#past emotional abuse

[paingoes]

actually obsessed with restoring dignity in recovery

[honeycollectswhump]

Augusnippets Day 17

day 17: forgiveness/grace/resolving a misunderstanding

CW: implied past emotional abuse / scapegoat

Being on their knees, hunched over like in a prayer, felt almost natural to them. It was, after all, how they had spent most of their childhood, and most of their adult years too. There was always something to apologize for, something that was inherently their fault.

This was worse though. Because this was truly their fault. 

Without success, Whumpee tried to keep themselves from sobbing at the sight of the broken mug in front of them. Even worse was the sight of Caretaker’s unbelieving face, as she looked at the broken remains of her late childhood friend’s last gift.

 “Wh-why did you do this?” she stuttered and it broke Whumpee’s heart even further. Maybe they should worry about losing their only saving grace and being thrown out, but they could only think about Caretaker’s distraught expression and the fact that she was the last person on the entire planet to deserve this.

“I’m sorry!” They choked out, “Please, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to, I promise! I wanted to make you a coffee, and– and you know I get these tremors and– I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse, I know!” 

Finally, they breathed out in defeat as the tears overwhelmed them. “Please punish me as you see fit. I know I deserve it.”

Caretaker knelt down, to better look at the destruction Whumpee caused, they thought. But instead she just gently pushed the shards aside and cradled Whumpee’s face. 

“It’s okay, Whumpee. You’re okay. It was an accident.” There were tears in her eyes too. “I forgive you.”

It felt like a stone was lifted from their heart. For the first time, for the very first time, it was okay. And they would have gladly taken the punishment too. Instead, they felt their pulse speed up with an idea sneaking into their mind.

“C-can I try to– to glue the mug together again?”

Caretaker smiled, giving them a kiss on the forehead.

“I’d like that very much.”

@augusnippets

[snowdice]

Face the Music (Sometimes Labels Shift Series)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton, (background) Patton & Virgil, Logan & Virgil

Characters: 

Main: Patton, Logan

Mentioned: Virgil

Summary: Patton and Logan have a small chat about healing between Wind Symphony and Wind Symphony: The Sequel.

This is a dealing with events set after my story Sometimes Labels Fail.

Notes: Superhero AU (not that it matters), past emotional abuse, references to a nontypical trigger, though said trigger has been dealt with in therapy and is mostly under control though not gone

“You don’t have to go,” Logan said when Patton was halfway through pulling off his shirt. Patton finished pulling off the shirt to squint at him. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, so Logan’s form was blurry, but he was sitting on their bed looking at him.

“I know I don’t have to go,” said Patton. He turned to grab the sleeping shirt he’d set out and pulled it over his head.

“Virgil wouldn’t care,” Logan said. “I would be the more likely candidate to take him shopping for such a thing considering the research I’ve done into the topic anyway. I doubt he has any expectations that you will come.”

Patton frowned as he slipped his glasses back onto his face, turning Logan from a blurry mess of blue into a man wearing a blue t-shirt. “Maybe he wouldn’t,” Patton said, “but you don’t know that.”

“Patton,” Logan said, his brow creased in the way that it did only when he was attempting to do a very difficult math equation or was trying to process emotions on the fly. “You once almost had a panic attack because a musician attempted to hand you a violin.”

“That was years ago,” Patton bristled, “and I’d been having a bad day. The violin was not the problem.”

“Perhaps not,” Logan agreed, “but it was a problem.”

“A music shop is not a house of horrors for me,” Patton said. It was the truth even if it felt just a bit like a lie. What he remembered from the music shop of his childhood, the one he’d have to go to for new music books every time he completed his old ones, was an old man who would freeze Patton in place with his gaze (even when he wasn’t actually doing so with his powers), ancient instruments on the walls that Patton’s young mind had imagined being used in blood rituals, and an overwhelming sense of foreboding. He thought normal music shops probably were not like that.

Logan was still frowning, so Patton crossed to the bed and reached for his face. He kissed him on the nose.

“I want to be there,” he told Logan. “Playing the clarinet is something that Virgil loves, and I want to support him in every way I can. I will not be like my mother and that both means not making him play an instrument if he doesn’t want to and encouraging him to do so if he does want to.”

It was easier said than done. If Patton had ever gotten joy from playing a violin, he did not remember it. Thoughts of playing a musical instrument filled him with an uncomfortable squirming sensation even after all of these years. It was a knee-jerk reaction to not want Virgil to experience the same thing, but he was not his knee-jerk reactions. He’d been very careful to keep his instinctual thoughts to himself (and occasionally to Logan when it felt unhealthy to keep them bottled up).

Virgil liked playing music. It made him happy. Sometimes Patton had to remind himself of that in order to react appropriately, but that was okay. It was a little more effort in an area most people wouldn’t even have to think about, but it was worth it.

“He does want to,” Patton continued, “so even if that desire isn’t something I will ever be able to relate to, I still need to show up.”

The face between Patton’s hands still seemed unsure. “This is just a small thing,” Logan said. “We already know you’ll be going to all of his performances. You can show up for him without going on this specific outing.”

“Life is made up of small things,” Patton said, shaking his head, “and it’s also short. I am a 56-year-old man. I refuse to live my life in fear of a string instrument. Anymore.”

“Still,” Logan said, reaching up to cup Patton’s hand still on his cheek.

Patton just rolled his eyes fondly. “I appreciate the concern,” he said, “but I’m going.”

Logan opened his mouth to speak.

“No more talking,” Patton said, using his hands to gently push Logan back onto the bed. He leaned most of his weight on him, though his toes still touched the floor. “Just cuddles.”

Logan hesitated, but then gave in. “Very well,” he agreed and then paused a moment. “Could we perhaps cuddle in a more reasonable position?”

“No,” said Patton, tucking his head into Logan’s chest with a smile. Logan sighed under him and reached up to pat his hair.

Patton knew he’d be able to face any music store as long as Logan was with him.

“Face the music,” Patton whispered with a giggle. Logan groaned.

Want to read more? Click below!

Labeled Master Post.

My Masterpost.

[furiousgoldfish]

A common struggle of cptsd is having what we think are 'exaggerated reactions', or 'overreactions' to things; we believe that we should be able to stay calm, collected, peaceful, pleasant and well behaved in any situations. Our common responses of intense anxiety, anger, panic, shock, pain and grief, at situations that other people are able to respond to with minimal emotion, are a source of shame for us. We feel like we don't have it under control enough, we feel like a failure for not being able to stay collected, for having these big embarassing spill of emotions that sometimes stop us from functioning completely.

It feels like it's us who is wrong, if other people are able to have 'rational' and 'appropriate' responses to things, and we don't, it has to be an 'us' problem.

But then we sometimes see people reacting in an unsual or intense way to various things, and we think nothing of it, right? If someone responds with intense laughter or tears or panic at something that might not seem that big of a deal, we don't immediately think it's innapropriate or shameful. We consider that everyone is different, and reacts to things differently. And maybe that person had something happen to them that would cause a reaction like this, maybe they have a specific reason for how they react. And in most cases, we find it normal to accept their reaction and comfort them if necessary.

Sometimes we'll even rationalize or tolerate actually harmful reactions, like people reacting with rage or violence to issues that don't require that kind of response. We take their aggression as just a great intensity of wanting something to go their way, and we dare not criticize or shame it, we understand in that case, that people can't help wanting something, and that it's natural for them to fight for it.

So why is it so shameful and mortifying for us to have reactions of panic and pain, which essentially, are not harming anyone? Because we've been shamed for reacting in any way that inconveniences anyone, and we're used to comparing ourselves to what we believe are 'normal' people, and judging ourselves harshly if we come out short.

I don't think I've felt ashamed or mortified for any reaction I had to anything, until I was getting shamed and punished for it. People in general, don't question their reaction because they have no reason to, they trust their own judgment and their own emotions, if they naturally react badly to something, it's a bad thing, and thats that. But we are often punished and made to question our own reactions, often to cover up the abuse we reacted to. We were made to develop a deep sense of shame for having a bad reaction to abuse, so that another person might abuse us all they wanted, and we would only be able to look down, feel bad, and blame ourselves.

I want to argue that our reactions are appropriate and rational, considering what happened to us. Let's take a simple example: if a dog bites a person, and that person becomes infected, or very ill, or close to death as a consequence of it, this person will naturally become scared of dogs, right? And nobody will judge them or consider their bad reaction to dogs innapropriate. If something almost kills you, you will react badly do it. It's an appropriate reaction considering what had happened.

In that same way, if we suffered continual abuse, that constantly reminded us that we're worthless, incapable of anything, unable to live on our own, cannot be loved, cannot be redeemed, intrinsically evil, and this abuse brought on struggles with anxiety, depression, cptsd, suicidal feelings, it cost us years of our life that we spent in pain and shame, then yes, everything that reminds us of that abuse, everything that causes an emotional flashback or that same feeling of shame, will have an extreme reaction! It would be unnatural if it didn't.

