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Cosette shuddered due to Thenardier. Volume 2, Book 3, Chapter 10.
Clip from <Il cuore di Cosette>.
✩pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader
✩genre: hurt/comfort
✩warnings: ptsd group therapy, nightmares, guilt, fantasizing, matsurbation, attempted mugging,
✩word count: 5.8k
✩authors note: chapter one is up only one ao3! link is here! reblogs appreciated because I am shadowbanned <3
preview:
“How are you doing?” Shouto asks after some time. But Izuku knows him. Knows him well enough to know that what he’s really asking is have you slept lately, are you eating and you really should take it easy you know . But Shouto knows Izuku will never take it easy, and Izuku knows Shouto will always be upset that he isn’t.
He doesn’t want to tell Shouto that if he closes his eyes and listens hard enough he can hear the screams of all the people he couldn’t save. That he can see the light fade from their eyes when he sleeps and feel their bodies slowly turn cold; that he feels cold as his body replays the memory of it every night. It was Shouto that told him to get help, Shouto that reminded him that heroes cry when they need to, and sometimes they get therapy, too. He responds after a while, looking at Shouto through tired eyes and thick lashes. “I’m doin’ okay, Todoroki. How are you?”
And this is the way the friendship works between Izuku and Shouto. Izuku lies. Shouto pretends to believe him, but still takes him to coffee shops and sends reminders for therapy sessions and asks incredibly invasive questions despite them only being four words.
In his mind's eye, your face pops up again; tired and sad. There’s something vaguely familiar about it; something strange in the way it makes him feel like there’s something resting on the tip of his tongue. He’s trying to figure out where he’s seen you before; trying to figure out why everything about you feels like something he’s glad he doesn’t remember. Why everything about you feels like a bad memory that pops up in his dreams, something with sharp teeth and foggy edges.
He wonders why you’re there. You didn’t speak in the session at all. He considers himself lucky he even learned your name. You’re the first person whose story he’s been interested to learn, despite his general apathy towards the entire ordeal. He’s only there to keep people from breathing down his neck. He wonders whose breathing down yours.
The Grace in Syn
Chapter Two
Master List | Steve Rogers Master List | Series Master List
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Warnings: ptsd, Steve is a bit of an ass, disabled child, angst
Syn’s house was quaint, though it was easy for Steve to see the rental unit received more care than her own home.
As he made his way across the back lawn (that needed both mowing and the leaves raked) and up the stairs, which creaked, groaned, and protested his weight to the screened-in porch, he admired the one and a half story home. It could really be something with a bit of elbow grease and TLC.
The screen door screeched loudly when Steve pulled it open, announcing him just like Syn said it would. It caused a wry smile to pull at his lips.
There would be no sneaking up on anyone here.
One would think a porch would have a swing, but this held two wooden kitchen chairs. One was blue, and the other a light shade of purple. He eyed the oddly matched chairs and scattering of toys before approaching the interior door that stood open.
"Come in, Steve!" Syn called from inside, though Gracie met him at the door.
He smiled at her and signed Hello.
She waved and grinned and reached for his hand, far too trusting of a stranger.
His mind instantly went to all the ways someone could kidnap a child like her. Did she know nothing of Stranger Danger?
Still, Steve let her have his hand.
Better? she asked, touching the knuckles that had healed in the last thirty minutes.
He'd scrubbed a pound of gravel out of his leg and ankle, but sure. "Yes, all better."
She pulled him inside.
I’ve had a flare-up in my lower back for the last three weeks. This is disc pain pressing on the nerve. It makes day-to-day challenging. I know exercises to beat it down, but sometimes when my methods don’t work, I visit my physical therapist who evaluates me, and either manually reduces the pain or gives me a new set of exercises.
Our conversation began like this:
Her: Are you experiencing any new stress?
Me: Yes.
Her: More than normal?
Me: Very much so.
Her: Okay. Then you know what this is?
Then it dawned me. As someone who is still on her healing journey, who is very aware of the impact of emotion on the body, it still took my PT to point out that my stress has set my nervous system on fire.
