#relived trauma

[alexversenaberrie]

Bucky and Doctor Kreizler-Zemo ~

Trauma is strong, thankfully there is someone, who wants to help.

[fanfictasia]

Comfortember Day 8

Relived Trauma 

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from I Don’t Like Sand, a one-shot I have yet to release. ;)

His surroundings filter in gradually, and Anakin becomes distantly aware of the sound of voices, ones which he knows, so he doesn’t panic – at least not any more than he already is. His breathing is far too fast and shallow, and he can’t shake the feeling of being pinned to the sand, totally helpless. He’s curled in on himself in a protective position, back pressed against the tree trunk.

“Anakin?” It’s Obi-Wan, his mind supplies helpfully.

He’s shaking uncontrollably, feeling this close to breaking and shattering into a million pieces. He should be stronger than this. There was absolutely no reason for him to lose control like that. But he did, and it’s inexcusable. Does it matter though? It happened. He can feel the heat of the sand permeating his body through his thin tunic, sand seeping in through the holes. He’s trapped, unable to run, unable to escape. All he can do is scream.

“What happened?” Despite the audible worry, Padme’s voice is still soothing.

He forces his eyes to open, blinking to focus them. Ahsoka is hovering in the background, a stricken look on her face which is in stark contrast to the prominent worry in Padme’s expression. She’s kneeling near him, close but not touching. Obi-Wan is on his other side, and he seems torn between keeping his distance and touching him. Anakin consciously tries to calm himself down, to slow his breathing so he’s not hyperventilating.

It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s on Naboo, not Tatooine. There aren’t any dangers lurking here. He’s fine. Anakin inhales a bit more slowly, counting mentally in an effort to force himself to relax. It isn’t easy, but this isn’t the first time he’s had to cope with something like this. Often, he’s alone, so he doesn’t need to deal with the embarrassment of making a scene. The realization that Ahsoka saw is nearly enough to send him over the edge again, but he refuses to start panicking all over again.

He probably would have though, especially since his thoughts start spiraling again, when Obi-Wan speaks. “Just breathe,” he instructs gently, and Anakin can definitely hear the concern in his voice. “Focus on me.”

Obi-Wan demonstrates, and Anakin tries to match his breathing to that of his former master’s. At times like this, when Obi-Wan is being so nice and kind and gentle, Anakin wishes so badly that he was capable of actually talking to him, the way most normal humans do. He wishes that he didn’t always have to feel so alone and trapped in his own memories of his past, but he – he doesn’t know how to talk to Obi-Wan about things like that in a way which he’ll actually understand. And then, the moments pass so fast, that Anakin is often left feeling… almost glad that he didn’t open up, because losing that closeness would have been even harder.

He’s not a good Jedi. He tries, though. He tries so hard, but it often seems to be for naught. He’s simply not good enough. He hates being so alone, hates that he can still want things that he shouldn’t. Why does it have to be so hard?

As his awareness and alertness return, Anakin becomes aware of the fact that he’s trembling, both from his flashback – he shouldn’t experience things like that; it’s a weakness he doesn’t have time for – and from shock, he thinks. He feels cold, despite the relatively warm temperatures around them. Obi-Wan’s presence is a calm beacon amidst the tumult in his mind, and it helps ground him in the moment.

[musewrangler]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35417986/chapters/88624060

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Piett deals with his rough past.

[littledraga]

Comfortember 8 Relived Trauma

Summer was in full swing in Kingspool. The heat was unbearable as the sun beat down on the docks, not even a breeze to take the edge off. Tiffany was doing her best to keep everyone cool and hydrated. But with the heat pouring off machines, it was impossible to keep them happy.

"Just a little longer!" she yelled, "then we take a long break and wait for it to cool off." It meant late hours but kept them out of the worst of the heat. Kept them alive.

"We'll be here all night!" complained one of the workers. The others agreed. No one liked having to stay late. Not when there were families or drinks waiting for them.

"It's just a few hours," she reminded them as she wiped the sweat from her brow. It was pushing too hot to be safe out and working. She'd have to call it soon. Kingspool may be known for being the best mechanic port, but she wouldn't let it be known for killing its workers. Not like this, at least.

While she tried to get as much as she could finished before sending them off to hide from the sun, they grew more frustrated from it. It felt unfair to make them work twice, even if they weren't working more hours.

Before it got too hot, Tiffany stood up and tried to get everyone's attention. Turning to face them, she found she already had it. Every man in her crew was stood behind her. Cold fear hit the pit of her stomach. They weren’t there to thank you for the break.

There was no time to talk or even scream for help before she was being bundled up and shoved into one of the crates. They had to fold her to get her in. She tried to keep her legs and back stiff, but they kicked and hit her until they had her stuffed and latched inside curled in on herself to fit.

Tiffany tried to scream for help. Tried to break open the lock, but it was of no use. There wasn't enough room to move, and no one was close enough to hear her scream and care.

