#nightmare tw

[gregorovitch-adler]

An Intimate Friendship

CW: Slight Violence and Nightmare.

--

A loud bang from opening fire, and there he was, lying flat on his back, dead, bleeding through his right temple.

*

Watson sat bolt upright on his bed, staring at the wall in front of him in his bedroom in horror. He took the napkin from his pillow and wiped the sweat from his face, taking quick and shallow breaths in the process.

As his breathing returned to normal, he recalled his nightmare and frowned at it. Or rather, he frowned at the sheer realism and vividness of it.

If such a day were to come for real in his life, if his life were to end in this way, would anyone care?

Watson gave out a soft, mirthless chuckle. Who would? The public of England talked about the detective and the wonders that the said detective had done in the field of criminology, quite rightfully so.

As for Watson himself, well, he was just a humble and clueless man. He wondered whether the world would even blink an eye if he were to pass away someday.

Watson swallowed and got up from his bed and stepped out of his room to get some air.

He was met with the sight of Holmes having an intense conversation with someone in the living room. Watson raised his brow at the thought of visitors at this odd hour.

Watson did not wish to interrupt, so he decided to go back to his room. However, the intense whispers were quite distracting.

Curiosity got the better of him in the end, and Watson stopped halfway through closing the door of his bedchamber. He cocked an ear to give a part of that conversation a listen, even though he knew how extremely rude eavesdropping was.

"... but what you are asking is to make Watson a bait in the case this time, which I absolutely refuse. You will have to look for a different method, officer. The killer will have to pass through me if Watson has to die. He is my intimate friend..."

Watson finally closed the door and leaned against it, smiling brightly to himself. He did not know about the world, nor did he care, but he now knew that there was at least one person who would blink an eye. Probably more than just that.

Watson walked over to his bed and lay down. He knew he was going to sleep better now.

*

May Prompts: Eavesdropping and Nightmare.

Tags: @keirgreeneyes , @calaisreno , @topsyturvy-turtely , @helloliriels , @jamielovesjam , @lisbeth-kk , @peanitbear , @totallysilvergirl, @gaylilsherlock .

[oyeixcher]

Khao as Ayan in The Eclipse ↳ Episode 1

[hidefdoritos]

uhh anyone who prays or sends good vibes or whatever appreciated

PTSD stuff under the cut

So yesterday I went shooting for the first time (I once bartered my mending for some ammo, then my friend and I have spent two years trying to make a range trip happen). A gun was present in my trauma (I wasn't threatened with it directly but it existed). I also flinch hard at loud noises. This resulted yesterday in a couple difficult hours where I faced up to some fears, had fun, and tensed my core muscles over and over.

On the trip back, my friend (who knows I'm traumatized but didn't know details) asked me if I wanted to talk, and I did, so I ended up spilling the whole story, which is a good thing but also exhausting.

Then I went and played D&D and Mario Party for several hours with other friends, which was exactly what I needed.

Anyway overnight I had an actual screaming nightmare and woke up punching my pillow (it's been a couple months since that happened). Also my back is INCREDIBLY sore and tight, almost like I pulled something from flinching so hard and repeatedly.

I'm exhausted from poor sleep quality and my back really hurts, so I'm skipping church this morning and just catching the livestream. So I'm missing out on community support, but I also had such a big day yesterday and I need to process that it was good and I'm alive. I wish I could do that with other people, but also I'm scared of being in a crowd and punching someone who touches me, which seems really likely to happen today, given that trauma reminder + loud noises = jumpy, and talking about trauma + physical pain today = sensitive, and nightmares + punching things subconsciously = danger to others.

Anyway yeah if you pray or send good vibes or whatever I could use them today. Its lonely, I'm tired, and I physically hurt; though the catharsis of facing my fears and talking about them has been wonderful.

[earthdcfended]

@leschanceux (Gordy) said: "Relax. We're safe here."

