#TW: PTSD Flashback

[himbos-hotline]

ilove watching everyone getting the do you support the death pentalty ask, while we deleted the ask during the fucking flashback

[mythalsknickers]

happy dadwc friday! for Rookanis: “I’m looking in your eyes, I’m ready to be hurt again.”

-inquisimer

Title: Cut Away the Pain Pairing: Teigue de Riva x Lucanis Dellamorte Rating: Mature Word Count: 792 Warnings: Sparring, PTSD Flashback, Choking @dadrunkwriting Veilguard

Footsteps down the hall...

He inhaled pushing the knife blade between his fingers, pale eyes trained on the training dummy.

A pair of footsteps and Viago was muttering...

The blade left his fingers, hurtling towards the dummy on the exhale. His hand went to his rapier, it left the sheath. In nearly a singular moment he lunged forward.

"No..., will ... be necess...."

His shoulders drew tight as he furrowed his brow looking towards the door of the training hall. His fingers reached up plucking the dagger from the dummy. His curiosity starting to fray his focus from the drills as he carefully crept towards the door.

"He...work...me... must...alert"

The voice was familiar, but he could not fully place where he knew it from. Pulling his gaze away from the door he looked back toward the training target. He had drills that he needed to master. There was no inhale as the blade left his fingers, silverite glinting briefly before connecting with the dummy.

The door protested as it was opened. His foot pivoted, turning to the sound as he brought his rapier across his body. Silverite clashing echoed around the hall and his eyes met dark ones, there was slight upturn of his lips a smirk. Behind him he could see Viago standing by the door for a moment watching with his own critical gaze.

"Good, you were paying attention." Lucanis Dellamorte. He inhaled, fingers finding a dagger again. If he lunged back without breaking the guard, the heir of the first talon could just advance and catch him off guard. Exhaling the dagger thrust forward only to be met with a dagger of Lucanis'. "Well Teigue, try not to resort to biting this time."

His eyes narrowed at the taunt another inhale and this time it was met with a shove that pushed him back away from the older crow. His jaw tightened and he felt the fade along his senses. "You say that like, last time was a proper spar. Master Lucanis." He offered raising his brow with his own smirk, sarcasm dripped through his voice.

There was a moment where they both stood; rapiers pointed towards the other, and daggers hidden behind their body. Time seem to stand still as they both waited. Though he had never been the most patient crow, he broke the standoff with a burst forward. Metal scraping against metal rang against his ears.

"Reckless, Teigue." There was something in the tone as he struggled against the clash, this close he could smell the leather of his coat, and look for any tells. It was single motion, a grunt left his lips as his back connected with the floor. "Again." The order was punctuated by a dagger hitting the floor next to head.

"Vaffanculo!" he hissed pushing himself up to his knees. He had caught the movement and ducked under the attack. He swore he saw a smirk. His dagger barely whistled as he threw it, the dull thump of it hitting the dummy barely served as warning as a rapier nicked his shoulder. His foot pivoted and he came face to face with a dagger, and Lucanis Dellamorte, and the templar that haunted his nightmares.

He sucked in a breath he was home, the Trevisan country side. His eyes glanced at the room, drapes over the windows replaced by dark heavy iron chains, instead of the marble, stormy grey stones of the gallows. His throat tightened a hand around it. He squeezed his eyes closed, he could hear the laughter and feel the hands. His chest felt too tight as he struggled to breath, and the fade felt like elastic. He needed to keep them away. Ice coated his rapier and his feet, then the sudden snap as it spread in a decent radius around him.

Ice not a silence but ice. His eyes opened meeting dark eyes and no dagger or rapier. The realization dawned on him, it had not been a spar. It had been a means to find that sore spot, the reason his last contract had nearly failed. He inhaled, slow and stuttering, he was a crow, not the scared fledgling stolen all those years ago. He raised his rapier holding Lucanis' gaze.

"I am looking in your eyes, I am ready to be hurt again." His voice calm, he needed to work it out. It could exist but it could not hinder him in a fight. There was no hesitation as ice cracked and silverite clanging against each other echoed in the hall. Like the poison being pulled from a wound, it had to be merciless. He had to fight through it all. No matter the concerned gaze, and the furrowed brow, it would keep going.

[dying-weeds]

[psychocitysblog]

Why does being alive have to be so hard?

[blitzwhore]

Tell me why I just spent an hour of my night imagining what would happen if, during the trial, it was revealed in front of all the Goetias that Blitz caused the fire, and Blitz was present, and he got really really triggered so he ran outside and Stolas followed him and found him cowering in a corner.

And then Stolas tried to touch Blitz, but Blitz hissed and hid his face, and so Stolas asked, “Darling, can I hold you? Let me hold you...” and very carefully rested his hands on Blitz before pulling him very close, at which point Blitz buried his face in Stolas' chest feathers because he couldn't bear the thought of Stolas seeing him break down like this, but he also agonizingly craved the the physical comfort.

And so Blitz just cried, and cried, and cried, feeling like he was about to die and he couldn't breathe past this and he was falling apart. And Stolas held him through it, not knowing what to do, just rocking him slowly and holding him tightly while Blitz sobbed and gasped for air, whispering over and over again, “I'm right here, I won't let go, I've got you, I'm not going anywhere.”

And eventually—after many minutes—Blitz's sobs died down, but he was still crying, just silently now, heavy tears rolling down his cheeks as he breathed Stolas in and tried to regain some semblance of control over his body. Still feeling terrified, still so, so scared that Stolas would let go of him and he would break.

