#tw: trauma flashback

[dying-weeds]

[psychocitysblog]

Why does being alive have to be so hard?

[traumatizeddfox]

havent slept in 3 days

[truths33k3r4]

CHAPTER 7 - Imprinted

(CW- Nightmares, trauma, vomiting, flashbacks)

Lotus woke with a thrashing gasp, the air in her lungs stolen by another nightmare. Her hand shakily rose to her plastron as she tried to calm her pounding heart. The echoes of the monster’s threats slowly faded from her mind, but the adrenaline and fear still loomed over her like an inescapable smaug. The dream still had its hold on her, morphing reality as it saw fit. Shadows seemed to come alive as their claws shot out from the darkness. Every wall sprouted eyes and began to close in on her. Her stomach twisted in discomfort as she fought to forget her dream, closing her eyes and reminding herself again and again that it was over. 

“I’m fine… It’s… It’s done..” She choked, still trying to regain her purloined breath.

Once the ghostly chorus of the phantom completely faded, she wearily opened her eyes. Everything had returned to normal, the shadows creeping back into their crevices awaiting the next time she would try to sleep. All the eyes had vanished from the walls. The room had stopped shrinking.

Before she could slump in relief her gut twisted again, making her wince as the discomfort only grew.

That’s weird… 

Lotus was fully aware of the repercussions of nightmares on her body. There were times she would wake drenched in sweat or shaking. Other nights she woke up so tense that her body physically ached, forcing her to stretch out her tight limbs and loosen up before attempting to sleep again. But this was different. Normally the discomfort would soften as she calmed herself down, the turbulence of her racing heart slowly returning to a steady beat. But this… this wasn’t normal.

The throb of discomfort only continued to grow, forcing Lotus to clutch her arms around her torso. Her stomach grew more and more tight, as the sharp pangs squeezed whimpers out of her lips. Nausea crept closer.

This isn’t good… This ISN’T GOOD.

She scrambled to think back to the last thing she ate, but came up empty. The last few days were a complete blur, smeared together in a mishmash of memories that left her with no decipherable answers. 

Seems this is becoming a recurring theme in my life.

Her bitter thoughts took a screeching halt as her stomach lurched.

Panic came flooding back into her heart in an instant as she shot her hand over her mouth in a feeble attempt to contain what she knew was coming.

No no nonononono!!!

With as much strength as she could muster, she frantically pulled herself upright. She could feel the acid quickly clawing its way up her throat, cutting off her gasping pleas for this new nightmare to cease. 

And as per usual, she quickly found that she had no control.

In a split second attempt to spare Leo’s mattress, Lotus jerked her entire body off the bed, landing hard onto the grainy tiles below. The impact of her fall sparked a terrible ache to ignite in her still healing leg, but the pain was quickly thrown to the back burner as the vile taste of acrid fumes filled Lotus’ mouth. Her head swayed as dizziness overtook her.

She closed her eyes in a tight wince as she shakily braced her hands onto the ground. Not a second later, her stomach’s contents disguised as stinging lava splattered over the floor, sealing her fate.

I’m sorry… I’m sorry! I’M SORRY!

The imprinted instinct to run and hide from her shame grew with each embarrassing second, but her limbs refused to carry her weight. In order to keep from landing face first into the mess, she used her swaying form to roll her body to the side. Once again, her head rang with the impact of hitting the floor, and her leg screamed at the rough treatment. Even with the remnants of acid burning her throat and nose, she couldn’t hold back crying out from the pain.

Her hands clutched onto her thigh, squeezing hard to hopefully stint the agony quickly spreading throughout the incision site. Tears began streaming down her cheeks as she pictured how pathetic she must have looked lying on the floor next to her own puke. The fact that she couldn’t listen to her instincts and hide made things so much worse. 

She was trapped, pinned down, and at the mercy of the first person through the doorway.

Her fears were made real as she heard the rush of footsteps come racing towards her. 

They can’t see this!! I… I can’t let them see this!!!

It’s just another mess for them to clean up! I’m being such a PAIN- They’ve been so nice and THIS is how I’m repaying that kindness?!? 

By becoming a hindrance?? A pest? 

What a way to say “thank you”, you charity case. 

Her bitter tears burned alongside her stinging throat as she hid her face into her shoulder.

Pathetic.

The racing footsteps finally made their way into the bedroom, and Lotus’ stomach squeezed as they raced towards her. 

Her mind was overtaken by the cold voices of her past.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??”

“UGH, DISGUSTING.”

“SEND IT TO DR O’NEIL, IT’S SICK AGAIN.”

More tears streamed down her cheeks as she braced for the same reprimands for what she had done. She tensed her body awaiting whatever punishment her captors saw fit.

“LOTUS! What happened?!?” Leo’s voice cried out as gentle hands were placed onto Lotus’ trembling shoulders. At the physical contact, her body let out an unavoidable flinch, bringing out a startled gasp from the oldest brother.

“Lotus.. What’s wrong?” He whispered as he drew back his hand.

“Are ya blind? She’s sick!” Raph yelled exasperatedly, but Lotus could sense little glints of concern hidden behind the fiery brother’s tone.

When she finally turned her face towards the brothers, she caught sight of Don frantically leaving the room. From what she could see of his expression, his face looked as though he was… afraid. Her sight was quickly brought back to Leo and Mikey leaning over her, asking her a multitude of questions that blurred into a cacophony of frantic voices. Once Leo caught on that she couldn’t understand what they were saying, the eldest slapped a hand over Mikey’s mouth. With the racket of panic silenced, Leo sighed and started over.

“What is going on? Are you in any pain?” He spoke as calmly as he could, though the facade wasn’t as effective thanks to the worry etched over his face and tense posture.

Lotus wanted to shrivel up and die. 

Before she could attempt to cover up the fact that she was indeed ill, her body once again reminded her of who was in charge. Another searing zing shot up her leg, and she had no choice but to cry out as she squeezed tighter to the offending limb. 

“Well, there’s your answer.” Raph flicked his hand gesturing to Lotus, “Come here, we’re gettin’ you off the floor.”

“Careful with her leg!” Leo warned, as Raph moved to pick Lotus up. “Hopefully she didn’t pull any of her stitches…”

Lotus’ stomach flipped at that horrifying thought. 

If she had pulled some of them, Leo would be forced to re-stitch her wound. That horrible experience was one she never wanted to relive. Her mind briskly reminded her of the pain she had felt at that moment in time, the prick and pull of the needle, and the fear that had forced her body to be sick.

Please, NOT AGAIN.

Another whimper squeaked out from her as Raph lifted her up, resulting in the fiery brother looking down at her in concern. He made sure to move extra slow so as to not reignite the pain in her leg. It somewhat worked. 

“Careful- Careful!” Leo hurriedly spoke as he ran to check on Lotus’ incision. “Alright Lotus, you need to hold still, okay? Don’t move- I just need to check something real quick.”

Swallowing down the urge to shudder at the familiar words, Lotus cried a silent prayer pleading for there to be no damage to her stitches.

Agonizingly slow seconds crept past as she waited for Leo to speak. To distract herself she tried looking around the room again, identifying the vast diversity of colors and textures strewn about the room; The dark crimson wall of Raph’s nook, the bright splotches of blues, yellows, and oranges on the wall underneath Mikey’s bunk bed, and the patterns adorning many articles of clothing haphazardly dropped and thrown across the room. 

The distraction helped a little. Her heart cautiously returned to a normal beat, and her mind began to empty out all the panic that had plagued it. She took a slow inhale and then let it out, allowing her head to carefully lean onto Raph’s plastron. She could hear his heart beating from under the hard, natural armor, and she leaned further as she let its steady rhythm overtake her anxieties. 

“Okay,” Leo began, making Lotus jolt out of her dazed stupor in an instant, “your stitches seem fine.”

