watched him through the corner of her eye.

Delta seemed to leave every room that they entered in the beginning. Something in her sunk at the thought. Not that it was a foreign mindset to her. Loneliness was safety. Nobody could hurt her when there was no one around. She understood why he hid. But she had given him the sewing basket in hope that he wouldn’t.

Years ago, she had laughed dead in the Emperor’s face when he had first gifted it to her. She’d spent all of that week embroidering phalluses into his coronation robes. Delta, however, seemed grateful.

At eighteen, he was younger than even she had been when she was taken.

“Can I see it, honey?” 

It wasn’t an order, but he rose nigh immediately to fulfill it. He held the mass of yarn out to her, then pressed his hands back together, clasped politely. She noticed a soft blush appearing on his face.

It was a pink cat hat. He was knitting paw pads into them. 

“You’re learning so fast,” she praised, which made him shy again. She let his fidgeting go unacknowledged.

“Do this,” she instructed. “You’ve been at it for a while.”

Sabina stretched both of her wrists out. She rotated them within their sockets, then pressed against the individual joints and digits. It helped. She’d been doing a lot of physical therapy in the past years, most of which was just stretching. Delta followed her example obediently. From his expression, the process was novel to him. He seemed mildly entertained by the exercise.

She noticed, inevitably, the ring of bruises around his left wrist. This part she does not leave unacknowledged.

“Who did that to you?” She pointed at the injury, but did not touch it. 

For a second, he looked at her like she was stupid. But it fell away quickly. When he didn’t answer, she pushed again.

“Have they been hitting you?”

“…Yes, ma’am.”

It was a redundant answer. Marks like that didn’t appear on their own. But it meant he was okay with talking about it, which counted for a lot.

“How many times, since I told them not to touch you?” She could feel her own irritation spiking. “Both of them?”

“Not Simon,” Delta said hurriedly. “He hasn’t at all. He didn’t even hit me before.”

That last part was a lie. She had definitely seen the scientist swat him at least once, back when the Emperor was alive. She didn’t like the way that man talked to him. But the way Delta was staring at her begged to let it go.

“The other one, then? How many times?” she asked.

He winced.

“…I haven’t been keeping track,” he admitted. She could hear the note of irritation in his voice.

~

“Caned?” she asked. “Can you repeat that?”

Her only son twirled the butterfly knife in between his fingers. His other hand curled up by his mouth when he spoke.

“Ask him.” 

Martino stood in the center of the room, the other side of the desk. Both his hands were clasped behind him — and he was unmistakably annoyed at having been called in.

When she had gone to collect him, Sabina had found the doctor in the study — and his charge with him. Delta sat up on the table with his hair gathered up behind him. His shirt had been unbuttoned and pulled down at one shoulder, leaving half of his torso bare and exposed. To see the fabric hanging off him, to see him dead-eyed…

Her chest ached. 

Now, though, it was just the three of them. Sabina rested at the edge of the desk to face him. Paris swayed back and forth in the chair, with a weird and restless energy that resisted engagement in all directions. She did the talking.

“Do you remember the instructions I gave you?” she asked. “I thought they were quite explicit. I thought I told you not to touch him.”

“Your Majesty,” he said, all slick condescension, “I’m a doctor. How else would you have me treat him?”

“Don’t get cute. Don’t come in here and act like you need me to teach you how to be decent. You don’t touch people without permission.”

“Your Ma-

He wasn’t taking this seriously.

“You are in my house,” she yelled. “You will follow my orders. And you will keep your fucking hands to yourself! Do you understand me?!”

She stood up then, crossing the room to him. The fabric of the skirt rippled when she moved. He was taller than her, by a good amount. It didn’t matter. She was the one with the crown.

“If you hurt him again, I can have you sent to the gallows without trial. The fact you’ve even escaped it this long is a wonder in itself.”

“Your husband didn’t seem to think so.”

She slapped him. Immediately, she was overcome with a sense of disgust. Not at having done it. But at the fact she’d had to touch him.

Martino stumbled. It couldn’t have hurt that much, but he clearly wasn’t expecting it. He stumbled a bit, which she recognized as simple reflex. 

Paris didn’t.

The second Martino stepped to her, he was on him. He’d practically leaped over the table to intervene.

“Get back. Get back,” he urged, though he’d already slammed him into the wall, about as far back as he could reasonably go. His head smacked hard against the wooden surface. 

Paris had the worst of her temper. His grip on Martino’s blazer tightened. With a harsh, jerking motion, he tossed him to the floor. Though the doctor landed on his hands and knees, the ensuing kick to his ribs knocked him all the way to the ground.