Stolas didn't let go, though, and just kissed the top of his head over and over again, running his fingers up and down Blitz's back, trying desperately to comfort him. And eventually, Stolas said, “I didn't know... I had no idea...” not knowing how to finish those sentences. And, after hiccuping and fighting to catch his breath, Blitz mumbled “I—I—” but he couldn't form a single word without breaking down. So Stolas said, “It's okay, dearest. You don't have to talk about it,” but Blitz replied, “I-I want to, but I—I can't.”

And then Stolas said, “You could write it down... Would that help?” but Blitz just shook his head against his chest feathers, arguing that, “I would just m-misspell everything. I—give me a moment.” So Stolas did, holding him tight, not letting go, never letting go, and Blitz, after several seconds of trying to speak and failing, finally managed a muffled, “I was...” And then, after a few more moments, “I-I was in love with him.”

And Stolas didn't say anything—just let that information sink in heavily in his heart, that Blitz had been in love before, with someone else—and waited for Blitz to continue. “W-With Fizz. I was—I wanted to—t-to tell him. On his birthday. But I couldn't. I—” And Blitz sobbed again. “I chickened out, and pushed the guy carrying the cake, and the candles—they—”

And Stolas thought... Oh. The fire. That's how it started. His arms tightening around Blitz again, pulling him close as Blitz went on, “And Fizz was right by the fireworks when they went off and he—a-and—”

“Oh. Oh, Blitz,” Stolas rasped out, tears welling in his eyes as he took in the horror of what Blitz was describing, of causing such a horrible accident to happen. And Blitz hiccuped against his chest, his fingers digging into Stolas' sides as he held on to him with wild desperation, and said, “A-And my—my mom—” but couldn't continue, breaking down into sobs again as Stolas rocked him back and forth, back and forth, cheek pressed against Blitz's head, crying silently at the horror of what Blitz had been through. Whispering, “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, darling.”

And Blitz clung to Stolas, feeling like he might die if Stolas let go now, feeling like even this much touch wasn't enough, like he needed to crawl inside Stolas' chest, needed to be held so fully and overwhelmingly in order to not feel like he would disintegrate at any second. But, at the same time, he felt completely unworthy of this; of Stolas. “I'm a monster,” he sobbed. And again, “I'm a monster.” And Stolas pulled him desperately closer, saying, “You are not a monster, Blitz. It was an accident. It was a tragedy, it was horrifying, but it wasn't your fault,” needing Blitz to believe it.

But Blitz couldn't, shaking his head, crying, hating himself. Hating the all-encompassing aching in his chest that made him feel like he might die from it.

“It wasn't your fault,” Stolas repeated. “I'm so sorry, Blitz. I'm so sorry this happened. I'm sorry I found out like this.” Cradling him back and forth, back and forth. “I'm sorry. And I'm not going anywhere. I'm here.”

And it was true, Blitz realized. Stolas still hadn't let go of him. His body started to believe it. He still wasn't ready to let go, though. But that was okay with Stolas, who wasn't going anywhere. No matter how long it took, he would stay with Blitz, and hold him through it.

... Aaaaand I had no idea how this mental scene played out after that so um. Bye!

[iridiss]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (you are here) | Part 4

hey so what if (Diaries) Gene was the one who tortured Laurance

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Call Mom

CW: PTSD/flashbacks, BBU in general, haunted, ghosts, reference to a murder, severe chronic panic

Jameson's Masterlist (scroll down)

-

Aw, crap. Hey, Johnny, do you remember where I put that girl's number? Like, Katie, or Caitlyn, or... do you remember? Hey! Johnny! Put down the fucking xbox controller for two fucking minutes and give me a hand, won't you?

Fingers snap right in front of his face.

Johnny!

Jameson jerks in a breath that sounds like a whine, sitting straight up. The fan blows cool air over his sweat-soaked skin and he shivers, cold inside and out. The air in his room is freezing, suddenly. Outside it's so dark you can't even see the trees - the power outage must still be going, there aren't any streetlights. Thanks to the clouds, no stars or moon, either.

Just darkness.

Wait, if the electricity's out...

He looks up. The ceiling fan is perfectly still above his head, even while ice-cold air keeps goosebumps rising on his arms, the hair standing up at the back of his neck.

See, was that so hard? It'll take like five minutes if we work together, I swear.

"Nat?" He mumbles. "S'at... you?"

Checked there already, actually. Checked the fridge, too, so where the hell did I put it?

He's the only person in this room.

Jameson goes from still half-asleep to fully, painfully awake and aware in a single breath.

The voice comes as clear as if it was right next to him, a voice as familiar as his own - but he has no idea whose it is. There's no one here but him - even Trash Cat isn't here any longer, probably hunting a tiny piece of plastic downstairs that he'll end up stepping on in the morning. So far she hasn't eaten any of them. He doesn't even know where she's finding them.

Johnny, come on. Let's, like, retrace our steps.

His head starts to ache more with every single word, the pain working like tendrils behind his eyes, a pressure trying to crush his skull from the inside. Something flashes, bright and almost like a spectrum of rainbow colors, in the corner of his right eye, but it won't resolve when he turns his head.

I got home from work, I told you we had a hot customer who gave me her number, and then... then what?

Jameson stares into darkness so complete it feels like it has weight. Like it's sitting on the bed next to him, like the mattress dips underneath it. A body made of memory, slowly pulling together the pieces of what's been hidden. Clawing them out but leaving deep weals across the inside of his mind, like a corpse's fingers digging into loose dirt to climb out of his grave.

"Caitlyn," He whispers, as the thought crystallizes. A memory, pure and perfect. Some sliver of whatever they broke the person he was into. Some small piece of the man who signed up. "Her name was Caitlyn, not Katie. She... wrote it on the fucking paper."