If she could, Lotus would have jumped out of Raph’s arms and danced. But seeing how she was still weak and pathetic at the moment, she settled for just letting out a sigh of relief, dropping her head back down onto Raph’s chest.

“Now.. can you explain why you were sick?” Leo spoke as he gestured to the spot where Lotus had thrown up. Mikey was already finished cleaning the area on the floor with a slight grimace on his face. He gathered the used paper towels and threw them in the trash bin Don was holding.

Lotus’ brows creased as she noticed how pale Donatello looked. He held the trash bin an arms length away from himself, and his face twisted with way too many emotions all at the same time. His eyes remained strictly focused on the furthest wall as he was led by Mikey out of the room.

“Lotus? LOTUS!”

She twitched as her attention was yanked back to Leo, the eldest’s eyes drawn into tight, interrogative slits.

“Why. Were. You. Sick? Are you okay???” Leo asked with a hint of annoyance camouflaged under his calm tone.

Lotus shook her head to knock out all the interrupting thoughts clouding her mind, as Raph gently placed her onto Leo’s bed.

“S-sorry, Leo… I’m… I’m not sure why I’m sick.” Lotus’ voice was quiet and strained, trying to be careful of her still burning throat. It also didn’t help that her leg continued to pulse with deep aches, causing some words to cut off in sharp grunts or gasps. “My… NGH! My stomach h-hurts…”

“Alright- That’s okay!” Leo gently spoke, the annoyance quickly being forgotten as his question was finally somewhat answered. He held out his hands in a steadying gesture. “Do you think you were allergic to the crackers Mikey gave you earlier?”

Huh??

Lotus’ pained expression twisted again, not in discomfort but in confusion.

“W-What are you talking about? I didn’t eat any crackers.” She spoke in mild, whispered bewilderment, “At least… Not that I can remember…”

She turned her head to peer at the side table next to Leo’s bed. There was no plate or crumbs anywhere, so most likely she was never given a snack, right? Unless the dishes were taken away?.. But wouldn’t she have remembered that?

Am I missing something here????

She turned to face Leo again, but froze when she noticed his expression. His irises had shrunk to half their usual size, and his breathing caught in his throat. He joined his hands as if he were about to start praying, but his eyes remained wide open.

“...Are you telling me…You haven’t eaten anything all day?”

Lotus didn’t mean to shrink under Leo’s accidental scrutiny, but the eldest’s gaze was becoming more and more sharp by the second, and she could only withstand his “Mom glare”™ for so long.

“...Um…” Lotus squeaked under the growing pressure of Leo’s glare. She turned her gaze to Raphael in a desperate plea for support. The fiery brother refused to be helpful in the slightest, simply shrugging and holding his hands in mock surrender at Lotus’ pleading expression.

 She tried to gulp down the pebble stuck in her windpipe.

“...No?...”

Leo’s head instantly dropped onto the tips of his praying fingers with an exasperated sigh.

“Mikey…~” He groaned under his breath.

“Aw, come on, bro.” Raph mumbled to himself.

Confusion still twisting her features, Lotus was grateful to finally have Leo’s glacier glare off her, but she still had no idea what he was talking about. 

Her stomach twisted again, and all the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

“... I was supposed to eat before I took the pills, wasn’t I?”

Leo kept his face down as he groaned, “Yes.”

Lotus grit her teeth as she fought to keep her composure, her face scrunching into a barely contained snarl. Anger began to burn inside her, draping the shadows of doubt and bitterness over her heart once again. 

Here she was in the same situation as before; A victim of careless caretakers.

Nothing has changed.

I am such an IDIOT.

“That’s why I don’t feel right? It’s because of you? Again?!” Lotus’ voice grew in volume and venom with each accusation spat. “What is wrong with you?!?! WHAT WAS IN THOSE PILLS??” She yelled, as her hands whipped to point at the side table.

Leo’s head shot up as his hands separated, rising in placating surrender.

“N-no! It… it was an accident! Mikey was supposed to bring you something to eat so you could take the painkillers, but… he got… distracted. Something kinda…” Leo began to taper off as his shoulders rose stiffly. 

“...Came up.” Raph finished in a grumbling tone.

Lotus flung her arms in the air as an empty laugh erupted out of her snarling teeth. “Oh yes! A lot of something definitely came up.” She pointed to her aching stomach to prove her point.

Before Lotus could react, Raph had already stepped in between her and Leo, his arms tightly crossed, and his eyes in a piercing glare.

“HEY. You don’t know what happened back there.” Raph intervened, his low voice imitating a growl of warning, “Like Leo said, it was an accident. He’s not perfect, no matter how hard he tries to be.”

Leo’s whole body tensed after Raph’s words, the eldest’s expression flashing from fear to surprise to hurt.

Lotus unconsciously cowered at the sudden presence of Raphael’s towering form. His shadow looming over her brought back many unspeakable memories to light. She fought hard not to whimper or hide, but the fear lashing at her core stung and bled. The memories of a monster distorted her view of Raphael, smearing her reality with the darkness of her past. 

“Hold still, creature.” 

The searing anger burning her lungs and clouding her mind vanished as the ghost of Lotus’ past hissed all too familiar words.

“No. Get away!” Lotus cried out as she shielded her head with her arms. 

She had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere that was safe.

There was no haven that could protect her from the memories.

She was trapped all over again.

“I’m sorry! I’m s-s-sorry!” She whimpered into the crooks of her arms.

A beat passed as she waited for her punishment.

“Lotus… Is it alright if I touch you?” A kind voice asked, shining dim rays through the smaug of memories.

The voice was unlike any she had heard in the labs: Kind, soothing, gentle… But it wasn’t female like the good doctor. Its tones were lower, smooth like the facets of a diamond, and radiating with warmth.

Her instinct told her she could trust it.

Another beat passed as Lotus shakily nodded her head. Soon after, she felt the cool scales of a three-fingered hand land on her forearm. She winced, expecting the hand’s grip to tighten and yank her away. 

Instead, it delicately pulled down her arms.

 Her glistening eyes widened as the ghost before her vanished in the warm rays of the bedroom. As her last tears fell, the blurs of green, red, and blue morphed back into Raphael and Leonardo.

They looked so worried.

Leo’s face had fallen into a horrified frown, and Raph looked as though he had just accidentally ran over a puppy. Their expressions filled with concern brought a soothing confirmation to Lotus that they weren’t her old doctors. They couldn’t be.

Because they looked as though they cared.

She looked down to see Leo’s hand still placed on top of her forearm. There were no scratchy squeaks of latex, no icy grip, and not even five fingers. No one was tying her down. No one was cutting into her.

Instead, she felt a soft warmth emanate through the contact of Leo’s fingers on her skin. The grip wasn’t tight, yet it was still grounding. 

It felt so foreign and so right at the same time.

Emotions began to clash inside her, her past and present fighting in a mighty battle to gain control. Distrust and bitterness clawed at the growing rays of hope. Fear and trauma bit and scratched at the faded hands of peace.

Lotus took a leap of faith.

“I’m sorry. I-... I just… I h-h-hate feeling like… like t-this…” Lotus whimpered as all the fear drained from her body, taking her strength with it. “I’m.. I’m sorry, Leo.”

The corners of Leo’s mouth perked into a kind grin as his icy irises melted with compassion. Raph simply closed his eyes and nodded his head, his expression turning stoic, but not lacking sympathy. Lotus could still catch his concern peeking through as he stayed close to her bedside.

“It’s alright, I forgive you.” Leo spoke softly, as he delicately squeezed her arm. His smile grew the tiniest bit more when he saw that she didn’t flinch. “ And I… can’t blame you for being angry. I just should’ve brought you the snacks myself. It was my fau-”

Before Leo could finish his apology, his words were cut off by Raphael gripping the lip of the eldest’s shell, and yanking him forward so they were face-to-face. Leo let out an indignant yelp at the jarring motion. Raph poked an accusing finger into Leo’s plastron, rumbling in a tone that left no room for argument.

