#cw panic
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open for better quality!
hit the keep reading if you wanna read me rambling about 2012 Raph's traumas within the show, I'm not the best at writing so take that as you will.
I think out of all the 2012 ninja turtles Raph has the most 'wow this is fucked' centric episodes. (note i'm writing from the memory of watching the show as it released so its been a while.) But while Leo has the most fatal injuries, Donnie's injuries are more centered around his mind/head, and Mikey is just a jack of trades for getting hurt. I think the majority of Raph's 'injuries' are related too his overall too his phobias, ability too protect, and insecurities (tho that honestly falls under all four of the turtles ngl).
Its amazing how many times everything that makes Raph- Raph is used against him, from mutant roaches, his anger towards his brothers managing too overtake his love for them directly causing his best friend too attack his family, had a squirrel crawl into his stomach a experience mitosis, his mutagen drained and becoming a plant-dog thing, the brainworm, almost loosing his family a 100 different ways, that whole melt down in the trashcan where he hallucinates bugs, the bug planet. And that's all I can remember off the top of my head!
honestly typing just too type but Raph just like all of his bros have been through it and I think it should be acknowledged more.
I'm honestly rlly proud of this bc its the first thing I've created on clip studio paint and was kinda just my test run for the program. Messed around with a lot of brushes, I love the verity Procreate nor Paper have this much stuff to utilize. Also love that i can rotate and resize stuff without immediately loosing the initial quality (procreate).
first artist too ever draw fly baxter stockman hated the whole thing, never again.
#2012 raph#tmnt 2012#tmnt fanart#teenage mutant ninja turtles#tmnt raph#four’s art#cw blood#cw panic
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This Death That I Chose: Chapter 2
1613 words
CW: fear, panic, fever, bad caretaker, derogatory tattoo, pet whump
First, Masterlist, Next
~~~
Tao sat in Faye’s “waiting room,” a once-upon-a-time mudroom, long since cleared of the previous residents’ boots and jackets. He kept his arms crossed tightly to keep from fidgeting them, but that left his knee to bounce instead.
On either side of him sat Vic and Becca. Becca had understood quickly, of course. She had taken a single scan through the Conservatorium report before nodding up at him, her eyes dark and fierce. Vic took a little more explaining, but once Tao got over his squeamishness and uttered the phrase sexual slavery Vic had joined them in sitting solemnly, silently, waiting for Faye’s verdict.
When Faye finally did appear, stepping out into the waiting room with a grim expression, the three of them watched her with bated breath. She kept them on their toes a moment longer before she spoke, wiping her hands on a flowery dish towel.
“Whoever released him from the Conservatory was a fucking idiot,” she announced, “He needs to be on IV antibiotics for a couple more days. Back to pills after that. A couple weeks and he’ll be fine. I mean, his arm will still be broken, but… relatively speaking.”
“Thank you, Faye,” Becca said, “I don’t know what we would do without you.”
“Aw, shucks.” Faye’s tone was sarcastic, but the praise brought a slanting smile to her face.
“When can we talk to him?”
“He’s still pretty delirious, but that might actually make things easier if you want to try talking to him now.”
“That feels…” Becca shook her head, “Dishonest, I don’t know if I want to do that.”
“Screw honesty,” Tao stood, “I want to know what this guy’s deal is, and I don’t think he’ll tell us if he has a choice.”
“Tao…” Becca warned.
“You heard him in the interrogation room!” Tao argued, “He thinks his presence is putting us in danger. He isn’t going to tell us anything about himself, not willingly. What if he’s from nearby? What if he has family and friends that are still alive? What if they’re here?”
“The chances of that are so slim,” Becca pointed out.
“I’m with Tao,” Vic cut in, “We should use this.”
“Faye?” Becca looked to the doctor for her opinion.
Faye shrugged. “I’m a surgeon, not a shrink. As far as I know, talking to him won’t kill him, so,” she stepped aside and waved to the door behind her, “Have at it.”
~~~
Lark lay in a bedroom upstairs. Faye had removed his shoes, but nothing else, and covered his legs with a light blanket. To avoid overwhelming him, Becca and Vic agreed to wait outside the open door while Tao talked to Lark. He approached slowly, and Lark stirred at the sound of his footsteps. He opened glassy, feverish eyes and they rolled around the room before finding Tao sitting at his bedside. He stared at Tao, his expression blank.
“Hey,” said Tao softly, “What’s your name?”
“Lark,” the young man whispered.
“Okay,” Tao decided to test a theory, “What’s your real name?”
Lark inhaled and his mouth opened and closed, about to form some word – before he stopped and frowned a little.
“Lark,” he echoed.
Almost.