Right! Okay, so, clearly I told you her name, and then what?

Jameson turns his head, and there he is.

Hank.

His breath catches in his throat.

Hank is younger than he is, even though he was older then. The older brother, trapped in time, while Jameson - Jonathan - keeps aging. The rakish smile is still there and, Christ, Jameson had forgotten that he'd done that stupid thing to his hair - you forgot everything about him, you begged them to take him away from you so that it wouldn't hurt anymore. He's still got that one crooked tooth he'd refused to get braces to fix. That crooked tooth had been in his dental records. It was how they identified his body.

The fucking crooked tooth, the silver-colored fillings, then the DNA tests...

"No," He whispers, going for a vicious hiss, but what comes out is far too close to a whimper. "No. This is-... this is a flashback. This isn't real, this isn't-"

Maybe I left it in yesterday's pants?

"This isn't real, fuck off." Jameson shoves himself off the bed, forgetting his stupid fucking legs don't work. His knees buckle as soon as they have to take his weight.

He lands wrong on one arm and the pain spikes up through his shoulder, making him cry out in the hoarse, rasping voice that his life has left him with. "Fuck!"

He rolls onto his side, but he can't stop himself.

He looks up again. He doesn't want to remember Hank but he's desperate for one more look at his face. Just the one more time.

Just once more.

Hank sighs, raking a hand back through his hair, leaving it mussed-up and sticking out, looking ridiculous. He did that all the time. Bit his nails, too, and tried everything to stop but he never did. He wore those jeans with the ripped knee all the time, their mother had hated it. Hank, wearing the t-shirt for the band they'd gotten concert tickets for but never got the chance to see. Hank, dead for years, smiles to one side at a brother who isn't there.

The brother who erased him.

"Hank," He whispers. "Hank, you gotta-... you gotta go. You're hurting me-"

Damn. Man, it wasn't in my jeans either. Well, I'll find it sooner or later, I guess. Hank shrugs. His eyes are in shadow, not quite defined. Jameson wonders if it's because he's forgotten what color his brother's eyes were, forgotten it deeply enough that even this can't pull it back.

It'll be okay, Johnny. It really will. Hank looks right at him. Jameson's breath catches in his throat. The room is so cold the air burns as he breathes. It never gets this cold in California. It can't be this cold in California. I mean it. Don't cry yourself to sleep over this.

"I cried myself to sleep... all the time, but I don't now. I'm not-... that guy." He can barely speak. He sees his breath puff out when his lips move, and Jameson slumps back. His voice cracks, it creaks like old floors. He didn't stop crying for weeks. He didn't leave his bed. He did any drug he could find trying to not think about Hank, until he realized there was only one way to make sure he never had to think about what he'd done, by letting Hank walk home alone that one night, again. He didn't want to think about that pain anymore.

They had promised him he wouldn't ever have to hurt like this again.

They lied about that, too.

Jameson makes a sound he refuses to admit is a choked-off sob. "I'm not him, Hank. I'm not Johnny... not anymore."

Hank stands, and it's impossible. He's not here. But he holds out his hand anyway, and Jameson takes it without thinking. Hank's grip is so cold it burns, but Jameson lets his dead brother pull him to his feet anyway.

He smells like earth and ice.

"I'm not him," He whispers.

Right, like that argument ever works. Hank just grins, shaking his head. The man Jameson was - the one he had begged to leave behind - is the reason Hank will look like this in his memories forever. He's the reason there isn't another Hank, only this one, locked in the memories he wanted to boil and burn out of his own head. They're still there, though. They break through.

They never stop breaking through.

He would crawl back into Robert's cage himself if it only meant he didn't have to remember that it's his fault Hank is dead.

Tears run hot down his cheeks - the only thing in him that isn't frozen is his grief, wildfire in his chest leaving nothing but ash behind. Forests after wildfires are ghosts, Hank said once, when they were both high and everything sounded fucking important.

Jameson had called him an idiot - he remembers that now. But... he also thinks Hank was right. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can, focusing. He isn't here. Hank cannot be here. "I don't remember... remember you-... I don't want to remember you! It was my choice to forget!"

Hank claps him on the shoulder. His smile goes briefly gentle and soft. Jameson can see it with his eyes closed. Whatever you say, man. Just promise me you'll call Mom sometime soon, okay?

The pain is too much. If he can't pass out soon, he might die just from having to experience it, unending, never stopping, rising higher and higher. "Mom...?"

Yeah, dumbass. Mom. Our mother? Who gave birth to us and never lets us fucking forget it? I keep trying to talk to her, but I guess my signal's bad. Hank laughs, and Jameson's whole body breaks with the sound of that familiar laughter. The way Hank could throw his head back without the slightest bit of self-consciousness, how he'd hear that laugh across a crowded room and know it was his brother's, know right where he was.

Until he didn't.

Until nobody did.

Until the cops found what was left.

Until-

Jameson jolts again, and finds himself still lying on the floor next to his bed. He's burning up, boiling hot, pouring sweat until his sleep shirt sticks to his back and his arms feel slick with it, his hair sticking to skin. A droplet trickles down the back of his neck like a fingertip, barely touching. He rips his shirt off, then his pants, throwing them as far away from himself as he can, until he's naked on the floor but it isn't enough.

He's still sweating, still breathing in harsh gasps, fighting around the strength of his racing heart to get enough air to fill his lungs. He looks frantically around, but no one's here.

The ceiling fan circles lazily overhead.

