#I'm not having a panic attack per se

[illyth]

✨✨✨ Two days until I get to find out if I'm bleeding internally ✨✨✨ and then only 6 days before I start weekly iron infusions for possibly the foreseeable future ✨✨✨

[sleepingfancies]

damn... octavia "rook" laidir's chokehold on me !

[lennadanvers]

Drunks tell the truth

Rommate!Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Simon has a roommate. His roommate has a secret. Johnny has a knack for meddling in other people's business.

A/N: Hi! This ended up being way longer than I expected (3.800+ words), but it's okay because I had fun writing it. I'm not sure it went in the direction I had in mind at the beggining, but I'm not about to start all over again. If I ever feel like it, I might rewrite it, though. But it won't be soon. Also, as I was copypasting it from word, it occured to me I might need to start using dividers. If you know where I can find cute ones, please let me know. Hope you like it! <3

When he opens the door and finds the apartment silent and dark, Simon is both relieved and disappointed. On one hand, he gets to take a deep breath and let the rests of Ghost dissolve in the empty space. He doesn’t have to see you yet- you don’t have to see him yet. He still has time before you worry about all the new bruises, before he has to insist he really doesn’t want you cleaning and patching them up, before he has to suppress the shivers that always respond to your fingers on his arm.

On the other hand, Simon spent all the way from the airport picturing your eyes and your welcoming smile. It’s hard not to be a little heartbroken over the fact that you’re not home in your pajama, willing to hug him hello and make all the gunpowder disappear. He even left Soap at a bar to drink by himself, hoping to have some time alone with you. Of course, his excuse was that he was tired. Never in a million years would Simon admit out loud that seeing his roommate is the only rest he needs after months of deployment.  

As he makes his way to his room, wondering if he has time to cook something before you get home, Simon realizes his mistake. It’s Friday. Not only that, it is also dark outside: it’s Friday, and it’s late. That only means one thing: danger.

All the fatigue and relief are gone instantly. He knows the time you get off work, and it was ages ago. Even if you had stayed late, you’d be home by now. Also, your work badge is in the bowl next to the door, he checks. You definitely came back home. And then -Simon confirms with one look at the wet shower- you got ready to go out.

Now, this is not a bad thing per se. He’s glad you’re having fun, spending time with your friends and dancing. You deserve to have a good time. Simon knows your girlfriends take care of you if they need to; you’re safe.

But he’s not.

You going out means one of two outcomes: you either come back home, or you don’t. He isn’t sure which is the worst one. If you find someone and leave with them, he’ll spend the night convincing himself you’re okay and forcing his eyes closed. He’ll have to pretend his stomach doesn’t hurt, his eyes aren’t a little too red and that the sleep doesn’t come because of the jet lag.

If you do come back to sleep in the apartment, it’s worse.

See, Simon is terrified of you when you’re drunk.

As if you could smell his fear, he hears your keys jingling in the hallway. Simon must be a masochist, because he doesn’t find cover. Instead, he watches as the door opens and you appear, almost tripping over your heels. When you look up and find him staring at you, your smile shakes him to his bones.

Simon sees in slow-motion how you let your keys fall to the floor and you stagger up to him- he’s two shades of scared now, because your balance while drunk is notoriously inexistant. He gives a few hesitant steps in your direction, cautious arms extended in case you fall. Which you do. Right on his chest.

Suddenly, there’s a shortage of air. You are soft and warm. He’s big and close to having a panic attack. Your perfume has so many layers- and he can smell them all. Your hair is touching his neck, involuntary caress, and your hand is holding his bicep. That’s great: the next hundred times he’s at the gym training his ass off, he’ll be thinking of you. Exactly what he needed. As if it wasn’t enough having you haunt his dreams.

Your giggle he’s used to, but it still feels different when it vibrates so close to his ribs. Oh, and what he feels there is your chest, isn’t it? When you smile up at him, he thanks the god he doesn’t believe in that he was too frozen to hug you: it would have destroyed him.

Luckily, he manages to get a hold of himself and slowly push you away. It’s useless, though, because you take advantage of the small distance to grab his chin.

“Si! You’re home early! I missed your pretty eyes…”

He tries to force some sarcasm into his smile.

“You’re drunk.”

You laugh again, taking a step back.

“I just went to get some drinks with the girls, Mary got a promotion and…”

Still talking, you bend over to start unclasping your heels. All Simon can do is swallow, forcing his eyes to stay focused in your clumsy fingers and not in the hem of your dress- that was short to begin with, but now is probably by the middle of your ass. Definitely showing the full length of your legs. And at least, a sliver of your underwear…

No.

No, he reminds himself. Simon forces his face to stop blushing and kneels to help you take off the godforsaken heels. A quick escape from the view that will follow him to bed tonight- and the next couple thousand nights-, but a stupid move overall. Because now you’re smirking at him from above.

It’s fun, seeing his desperation. He’s such a big man, always in control of himself… Making Simon lose his cool always feels like an accomplishment. You mutter a giddy thanks, but still try to untie the ribbon around your ankle, forcing him to grab your hand to take it out of the way.

°°°

“Let me do it, okay? Or we’ll be here all night.”

You pout playfully, but let him do it. When you’re finally on your feet, you sigh and pat his shoulder. So much better. He’s now a couple feet taller than you- it’s always nice to feel comfortably small.

Without looking back, you wobble towards the bathroom. Over your humming, you can hear his steps. Usually, he’s quiet. Sometimes, though, he makes noise on purpose, to make sure you know he’s there. Based on experience, you’d say he hates to scare you.

You don’t close the door behind you. Why bother? You simply kneel to open the last drawer to grab the make up remover. Yeah, maybe the floor is a little cold and leaves your knees slightly red. It’s okay, the counter is cold too when you sit on it. Feels good, your skin is warm and you’re feeling fuzzy.

The mirror shows him looking at you from the door. His arms are crossed, tattoos at full view. Hands clenched.

Wiping your right eye, you try to soothe him.

“You’re home now. Safe. See? Just me. Relax, Simon.”

He chuckles. Sometimes he does that, too. You probably said something he finds almost funny. He relaxes against the door frame, but it still looks forced.

“Mrs. Byrne brought me cookies yesterday. They’re in the blue jar, if you want any. She got a new puppy. She’s grey, some small breed with a lot of hair. Her name is Princess. Sometimes she cries at night. I told Mrs. Byrne it’s okay, I just hope the poor puppy gets used to her new home soon, but she insisted on baking cookies for everyone in the building. I don’t think it bothers anyone, really…”

You keep yapping and Simon slowly starts to look calmer. More like he’s at home, and less like he wants to run away. You finish wiping your make-up off by carefully erasing any traces of red lipstick. It’s a shame, really, because it looks so nice. Simon seems to think so too, judging by the way his gaze caresses your reflection in the mirror.

Instead of just jumping off the counter and going to bed, you start taking your jewelry off.

“…and the café two blocks away has this new carrot muffin- that doesn’t sound tempting, I know, but it tastes so good!”

Okay, maybe you didn’t need to moan. In your defense, they are really that good. And you’re drunk, you’re allowed to have less inhibitions. Simon shifts against the doorframe.

“You need to try them. We could go tomorrow… Or, maybe you’ll want to sleep in. I bet you missed having an actual bed, huh? All warm and soft. By the way, I washed your sheets. They didn’t have our usual laundry detergent, but I got one that smells quite nice. Nothing too strong…”

Simon suppresses a groan. His sheets?

°°°

“… So you can have your beauty sleep. Not that you aren’t beautiful now, you just look tired. But dark circles never hide eyes like yours. Still, it’ll do you good to…”

Beautiful? Him? Is it too late to go back to base? Maybe if he’s a couple hundred kilometers away you won’t be able to see the way his blush makes a return, this time all the way down to his neck. It makes it even harder to not stare at your legs, that swing smoothly, skin reflecting the ceiling light.

Instead, he focuses on your hands, and the way you slide your rings off. You do it slowly, probably because it’s a task that requires a non-alcoholic level of coordination. Somehow, you can keep talking, though.

“… I mean, you are looking good. More muscles. You’re always so fit, I bet your abs are like a table… Like, all firm…”

You interrupt your yapping for a second, just to untangle one of your bracelets from the other. He pictures you eating at his table. Simon stops himself from closing the bathroom door- he isn’t sure which side he would like to stay in.

“And that hair! How come it’s so soft…? I mean, it looks soft. Can I touch it?”

One thing about you in this state is that you just do things. Invading his personal space is one of them. Usually, you just leave his body alone. You cross other lines, teasing and sarcasm being an everyday occurrence. But touching him? Not more than necessary.

Now, however, your hand is on his head. Your tiny fingers- everything is tiny next to him- are caressing his hair. He can feel your nails lightly stroking his scalp, going in gentle circles. Simon realizes he can’t move. The bathroom is not wide enough for him to step away. You’re sitting on the counter, barely leaning in his direction, but you’re everywhere.

Your perfume is in his chest, for the second time in a couple of minutes. It’s burning like his cheeks, and all he can do is stand there. Your eyes are so big and bright, how come they’re in his apartment and not up in the sky with the other stars? And your smile, it’s too round and pink for his sanity.

Not for the first time, he wonders what would happen. How would he live if he gave up and kissed you. If he was just a little brave. Not even brave enough to go for your lips, but for your cheek or your wrist. Maybe your shoulder.

But he’s not that kind of brave. He’s suicidal brave, instead. Heroic brave. The kind of brave that makes him a good soldier and a bad person. Simon is a coward, who can barely swallow a whine when you pull his hair playfully. He hides it by clearing his throat.

