He's angry at you. He had told you not to come. It was far too dangerous. His hand gripped the top of the wheel.

He was hardly paying attention to the road ahead, fixated on you.

"What were you thinkin'? Putting yourself in danger like that." He hissed. Frank was trying so hard to not yell. He didn't like yelling at you.

"I was thinking about you. I knew you were gonna need help." You grated. "I'm not sorry for doing it."

"And what would have happened if you were hurt badly- or if you were killed!" His voice was raising.

"And if I wasn't there, you would have been killed, and you know it." You weren't backing down.

"I can take care of myself, I don't need-"

"Might I remind you, that I just saved your ass!"

Frank's hand tightened around the wheel. Why weren't you listening to him?! "I would have made it out. I always do. You're not as capable."

"Capable?! Frank, you know damn well that ain't true!"

"I already lost Maria and the kids! I can't lose y-...I can't lose you too." His voice softened.

"I understand that, Frank, I really do, but-"

"Then don't pull that shit again."

"But it's important to me that I don't lose you, Frank. I'm not going to be idle while you're in danger!"

"I'm in danger every night! I'm a Marine, I can take care of myself!"

"Frank-"

"No! You need to listen to me-"

Suddenly you lunged forward grabbing the wheel, swerving hard to the left, trying to swerve out of the way of oncoming traffic. You did it too late.

The truck slammed right into the van, sending the two of you catapulting into a ditch.

You were the first to wake, completely upside down. 

"Frank...?" You gasped out, wincing at the sandpaper in your throat. 

He wasn't moving.

"Frank!" You tried a little louder. You shimmied out your torn hand to grab his own.

He stirred, groaning as he came to. 

"Holy shit." 

Your side had taken most of the damage, Frank could see the pain you were trying to hide from him. Frank had done this before, trained for it, even. It felt more real this time, more pressing on his heart. He managed to undo his buckle and pull himself through his shattered window. 

Glass stuck in his back and stomach, his neck ached. Otherwise he seemed okay-ish.

He sat up, fully intent of getting you out of there, but staring at the mess, he just froze. Frank had never frozen up in danger. He always acted.

You tried to call him. "Frank- cmon, snap out of it."

But Frank's eyes glazed slightly, being thrust back into the memory of his daughter's bloody body in his arms. Of his wife's corpse. It was happening all over again.

"Frank!" You called out again as loud as you could, it didn't get him out of it. You could feel sleep taking you over. If you fell asleep right now, you weren't so sure you would wake again.

You managed to grab an empty coffee cup and throw it at him. You felt the cut in your arm, a piece of glass sticking in it. You couldn't think about it right now.

That finally got Frank's attention, he scrambled to his feet.

"Shit, I'm sorry, love."

He got over to your side, easing you from the car, lying you in the grass.

"One way to get me to shut up, Frank." You tried to joke.

The joke didn't land.

"Doll, this ain't lookin' pretty." You had a pretty large gash in your leg. He ripped off a strip of his jacket, pressing it to your leg.

"I'm sorry, doll. I know you're capable, I just don't want you to die trying to save someone like me."

You reached up, cupping his cheek. "I will always return to you, no matter how far. Promise."

"Alroght then...let's get you to a hospital." He hoisted you up into his arms.

He carried you to the nearest emergency room. It was only a few minutes away, thank God.

When he got there, he burst through the door, completely disregarding his own bloodied face or the very obvious punisher symbol under his jacket. That wasn't important right now.

"Hey!" His voice thundered, "Somebody help them now!" 

He laid you down on the stretcher that had been wheeled out.

They put a few stitches in your leg and your arm, but everything else you would heal from naturally.

He sat next to your bed, holding your hand.

It was only made worse by the director’s confusing instructions, such as;

“Riya, your crying doesn’t seem real enough.” (Riya was genuinely crying during the take)

“Riya, you’re crying too much.” (She did as she was told during a flashback)

“Cut! Your makeup is running. Can someone get her a box of tissues?”

I also tend to have really bad flashbacks in bad headspaces.

Yeah, it’s also safe to say that Johnny now has like a million restraining orders filed against him.

oh gods... that's... that's awful, poor Riya 💔

Hopin' she gets better <3

PoV: Scar

TWs in tags

Disclaimer -- Prologue -- Previous Chapter -- Next chapter

Despite how tired I am, despite Cub cuddled close to me, despite finally being safe, and fed, and comforted, I can’t sleep.

Mumbo’s dead.

Everyone hates HotGuy.

The memories run again and again in my mind.

Green can only stare into the flames and see his worst memories playing back to him like a record.

He can't do this. He can't do this. He can't do this.

TW:Flashbacks, Dissociation, Forging as a form of Torture, Burning, Violence

This is a one shot from my Corrupted Green au. The first two Acts are up if this poem peaks your interest.

Hopefully that’s everyone. Anyways, here’s chapter two! Drop a kudos and comment over on ao3: Under the Earth; Far from Home. Angst, panic attacks, being buried alive, ptsd flashbacks, as well as depictions of a severely malnourished and emancipated Danny ahead. If any of this triggers you please be careful!