He takes in a breath, his heart pounding. It feels like it's going to grow wings and fly away, up his throat and out of his mouth. He's still crying, he realizes only now. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can and fights tears back through sheer willpower and rage, curling his hands into fists. Just like they used to be, his fingers know - muscle memory of mittens that had kept him powerless, once. Now, he does it on purpose, and he forces them to curl through the pain.

Forces down the dream.

Wills himself to forget he ever had it.

"Four... f-four things you can see," he whispers to himself, slumping back down. His voice keeps trembling, catching, and it's everything he has to open his eyes again around the pounding headache in his skull and look. "The-... moon. Out the... window. The, my dresser... for my clothes... M-My, uh, the picture Nat p-printed of me and Allyn... fuck, the... the doorknob."

Every time he thinks he knows how much of his body can hurt at once, some nerves he didn't know existed decide to join the party. He has to breathe in and out, slow and controlled, trying to will his body to cooperate. He won't walk tomorrow, he can tell already. It'll be a day to spend in bed, or using his wheelchair. It might be a week until his body lets him walk again.

He fights back a new well of rage and despair at how well he knows the next way his body will fail him. He can't think about that right now, or the pain and the panic will spiral out of control. He might hurt someone. He can't hurt anyone, not ever again.

He won't.

"Three... things I can touch," He murmurs. "My, my... my shirt, fuck, gross, sweaty... my... my hair... the floor, feels... cold, feels good... the corner of my bed..."

It helps. He makes himself focus on this, on real things, not the nightmare of his brother.

He won't remember his brother.

He won't.

"Two things I can hear. Uh, the, there's... crickets or something outside, and-... and I can hear-"

Hank's voice whispers right next to his ear.

Call Mom.

His breath hitches.

"Not real," he whispers. "One... one thing I can taste..."

All he tastes is blood, and for one horrified half a second he's sure it's Hank's blood, until he realizes he bit his tongue in his sleep.

The blood is his own.

Call Mom.

-

[serickswrites]

idk if you write nsfwhump but if you do could you make something with whumpee and caretaker with comfort and fluff? like whumpee is crying because they're being intimate with someone and, for the first time, it doesn't hurt

Hello, Anon. I absolutely write nsfwhump (sometimes it's more vague than explicit), and I can definitely write you a comfort/fluffy piece :D

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced restraints, referenced/implied noncon, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort, caretaker and whumpee, flashbacks, ptsd

Whumpee led Caretaker back to their bedroom. They were sure that they wanted Caretaker more than anything. And they were sure that Caretaker wanted them. But Caretaker had let Whumpee take the lead after everything.

The first time Whumpee tried to be intimate with Caretaker after they had gotten home, they had frozen and sobbed. They could feel the ropes Whumper used to bind them to the head board on their wrists, though the rope burns had long faded. They could feel Whumper's lips on their neck as Caretaker went to kiss them.

Caretaker had stopped instantly and held Whumpee as they sobbed. Whumpee sobbed because of the memories. They sobbed because of the flashbacks. But they mostly sobbed because they felt Whumper had completely ruined them. They loved Caretaker and now every time they went to show their love, they only thought of Whumper and what Whumper had done to them.

But tonight was different. After months of therapy, months of recovery, Whumpee felt tonight was the night. As they kissed Caretaker, they only thought of Caretaker. As Caretaker caressed their body, they only felt Caretaker's touch. And as they touched Caretaker's body and Caretaker touched them, Whumpee began to cry.

"Love, I'll stop. What's wrong?" Caretaker said as they started to pull away.

"No....don't. I'm just....I'm just so happy." Whumpee smiled through the tears streaming down their face. "I'm so happy because I feel only you. Think of only you. It's only you, Caretaker. I love you so much."

Caretaker smiled and kissed down Whumpee's neck. "And I love you. And only you."

[aftgficrec]

ack finally caught you guys open <333 thanks for all your work! I was wondering if you have any newer longer fics with realistic characterisation and writing (similar to profenity’s works maybe?) and also any non-fox Neil/andrew fics? Thank you!And sorry for the tall order;;🙏

You’ll find an abundance of non-fox andreil in our recent Staff Recs: Writers post. On our tags page under AUs, explore the shops and jobs sections or other themes from fantasy to band aus.

Fandom writer profenity is known for long, meaty explorations of canon characters and themes. Their ongoing WIP ‘The Unkindness of Ravens’ has more than 380k words and 12k+ kudos! Find it in this Raven!Neil to Fox ask under former writing name crazy_like_a. The author interacts with fans on tumblr @hopingforcoordinates. 

We’ve featured or referred to profenity’s ‘Lessons in Cartography’ and sequel ‘The Cartographer and the World’ in many asks. I’m listing some as a doorway to similar works. For something newer, try the Kevin-centric ‘A Falling Star’ series, featured here. If this answer seems cobbled together — it is. This is my subjective, limited attempt at catching lightning in a bottle. -A

check out other works in these asks that feature profenity’s ‘Lessons’ series:

must read fandom classics here

post canon continuation of The King’s Men here

Neil fights with Jack here

andreil exploring feelings, intimacy and sexuality here

in character andreil smut here

small selection of ‘not new’ recs:

‘Hold me close, in fact bury me’ and ‘Trust Fall (And Welcoming Arms)’ here

‘Black As Is The Raven, He’ll Get A Partner’ here

‘progress comes in small steps’ series here

‘Inked Truths’ series here

‘Baltimore Blues’ here

long recs for a return to fandom here

A Falling Star series by NikNak22 [Rated M/E, 245011 words, 3 complete works, Updated Nov 2023]

NB: the author credits inspiration to ‘To Be Certain We'll Be Tall Again’ by fullyvisible, featured here, now complete.