Red patterned carpet runs down the corridors as far as the eyes can see as Howie bolts through the never ending maze. He doesn't want this. He doesn't want to get eaten. He doesn't want rooms full of clowns, spiders, angel statues or gorillas. Rita promised him it'd be okay. The Doctor promised him he wouldn't leave him. But he's separated from them, and there's nothing to be done. And how wonderful it is... It's all so clear, now. He's so happy.

Praise him... Praise him... Praise him...

Howie wakes with a start, and for a minute, he isn't sure where he is. He's on the floor in a makeshift bed of blankets and a spare pillow. In that initial moment, he's back there, using blankets from one of the hotel rooms because Rita declared they shouldn't split up for anything... His eyes adjust. He's not back there. He's in Gordy's room. He's in his aunt and uncle's house.

"Yeah..." He tightens his fists around the borrowed blanket as he tries to catch his breath. "Yeah... safe. We're-- We're safe here. Ed and... Ed and Kate are-- they're down the hall. Your sisters are asleep. We're... okay. I'm okay."

[gollldrush]

@exquisitexagony sent: [ fears ] sender talks to receiver about their fears & [ blood ] sender notices that receiver is bleeding | arthur and leo.

The gentle waves lap at the shore, sand cold beneath her body as she stares at the stars. One hand is twined with Arthur’s, both engulfed in silence. The only light trickles down from the moon, reflecting hauntingly across the water. Behind them, the dune grasses dance in a soft breeze.

She had been to the beach plenty of times, both as a child and as an adult. Summers spent on yachts, trolling boardwalks, and getting kicked out of bars for being underage. A completely different life than the one she was living now. This life where she had somehow found peace even if on the surface it was more chaotic than the previous.

Her hand releases from theirs as she props herself up on her elbows. She looks at them once, then back out across the sea – back again, except,

They’ve become taller. Their curly hair replaced with a short, side-swept style – no longer Arthur at all, in fact. Eric rolls on his side, a wicked smile on his face. His hand closes around her neck so quick there’s little time to react. He drags her under him, choking, choking, choking –

Leo wakes up gasping for air and hideously clawing at invisible hands on her throat, catapulting herself backwards and off the bed. A few kicks have landed against Arthur’s skin – a terrified scream peels from her mouth as she hurriedly shoves herself into a corner. She flails against the wall, hitting a nail head that’s jutting out and ripping her skin. She doesn’t notice the blood – only thinks she sees Eric when her eyes pop open and Arthur is in front of her.

“No, no, no, NO!” She kicks at them, terrified – trapped in the throes of her nightmare. “Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me.” Eyes are wide and wild, feral almost. “Eric I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

[clawsofakiller]

A short fanfic my partner wrote for me I did a re-translation I love it just want to share with y'all

🤭🥰😋☺️🥴🤗，👍👍❤️🖤💙，😼🧡🥷🐺，❗😼🧡🧡😨

Hurt/Comfort

Creed held the mutant boy who is two turns smaller than him, and said nothing.

Every muscle in Daken's body trembled, and at the moment, an aura of disturbed pheromones surrounded his whole body. He lay motionless on Sabretooth's chest, clenching his teeth against some unknowable nightmares.

"What did Romulus do to you again?" It was a long time before Creed asked.

Daken still said nothing, the blood from his nose gradually staining Sabretooth's suits; he was badly wounded. Even in such a terrible condition, he resisted Sabretooth's embrace with all his might. Being so close, he could clearly hear Creed's heartbeat, so he knew that the giant mutant didn't really care for his wellbeing, he just god damn enjoys smelling the fear of others.

[rd-eternity]

Words: 5.3k || Rating: Teen and Up || AKA the alternate, happy ending of her heart, his hell

Summary: Doing what he could to redeem himself to the pack clearly didn't work. Theo's back in the hospital of hell, running from his sister. He's losing his heart, and his hope. No one will save him from hell this time; except he's not in hell. Liam's desperately trying to pull him from his nightmares.