“-You say it’s your fault again and I’ll pelt you in the head with the back of my sai.”

Leo’s face flushed in an instant as he sputtered and squirmed in Raphael’s grip. 

“RAPH! Nghhh.. P-Put me DOWN!!”

As confused as Lotus was as to why the brothers were arguing, she made no attempt to ask. Even though she had gotten more than enough sleep in the last… Day? Days? Her body still ached, resulting in another large wave of exhaustion dragging her consciousness down further into the expectant darkness of sleep. 

Her eyelids began sinking…

Her thoughts fizzled out like the dying flames of a candle…

Just as her eyes closed and darkness filled her vision, a chilling presence emerged from the shadows, beckoning her to follow it deeper into the black of her nightmares once again. 

“-NO!” She gasped breathlessly as she forced her body to jerk upright.

Leo and Raph instantly stopped their tussling, whipping their heads in the direction of Lotus’ distress. Raph let go of Leo and they both drew closer to Lotus’ bedside, asking her what was wrong and why she was shaking.

 Her answer came in a frail voice drowning in terror and hopelessness.

“I’ll…I’ll never be free.”

Aaaand that's it for this chapter!! Now you're all finally seeing more of Lotus' perspective in this story. Some of her true colors revealed themselves in this chapter, as well as some answers about her past. And now we'll all see how the brothers will handle this broken girl. <3 This was one of my darker chapters, as you just read it focuses a good amount on Lotus' trauma, and how her captors created her view on the world and herself. This will be the base of her arc in this story.

Also, you probably noticed I only posted one illustration with this chapter. This was on purpose, cause I wanted to leave room for you guys to create your own picture of the scenes that occur in this chapter. :) Whether it be through your imagination or through fanart! This also helps me to not have as much work to do per chapter, so I can get more chapters finished and posted for you all faster! :)

Hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to reblog this!

BIG THANK YOU to @poetique823 for giving helpful critiques and suggestions with editing the chapter!! :)

@writer-in-wonder, @allyheart707, @oddartistl3, @risebabyx2, @joyjoygorl

(If you want to be tagged in the next chapter, just comment down below!) :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

[blitzwhore]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[iridiss]

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

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

[spaciebabie]

at first getting diagnosed with cptsd was like, "yay my trauma has been validated (it always was valid)!" and i really thought that was going to be it, but then i started to do research as i do whenever i realize i have something and learned that!! the way i experience socialization is!! quite horrid actually!!

[literally-forever]

i was on my third rewatch when i noticed you can hear Charles pleading with his dad underneath the noises of the Devlin murders

[whumpetywhump]

Mansuang (2023)

"All they want is my body. My pretty outer shell."

[dying-weeds]

Art was posted in R/abstractart, all credit goes to the artist.

Reddit series 3

[psychocitysblog]

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

[terrence-silver]

Formally requesting a follow up to your married-to-his-high-school-sweetheart Twig story where he finally reunites stateside with his beloved. He gets a bit carried away in his need to convey just how much he's missed her? Maybe it gets a bit dark as he wants to possess her so deeply that no one questions their relationship again?

(You know me, there are really no boundaries on my end, so take this where you will!)

The story is a continuation / expansion of this post right here.

---

Momma Back Home Ran Out of Ink

Twig!Terry Silver x Reader

—

The limousine rushes from the airbase, his chauffeur hitting the 180 miles per hour mark.

He just about didn’t care who saw — who gawked — the image of him leaving in big style like this, his uniform the only thing lingering on him from the flight back home alongside the boxed in beige parcel on his lap — his luggage long since having been sent where he wanted it sent, meanwhile; all your letters, correspondence, pictures, perfumed paper, tokens collected from nearly three years overseas where with him. The first thing he asked for upon release to base and the one thing that stuck to him like a second skin after he was out of the cage was every bit of devotion showcased in written form; Terry Silver was only seventeen when he married you, before being deployed, technically needing parental consent to do so, and of course his old man fought the idea. Of course he waged war, of a different kind, at home, yelling and shouting until the walls practically shook, wagging his bejeweled finger and listing all the requirements of what a potential partner should be, what the acceptable age is, how life should be lived, our own kind of people being words dropped frequently, like a bomb, and Terry recalled that being his first bit of checkmate, telling his father that if he gave his consent he, like a good son, would compromise. He wouldn’t go off to the war and do something stupid and endanger his own future, like all the supposed lowlives did --- boys without prospects other than being live canon fodder were doing and the minute the signature was on paper and Terry had you secured and his, he left anyway.

He laughed then even as he was laughing now, into his own chin, all the way to the airfield.

That was then, his first ever victory.

And this was now.

And now? In the present? He needed you. He needed you badly.

Almost two years in the bush and there were nights where he’d secretly slide his hand into his green fatigues while laying in the sack during patrols, the scented envelope your letters arrived in pushed into his boxers and wrapped around his cock as he rubbed it on the tender flesh there, up and down, envisioning your fingers and lips wrapped around him instead, not minding the chafing sensation of paper on his skin. Quite the opposite; he found the slight discomfort exhilarating, cumming against the material and the itching sensation of pain, holding back groans, stashing the soaked, stained remains away and saving them for later like a lucky charm. Thing is, most of those punks never believed he was married back home in the first place, the same way his father never thought he had the guts to go against his word. Terry wasn’t sure if he preferred it that way, because it meant none of them would ever ask for your picture, never ask about you, never hassle him, never even contemplate you, convinced you were a fragment of his imagination or he despised it for being doubted. Looked down on. Underestimated. It was poetic justice when one of them would rip your newly arrived letter from his hand, jumping around like a rabid ape, giggling and reading your words aloud to everyone only to step on a landmine a week from then, losing the very leg they were jumping on in a state of mockery. Momma back home ran out of ink, they’d call it, whenever the letters were late. Somehow delayed. When they were on time, they’d say momma was diligent, writing to her son as per schedule, prodding and poking at him; it was this running gag, that his mother was posing as wife to make him look good out here, in front of the boys.

Those were the nights he wanted to kill.

Simultaneously the nights when he’d squeeze the collected envelopes of your letters harder.

Tighter. The pace vigorous and angry. Desperate.

Scrunching them around his dick until he could feel himself bleed.

-"So, married man, huh?"-

John Kreese remarked on one occasion, sitting beside him in the busy canteen, giving him a broad smile, seemingly eager and warm, the type someone gives you when they’re honest — genuine — regardless, Terry instinctively braced for more mockery, having been used to it by now. Desensitized in ways. Kreese fished into his pocket, lowering himself into the chair beside him, pulling out a photo of his own, tapping him on the back with a big, heavy hand with a gesture sudden and firm enough to be felt in Terry’s spine, John being almost twice his size where muscle mass was concerned. -"Right on!"- A sense of congratulation in his voice and Terry remembered sitting there, surprised. The picture offered to him. A girl. An introduction. Like they were equals. Two brothers. Not even his own father gave him such a welcome sensation after he’s gotten hitched; quite the contrary. He’s threatened to disown and disinherit him. Which he would’ve done too if he simply he had in who’s favor to disown and disinherit him. -"This is my Betsy. My Pasadena girl."- John explained with a twinge of visible, twinkling pride and Terry held that photo between shaking fingers, feeling his own mouth partially fall agape. Acceptance? This was acceptance, wasn’t it? A way of saying ‘I believe you, friend’. All the more reason then, for him to rush home now, in John’s name, in his own, and fuck you, on the foundation of everything that he lived through in Vietnam. The news that Betsy died. That you, on the other hand, were alive and well, and that he should push himself inside of you so deep you feel him in your bloodstream, precisely because you weren’t taken from him. That Captain Turner wasn’t announcing that you were the one who wasn’t alive anymore, during that fateful night when the bamboo cage sprung open and they were handpicked and led outside.