“Don’t ever-“

Paris didn’t even bother to finish the sentence. He wasn’t able to. All he could focus on was driving the boot into that man’s chest as many times as he could. It wasn’t a fight, and it was barely even defense. It was just a beating. They both heard the rib crack. If he kept going, she knew he would’ve killed him.

Sabina wrapped one hand around her son’s forearm to restrain him. She did so without much enthusiasm, but some degree of obligation. Martino wouldn’t have struck her. He wasn’t suicidal. He didn’t deserve to die — at least not for that reason. 

More than anything, she didn’t want that for Paris.

He collapsed back against her. When he turned, she saw his eyes had gone glassy. She cupped his face to try and bring him away from it.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop. I’m fine. Look at me. I’m fine. Easy.”

“He was going to-“ Paris gasped. He sometimes got so angry he couldn’t breathe.

“I’m fine,” Sabina insisted. “Calm down.”

He stilled, but he did not calm. She’d gripped his wrist to restrain him — through the skin, she could still feel his pulse beating as if his heart might explode.

~

That was not the last of the re-shuffling. While they’d had succession plans drafted ever since he’d turned fifteen, that didn’t change just how brutal the transition always was. It was still abrupt, still contested. That day’s meeting was particularly bad. All of them had been recently. Paris did not greet anyone when he got back. He cursed to himself, making his way back up the stairs to the Emperor’s bedroom. They still hadn’t cleared out all the paperwork yet. He knew it could take hours of searching for him just to find the forms he was looking for, if they hadn’t been burned or lost already.

He jumped back in surprise to see Delta already inside of it. Draped in one of Constantine’s jackets, much too big on him. He’d been going through the jewelry box when the door had opened. He retreated his hand quickly as Paris entered, as if this did anything to conceal the act.

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

Delta froze. It did not help. 

Paris laughed incredulously and without humor.

“Oh my god, what the fuck are you doing?”

Delta didn’t answer, which only pissed him off more.

“It’s fucking rude to ignore people when they’re talking to you. What’s your problem? You miss him? Because he was so fucking nice to you?”

No answer. Delta looked back at him as if he’d just slapped him in the face. But Paris couldn’t stop it once he’d started. 

“Do you actually think he loved you? Do you think he ever loved anyone but himself? Put that shit down. He bought you and he fucking ruined you the same way he ruined everyone else that he pulled into his life. You think he was better just because he wasn’t holding a whip? That he didn’t know what they did to you, that he didn’t fucking pay for it?! Are you that fucking stupid?!”

That did it. Delta was already on the ground midway through the rant, kneeling, the way he did whenever people raised their voice around him. His eyes were down, bowing his head to keep his expression from view. But his knuckles were turning white from just. how tightly his fists were balled up.

“God fucking damn it,” Paris yelled, banging his side of his fist into the door in frustration. Delta flinched. At the same instant, Sabina appeared by the stairs.

“Paris,” she said his name in low warning tone.

“No, what the fuck is he doing? Why-“ Paris gestured, then cut himself off. He ran one hand through his hair, about ready to tear it out. He knew he was about to cry.

“I told him he could,” Sabina explained, slowly. Irate. “God knows you don’t want any of it. How dare you start yelling at him like that?”

She was mad at him. He hated it when she got mad at him; he couldn’t stand it. He slipped past her, jogging down the stairs before either of them could see the tears forming in his eyes. Sabrina stayed there on the top step. He didn’t see Delta, but he could guess he was still kneeling there, that he’d stay until she  gave him permission to get up. 

~

“You can’t snap like that again,” Sabina warned him from the other side of the kitchen.

Paris leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over. He rocked himself gently off the edge.

“Why? Constantine was a fucking dog. I thought we agreed to burn all his shit,” he grumbled.

“You couldn’t burn all that he owned if you had the rest of your life to do it.” She promised. But her eyes had lit up when she said the word burn. She shook her head. “Enough. Don’t take it out on the baby. It’s not his fault.”

“Is he stupid?” Paris asked again. “Doesn’t he know?”

Sabina sighed. She opened the fridge, pouring herself a glass of wine. She was overly focused on the mechanics of it. She rolled her shoulder to undo some of the tension that was forming there.

“Your father is dead, Paris. Isn’t that enough for you? It’s not enough that the both of us hated him, and that he died violent and alone? You also need everyone else to despise him just as much as you do?”

“I do.” Paris said plainly. “Don’t you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Do you know what all my anger got me, in the end? Do you know what would have happened if I’d kept feeding it?”

He didn’t answer. His mother crossed the kitchen to him, tilting her head to one side. He had half a second to glare at her, but it fell flat on the attempt. Sabina was unfazed. She said:

“I would’ve killed you in the cradle.”