My pain is real. But pain pathways can be triggered. I needed to take a step back and journal my stress, to meditate, to breathe.
She was able to manually reduce my pain, but I’m the one who has to keep it under control. Even the understanding that my stress was the fuel, and my anxiety the lighter, has made a difference.
Rabbit
Chapter Two. Pt One
After two years in Azkaban for how he treated you he was finally free. The only thing keeping him going was you. Now finally reunited with his Rabbit he thinks things will go easier for him. But Draco is struggling mentally and refusing to ask for help.
W! Heavy Ptsd, mental freak outs. Hearing voices, blood, bruises, cuts. Draco trying to convince himself he’s fine. Refusing to ask for help. Mental instability. The voices are the Dementors
Tags. @khemz1312 @squeaky-ducky @goofygobber @dracoslittlesunflower @trashyvicks @rosiehufflepuff @dracmalf0y-dm
no, come back!
Prompt number: 1 - no, come back!
Fandom: The Mentalist
Rating: T (to be safe)
Warnings/Tags: panic attacks/PTSD, hurt/comfort
—
When Teresa arrived at the warehouse, Vega in tow and her Glock still alert, the silence of the scene told her more than anything she saw. It was deep and heavy and strained, as if it would explode at the slightest of sounds. It was loud in a way that only silence could be. Like a quiet echo trying to fill the hollowness in the room.
Abbott held the kidnapper against a wall, already handcuffed. Jane knelt in a growing puddle of blood, a little girl in his arms, her throat slit open from one ear to the other in a terrible wet grin. Cho stood between them, gun still in hand but his shoulders were sunk. It was his eyes she met first.
She let her gun sink and put it back into her holster. Then she carefully approached Jane. She put a hand on his shoulder and bent down to him. “Jane”, she said quietly.
He wasn’t responding, not consciously. She wasn’t sure he’d even noticed her. He was pressing one hand to the girl’s neck, trying to stop the weakening blood flow. Teresa took one of the small wrists in her own hand, searching for pulse that she knew wouldn’t be there.
“Jane”, she said. “She’s dead.”
He shook his head. “No”, he murmured. “No, no, no. No, come back!” He cradled the little girl tighter to his chest. He was shaking.
“Patrick...” Tenderly, she put a hand under his chin and moved his head so that he was looking up at her. His eyes were clouded but he seemed to recognize her. “You need to let her go.”
“No”, he whispered. It broke her heart. Of all people to hold a dead child, Jane should not be one. She knew trauma and she knew that there was possibly no more horrible trigger for him.
He started sobbing the moment she gently started to loosen his arms around the girl. She placed the body carefully on the ground and felt her throat tighten and her eyes burning when she looked at the vacant eyes of the little girl.
Only Jane’s ragged breathing distracted her from the sight. He was pale, his cheeks flushed and he breathed fast and shallow. She took his hands and turned him away from the body. His palms were cold and sweaty and he was gasping for air now. She could see the panic in his eyes.
“I can’t breathe”, he choked, grabbing the collar of his shirt.
She wrapped her arms around him and put one hand on his chest, breathing slowly. “I know. It’s okay”, she muttered. “Deep breaths. It’s okay.”
At some point he pulled his knees up to his chest and put his head between them, while she kept her arms around him. For a moment, she was worried he would throw up, but he just gagged a few times and resumed his unsteady breathing. She stroked his back and the curls at his nape and he kept shaking in her embrace.
She vaguely noticed the arrival of another bunch of FBI agents, forensics and paramedics. Their criminal was lead away and the warehouse was swarmed with people. She was still sitting on the ground with Jane, wrapped around him like a blanket, trying to calm his breathing, trying to protect him from the world outside and inside his head, when Cho approached them. Two medics and the coroner’s team were lingering behind.
Cho crouched down next to them.
“They need to take care of the body”, he said.
Lisbon nodded. She leaned back and looked at Jane, who had stopped shaking at least.
“Is he in shock?” Cho asked.