Jason had been ignoring the signs. The itch to go riding that would inevitably end at the cemetery where he had been buried. The feeling like he had something to do there. Some kind of unfinished business that he couldn’t remember. The amount of trauma that was linked with the place made it…difficult, for Jason to even think about going past the cemetery gates.

Both Dick and Tim had gone in to see if they could find anything. They didn’t and Jason tried to put the whole thing behind him. To forget about the whole ordeal. But something kept pulling him back. Now two weeks after he initially started feeling the strange pulling, Jason is standing before the gates. He stares at the wrought iron with a slight distain.

He takes a deep breath and pushes past the gates and into the cemetery. His burial plot was in the southeast corner. So he made his way over to it, hoping that it would make these feelings finally settle. As he passed row upon row of headstones, the feelings did not settle. If anything, something stirred in his chest. Something fearful and desperate. Jason was about to turn around and give up when something caught his eye.

Tucked away in an unkempt corner was a very recent grave. Initially he thought it was unmarked but upon a closer look Jason found a wooden plaque sunken into the muddy ground. It had hastily carved words; ‘To our beloved son. We wish we had known sooner.’

Jason picked up and turned the plaque over to see if there was a name. There was none. Only the words he had seen before. He neatly places the plaque back at the head of the grave.

“Your parents must have loved you a lot buddy.” Jason says, his emotions settling just a bit in his chest. “I hope you rest in peace.”

And as he was turning to leave, something happened. It was like the barest of whispers spoken directly into his mind. Quiet but desperate all the same.

help

Jason turns back towards the fresh grave. He doesn’t know why he did it, but he responded. Not really in words, more of a wave of morbid curiosity. The answering response he got nearly knocked him off his feet.

Help, help, buried, not dead, alive, alive, ALIVE.

An instant wave of panic took over his senses. Suddenly Jason was back in his own casket. Buried underground with no hope of help or rescue. Left alone to suffocate and die a second time.

He was on his knees clawing at the dirt before he knew what he was doing.

Alive, help, coming, safe?

He waited on baited breath. Hoping for a response. Anything that would tell him that the boy buried there was still clinging to life. The further he dug into the dirt the more desperate he became. It had rained recently, just the night prior, so the dirt had become heavy and sloppy. Even with it being freshly turned, the rain had packed it down some. Making it much more difficult to dig through.

No, no, hurt, alive, hurt.

Jason screams into the empty cemetery. He roughly shucks off his motorcycle jacket and his shirt. Leaving him in his boots, jeans, and white tank top. Tiny rocks and dirt shove themselves under his fingernails as he shovels and scoops dirt, throwing it haphazardly, only caring about hopefully, possibly saving the boy.

Jason continued to send mental waves of help and safety through whatever mind fuckery this was. With every desperate cry for help, he became more frenzied and desperate himself. Soon, far too soon, he hadn’t dug even two feet into the ground, he made first contact with the casket. What he wasn’t expecting was to be shocked and for green sparks to shoot out from the box in the ground. Jason pushes past it though. It wasn’t too painful, more of like the kind of static shock you would get as a kid playing on the trampoline. Slowly, too slowly, he uncovered more and more of the box. He had finally uncovered most of it when he noticed a sliding hatch closer to the head of the coffin-like box.

He was not prepared for what he saw on the other side of this tiny window. Blue eyes with a green shine stared up at him. Tear tracks running down his face, glowing a strange green. Black hair limp and lifeless, flopped to one side of the kid’s face. Skeletal hands and fingers pressed up against the mockery of a window as green sparks flitted about. A gaunt, skeletal frame shaking from the constant shock.

Jason hesitated for only a moment before nearly ripping the lid off of the coffin. Hydraulic hinges squealing in protest as stale air flooded out of the box. There was soft sobbing coming from the teen. Jason gently picked him up and pulled him out of the tiny prison. The teen shook in his arms but held tightly to Jason as if his very being depended on it. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans with only socks on his feet. Everything was far too baggy on the boy, only testifying further that he was severely dehydrated and malnourished.