“Where are you from?” Tao took a different approach.
“The Capital.”
“Where did you live before that?”
Lark’s eyes drifted closed.
“No, no before.”
The Capital was only eight years old. ‘No before’ was impossible. Tao sighed. He had another idea. A cruel one.
“Lark,” he deepened his voice, and picked up just a hint of a southern accent. Imitating the voice came disturbingly easily, given how many propaganda videos he’d seen. “It’s me. The Commander.”
Lark’s eyes snapped open and locked onto Tao, and he sucked in a breath.
“Yessir, m’sorry sir,” he mumbled.
Tao’s heart twinged, but he continued.
“I need you to tell me where you lived before you came to the Capital, Lark.”
Lark’s breath came fast, and his good hand twitched where it lay on the covers.
“Poverty. Ruins. You saved me,” he whispered fervently.
“Tell me what your name was back then.”
“Didn’t have one.”
Tao frowned.
“What made me bring you to the Capital?”
“Your grace,” a weak, crazed smile crept onto Lark’s face, “Your gen… generosity, your kindness…”
Tao sat back. Propaganda. It was all propaganda. He needed to dig deeper. He stood up and leaned over Lark.
“We’re going to play a little game.’
Lark’s devoted smile quickly dissolved into a twist of fear, but Tao continued, convinced his idea would work.
“I’m going to ask you questions, and you’re going to answer as fast as possible, alright?”
Lark nodded hastily.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Tao took a moment to collect his thoughts. Then he began.
“What’s your name?”
“Lark.”
“Where do you live?”
“The Capital.”
Who do you serve?”
“You, Commander.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Y-yellow!”
“Faster! What’s your name?”
“Lark!”
“Where do you live?”
“The Capital!”
Who do you serve?”
“You, sir!”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Yellow!”
“What’s your mother's name?”
“Mari-” Lark’s breath hitched as he caught himself.
“Marie? Did you say Marie? Tell me!” Out of excitement, Tao unintentionally raised his voice and leaned in closer. Lark pressed back into the pillow and a heartbreaking mewl of terror escaped his lips as he clutched at his broken arm.
“Please don’t, I’m sorry, please!”
Tao jerked back, immediately awash with guilt. “Shit, I’m sorry-”
“Stop it!” Becca marched in. “You’re terrorizing him!” She grabbed Tao by the arm and pulled him away, taking his place.
“Lark?” she spoke gently, sinking down into the chair, “My name is Becca, you’re safe.”
Lark’s eyes stayed trained on Tao, bright with fear, his chest heaving with panicked breaths. Tao pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, feeling ill. He should have known it was a bad idea. It made sense in the moment, but if he had just stopped to think…
“That’s not the Commander, the Commander is far away from here. You’re with the resistance, we’re going to take care of you,” Becca soothed, “We’ll keep you safe.”
Her words only agitated Lark more. He shook his head.
“No, no, he knows where, he’ll come for me, I can’t stay-” Lark started to laboriously push himself upright with his good arm, as if to get out of bed. Becca pressed a hand to his shoulder.
“No, Lark, we’ll protect you, you need to rest now.”
Lark flopped back onto the pillow, but he didn’t stop struggling. He weakly thrashed his legs, kicking off the thin blanket.
“He’ll kill you all,” he sobbed, “He’ll kill you all!”
“Shh, shh, he can’t find us,” Becca tried to soothe him. Meanwhile, Tao was frowning at Lark’s legs. The boy’s kicking had caused the hems of his loose pants to ride up, exposing his calves. There were odd dark lines running up the sides of his legs. Tao reached out and caught a flailing ankle. Lark gasped and fell still and silent at the touch, his feverish stare finding Tao again.
“What are you doing?” Becca snapped.
“Just looking…” Tao frowned. The line wasn’t just a line, it was dense, half-inch-tall text that started just above Lark’s ankle and ran up the outside of his calf, on both legs.
I AM A GOOD PET. I DO WHAT MASTER SAYS. I NEVER TALK BACK. I LET MASTER FUCK -
Tao yanked the pant leg back down, covering the heinous words that followed, and fixed the other leg as well. When he looked up he saw Lark was flushed bright red and looking away; so he knew it was wrong, at least he wasn’t that conditioned.
Becca stood and moved to Tao’s side, concerned by his horrified face.
“What is it?”
Tao lifted the pant leg and turned Lark’s ankle to reveal just the first sentence. Becca’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Is that a tattoo?”
“Yeah,” Tao confirmed grimly.
“Shit!” Becca turned her back on Lark, hiding her face in her hands. “Bastard, bastard…” she mumbled.
“M’sorry,” Lark’s bright eyes were back on Tao, “Please, I’m sorry, please don’t break it.”