No, he had a panic attack, she thought. “No, it’s fine”, was what she said.
“No paramedic?”
“No”, Jane croaked, slowly lifting his head and rubbing his face. His eyes and nose were red and he was still breathing heavily. He looked worn.
“Okay.” Cho squeezed his shoulder and stood. Then he offered Jane a hand, pulling him up.
“Come on. Let’s get you back to the hotel”, Lisbon said, taking Jane’s arm and leading him away from the body.
“Jane!” Abbott called, when they left the warehouse. Lisbon had a feeling that Jane only stopped because she stopped walking. In his mind he was far away.
Abbott strode over to them, regarding Jane with worry. There was so much blood.
“How are you?”, he asked.
“Fine”, Jane said, his voice even and without emotion.
“I’m taking him back to the hotel”, Lisbon said.
“Do you need a doctor?”
“No, just a little rest.”
“Alright. I’ll see you later then.”
With that Abbott let them go. She guided Jane to one of the SUVs and drove to the hotel they were staying at for their time in El Paso. His body seemed to move on its own accord. They took the steps in silence and he stood back, while she unlocked the door.
He sat down on the bed, staring at something only he could see. She stepped in between his legs and put her arms around his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face against her stomach. She ran a hand through his hair and felt cold sweat on his forehead and on his neck.
He cried again then.
She felt her heart breaking for him and kissed the top of his head. “I am so sorry”, she whispered. And she was, because he wasn’t just crying about the little girl that had just died in his arms. He was crying about his little girl that never got to grow up, about how much he missed her still, about how much he wanted to see her go to college now. His mind was sending him dark places, probably full of guilt and shame and pain and she couldn’t do anything about it. She couldn’t just drag him away. He’d find his way out eventually, he always did these days, rather sooner than later, but she really wished she could protect him from his treacherous mind like she could protect him from a violent criminal.
When he finally pulled back and looked up at her, she gave him a comforting smile. “How about you take a shower and I’ll make you tea?”
He just nodded, stood up and did as he was told.
She placed the steaming cup of tea on his nightstand right before he came out of the bathroom and curled up on the bed.
She sat down next to him and bit her lip.
“It’s okay, Teresa. You can leave me alone, I know there’s work to do.”
“I could stay with you!”
“It’s fine, really.”
She sighed and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”
When she came back that evening with tacos and tea, he was still lying on the bed, watching National Geographic. He smiled, when he saw her.
They ate the tacos in bed and Lisbon filled him in on the investigation.
“Abbott’s really angry this time, huh?”, he commented.
“Who isn’t? With the - “ She stopped herself, but he inhaled deeply and nodded.
“The little girl, yeah.”
“I’m sorry”, she said.
“No, I’m sorry. I, uhm, kind of broke down.”
She squeezed his hand. “Don’t be sorry. You told me you get panic attacks and that was a tough situation.”
“Yeah...”
“Are you okay now?”
He closed his eyes briefly, then nodded again. “Yeah. Just a little tired, tomorrow I’ll be as good as new.”
She smiled. “Good.”
That night she settled against his side, watching some animal documentary and he held onto her tightly until his breathing evened and he fell asleep. When he woke up with a scream in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding, she helped him take off his damp shirt and pulled him into a hug. She stroked his back and kissed his head, until he fell asleep on her chest again.
The next morning he was up before her. He brought her coffee and a bear claw and he looked okay.
Welcome aboard, SIERRA HARVEY, STUDENT #11. we are excited to set sail with you ! has anyone told you that you look like DOVE CAMERON? According to our records, you hail from LOS ANGELES, USA, SHE/HER, are CIS FEMALE, and are here to study MUSIC. We also see you received a spot on the ss university because of your MONEY — we won’t tell anyone. During your first few weeks here, other students said you were SWEET, EMPATHETIC, but also RECKLESS. It sounds like you spend most of your time at the ZEN ROOM. Upon checking your luggage, we noticed you packed a GUITAR brought from home. Hopefully your roommates don’t steal it!
Safe
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