“I’ll tell you my beauty secrets when you’re sober enough to appreciate them. C’mon, you need to go to bed.”

Grabbing your wrist is easy. Pulling your hand away from him is the hardest thing he’s ever done. Holding your waist to help you get off the counter, easy. Taking a step away, new world record of hard.

Taking another step back, because you stepped close again; alarmingly harder.

And you step closer again. He doesn’t have the heart to step back this time. All Simon can do is hold his breath while you lean in. You stand on your toes and his hands start shaking. There it is again, your perfume. Your lips. Your smile. Oh, you’re smiling up at him. So, so close. Simon can see the look of want in his own face that’s reflected on your pupils.

“Simon?”

He means to reply, he really does. At the very least a “Yes, love?”- something gallant; something that’ll make you put your hands on his chest. Something that’ll open the door for him to grab your waist again, this time like he’s not hiding. Something that’ll bring you even closer.

Instead, he just exhales. A pathetic, pained, whiny breath. It seems to be enough of an answer for you, though.

“Si…”

He stops himself from nodding.

“You’re blocking the door.”

It takes Simon a second to process. You’re still looking at him with dreamy eyes, hair like a halo in front of the mirror light, cheeks rosy and fresh. When his stupid brain finally comes to terms with what you just said, Simon crumbles.

He throws himself to the other side of the hallway, tongue heavy with shame. It’s like his shoulders are glued to the wall, and his stomach to the floor. You don’t seem to notice, shuffling over to your room while humming the same pop song from earlier.

Sometimes, Simon is sure he must be in hell. He sure deserves it. He sees you walk away- bare feet, naked legs, messy hair- and he’s certain.

Some other times, though, he knows he’s in heaven. Shocking, because Simon doesn’t believe in heaven- and he doesn’t think he’s earned it, either way. But when things like this happen, when you pop your head out of your bedroom door to look back at him, it’s easy to pretend. It’s easy to laugh when you ask him why he’s not putting you to bed.

Simon stills himself and walks into your room. It’s tidy and warm, smells like you, and he makes a mental note to let you decorate the rest of the apartment. If he uses that as scenography for his fantasies- where he lives in your room, where you share it, where he can fall asleep in your space-, then it’s nobody’s business.

Luring Simon into your room is quite easy. Most things you do with him are easy. It makes you giggle again. It’s easy being like this, too. Open and bubbly, no mental barriers to stop you from touching him or saying whatever you happen to think. No inhibitions to forbid you from taking off your dress once you’re facing your open wardrobe.

°°°

You could swear you hear him choke. He coughs, and you ask him if he’s okay. There’s some water on your bedside table, if he wants a sip. You hear his steps. He does, great. You put on an oversized t-shirt and turn around.

His eyes are a little too wide. It’s not easy to catch him off guard: tonight is a lucky one. Simon is not the only one surprised, though- you could swear you’d left your purple vibrator on top of the bedside table, and not on the floor. Oh, well, a problem for tomorrow-you.

As you shuffle towards your bed, he steps back, putting distance between you.

“That’s my shirt.”

Sounds a bit like a question. You climb into bed.

“Nah. It’s my pajama. See?”

You look up at him from under the covers. You curl up, the sheets are cold. Luckily, his stare is hot against your face.

“…sure. Sure, it is.”

Simon doesn’t move. You blink a couple of times, before a yawn takes over.

“You’re not gonna turn the lights off?”

He hesitates. His eyes look at your bed, more than half empty. Then steps forward.

“Goodnight, then.”

Simon bends down and kisses your forehead. You’ll blame the sigh you let out on the alcohol. When he turns the lights off, becoming just a silhouette at the door, you wave your fingers at him.

“Sweet dreams, Si.”

Simon barely sleeps that night. He dreams with your forgotten heels on the bathroom floor, and your smile that looks like sunrise decided to light up his midnight.

°°°

He gives up before the actual sun comes out. His voice is so desperate when he calls Johnny, that his friend barely complains about the time. Simon warns him not to ring the doorbell- and maybe includes a little threat that Soap laughs off.

They are still chatting in the kitchen when you wake up. Luckily, you’re wearing pants now. But, by the look in your tired face, you weren’t ready to find a stranger in your house. Frowning, you mutter something like “good morning”- even though it’s closer to noon.

Johnny smiles, charming as always, and Simon squints. Before it can get too uncomfortable- for you, Soap can be uncomfortable all he wants-, he speaks. He keeps his voice low, anticipating your hungover.

“This is Johnny. Soap, this is my roommate.”

You wave at him and grab a cup. As you’re preparing your late breakfast, you start humming quietly the song from last night. It grabs Soap’s attention.

“Aye, I ken that song. Yer the lassie from last night, aren't ye?”

You freeze.

The music is loud. You yell along, grabbing one of your friend’s hands and making her do a spin. She does the same with you.

°°°

It’s a nice night. The bar started to empty some time ago- no more touchy men to bother you and your friends. It is a little hot, though, so you ask if anyone wants something to drink.

You slide up to the bar, not far from where you friends are still dancing. You need to gesture for the bartender to understand your order over the music, but he eventually nods and walks away. While you’re waiting, you feel someone stand next to you, back resting on the bar. You glance sideways- it’s a handsome man, with electric blue eyes that look at you like he’s found a pot of gold.

“Hi, bonnie. Are ye having fun?”

You smile politely and say yes. He doesn’t seem to hear it, but he understands nonetheless.

“What’s yer name? Ah’m John.”

Again, you reply. He seems nice enough- John’s not looking at your boobs or ass, so it counts as a win.

“Kin ah buy ye a drink?”

Now, he’s forcing you to decide. First option is saying yes, you can let him dance with you the next song and see where it goes. His eyes get more beautiful every second you spend looking at them, and his smile promises fun… Which leads you to option number two: saying no. He’s handsome, yes, but you don’t know him. You think about Simon. He’d scold you for considering going home with a stranger. Besides, he’d kill you if you brought him to the apartment.

Well, it’s not like he’ll find out, will he? Simon will be away for God knows how long.

You offer John your most sincere smile and a cheeky wink.

“Sorry, I don’t drink.”

Just on time, the bartender hands your bottle of water over the counter and you thank him. Without looking back, you join your girlfriends again.

It doesn’t take long for you to decide to head back home. The idea of an empty apartment is weighing on you. At least you can be sad in pajamas when you get home. As you hug your friend goodbye, you see John laughing next to a blonde at the back. Well, at least someone will have a happy night.

“Sorry, I don’t think I remember you.”

°°°

Johnny looks taken aback.

“Ah offered ye a drink, bit ye said...”

You cut him off, still not looking at them.

“Yeah, drinks. I had quite a few of those last night. I don’t remember much, sorry.”

Simon doesn’t like the way you close the cabinets, with a little too much force. Nor does your quick talking calm his nerves. Now he’s fully frowning at Johnny, who looks confused out of his mind.

Before he can keep bothering you, you grab your cup and turn around.

“Tylenol’s in the bathroom.”

His careful voice stops you in your tracks. You look guilty, almost sorry, when you offer a shy smile.

“…thanks, Si. Nice to meet you, Johnny. Sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have had that many drinks.”

Simon can barely hear your steps as you flee directly to your room. Your embarrassment, pink on your cheeks and nose, are added to the collection of things he’ll dream of every time he closes his eyes.

Next to him, Soap has a weird expression.

“Ah met her last night, she ainlie drank water. Ah swear… I watched’er all ni-”

“Shut up, Johnny.”

He doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t need to.

He’s worried you’ll hear Johnny’s annoyingly loud voice from your room. You’re innocent enough to think you can fool him. And Simon doesn’t have the guts to let you know that he knows just yet. There’s a reason he doesn’t say anything about the way you smell whenever you come home from the bar- all nice perfume and zero alcohol-, or how he knows you didn’t take any Tylenol. A reason why Simon lets you pretend to be drunk, grab his hair and smile at him. A reason why he himself pretends to believe you.

And he’s not going to let Johnny spoil figure that one out just yet.

[whateveriwant]

Hello, i hope you dont mind if i request agian! Could I get TF141 with an S/O who are just super prone to panic attack?

These are not meant to be taken as mental health advice. I'm just playing around here <3

Soap

The first time it happened, he didn't know what was going on. The sudden heavy breathing, the tremors, the loss of speech; he thought you were dying, honestly

It nearly sent him into a panic as he tried to figure out what he could do to help. Should you stay put or should you be taken to hospital? He just didn't know

However, once it had passed and you were able to better explain the situation, Soap was pulling you into a hug, the biggest breath of relief escaping him knowing you were going to be alright

He wasn't “happy” per se to learn this is something you struggle with regularly, but knowing there's at least something he could do to help in the future put his mind at ease

Nowadays he's got the drill down pat, so when he sees the signs an attack is incoming, he's whisking you to a safe environment where you can attempt to de-stress

Oftentimes it leads to him sitting beside you out on a curb somewhere, his warm hand rubbing soft circles into your back as he comforts you through it

Gaz

From the second he notices you start to pull away from him, Gaz is immediately on top of it, deploying a technique he's quite familiar with

“Tell me five things you can see,” he says, unbothered by having to repeat himself when you don't respond because he did not seriously just ask you that right now

But after enough prompting by him, you shakily list out five items, wet eyes darting around the room as you try to take stock of your surroundings

Once you do as bid, he'll continue, “Now four things you can hear.” And now you're starting to think you see where he's going with this

He'll work his way through all five senses, counting down to one, and once he reaches the final, you find that your pulse has slowed tremendously and your tremor has stopped entirely

Afterwards, you give him a shy thanks, asking how he knew that would work. “Simple,” he tells you. “Used to do it with my sister when we were young. It helped her then, so I thought it might help you now.”