Jason whispered consoling words. What they meant he didn’t know, because at that moment the panic had finally swept him up. Flashbacks and anxiety threatened to swallow him up completely but was staved off by the quivering teen in his arms. It grounded him enough to keep a tight hold on the teen.

~~~

Jason wasn’t sure how long they had stayed down in the dug out grave. Long enough that the sky had turned from an almost dusky color to the city lightened smog of the night. The black haired teen had passed out into a deep sleep a while ago. When he had first fallen asleep Jason panicked, thinking that he had died. But a quick check showed that the teen was still breathing lightly and an impossibly slow heartbeat still thrummed in his chest.

Jason finally pulled them out of the somewhat shallow grave. He laid the teen in the grass and gathered up his clothing. Before he put his shirt back on, Jason chipped away all of the dried dirt on his arms. Anything that was still wet was scraped off and flicked into the grass. With his shirt back on he picks up his jacket and the teen, making their way back to his motorcycle by the gates.

He situated the teen to sit behind him on his bike. He used his jacket to secure the tiny, skeletal body to himself. Settling it over the sleeping teens shoulders then tying the sleeves around his own torso. Once Jason secured the teen as best he could, he took off into the night, phone ringing in his ear.

“Master Jason.” A prim and proper voice answered. “How can I help you this evening?”

“Hi Alfred. I’m going to need medical help.” Jason’s voice is gruff and water from the amount of screaming and tears he’s experienced in such a short time.

Alfred sighs. “What have you gotten yourself into that requires you to visit the Manor instead of your apartment?”

“I don’t need it. I found a boy buried alive in the same cemetery that I was buried in. He’s really weak, most likely severely dehydrated and malnourished. I-I’m not equipped to take care of something like this.” His voice is breaking slightly.

There was a moment of silence. The only sounds Jason could hear were the wind screaming in his ears and the muffled sounds of traffic. The panic he had shoved into the furthest darkest corner of his mind was starting to creep into his thoughts again.

“Alright. Bring him straight into the cave. I’ll have a bed ready for him and I’ll call Dr. Leslie in. I may be able to do many things, this however seems like a situation we need a professional opinion on.”

[Nice, song 27: Panic Room by Au/Ra]

Bite wakes with a jolt and a loud swear, tumbling from his top bunk and groaning as he lands on the previously distant floor.

"Kriff, one night of uninterrupted sleep in all I ask for." Bite mumbles in staggered, sharp breaths, aware of the vode sleeping around him. He pushes himself up on shaking limps as the adrenaline from his nightmare continues to rage through him.

In the darkness of the barracks, Bite could have sworn he was somewhere else, the cold floor only serving to help his mind send him places he never wants to think of again. Only the steady breathing of sleeping clones, intrupted by the sounds of rustling sheets and creeking frames, grounds him in the room.

Notes: Again, this was written a long time ago and has just been sitting in my google docs cause I felt guilty for not posting. Sorry for the wait and thank you for the patience.

I also lost the ask for this one. Sorry :/

Description: You have a panic attack and Tom Hiddleston helps out 

Characters: You, Tom Hiddleston, mentioned crew members

Warning: Panic attacks, flashbacks, anxiety

Word Count: 500 ish

Jason Gideon x reader fic dad scenario for our friend @genderfluidsanta

Warnings: Child abuse, dark emotions, negative emotions, flash-backs, physical abuse

~

It was another night filled with terror. Her nightmares were acting up again, they were far worse than any terror she had had before. She saw it again, him charging at her, eyes wide with rage. Her breath quickened as she found herself back in the claws of the cage within which she was once caught. 

The cage of his rage laden with the torment of her childhood. His malicious grin as he struck those she held dear to her. 

He got closer, rushing towards her at a quick pace. She felt her heart racing in her chest, her lungs burning, crying for oxygen yet unable to get any. Tears streamed down her face as she called desperately for help.

Her limbs flailed against him yet he gripped them in his hands, screaming curses at her. She could feel herself slowly blacking out when suddenly she was jarred awake.

The sensation of cold water on her face startled her but she didn’t have long to think about it before inhaling deeply, desperate to get air in her lungs. Clutching at her bed-sheets she looked up, noticing he was there, her adoptive father, Jason Gideon. The man who had rescued her from her father, the man who she now called ‘dad’.

He stood near her bed with wide eyes, an empty glass of water in his hand. His presence greatly comforted her. She quickly reached out, hugging him, unwilling to let him go, afraid of succumbing to her nightmares once more. She inhaled his comforting scent of cinnamon and his favorite perfume.

“Please don’t leave me,” she whispered, her voice muffled against him as he gently stroked her back in an effort to calm her down. Though she shivered with fear, she refused to let go.

“Shhh. Everything will be okay. How about this, we can have some tea and if you’re up to it we can either talk or not. Then we’ll watch some of those adorable pet videos that you like in my bedroom till you fall asleep,” he said softly, trying not to spook her.

Her arms tightened around him at the mention of sleeping. Understanding her fear, he comforted her, saying, “It’ll be okay. I’ll be there to watch over you. If you get another nightmare I’ll wake you up gain.”

Slowly thinking about what she wanted to do she slowly nodded her head.

He lead her to the kitchen. She watched him prepare her favorite tea, finding his routine actions calming as the soft sounds him moving around in the kitchen filled the air.

Bringing two steaming mugs out of the little kitchen he gently placed one in front of her and sat down next to her.

He told her stories about how his day went until she was relaxed. She didn’t feel like talking, unwilling to re-live the events of the nightmare that seemed too realistic to be a dream.

After their tea was finished, he put the cups away before taking her to his bedroom. His bed was big enough for the both of them.

She nestled herself within his sheets, inhaling his comforting smell.

He laid against the headrest, her head placed on his chest as they watched pet videos on his laptop.

After a few hours, he felt her breathing slowed and her body slumped. Slowly closing the computer and placing it on his bedside table, he wrapped his arms around his daughter, pulling her closer.