His heart - the one he knows isn’t going to be his for much longer now - tumbles. He swallows hard, chest heaving with sharp breaths. The hand on his chin is warm, but so rough and unforgiving. “Theo!” His eyes snap to the doorway. To… Liam? He’s exactly the same as the one on top of him, just with blood across his shoulders, staining the white t-shirt he’s wearing. Lips brush across his, as a taunt. “How long have you held out hope that I��ll ever love you in return?” he teases, biting at the skin of his jaw, next to where his hand is holding him. “And look at this, the one time you thought you gained something, it was a trick.” His free hand tugs on the ropes around his hands, the rough cord biting into his skin. “Such a wasted life.”

[strawbrryrush]

closed starter for silco !! @mischiefmuses

sleep felt rare- it was hard to sleep nowadays.. especially with her night terrors plaguing her mind- reminding her of how silco died.. died at her hands- every nightmare ended the same.. she left him sinking in the open water- and every morning she woke up just the same- a loud gasp.. as if some of the water never left her lungs- she searched frantically- expecting this house to be empty.. for nothing of silco to remain- for it to be cold.. to be just her- and her racing thoughts and hallucinations.. where was he?? was he dead.. -but she swore she saw him before- felt his touch- but still.. his death was so real and agonizing.. "silco?" she called out with a crack in her voice- straining from the devastation.. as her eyes fell on him- she was quick to wrap him in her desperate arms.. they were weak- as she swore the man she was clinging to- wasn't here.. was he just a figment of her imagination?? her way of coping.. blue and pink flickers danced in and out of her sight- "-i killed you- why don't you hate me?" she asked- with a sniffle.. surely her words were shaky- and barely audible.

[darkkitty1208]

Entry for day 17 of Whumptober 2023, prompt no. 17: Touch Aversion & "Leave me alone."

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Doctor Strange (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Stephen Strange & Wong Characters: Stephen Strange, Wong (Marvel) Additional Tags: Post-Doctor Strange (2016), Aftermath, Healing, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Nightmares, Touch Aversion, Stephen Strange has PTSD, Wong is a good bro, Mentioned Dormammu (Marvel), Dissociation, References to Depression, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sort Of Series: Part 15 of Whumptober 2023 Summary:

He did it. He defeated Dormammu.

The world is saved.

He should feel triumph, or glee, or at least relief. But he doesn't.

All he feels is exhaustion. A bone-deep, spreading tiredness that leaves his knees weak and his head spinning. He feels like collapsing.

OR

Post-DS1, aftermath of Dormammu, because MCU has the audacity to not show how it affects Stephen. 

[themadauthorshatter]

... I'm not apologizing at all😆

Recently, I've been checking back in with Welcome Home and have had my fancy caught buy an AU called Greyscale Wally AU by the superbly talented @sweetest-honeybee (I highly recommend it, it's AWESOME) and got this idea after seeing some spoilery endgame stuff that was posted

This will contain some spoilers for the AU, so you might want to check that out first before reading this, and this is purely speculation based off of what I've seen

This doesn't really have a title, but Trigger warnings/content warnings for abuse, manipulation, swearing, and humanoid Home being mean and scary

With that out of the way, ENJOY!

Sleeping was steadily becoming something that Wally was familiar with, along with the feeling of nearly unbearable discomfort in his entire body that rarely faded. The only real time it left was when he slept, thanfully.

But he also dreamed when he slept, and he resented it with every fiber of his being.

Each night, he would be haunted by a horrible visage of one of his friends shouting at him, hurting him, turning on him as if he had caused the desaturating plague that slowly, seemingly spread to the neighbors.

It had gotten to Barnaby, at least.

And Home won't tell me why.

Wally burrowed deeper into his blankets, letting sleep overtake him.

And he saw Barnaby and Sally, their colors muted and their demeanors drained and skittish.

Barnaby seemed more agitated than fearful, but kept his eyes averted.

A hand clapped onto Wally's shoulder, covering it entirely as a shadow loomed over him.