Price

He takes the most heavy handed approach when trying to bring you down from such a rocky high. And while some people might find it smothering, you just see it as grounding

“Hey. Look at me,” his order is firm though his voice remains purposefully gentle. “Don't look anywhere else, just look at me. That's it. Just focus on me.”

If he has to, he'll even push a finger against your chin until you're meeting his eye and holding it, trying to focus on his soothing words instead of the anxious thoughts racing through your head

Slowly and deliberately, he'll breathe in through his nose then out through his mouth, guiding you to follow along with his measured pattern

If that's still not enough, he'll then take your hand beneath his and hold it over his heart, letting its strong, steady rhythm lull you back to a calmer state

“You alright?” he questions once you've settled down again. When you nod and assure him you are, he'll kiss your temple, promising, “I've got you, dear. Always.”

Ghost

When he realized what was happening with you, he quickly jumped into action, but in a way that was completely unexpected

“Remember when you first took me out for sushi and I didn't know wasabi was hot?” he asks you seemingly out of the blue. “Ate a whole spoonful before I realized. Burned like hell going down. But that was nothin’ compared to when it came out again later.”

The memory of that night stirs to life in your mind, and through your rapid breaths and trembling lips, you're able to crack the barest of smiles

He continues, “Or remember when I got sprayed by that skunk in the garden? You made me sleep on the couch for three days. Said I smelled like a garbage bin’s arsehole.”

That memory has you huffing out a short, low chuckle, and though you don't notice it, your pulse begins to hammer a little slower

And so he keeps going, distracting you with funny memories and personal anecdotes until all you're doing is smiling and laughing brightly, totally forgetting what had made you panic in the first place

[football-and-fanfics]

The Medic #18 - Jude Bellingham

Who: Jude Bellingham Request: hi, so this request is about jude getting injured or just plain stressed on the pitch to the point where he has a panic attack. you (the medic) come and try to calm him down but it progressively gets worse, but obviously after like 10 minutes he does calm down. after that, you bring him off pitch and comfort him by like hugging? not like a ship just pure fluff :) thank u! Requested by: @pinkishpearls Word count: 1132 Warnings: contains descriptions of panic / anxiety attack.

Already when he was changing into his kit before the match, Jude knew something was off with himself. The nerves he felt prior to England's first group stage match of this Euro 2024 weren't strange per se. They stood at the start of a big and important tournament, so nerves were normal, but not like this.

Whatever caused his nerves to spiral so out of control, was doing a demolition job on him already. Jude's hands shook as he pulled his shirt over his head, and his breath was high in his chest. Everything happened in a blur to Jude, as a panic so feral took a hold of him and he had no way to get himself out of it again. But the team was counting on him, so, against his better judgement, Jude pushed through it and stepped out onto the pitch anyway.

---

Jude should have spoken up, told someone that he wasn't feeling right. That realization dawned on him not even 15 minutes into the match. He suddenly felt like he lost all control over himself. His entire body trembled and breathing became harder with each rapid inhale, as it felt like his chest was being squeezed to bits. The stadium swam in and out of focus around him.

Jude wasn't actively aware that he had sunk to the ground, sitting in a heap. The only thing he could focus on was how absolutely terrifying this feeling was, and how it scared him even more that he had no control over it whatsoever. People around him seemed to freak out, which did nothing either to ease Jude's still rising panic.

"Jude?" A soft, gentle hand wrapping around his wrist made Jude the slightest bit aware of his surroundings again. He glanced up to find you sitting on your haunches in front of him. "I... something's wrong... I'm scared." Jude managed to get out in between rapid, hitching pants of breath. You nodded understandingly. "I'm going to take you back inside, okay? We're going to take you out of the match and see what's going on."

You had needed only one look at Jude to know he would not be able to continue this match. Your hand around his wrist also doubled as a heart rate check, which you found racing, but steady and strong. Already you leaned towards the diagnosis of a panic attack.

Jude let himself be helped to his feet, but he looked like a deer in the headlights as he walked beside you off the pitch. You had the distinct feeling he was trying to keep it at least a little bit together as long as he was in view of the public.

And indeed...

You had set only a few steps into the players' tunnel when Jude broke completely. "I c-can't do it!" Everything about him shook with emotion, and tears were streaming down his face now. "What's happening to me? Why am I feeling like this?" "Jude, Jude." You moved to stand in front of him, resting your hands on his arms. "Calm down. You're having a panic attack. I know it's really scary, but I need to you to try and calm down." Jude frantically shook his head, gulping for air, and completely out of control over himself.

You recognized how this was going from bad to worse, and how you needed to diffuse this situation somehow. "Come on, we'll find some place quieter." You gently took him by the elbow and steered him into the first empty treatment room you came across. You ushered Jude inside and closed the door behind the both of you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Jude repeated the words over and over. He paced up and down the small room, trembling and crying. "Calm down, it'll be alright." You spoke calmly as you stepped into the path of his pacing. "I'm guessing the stress and nerves for today got a little bit too much. That's nothing to be ashamed of, but I do need you to calm down." Jude looked at you with eyes filled with tears. "I don't know how."

Your heart broke for him, so much hurt emanated from him. "But I do know what might help." You smiled warmly. "Come here." You opened your arms and invited him into an embrace. Jude didn't hesitate for a second. He almost launched himself at you, burying his face in your shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around you. You answered his embrace by gently rubbing his back and speaking soft words of comfort.

It might not be the most conventional way, but it worked for Jude. Where he had been trembling and crying before, he finally seemed to calm down after a while. Still, he held on to your embrace, and you let him.

On the other side of the door sounded the stampede of players and staff coming back in for half-time. Jude made absolutely no move to go see his teammates in the dressing room, and you were fine with that. It was all up to Jude to determine what he felt ready for.

"No, get away from me! Tell me where he is, I need to see him!"

A sudden ruckus from outside made you and Jude finally release the embrace. The both of you easily recognized Trent's Scouse accent, and he sounded absolutely freaked out. You exchanged a look with Jude. "He's worried about me," Jude said softly. "Yeah." Those were exactly your thoughts, too. "Do you feel up to talking to him?" "Yes." Jude nodded. "I can't leave him this distraught."

You opened the door and poked your head out. A little further down the hallway stood Trent, looking panicked now, too. "Trent." You called him over. Trent sprinted over to you. "Is he in there with you? Is he alright?" "Easy," you soothed, "he's fine. He had a panic attack, but he's starting to feel better already."

Trent was relieved to hear your words, but still trotted past you into the treatment room. He flung himself at Jude, almost knocking him clean off his feet, and pulled his friend into a tight bear hug. "Thank heavens you're alright!" Trent exclaimed. "I was so worried." "I'm alright now." Jude tried to ease Trent. Trent released the hug and stepped back a few paces. "Don't mind if I needed to see that for myself. You scared me senseless just now!" Jude smiled a little awkwardly. "I'm sorry about that."

"So there's nothing seriously wrong?" Trent now turned to you. "No." You shook your head. "He's going to be perfectly fine. A panic attack feels and looks really scary, though." "Yeah." Jude passed a hand over his face, but a weary smile played on his lips, too. "I can definitely confirm that."

Tags: The tags list has been moved to the comment section. If you want to be added to the tags list, you can sign up for it through here.

Request an imagine Writing masterlist | Jude Bellingham masterlist

[soft-girl-musings]

Cry (MK Spring Bingo #1)

Marc Spector x Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: panic/anxiety attacks, possibly inaccurate description of an emergency room visit (i don't remember the exact process i borrowed from my own experience bc i was sick… in the ER…), no use of y/n

wc: 1,356

fic summary: Three times Marc told you it was okay to cry, and one time you returned the favor.

A/N: Finally got around to writing something for someone besides jake lockley, bless. once again this is self-indulgent, but if anything hits home for you i'm glad <3 (based on Adam Melchor's "Cry" , which is the most marc-coded piece of music i've ever heard. in this essay i will)

_____________________

The first time came out of nowhere.

Nothing was wrong per se; no major injury or crisis had come up. All you knew was that you were frozen in the corner of your room, hot tears streaming down your face as your mind raced between a million different things.

“Sweetheart, have you seen my–” Marc’s request stopped the moment he saw you frozen in the darkened room, gripping the sleeves of your shirt as you bit your lip so hard you risked giving yourself another reason to cry.

“I just need a minute,” your voice came out trembling and heavy, as if too many syllables would cause the tears to fall with greater force. Not that you knew how to stop them, or how they even started.

Quick strides across the room brought Marc to your side. His warm hands wrapped around yours, cold and losing color from digging into your arms. 

Words were never his strong suit; Marc’s a man of few, usually letting his presence and actions suffice. So when faced with consoling you against some invisible threat, he could almost hear the sound of his own heart breaking in tandem with your staggered breath.

So he stood there. Until your fingers relaxed and entwined with his, he stood there until he could guide you to the floor. Arms wrapped around your shoulders, he cradled you as you continued to cry.

“This is so stupid,” you groaned as you wiped your face with your sleeve. “So fucking… ugh.”

“Hey,” he shushed you. “Not stupid. You’re feeling what you’re feeling.”

