reminding myself that those moments where I'm inexplicably frozen with terror and reliving a memory are called flashbacks and they're not just random signs that I'm dying! 💚
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reminding myself that those moments where I'm inexplicably frozen with terror and reliving a memory are called flashbacks and they're not just random signs that I'm dying! 💚

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whumptober 2020 | day 2: collars (in the hands of the enemy)
i wasn’t originally going to post this because it doesn’t quite fit with the day’s theme, but now it’s three days later, and i still liked it on the edit so i’m posting it dammit and fuck you to the little anxiety monster.
set in the future. the vaguest of references to the characters of @evermetnotforgotten and @card-games-and-pain
content warnings: referenced captivity, panic attack, mild d!ssociat!on, mild flashbacks, semi-unresolved sticky feelings
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It’s the strangest thing. He hasn’t thought about it in so long. In years. It’s easy not to think about it. It’s easy to lock parts of what happened to him up. He has to a lot of the days. But that’s easing.
Thalia is helping. The therapist. He doesn’t call her the therapist and she doesn’t call herself the therapist but that’s what she is and they both know it. Either way, she does help. Is helping.
But they’re in a pet store. Mal and him. Just stopped by to get some litter and food for Mal and Lou’s cats on the way by, and Cass sees the collars and he reaches out his hand…
He closes his eyes and for a moment he’s not in a pet store. He’s not anywhere at all. He opens them again and he’s in a pet store but his is heart racing and there are memories in his head he doesn’t want and fear in his legs that he doesn’t need and disgust on his tongue that he can’t shift and —
He reminds himself to breathe. He reminds himself of the things Thalia says. He reminds himself to ground his feet, he reminds himself to let his shoulders relax so he can breathe, he can breathe, he can breathe. He reminds himself to find Mal, even though he can’t find the other man’s eyes and then –
“I’m just gonna meet you at the car, is that okay?”
Mal looks at him and something in him changes and Cass knows he’s been seen. Mal gets this softness about him that used to prickle, used to burn, but right now it just… washes Cass clean. It helps him breathe, feels like protection. Thalia’s been helping.
Mal nods. “Yeah, mate. Of course.”
||HC||
“It gave the sensation that your head was being torn open so that hot lava could be poured directly into your brain. Afterwards, just thinking of it would make me physically ill. So naturally, I had to have it.”
[ While it had been part of Oswald’s original intention to use the very same torture (therapy) device that had been administered to him on Strange- which is on brand for his preference in enacting revenge in specific tailored ways, he ended up keeping the contraption afterwards too.
Even when he hadn’t been the one in the metaphorical hot seat then, the mobster realises that he experiences phantom pain (nauseousness, a building migraine, subtle but uncontrollable twitching from his limbs, uneven breathing etc) triggered from the memory, sight, and sound of it.
"As you go conscious, you watch as bodies go flying to the side, to the edge of the dock, their bodies still smoldering but unmoving. You start flashing back to a very painful memory, and you [all] watch as Caleb's eyes just glaze over."
With the Wall of Fire, as well as the Fireball, I knew it was only a matter of time until Matt had Liam make a Wisdom saving throw ---- like waiting for the other shoe to drop. However epic these moments are in combat, I'll never stop admiring the choice to keep the toll always present, and these WIS saving throws are a really key way of keeping Liam's portrayal of Caleb's PTSD within the game. Epic magic, sure. Consequences? Always.
it’s gonna be alright. it’s gonna be alright.
Nick pressed his face against her shoulder, arms around her tightly. Shaking. Violently shaking with a failed attempt at not crying. Some part of him too close to the front wanted their mom right then, though he didn’t voice it out loud, just cried. Whether he was himself or someone else in that moment, he couldn’t be sure. In a way he was both right then. It happened sometimes. He felt small. Vulnerable. An unfortunate flashback of sorts having surfaced from a very long time back. He was scared, and upset. Hurt. Just a little kid.
He said nothing to her in response, he couldn’t, just clung to her.
It would be alright in the end. Of course it would. They were here, that time wasn’t happening anymore. But it would take a bit before the feeling passed. It always did.

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Bad day
Maybe there was a time when she did like to listen to thunderstorms, but she couldn't remember it. All she felt now was fear, a thick heavy dread that they'd failed, the end was coming despite their best efforts.
A sharp crack ripped her from sleep, the name of one lost far too soon on her lips. Panic and pain, the ghosts of claws scraping against metal skin.
She didn't know where she was.
Another rumble finds her launching from her bunk, curled in a shivering huddle with her hands over her head, back pressed against the cool concrete walls of her room.
A prison, cold and empty. Nothing but the fallen husks of her brethren, left to rot into oblivion. She'd failed—her beloved pilot was dead, and her other left her a pile of mangled scrap, a monument to her shortcomings.
She deserved it.
"I'm sorry... Please, don't leave me, I can still be useful! I can still fight, please, come back! Raleigh—I'm sorry, please don't leave!"
Her face is wet, from rain or sea spray or tears, she doesn't know.
Her limbs won't move, there's rust creeping along her shining hull, and all she knows is that she was abandoned by her pilot. She feels her mind fading, feels herself falling apart like the corpses of her siblings that surround her.
No one needs an old, broken Jaeger.
i would just like to state that flashbacks FUCKING SUCK