"What's the matter, Darling?" Home asked, speaking clearly rather than using the creaks and clatters Wally was used to. "Aren't you happy to see your friends?"

Words failed Wally in that moment, even when he craned his head up and saw Home.

Or, at least, some twisted visage of Home that had a face, one that was... rubbery as it moved, being stuff and movable all at once with enough edges and shapes making up his face to make Wally's head spin.

It would have been better to see Home as a body with Home The House on its shoulders.

But Home doesn't love you. He hurt you, remember?

"You're not," Home surmised, his tone light, but disappointed. "Well, I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? Ungrateful as you are, you're never satisfied with anything I do for you."

Wally stumbled back as his eyes locked on Home's, Home towering over him.

He also managed to find his voice.

"I.. I'm not," he quivered. "Why should I be? You hurt them."

Home followed him, easily keeping up with long legs and an even stride. "I wouldn't have had to, if it weren't for you."

Wally cringed and flattened his hands against the sides of his head; foolish as it was, he couldn't stand hearing the careless tone Home used to say horrible things. "I didn't do anything!"

"But you did."

Home held Wally's hands on one of his own and caught Wally by the jaw, forcing the smaller of the two to meet his now dark eyes.

Wally pulled and twisted to try and break free, but Home shook him, adjusting his grip to grab Wally just under his cheekbones, nearly crushing Wally's face.

"And you just can't learn your lesson."

Wally whimpered when Home pulled him close and snarled loud enough to make Wally kick at the ground to get away.

"You have all of this because of me, you miserable mound of cotton!"

Home all but threw Wally into a turn, wrapping his arms around him, one trapping Wally's arms at his sides as he grabbed a fistful of blue hair.

Wally yelped at the sharp tug at his head, but it quickly numbed when he saw Barnaby and Sally, both with their mouths stitched shut as they gazed brokenly back at him.

Black fluid-like tendrils crept up and around their bodies, and both of them withered the further it climbed.

It wasn't like the discomfort he'd grown used to.

Instead, it hurt.

"Stop it," Wally begged, his voice quiet.

"I didn't want to do this, Darling," Home said ruefully, too close for Wally to bear. "But you left me with no other choice."

The inky black covered both Barnaby and Sally completely and shrank into the ground, then flattened against it.

He killed them.

A burning grew in Wally's eyes, one followed by a trailing dampness that ran down his face.

He killed them. They're my friends! He killed them, but they didn't do anything!

"I can always remake them," Home remarked, "it'd be easy."

He moved closer, forcing his poisonous words to drown out Wally's rampaging thoughts.

"But that means it would all happen again, if you keep being disobedient."

"Please," Wally sobbed, grasping onto Home's arm in order to stay standing. "Please, Home, stop it."

The harsh grasp on his hair turned gentle, long fingers with sharp nails combing through blue threads.

"Have you learned your lesson?"

Wally only cried harder, burying his face into Home's upper arm. "What did I do, Home!? Just tell me!"

The hand in his hair lowered to his back, rubbing circles and occasionally patting Wally's shoulder.

"None of this would have happened, if you'd just listened to me," Home mused. "All of this can go away, Darling, and all you have to do is accept that what you did was wrong."

A tugging at his ankles caught his attention, and a scream ripped through Wally as the black tendrils climbed up his legs.

"Home, stop! Please, Home, make it stop!"

The corner of Home's mouth curled upward before falling once more, his arms loosening as he stood and stepped away from Wally.

"I want you to apologize," Home said sternly. "And I want you to accept that you wronged me. If you can do that, I'll let you come back, I'll take all the pain away, from you and anyone else I gave it to, and everything will be the way it was before."

The tendrils continued to rise, trapping Wally's hands and dragging him into the ground.

"But I don't know what I did!" Wally shouted as he thrashed and clawed to keep himself above the ground. "What did I do to make you do this!?"

Home smirked and crouched down as Wally was dragged further down, cupping his face with one large, clawed hand.

"Think about it, Darling."