“But I don’t know why,” you choked out. It was hard enough being so distraught; not having a valid reason for it made everything hurt more.

“You don't have to justify it. Don't have to do anything but just… be here.” A hand to your temple eased your head against his chest. “I'm here, as long as you need me to be.”

This was all the permission you needed to let another rush of tears spill down your cheeks, soaking his shirt. He didn't mind.

___________________

The second time was in the emergency room.

You'd never struggled to catch your breath like this before; a common cold turned south and triggered long-dormant childhood asthma, making your lungs betray the rest of your body. Marc drove you to the ER when your hollow coughing didn't let up for the third day in a row. Head spinning and chest aflame, you were rushed to the back as soon as Marc told them you couldn't breathe.

“You've got to breathe steady, honey.”

“I'm trying,” you muttered around the medicated tube in your mouth. It had to be almost 3 in the morning; your body ached like crazy and you didn't catch a word of what the nurse told you to do with your medication. All you knew was that you were cold, exhausted, and grateful to have Marc there to time your breathing.

But even with his hand holding yours, you still felt tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Every inhalation brought medicine to your airways, but the ragged sensation resonated through your chest and made your body ache more.

“I'm so tired,” you finally said around the device. With that, your tears fell faster than you could swipe at them. Your frown pushed the device from your mouth, but you didn't care.

Marc sprang up, catching the equipment when your grip faltered. He said nothing; instead, he climbed onto the bed with you, leaning your back against his chest and taking your hand in his once more, bringing the medication back to your lips. You let him bear your weight, immediate relief washing over you as he took over keeping the device steady with one hand and gently dabbing a tissue at your cheek with the other. 

“Nothing wrong with a few tears, honey. Means you’re alive.”

When you finally went home, the fire in your lungs extinguished, he held you again until you fell asleep.

_____________________

“.....The movie just started.”

(The third time was on the living room couch.)

You had finally talked Marc into watching La La Land with you (with the promise of his getting to choose the next movie night film, of course). You were barely 30 seconds into the opening number when you'd started crying, eyes glued to the screen as dozens of up-and-comers danced and sang about their dreams to make it in the industry.

“They haven't said anything.”

“They're saying everything.”

“He's dancing on a car.”

“Because he's excited!”

“Why did they stop traffic to dance?”

You didn't hear the rest of his quips, too engrossed in the scene. The colors, the music, and the highly impractical interstate  choreography had a way of getting to you ever since you first saw this movie. Meanwhile, Marc sat with his arms crossed and eyebrows knit together as he tried to follow along.

When you noticed his body language, you reached for the remote and paused the movie. “Do you… want to watch something else?”

Marc's face fell when he realized this new batch of tears wasn’t because of the movie, but because of him. The thought of making your cry hit like a punch to the gut.

He took the remote from you, moving closer to your side. “Nice try, but you're not getting out of it that easily. I need your commentary if I'm gonna keep up.” He hit play and choked down every criticism as he saw your face light up, tears of joy brimming during the remaining 2 hours of the film.

The next morning, while making breakfast, you could have sworn you heard Marc humming Another Day of Sun under his breath.

_____________________

As you'd grown closer, you began to know Marc as your rock, your steady landing place when you had thoughts and feelings too big to deal with on your own. He never had to say much to be there for you. He kept you tethered and together, happy to be of service no matter how ugly your hardships felt. 

It was only a matter of time before you saw a crack in his foundation.

You got home late one night, a thunderstorm hot on your heels. You had shrugged off your coat and shoes, calling out to Marc to see if he was home. No response.

You checked each room diligently, until you found him sitting on the corner of the bed.

“Marc?” You asked softly, walking toward him. You knelt in front of him, and the sight of his face twisted into an unfamiliar expression, a steady stream of tears spilling from his reddened eyes, was more than you could bear.

The first time came out of nowhere.

“Can you give me your hands, Marc?” He complied, his breath short and his eyes fixed on the storm pelting the window with sheet after sheet of rain. His vision darted between drops of water and streaks of lightning. The room shook with the echoes of thunder as the worst of the storm hit.

“Hey,” you urged him. “Just be here. With me.” Your thumb traced his wrist as you tried to stay calm.  “Can you breathe with me, Marc?” You sat up on your knees. He nodded, slowly but surely matching the pace of your breath. 

You didn't know what was on his mind, only that it was racing. You couldn't tell what had him so worked up, only that his breath escaped him even as you counted to ten again, and again, unrelenting in your focus on him. You had no idea what made your rock, your anchor, cry like this.

Maybe he'd tell you later; maybe it'd remain a mystery. None of that mattered in the moment. All that mattered was the rhythm of your breath as the rain let up; the way his tears drenched your sleeves when you dabbed at his flushed cheeks; the steady thrum of his heart as his body relaxed beside yours. All that mattered was how, with your chest pressed to his back as you lay on top of the bedspread, he let you hold him for a change.

_____________________

event tags: @moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added/taken off this wee tag list)

[amethystfairy1]

I have a question about Docs robotic arm, and I can't remember if it's ever been talked about or answered (sorry if it has lol), but can it feel (or register) pain?

Now, obviously I'm assuming it can't necessarily get hurt (outside of literally harming the metal/redstone anyway), and im pretty sure it's been stated that Doc would handle baby Tango whenever he got too hot because his metal arm wouldn't get hurt, but, can it register pain, per se?

Say, for example, his arm encounters high levels of heat, the arm doesn't actually get affected, he himself probably doesn't get affected much assuming the heat stays concentrated on his arm, but is he aware that it hurts? Is his brain firing pain signals to a limb that can't process them (or vice versa)? Does his arm maybe take in data, and relay to his archival eye that there are high levels of heat near/on his arm? So no pain is registered, but rather the heat (and or presence of what should be pain) itself?

And, lastly, in the event none of that is true, could the metal itself heat up enough to the point it would hurt his actual skin? Could his shoulder/back/neck get hurt where the grafted metal plates meet skin if his arm was hot enough? (I highly doubt it but if theres any Meta Runner fans reading this think Lucinia's arm lol. That arm definitely burned her in the explosion. Anyway im getting off track whoops)

Sorry for the long ask, that may not even make sense, and has potentially been answered/talked about before lol. (And or sorry for making you think things that havent been/wouldn't normally be thunk) Feel free to not even answer this I'll probably forget about it in a couple hours (i really need to get to sleep man. So eepy) But uh. Love your writing and hope you're blessed with the cold side of your pillow tonight <3

It doesn't register pain in the traditional sense, no. He does get phantom pains from the absence of his actual arm, though! He also does do the data registration thing that you mention! So for example of he's holding a crying lil Tango and Tango is heating up, his arm will register the high heat and relay that info to his archival eye, but he won't feel like he's being burned. Also yes, it could get hot enough to burn his skin, buuuuut that heat would have to be extremely high. He's held Tango during a panic attack and that hasn't been able to do it. So while it's possible, it's very unlikely to ever actually happen. Hope that makes sense! I'm so glad you enjoy my writing!

[noangeleither]

"fixing" the panic attack scene to be more platonic ™

im extremely active on twt and have been noticing a sydcarmy tweet go viral multiple times a week (like w thousands of interactions its crazy), and its really great to see how much people love and see it for this ship. recently carmys panic attack scene went viral again, and naturally, some ppl gave their piece about how we are all dumb for interpreting it as romantic. that sydney represents his love for his job or his duty to the restaurant (*sigh*).

this scene imo, is the most concrete proof of this ship. i can excuse (not really) interpreting every interaction between them thus far as platonic but this scene....i just refuse. this is gonna be a long post, not analyzing the scene per se because i can't possibly say anything that hasn't already been said but more "fixing" the scene to fit the narrative of antis, and i hope in doing so really shows there's no other way to interpret this scene as other than romantic. again its gonna be a long post bc im just ranting and i think i will lose my mind if i dont type this out.

lets go.

so first off i like to think of this scene as an equation/experiment. simply a problem that needs to be solved.

problem/reason of panic = ...we will discuss this...

solution # 1 = claire -> failed

solution # 2 = sydney -> worked.

Problem/Reason

s02e09 opens up with carmy and claire finally consummating their relationship, with an interesting song choice might i add and carmy dissociating, looking sad, or broken (???) after. because many have said carmy pulling memories of sydney from his psyche to calm down have to do with work i always remember that, it really doesnt make any sense?

carmy is clearly having a panic attack due to him not being "fixed" as soon as he made it official with claire. he felt pressure from his family both currently and in the past to date claire because she is amazing and perfect. add mikey also being a part of that crowd, and carmy so desperately trying to connect with him when he cannot, is why i think he looks so despondent after that scene. i truly think he thought he would be a changed person after everything with claire and when that didn't happen he flipped...

we know this is the reason bc his panic attack starts with their sex scene and the lyric "I dont know" from strange currencies by REM.

this isn't to say that he isn't nervous or stressed about the soft open but its clear that he's not having a panic attack about work nor have we ever seen him have a work-related panic attack (correct me if I'm wrong). in s1 he has one or two due to him greiving his brother.

platonic fix: To make it about work I would have added scenes like when Carmy started that stove fire in braciole, his meltdown in review, some scenes of his horrible time at EMP, and him grieving his brother. i think these would represent his fear of failure, falling back into old toxic habits pertaining his career, the fear of fostering a toxic work environment like the ny chef and also the idea of "failing" mikey

but theres a reason why none of this occurs bc its not about his job or the opening of the bear. this is explicitly about his personal and romantic love life.