Part 1: Dead of Night (E, 101589 words) It’s Kevin’s senior year at PSU, and things are…okay. But that changes when a single question from a nosy reporter sends his life spiraling. The descent is slow and maddening – memories and trauma from his past weave together to form the image of the man that stands there today. As Kevin begins to look around him with a new and critical eye, though, he’s no longer sure that man is who he wants to be. So the question is - when faced with the truth, is it a case of Kevin finally getting what he deserves? Or is it about time to prove a lot of people (including himself) wrong? Aka the fic that’s all about Kevin Day.

tw: torture, tw: abuse, tw: child abuse, tw: rape/noncon, tw: alcohol abuse, tw: psychological abuse, tw: depression, tw: self esteem issues, tw: body dysmorphia, tw: body shaming, tw: bullying, tw: assault, tw: homophobia, tw: racism,  tw: self harm

Part 2: Darkest Before Dawn (M, 52365) “This is finally it, isn’t it?” Jeremy whispers. “Oui,” Jean says softly on Kevin’s other side. “I believe it is.” And for a moment, they look so lost. Just two little boys about to go out and face the big, wide world. So Kevin searches until both of his hands find one of theirs. He doesn’t look at them, though he feels their gazes on him. He just breathes deeply and closes his eyes. Then he squeezes their hands as he tells them, “I can’t wait to see what you’ll do next.” AKA the highs and lows of Kevin’s life after graduation and into the Pros.

tw: self esteem issues, tw: panic attacks, tw: minor character death, tw: implied/referenced assault, tw: implied/referenced eating disorders

Part 3: In the Light of Day (E, 91057) It’s been almost five years since Kevin graduated from PSU. Five years that he's played Exy professionally. Five years since he’s learned to live on his own. Five years after discovering he’s in love with his best friends, former USC Trojans Jeremy Knox and Jean Moreau. Five years since he’s figured out, they will never love him back. So, when Jeremy and Jean invite him to their house for Christmas this year, he knows this is it. It’s the finale. The last hurrah. The swan song. The final act. It’s time he lets them go, lets this foolish, one-sided love go, once and for all. But he might find this is harder than he ever expected.

tw: depression, tw: bullying, tw: self esteem issues, tw: body dysmorphia, tw: imposter syndrome, tw: implied/referenced eating disorders, tw: gaslighting, tw: ptsd, tw: dissociation, tw: implied/referenced abuse

[instarsandcrime]

PTSD/C-PTSD PSA

TW: Trauma, Flashbacks

Hi hello, it's Stars!

I wanted to give a quick PSA because I've seen a lot of this in whump and I wanted to give a little mention to scenes that involve flashbacks-- especially ones that cause the whumpee to see their trauma played out in front of them as if it's a real thing that is currently happening. All this to say, you can totally take creative liberties and do some cool wish fulfillment stuff! But I've never seen anyone do like. An actually accurate and safer portrayal of what to do for the other person, and I thought this would be my rendition of 'it's cool in fanfic but please do not do this in real life.' ☺️

So! Please, please, please god do not approach the person currently having a flashback and hug them. Don't touch them, don't grab them, don't yell at them to snap them out of it. Whether the person is hallucinating or aware but just having an emotional overload, it's important that you:

First check verbally to see if they are fully aware. What do they need? How can you help? If the answers are unclear or the the person is not fully aware then

Give them space and do not touch them. At best they will panic, at worst they will either think you are a part of the pain or a foreign part of the memory that shouldn't belong.

If they are heading towards somewhere dangerous, do not panic. If you can, go with the flashback and lead them verbally somewhere safe. I'm not a huge fan of mentioning soldiers, I am very aware of the stereotype, but it's the only one I can think of at the top of my head atm as a real life example that's been done before: A soldier rushing into battle. The other might act as their commanding officer and tell them to stand down and wait for their next order.

Even after the flashback they might still be in survival mode. Give them a second to calm down. Give yourself a second to calm down.

Of course no two people are alike, so although these steps are generally important and necessary please communicate with the person if you're worried that you're doing something wrong and they need something different.⭐ And don't be afraid to ask questions or do some good ol' googling if you need the help!

[irlangelsdiary]

just a shoutout to any survivors <3

i see you.

i hear you.

i know its hard

i know some days are more difficult then others

but i also know you are strong, and brave.

i know you are going to get through this

i know you are going to heal

i know it will take one day at a time

but i know you will heal

we will heal

we will live without our trauma ruining us, we will love ourselves, empower ourselves and laugh and heal and one day it wont hurt as much.

one day.

[dying-weeds]

[psychocitysblog]

I hate it when someone says ‘what you’re feeling is all in your head’ yeah, if you went through some of the shit that I went through, you wouldn’t be saying that.

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 32

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: past hallucinations, PTSD, past abuse of a minor, attempted confrontation with abuser, abuser co-opting language of activism, gendered slurs, fucky headspace about abuse, thoughts about self harm, flashbacks, harm reduction

~

Isaac only realized he had been tensing every muscle in his body when Gavin started to fall asleep. It happened slowly at first, Gavin’s head relaxing into the pillow, then the pained lines in his forehead disappearing bit by bit. Gavin’s breath slowed, and his hand released its death grip on Isaac’s shirt. Gavin’s leg twitched, as it sometimes did as he was drifting off, but Gavin didn’t wake. Then, and only then, did Isaac take a full breath and release the tension that had been surging through him since Gavin had looked at him with suspicious, terrified eyes and refused to take the medication that would bring him relief.