The tendrils wrapped around Wally's mouth and eyes, silencing his screams, but also intensifying them.

He only knew how intense they were when he opened his eyes and saw Frank and Eddie over him, both shaken and wide eyed, but overly relieved to see he'd awoken.

Even if they'd done it in the dead of the night.

"Easy, bud," Eddie murmured as Wally shakily sat up. "Just us. Just came to check on you."

Wally hugged his knees to his chest, eyes brimming with tears.

Frank lightly placed a hand on Wally's forearm. "You wanna talk about it?"

Wally only lunged and threw his arms around Frank's torso, and Frank carefully hugged him back.

"It's okay," Frank soothed him. "You're gonna be okay."

Wally barely heard him, not with two raging and terrifying thoughts tearing through his mind.

I hate this.

I hate Home.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

In League — Nightmare

Masterlist

Summary: August still feels out of place in the house after trying to escape run away but a nightmare has him seeking Wyatt's comfort...

(This was in the Google Drive Black Hole until @peachy-panic's This Could Be The Moment and @hold-him-down's Not Ideal inspired me to polish it in the spirit of Bad Nights. If you haven't read these pieces (& entire series) yet, you should plan on getting zero work done this week because you now have more important things to do.)

CW: Late-19th century, indentured servitude/classism, explicit language, past-noncon implied, power dynamics, carewhumper/sympathetic whumper. Beta read by @alittlewhump!

August didn’t like sleeping alone. 

He missed being allowed to sleep in the chair, knowing all night that Wyatt was near, working at the desk or asleep in the bed. He would’ve kept to the chair forever if it had meant he didn’t have to be alone at night, in the dark where Keats could still find him. 

The nightmare hadn’t been anything novel. He was always struggling to regain some ground, all the while only digging himself deeper. Sometimes Fionn was there, hurting. Keats would lay a trap and August would walk right into it. Without fail. Hopeless, thoughtless, thankless. He was too slow, too dim-witted not to fall for the tricks every time, even in his own dreams. 

He’d awoken to his heart beating like a drum between his ribs. Chest both gnawingly hollow and achingly tight. The room was pitch-dark, with no moon or stars shining through the window. Even the fire had died in the hearth like the night was snuffing out all light. He’d played the unwitting accomplice, banishing any chance of warmth by casting all the blankets and even the pillows to the floor in sleep. He wrapped his arms around himself tightly, shivering. 

There were still many things he didn’t understand or trust about his place here and the older boy who had given it to him. But Wyatt had a way of making Keats feel like a small, distant memory and that was exactly what August needed right now. 

When he’d asked to stay—or rather, accepted Wyatt’s invitation to stay by way of needlessly asking his permission, Wyatt had insisted August take his bed. A laughable stipulation, considering how much worse he’d had than an armchair by a warm fire, but Wyatt had insisted. So, August had Wyatt’s room and bed to himself at night while Wyatt slept in the spare bed in Theo’s room down the end of the hall. 

August paused at Theo’s door, leaning around the frame, the corner of the wood pressing into his collarbone. Wyatt was alone, sleeping with his back to the open door. Theo’s was probably among the voices that occasionally rose from downstairs, a sliver of bright electric light seeping from under the parlour door and trying to climb to light the stairs. It was just enough brightness that August had been able to avoid the creakier of the floorboards in the old house. After hovering in the doorway uneasily for five full minutes to confirm Theo wasn’t coming upstairs, he tiptoed in, chilly air nipping at the strip of bare skin between his stockings and underbreeches. The rest of the house was always freezing in comparison to Wyatt’s room. August had eventually learned that none of the others ever bothered with fires, a realisation that had made heat spread through his chest like the very warmth Wyatt kept him in. 

It was hard to distinguish Wyatt himself from the bedcovers, fabric from skin, where one stopped and the other began, in the darkness. The bed itself and the man on it a single unbroken silhouette, carved from shadow marble. His even breath the only sign he wasn’t stone. August felt even more obtrusive standing over him. He crouched instead, not sure if he should sit on the edge of the bed without being invited and reluctant to kneel on the cold floor. 