Solution # 1 : Claire

carmy proceeds to try and calm down by thinking of claire through literal rose-coloured glasses...

the music is distorted, he's thinking of his abusive family, he remembers every one pushing him to date claire bc shes a #goodthing.

again...this is not about his job and wouldnt make sense to think of sydneys place in his work life as a soultion to his clear personal problem....

platonic fix: in the story of carmys love life claire and sydney act as narrative foils. they have been compared and contrasted for all of s2. my platonic fix for this would be making the NY chef this first "solution" of a work-related panic attack. he represents a horrible time in his life but also represents a time when carmy was at the height of his career. when carmy gets locked in the walk in and has his monologue, its alluded to that he will revert back to that mind set in order to not let everyone down.

NY chef abused him for so long, it makes sense that carmys psyche would readily go back to his insults and the time he himself was an isolated 'psycho' bc it yielded results.

nothing is black and white and i DO think sydney represents a healthier approach to the toxic mess that is the culinary world and does represent that for carmy. if the show was invested in that, sydney and the NY chef could be overtly contrasted like sydney and claire have been.

BUT again this isnt about his job and dedication as a chef...thus why he tries to think of claire to solve his personal problem, and it fails.

Solution # 2: Sydney

LMFAOOO.

carmy then in a crazy plot twist starts thinking of his platonic work bestie sydney adamu....the love song dedicated by the show to his relationship with his girlfriend is then made clear highlighting some pretty damning lyrics about desire and love.....all platonic btw. yes you are dumb if you think otherwise (*wink*)

I actually have two platonic fixes for this...

platonic fix # 1: if we only wanted to focus on sydney as a person who calms carmy down because shes his work bestie who represents his responsibilty to the bear and the postive change they are trying effect in the culinary world, i would add scenes where they are...you know actually cooking???

i think its pretty crazy how the memories carmys immediately jump to are ones that have little to do with their jobs. when they first meet (would also like to note that when carmy first laid eyes on Sydney, he forgot she was there for a job, so this is his raw reaction to seeing a pretty girl lol) and when she comes back after she quit and their break up fight.

i would add their scenes in carmys kitchen (even tho this is extremely damning bc they were flirting DOWN - they don't make this easy at all). this represents their collaboration skills and the way they WORK and bounce ideas off of each other seamlessly. specifically the scene about him wanting to give her a star, representing his duty to her and the restaurant.

*and no shade to carmy but if his responsibility to the bear/syd as a co-worker was bothering him this much and calmed him down wouldn't he have just immediately called the fridge guy.....anyways*

platonic fix # 2 (the best one): if i was chris storer and joanna calo and i REALLY wanted to sell it that carmy isnt in love with sydney then i would put every single member of the OG beef crew + Nat to calm him down not just Sydney.

im talking to them laughing at family, carmy giving tina his chefs knife, richie in his new suit, carmys one on one w Marcus/trying his donut, nat telling carmy shes pregnant (signifing rebirth/wanting to rid all the toxic abuse from his family), carmy trying sydney risotto, and her face when he said it was tremendous etc etc...you get the gist

and honestly?

even as i type this out im tearing up a little bit bc that would have been really beautiful. carmy is changing. he can and is getting rid of old toxic habits from his family and the mess that is the culinary industry. things are changing for the better....that would be beautiful....IF his panic attack was about any of these things lol.

and to even look at this scene without this need for symmetry and we entertain the idea of carmy thinking about his job as a solution for his personal problem...carmy has said himself (s02e01) that this isnt fun for him. i dont think that means he hates cooking i kinda disagree with the ppl who think he isnt passionate about it. i just think currently its something that doesnt bring him joy but i do think its something hes starting to or at least could have started to enjoy if he just committed to working with syd...

conclusion

theres a lot of....delusion? denial? straight up bias? yes all of that, going on.

idk what is happening bc this show is really great at being subtle. but i dont know whats more in your face, dumbed down, even a toddler could understand, than this scene. if you dont come out of this understanding that carmy is falling in love/currently in love with Sydney...and i hate using this term..but you just arent media literate.

bonus: bc it makes me laugh and connects the purpose and solutions.

i think we need a Snyder Sydcarmy Cut™ of bolognese and omelette.

the start of the episode is when sydney and carmy fight over claires inclusion in the menu, and also when sydney randomly asks him to define his relationship with Claire. the episode would continue until we get to the table scene.

i think its WILD how as soon as Sydney asks him to define their relationship, carmy starts calling claire his girlfriend. then the show proceeds to insert sydney in their romantic montage, shows her tattoo about heartbreak and someone getting in the way of your relationship...THEN proceeds to have carmy compare these two women in his mind and only calms down after seeing Sydney.

i could talk about this scene for AGES. wheres the straitjacket....

[aranock]

One of the worst parts of cPTSD at least for me is trauma nightmares. I already have insomnia, and fatigue and chronic pain from my chronic illness, so sleeps not great at baseline. But waking up to a panic attack because I can't have a respite from the horrors of the waking even in dreams is the worst. One must imagine hell is sleep deprivation from reexperiencing your worst moments. And I am a vivid dreamer, I sometimes even feel pain in dreams, they seem exceptionally real as they are happening.

When I'm awake not always but often I can notice a panic attack coming on and stave off with breathing techniques etc. I can handle flashbacks not well per se but better. Waking up from one though, I can feel adrenaline and I start hyperventilating so fast. So I have to lay there, having a much harder time with breathing techniques, doing anything to bring down my thoughts from the spiral.

I'm not really sure why I'm writing this, maybe to just process because I just had a particularly bad one. Breathe in 1 2 3 4 5, hold, breathe out 1 2 3 4 5, repeat, do not think about their hands around your neck, the whole time as I type. Maybe I'm writing it to just make someone else feel seen, or cause this sucks and I need to vent, or cause it can be educational. I hope this is helpful; but it at least helped me calm down.

[the-caretakest-of-the-caretakers]

TOH Hunter headcanons (Golden Guard) (hurt/comfort and whump)

I made a list of my headcanons for Hunter in his Golden Guard era! I'm rather nervous about posting this-

I must warn, this account is focused on whump. Whump is a subgenre closely similar to hurt/comfort in which an author puts a fictional character through physical or psychological pain. Please, do not read if that could make you uncomfortable.

This list will contain mentions of:

Panic and anxiety attacks

Disordered eating

Physical injuries

Mild physical illness

Don't read under the cut if those matters are triggering to you.

- Hunter has nightmares about events he hasn't experienced per se, but that were experienced by previous grimwalkers in his position. Most of his nightmares involve Belos killing him, which amplifies his need to please the emperor in fear that his nightmares will become real.

- Hunter has some disordered thoughts when it comes to eating, since he's been taught that he needs to earn such a "luxury". He may have nutritional deficiencies due to this, such as anemia.

- On the same vein, it's likely that Hunter gets weird cravings often, both from anemia and from undereating. Occasionally he might even have binging episodes where he sneaks late at night into the kitchen and starts eating without others knowing, not even cooking the raw food.

- Flapjack acts like an emotional support animal to him. He follows Hunter everywhere and rests on his shoulder whenever he's tired, or if he needs comfort. Flapjack has also supported Hunter through panic and anxiety attacks, nuzzling into his chest.

- Wearing his Golden Guard armor aids him a lot when trying to show a calm facade, as he can hide his face, as well as limit the tremors when his body gets shaky. It gives him a sense of power and belonging as well. Therefore, he feels especially vulnerable when he's not in his armor.

- He suffers from Complex-PTSD. Sometimes, he gets emotional flashbacks that trigger anxiety and panic attacks. Hunter doesn't know what a panic attack is, but he's really ashamed of suffering from them. He just assumes it's a normal thing he has to learn to stop on command.

- Hunter is actually very emotionally sensitive. Since he was never allowed to show it, though, his body got subconsciously used to expressing his emotional stress through physical symptoms. Therefore, it's not unusual for him to feel "off" (with intense migraines, fatigue, stomachaches...) after an emotionally charged day.

- He snaps at people when they show concern for him, since he thinks he's being mocked or seen as incompetent. Other coven members never really showed concern, after all. The only person who has ever shown any sort of remote care for him before has been the emperor, and that kind of care was always conditional. Hunter feels like he has to prove his strength to everyone who tries to treat him like "someone" instead of "something".

- The Emperor's Coven had little-to-no actual medical assistance. The usual procedure for wounds was to bandage them without cleaning them beforehand. Hunter never questioned it. Most of his scars are from injuries that were never treated properly.

[icey--stars]

Heyo, I saw your requests were open and I had an idea for Azris that has been killing me! So we all know that Azzie is severely traumatized by fire in his childhood and is probably deadky afraid of it. Enter Eris, his fire wielding mate. I was thinking of a fic where maybe the two of them are arguing about something or maybe Eris is upset and Azriel is pushing him to open up. And Eris loses control and lashes out with his power, burning Azriel with his fire. The angst would be horrific but sooo good. Becuz of Beron, I think Eris would hate himself cuz he thinks he's become like his father and Azriel has to convince him that they're alright

I completely understand if it's too dark or messed up (I'm sorry I love angst) Have a great day/ night regardless. I love your writing!!

We're Okay

Azriel x Eris (Azris) word count: 2.2k

anon, you have come to the RIGHT PERSON for this one. first off, love the angst. angst is the BEST especially if its hurt/comfort like what you had in mind. (when it's finished, you might find my fic "non est vivere sed valere est" interesting to read if you enjoy this kind of stuff!)

anyway, I loved the idea and I really hope you enjoy :)

(also please note that this idea is FAR from being "too dark or messed up" because I've written way worse, I promise.)