The car comes to a sudden halt and you’re already on the front porch, eagerly waving.

Waiting for him, having got his call, hour, date and all.

His cock twitches in his trousers at the sight of you as he rushes out, slamming the door behind him.

-"Terry! Sweetheart! Baby!"- 

Your arms open towards him, he doesn’t even know when he’s managed to cross the street that separated the parked vehicle from your house by a narrow road, but it’s one of those things a man does in a trance, he supposed. Instinctually. Naturally. The body didn’t need reminds to breathe at night, while it was asleep. Organs didn’t give out while he was dreaming. Having nightmares. Thinking of you. They’d just seamlessly continued to do their own thing, without reminders needed. He figured it was the case now. Terry ran to you because nothing in the world could’ve made more sense. Your soft hands encircle his face, holding his cheeks, gaze scrutinizing every feature riddled with the sheen of warm tears. You speak, exasperated, and he’s heard your voice before. In the sound or rifles. Gunfire. The rare quietude of the night. Nothing beat hearing it live, like piecing together a puzzle from memory. -"Terry, you’re here!"- You speak through gasps, like you couldn’t believe the sight of him. He changed. He was aware he changed. Internally. Externally. In every way possible. The widening of your eyes testifying as to how much exactly. He supposed he did it for himself. For you. For all the people who ever doubted him to the degree they’d fail to imagine him a married man because they couldn’t reconcile he had it in him, leading him to go to Korea after the war and take even more time away from you — make that ultimate sacrifice of discipline and willpower if it only meant how he’d look the part of everything he started being convinced he could be. -"Let me look at you!"- Your stare riddled with happy tears travels up and down his uniform in shock once you release yourself from an embrace he’s reluctant to break — allowing you only so much breathing space, backing you further away from the front yard, the lawn and further up the porch, causing you to walk backwards. Too happy to notice it too. Terry wasn’t looking at his surroundings. He was only looking at you. At this point, a car could’ve pulled up from the roadside and he swears he could’ve stopped it with desire and power of tenacity alone for daring to interrupt him. -"I swear, you got taller somehow! They've been feeding you good out there!"- You chuckle out, trying to alleviate the situation, observing his head and reaching back, finding a wisp of hair tied at the nape of his neck, tenderly tugging at the strands, needing to stand propped up on your toes to even touch him.

Quite the contrary to your endearing, adorable statement; you couldn't even imagine half of the things he was forced to eat 'out there', as you put it so poetically.

He grins at the fact.

He'd much prefer eating you, though. Right now.

 -"This is new too. I like it!"-

You remark, a smile revealing a row of teeth behind a pleased lip, eying his locks.

 -"It’s just like you described it!"-

You add, twirling a curl of hair around your finger and he unwittingly thinks of Ponytail. From his letters, you assumed the tied, long hair was simply a fashion choice, but Terry doesn’t allow himself time to fall behind any longer and get distracted by explanations, hoisting you up without warning, there and then on the sidewalk and lifting your body up, towards his shoulder, eliciting a jolted cry of surprise from you as he balances you by grabbing unto the back of your hips, right beneath your buttocks. He doesn't linger. Ponytail wouldn’t want him to linger either, in fact. Ponytail would want him to fuck your brains out right about now, regardless of the fact that he frequently believed getting married at seventeen is either some Redneck nonsense or Waspy nonsense, never anything in between. You either had to be trailer park destitute or richer than God to be pulling things like that, he'd theorize. Terry nearly cackles at the idea, beaming at the recollection. -"You like it, huh?"- He remarks with a contented hum, sauntering in wide strides towards the house, practically carrying your body forward, his nails digging into the flesh of your ass, feeling the tender skin there through the fabric of your clothes and underwear. It takes a cosmic amount of self-control not to throw you against the front porch wall and screw you right against it, in view of the entire street, letting everyone who accidentally caught ahold of the sight that you’re his. That he did it. That it was his fucking right to do this. You were his wife and he was consummating his marriage. 

The front door slams shut behind him.

He puts you down, cornering you against the nearby wall.

When the buttons of your blouse snap scattering across the floorboard, with each rolling and tumble of the fasteners disappearing under chairs, tables and cupboards like so many ants, Captain Turner’s voice echoes through his mind.

-"So help me God, you got us into this shit, and you’ll pay for it."-

His grimace flashes before Terry’s eyes, obscured by the shadows of the canopy.

His fingers unbuckle his belt like they had a mind of their own, seeking your warmth.

Your cunt hidden underneath layers of fabric.

 -"I’ll make you pay for it, kid."-

His familiar voice repeats and rumbles inside of his brain and Terry isn't certain what way he'd rather fuck you, trying to quell the noise inside of his head, yet simultaneously embracing it gladly, hoping that in some weird way, everyone he was intrusively remembering could hear him. See what he was doing right now. That they were witness to it, as they should've been, as he was getting ready to claim you and preform for each and every one of them, including you, purely so they'd all understand this was real. This was his wife. He was having her. A big collective 'screw you' to the very lot of them --- every doubter in his life so far. He grabs you underneath your hips, effectively lifting you up and spreading you, up against the wall. Thank fuck for the practicality sundresses, because your whole wetness falls open like the most delicious treat inside of a wending machine, the scent of you salty and pungent. Delectable. Soaked and obscured by the thin fabric of your panties. He could see exactly where you were split. Yearning for him. It's child's play to dig into the material and rip it open right in the middle, exposing you for him. You shriek. -"Those bozos out there will seem like a kitten in comparison and by the time they walk through to get you, you’ll beg them to finish you."- His commanding officer had the tendency of saying, moving as close as the tightly confined space of their shared cage allowed back, believing in equal measure retribution as he threatened him, even though Terry knew it was more than a threat --- it was a promise. The buzzing sound of his radio station alerted the enemy to their position out in the wild, endangering the whole platoon and the only reasonable conclusion was for the unit to take the matters of justice into their own hands and ensure clumsy little Twig pays dearly for his negligence. Code Red. Extra judicial punishment. The idea that he isn't safe outside of the cage as much as inside of it. That his own compatriots would make him suffer as much as the Gooks would've and that it would've been John and him against all of them. But, he was here. He was alive. He was devouring you.

-"That little missy of yours? Swear on my heart and hope to die, you ain't never seeing her again except in the front pews while they put to rest whatever's left to ship home of you of you and your ass."-

Turner threatened in his thoughts and you moan, lashed with velvety hot licks.

Hips bucking against Terry's mouth.

The thought of seeing you again was the chief reasons why he felt he survived.

To have someone tell him even that will be taken away from him?

He wondered how he stayed sane. If he was sane at all.

Sane? What was sane anymore?

-"I still own whatever's left of you and your ass."-

The words come out of his mouth of his own volition, repeating lines he's heard before, halfway paying homage, halfway mocking his commander's statement. Lines address for him initially. Reframing them. Causing you to moan from above him once his mouth separates from the slick moisture of your pussy. -"When I'm done."- He adds, once he catches his breath, letting you slide down against the surface of the wall right back into his embrace, not giving you too little or too much pleasure, rather just enough to make you suffer. You huff, breathless, hair falling over your forehead shiny with sweat, mouth partially open in delight, partially on the precipice of inhaling oxygen, like you were on the verge of saying something while he was feverishly massaging your slit with the tip of his cock, easing himself in. He's grown in every way he could. Even his cock would need time to re-adjust to your cunt. But, he knew you'd like that. You'd like that very much. He would too. -"I know this isn't the right time, Terry, but your dad --- he's called and called and called. Almost every day. I just think you should know. Even before we were told you were MIA."- You practically gasp your words once he's inside of you, rocking back and forth --- there was something very amusing, remising about family mid-sex, but admittedly, he barely gave you time to properly greet him after such a long time being away and so much shit he had to get through to merely come back alive, practically hoisting you up and carrying you inside, never even giving you time to say too much. -"And what did you tell him?"- Terry practically purrs, inhaling the scent of your neck. -"What did my hole tell him?"- He corrects himself, allowing himself to laugh. So? The old man did maintain some contact with the only daughter-in-law he'd ever get. He promised Terry he'd never utter a single word directed your way. Clearly, it was a short lived promise. The same way the threat that pa' would disown him if he went to 'Nam was. Funny how people tended to capitulate in strange ways when faced with someone who took the matter of agency into their own hands.