And today's world is filled with disapproval, judgment, shaming, and even vitriol that is used to control others. Even gaslighting is starting to become common. Every dirty look, change of tone in someone's voice, burst of anger, pointing out our flaws, lashing out on us, showing less than perfect satisfaction, all of that is likely to be triggering to a person who's been trough abuse. We would not have been sensitive to it, if it hadn't almost killed us. Our reactions are appropriate, considering what had happened to us.

Even if the rest of the world is hell bent on judging you for having extreme reactions, you don't have to judge yourself. You know that your reactions are there because of what happened to you, because you need to be protected from this. You're not over-reacting, you're reacting in the only way anyone in your circumstances would. If people fail to see or understand the circumstance, that's their problem. You are not here to carry the shame of the world's ignorance.

[bitchapalooza]

I relate to Sanji too much because it really does seem like he’s adopted the mentality that physical and mental abuse is a form of significant affection but only directed towards himself, like he sees it’s wrong and unjust when other people are being abused, but when he’s the victim he feels this conflicted sense of I deserve it and Wow they love me so much! It’s heartbreaking just to think about tbh

[citricacidprince]

Thinking about Psychonauts and how much I love the Aquato family once again

They mean the world to me your honor

[aalghul]

I don’t think it makes sense to assume that Jason was mocking Mia’s past. At all. The thing that got jason painted as violent back in the 80s was his anger against rapists…how does that turn into mocking a victim? and that entire story was written by winick. Do we honestly think winick intended to communicate that? The same writer who made Jason’s first kill a man who was trafficking children? Who had Jason pause in his mission of madness to make sure those kids were found by the right people so they wouldn’t be in further danger?

[aftgficrec]

Hi! Thanks so much for doing this i have wanting to catch you open for so long!! How are you? I hope you have a good day!

I was wondering if there were any fics focused on neil and mary/neil and Nathan? Like his emotions, thoughts, etc, and the things he went through bcs of them/how they still affect him even now? Thank you so much in advance!

Our poor traumatized Neil! Yes, there is much to explore on this topic. -A

most previous asks lead to more recs:

angsty bad days for Neil here

Neil with ptsd here

more Neil with DID here

Neil cries, comforted by Andrew/foxes here

Neil says ‘it’s fine I’ve had worse’ here

Neil’s scars 2 here

scars and healing here

Neil goes to therapy here 

Neil attempts suicide here

‘You're Wonderful’ here

‘Hold My Hand?,’ ‘I'll Still Solve You,’ and ‘Fear (but not of you)’ here

‘The Books of Baltimore’ series: ‘Ghost of You’ here, ‘Run to You’ here

‘the upswing’ (completed), ‘please (don't bite),’ ‘Will you love me for who I am…’ ‘To be safe,’ ‘Safe with him,’ and ‘i called your name ‘til the fever broke’ here 

‘my friends and I…,’ ‘Pasts Intertwined,’ ‘My Stomach is a Wasteland,’ ‘side effects may vary’ ‘Bad Apple,’ and ‘You Are So Much More Than Your Father's Son’ here 

‘Medicated rabbits don't run as fast’ here

‘Broken Symmetries’ and ‘No More Fucks To Give’ (updated) here

‘24 Floors’ here

‘A Quiet Little Seedling,’ ‘If I Knew You,’ and ‘Step By Step’ here

‘slow down (you crazy child),’ ‘Make a Home’ (updated), and ‘make me a promise’ here

‘Dreamed in red’ here

‘...Just Us, and Y(our) Friend Kevin’ here 

‘Nothing Mattered Until You’ here (jeanneil)

amputation or permanent leg damage:

Neil's legs (the fucked up edition) here and here

Neil dies/amputations in Baltimore here

‘La jetée n'est plus loin’ here

‘I’m More Than This Body of Mine’ here (completed)

‘Next to You’ here

‘Rare pair hell series’ part 9 here

‘Live for you / Stay for me’ here 

‘“I pick up daddies at the playground.”’ here

‘lie to me (for i do not wish to live the truth)’ here

‘White Hands’ and ‘If Neil, Then Fox’ here

‘(don’t fear) the reaper’ here

‘Under the kitchen lights…’ here

‘Point Nemo’ here

‘Lifelines’ here

‘does the dog die at the end’ here

you may also like:

Neil runs after joining the foxes 2 here

andreil on the run from the mafia here

soulmates who feel each other's pain here

Mary/Nathan's people come back here

Mary tries to take Neil from the foxes here

Neil kills Nathan here

tell me where i came from, what i will always be by geeseproblems [Rated G, 317 Words, Complete, 2021]

She lives in his body like no other.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: canonical character death

Down with Something by pawnofkings [Rated T, 3051 Words, Complete, 2021]

Neil is sick, and he does his best to keep anyone from finding that out. He collapses in the middle of practice.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

you asked for this by Anonymous [Rated M, 790 Words, Complete, 2022, Locked]

Neil Josten and guilt

tw: implied major character death, tw: child abuse, tw: emotional abuse, tw: blood, tw: negative self talk

A reflection or a lie by ShadowDolphin [Rated G, 839 Words, Complete, 2022]

Sixteen year old Neil Josten has an identity crisis cuz depersonalization is a wonderful thing that exists and he doesn't feel real

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

i know you'll take me with you by lil_macaroon [Rated T, 6129 Words, Complete, AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2023]

Neil has feelings that make him want to run. The only thing that keeps him at Palmetto State, hell, what keeps him in South Carolina, is the promise he made when Andrew asked him to stay three years ago. Unable to run, it all keeps building within him until one day, Andrew puts him in the car, and they go.

keep your head above the water (I can’t) by drewdrop44 [Rated T, 1156 Words, Complete, 2022]

The feeling of water moving over his head, swallowing him whole. Neil woke with a scream trapped in his mouth.

tw: drowning, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: violence, tw: nightmares 

It's a punch and a kiss, I'm trying to remember by beckdarkthrone [Not Rated, 18604 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2024]

He has a hold on himself as Neil, as Abram, as Nathaniel.. Until he doesn't.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: dissociative disorder, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: internalized homphobia

NB: this author has a podcast with aftg-centric episodes; check out ‘So You Think You Like’ on spotify.

We're all Monsters Here by serene_chaos [Not Rated, 892 Words, Complete, 2022]

"I am part of the slaughter house. I feel that makes me more of a monster than you.” “Don’t look at me to absolve you.” Andrew flicks his cigarette towards Neil. Sparks landing inches from Neil’s hand. OR Neil doesn't think Andrew is a monster, but thinks he might be.

tw: childhood trauma, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture

Who Am I to You? by serene_chaos [Rated M, 91907 Words, Incomplete, Updated April 2024]

Neil Josten was born with violence in his blood and raised as a weapon to hide in plain sight. And then he finds himself surrounded by foxes and his usual survival tactics ruined by a five foot goalie. The whole mobster mafia problem isn’t helping either. -- Cue a Neil who cares a little less, a past raven, and potentially a little something more to live for.

tw: attempted rape, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: murder, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: attempted nonconsensual drug use, tw: panic attacks, tw: flashbacks, tw: homophobia, tw: alcohol abuse/alcoholism, tw: animal abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm 

you will always be my favorite form of loving by something_boring [Rated T, 15831 Words, Complete, 2024]

5 times the Foxes tried to take care of Neil and 1 time they didn't have to.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: panic attacks, tw: nightmares, tw: alcohol abuse, tw: blood, tw: vomit, tw: violence, tw: bullying

pain our brain has made by pipedreamaddy [Rated M, 16052 Words, Incomplete, Updated July 2024]

Neil and his discovery that he has trauma-induced migraines because we all know how he neglects his health. Between everything else going on with him, a migraine seemed very minor to him. But now that he is in a healthy, safe, and loving environment where he is thriving, he can take care of himself—theoretically speaking, at least. Or the fic where Neil finally gets the healing that he needs.

tw: needles, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: childhood trauma, tw: implied/referenced torture,  tw: flashbacks, tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced murder

Keep Your Head Down and Don't Look Back by Capheira [Rated G, 775 Words, Complete, 2024]

Neil has spent most of his life running from his past but perhaps this time he was a little too efficient.