WARNINGS: Panic attacks, lots of self-blame, mentions/references to domestic abuse (from both characters), burns and mentions of injuries (past and present)

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

“Come on,” Azriel says, his fingers going up to rub his eyes in frustration. “Tell me. You know you can trust me.”

Eris shakes his head, curling his knees even tighter to his chest and shrinking down and wiggling just another inch away from his mate. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t. And why couldn’t Azriel just understand that? Eris was fine. Or would be. But with tears still staining his eyes, Azriel just couldn’t let it go.

“I’m fine,” he says, his breath hiccupping right after. “Just leave it, Az.”

Azriel sighs, his wings relaxing just a little bit behind where he kneeled in front of Eris.

“Eris,” he begins sternly. “You’re crying. And you just came from a family reunion. Would it be so bad to say that you’re lying?”

Eris glares at his mate through his tears. “Let it go,” he says, voice broken and nothing like the strong, unwavering tone he had been trying to get out. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Azriel insists. “Please love, just tell me. Let me in.” Those hazel eyes shined with so much care and worry that Eris felt like throwing up.

“Leave it,” Eris growls, turning his head away in a futile attempt to hide the tears continuing to leak from his eyes.

He was just being a bit… off today. He’d gone to a family reunion with his brothers, Jax, Hue, and Kuhn in the Day Court with Helion, Lucien, and his mother. Nothing had gone wrong, per se, but emotionally, it’d taken a lot out of him. Helion kept calling him son and Lucien seemed happy and Jax even smiled a little bit-

It was just so tiring. Eris sometimes wished that he could be that happy, but in his mind, he doesn’t think he ever could. With burn scars littering his body from Beron, he wasn’t worth it. Everyone already thought of him like his father and even if a few people didn’t, it wasn’t enough.

He suddenly feels a hand come to rest on his shoulder and Eris panics, throwing out his fire in a desperate attempt to get away. He sucks all the fire from the firelights as well, going to need it to defend himself in this vulnerable state-

He recognizes the pained noise that escapes the person’s mouth and feels a sharp, burning pain down the bond that they share.

Eris opens his eyes and sees Azriel groaning, holding his hand close to his body, moving away from him.

Eris’s heart drops.

“Azriel,” he says breathlessly and immediately moves forward to try and see his mistake.

“No,” Azriel says, backing up even further, his wings curling in closer to him as if in a shield. The shadows that have been relaxing in the darker corners of the rooms come rushing back to his mate as soon as Eris relights the firelights “Don’t-” Azriel begins but then groans, his head going up. There was obvious pain on his face.

Eris spots Azriel’s injured hand and feels like winnowing to the darkest cave in existence and staying there forever. He deserves it.

Azriel’s skin was red and blistering already, especially around the old scars on his hand.

Azriel pulls it away from his chest to examine it. The palm was bright red and blistering around the old scars. There were a few white spots as well and Azriel’s face was tight with pain.

“No,” Eris breathes, more tears coming to his eyes at the sight. “Please no.”

“Eris,” Azriel says, his voice a bit rougher. “It’s alright-”

Eris glances up at his mate and then back down to the burns he caused.

No, he begs. Please no. He wasn’t supposed to burn Azriel. He could never burn Azriel. He’d been slowly working to help him alleviate his fear of fire from that one fateful night when he was eight years old and now he’d just ruined it. All of it.

Azriel could never trust him again. He shouldn’t. Eris was just like his father. Too short-tempered, emotionally unavailable, and cruel that he hurts his loved ones. He never deserved a mate to begin with, but he tried to trust Azriel. Obviously, that could never happen now.

Eris watches in horror as Azriel pokes at one of the blisters a little, hissing some.

Then Azriel looks back up at Eris, tears in both their eyes now, and says, “Eris, take a deep breath. It’s okay.”

“I burned you,” Eris says, horrified. “I-”

“Eris,” Azriel says sharply. “It’s okay. Deep breath for me.”

“I burned you,” Eris repeats, standing up suddenly to try and back away. Where could he go? He needed to leave. Azriel wanted him gone. He’d go see the healers and then he’d realize it was all Eris’s fault that he was hurt-

“Eris,” Azriel snaps. “Look at me, love.”

Eris regrets it, but he obeys the order and looks down at his mate and love.

“Good,” Azriel praises, standing up as well. “You’re okay. Everything’s alright.”

“No- no it's not,” Eris chokes out, backing away right to the wall from Azriel. He could never touch him again. He didn’t deserve it. He deserved nothing. He’d hurt the one goddamn person he was never supposed to hurt.

Azriel walks forward, opening his arms. “Do you want a hug?”

“No,” Eris chokes out, turning away. “I don’t deserve it. I hurt you. I should go. I need to get out-”

Azriel cuts him off sharply, “No, you’re not leaving and you do deserve it, Eris. I know you hurt me, but it’s okay because I know you didn’t mean to.”

“But your half-brothers-”

“I know what they did. They did it intentionally. You thought you were in danger and retaliated accordingly. That’s okay. You don’t get to take all the blame for this. I should’ve asked if it was okay to touch you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Eris gets out, his arms crossed over his chest. He probably looked a complete mess right now. He’d already been crying before but now he’d hurt his mate. He could never forgive himself for that.

“My love,” Azriel coos. “It’s not entirely your fault either.”

“But your hand,” Eris chokes out. “It’ll scar even more.”

Azriel scoffs. “Eris, I don’t care if it scars. It’s already scarred. And because of you, I don’t hate my hands so much anymore. And I certainly will never hate you for this. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

Eris sucks in a swift breath and turns his head away when it comes out in a whoosh. “I’m just like Beron,” Eris chokes out. “I hurt you, Azriel.”

Azriel stares at him like he could see into his soul and then sighs. “Eris, you could never be like your father. Never.”

“But I-”

“It was an accident, Eris. Accidents happen. I know you love me. I know you didn’t mean to.”

“How?” Eris chokes out. “How do you know that?”

“Because you’re reacting like this,” Azriel whispers, daring another step forward. “If you were like your father, you’d probably be laughing evilly right now. But you’re not. You’re so goddamn worried that I hate you that you can’t breathe right now.”

“You should hate me,” Eris whispers, closing his eyes tightly and shifting his weight back and forth onto either foot. “You should hate me like that day I left Mor in the woods.”

“Eris, I could never hate you,” Azriel says sternly. “I love you too much for that to ever happen.”

Eris presses his lips together in an attempt to keep from sobbing. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Azriel’s face softens even more. “It’s okay, my love. I promise.”

Eris nods and looks at Azriel’s injured hand again. “We should get you to the healers,” Eris mutters.

“Do you want a hug first?” Azriel asks, his arms open wide still.

Eris contemplates it for a moment before walking into the embrace, burying his face in Azriel’s neck.

“There you go,” Azriel whispers and wraps his arms around him. “It’s okay, love.”

Eris’s eyes leak more tears at that. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

“I forgive you,” Azriel whispers back. “I love you. I’m sorry for pushing you so hard.”

“It’s okay,” Eris whispers. “I was being dramatic.”

Azriel chuckles a little. “I’m sure the family reunion caused a lot of stress for you. Next time, I’ll try to let it go. I was just worried for you.”

“I know,” Eris whispers, his arms relaxing a little down to his sides so he can wrap them around Azriel’s lower back.

After a long moment of silence, Eris asks, “Are you sure you still trust me after that? I burned you. I hurt you.”

“Baby,” Azriel coos, kissing his forehead before pulling back enough to meet his eyes. “I forgive you. It was an accident.”

“Are you okay?” Eris asks. “I know I probably flashed the lights a little-”

“I’m just fine. I was a bit startled and scared for a moment, but I knew you were just the same. It’s okay.”

Eris nods. “Let’s get you to the healers,” He says, gently grabbing the wrist of the hand he knows he injured. “It still might be perfectly fine.”

“Alright,” Azriel gets out after a hiss of pain. Eris still feels like shit, but he just had to make sure Azriel would be okay now.

Eris grabs his other hand and winnows them directly into the healer’s wing of the Forest House.

One of the female healers startles, but puts a hand over her chest and sighs. “High Lord, how may I help you?” She asks kindly.

Azriel takes a step forward and simply shows her his blistering, burnt hand. She winces at the sight. “Alright, come over here.”

They both follow and the healer directs Azriel to sit on the bed while she gathers supplies.

Eris decides to sit beside him, leaning into his side a little. Azriel turns to kiss his head again. “It’s okay, love,” Azriel whispers. Eris tries to hold back the tears. He knew he looked like shit, but hopefully the healer wouldn’t say anything.

She comes back holding a wad of bandages and a bucket of water. “Please put your hand in the bucket, Lord Azriel. It’s just cold water.”

Azriel obeys, hissing softly. Eris tenses, wanting to be able to take away Azriel’s pain.

“Can I ask how this injury occurred?” The healer asks. “So I know the best healing method.”

Eris winces and opens his mouth to explain his shame, but Azriel beats him to it. “There was just a minor accident when we were in our room, is all.”

“Right,” the healer muses. “Was it an open flame or was it… hot skin?”

“Flame,” Eris answers.

Azriel nods in agreement.

“Alright,” the healer says. “Once the burn stops hurting in the cold water, I’ll bring it out and clean it thoroughly before healing the top layer of the skin. But I’m going to wrap it with some antibiotic cream as well, just to be safe while the parts under the skin heal as well. It’s a pretty simple second-degree burn procedure.”