Paris shifted back, pulling his arms tighter around himself. He hated when she got like this — all intensity, like she could hold up all four decades of her life on the edge of her fingers. Time flattened into a blade when she wielded it.

“Mom…” he pleaded. He worried she would twist the knife. She could have. He was fragile then.

But she seemed to realize she was pushing too far. Gently, she cupped the side of his face. He leaned into the touch, not caring that her eyes were still sharp. 

“Don’t get cruel,” she said.

Paris withered beneath the gaze, nodding his agreement.

~

Paris looking all over the castle for him. As he stumbled from room to empty room, his dread grew as he realized where he would find him.

He turned the handle of the basement stairs, tracing slowly down to the lower level. To his surprise, Simon was right in the middle of leaving. The scientist shot him a dirty look as he passed, which Paris refused to even dignify. As if he was any better.

In the center of the large basement, the interior bedroom still stood upright. The lock was off of the enclosure now and they’d given Delta a bedroom in the upstairs. But half of his belongings were still in the cage that had been constructed for him.

Paris knocked at the door.

“Yes?” Delta called at the first knock.

“Can you come out?” 

He knew the door was likely unlocked, but he had never stepped into Delta’s room before. To do so now felt like too much of an intrusion.

Almost immediately after the request, the door opened. Delta hovered in the entrance way. He’d taken the jacket off. 

“I had permission,” Delta protested weakly. He knew there was nothing he could really do to defend himself, in the end. The resignation was obvious in his voice.

“You’re not in trouble.” Paris promised, raising his hands slightly in mock surrender.

He didn’t expect it to do anything. But almost imperceptibly, the muscles of Delta’s shoulders relaxed.

~

In the garden, well into the night, Paris wove flowers in between his hands. 

“Do you want it?” He held the crown up to Delta.

“Yes, please.”

Delta placed the daffodils gently onto his head, careful not to disrupt their arrangement.

“Can you teach me how to make those?” he asked.

“Mhm,” Paris agreed. After a few seconds of working himself up to it, he followed: “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

Delta seemed caught off-guard by this, like he didn’t know what the term meant. Even though he said it at every provocation. It was quiet after that. That was fine. His mom said he had to apologize, never said he had to he forgiven.

“I know he didn’t love me,” Delta said. “I’m not…trying to contradict you. I know he didn’t love me. That’s not what it was.”

The both of them stared out onto the lake. The water reflected starlight off the surface. Even late into the night, the grass was still warm with the midday sun.

“But I do miss him,” Delta admitted. 

Paris nodded, afraid to do anything else. He couldn’t agree. But he understood. Delta continued.

“Thank you for letting me stay here. I know you don’t like it. I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you.”

“What?” Paris winced as he sat up. “It’s not difficult. What are you talking about?”

Delta recoiled a bit, like he’d overstepped. He kind of had. Paris rarely heard him speak so much at one time, let alone like this.

“I know you didn’t want me here.” He drew his legs closer in on himself. He was bracing himself now, definitely, still expecting to be hit. But he kept talking. “When I first arrived. You or y- Her Majesty. Thank you for letting me stay anyway.”

Oh. Paris felt the guilt well up inside him. He was right, obviously. They didn’t want him there. Of course they hadn’t been receptive to the Emperor bringing home a child in chains, to his building him a prison within their basement. 

He hadn’t realized Delta had picked up on the hostility. The thought never even occurred to him. He really hadn’t been thinking about Delta at all.

“You were a kid,” Paris said quickly. “That wasn’t- Nobody blamed you. You get that, right? We weren’t mad at you.”

Delta ran one claw around the daffodil petals, feeling their shape. He swallowed, “I was scared.”

Paris sat with that for a second, returning his gaze to the water where it was easier to look. He recalled the day’s incident, feeling much worse for it.

“You can take what you want from his room,” Paris amended. “Honestly, he’d probably want you to have it.” 

Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the bitter edge from his voice. Why was it only ever about what Constantine wanted? Why was there never room for anything else?

“I’m sorry, Paris.” Delta said quietly.

Paris blinked in surprise.

“It’s not your fault,” he replied automatically, trying again to reassure him. “I’m not mad at you.”

“I know.” Delta agreed. “But I’m sorry.”

“Oh.”

The grief was worst at night. He ran his hands through the grass, feeling his throat tighten.

“…Me too.”

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter @whump-till-ya-jump

[druidshollow]

Rivers is reminded of his past when Canopy tries to help him hide the scars from Dune's attack.

ive been in kinda a bummer mood lately so have a bummer comic lol. been there rivers i get it

[putridmorutemaggot]

You know, It would be so great if I stopped randomly jumping, feeling gross, or having extremely violent thoughts every time someone touches me

[dying-weeds]

041724