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

Scars Like Stars by Kory_Rory [Rated T, 3429 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2024]

Neil deals with his trauma by biting himself while being completely oblivious to the harm he's putting himself through. But it's okay cause the foxes are there to help him :)

tw: self harm, tw: body dysmorphia, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: negative self talk, tw: flashbacks 

I’m not used to all this water, love (it’s true) by niicowo [Rated T, 1415 Words, Complete, 2024]

Neil never thought anyone could ever love him. His parents never made him feel loved. But then again, what did he know about love? Nothing, he guessed. But one thing he did know was that Andrew loved him. And he just may love him too.

tw: past suicidal ideation, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Razor’s Edge by godless_writer [Rated T, 2178 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil Josten, a caring, shit-talking, striker for the Palmetto State Foxes. Nathaniel Wesninski, a runner, and the son of The Butcher of Baltimore. When Neil thinks that Andrew is in danger after he walks into Kevin and Andrew fighting, his world turns red and those lines become blurred.

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: dissociation

Don't let me be by Cutie_Wan [Not Rated, 1983 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil suffers a major dissociation episode in front of the Foxes.

tw: dissociation, tw: self harm, tw: violence

grin and bear it by wlwmlmsolidarity [Rated G, 1221 Words, Complete, 2024]

neil has chronic pain due to lola and tries to just ignore it and push through on a bad pain day, andrew forcefully makes him relax and accept help

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: chronic pain

NB: includes fanart by @clementinecloudz

scream and yell but i feel speechless by DepressedTerrestrial [Not Rated, 6770 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil had some unnecessary surgery done when he was younger. No one (including Neil) knows how to handle this except for Andrew (kind of).

tw: past medical abuse, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture

Isn't he the monster by DarkD [Not Rated, 16033 Words, Complete, 2021]

On a day when Neil "wakes up" in a particularly bad mood, hearing anyone being cruel to Andrew becomes unbearable to the point that he is on the verge of an explosion.

tw: violence, tw: blood, tw: self harm, tw: dissociation, tw: panic attacks, tw: child abuse

Art

Day 19: bullet and Day 4: stitches art by @thefluffiestbird

Nathan was known for his extravagant parties and incredible entertainment art by @mac-monsters; twitter

Neil & Mary on the run edit by @romanovass

These ouches feel a little rough for a child on the run. comic by @softerstorms

“Don’t you dare be more afraid of me than you are of Andrew” art by @rainbowd00dles 

There’s nowhere to run art by @/tryashaa on instagram

“I’m fine” - *literally dying* art by @/koldangrey_art on instagram

[baldurs-gate-official]

Thinking about Astarion and trauma again (shocking)

He really is the first character I've seen that depicts PTSD/C-PTSD the way he does. He's angry. He's collecting the pieces of himself he had to chip away over the years and figuring out how to fit them back together again, and it's hard.

I rarely see good PTSD rep in media (and C-PTSD is even less depicted/understood). And when I do, it's always the soft pitiable side of it. The side of it that's more palatable and easy to accept. But the reality is that the trauma that stems from such abuse can be vicious, and messy. It can lash out and push people away. Bring out the worst in you, at times. It can be so, so angry.

I love that we see that in Astarion. Both because it's good representation, and because I'm a survivor too. I'm angry. I'm upset. I want to kick and scream about it, but I can't. I feel like I must always remain in control, or that displaying those feelings will only hurt those around me and push them away. I don't want that. I don't want to hurt others or be alone.

Seeing Astarion do those things, being angry and messy over it all... It makes me so happy. He says things to Cazador I wish I could say to my own abusers, with no regard to how others perceive it. He doesn't hold back. And I get to see a character with a very similar kind of trauma do/say the things I only dream about, and not be abandoned for it. He's given the chance to heal and grow as a person, and feel loved. He gets to have a happy ending.

And he gets to be mad. And that's ok.

[paingoes]

Rubies - Trial III

the prosecution makes its argument

(Content: living weapon whumpee, past trauma, referenced child abuse, referenced caning, past emotional abuse, war, guilt, parental death mention, child death mention, emotional whump, crying, angst, comfort)

In the Emperor’s quarters, the dead far outnumbered the living. Delta knelt upon the bearskin run and ran his fingers through its thick white fur. He wanted to reach for the mouth of it, to feel the teeth, but he dared not move without permission. The fresh cane marks along his calves made sure of that.

“Here, boy.”

The Emperor had taken to calling him boy, which he found strange and overfamiliar. To his handlers, he had always been One-Oh-Seven. More and more, it has simply been Delta. There was no need for numeration when there were no others.

He rose up off of the carpet, taking silent steps until he stood in front of the weary form of the old man. 

The doctor was nowhere to be seen. For this, he was grateful.

A hand heavy with time and with rings pressed against his forehead. Did he look sick? He didn’t mean to. The Emperor would find no fever there, at any rate. Delta ran cold.

“Are the stars all in alignment tonight, poppet?” He withdrew his hand. “Will today be a good day?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

There was no gap in between their words. There was no hesitation. He would be punished for lying just as quickly as for failing, so he was careful not to lie. Of course today would be a good day. 

Delta was excellent.

But the Emperor still searched him. It was not illness he had sensed. 

“Is everything alright?”

The concern in his voice only made the sting worse. Delta looked down in shame.

It was sullenness. That was all. He was cold all over, soaked with shame. It was bad, he knew. He was supposed to take all punishment without complaint, but Delta so seldom needed correction. It hurt all the more when it did come. He couldn’t get the chill of it to leave him. He’d been torn into. 

Unfit, the doctor had said. Unworthy of the privilege. Disgraceful.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Delta responded, the shame of it deepening. He hadn’t meant to sulk about it. He was only proving their point.

There was nothing wrong with his ability to perform, which is all the Emperor had really been asking. A little emotional hurt had never impacted his powers before — thank god for that. Today would be no exception.

With that, the Emperor rose up. Delta followed a half-step behind him. He was getting on in age. It was never hard to keep up.

They walked all the way past the war room, out onto the deck of the ship. The air was thin in the upper atmosphere, but it was getting more bearable upon the descent. There were a collection of advisors and generals gathered about by the railing. Delta kept his head bowed respectfully, careful not to look them dead on. With the Emperor there, he knew they wouldn’t dare touch him. But it was a deeply ingrained habit and one he saw no reason to break.

There was a pressure at his shoulder. It was meant to be reassuring, but it only scared him worse. He could see the target below. Its perimeter was painted in a pale orange color.

They wanted showy this time.

Space was made around him as they clicked the collar off of his neck. He closed his eyes. The light was painful. All the hearts beating so close were distracting. 

Disgraceful. He felt the sting of fear in his chest and prickling at his eyes. It was going to hurt. He was getting frigid in a way he hadn’t before. He didn’t want to be hurt.

He zeroed in on the target anyway, visualizing its delimitation among the pale. He wished they’d given him something to hold onto. All he had now were his own hands and his nails cutting indents into the palms. Showy. The world snapped as the target was turned to dust.

The collar clicked back on. Blood was already pooling in his throat and in his sinuses. The migraine aura descended. He swayed, but not fall. The Emperor’s hand steadied him there. It moved calming circles into his back. He heard the applause, but to him it sounded miles away.

“Incredible.” The Emperor had whispered into his ear. “You were wonderful.”