His father told him to leave the whole Karate-Vietnam business behind too.

And then he went and bought John his first dojo, as a gift.

What was the old man gonna do about it?

Get angry twice?

-"I told him the same thing every time."-

You mutter into his ear with what sounded like infinite tenderness.

Gentleness peppered with the shadow of desire.

-"That deep down, against all odds, I know you're okay."-

Terry looks at you then, separating himself from the precipice of your throat riddled with kisses that he was certain would bruise red by tomorrow, You knew he'd be okay. You knew? You told his father that? Even if he wasn't okay and had to come home in bits and pieces he'd drag himself back tooth and nail. John wouldn't let him fall behind. He'd carry him out there on his back and Terry knew that much. That's why you and him were the two most valuable people in his life. His best friend and the woman who deserved to live inside a returning soldier's locket forever as a memento. Still inside of you, Terry takes a second to tilt his head and smile. He's been doing a lot of that lately. The palm of his hand pressed against your cheek. If anything, you killed his father with kindness, believing in him when nobody else did and keeping the faith of his return even in the face of adversity. If anything, you showed your complete and utter quality. Your devotion. The very idea nearly made him salivate. The things he wanted to do to you bypassed imagination and description right about now, but Terry starts with the practical aspects of it all, grabbing the elastic lace holding the two cups of your exposed brassiere and tugging at it hard enough to allow the ribbon to snap, coming undone, exposing your chest, allowing the top to slide down, limp, lacking support. You gasp. He's had waking dreams about your tits. Imagine them every time he set his head down on any makeshift surface that could double as a pillow. But, now? He finally had the real deal, reaching out, and kneading with both hands. -"It's good my little robot's been so diligently answering the phone and taking care of correspondence."- He praises, tugging at your firm nipples --- one and then the other, listening to your breath hitch at the contact. What conversation happened happened; now that he's home he'd make use of the marital bedroom the right, proper way, holding nothing back. After all, you and him had all the time in the world now. Terry's arms envelop your waist, dragging you forward with him, down the corridor, never taking his eyes off of you. Your color drains from your face once he speaks and he didn't blame you. In fact, all of this was deliberate. He didn't know if he meant his words figuratively or literally anymore.

-"Considering this is only just the start and we're not leaving that room until you're wrecked and dead."-

Terry hums with deliberate provocation and lulling self-satisfaction.

Trapping you in an embrace, stripping pieces of clothes from you and himself.

Or rather, ripping --- slamming the bedroom door once you were inside.

Leaving the abject chaos of the foyer floor behind.

[witch-hazels-musings]

reel me in 

warning: angst -> comfort | fighter!reader and character are sparring but when reader gets pinned to the ground, they recall a traumatic event (non-specific, but hints at a near-death experience from past fight), and start to panic - the characters calm them down and bring them comfort (tw: pinned to the ground, feeling of being trapped, anxiety and difficulties breathing, sparring leads to panic)

character x gn reader | request | anthology 

includes: childe, kaeya

Childe

“Is that all you’ve got?” You cried out through heaving breaths. Every muscle in your body was screaming from the onslaught of blows, but it made you feel alive. Fighting Childe was like wrestling the sun - and you were obsessed. 

Childe straightened, turning back toward you with a grin so wide you knew your taunt would get him going. The way his eyes flashed in the sunlight, the shimmer of sweat on his shoulders, biceps made your heart flutter. It was so exciting - the heat of battle - no wonder Childe loved sparring so much. 

“You want more?” He beamed, stalking toward you, slowly, meticulously, his eyes trained on you as if you were prey in the woods. “Then don’t hold back. Let me see it all!” He roared as he dashed your way. His water-blade crashing against your two daggers. Sending a shockwave through your arms. It hit your chest with so much force that you pushed against him, sliding on the dirt to reposition and get a better angle but he was ready with another swipe. You barely ducked out the way in time. 

The match was heated, invigorating. The two of you lost yourselves in the midst of it all. Egging the other on, laughing at the thrill, pushing until something was certain to break. You just didn’t expect it to be like this ... didn’t expect it to be you. 

With expert skill, you dodged away from his swing. Twisting your foot and leg leg so you could roll over his back and slip into the tiny opening he left, but when you landed on the other side of him, his leg swiped yours and you fell, hard, onto the dirt. The force knocked the wind out of you. A rock punched against your shoulder making your arm go numb for just a moment, but long enough that he could take full control. 

His hands grabbed your wrists so you couldn’t swing at him. Faster than you could comprehend, he had you pinned. Disarmed with your hands under your arching back, he held you captive. 

Shaking your head didn’t relieve the fog, struggling only made it worse. The sweat on your brow stung your eyes until you could barely make out his figure. Then, it all came flooding back. 

“Now that was fun,” Childe panted above you, his hair clinging to his forehead, his cheek, but you could hardly see his familiar, comforting face. The past was crashing into you, and you couldn't’ breath. 

“G --- et off ---” 

“Don’t tell me you can’t overtake me. Hah, you’re better than that --” Childe teased but you weren’t having fun anymore. Panic started to set in, your heart was beating erratically, out of rhythm and control. You shook your head, thrashed just like you did once before - yet nothing changed, just like ...  “... and we were just getting sta-” 

“G-GET OFF!” You screamed. The words came out strangled, fearful. Childe let you go and you scrambled out from under him. Your nails digging through the dirt in a frantic escape. “get off. get off ...” You groaned, crawling free from him until there was enough distance for you to catch your breath. 

“Woah, are you alr-” Childe’s words caught in his throat when you turned to sit on the ground, arms coiled around your legs, hands shaking as they hid your face from him. “Hey --” he called to you. Calmly, softly, but you didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. In your mind it was still happening, and you needed it to stop. 

Everything was turned to maximum. Every sound, every smell, every sense in you stung. Your mind was on fire and you couldn’t calm it down. Something touched the fingers digging into your leg so you violently swatted it off until your hand came to a stop and your itching eyes found the reason. 

Childe was kneeling in front of you, his expression twisted to one you’d never seen before. His common smile was turned into a deep frown, brows furrowed and eyes were searching you intently. His jaw clenched, the hand holding yours looked pale. 

Still shaking, you wiped your eyes and he slowly came back into focus. This wasn’t your past, you weren’t about to die alone, beaten, bloodied - you were safe. You were safe. 

In an instant, you twisted your hand to grip his wrist and held on so tightly that his arm began to shake.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, head shaking to return to your senses. The noise was starting to fade; you took a few more breaths to bring it back to normal. 

“You went somewhere else on me ...” 

“I know -- I’m sorry,” you apologized, swallowing to wet your dry throat. “I’m alright now.” 

“What’s the matter?” 

“Nothing, I promise. It’s ... it’s nothing,” you pressed your fingers to your forehead and shook again, mostly to work out your nerves, but the action didn’t convince him you were okay. 

The dirt around you crunched, grinded against itself as he moved toward you. When you glanced at him under your salty fingers, you noticed he was blocking you with his long legs. One at either side as if to be a human shield. 