Tao dropped Lark’s ankle like a hot coal.
“No one’s… breaking anything,” he growled. He grabbed the blanket and threw it back over Lark’s body.
“Stay. Rest,” he ordered. Lark nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Becca shuddered and grabbed Tao’s arm, dragging him out of the room.
“That was a fucking disaster!” she exploded as soon as they were out of earshot, on their way down the stairs. “I can’t believe you two talked me into that!”
Tao and Vic, following behind, exchanged a glance.
“I’m really, really, sorry Becca,” Tao said earnestly, “I didn’t mean to scare him that bad, I just… I had a dumb idea and I ran with it.”
“‘Dumb’ is an understatement!” Becca whirled to face him in the once-living room, now-intake room. “That boy’s been through an unbelievable amount of trauma, and you used it against him!”
“He did find out the mother’s name,” Vic pointed out.
“Oh, yeah, ‘Marie,’ that’s super helpful,” Becca said sarcastically, “We can just look up all the Maries in the phonebook and call them, ask if they’re missing a son.”
“I’m sorry, okay?” Tao was getting a little desperate. “It won’t happen again.”
“Fucking promise me Tao, right now,” Becca raised her voice, “That you won’t pull any shit like that, ever again!”
It was sinking in, just how badly he’d screwed up. Lark’s terrified face flashed through Tao’s mind, causing painful twinges of guilt in his stomach.
“It won’t,” he said, his voice low and deadly serious, “I promise.”
“Good,” Becca huffed, “Because if anyone fucks with him again, I’m bringing down hell.”
~~~
First, Masterlist, Next
Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps
#whump#whump fic#whump writing#this death that i chose#pet whump#bad caretaker#cw fear#cw panic#cw fever#cw derogatory tattoo
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---Last Seed, 27th, 4E 201---
Another dragon. I absorbed something from it again, and yet as it came and met me at the ground I felt like I knew exactly what I had to do to fight it. To kill it. Whatever I absorbed, the soul perhaps, makes me feel sick to my stomach as I absorb it.
Gore gave me a look afterwards. Quiet knowing.
I just need to go back to Whiterun.
Eldergleam Sanctuary is next to the volcanic springs, and we passed some nude hunters on the way out, comfortably relaxing in the springwater.
Talley wanted to join them. Regretfully I had to tell him no, but wouldn't explain myself.
I can't tell them. They'll see me different. I'll be ruined.
This is all so much, and my blood is still boiling from that dragon kill. I'm going to throw up.
The abandoned prison is right across from here. Maybe a quick dip into there will help, see what the rumours are about.
#skyrim#the elder scrolls#tes#skyrim gameplay#gameplay#skyrim screenshots#Mothuk Luzim#Moth's Journal#cw panic
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Boromir Lives AU: Panic! At the Ballroom
Got some new soup for you.
CW! PTSD, panic attack, crowds, physical violence, blood, smoking
It's, uh, less cute soup than some of the others.
The last panel is a nod to when I was having regular panic attacks a few years ago, and the only thing that helped was lying on the floor, the colder and harder the better. At night I would lie in bed and feel like I was drowning in the blankets, until finally I'd move to the bare floor, sometimes with weight on my back, until I eventually fell asleep.
Anyway! Surprisingly this actually came from a very happy and lovely fic in which Boromir has a delightful time; in writing a crowd scene, though, I figured having spent 40+ years training to die in battle, he'd never shake the PTSD. It's okay, Aragorn can spot it coming a mile away. Hard to prep for a crushed windpipe delivered by 250 pounds of war trauma, though. Happy Thursday!
Boromir Lives: Helm's Deep
Boromir Lives: Whump-Time After Pelennor
Boromir Lives: GO TO SLEEP
Boromir Lives: Aragorn's Coronation
Boromir Lives: Faramir and Eowyn's Wedding
Boromir Lives: It's a BABY
Boromir Lives: High Uncle of the White Tower
Boromir Lives: We Didn't Have a Choice
Boromir Lives: The Haircuts
#boromir lives#boromir#aragorn#lord of the rings#tolkien#cw ptsd#cw panic attack#cw violence#cw smoking
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pushing boundaries
#have any of y’all’s cousins ever put a bean bag chair on top of your head#then sat in it and suffocated you for 10 minutes straight#fnaf moon#moon fnaf#fnaf dca#fnaf self insert#fnaf#fnaf sb#kirbsart#cw panic attack#tw panic attack#cw claustrophobia
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Prompt 136
There is a small child floating in the Watchtower.