And like that, he was glowing. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t supposed to feel a thing, but the warmth of the praise made itself at home in him. It was the only time he let himself feel anything close to pride — and he could have lived in its light. It was almost worth it. He felt sick enough to die and it was almost worth it.

~~~~~~

Silas placed the blank sheet of paper down onto the desk and slid it towards him. His expression was grim.

“I want you to write down every target you can remember hitting. Names and dates. It doesn’t have to be exact.”

The room was small and dark, not much bigger than a broom closet. Maryam sat beside him at the table. He had a legal right to keep her there — and thought he had not asked her to, she volunteered to accompany him. 

Delta rocked his leg a little as he felt at the rough graphite of the pencil.

He took the order for what it was. He had a good sense for it. There were some things he struggled to remember, but in general, his memory was better than most. He had been allowed no distractions. He’d had no choice but to focus in.

He started with the earlier days of his imperial career — the battleship he’d crushed on the water, the first show of strength before the purchase was made. And then there was all that came after. He was never told until the day of what he would be after, but he remembered them all the same.

Marisol

Pyrha

Holliday

Basalt

Clover

Killian

Versus

He wrote mechanically, appending the dates as best as he could. He’d already made up this list in his mind several times. He’d have offered it to Levon if things had gone differently, but as it stood, he’d never been given the chance.

Regina

Ursa

Deidra

Anatol

Timber

Jocobe

Weissan

He soon ran out of space on the page. He write in a smaller script around the margins.

“That’s enough,” Maryam said, eyeing the prosecutor nervously. Delta kept writing.

“You can stop now,” Silas agreed, reaching to take the paper back.

“I’m not done,” Delta snapped. 

He recoiled just as soon as he’d said it. He didn’t know where he’d gotten the nerve to speak like that, to talk back at all, and especially not to them. He dropped the pencil and drew back into the chair, fully expecting to get smacked in the mouth, bare minimum. 

The hit didn’t come. Silas took the paper and examined it without much reaction. It was a long list — and that was only with the Emperor. He hadn’t even gotten to Paris yet.

“Can I ask you something? For my own curiosity?” Silas said.

Delta looked up at him.

“About how far away from the target are you when activated?”

“…A mile, sir.” Delta tapped at the chair.

He nodded. “What’s the closest you’ve ever been to someone you’ve killed?”

He heard Maryam scoff beside him, but he thought it was a fair question, if an abrupt one. He had to think about it for a second. As the answer came to him, he felt the shock of ocean water, stealing just as much breath from him as it had the first time.

He held his hands up to demonstrate, having no other way to quantify the distance. Right up against his body. He’d garroted him, wrapped the chains around his neck and held him there. The water had done the rest. He hadn’t even used his powers.

“Daniel Martino,” he answered quietly, “The same night I got picked up.”

It was his most recent kill  — and if Levon’s word was anything to believe in, it would be the last. 

He hadn’t told anyone about it until now.

“Your handler?” Silas asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Silas and Maryam exchanged a look he could not read.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t fault you for that.” Silas folded the paper into his pocket.

The clemency caught him off guard. Delta looked down, embarrassed all the same.

~

The shades were drawn in the conference room. It was a stormy day outside — Delta could imagine how the static might’ve felt on his skin had he been out there. For now, all he could do was imagine it.

“Delta,” the prosecutor drew his attention back, “I asked you a question.”

Silas was sharper with him when there was a crowd. He was familiar with this tactic. It didn’t register to him as a surprise, only as a kind of dull pain.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Delta said weakly, but sincerely. “…Could you repeat it, please?”

He usually would not have been bold enough to make requests, but then he usually wouldn’t have zoned out in the first place.

“Were the accounts of lateral violence within the Institute true?” He asked, then clarified: “Were the students there encouraged to hurt one another?” 

“Yes, sir.” Delta closed his eyes. He did not need to guess the next question.

“Did you ever use your powers to injure the other students?”

Not because he wanted to. He didn’t know if he was allowed to answer with that. It had been a yes-or-no question — and his handlers had gotten mad whenever he tried to explain himself around it. He didn’t know if the same rules would apply here.

“Yes, sir.”

He caught the concerned looks of the others at the conference table. The council members had shown him no scorn so far, in spite of everything. He dreaded losing it. But in his mind, it was an inevitability. He couldn’t make himself look back.

“Did you ever kill any of them?”

It wasn’t the same as injuring. The administration had loved to use him as a threat long before he was in the imperial service. He’d always be the first they brought out they sent to scare the others into submission. After the first few times — cracked ribs, broken arms, and painful shocks — any actual violence wasn’t needed. The threat alone was enough.

That wasn’t the same as killing. While the punishment had been painful, the kills were quick. Those were for safety alone. Nobody ever died as a punishment. They died because they were about to kill everyone else.

It’d been a yes-or-no question. The answer was yes, obviously.

“Yes, sir.” 

He kept his eyes down. Kitty shifted a bit to his left. He didn’t want to see the way her face changed when she found out.

Silas ended his line of questioning. The lights dimmed further as the video began to play.

PYRHA 08

SOL 07

The caption showed against the grainy white backdrop. He could see the town in his mind before it was shown on the screen. It was before the disaster. Jade was pushed up into the edges of the home. All their streets were still cobblestone. From above, as he had seen it, the town looked to be built into a crescent moon shape. The blue tops of buildings stood out against the pale sand.

“…There was this burning, endless light…”

The voiceover played over still frames of the cloud. The images clipped together in animation. He saw the tip of the airship approaching the edge of the sky.

Whoever had produced the documentary had no knowledge of the cause. How could they? It was a superweapon, they were sure, but how could they have known what? 

All they could do was to quantify it. The ground temperature had reached the same peak as the sun. The duration lasted ten to fifteen seconds — 12.945 seconds, Delta corrected in his mind. There’d been no warning. 2,031 people had died. About five hundred families.

The focus was the math — and more than that, the footage. Few of his attacks had ever been so well documented. But almost as an aside, they had spoken to some of the eye witnesses.

A girl with chestnut brown hair smiled sadly into the camera as she held up the picture. The image quality changed again as a video from inside her house began to play. He could not tell if she was the infant or the child holding onto it inside the cedar living room. The camera shifted angles to capture their mother grinning on the couch, clapping along to the silent song. 

There was some primordial ache in him that would not sleep. It’d always burned too hot. After the first few times, he’d learned not to touch it.

He felt it burning now, pressed up against his skin with no escape.

“And my friends always made fun of me for being such a townie, because I had to ride the bus two hours just to get to school,” the girl chirped softly, “And I remember that morning, my mom telling me not to stay too long after classes. She wanted me to come straight home that day because-“

Her voice broke. 

“Because we were going to go out as a family.”

The clip cut away to the moment the sky tore open.

Delta stood up before he knew what he was doing. He stumbled blindly away from the table, pushing out into the hall.

He’d taken her parents from her. Ripped her away from them, the same way he’d been ripped away from his own. The loss cut through him sharper than he could ever remember. 

He was crying. He couldn’t stop it. The sorrow and fear enveloped him in equal measures. He’d walked out. He hadn’t been dismissed, he’d never walked out like that in all his life. But he couldn’t stand to hear anymore. He didn’t want them to see him cry.

He wanted his mom. It was silly. He didn’t even know what she looked like. She clearly hadn’t wanted him.

“Delta?” Levon called after him. He stopped dead. He was recall trained — he wouldn’t dare move farther. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn around. He didn’t think he could.

He sank to the floor instead. He tried to hide his tears, but his body shook from the effort. He was still good about being quiet when he was hurt. He was trying very hard to be good about it.

A soft sob escaped him anyway. Levon bent down onto the floor beside him.

“That was too far. I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.” Levon placed one hand lightly onto his shoulderblade. His thumb worked over the knots that had formed there, so bound up and painful.

“I’m sorry,” Delta said. It was always the first thing to come out of his mouth these days, no matter how much they tried to correct it. 

He remembered how young he was at the time. He remembered how proud he’d been.

“I didn’t know,” Delta said through tears, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I know, baby,” Levon’s voice got quiet. It didn’t echo. No one else could have heard. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Then, even quieter, the admission: “It’s not your fault.”

Delta sobbed into his sleeve, leaning over so that his face almost touched the ground. He wished he could stop it. It was taking everything out of him.

He felt a gentle tug at his sleeve. It was an invitation. He accepted it before he could stop himself, too desperate for any semblance of comfort. Levon pulled him into the hug. His cries grew muffled as he hid his face in the fabric of the shirt.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” Levon said, the pain audible in his voice. He carded his hands through the boy’s hair, doing all he could to soothe him.

“I didn’t mean to,” came the soft whine in response.

~~~

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 @dietofwormsofficial @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter

[honeycollectswhump]

i found this prompt in my notes from over a year ago and holy shit it’s a banger (if i do say so myself)

whumpee was abused before and had their trust broken. now they have difficulties trusting that caretakers love was truly unconditional. they were afraid a slip up would cause caretaker to turn on them and hurt them. in their despair they decide to test caretaker: whumpee would hurt them and if caretaker didn’t punish them for it then they would trust them.

so whumpee does just that. maybe they slap caretaker, or grab them way too hard.

caretaker has has bad experiences with violence before but doesn’t punish whumpee for their actions.

now their relationship is changed in 2 ways: whumpee finally puts all their trust i caretaker and almost doesn’t leave their side. caretaker on the other hand is now afraid of whumpee and can’t bring themselves to trust them again. they approach whumpee with caution instead of softness.

what does whumpee do when they realize the consequences of their actions? can they repair what they broke?

[lostmf]

I wish I could meet you in the street

Maybe one of us will be lost and would stop the other to ask for directions

We will share a laugh on how we are the worst people to ask for directions

You would feel comfortable enough to have coffee with me

I would remind you of your daughter that looks like me

Maybe you would say some kind words about her

Maybe you would ask me for advice on being a better mother

Maybe if I met you as a woman and not a mother we would like each other

I pray that you never know how much you hurt me

I hope you never realize how you tortured and broke me every day

It would kill you mother

I hope you never know

[prolibytherium]

I don't care about ""romance"" or """hurt and comfort""" where issues are (temporarily or otherwise) resolved via effusive declarations of love and devotion and praise I want to read more fucked up people fumbling their way through their best approximations of intimacy and human vulnerability like "What are you doing. Oh ew wtf are you crying? Are you good? Don't get snot on my shirt" etc but no one understand smy visions

[jokerislandgirl32]

✍️ + Zach Varmitech + "For you? Anything."

Something sweet for him and you!