He hesitated countless times, hand hovering in the open space between them, heart sprinting in his chest. What if he was given more than a hand to hold, the warm embrace he sought? Even in the face of the vows Wyatt made during the day, August had never met a promise that didn’t have a trap door. And coming to Wyatt’s bed like this in the middle of the night was as good a reason to use it as any. His nerves rose steadily until it was like his heart beat between his ears and it was all he could hear or feel, swaying in the darkness to the tide of his own pulse. 

A clatter from downstairs almost had him bolting back to his borrowed bed, ill dreams or not, lest someone else catch him out of it. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he’d rather it be Wyatt than anyone else, when the tables finally turned. 

Now or never. 

He reached out, brushing his fingertips over Wyatt’s bare shoulder. As faint as the hope he clung to that this would be no different than any other time Wyatt had comforted him. “Wyatt?”

Wyatt grumbled, turning onto his side to face August but not opening his eyes. He let his arm fall open, extended out toward August.

His heart hammered on in his chest as he held his breath waiting for more of an indication from Wyatt. More of an invitation or a dismissal. 

Was that space meant for August? Or was Wyatt only reaching out his hand? 

They’d never lain side by side before but Wyatt was always looping an arm around his shoulders during the day, swift to pull him into an embrace in those embarrassing moments when he lost his composure. 

Or was Wyatt simply fast asleep?

August twisted his fingers in the fabric of the nightshirt Wyatt had given him, knees starting to ache from crouching. He’d disturbed Wyatt enough thusfar. He ought to leave him in peace. But the thought of leaving had him swallowing a lump in his throat and blinking away tears, as though Wyatt were truly sending him away, rejecting him. An unwarranted, invented ache. 

It was for the best that he hadn’t roused Wyatt fully. He should feel lucky that he hadn’t gotten more than he bargained for. That Wyatt wasn’t the sort to thrash him simply for the disturbance. At least, he hadn’t shown himself to be that sort yet. August uncurled his fingers, pulse throbbing in his fingertips from how tightly he’d bound them in the fabric in his fists. He swiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand and rose. 

Wyatt sighed, fingers at the end of his open arm curling away from August, beckoning him closer. 

August’s heart faltered in his chest and against all reason, his tears fell with renewed urgency. He sniffled and fruitlessly wiped at them again before ever so gently, lying down at Wyatt’s side. 

He settled on top of the bedcovers since Wyatt hadn’t lifted them. It wouldn’t matter anyway once he was closer to Wyatt, in his arms. His heart still felt like it was beating too heavily in his chest. As though he were stealing something he didn’t deserve, hadn’t earned. He took a deep breath, forcing the air in past his galloping heart and chased away the memories of his nightmares and of Keats. Wyatt was nothing like him, had only ever welcomed him with open arms. 

August inched closer, resting his forehead against the older boy’s shoulder, hands tucked up between them. Wyatt’s breath tickled through his hair, in and out. If August flattened his hand, he could feel Wyatt’s steady heartbeat, its comforting metronome. He—

Wyatt drew in a sharp breath and shoved August back. He crashed to the floor, yelping as his head cracked against the corner of the solid bedside table. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, scrambling off his back as Wyatt’s shadow sat up in the bed, looming over him.

Wyatt didn’t move, didn’t dignify his feeble apology with a response. But he had to be furious for how hard and fast he was breathing, for how rigid his shadow was, as though he truly was stone. 

August’s heart carried on beating erratically in his chest. It didn’t feel right. It felt like it would swallow him, end him from the inside out, compounding his fear with each consuming beat. “I’m sorry,” he repeated lamely, voice shaking. He didn’t know what else to say. When Wyatt still didn’t acknowledge him, he inched forward, reaching out—

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Wyatt stood and August cowered back with a whine, hands coming up to protect his head. He couldn’t do anything right, perpetually reduced to crawling back like a puppy who’d been kicked but was too stupid to learn its place. 