They’re visibly not human, a too-big cloak of purple (what shade no one knows, all they can describe about the cloak is purple, nothing else) hanging from them as big Lazarus-green eyes glare down in something of a pout. The child huffs, blowing white hair out of their face despite it shimmering and shifting on its own already.
How the child, inhuman or not, found their way into the Watchtower- without setting off an alarm no less- is a concern. A very large concern, but it can wait because there is a four-year old (if the child is the equivalent of a human child that is) at oldest staring down at them.
“Do you know where the speedsters are?” the child piped up after an awkward stare-down, none of the league members present quite sure what to do in this situation. It was probably around time to call Batman… or they could call Flash instead.
#dcxdp#dpxdc#prompts#Lil Time-Student Danny: The speedsters keep making Pops sick >:/#Danny sneaking out to yell at the speedsters:#The JL who have no idea what’s going on#If Danny starts crying they’re gonna panic#How did Danny become a child?#Well there was an explosion and death and he didn’t want to go with Vlad#But staying in the Clocktower for so long has effects#Plus Clockwork had already claimed him as his ghostling#Some days Danny is younger and sometimes he’s his normal 14 years of age#Bonus on if the time medallion in his chest is now visible similar to Clockwork’s clock#He's just a lil baby ghostling whose parent keeps getting Really sick and he's scared#Gonna yell or punch at the people tearing through time and hurtin his dad#Whos gonna stop him#FK is too busy gathering medicine and tea for CW#The remaining observants are hoping Phantom gets stuck somewhere so they don't have to deal with the baby Ancient
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takes place sometime after season 1. wanted to draw a comic with these two
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*cough cough* possibly… Legend whump? Him having a panic attack?
*sneezes*
*looks down at my screen*
-oh hey!...oh dear...someone better get Legend a blankie and some warm milk🥹
#im a sucker for Legend whump. whether it be art or fics#ill take it#linked universe#linkeduniverse#lu#my art#lu legend#panic attack#angst#lu whump#cw whump#whump art#whump#art requests#thank you anon!#hero of legend#digital art
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….
He’ll be fine
…
Eventually
Context
Masterpost
@tmntaucompetition
#cw panic attack#tw panic attack#tmnt au competition#true colors au#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the tmnt#v draws stuff#rottmnt leo#rottmnt leonardo#tmnt 2018#rottmnt separated au#separated au#tc au#tmnt au comp#tmnt leo#tmnt leonardo#tmnt 2k18#hamato leonardo#tmnt au#rottmnt au
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Something about panic feels like I've become walking cubism. The sharp edges and prismatic figures are somehow fitting for my distress, unforgiving corners ready to puncture a lung when I try to collapse, the angles holding my form like scaffolding so I can't seep through the floorboards. I'll be grateful for it later.
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Kid Leo Au: SPINOFF COMIC
Part 3!
I have an explanation as to why Leo is not concerned by Donnie's smallness, but I wanna see what everybody else thinks first!!!
Donnie awkwardly trying to comfort him is so just like me fr :) He's doing his best fr fr
Kid Leo Au Masterpost | First | Next
#rottmnt#art#fanart#rottmnt fanart#rottmnt leo#rottmnt fanfic#rottmnt comic#digital art#rottmnt art#comic#rottmnt kid leo au#kid leo au#rottmnt turtle tots#kid leo au spinoff#medium leo#lmao#cw panic attack#panic attack cw
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Also I'm acting normal but technically I'm having a really quiet panic attack about what happened yesterday on the Dolomites + the ongoing weather conditions and how everyone is like. Awe well what can we do. Guess this is just the new normal. I want to curl up in a ball and cry and I hate that whenever I say stuff like this some joker suggests ecoterrorism. Yeah sure lemme just ruin my own life and that of my whole family. I'm glad you're a desperado but some of us have shit left to lose. Btw none of those jokers ever goes to do the ecoterrorism themselves it's always somebody else. I am so fucking exhausted
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Forged Divinity Chapter 23: Enjolras has a Misunderstanding
1505 words
CW: institutionalized slavery, religious themes, nudity, panic
Previous, Masterlist, Next
~~~
Leannan awoke with a start, his eyes hot and wet, his body tense. As soon as he sat up, the nightmare was slipping away. Fire. Locked doors. Hands. Phineas. Maeve.
He fumbled in the dark, struggling out from underneath the blanket and searching for the solar lamp. He’d made the mistake of turning it off, leaving the little chamber nearly pitch black. The darkness pressed in around him like a physical presence, making him gasp for air until his trembling hands finally found the button on the base of the lamp and turned it on, flooding the room in pale white light that shuddered as he gripped the lamp tightly.