You sighed, and tried to get him to ease off, “I’m really okay -” 

“A warrior must be ready to face any challenge,” he began, cutting you off as if you never said them, “In victories or in failures, the outcome is irrelevant - what matters,” he said as he tugged your arm and pushed against the hand blocking you from his sight. You moved them only enough so you could see his eyes, and he could see yours, “what matters is learning from the experience. You are here to fight again. You survived - no matter what it took to do so.” 

Childe’s gaze was intense, his words pierced your heart making it difficult to breathe again but he was right. You survived. You were here and that’s what matters. 

Your lips trembled, so you adjusted your grip on his wrist and held tightly.

“I survived,” you whispered. 

“You survived.” 

“I survived,” you repeated and covered your face while Childe shielded you from the rest of the world. 

-- 

Day’s later you shared with him what had happened and he listened without judgement. You noticed how he incorporated some new moves into his training with you - ones to avoid the mistakes of your past and then, without prompting, on a warm summer night, he told you of his own and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel so alone. 

--

Kaeya 

“Pick it up!” you shouted to the knights as they ran through their drills. By this point they shouldn’t be so sloppy, but it seemed your expectations for them were too high. 

Groaning, you turned the other way and began to clean up the training grounds. Practice swords, spears, and other equipment were left on the dirt and even though you weren’t the only one tasked with training the new recruits, you knew your partner wouldn’t be much help. 

“How’s it going, teacher?” Kaeya’s silvery voice slipped through your annoyance like water passes through a fisherman's net. Unfortunately for him, you weren’t in the mood to hear it. 

“Fine. Here,” you said and handed him the pile you’d managed to pick up while he was standing in the shade, “Take these back to the racks for me.” 

“My, what a cold temper you have,” he teased. Even though you couldn’t see it, you knew he held a smirk on his lips. “And here I was coming over to congratulate you on all your hard work.” 

“Ha,” you huffed. You were starting to wonder if Jean was mad at you. Why else would she ask you to work with this ... this ... slacker. He may be pretty, and you, stupidly, had a crush on him, but why was he always so ... aggravating. “If you’re not going to help me, at least don’t stand by sidelines watching. It creeps me out.” 

Kaeya picked up the pace so he could match your strides. It was easy for him with his long legs and all. “I thought you loved when my eyes were on you?” 

Luckily you were already so irritated. If you weren’t you probably would have been more affected by his comment, “Nope. Not me.” 

“Really?” 

“Mmhm. Ugh,” stopping suddenly, you shouted toward the recruits to come back but when you glanced back at Kaeya, he was just standing there, smiling. “Are you going to help me with the demonstration or not?” 

“Why of course,” he beamed and you wanted to punch him. 

“Good. Grab us some swords and meet me in the circle.” He gave you a playful confirmation before walking off toward the racks. 

Why couldn’t you have fallen for someone else? You asked yourself as you headed toward the panting new knights to explain the next portion of their training. It wasn’t the first time you had them spar with each other, but this time you were going to be demonstrating several moves they needed to learn in order to stay alive. As much fun as being an aggressor is, if you didn’t learn how to block or dodge oncoming attacks - well, the research institute was working on some new mechanical prosthetics if they needed it.

Once Kaeya returned, you had him demonstrate several jabs so you could show them how to avoid. After that, you had them mimic you as you moved out f the way of Kaeya’s swings. It was almost like a dance, the two of you, and it was starting to draw an unnecessary crowd. 

“Shall we show them in real time?” Kaeya inquired with a smile, “They are unlikely to fight slow moving assailants after all.” 

You weren’t really planning on doing that, but he was right, so you relented. “Alright, but don’t throw out anything fancy.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he hummed, getting into his stance. 

“Alright - watch us closely and count how many times I use the moves we just showed you. Got it?” The knights nodded so you got into position. “Let’s go.” 

Lunging forward, you made the first contact and Kaeya deflected it easily. He reacted faster than you planned with a counter swing that you had to narrowly block with the edge of your wooden sword. The noise rang out across the training ground drawing an audible gasp from the crowd. 

The two of you started simple but eventually lost yourself in the spar. Kaeya moved like a skater on ice and you danced along with him. The feeling of the wind rushing past your face as you dipped under his swings, when you swirled past him to get the advantage. It was a blast, and reminded you why you fell for him so hard. 

Kaeya might be a slacker, but his swordplay was flawless. 

You wanted to bring it back to focus but Kaeya was distracted and before you knew it, your guard was too far down to catch his next move. Like a flash of lightning, he was in front of you one second and behind you the next. Your weapon swung up to block a blow to your chest but you were off balance and fell backward as he had intended. Before you could taken in a breath, Kaeya was gripping your arm and twisting it behind your back while his play sword rested against your neck and his cheek pushed against the side of your head. 

“Got you,” he declared and pulled you closer to him. You were captured, and it distorted your reality. 

It was like you fell into a deep pool. Your body went cold, your mind triggered every alarm it could as you wiggled against him to get free but he was having too much fun to notice that you were clearly not. 

“Kae--” 

“We certainly put on a show,” his voice drifted past you but you could hardly hear him. Waves crashed against your senses, deafening the world around you. It felt impossible to catch your breath, even when you gripped your shirt and pushed against Kaeya’s arm. Something hit your foot so you stumbled forward only to be reeled back in. “Leaving so soon?” He asked and you panicked. 

“L-let me go - let me go - let! go!” Fear and violence overcame you until you were finally free from his grip. The edges of your vision were so dark that all you could see was the building in front of you, the confused expression on his face as you turned to face him, the bobbing blobs in the distance as you tried to call it for the day. You opened your mouth but nothing came out. All you could feel was a sense of dread and your nails biting into the flesh of your palm. 

Kaeya dropped his weapon. You watched him turn to the crowd but couldn’t hear what he was saying. You just stood there, lost, back in that place you never wanted to visit again. 

A cold hand grabbed your balled up fist and, like magic, you were in Kaeya’s office with no recollection of how you got there. 

Someone called your name. Who was it? 

Touch, the sensation of skin against your cheeks. Hands - someone's hands. Whose hands? WHOSE HANDS!? 

You flailed your arms to push them away but they didn’t leave until you could hear the voice of Kaeya calling your name. 

“... do you hear me?!” he shouted, and you did. You did. “You’re okay! - it’s me. It’s me.” 

“... Kae...?” 

Kaeya’s head dipped forward when you recognized him. “There you are.” His tone was tense. When he looked at you again it was like he had aged since you last saw him. He shook his head and moved his thumbs under your eyes. 

“What happened?” you asked, confused and disoriented. One minute you were out on the training field and another you were in his office. Did you black out?

“I was hoping you could tell me.” 

“I don’t -- I don’t know ...” looking down, you tried to assess what was happening. Your body felt worn, exhausted. Your fingers were curled in and stiff but they weren’t like that originally. Right? Why was there sweat running down your spine? Confusion was soon replaced by worry but Kaeya was there to catch you. “Kaeya - I don’t remember --” 

“It’s alright,” he reassured you by grabbing your hands and holding them steady. You could tell he was contemplating what to do. You’d known Kaeya for so long. He was always so confident, so playful but right now he seemed afraid to even touch you. “It’s alright,” he said again and took a step closer, but not too close. He sighed and then explained what happened. Perhaps he hoped it would make you feel more in control or, perhaps, it would give you the knowledge you needed to understand why you vanished in front of his eyes. 

He was right. As he explained the sparring match and what happened moments before you panicked, you knew exactly why it had happened. 

In training, you are taught how to protect yourself and your fellow knight. You know the dangers of the job but you can never fully grasp the severity of it until you’re there - face to face with life and death. This was your hidden scar. One you didn’t intend to let others see. 

It took a while, but you slowly started to share what had happened. Kaeya listened without questions, without jokes. He just listened, and when you were done he didn’t give you pity or tell you it was in the past. He simply offered his hand and vowed to leave it open for you whenever you needed it. 