M0th, *sobbing*, M0th, *sobbing*, I finally did it, after 2 years I finally wrote this prompt!  In response to this post.

The fic is called…..For you, Anything. Very original, right?

I’m back with this one shot that is actually a piece from my larger Wild Kratts Professor AU. Info on the AU can be found in the post below! Our by searching for this tag: #college professor wv au. The story is much larger, and I hope to post the entire story at some point, but for now I’ll give you this! 

Summary

In an alternate universe where all the Wild Kratts characters are college professors, Zach Varmitech is a grumpy Chemistry professor. He spends his days teaching lackluster students and enduring the antics of the Kratt Brothers whose offices he’s sandwiched between. To make matters worse he’s acquired a teacher’s pet who just won’t leave him alone. Violet Tyler is a kind and intelligent student who follows him around like a lost puppy. Zach tries to ignore his growing feelings for her, but one chance event changes everything... 

Warnings

The warnings to note for this piece are mild to explicit language, Professor x student relationship (both of legal age), kissing, referenced inappropriate thoughts. The big warning is abuse/implied abuse, and references to past abuse/toxic relationship. Namely verbal abuse and mental abuse are described, with physical abuse implied. The scene itself is not graphic, no one is physically harmed, but it is present, so be warned. 

Story Links

Selfship Taglist Below Cut!

@sound-traveller

@crunch-crunch-eat-a-bunch

@superherokisser

@bitchywitchheart

@3qu1us-main

@fomybeloved

@alastorswifee

@skyliv

@creativegenius22

@genderqueer-bithing

@repony1234

@mailiow

@celestetheseaunicorn

@barnesncavill

@mayixxxmoon

@gui-mauves

@evander2511

@bat-anon

@bejeweled-wahlberg

@mouschirambles

@espresso-ships

Let me know if you want to be added/removed!

[cookies-and-mirrors]

Prison of Stone and Flesh

Chapter Twenty Four

This is a collaborative fic between @cookiesupplier, @faceless-mirror & @comforting-madness

Dividers by @samspenandsword @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics

Authors Note: Trigger warning for past transphobia and abuse. While they are in the past they can still be triggering so please be very careful.

Pairings: Multi-Pairings, Everybody x Everybody.

Triggerlist: transphobia, homophobia, abuse, SA, dubcon, religious trauma, past suicide attempts, mental health issues, grief, death, violence, (To be added to)

Christopher, Justin, and Ryan are members of the Gargoyle Order, soldiers fighting in the angels war against the demonic supernatural evils of the world to protect human kind. Through the years they lost comrades and now just the three of them remain in their little town.

Now, Ricky and Vinny are moving into their church, stirring up old and new feelings, along with the past, posing the challenge of navigating this new chapter in their lives.

Can they all navigate this path successfully and break free of the prisons that is their lives of both stone and flesh, or will they all be trapped forever in a world that could prove to be a constant misery?

MASTERLIST HERE

Taglist: @miamore0570 @21-century-tae @dragon-chica @shilohrosechicken @comforting-madness

@missduffsblog @witchyweeb34 @spicywhenspeaking @lacktoesandtoddlerants @blackveilomens

@bngurngheart @dominuslunae @collapsedglasshouses @emmmm127 @sunsshinesunny

@latenightmusiclover @dontdiganothergravetoday @high-wire @awkwardalex

(please comment/like/reblog/message to be added to taglist)

Chapter Twenty Four

Chris woke when Vinny’s alarm went off before sunrise, wrapped up around her. It was always set at this time, he knew that, it was when she had to rise so she could be ready to bake for the café. He wasn’t about to complain, not at all, he was happy to get up with her, wanting to help her with everything she needed to do, all the prep work, especially after last night. Stretching slowly, groaning softly.

She got up slowly moving stiffly and got dressed in a sundress and her apron, legs still quaking, making her eyes flutter for a moment, whimpering.

Getting dressed and watching her carefully, Chris was worried about how shaky she was today, “Are you sure it wouldn’t be better if you took the day off today? Maybe, at least, well, I know I don’t know how to make the coffees, but if you sit by the machine, you could make them, and I’ll serve people?” Be her legs for the day? He had been the one to do this to her, after all. “I do need to check in on Ryan before we head downstairs, though. I can’t believe he didn’t come get me for patrol.” It had been his- 

“Chris, are you sure? And maybe he just thought we needed some time-”

Just thinking about how it had been his responsibility and the fact that Vinny had reactivated her authenticity rune so freshly last night, had them both activating on their own right then and Chris going tense for a second. His breath slow and deep for a moment as he stilled, he just needed to calm as he handled them clashing against each other, while they weren’t opposing virtues, they did both demand direct focus at times. Usually, virtue runes were passive runes and didn’t need to be active to be handled, they were just a part of who they were at the core of their nature. They were only activated by their choices, and on their weapons, however right at that moment, this, was something else.

“Baby…! GWYNN! RYAN!” She screamed. She knew she didn't need to scream, but… the panic struck her down hard. Moments later, the door burst open to Gwynn leaning on their cane. “What's wrong?” Only for his eyes to land on the two glowing runes.

Ryan and Justin had followed close behind Gwynn at Vinny’s scream, that was not something they were used to hearing, especially at this time of night. Neither gargoyle was used to sleeping at this time of the evening all that much just yet. So, there they were finding themselves flanking Gwynn, just to see Chris shaking his head, breaking himself out of his, almost trance like state to calm himself down. The runes fading back to black on his skin, responsibility on the side of his neck, and authenticity having been glowing through the material of his shirt at the side of his torso on his abs. He glanced between the four of them that were staring at him, “What?”

“Chris…” Gwynn murmured, inching closer. “I need to permanently deactivate Authenticity's rune. You can keep it on you… but not activated.” they promised, moving closer, “then I need to check everyone for runes… I need to fully check you, too, Chris.”

By the angels, Chris huffed, growling low, “I’m fine alright, I’m fine, it’s fine… Why would you need to, check me, anyway? For what purpose?” His arms crossed in front of him defensively, standing at his full height in the room, not something he often did.

“Chris, we don’t know what runes were put on you by Jerahmiel without your knowledge… what if he had something like the agony rune for Ryan… We… we can’t risk it.” Gwynn explained, inching closer, “Please. Just… let me…? Let me do my job?” they murmured to him, “It’s my responsibility to help you… right?”

Frowning at them both, Chris didn’t like it, he didn’t. The idea that Jerahmiel had added more runes to him without him knowing, especially when he had refused to add this rune, no matter how many times he had begged. He had begged, so many times. Huffing when they said that, responsibility, the thought that he was keeping them from that, their responsibility, it tore at him. He took his own responsibilities to heart, and he swallowed deeply, “Fine.” Moving to slip his shirt back over his head. “But I still think I am fine with authenticity.” It felt good.

“I will compromise. I will leave it activated at a quarter of its regular power.” Gwynn offered, bargaining with him as they started to look him over carefully, before noticing a rune, frowning, reaching up to the back of left shoulder blade, “What is this…?” they murmured before deactivating the rune as gently as they could, gasping as it burned them, snatching their hand back swallowing as they stared at the now inactive rune. 

Chris shuddered as the rune was deactivated, a groan escaping him when it felt like the air had been knocked out of him, it had just been swept right out of his lungs. For a moment, he had to stumble forward, grasping at the corner of the footboard of Vinny’s bed, to steady himself with a gasp. Only then for the bed to give one last groan as it had the night before and the whole frame to collapse to the floor.

Shit…

Vinny watched as Chris fell with the bed, and rolled onto his front with a hefty thump. She blinked, once. Twice. Three times. “You’re buying me a new bed frame, you know that, right? One that can hold up to you fucking me like you did last night.” She said calmly, just looking at her mate, who was as collapsed as the bed was. 

Blinking up at Vinny, Chris just stared at her for a long moment after he rolled over with her insistence, Justin, however, was turning from the doorway and went back to Ricky’s room… Chris heard him loud and clear. “We need to get a new bed.” Asshole.

“W… what who died? What was that noise?” Ricky groggily asked, clearly just having woken up. 

“Your best friend’s ass died-”

“W… Vinny’s dead?” “I’m gonna go stop Justin from making Rick think I’m dead.” Vinny sighed, shuffling towards the door.

“Good idea,” Gwynn sighed softly, rubbing their face.

“No! No, no, it was Chris that collapsed, I mean, Vinny is the one that wants the new bed so he can fuck her again so maybe next timmmee-”

“Justin- Just tell Rick I’m not dead! He’s not fully awake.” Vinny shouted.

Gwynn turned to Chris as Vinny shuffled out of the room painfully slow, “Do we have an agreement on the Authenticity rune?” they asked gently, offering him a hand to help him up from the floor.