He stood on wobbling legs, setting the lamp down, and, not wanting to put his dirty shorts back on, wrapped a towel around his waist. He picked up the lamp again and stepped out of the bedroom, intending to go back up to the main deck for some air – but then he saw a light coming from the other room. The door was open, and he pushed it further ajar and saw Jeanette lying on the bed inside, a fading lamp hanging from a hook in the ceiling.
“Jeanette?” Leannan loudly whispered, stepping fully into the room, “Jeanette!”
She awoke with a sniffle.
“What?” she groaned, blinking at him.
“Can I stay in here with you, Jeanette?” Leannan asked eagerly.
“If you must,” she sighed.
Leannan clicked off his redundant lantern, setting it down before climbing onto the bed next to Jeanette. He curled up on his side, facing her where she lay on her back, suddenly struck by anxious curiosity.
“Jeanette,” he whispered, “What happened to the woman in the book?”
“What?” Jeanette mumbled, her eyes closed.
“The woman in the book you read to me. What happened to her?”
Jeanette was silent for a long time, for so long that Leannan thought she may have fallen back asleep.
“She escapes,” she finally said, “She finds her lost daughter, and she escapes, and she finds her husband. Everything turns out fine.”
“Oh.” Leannan felt so strangely relieved. His anxieties lessened. “Thank you, Jeanette.”
“Goodnight,” she said pointedly.
“Yes, Jeanette.”
~~~
Leannan wasn’t in his room.
Enjolras tamped down the swell of panic, sticking her head into the tiny, empty bathroom.
The yacht wasn’t that big – he couldn’t have gotten far. His shorts were even still on the floor. He definitely couldn’t have gotten far with no clothes.
She stepped out of the room, and her heart sank when her eyes fell upon the door to where Jeanette was sleeping.
“Please don’t be in here,” she murmured, and opened the door.
Of course he was; he was sound asleep, cuddled up to Jeanette, naked except for a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. Yellowing bruises from where Phineas had beaten him stood out dark and mottled. Jeanette was still fully clothed, but that hardly mattered. Rage flooded Enjolras.
“Hej!” she shouted, startling them both awake, “What the fuck is going on here?”
Leannan sat up, his eyes wide. Jeanette lifted her head slightly.
“Good morning?” she said slowly.
Enjolras surged forward and fisted a hand in the front of Jeanette’s bloodstained dress, jerking her upright. She cried out in pain, a hand flying to her neck.
“What did you do to him?” Enjolras demanded.
“Nothing!” Jeanette insisted, “I didn’t touch him!”
“Enjolras, I didn’t know!” Leannan piped up, his voice shaking, “I didn’t know you wouldn’t want me to be around other people, I’m sorry, it’s my fault, not Jeanette’s!”
Enjolras’ anger flagged as she started to pick up that she might have misunderstood the situation.
“Jeanette didn’t touch you?” she asked Leannan, capturing his gaze.
“No!” Leannan shook his head emphatically, shifting onto his knees on the bed, “She didn’t, she didn’t do anything wrong, please don’t hurt her, you can hurt me!”
Enjolras lowered Jeanette gently back down to the pillows.
“Leannan…”
“I’m really sorry,” Leannan rambled, “I didn’t know, I won’t do it ever again, I won’t let anyone touch me except you, I’m all yours, just,” he doubled over, pressing his forehead to the bed in submission, “Please don’t hurt Jeanette, please!”
“Can you sit up please, Leannan?” Enjolras asked softly. She knew it would be useless at this point to tell Leannan she didn’t own him; that would come later.
Leannan slowly rose back up, watching Enjolras closely.
“Are you two…” Enjolras gestured between them, “…Friends?”
Leannan looked at Jeanette curiously. Jeanette was rubbing her neck, frowning.
“Yes,” Jeanette said strongly after a pause, “He’s my friend.”
Leannan’s face absolutely lit up before he schooled his expression, looking to Enjolras for approval.
“That’s good,” Enjolras said, “I’m glad. I’m sorry I scared you both. And Jeanette, I’m sorry I assumed the worst.”
Jeanette waved a hand, dismissing the apology.
“You had every reason to assume the worst.”
“Leannan,” Enjolras turned to him, “I left some clothes for you on your bed. Why don’t you go get dressed while I help Jeanette into the shower?”
“You’re doing what now?” Jeanette asked, just as Leannan chirped, “Yes, Enjolras!”
Leannan got up, holding up his towel and leaving for the other room. Enjolras looked back to Jeanette.
“How do you want to do this?”
~~~
As Leannan dressed, he tried to break down Enjolras’ character. She was possessive and quick to anger, much like Phineas, but quite lenient and capable of kindness and care. She was generous, and wealthy. She claimed to own the rest of the lost Iowans. Or rather, La Libera owned them, and Enjolras was undoubtedly a high-ranking member with access to them. Leannan was important to her. She needed to finish the set.