It was only through sheer will that Isaac had not collapsed to his knees right then. Isaac had withstood so much within these past weeks, and could have withstood more; the ever-present fear of Gavin’s death had hung over him like a sword both waking and asleep. Isaac had nearly watched Gavin die. He had thought he had watched that very thing.

And yet, nothing could have prepared him for the moment Gavin looked at him in distrust, in fear, and thought Schiester was the man standing before him.

Isaac crushed the thought before it could fully bloom. I have him back, he thought fiercely. It’s enough. It’s more than enough. It’s more than I thought I would ever have again. If this is… If this is the price…

He shuddered and wiped his eyes. Even having Gavin look at him with that much distrust, it was worth it. Of course it was. He leaned forward, brushing his lips to Gavin’s forehead as gently as he could manage. Gavin drew in a shuddering breath, but stayed asleep. Isaac’s chest ached as he gazed at him, his eyes lingering on the darkened, puckered scars that stretched over Gavin’s nose, cheek, and eye. If Gavin was awake, Isaac would kiss them. For now, Isaac just wanted Gavin to sleep.

An icy finger of dread brushed down Isaac’s back. He turned his head towards the front door, listening for a sound his body had known to listen for before his mind even registered there had been a noise. Even through the closed bedroom door, he could hear the front door open. He was up and out of the bed before he had time to draw breath.

“Don’t fucking shoot, Isaac, it’s me,” came Vera’s voice.

Isaac’s fingers ached. His hand was already in a fist at his waistband, closed over a gun that wasn’t there. He panted heavily and rushed out of the bedroom, terror and rage ebbing away, replaced with sharp annoyance.

“Shh.” He closed the bedroom door behind him and glanced at Vera – and Gray, who stood behind her, face like a stormcloud. “Gavin’s sleeping. He has a bad—” The rest of his thought evaporated when his eyes returned to Vera – her eyes were wild, a muscle standing out in her jaw like she was trying to crack a molar. “Wh-what?” he breathed.

Vera snorted. “We should probably talk,” she bit out, voice thin with sarcasm.

Isaac’s stomach dropped. “Oh… fuck, what—”

“Vera met Rosa,” Gray said darkly.

Fear punched through Isaac’s chest. In the same breath, hope threatened. “Is… Oh. Is she… alive?”

Vera barked out a mirthless laugh, then covered her mouth with a hand and threw an apologetic look at the closed bedroom door. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Ah… yeah. She’s… she’s alive. Because someone—” She roughly elbowed Gray in the ribs. “—wouldn’t let me murder her in front of this town’s mayor.”

“Kali isn’t the mayor,” Gray said, their tone only a little imperious. “But forgive me for not allowing you to burn one of the few bridges we have up here.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Vera said. A slight smile undercut the harsh words. “But yeah, uh… we should probably… talk about that.”

“Talk about what?” Isaac said. His hands were starting to shake. “What is there to talk about? She did what she did, and I… did what I did, and—”

Gray stepped forward. “Isaac, that’s not—”

“—now we just have to… deal with her. That’s just how it is.” He pulled a shaking hand through his hair, forced himself to breathe – then breathe again, and slower. “If we’re going to… coexist—”

“They’re dead because of you. You know that? We went out to fight and you were supposed to be there, to protect us, and you weren’t. You preferred to not take the shot. You preferred to run like the useless piece of shit you are.”

He shuddered. “We h-have to—”

“But we don’t, Isaac,” Gray said carefully.

“Vera said we’re not allowed to kill her,” Isaac said, doing his best to loosen his hands from the fists they were in.

Vera rolled her eyes. “You know where I stand on this issue,” she sighed. “But yeah, like Gray said, we don’t actually have to deal with her. At least not all that much. Because she doesn’t actually live here.”

Isaac stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he said, “What do you mean, she doesn’t actually live here?”

Vera massaged her temple and gestured for Gray to speak. Gray wet their lips and said, “We just finished speaking to Kali. And… meeting Rosa, unfortunately. Kali said she doesn’t live here, she just gets mail here and passes through every now and then. And that… well, Kali said she would like to mediate a conversation between you and Rosa.”

“When?” Isaac choked out.

Gray spread their hands. “I… don’t know. She didn’t say. Rosa left in a huff before we could work anything out.” They gave a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea, Isaac. At least you would have a chance to air your grievances. But either way, Kali wanted to do it because she thinks it would help. And because… well, because essentially we aren’t allowed to keep trying to kill her every time we see her.”

Isaac surged forward and staggered out the front door. Vera and Gray stumbled to follow.

“Wait… where are you going?” Vera said.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Isaac whimpered. “I can’t… keep wondering when she’s going to turn up again, expecting her around every corner. If Kali wants to do this fucking talk, and this is what it’ll take in order for us to live here, then fine, but…” He muffled a sob into his hand and dashed tears from his eyes. “I’m not fucking waiting. I’m doing this now. I…” He stumbled, then stopped. His heart pounded against his lungs as he sucked in breath after too-small breath. “Wh-where is she?” he rasped.

“Rosa?” Gray said cautiously. “I don’t—”

“No, Kali,” Isaac said. “If she wants to have a talk, I’m going to talk to her now.”

“I don’t know, Isaac,” Gray said. “When we saw her she was in the post office, but—”

Isaac whirled and began to jog down the lane into town.

Gray and Vera hurried to follow. “She might not still be there, Isaac!” Gray said, already breathing hard. “She, I told you she was there, I have no idea if she—”

“Call her,” Isaac said over his shoulder. “Call her and tell her to meet me.”

“Isaac, stop,” Gray said. They skidded to a halt and braced their hands on their knees to catch their breath. “Let’s talk about this.”