Justin rolled his eyes, fine, fine, “Vinny is alive, Chris passed out, didn’t you hear me, we need a new bed!” Because if the sex was that good, Justin was going to want to try, when Rick wasn’t pregnant, of course. 

Chris however, took Gwynn’s hand, with a sigh, nodding slightly, “Yeah, I can agree to that, what, what the heck was that rune, though? I felt like I couldn’t breathe.” When he finally stood up, everything felt clearer for the first moment, in an exceptionally long time. The weight that had been pressing down on his body, his chest, one he hadn’t even been aware was there, had been lifted.

Gwynn sighed softly and touched the Authenticity rune, dulling it down to a quarter of power, “... It was a healing blocker… it was intended to keep you from properly healing when you go into your rejuvenation cycle.” They explained gently, patting his shoulder, “Next time you turn to stone… it should properly heal everything…”

“Healing blocker?” The words fell shocked from his lips without thinking, the next thoughts through his mind was every time he’d been injured over the years, how it had taken progressively longer to heal over time. Namely, the last time. Ryan and Justin had informed him they had there had been a moment that they didn’t think he would make it, even after that first dawn. By the angels, why would anyone even create a rune such as that? Turn to stone… “How do we do that, turn to stone, with the Sunlight Rune?” He had noticed, since they’d gotten that rune, the mortal sleep wasn’t quite the same as their rejuvenation cycle. It was nice, relaxing, but not the same.

“Not every angel is kind…” Gwynn reminded him as they gently touched his arm.

“To turn to full stone, all you need is to focus on healing. Complete focus on introspection and the rune will give you a full rejuvenation cycle.” Gwynn explained with a soft smile.

Pausing, he considered it, not that he tried it immediately, considering how Gwynn said it, a full rejuvenation cycle, it would mean being stone for a full day. After last night, he did not want to leave Vinny alone, she would likely struggle today. Tomorrow, he’d try tomorrow and see what would happen. “Well, that will be interesting, you should check Justin and Ryan too, their healing has been just as strained as mine, I’m sure they have the tainted rune as well.”

“I’m sure they do… I will be checking them. But that should better now.” They murmured, patting his shoulder, “Ryan? Can… we talk…? Please.”

Ryan had turned to go, with Justin back talking to Ricky, Gwynn and Vinny distracted with Chris, it had seemed like the perfect time for him to slip away again. He was reeling from the number of times they’d all almost died because their healing had been so slow, so resistant. Then there were those of the troupe that had died because of the rune that… he had put on them. Swallowing, before he could get too far he heard their voice calling his name and he sighed. 

He had planned to patrol last night on his own, when he realized Chris’ state with Vinny, he wasn’t about to pull Justin away from Ricky after what they’d just discovered, and that they were newly mated. That would just be cruel. As he was suiting up to head out on his own, not that he was supposed to on his own, going out on patrol just in pairs was dangerous enough as it was. It was supposed to be in units when the troupe was larger, three, four was preferable for backup. However, then Gwynn pulled him aside and insisted they go with him, and he wanted to argue, but it was the most sound argument. So, they had patrolled together. 

It had been quiet, uneventful, both on the demonic creature front, and their front. Neither of them speaking much at all outside of the work of the patrol itself. Now he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

“Sure, we can talk.” Not to mention they had to check him for runes, and he, shit, dammit, anyone, he’d rather anyone else witness the state of what he’d become now. Problem was, no one else knew what to look for with the runes, it would seem. Otherwise, they would have found the problems before now already.

Gwynn walked over to him and led him out of the room to a quiet room, settling in. “Ryan… I'm going to remove your runes, but I would prefer for you to be mentally prepared for It…” They murmured, looking up at him. “I would rather not push your boundaries.”

The slap on their cheek…. They could still feel it, and they looked down. I don't want you to hate me.

The issue was: They’d find more than just the healing rune, and the agony rune, that bastard had used runes to do a lot when it came to Ryan. He’d controlled his physical shift, and not just through his beast form. Jerahmiel had controlled all Ryan’s forms. He felt stuck, but knew that boundaries or no boundaries, Gwynn was going to find it anyway. Taking in a deep breath, steeling himself, they were alone, and he stripped off his clothes so Gwynn could inspect his skin. Ryan had to get this over with eventually, so he might as well do it now. Just seeing those runes, it was going to be a play by play of what was done to him, and he hated it, at least on the surface, but what could he possibly do?

Gwynn was shocked he had decided here and now. They couldn't stop it, a hand pressed to their mate’s chest, fingers grazing over his skin. “Ryan…” they whispered, scars… yes… runes… runes that… they found the one they hated most, deactivating them one after another, shaking lightly in anger. “Ryan… I will never ask you, or demand anything of you… I am yours. I always will be… even if you no longer want me as your mate for what I've done… for what other angels have done.” They closed their eyes, hands wandering, removing runes slowly one by one.

Ryan stayed still, staring blankly at the wall while he let them work, feeling the runes coming off one by one, the scars wouldn’t come off, he knew that. No matter what healing could be performed, there were some things that scarred, soul deep, some injuries that he had sustained that could never be removed, and those, no one could see. While Gwynn might be removing those runes that had opened the gates for Jerahmiel, it felt like they might never fully disappear from his soul. He might heal now, but that monster of an angel’s torture had left all its marks on him for good. There was no erasing that.

“It wasn’t what you did, Gwynn.” His voice was rough when he finally managed to speak to them, but he didn’t know what else he could say, it wasn’t, it wasn’t what they did, it was what he had done. What he had endeavoured to seek out, what he had kept going back to Jerahmiel for, time and time again. How could he go back to Gwynn knowing how much he’d destroyed himself, how tainted he’d become. Ryan had attacked his own mate, and they didn’t deserve it, so why in the world would he ever deserve them? Swallowing, as their hands ran over his skin, he did his best to try to block out every inch of skin they touched, searching out the runes, so many runes that Jerahmiel had added… He knew there were so many more than Chris, or Justin. There had always been something new to try. He didn’t like Gwynn seeing a road map to his sessions with that bastard.

It was silent as they worked, slow and steady, thoughtful as they did.

The silence was broken by words Gwynn normally would never utter.

“I want to kill him for what he’s done to you.”

Ryan’s eyes were glazed with tears that he refused to let fall. Swallowing as he just took in slow breaths, Gwynn’s hands still moving over his skin as he tried ever so hard not to think about Jerahmiel, it made him feel disgusting, dirty. He couldn’t. 

“I would kill them all for what they did to you.” It wasn’t just Jerahmiel anymore, Ryan had previously always had an attraction to angels, but oh, that was an interesting dichotomy now. One walked in that door tonight and Ryan couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t have a blade, or his hammer at the ready, waiting to question them before they came near any member of his family… period. As it was, Ryan didn’t move, he didn’t blink, stood so still, just staring at the wall with a sigh.

Gwynn looked up at him, tired, “If you get the chance, baby, do it,” they whispered, pressing their forehead to his chest tears welled up in their eyes, “I…” they winced. “I should have been here.” They whispered, deactivating the last few errant runes, tears in their eyes.

He caught their hand over the final rune, just holding it there for a moment. Nothing really, no more, he, he wouldn’t press for more, but he didn’t want them to let go yet. “You were, you, you were taken, I know that now.” As dead inside as it made him, Ryan, he almost preferred that they weren’t here, that they never had to actually see it, that they never had to come back to him like that. They never had to come back sooner to find him in that state. Even finding him like this was, was… wrong.

Gwynn stepped closer, not pulling away, face pressed into his side, legs shaking, nuzzling his neck and shoulder, tears in his eyes. “I miss you… I'm here now, and you feel so far away…” he whispered, “I fought so hard to get here… I love you… I always will.”

Ryan strangled back the shudder of feeling inside of him, he didn’t know how to handle what he was feeling right now, how any of this felt. He didn’t blame them, for feeling like that, that he was far away, he supposed he was. “I do love you… I just… I don’t know… I can’t be…” He physically shuddered then as he tried to keep himself from falling apart, he, he couldn’t.

“I have to go.”

Turning from the room, he left quickly to get back to the rectory, he needed to be alone, he couldn’t do this, he was unable to handle any of this. Everything lately felt like he’d just splayed himself open, and he didn’t know what to do.

Gwynn stared at where Ryan had stood watching him go with soft eyes, “I’ll wait.” they promised softly, watching the door shut with a soft thump, like closing a book at the end of the night… They supposed they should find Justin and take care of him. Letting the silence settle before biting their lip softly as they made their way out of the small space that suddenly felt too big without Ryan there.

Ryan barely made it back to the rectory before he collapsed in on himself, no, no, no he didn’t, he felt like it, though… He couldn’t breathe… Fuck, he couldn’t even breathe. Shit, shit, shit. What was he going to do?