It was all he was, broken, desperate. Exactly as Keats had made him. “Please, sir. I beg your pardon.” He hadn’t called Wyatt that in weeks, had been able to rise just a little bit in his esteem, and even his own. Until now. He started crying in earnest, the tension from his uncontrolled heart and the open fall of failure overtaking him. “I’m sorry, sir. Please—”

Wyatt skirted away from him, bringing his hands up to his head in his rage. As far as possible from the pathetic mess of a boy who’d overstepped his welcome. He would have run if Wyatt hadn't been blocking his way to the door. Sobs halted his apologies so he pulled his knees up to his chest and waited, never taking his eyes off Wyatt.

But crying would not constitute an apology, hiding from punishment even worse, and he needed to fix this. If he wasn’t dead in a day on the streets, Keats would find him. To remain in this house, even chained in the basement, was preferable. He would offer anything, surrender any part of himself, to stay with Wyatt. Make himself smaller, bend, break to counterbalance this fault, to regain what standing he’d had. He had brought this on himself and he would face the consequences. Prove––

A light in the doorway silenced his undeserved tears and he held his breath. 

“Wyatt?” It was Theo. And no one behind him, which was a small mercy, though it didn’t promise anything about what was coming for August. Theo lifted the candle, scanning the room until his gaze fell on August. 

A whimper escaped his lips and before he could sort himself to make some attempt at apology, Theo was moving. He couldn’t help himself, he covered his head again.

Only Theo paid him no mind, just went to the chair at the foot of the bed and gathered Wyatt’s clothes in his free arm. He thrust them at Wyatt with enough force that August heard the impact, pushing them at the unmoving statue that used to be Wyatt until he was forced to take a step back and finally brought his arms up to cradle the clothes. 

“Go on,” Theo said, keeping his voice low. 

Wyatt didn’t move. August couldn’t see his face from this angle but after a moment it became clear that something was transpiring. Something excluding August. 

“Get some air. Don’t worry, I’ve got him.”

His stomach dropped. He didn’t want Wyatt to leave when things were like this, when he hadn’t told him that he hadn’t meant to be so much trouble and that he would face the consequences well. But he couldn’t find his voice. 

With one more moment’s hesitation but not a second glance in his direction, Wyatt left and August was alone with Theo. 

First thing he did was set the candle on one of the posts of his bed. A precarious placement that had once lost August the privilege of candles for an entire month –of bruised shins and stubbed toes– at Elmwood. But Theo didn’t have to worry about things like that. None of the other boys here did. At least, August didn’t think so; even if they didn’t have much, they were all equal. Theo bent down a few paces away, resting his forearms on his knees. 

“August, you all right down here?”

He wasn’t sure what to say, or if he could say much of anything without just crying some more. He swallowed, to see if his throat was clear enough for words. It wasn’t. 

“I know you’re frightened,” Theo said gently. 

That only made the lump in August’s throat worse, sobs closer to escaping his lips. 

Theo watched him carefully, as was his wont. August fought shy of meeting his gaze. It made him nervous, how heedful Theo always was. What might he observe and, worse, what might he tell Wyatt? 

“You’re not in any trouble.” August couldn’t help but look straight into his eyes now. Watchful as they were, he didn’t find them deceitful. “I promise, everything will right.” 

He hoped Wyatt would agree.

“Why don’t you let me help you up? We’ll sort you out, too.” He held out one of his hands. “It’s all right, I’m not going to hurt you.”

When August reached out, his palm shone crimson in the candlelight. 

To be continued...