“No,” Isaac begged. Gray raised their gaze to his. “Don’t make me fucking wait, Gray,” he croaked. “Don’t make me keep going through this. Please.”

Gray straightened and took a deep, wheezing breath. “Fine,” they said roughly. “But I’ll go with you.”

Isaac turned on his heel and kept walking in the direction of the post office. His heart felt bruised; every beat felt like a blow to the inside of his ribs. Vera fell in beside him. Gray lagged behind, tapping away on their cell phone. After they sent off a text, they jogged to catch up.

Goosebumps rippled across Isaac’s arms and back. He didn’t speak as they walked into town, didn’t glance at Vera as they all passed by the shops on either side of the street. When he finally laid his eyes on the post office, his stomach twisted like he might be sick.

“Is she there?” he said thickly.

Gray checked their phone. “She responded,” they murmured. Then, “Yes. She’s there.”

Fear and revulsion thundered through Isaac’s veins as his feet carried him closer. He couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers when he reached out to grasp the worn wooden handle on the door. He didn’t wait to take a breath before he yanked the door open and walked in.

Only Kali stood inside. Isaac’s throat tightened and he turned to look at Gray, eyes wide with terror and confusion.

“I… meant Kali was here, not Rosa,” Gray said, shaking their head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Where is she?” Isaac rasped. He looked helplessly at Kali. “You said you wanted to talk, so…” He held his arms out wide. He hated himself for how hard he was shaking. He blinked back the tears that threatened in his eyes. “I’m here to talk. I’m not… not armed, so…” His hands fell to his sides again. “Let’s just get this done, if this is how you think we should handle this.”

Kali’s brow was deeply creased as she looked at Isaac. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Alright,” she said carefully. “I see you want to… make things better.”

“No, I just want this to be fucking over,” Isaac whispered, so he wouldn’t choke. The tears in his eyes spilled down his cheeks. “If you want me to talk to her, I’ll talk to her. If that’s what I have to do, then…” He shrugged and held his arms down at his sides, hands balled into fists. “Let’s just get this done.”

Kali held Isaac’s eyes with a steady gaze. “Isaac…”

“Now!” he cried. Kali flinched back minutely from the booming command. Isaac buried his face in his hands and muffled a sob. “What the fuck?” he breathed. “You wanted to talk, can I please just—”

“I’m sorry,” Kali said in a rush. “Isaac, I’m sorry for causing you grief. I didn’t mean to, please believe that. But I… well, maybe you should just read it.” She pulled a phone from her pocket, tapped the screen a few times, and handed it to Isaac.

On the screen was the end of a text conversation between Kali and Rosa.

September 22, 2030 2:45pm

Kali: we got mail for you today

September 22, 2030 9:50pm

Rosa: thnk u

September 28, 2030 10:22am

Kali: I’d like to resolve this between you and Isaac Moore’s family. What do you say to having a conversation with him that I mediate? This would be planned and in a neutral location, with no threats allowed on either side, with safety and repair being the goal.

September 28, 2030 10:24am

Rosa: r u serious? fuck that actually

September 28, 2030 10:24am

Rosa: I can’t believe ur taking his side

September 28, 2030 10:25am

Rosa: after everythng I’ve gone fr the resistance I can’t believe this

September 28, 2030 10:26am

Rosa: if ur willing to allow those people to stay nd continue to spread their lies about wht happened to Jordan, fine. ur in charge here. but I will no longer affiliate w Laporte. this isn’t just smthng u can just ‘mediate’. consider me gone.

September 28, 2030 10:30am

Kali: I understand you being upset. I’ll give you some time to yourself and reach out again in a few days.

September 28, 2030, 10:30am

Your message cannot be delivered.

Isaac realized he was breathing hard when the words on the screen began to blur. He held the phone out with a shaking hand and looked up at Kali.

“What…” His mouth was dry. He swallowed hard. “What does that mean? What…”

Kali threw a glance at Gray, who was looking at her inquisitively. “It looks to me,” she said with that same sense of unending patience, “That she isn’t interested in having this conversation or… being in Laporte anymore.”

“Give me that,” Vera snapped, and grabbed the phone from Isaac’s hand to read the last exchange. She snorted and looked up at Gray. “‘I will no longer affiliate with Laporte’? Is she serious? Was she somehow contributing in a huge way to the resistance that we just… haven’t heard of over the past several years?”

Kali opened her mouth to speak. “I—”

“What, is her presence here so fucking special that her refusing to come here anymore is some sort of punishment?” This time, Vera fixed her eyes on Kali. “Well? Have we just misread this?” her lip pulled back in a snarl.

Kali met Vera’s vicious gaze with her own steady one. Finally, she said, “Sometimes people lash out when they feel hurt. Her identity as a resistance fighter is clearly very important to her.”

“Perhaps, then, she should work on being an effective one,” Gray hissed from the corner.

Isaac still stood in the center of the room, shaking like a leaf. He kept waiting for fear to hit, or rage, or relief. Nothing rose up to fill the emptiness that had opened up inside him. He felt like he might buckle under his own weight.

“Wh-what does this mean?” he repeated.

“It means the trash just took itself out,” Vera spat. “I wouldn’t spend any more time worrying about her, Isaac. Apparently being confronted with the truth is enough to send that bitch packing.”

Isaac’s eyes and mouth were dry. He swallowed hard, swallowed again. “She’s… just gone?” he said softly into the room. The words seemed to fade into the buzz of Vera’s rage and the pounding of blood in his ears. “She just… left?”