His hands pulled in and out of fists at his sides, and he wished he were back in the rage room from yesterday because there, he’d be able to hit something. Then he’d be able to strike out and vent the frustration he felt about not being able to lash out at the one person that had done all of this to them this very instant. To put them in this position. Almost killing them time and time again, torturing them physically, emotionally… destroying them like a fucked up poison in their lives… what had been so wrong with them, with him that he’d do that to them? 

Ryan’s hands gripped themselves so tightly, high nails dug into the palms of his hands as he yelled out with pure frustration. Screaming out the rage that he couldn’t keep contained, until there was nothing left but the tears… screaming, and crying as he fell to his knees… That, was when he really did collapse in on himself, the sobs wracking his body. Ryan knew he was fucked up. He knew he was a wreck of a person. Jerahmiel had ripped him apart, twisting him back and forth until there were times he wasn’t even sure who he was when he looked in the mirror anymore.

The man he had become, wasn’t who he had ever wanted to be, but he couldn’t go back, he couldn’t. Going back would feel like letting that monster of an angel get close again, and that would be terrifying. 

There was a soft knock on the door and, sleepily, Ricky stumbled in, bringing a cup of hot coffee. Vinny had used blackberries and blueberries in the grounds today, and the warm smell teased the senses as Ricky brought over one of the cakes from downstairs as well. He handed the cup to Ryan gently after closing the door, and sat down with him. 

There was steady silence as Ricky moved, turning the TV on and pulled up YouTube to play some music, something calming and soothing. Finally, Ricky cut the cake, offering him a slice without a word. It was a rich orange and chocolate cake with orange flavored frosting, along with some chocolate frosting and a layer of fudge. One of Vinny’s best cakes, if anyone asked Ricky. 

“Eat.”

Ryan had barely lifted his eyes at the sound of the knock, only to see Ricky come into the rectory. The gargoyles eyes were wet, blood shot, watching the nephilim as he moved around the space carefully. Swallowing. Swallowing down his pain, his grief, for the moment, letting him do as he will as he just sat there and let him go. Just watching him until he finally told him to eat…

“What, are you doing, Ricky?”

He asked quietly… at the same time… all he could think was…

Thank you.

“I get it… I know… he… He’s a monster… and I know how, looking back, you ask yourself why you kept trying… I get it. This helps when it hits hard. I figure we both need a cake night.” he murmured softly, shoving a bite into his mouth, purring softly, letting the chocolate and citrus wash over his tongue. “It’s one of those nights where I just want to be with someone who understands… and Justin made me mad earlier, after going and telling me Vinny was dead…” he said sighing, “Vinny tried a new fruit combo. Watch out, there might be rose petals in there too, she wasn’t sure if she added too much or little.”

Chuckling at the mention of rose petals, as Ryan chewed and swallowed a bite of the decadent cake, Vinny, as always, made a delicious dessert. Now, as for what Ricky was talking about, that, that was something else entirely. Sighing, he was tempted to just avoid the entire issue, like he had for so long, but Ricky was right, he guessed, talking to someone who understood, at least part of it. The gargoyle shook his head slightly, “it's not just about him though, it’s a lot more than that. It’s about me too, I’m just as, as depraved, just as disgusting.”

Ryan shook his head, looking down at the coffee, letting the sound of the music wash over him. “I kept going back because I felt so empty, and I needed to feel something, and I knew he would make me, even if I hated every second of it. I knew what he was going to make me do, how he would force me to change back into my female form, and I still went to him, every single time. I craved it, I needed something, anything, and I hate myself every day for it.” Gargoyles not being binary in their gender get to choose, and Ryan had chosen to be male, but he was not born that way. Jerahmiel, however, had forced his birth gender down his throat every chance he got. Sitting here, knowing Ricky bore scars because his father had punished him during his childhood in horrible ways, was no better than what he’d done to him.

“You're like me… huh?” He asked softly, taking another bite. “Well… way I see it. We're both away from him now… and we know better. You kept going back because you thought it was your only choice. You can't blame yourself for that. You can feel those feelings, but you need to remember that you were being abused… gaslit… all of it… I’m here to listen.” Ricky said softly and calmly, offering him a nod of support, “When you’re grieving and lonely for that touch again… you tend to search it out wherever you can get it. I’ve done it too…”

“Yea, I am.” Yea, he was like Ricky. While one might argue humans and gargoyles were different, that was a narrow-minded view, and Ryan did not prescribe to that mind set, he never would. The only problem Ricky had, was unlike gargoyles, was he couldn’t switch his biological gender at will like Ryan. As it was, Ricky was enjoying something he had fought with Gwynn for, for years before he had lost them… to carry their children. He might not be female, but to carry their children would have been an honor, and he’d spent the last thousand years avoiding the thought of breeding like the plague, especially the thought of Jerahmiel’s child. No offence to Ricky. Now the idea of switching back to his female form to conceive after so much torture at the hands of that man, he just… He shuddered. Now, the only person he’d even consider it for… it was never going to happen, for either of them, and not just because he knew they would not take him.

Listening to Ricky though, Ryan sighed, he did blame himself though, didn’t he, shoving another bite of the cake into his mouth to stop himself from admitting to that. Sighing, it would do no good, he knew it was wrong, he knew… but knowing, and being able to let go were two different things. Admitting all this though, it was a first step to something, wasn’t it? It was the first time he’d said any of it out loud, to anyone. Well, some of this Chris knew, he’d known him before he’d become Ryan, when he had been birthed in his female form.

“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? That we’re the ones depicted as monsters and yet, he is the one who has reprehensibly scarred us.” Mind-boggling really when you thought about it. 

Ricky nodded, “he is the monster… not us… we were his victims…” he said, “he's the reason I don't believe in god.” He sighed softly, gentle as the wing of a dove on his cheek. He leaned his head back as he swallowed another bite of cake.

“I’m sorry.”

“Says the one of us that’s an actual angel, that’s heavy, dude.” Sighing slightly before, he took a sip of his coffee and enjoyed the heat as the blissful feeling filled him. 

“Sorry? Sorry for me being a victim? That's not on you.”

“No. I’m sorry that my sperm donor did it at all. Ryan, you’re an amazing person with a vivid personality and I love that about you… You deserve to know that and love that about yourself. You love whiskey, and scotch, and you love when I offer you new vintages. You know that.” He whispered softly, “I know you love things, and you try not to show it. He took that from you, and I’m sorry he took your ability to share from you.”

Ryan had just slipped the fork from another bite of the fudgy cake from his lips as Ricky spoke, when his eyes were wide on him, his whole body going still. Eyes starting to glisten as they watered. No, Ricky, please stop, he didn’t need to be called out like this, he’d just stopped falling apart, he was just starting to pull himself together again, stop, please. Staring at him, silent, it took him a long moment before he could control himself again, slowly swallowing the bite, choking back a gasp… “Oh, you little shit. If you weren’t pregnant, with one of my best friend’s babies.”

Ricky smirked at him softly, “I was the same way.” he pointed out. “It took a lot of therapy… I was so angry all the time and felt so hollow.” he said softly, “You deserve to know that… it can get better if you have the right tools.”

The gargoyle couldn’t help but snort slightly though, it wasn’t that he was dismissive of the idea, except, he was. “I’m not so sure whether that would exactly work here. Don’t think I’ve ever met a gargoyle therapist, certainly never known an angel to debase themselves to be one. Let's face it, do you really think a human could handle half the things that go on around here?” 

Okay, so, maybe Ricky had only seen some of it, but Ryan knew he’d seen that hellhound. That beast was pretty hard to miss.

“You don’t seem to… be the kind to go to a therapist… I wasn’t either for a bit. So I did a lot of self-help books. If you’d like one to start… we can go to a bookstore and get stared there… they have books that help with all kinds of trauma… that sound like a good outing for just us?” Ricky asked softly with a smile.

The suggestion was met with a raised eyebrow, “You’re assuming I know how to read.” he did, Chris made sure of that. When the printed word came out for mortals, namely bibles, and worship started en masse in that manner, Chris had ensured that they all knew how to read, despite Jerahmiel’s insistence that they needn’t worry about such things. Getting by and circumventing the mortals, it had certainly become necessary over time to learn, not that school was ever an option for them, only teaching themselves.

“I mean… you know which coaster is yours.” he snorted warmly, “You know how to read. But it’s up to you.”

“Oh please, the coasters were easy, I’ve been seeing my virtue scratched onto the platform from the moment we were placed here. Matching those, whatever those mark things are called, are after seeing them some thousand years.. That was easy.” Smirking as he took another bite of cake.

“Oh please, Chris isn’t irresponsible enough to not teach you to read.” Ricky commented just with a smirk, “Should I let Chris know that?” he asked, raising a brow. Ryan had to restrain himself from reacting to that, struggling, but shrugging instead, hoping like hell that Chris was downstairs with Vinny in the café… not that he wouldn’t be able to hear, anyway. 