That made Leannan extra valuable. That was sort of… satisfying.
Leannan had played up his “terror” at Enjolras’ violence, of course, having already known this in some way. Enjolras clearly wanted Leannan unharmed, unmarked, untouched – so the “punish me instead!” gambit had worked splendidly, and both Leannan and Jeanette had come out unharmed.
Leannan would still be wary of her temper, of course, but knowing it was so easy to soothe was a relief. He had Jeanette to worry about now too, after all.
Yes, Leannan was confident now that with a little bit of time and effort he’d have the soft Enjolras wrapped around his little finger. She would be an excellent master.
He didn’t think about Phineas.
He didn’t think about Maeve.
The clothes Enjolras had left for him were simple, linen, boxy items. Not terribly flattering, but better than nothing. There were shoes as well, a pair of moccasins. Just enough light came through the single small window above the beds for Leannan to step into the bathroom nook and comb his fingers through his hair in the streaky mirror. He tucked his shirt in, made it a little cuter. Then he investigated around the sink, something he hadn’t done last night in his exhaustion. There was a bar of plain soap, and a small pump bottle. He tried the bottle, and found it to be lotion. He smiled, rubbing it into his palms and lifting his hands to his nose.
Lavender.
A spike of terror impaled his stomach. In a panic he turned on the water and grabbed the bar of soap, lathering it up furiously before rinsing his hands. He lifted them to his face, and he could still smell lavender. He smelled the bar of soap, just to make sure it was plain, as tears stung his eyes. Plain. Scentless. He lathered again, rinsed again. Still smelled lavender.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
“Leannan?” A voice came from the bedroom.
Leannan sobbed hopelessly at Enjolras’ inevitable discovery. Turned off the water. Quickly dried his hands and tears with a hand towel. Pasted on a smile and stepped out of the tiny bathroom.
“Yes, Enjolras?”
One look told him she wasn’t buying it.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded, her eyes burning.
“Nothing!” Leannan said innocently, “I just washed my face and got some soap in my eyes.”
Good thinking. That would explain the redness.
Enjolras didn’t look satisfied, but she didn’t look suspicious either.
“Leannan,” she said gently, “What’s going on? Can you tell me?”
Leannan felt his heart start to pound, that same spike of terror twisting in his gut.
“It’s silly,” he whispered, hating himself for admitting his fault so easily.
“That’s okay,” Enjolras said unexpectedly, “I don’t mind.”
Leannan opened and closed his mouth, and decided to put it as simply as possible.
“I don’t like lavender,” he said.
“Oh,” Enjolras nodded knowingly, “The hand lotion.”
“Yes, I tried a little, and I couldn’t get it off…” Unthinkingly, Leannan lifted his hands to his nose again. The smell made him whimper, shoving his hands away.
“I don’t…” his breath picked up speed, “I really don’t like it.”
“That’s okay,” Enjolras said, “How about we try washing it off with some dish soap upstairs? That should work better.”
Leannan nodded quickly. “Yes, please.”
Enjolras offered a hand and a smile.
“Let’s go.”
~~~
Previous, Masterlist, Next
Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @thecyrulik
Let me know if you want on or off the taglist!
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---Last Seed, 29th, 4E 201---
Back in fucking Falkreath. Had to deliver the news of Bleak Falls Barrow to their local priest, he asked me to find his notebook. Gods I hate this place.
I can't say no to a holy man though, try as I might want to. I feel like I keep letting everyone walk all over me, but I have a hard time turning them down. His journal seems to be in a mine close to Whiterun at least. Easy to get and come back.
Arkay, Divine of Life and Death, please keep us safe in our travels, and keep my end timely.
I panicked.
I just go so fucking scared being there I ran. I ran until I couldn't breathe and then ran some more. They yelled for me but I couldn't stop myself. I ran all the way to the mine, and then in almost a frenzied haze I needlessly slaughtered everyone here.
They were all bandits at least but I just. I couldn't stop. I'm so freaked out, it hurts. It's making me feel disgusting. We're camping in the cave for the night, I can't stand to sleep in an inn for the night. Sorry boys.
#skyrim#the elder scrolls#tes#skyrim gameplay#gameplay#skyrim screenshots#Mothuk Luzim#Moth's Journal#oh yeah this is when Talley spawned two berwhales too#not relevant#but still#cw panic#?