“Okay,” Azriel says. “Just leave me with some bandages to change it.”

“Do you know how to-” The healer pauses and then clears her throat. “Apologies, of course.” Her eyes were on Azriel’s other hand of burn scars. “Change it daily or whenever it gets wet for a week and then I want to check it again just to be sure.”

Eris hears the word week and winces again. Azriel was going to be in pain for that long?

Azriel grabs Eris’s hand with his uninjured one and squeezes gently to reassure him. “Sounds good.”

“Right. Let your burn sit in the cold water for a while and call me over when it stops hurting or stinging.”

Azriel dips his head slightly and leans into Eris’s side as soon as the healer walks away. “It’s alright, Eris. I doubt it’ll take that long. These,” Azriel squeezes Eris’s hand for example, “Took three weeks and they were bloody. These are puny in comparison.”

“I’d rather you’d have never been burned,” Eris mutters, leaning his head against Azriel’s shoulder.

“I know,” Azriel says. “But what I’m saying is that Illyrians do heal fast.”

Eris nods.

Azriel hums and then shifts his shoulder, forcing Eris up off of it to meet his eyes. “Look at me, baby,” Azriel says gently.

Eris obeys, holding back tears still.

“We’re okay,” Azriel says. “Everything’s alright. Accidents happen, yeah? This is just one of those. I would never think of you any differently because of it. In fact, because of the work we’ve been doing to decrease my fears of fire, I didn’t freak out. Did you notice that? You made me stronger, Eris.”

Eris swallows and then nods.

“I love you,” Azriel continues. “I’ll never stop either. It’s like you’ve grabbed me by my throat and won’t let me go, but I don’t want to leave either.”

Eris chuckles. “I could always actually grab you by your throat.”

“Later, baby. Later.”

And with that, Eris relaxes into Azriel’s side, content to wait with him and help him however he can by changing bandages or by kissing the burns better when they ache. Whatever his mate so desires. He knows that Azriel has said he forgives him and he doesn’t have to make up anything, but Eris can’t help from doting on his mate a little. Both as an assurance that Azriel loves him and that they’re alright.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

TAGLIST (see post for getting added!)

Tagged in all ACOTAR Stories: @bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess, @bubybubsters, @fieldofdaisiies,

Tagged in all Azriel Stories: @ladylokilaufeyson5, @marina468,

[formulapookie]

AMA!!!! per le fanciction angst se ti va O e beznaia, se puoi con happy ending pero se preferisci solo angst va bene uguale! Ti lascio alla tua ispirazione!!!

Ti manderei una jorge/pecco ma angst? Io li voglio veder scopare

Bez is out the championship fight.

With just two races to go, even if he won both sprints and long races he wouldn't clench the title.

Pecco and him - they've been growing apart during the fight.

After the Aprilia came to be a true war machine and both him and Jorge jumped on podiums with Marc and Pecco, the latter had distanced himself, day by day, until they didn't even sleep in the same bed anymore.

Pecco hadn't bothered with giving an explanation or finding an excuse for what was happening.

Bez had tried so hard to get his Pecco back, to have hugs, kisses, hand holding, anhything.

Pecco just acted like they weren't worth it. He refused any kind of physical contact.

And naturally Bez couldn't bare this.

They have been broken up for two months now.

And Bez was the one to take it worse between the two.

He had cried in Maro's arms for hours after it happened, sobs turning into incoherent words and then to quiet tears, it was a long night.

Now, after all he sacrificed to be there, he sees his chances at the title slip away for a crash, caused by the fucking bike and its hydraulic problems.

He watches the remaining 5 laps from his garage, no one coming close to him.

Pecco wins, extends the advantage to 10 points to Marc and 13 to Jorge.

The evening of the race he's outside the hotel, he's picked up the habit of smoking after races, especially the bad ones.

It soothes his nerves, and in general he likes the burning sensation of it in his lungs.

He enjoys being there alone, but peace never lasts long.

Pecco comes out the hotel door, and once he spots Bez he goes up to him.

"It's not good for you, you know?" "Fuck off"

Pecco is surprised by the answer, not that he expected Bez to be lovely and kiss him but this is not Bez at all.

"Angry?" "Francesco I told you to fuck off" "Ok angry"

Bez doesn't look at him. He keeps staring at the same point for two minutes, Pecco stands beside him.

"I'm sorry for your crash, I wanted to know if you were ok. And I'm sorry for the championship too"

Bez snorts out a laugh, throwing the cig to the ground and putting it out.

"Oh so now you care?" Bez has tears in his eyes, but they don't spill.

"Now, after I'm not a fucking threat anymore, you suddenly give a fuck about me and how I am. Oh please Francesco you could've just not asked, it would've been better"

"No Marco I- of course I care about you, you are -" "What am I? Huh? And don't fucking dare say I'm your best friend, cause we stopped being that long ago, and I remind you you broke up with me two months ago, out of the blue, not to mention the one month prior where you treated me like shit"

"I'm sorry"

"I don't give a fuck about you being sorry. I cared at first, when you broke my heart and left me on the street like a stray dog. Cause that's what I was to you no? A dog you kept with you because I was oh so loyal and oh so obedient. You enjoyed it? Having your little toy with you all the time? Tell me Francesco, you enjoyed fucking me and then tossing me aside when I expired? You enjoyed having me be so stupidly in love with you I didn't see you didn't care about me and staying by your side?"

Pecco feels sick to his stomach, he didn't think Bez would ever think he used him.

"Bez no you - I didn't keep you, I never considered you to be a toy or anything close to it, I do care about you, I always cared, and I 'll do it forever, no no Bez I did't mean to - I didn't want this to happen"

"You care? YOU CARE? Where was this care when I cried for two hours in Maro's arms because you left me? Where was it when I got a panic attack because I thought I did something wrong and you hated me, and I called you because you were the only one I could trust, and you answered with a text telling me to sleep it off? Where was the care? I was so fucking sure for once someone saw me as more than just a body, but you just burnt down every little ounce of self confidence I had. You didn't mean for this to happen? YOU broke up with me, not another person, you"

At this point Bez's eyes hurt, they're full of tears, a pinching sensation to them.

"You just act like you care now because I can't win your precious fucking championship anymore. But as soon as I'm in the run for it again you'll break my heart again, and sorry if I don't want this to happen"

Bez doesn't want to keep on with this conversation, it's too much skin exposed, too much teeth bare.

He needs to go away, get far from Pecco's smell of citrus and mint and his stupid words.

"Bez-" "Stop. Stop it. I don't want to hear anything coming from you. I hope you fucking lose the championship, this way maybe you'll understand how it is to lose the most important thing in your life from one day to another"

Bez doesn't turn around when he walks back to the hotel entrance. Doesn't turn around when he hears his ex lover call for him. Doesn't turn around when a feeling of wrongness eats him whole.

And Pecco desperately tries to run after him, chase what he left months ago to clench a title he saw as worth more than love.

He sees now how stupid of a move it was, how foolish of him it was to leave behind the love of his life for the untamed need to win win win

So he's left like this, before an Hotel entrance, alone, stripped of his dignity, the smell of smoke hung in the air, littering his oxygen.

The extinguished cig being the only permance of Bez in his life now.

ANGST PROMPTS

[taisho-era-secrets]

Hey, I'm sorry, I don't like to use this blog for venting purposes but this is like the only tumblr blog I really use these days so I'm putting it under a cut! I just feel like it's been bottled up and it needs to get out.

Tw for abusive relationships

I went to have dinner with an old friend this week because I've made it a goal of mine to rekindle the friendships that I knew were beneficial to both parties. But we started talking about past stuff and he brought up my ex. He was there for that entire relationship and it was actually this friend that took me somewhere alone and had a mini intervention with me about how toxic and abusive my relationship was with this guy and that I needed to get out of it.

And I really wanted to ask why didn't anyone else tell my ex that? Why didn't anyone stand up for me in the moments? Like he would openly make fun of me in front of the group and it was really odd.

During the dinner, my friend said something about how he hopes that I don't let that experience stop me forever and that I should go out into the dating scene again one day. But I told him I really can't risk getting hurt like that again because I have full on panic attacks now when I think about anything intimate or romantic. Right now, I don't see myself having a relationship without hurting the other person unintentionally because of that. I'm still struggling with self love in general.

Anyways, I feel like I use writing smut and relationships as a way to heal myself? Like I know I don't deserve the world, per se, but I deserved better than that. And by writing, I feel like I have the power over my pleasure again because I can write it how I want it to happen and without worrying about someone hurting me physically or emotionally.

[teddybeartoji]

hey, uh, fellow anxiety sufferer with maybe helpful advice? hopefully?? feel free to ignore if this doesn't vibe with you!

so, my anxiety has gotten a LOT better over the years. like, a lot. but when it was more frequent, i would get chest tightness too and i hated it.

so, what i basically learned is that the physiological reason you feel that tightness is because your brain has responded to your anxious state by producing two hormones, namely adrenaline and cortisol.

the fun thing about these hormones? they don't really dissipate if you sit around. other hormones? to my knowledge, yeah. these guys? no. no, they often get worse.

that's probably why it's bad when you're at home, if you're not doing too much physically. sitting when your anxiety is high can backfire if you're being pumped with adrenaline.

the adrenaline is there to get you up and moving to escape danger. it wants you to move.

the cortisol is the the body's stress response. it will turn off your body's ability to relax, and it will continue to do so until you get rid of it.

so, by sitting around and trying to relax to lessen it? usually makes it worse. like. super worse, potentially.

now, breathing exercises and mindfulness are really helpful! for sure! gentle exercise is pretty good when it's low-mid levels of anxiety. walking and aerobic exercise are good for those moments.

i try to walk around 30 minutes a day (if i can fucking time crunch it), and it's been helpful for me, honestly.

the thing about "oh, you should exercise more" people would tell you when i was struggling really kind of ticked me off (because, hey, there's a lot more to it than that!) and kind of made me more reluctant to exercise, honestly.

however, once i figured out what i enjoyed doing and that it was really just for me? yeah, i liked it.

my best advice, perhaps, is for when the chest pain gets really bad. if you ever feel like you're going to have a panic attack and you want to avoid one, the best thing you can do is REALLY INTENSE EXERCISE.