The wood was worn enough that she was getting air, but it didn't feel like it. Gasping for breath, hot tears streamed down her cheeks and into the wood below her. "Let me out!" She screamed loud enough that her voice strained. "Please! Please let me out!" Struggling, she continued to beg until her voice grew hoarse.

With their boss out of the way, the men went on their way. Some home, others to the tavern for a cool drink.

When Tiffany hadn't come to check in to eat, Johnathan grew worried. She always came to complain about the heat and the work, even when he couldn't understand half of it.

No one was on the docks had she gone for a drink? That wasn't likely she didn't drink when there was work to do. Curious, he stepped out to check the docks to see if she was hiding. Tiffany was the type to send her men off then try to kill herself in the heat to save them work. Not that they appreciated it. It did no good to yell for her, so he kept looking for blonde hair or her oil covered cap.

Nothing. She wasn't still working. The longer it took to find her, the worse it got. Something was wrong. Maybe the stress had gotten the best of her again? He was trying not to panic.

While he was looking for Tiffany, she had run out of energy to keep screaming. She tried her best to keep calm as it felt like the box was crushing her slowly. Gasping for breath, she tried not to think of the closet she had been squished into just a couple years ago. The light peeking through the cracks wasn't enough to dispel the darkness in her mind as everything faded away to being trapped. The ache of being unable to move, not able to sit or sleep. Just suffocating blackness.

Eventually, nearby steps got her attention. Heavy, familiar steps. "Johnathan!" She cried, knowing he couldn't hear her. Her throat hurt, and she rasped. With what little strength she had left Tiffany rocked the crate, silently praying to the Powers that he would notice.

And he almost missed it. In his worry, he was focused on trying to think of where she was hiding. Would she have left for a break? She hadn't disappeared for a while. But he noticed. It was rocking, but not much. It took a second for its catch, but when he did he yelled. "Tiffany!" Rushing over, he fumbled with the latch. Thank the Powers they had only stuck a wrench through it instead of locking it. "I'm here. It's okay," he tried to comfort her as he tried to help.

Once the box was open, Tiffany was scrambling to get free. She loudly sobbed as she collapsed onto the dock. Her limbs gave out now that she was finally free. Everything hurt. Her muscles were screaming from the strain, and her lungs and throat burned as she gasped for fresh air. The summer heat was so much better than being stuffed in that crate.

"Hey," Johnathan soothed, reaching to run a hand over her back. When she recoiled, he pulled his hand back and sighed. "It's okay. You're alright." His voice was gentle as he repeated it over and over again until she finally seemed to calm down. Or at least she wasn’t trembling. As much.

After so long in a panic, Tiffany was spent. She couldn't move, and she didn't want to.

And when she wouldn't move, he soothed a hand over her hair. "I'm going to pick you up, okay? I'm taking you to lay in my bed and make you something to feel better."

She tried to get away at first, but she didn't have the strength to fight anymore when Johnathan gingerly lifted her into his arms. He was angry, but taking care of her came first. They could deal with the others later, and he would. Tiffany came first.

At first, he tried to wrap her in blankets, but she whined and tried to struggle. Instead, he found what pillows he could and left them there, hoping something soft would be comfortable while he made her something to eat.

When he came back, she was laying on them, in the middle of the floor with the door open and one pressed to her chest. Johnathan smiled softly when he saw her. "Tiff, I've got you something to eat."

It took a little coaxing to get her to sit up, but he managed. She could use a proper meal, but it was hot, and she was a mess. So he made an exception and had sliced chilled peaches with sugar and cream. He could almost always get her to eat peaches. Peaches and a soothing purple tea that reminded of happier times.

It took until near nightfall for her shoulders to relax and finally understand she was safe. "Thanks," she mumbled, still clinging to one of the pillows.

Johnathan had taken the time to sit with her on the floor to make sure she felt safer. "I'm always going to be here to look out for you," he gently reminded her and smiled when she crawled over. Over the pillows and onto his lap. Sighing, he leaned back against the wall and wrapped his arms around her. He was getting too old to sleep on the floor like this, but she was his oldest and best friend. Anything it took to keep her safe. A sore back was a small price to pay.

[nywcgirl]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 8/30 Fandom: MacGyver (TV 2016) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Riley Davis, Wilt Bozer (MacGyver TV 2016), Matilda "Matty" Webber Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Serious Injuries, Kidnapped, Friendship, Team as Family, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Coping, Sickfic, Sick Character, taking care of each other Summary:

Mac doesn´t remember what happened during their captivity but he can see it Jack´s eyes it must have been bad. 

This fic was written to fill the ‘Relived trauma’ prompt in comfortember, it is a sequel to ‘It’ll be fun they said.’

[malaboos-bodacious-blog]

Comfortember Day 8: Relived Trauma

Tw: Eyestrain And Blood

Sorry, we couldnt think of anything comfy so have angst

That goes so much against comfortember lmao but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

More with less eyestrain