@whumpy-writings , @writer-reader-24 , @deluxewhump , @no-whump-on-main , @maracujatangerine , @painsandconfusion , @wolfeyedwitch , @briars7 , @gala1981 , @redwingedwhump , @whumpflash ,  @poeticagony , @annablogsposts , @fleur-alise , @melancholy-in-the-morning , @crystalquartzwhump , @magziemakeswhatever , @neverthelass , cakeinthevoid

[fili-lionofdurin]

Fili had been awake and sitting at the dining table since early that morning after a nightmare. Much earlier than his usual, and it showed on his face. Though, when Kili comes out of his room, Fili sits up, trying to look more alive. "Oh hey, good morning. Did you sleep, alright?" @coreofgold

[saturnmused]

@maidmyth ― bucky & remilia ― re: shippy starter call.

HIS TONE IS SOLEMN, but the expression on his features is not as heavy as it could be ; brightened by her presence, & reassured by her support. the night terrors that he gets almost daily have once again woken him, but this time, because she's slept over, they wake her too. she takes the time to sit with him, & he finally meets her gaze minutes after she'd woken. his own is apologetic, & the slight smile he gives is more akin to a grimace, but he's trying his best. ❝ thank you for being here with me, ❞ bucky says, but doesn't yet trust himself to reach for her hand, much as he wants to. he doesn't want to push things, when it all still seems so delicate between them. ❝ i usually need a midnight snack after that. d'you care for one too ? ❞ he asks as he moves to rise to feet.

[wildcstwinter]

closed starter: @faiirytalcs !! location: pacifica's place

dipper felt like he couldn't breathe, and he wasn't sure if it was from the cold air he had been deeply inhaling during the walk here or the fact he was definitely on the brink of having some kind of meltdown. he didn't know where he was going when he had first stepped outside, but his feet had taken him across town to where pacifica lived and... now that he was here, he couldn't will himself to walk away. it was the middle of the night, he was sure she was sleeping, but that hadn't stopped him from knocking on the door anyways. he needed to see her, he couldn't do another night of this by himself. dipper had tried to keep her out of this, but with nightmares involving her every single night, he had to see her — to make sure she was okay. ❛ can i stay here ?? ❜ dipper asked, almost begged, the moment the door was open — emotion and anxiety gripping his throat and interweaving into his words as his eyes met pacifica's. he didn't even have it in himself for formalities, but it eased him to see pacifica was alive unlike version of her that existed in his nightmares, tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie and looking more disheveled than normal. ❛ — please ?? ❜

[freezingwhitefire]

A little peek at part of what I'm working on. This is a nightmare, so if it doesn't quite make sense that's why. I'm not sure what tags might be needed for this so if I forget any feel free to let me know.

The corridor stretched out in front of him, seemingly endless. His heart raced as he ran down it, one hand reached up to feel something around his head. That had to be the gag, he could feel something in his mouth that made his jaw ache. An open doorway passed him and Time glanced inside as he kept going. There was a golden figure with a harp inside, the harp was giving off music which he expected from one so favored by the Goddesses. He kept going though. Time wasn’t sure what he was running from but he knew he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t go back to the room to warn the musician of the danger and he couldn’t do anything to make the wolf lying across the floor ahead move. Nimbly Time hopped over the wolf and kept going. He had to go, to get away. A quick glance back, wanting to make sure the dog got out of the way, and suddenly he was falling. His hands shot out to catch him but chains wrapped around his arms, trapping them to his sides, and a hand around his throat caught him. Time twisted, wanting to get free from the hand, but it held fast. Sharp nails pierced his skin as he was lifted up a little, the chains around him pulling tight with the motion. He tried to kick out but the second he did the world was awash with pain as he hit something electric.

[bridgetxjames]

closed starter for @tylerxday location: Bridget's Apartment

Since the wind storm, Bridget had been having nightmares about it. Not only was Quentin hurt worse in her dream, but she was having them about Tyler and him being hurt worse as well. She kept seeing it over and over and most nights she was able to get the dreams to stop and be something else. Tonight, however, wasn't the case and they kept getting worse. She was tossing and turning on the air mattress before she jumped awake screaming, "Tyler!" Looking around her room, she realized she was out of the nightmare and she laid back against the mattress with a sigh, wiping the sweat off her forehead.