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Husk teaches Angel some shuffling tricks one night and the spider picks it up like a natural. 'Something, something, good with his hands' followed quickly by a jovial 'shut the fuck up'
Anyway, Husk also ends up gifting Angel a deck of his own design with the heart motifs and the gold gilding and everything. There may also be some pale pink in there too but he'll never admit to that. Angel cries. It's a whole thing but they're pretending it's not so everyone (except Charlie) is just leaving them to it
But yeah, Angel having a panic attack in his dressing room, reaching for something, anything, a powder, a drink--
He knocks something over, turns to see his bag upturned, and cascaded across the floor like little flashes of golden rose petals? That deck of cards
He gathers them with trembling, feverish hands. Organises them slowly. By suit. Then by number. Then, when some feeling returns in his hands, he tries the simple shuffles. Not as smooth as when Husk was teaching him, but the movement helps direct his spiral into something less destructive. Failing that, he drops them on the floor again to mix up like that. Doesn't matter if its not pretty, it just needs to be real. It needs to keep him even and controlled
When the worst passes, he attempts the shuffles again, successfully, and feels a sense of pride and accomplishment, if only a flicker of it. Before he leaves he brings the deck up for a kiss, smelling a brief whiff of hard whiskey over the cloyingly sweet smoke all around him.
But yeah, that deck goes wherever he does. He stores it with his tommyguns
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Saw someone mention how Steve tends to get defensive when he's anxious and it stuck with me, so here's my take on the "Steve breaks a dish and has a panic attack about it" trope
cw: descriptions of nonstandard panic attack, implied/referenced child abuse
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The distinct sound of shattering porcelain is followed by a vehemently hissed, “shit,” and then silence.
“Steve?” Eddie calls from the couch into the kitchen. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Steve calls back, but his voice sounds tight in the way it does when something definitely isn’t okay.
Eddie pushes himself up and moves to the doorway, looking in to see what the trouble is. The kitchen of the house he and Wayne had been “gifted” by the government isn’t exactly huge, and he has a straight line of sight to where Steve is standing by the sink, eyes squeezed shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose, and to the red and white shards of porcelain on the floor by his feet.
“Hey,” Eddie says, but Steve doesn’t look up; if anything, his posture only gets tenser. “You’re not cut or anything, are you?”
“No,” Steve says, and his tone is still a little off, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying.
“What was that, anyway?” Eddie asks.
Finally, Steve takes a deep breath in and opens his eyes, looking down at the mess on the laminate. “Mug.”
As soon as he says it, Eddie recognizes the colors for what the design must have been. “Shit, the Campbell’s one?”
Steve doesn’t say a word, just gives one sharp nod.
Eddie sucks a hiss of breath in through his teeth. “Shit,” he says again. “That was Wayne’s favorite.”
“I know,” Steve says tersely. “I’m sorry.”
His tone is definitely weird. “I mean, I’m sure it was an accident, Steve–” Eddie starts.
“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, almost snapping this time. “I’ll clean it up.”
“O-kay,” Eddie says slowly, watching as Steve jerks into motion and moves over to the corner where they stash the broom and dust pan.
“I’ll apologize to Wayne when he gets home,” Steve says as he starts sweeping up, even though Eddie hasn’t said a word.
“He gets home at, like, six in the morning.”
“I’ll make sure I’m up,” Steve says shortly.
“Steve, you can just tell him what happened later, he’s not going to stand around demanding an explanation. I mean, seriously, you think Wayne is gonna be pissed if you’re not there, immediately scraping at his feet when he comes through the door?” Eddie scoffs, but Steve remains silent. Eddie watches as he finishes sweeping in short, sharp motions, brows pulling together as Steve apparently fails to pick up on the joke. “…he won’t be, y’know.”
Steve shrugs. His expression has gone eerily blank, and he takes the dustpan over to the garbage can to dump it.
“Hey, don’t–” Eddie reaches out, and Steve jerks to a stop just in time. “You don’t have to toss it, man, we might be able to glue it back together.”
Steve sends Eddie a sharp look. “I’m not gonna be able to hide that it was broken, Eddie,” he says slowly, as though this should be painfully obvious.
“I’m not suggesting we hide it, I’m just saying we might still be able to use it,” Eddie answers in the same slow manner. “It’s not junk until you’re sure you can’t fix it.”
“Right,” Steve snaps, dropping the dustpan on the counter so sharply that the shards of porcelain clink against each other. “Can’t even clean up right.”
Eddie frowns, stirrings of defensiveness rising up in his gut at Steve’s continued sour mood. “I didn’t say that. I just said we might be able to fix it.”
“Fine. We’ll try to fix it,” Steve bites out, turning away from Eddie so he can put the broom back in the corner.
Eddie shakes his head, unwilling to engage with whatever snit Steve’s got himself worked into. “What happened, anyway?” he asks instead.