“You’ve always been around to lend me a hand. It’s due I return the favor. Whenever you need me, I’ll be here with you to carry on,” he affirmed and though he couldn’t heal the space left in your chest, his words made it a little lighter. 

“Thank you, Kaeya,” you replied, squeezing his hand like he was yours. “I guess this means you’re stuck with me?” It was meant to be a joke to lighten the mood, to bring back his teasing but it seemed to backfire. 

“Well that’s an odd way of proposing to me.” 

“I wasn’t proposing --” 

“You weren’t?”

“No ...” 

“Ah, a shame then,” he lamented and let go of your hand to walk toward the door. You followed him, watching how he leaned against the closed door with a sorrowful expression on his face. 

“W-wait, did you want ... me too?” 

“We will never know now will we?” He threw up his arms into a deflated shrug but made sure to keep a sharp eye on you and your slowly rising embarrassment. “Best not keep them waiting, teacher,” he smirked before walking out of his office and leaving you, once again, flustered. 

--

[truths33k3r4]

(Warnings for this chapter are at the bottom of the page to keep from giving away spoilers.)

CHAPTER 8 - Deceptive Answers

Don cringed as he thoroughly sprayed down the empty trash bin, acting as if the fragrant, lavender scent would banish the acrid stench back to the pits of hades from whence it came. After the third round of air freshener, he slowly backed away from the bin with a cautious frown.

He proceeded to spray it down four more times.

Why did it have to be vomit…

As he walked to the kitchen sink he gently pulled off his latex gloves, neatly folding and placing them on the counter as he began to run the tap. After years of learning about germs and how to abolish them, he knew well that it didn’t matter if you washed them with hot or cold water. But even with this knowledge, it still brought him a slight ping of delusional comfort envisioning the hot temp burning the germs right off his hands.

That’s definitely normal.

He didn’t care all that much for the gooey sensation of the soap when it first puddles in his palms, but with a few quick scrubs, the sticky texture expanded into soft peaks of foam. The warm water mixed with the luscious suds did wonders for his dry hands. Thanks to the colder weather beginning to creep into the city, his home’s air had been stripped of its moisture. As a result, the skin of his hands and ankles cracked like the barren grounds of a scalding desert.

In other words ew.

With the last stage of washing his hands complete, drying them and folding the washcloth over the railing near the sink, Don began the trek back to his office. As he neared the doorway of the brothers’ bedroom, he paused.

Just move quickly. No big deal. Just ‘ninja’ your way around. Get to your office without attracting any unnecessary attention. Orrrr getting involved in any more emotional drama… Easy.

With a quick inhale, and his face tightened with concentration, he slowly took one silent step after the next, continuing his way down the hall past the bedroom. As he crept, little pieces of whispered conversation fluttered past his ears.

“...Lotus, what are you talking about?” 

Don instantly recognized the soothing tones of his oldest brother.

 “You are free. You made it out. We saved you. Shhhh, it’s alright.”

Don’s brows creased together as he paused to figure out what had happened to spark such concerned words from Leo. Going by what he said, the eldest wasn’t referring to Lotus being sick. The word “free” especially intrigued him. He continued to stand frozen as he leaned closer to the doorway, his curiosity now overriding the mission to get to his office.

“N-no… No, They…They’ll never go away…” A small voice cried in muffled whimpers.

Don’s mind began to process Lotus’ words one at a time; Every vowel and every fluctuation were filed into neat shelves in his brain.

Who’s “they”? Going by how we found her, she must be referring to the scientists at the lab, right? But what does that have to do with her being sick? Did those physician abominations give her something to make her ill? 

“Who, Lotus? Who won’t go away?” Leo gently whispered over Lotus’ smothered sniffles.

Don leaned closer. No verbal answer was given to Leo’s question, the silence only being filled by the frantic shuffles of sheets being pulled back and forth. 

“I.. I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it. I c-can’t.” Lotus pleaded as her voice continued to crack and splinter under the weight of whatever was haunting her mind. “I just c-can’t.”

Don’s posture physically slumped as he listened to the fear-stricken shivers of Lotus’ voice. The way her words jittered and broke in shards sounded all too familiar to him. She was so scared, but there wasn’t anything physically present that would make her react that way.

That left whatever was plaguing her to be something lurking deeper. Don couldn’t help the defensive snarl that escaped his teeth.

It has to be nightmares… That’s the most reasonable explanation for such behavior.

He knew that well, being reminded every night of the horrors he and his twin were forced through. Even though they were home. Even though they were safe. Even though it made no sense that the past has such power over the present.

And now he sees he’s not the only one.

How long was she there?...  How long did she live under the microscope of Specter’s prying eyes?

Don failed to suppress a shudder through his body as he was forcefully pushed into his own memories of the nightmare laboratory. His hands instinctively rose to cling to his shoulders, rubbing them down in an attempt at comfort. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, willing his mind to forget all those horrific memories that plagued him, but it was all for naught.

His twin’s screams echoed in a terrible chorus that consumed all his thoughts. 

A sickly, neon green glowed through the barrel of a syringe.

His chained wrists ached and burned from being yanked through long corridors.

His terrified face looked back at him through the reflective surface of dark-tinted lenses.

His body shook violently as an electrode was pressed into the left side of his head.

His vision erupted in white static when the nurse pressed the button.

NO! STOP IT- NOW!

IT’S OVER. STOP LETTING THIS GET TO YOU.

IT’S OVER.

Don gulped down the dread and anxiety clogging his throat, burying it deeper into the places of his heart he dared never to go. The chill of his memories forced another shudder to claw its way up his spine, leaving him gripping tightly to his arms and shaking his head. His legs shivered and buckled underneath him as if the weight of his memories added to his physical mass.

It’s over. That’s enough.

Don leaned and used the wall to stabilize himself, relying on the firm surface to steady his rampant thoughts as well as his shuddering body.

Just move. One foot in front of the other. 

With a withered sigh, he pushed off the wall and continued walking, blocking out the rest of the hushed conversations escaping the bedroom.

 I can’t deal with that right now. I just can’t.

Leo’s got it. He can handle it.

With his mind completely focused on simply reaching his office, he didn’t even attempt to sneak past the bedroom. It didn’t matter if they saw him, anyway. This was one of those pesky things that he just… couldn’t fix. 

So why try when it’s a waste of time? When there are others who are far more equipped for such a task?

Soon after, he finally reached his office, carefully closing the door behind him as he walked toward his desk. With a sigh, Don flopped onto his computer chair, causing a quiet squeak to fill the compact room. He leaned into the firm cushion of his chair as the whispered hum of the computer filled his ears. For a moment, just a small moment, Don took the second of mental silence to look around his room.

His gaze immediately rose to the high school certificate hung proudly on the wall closest to his desk. He remembered how excited he was to have such an accomplishment under his belt at the young age of sixteen, rubbing it in Raph’s face with a smug grin. His twin nearly shattered the frame before Leo and Splinter intervened. 

So much has changed.

As his eyes began to wander again, he suddenly caught sight of a small, blue sticky note left underneath the frame of his certificate. Don leaned and squinted his eyes as he read,“Please remember to drink! -Leo”. 

A cozy warmth filled Don looking at the note left there by his brother. It embraced his heart and settled his mind, leaving the faint feeling of a grin growing on his face. Don turned to his desk and took a good swig from the glass of water left there since that afternoon.

His eyes continued to wander, soon catching sight of his calendar and notes posted on the wall near his door. He again squinted his eyes, and even fixed and cleaned his glasses, but that all proved to be useless. He still couldn’t read very well, and it was beginning to drive him crazy.

With an annoyed growl, Don scooted and rolled his chair closer to the wall. He would have to figure out his sight problem some other time, no matter how many sparks of dread began to pop in his stomach at the thought of his vision once again failing him.