His eyes snapped to Kali’s when she took a step closer to him. She had to crane her head back a bit to look up at him, but she met his eyes without blinking. She reached out and took both his hands in hers. They were rough, calloused, but warm and dry. She squeezed his hands in hers, and he found himself squeezing back.

“I am so, so sorry,” she said, her voice so kind that it brought more tears to Isaac’s eyes. “She clearly hurt you so much, and I’m sorry. I was hoping for some kind of healing. But… I hope this is a solution that works almost as well.”

Vera snorted. Isaac couldn’t see her where she stood behind him, but he could see Kali’s mouth tighten in response. “I understand if you see this as better,” Kali said.

“The woman was okay with using a child soldier as her own personalized bodyguard and hitman,” Vera sneered.

“I wasn’t a child when she first brought me into the field,” Isaac said, releasing Kali’s hands and turning to face Vera. “I was… t-twenty-one when she—”

Vera held up a hand, silencing Isaac. “I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped. Isaac’s mouth fell shut.

Kali cleared her throat softly. “If I might suggest something, Isaac,” she said. He looked down at her and waited for her to speak. He was tired in his bones, tired in his soul. He was tired of fighting, tired of being afraid. He was tired of being tired. She wet her lips and said, “It seems like the people who hurt you… well, it seems like they’ve all decided to stay in your past. So maybe something that would be helpful for you… would be to start by learning that the things that were done to you… were indeed mistreatment? Were indeed unjust?”

This time, it was Gray who snorted. “I’ve been trying to tell him that for… oh, over a year at this point,” they said with a gentle, good-natured laugh.

Isaac couldn’t find it in him to laugh, or cry, or even reach for the flame of anger that always burned inside him. He shrugged, a hollow, jerky movement. “Probably, yeah,” he said flatly.

Kali’s mouth pursed, and she gently patted Isaac’s shoulder. “Alright,” she said. She glanced at Vera and held out a hand for her phone. “If I could have that back…?” Vera placed the phone in Kali’s hand, and at least had the dignity of looking a little embarrassed for having snatched it away in the first place. Kali tucked the phone in her pocket and rubbed her hands on her worn jeans. “Well,” she said. “I’ll… I’ll keep y’all posted on the goings-on of the town. And I’ll make sure you get notified next time mail gets dropped off. I know that… once you’ve settled in, it’ll feel like home. I’m… sorry things have started so rough.”

For a long time, no one said anything. Isaac’s jaw ached as he clenched his teeth, swallowing over and over against the lump in his throat. It was the only sensation in his body, and he clung to it, all too familiar with the numbness that was creeping through his veins.

His knife could chase the numbness away, he knew that. It had done it so many times already. If he just took his knife, and—

“Who gave you this, huh?”

“M-my—”

A blow lashes across his face, spilling the tears that had been brimming in his eyes. He presses a hand to his stinging cheek and returns his frightened gaze to the woman kneeling in front of him. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, he didn’t, but he’s been awake for two days already, maybe three, he lost count, and he’s so tired…

Rosa is fiddling with his pocket knife, the one with the sharp steel blade and the red plastic handle, the one he has using to try and keep himself awake, the one given to him by his—

“My… dad gave it to me,” he hiccoughs, fighting back a sob.

Rosa chuckles, folding and unfolding the blade from the pocketknife. “Your dad, huh?” she says, her voice cold and sarcastic.

“Yes, please give it back…” He reaches for it.

She snatches it back, out of his reach. “No,” she says with a vicious grin. “You fell asleep on watch. Second time this month. Clearly giving you triple duty didn’t teach you better. Maybe this will.” Isaac’s stomach drops as she folds the knife a final time and tucks it into her pocket.

“No!” Isaac sobs, and lunges for it. He’s so tired, he’s so tired, and Rosa easily trips him. He goes sprawling into the dirt.

Rosa snickers and walks away. “Don’t fall asleep on watch again, Isaac,” she says, not bothering to look back. “You won’t like what happens if I catch you doing it again.”

Isaac blinked and shook his head against the sudden memory. His right hand was curled into a fist – no, curled around his father’s pocketknife, lost forever because of the mistakes he had made.

Enough sensation returned for him to register a weight in his stomach as he released his fingers, one by one. He felt the loss of his father’s knife as if it had just happened – as if Rosa had just walked out the door with it a few minutes ago. He swallowed against more tears and pressed against the unhealed cuts at his wrist.

“Gray,” he said weakly, unable to feel embarrassed when his voice cracked as if he was sixteen years old. “Can we head home? I… I’d like to… I need some ice.”

He felt Vera’s confused gaze, but didn’t look at her. He turned and looked only at Gray.

They took a deep breath, let it out. “Of course,” they said gently. They stepped forward and tucked him under their arm. “Thank you, Kali, for meeting us again so soon.”

“Anything y’all need,” she said with a shrug. She gave them a kind smile as Isaac let Gray lead him out of the post office and back out into the morning sunlight. Isaac wound his arm around Gray’s waist as they walked. Vera followed silently behind. Isaac could feel her confusion and curiosity, but couldn’t bring himself to explain the ice right now. She would find out when they got home anyway. For now, Isaac let the tears fall freely as he walked down the main street of Laporte, not caring if anyone else noticed.

Continued here

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[syscultureis]

TW: delusions, ptsd episode plus maybe more?

System culture is feeling like someone who hurt you is always behind you and when you have a ptsd episode you start seeing them and try to ground yourself back to realty but you just can’t because it will worsen the episode and I already am hallucinating the feeling of the Iv and needles I can’t do this,,, why am I a trauma holder, who forced this to happen to us?! -⦻

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[lacetrauma]

im sorry that i don’t have much to say anymore. im not as creative as I used to be