Apparently, this is the wrong tactic.
“What happened is, I’m too stupid to even do the dishes right,” Steve declares as he whirls back around. “Is that what you want to hear?”
“What?” Eddie is baffled, suddenly caught in the middle of an argument he hadn’t even realized was happening. “No! Why would I want to hear that?”
Steve throws his arms up, a demonstration of giving in. “Well I already said I’m sorry, and I am, and I don’t know what else you want from me!”
The heat of Eddie’s own temper is beginning to flare, but he does his best to shake it away because he still doesn’t know what the hell is going on and he doesn’t think getting angry will help. “I don’t want anything else from you! Why are you acting like I’m yelling at you? I’m not, I’m not even upset about the stupid mug, so what the hell is your deal?”
He takes a couple of steps into the kitchen, reaching out for Steve, hoping just to touch some part of him. Physical contact has always been grounding, has always been a comfort for them both; it almost seems like they can communicate better if they can just be in contact somehow. Instead of reaching back, though, Steve tenses up; it’s not exactly a flinch, but it’s as if he’s bracing himself, as if he’s waiting for Eddie to–
Eddie takes in the painfully blank expression on Steve’s pale face, the way his chest is rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths that he can’t quite seem to control, the way he’s angled himself just slightly away from Eddie, and suddenly Eddie feels cold.
It’s as if he’s waiting for Eddie to hit him.
Eddie wonders how the hell he hadn’t realized he was walking through a minefield until he was already standing in the middle of it.
(It still takes him by surprise, sometimes, that Steve’s anxiety, his panic, tends to look more like anger. That he tends to lash out like a wounded animal when he feels backed into a corner, hurt too many times in moments of vulnerability to do otherwise.)
(It takes him by surprise, but he’s learning.)
“Steve,” Eddie says softly, dropping his hand slowly back to his side, “I’m not angry.”
Steve stares at him, almost confused, like Eddie’s not doing it right, like this isn’t what’s supposed to come next. Eddie sort of wants to break something (he thinks, briefly, that he’d like to start with the fingers on Mr. Harrington’s right hand, and then move on to his left).
“It’s just a mug, Steve, it’s okay. No one’s upset about it,” Eddie says. “I’m preemptively speaking for Wayne, because I know he’s not gonna be mad at you. Seriously, getting upset over a broken cup? Does that sound like something Wayne would do?”
Slowly, once he seems to realize that Eddie is waiting for an answer, Steve shakes his head.
“Does that sound like something I would do?” Eddie asks.
Steve shakes his head again, though he’s still watching Eddie with something approaching trepidation.
“I promise it’s fine. I’m not angry,” Eddie repeats, and chances a couple of steps closer to Steve.
Steve doesn’t react this time, no tensing, no flinching, no verbally lashing out, and so Eddie lifts a hand again, reaching slowly for Steve’s. Steve lets him.
When he gets his fingers wrapped around Steve’s own, Eddie can feel how cold they’ve gone, can feel the fine tremble of adrenaline working through them, and can’t quite choke down the noise of sympathy in his throat. He tugs on Steve’s hand.
“C’mere,” Eddie says, invites him by lifting his other arm, but leaves it up to Steve.
It only takes a moment for Steve to step in close, and when Eddie lets go of his hand to wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders, Steve reciprocates by cinching his own arms tight around Eddie’s waist. He takes one sharp breath, and then another, and Eddie can hear the way they shake going in and out.
“There you go,” Eddie says quietly, rubbing Steve’s back.
“I just dropped it,” Steve says, his voice a little hoarse. “It was an accident.”
“I know it was,” Eddie assures him. “It’s okay.”
“It was an accident,” Steve says again, and Eddie wonders how often someone has believed him – how often he’d ever even been given a chance to explain.
“It was an accident,” Eddie agrees. “You’re okay, Steve.”
Steve lets out a little noise, like maybe he’s trying to laugh, but then he pulls in another shuddery breath and rests his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. “Okay.”
In a little bit, Eddie might lead Steve to sit down on the couch, or maybe just take them both up to bed, because fuck doing the dishes after this anyway; he’ll make sure to leave a note for Wayne about the mug (ask him not to bring it up until Steve does, to not even jokingly make a thing about it), but for now, he concentrates on holding Steve close.
He’ll stand with him as long as it takes for the shaking to stop, for his breathing to even out, for him to relax even just a little against Eddie, and he'll promise, as many times as Steve needs to hear it, that it’s okay. Things will be okay.
[Prompt: Embracing your partner]
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#eddiesteve#solar wrote#cw child abuse#referenced but does not take place in the fic#cw panic attack#even if it doesn't look like one at first#soft ending though as always I promise
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