Shaking his head to repel any more worthless memories from entering, he once again gazed at the notes neatly stacked on the wall. Most of them were just phone numbers of the “co-workers” from his job. 

But then he finally saw his calendar. And the warmth that once thrived inside him vanished instantaneously. 

Leo’s words echoed back to him as he began looking over the wrong amount of days crossed out, reminding him just how much time he had lost.

“Eighteen days.”

For eighteen days he didn’t help his family.

For eighteen days he didn’t keep up with the repairs of his home.

For eighteen days he didn’t show up to work.

For eighteen days his family tirelessly searched for him.

For eighteen days you failed them. Weeks of worry, dread, and longing plagued your family all because of your absence. Did they even have fresh food this whole time? Did they have to resort to drastic measures? Did they have heat? Did any of them sleep? 

Don crushed his head under the clutches of his tightening fingers. 

How much pain did he inflict on his family all because of his carelessness?

Don hunched over in his chair, pulling his legs up to his plastron and pressed his head onto his knee caps. He squeezed tighter and tighter until it hurt.

How could I let this happen?

Why did You put me in this family if You knew I would FAIL THEM?

He pressed his head further into his knees. His arms clung tighter around his legs. His lungs begged for oxygen that he couldn’t supply. 

“Why?...” He whispered brokenly.

Just at the moment he felt his head would burst from the pent up energy and pressure, a soft *ding* sounded from his monitor. He couldn’t recall what he had been processing on his desktop, so he slowly lifted his head from his knees, gazing over to his computer as he dropped his feet back to the floor.

Then it clicked in his brain, and he shot his legs out to propel himself off the wall to his desk. After slamming his hands against the ridge to keep from crashing into the small table, he took a millisecond to gather his completely shattered mental state so he could focus on the task at hand. 

This was something he could fix.

His fingers comfortably found their rhythm clacking on the keyboard as he finally opened the files coded into Lotus’ implant. He was surprised to see so many, at least a hundred or so lined up in neat rows. Each one was labeled similarly, with the title “SUBJECT 19- PROCEDURE #”. 

As curious as he was to begin looking deeper into those files, one in particular caught his eye, labeled two simple words:

“SUBJECT INFO”

That should be promising.~

With his mind made up, Don swerved his mouse and clicked. The file opened to reveal many different types of documents: Blood types, heartbeat readings, and many more medical related data.

If Don weren’t so disgusted by what these felons had done, he would actually be quite impressed with how well organized all the information was. 

He pushed that feeling aside as he continued scrolling.

“MEDICAL HISTORY”...

“DIAGNOSES”...

“TREATMENT PLANS”...

Holy French Toast there’s SO MUCH… I’m gonna need weeks just to go through this all!

“MEDICATIONS”...

“TEST RESULTS”...

“PROGRESS NOTES”...

Down, down, he continued searching through them, just trying to find the end of the treasure trove of knowledge about his family’s new guest.

“IMAGING AND DIAGNOSTIC REPORTS”...

“IMMUNIZATION RECORDS”...

And then his cursor finally stopped. And at the very bottom of the list lied what he was searching for:

“VITAL RECORDS”

There you are.

Don clicked the file as he hunched closer to his monitor, the feelings of anticipation and dread filling him as he wondered what he was going to find. Lotus would finally get some semblance of answers about her past now. And from what he’d seen of the wounded girl, he knew she needed some good news.

The first document to pop up on his screen was a newspaper clipping.

What? 

The article showcased some kind of vehicle, flipped over and ablaze on the side of a dirt-paved road. All the dates on the paper were crossed out, as well as the last names of anyone involved. The cover read in bold letters,

“FAMILY OF FIVE KILLED IN UNFORTUNATE CRASH”

Don’s head cocked in utter confusion as he began reading through the article. He began clicking his tongue as all his concentration zeroed in on every word of the story before him. 

Somehow this connected to Lotus. And he was going to find out how.

The article stated that during a particularly rainy, spring night, a family of five, (husband, wife, and three children), slid off the road and flipped their car over. When help finally arrived, as well as the Press, the car was being swallowed by unrelenting flames. Only two bodies were retrieved, that of the husband and wife. Their names were Frederick and Jess, but their last name was crossed out. 

All that was left of their two toddlers and baby were scorched car seats. 

Don backed away from his monitor in horror, covering his eyes with his hand and sliding it down to his chin. The images of the husband and wife’s bodies hidden under sheets made his stomach tighten with sorrow. He squirmed in his seat, both guilty and grateful that he had never seen or heard anything about this tragedy.

All it took… was one thing to go wrong.

… And then… everything was gone. Everything. That poor family…

The rest of the article continued on to review the woe of their family’s relatives, as well as the following funeral that would occur at a later date. (A later date that was meticulously scratched out to be indecipherable.) 

Why is this in her records?...

After finishing reading through the article, he moved on to the next document in the file:

A birth certificate.

Don muttered an annoyed growl as he noticed that this document had been thoroughly crossed out too, with the only things left reading:

Alexis?... Is that Lotus’ birth name?... But… this is an official document by the State of New York- 

A human certificate.

Don’s brain whirled all this new information around his mind like an indecisive tornado. Nothing was making sense. No puzzle pieces were lining up. How could he be given so much information and none of it is useful?!? Here he thought those psychos with medical degrees were organized and thorough in their research- Here he thought he was finally given a buffet of answers ready to be feasted upon at a moment’s notice. How wrong he was to think this would be easy.

If he’s learned anything in his sixteen years of being a teenage mutant ninja turtle, it was the fact that easy never seemed to be an option.

His shoulders fell as he let out a sigh filled with disappointment. None of this would make Lotus feel better… If anything, it could make things worse. 

If these documents are true… 

Don pushed away from his desk, dropping his head onto the rim of his chair as the weight of the answers given to him pressed further into his mind. His chest ached and his head spun with the implications of the documents.

Was Lotus born as an actual human? 

Did she truly once have a family? 

And how did the newspaper article connect to this?

Was she in that crash? Did she escape the fire? 

Instead of clicking into place and revealing the steadfast truth, all that these answers had done was scatter the pieces of this mystery further apart, deepening the chasm that remained of Lotus’ past.

That's it for this chapter!! And now all of you get to really see the base mystery of my story. :) Hopefully these small pieces of the past will help you theorize what you think happened to Lotus and who you think she is. :) I was ECSTATIC to show you all this chapter. I'm honestly quite proud of how it came out, and I am so excited to delve deeper into the mystery of Lotus' past.

Feel free to reblog and share this!

BIG THANK YOU to @poetique823 for helping me and encouraging me through this chapter! Also apologies for uh... breaking you. XD

@writer-in-wonder, @allyheart707, @oddartistl3, @risebabyx2, @joyjoygorl, @carrots-bear, @howtotrainyourdragonprince, @jasminegazer, @indieyuugure

If you want to be tagged in the next chapter, please comment down below! :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

(CW- Implied past deaths, trauma, mention of medical trauma!)

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

[miss-morgans-lover]

James, who has flashbacks/nightmares about the cave collapse, and struggles in small spaces

Tyler, who has nightmares about his dad leaving

Shelby, who has nightmares about disappointing her parents

Koda, who has nightmares about his 'death'

Ivan, who has nightmares about being trapped and struggles struggles in small spaces

Kendall, who has flashbacks/nightmares about her childhood and struggles with academic validation (HC)

Phillip, who doesn't want to disappoint his parents

Chase, who has nightmares about actually hurting his friends when he was mind controlled

Riley, who has nightmares about not being able to win against Fury again

[irlangelsdiary]

just a shoutout to any survivors <3

i see you.

i hear you.

i know its hard

i know some days are more difficult then others

but i also know you are strong, and brave.

i know you are going to get through this

i know you are going to heal

i know it will take one day at a time

but i know you will heal

we will heal

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

one day.