“Dude, we’re warriors, we kill demons, why would we need to know how to read, come on?”

“Okay… Chris-” he started to yell.

Ryan moved quickly when Ricky obviously called his bluff, the little shit. He had a had one massive hand around the back of the other man’s neck, and the other clamped over his mouth before he could get another word out of the yell. 

“Don’t you even dare. You do not, want to open that jar of worms.”

Ricky smirked against his hand and looked up at him eyes gleaming darkly, before licking his hand slowly, mimicking oral against his hand teasingly, with a laugh in his eyes.

The gargoyle rolled his eyes at the antics, but he didn’t move his hand, “Man, I’ve been living with Justin for, centuries, you really think that trick is new to me?” Smirking himself… “Now… okay, yes, I can read, Chris had us learn with bible literature when your sperm donor figured mutts didn’t need to, so why bother anyway.” Went behind his back time and time again, the only reason they could do what they did still was because of Chris. 

“Now, if I let you go, done with the yelling, yes? Because trust me, the last thing any of us want is to accuse Chris of being unreliable. It would be like calling Justin of being Dis-Loyal.. Try that, and… And — just, please don’t?”

He nodded, and as soon as his mouth was free, “You know it’s hot to be pinned like that, right?” 

Ryan’s just stared at him for a moment, he did know yes, just… “You little shit… you haven’t even fucked Justin since you’ve mated yet, have you? Go, go do that, tell him. Go.”

Ricky pouted but sighed, “Fine… but bookstore. Tomorrow. You and me.” he said firmly.

“Self help section, check. Go, before Justin comes barging in.” Ryan wouldn’t put it past him, Chris wasn’t the only one that could overhear their conversation. “Scram.”

“Awe, I’m not hot while pregnant?” Ricky teased, turning to walk towards the door.

Ricky didn’t even get to the door before it practically slammed open and there stood Justin, he knew he’d made him mad earlier, but come on. “Nope, he doesn’t answer that question.” Justin just scooped Ricky up over his shoulder, glaring at Ryan as he stalked away from the doorway.

Ryan, however, was smirking at the other gargoyle, that was the gargoyle nesting instincts for you. Considering the breeding program of the past, it wouldn’t have mattered if Ricky’s babies were Justin’s or not, Justin would have been just as protective of Ricky and his young.

[scratchandplaster]

FEBUWHUMP DAY 6 - "You lied to me"

CW: parental Whumper, hypnosis, emotional manipulation, interrogation, conditioning

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"There are still plenty of thoughts inside your head, so let's get them in order."

Shepard was intently focused on his son. Above now dried tear tracks, his unblinking attention denied Ben to be unguarded for even one second, whilst his assertive but nevertheless mellow tone carried him along a carved-out path.

Possessive strokes down his back dragged him further: "Down, just down, always deeper down. We can't choose our sorrows, but you can choose to let them go for a moment, to let me help forget them. Follow my lead."

In and out, it was impossible to resist the pace he was taught so well.

"I would count you down, but you know all my old tricks."

Shepard was not naive, he had to be extremely lucky that his charade still worked after all these months Reuben spent on his own, poisoning his mind and spirit out in the world. That he still responded obediently to the suggestions of the past was a goddamn miracle. One he would gladly use to its full potential.

"Remember all the times we did this before," Shepard repeated for good measure. So many, many times, half of which Ben couldn't even recall. Today was far from the first instance he helped to quiet his ward's nettled thoughts.

It was about time to rectify old lies.

"You always knew where Lukas was, though we both know you claimed otherwise," Shepard sighed low, "Will you tell me now?"

The soft face on his shoulder began to stir back to wakefulness, his bottom lip scrunched up in painful guilt. Rough start.

"Shh, forget that, it was a stupid question. You did nothing wrong." Comforting reassurance and soft circles drawn onto his temples helped to smooth out any risen qualm. "I know it's difficult for you to stay alert during this state, so I'm keeping this easy for us. Just Yes or No from now on, you don't even have to say a word."

Reuben showed himself more agreeable and leaned back against him.

"Is Lukas doing well?"

A small nod. Good.

"Is he eating enough? You know how he always skips breakfast."

Again, Ben nodded against the rough wool of Shepard's sweater while the same tediously tried to keep this interview on track: he could embrace his success later, when both of his sons were near him again. However, the abandoned father was ready to reap the fruits of his endeavor.

"Do you want to tell me where he is?"

Ben quickly shook his head. No, not yet.

"Mhh, I understand."

It felt horrible how easy it was to make him tell the truth, but Shepard had no interest nor intention to question his parenting methods at the moment. He knew exactly what limits confined them: he couldn't make Reuben do or forget anything he didn't want to, at least if he failed to be persuasive enough.

Shepard's boy was easy to read and just as simple as he was loyal to both his brother and father. But not in equal parts, Shepard was at a certain disadvantage he ought to correct. 

Children like them were too inept for the world outside the settlement, so it was no wonder Reuben merely crumpled under the first selfless act of affection in a long time. If his forgiveness was not given freely, Shepherd could just rip it from his fragile heart. For both their peace of mind, nothing else.

"You know how much I love you, both of you."

The shake of Ben's head said it all. It hadn't even been a question, but the blunt answer pricked nonetheless.

"Oh, well, I love you more than the world. I did everything to get you back!" Shepard mused softly, "If not me, what about the rest of our family?"

Kind memories of the people who waited for him outside rinsed Ben of any stray thoughts and drifted with him into the depths. He never wanted to hurt any of them with his decisions. 

"Did you miss us?"

Ben affirmed this shyly, grabbing a corner of Shepard's sweater.

"You are safe here, right?"

A nod.

"You are safe with me."

At the claim, Ben's head rolled around aimlessly, as if he was trying to stir awake again. Shepard tutted; this was a tricky one.

"You are here with me and the others, all together. We watch out for each other, we keep each other secure."

Yes, this made sense. Through the pleasant, thick fog that filled his head, Ben knew it to be sincere.

"Here, you are safe. With us, you are safe."

Safe...together. He couldn't possibly disagree with these smooth words.

"You are safe and loved by us all, we were awaiting your return. Always putting an extra plate on the dinner table for when you decide to come back." 

Shepard had to endure countless days of waiting before accepting that his youngest would stay gone. He had searched for him for so long it made him sick with fear, not knowing if his sons were hurt or fraternizing with God knows what kind of people. Yet, he didn't want for Reuben to realize the damage he had caused, not when he was so calm and open for the right input. 

"And today our wishes were granted!"

Warmth, safety, love. Encased by these sensations, Ben's mind caught itself slipping into easy relaxation once again.

"Can you say it for me, can you tell me that you're safe and loved?"

"'m safe and loved," he slurred quietly against the wool. It felt good to be here in his dad's arms, it felt right.

"That's my boy, I knew we could stand above the past." 

Shepard's sweet promises hugged his exhausted soul, he was too tired of running, adapting, changing. They tried to teach Ben what to say and what to hide out there, but the only thing he understood was to never be himself; another truth nobody could ever tell his brother. He remembered exactly how angry and disappointed Luke loved to get with him.

Cupping his face carefully, Shepard pushed him to sit straight up: "Open your eyes."

With a wide, empty stare but not awake in the slightest, Ben continued to sway back and forth. He was unsure what Dad wanted from him and too dizzy to care, silently begging to be allowed back into the stream of soft, dark dreaminess. Tears collected at the corners of his eyes, but Shepard was far from done with him: "Ben, tell me what you are when you're with us."

"I'm safe and I'm loved," tumbled from his lips without thinking twice about it.

"Yes, you are." Relief washed over Ben like a tsunami: he didn't do anything wrong after all, nobody hated him here.

"Now close these heavy eyes and relax."

As he sagged back down, the inward pull doubled its force. He felt that the soap bubble his brain had become threatened to pop. Too much to focus on, nothing to think about, clutching onto the inner peace Dad had so kindly given him. 

"We all love you so much. Missing is too weak a word to explain how desperately we wanted you back. You are always wanted here." 

Every word was law.

Shepard should feel dirty at using Reuben's obvious weaknesses so bluntly against him, but not today. Today they would celebrate his return and plan the one they enjoyed as soon as the other prodigal son decided to come home. A selfish sting inside Shepard's heart forced the next question out: "Did you miss me?"

A final nod made tears run down Ben's face. Shepard hugged him tighter, as if he never intended to let go again:

"I missed you too, starshine, it's going to be alright. Everything falls into place when we are together."

Numb with joy, Ben felt too tired to hold on to the present any longer, a problem his father gladly helped him with: "Sleep now, sleep and let my words manifest as truth in your mind."

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Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]

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