LIKE. DROP AND GIVE ME OVER 9000!!!!

seriously, just drop and do as many push ups if you can. can't do push ups, make it easier by laying on your knees or performing something that's more comfortable to you.

also, if you can, run. specifically, LIKE YOU'RE BEING CHASED BY A BEAR. just GO FOR IT.

because the adrenaline is specifically designed to make you run away like you're running from a fucking bear. by doing so, you cut down on the adrenaline, and your body feels like it has successfully escaped the imaginary bear that is threatening you. and it calms down.

so you calm down.

do whatever strenuous activity you can really intensely until you can't anymore or just feel done, and after you catch your breath, the feeling should be lessened.

otherwise, a different avenue to try may be intense distraction. like, not lowkey distraction like watching tv. something that requires a lot of attention. try doing a really hard puzzle, quizzing yourself on subjects you like, whatever really actively engages your mind.

a combo of physical and mental engagement might be helpful, too. whatever feels good or works for you. the tightness can be really annoying (or distressing when you're not feeling great), but there are things to be done for it! the tightness can get better, and with attention, it likely will. go for it!

moral of the story: RUN LIKE A FUCKING LUNATIC IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER!!!

NONNIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!1111111 YOU ARE AN ANGEL SENT FROM HEAVENNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! me a proper homebody watching you say that just sitting around won't do me any good O . O lmao NO BUT BUT BUT THIS IS VERY GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i've been thinking about doing yoga again,, okay it's not very intense per se but i feel like that would still probably help right.. ?

and goddd i actually really fucking love running!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! not that i'm any good at it but it's so fucking fun lmao i do have some . things that keep me from doing it though that always just sound like i'm trying to look for excuses and i fucking hate that i wish i could just put on running clothes and just go and do it .

YOU DID JUST REMIND ME THAT I HAVE A JUMPING ROPE THOUGH THAT'S ALSO SMTH I USED TO DO A LOT AND I LOVED ITTTTT i think i've been taking steps back lmao i think i've lost the progress i managed to make a few years ago sighhh this is good though this post this ask. it feels like a very needed gentle bonk on the head hgsdhgadhgashg SO THANK YOUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM KISSING YOU SOOO SOOO SWEETLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ILYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[bogginswritings]

Sleepless Nights for the Damned || Percival de Rolo x fem!reader

I'm sorry for my absence. I didn't write anything here in the last like 9 months. Writers block and school were killing me. I hope this can make up for it a little bit, but don't expect too much. I practically forced this out. (I love Percy smsm)

Pairing: Percy de Rolo x fem!reader/oc

Summary: The nights were the hardest for Percy. When his mind could wander because his hands aren't preoccupied with anything. He was lucky now, though. He had her.

Warning(s): Mentions of past trauma, Percy's backstory, angst and comfort, panic attacks (Percy)

(idk who posted the GIF, I'm sorry)

Percy wasn’t entirely sure what he looked like anymore. 

He had mirrors, of course, but the reflection didn't always look familiar. He didn’t really know what he was supposed to look like, anymore. Would he have looked like this if his childhood would keep going as it did; happy and joyful? Would the dark circles not be under his eyes? Would he not have the white hair, but rather the brown locks he always had?

He didn't know. But it seemed common, to no longer recognize himself. Wandering alone for years in the need of vengeance, a routine of eating rotten bread from trash cans and stealing apples on the market just so his stomach wouldn't complain; one could say this changes a man.

Percy met a group, and he came up with the name Vox Machina. While this was somewhat stable, he was far from happy. He wasn't even entirely sure why, because he had great and caring friends now. His stomach was always full with food that hadn't already gone bad for at least two days. Sure, the jobs they did to earn some coin wasn't always 'ethical’, per se; but it kept them going just fine. Percy wasn't happy, but he was content. As content as he could get, anyway, for the desire of revenge still lingered and nightmares took over his sleep.

Sometimes he’d kill the Briarwoods in said nightmares,  though maybe those should be considered dreams, he didn't know where they came from. Even during the day he thought about it, a gnawing feeling of pure anger taking over his entire being. He had episodes like this, they’ve become more frequent, though Percy was not entirely sure where they came from. Sure, he was so pissed no word in the English language was enough to describe it, but he didn’t think that a feeling of rage would consume his entire being.

No friend could make this better. No one was there at night to comfort him. They didn't understand. He couldn't blame them, he never told them. It wasn't fair to put a weight like that on their shoulders, to trauma dump when they all have so much to deal with already.

Percy felt hopeless, to be quite honest. Especially when he woke up in a cold sweat and had no one to go to. When he had a bad dream as a kid he would just slide in with his parents, now he waited in bed hoping to fall asleep again or at least have his body get the rest. Sometimes he was just extremely mad when he woke up in the middle of the night, and he’d get to his workshop to tinker.

It was always the same, and it felt like a routine. Just like it was routine for Vex to check Trinket’s teeth and Grog to clean his weapons. However, this was a routine he didn’t participate in voluntarily and he couldn’t get out of.

Once again his eyes snapped open, his breathing heavy. It felt like he had to lift up a brick from his chest with every breath in. Percy shot up, sitting upright to try and shake off that horrible feeling. The feeling he was going to pass out from a lack of air. The feeling he was dying. He tried to stay quiet, but a whimper slipped past his lips. He did his best to muffle it, to be silent. Usually he wouldn’t have to worry about it too much, but usually he was alone in his bed. He didn’t share it with someone.

His body got a shock from another stifled sob. Percy could feel this was going to be a bad ride, one he had to let wash over him. Wave after wave until the storm calmed and it passed. They seemed to be more frequent and during the day it fueled his being more and more with wrath and a desire to kill the Briarwoods. Percy didn’t just want to kill them, he wanted to hurt them. He needed them to feel all the sadness and anger he has felt and-

He tried to take a deep breath, to not spiral into there. Right now he just had an intense feeling of fear and panic he didn’t know how to control.

A gentle touch on his shoulder, the weight on the bed next to him dipping. “Darling?” her gentle voice rang through his ears. He couldn't register everything quickly, but she'd sat up too; one hand resting on his thigh whilst the one his shoulder started rubbing circles.

This was the first time Percy had woken her up with it. Though, to be fair, they had only started sleeping in one bed for a week or so. He knew he probably should have warned her beforehand that this could happen- would happen, but everytime he tried an itch in his throat stopped him. God, he felt like such an asshole waking her up, and that only added up to the bad feeling of guilt he had.

“I-” he swallowed, his eyes darted around the room to find something to focus on, “I’m sorry.”

“Look at me, Percy,” Her voice was soothing, “Focus on me.” He did. It took a while, her words still getting processed in his brain, but he did. Her heart broke when she saw his wobbling lips,  “Good, take a deep breath with me.”

Percy tried, he really did, but it just wouldn't. It caused him to fall into more of a panic, his breathing turning rigid. She asked him for something so simple and he couldn't do it. “I-I can’t- I can't-” Her hand moved away from his thigh, but before Percy could start crying because ‘she was definitely leaving’, it came back on his chest. “I’m here. Can you lift my hand?” She asked, and she took deep, loud drags of air to demonstrate. It took a while, but he managed to lift it slightly. And then some more. “Good job,” Her hand moved lower, resting on his abdomen, “And now? I need you to breathe through your stomach.” Percy remembered she did it with herself sometimes too, a hand on her belly before they went into battle. He understood why now, because once he managed to lift her hand it actually felt like air was going inside his lungs for the first time in the last- what, five minutes? It took a little while before it became a rhythm to breathe like that, but it helped.

The hand on his shoulder had moved to hold his face, he didn’t know when that happened, but he only noticed it just now. The feeling was nice. “Better?” She asked, and he nodded, “Good.” She gave him a kind smile, and Percy just didn’t know what he did to deserve her. She knew exactly what to do, and she didn’t even know what this was about. If the woman was honest, though, she expected it to be about the dragon at first. An intense experience they went through. But they’ve been through worse, and it didn’t seem to have bothered the man before. Nonetheless, she caressed his cheek and held him. Percy never had someone comfort him like this, but he knew he liked it. “We can get out of bed for a bit, get that busy mind of yours on something else for a while?”

“I’d like that.”

And so here they were, at the table of the shared household of Vox Machina. Two mugs of tea stood in between them, still steaming and too hot to drink. They didn’t say anything, Percy was too lost in thought and she waited for him to figure it out. “I’m sorry.” It broke the silence after a while. The woman gave him a look, not one that ridiculed him; rather one that asked why he would say that, “You shouldn’t be.”

“But I am, I’ve woken you up. I should at least have had the decency to warn you about it.”

“Does it happen often?” She asked, worry etched into her voice. She always assumed the dark circles under his eyes were from late nights in his workshop, like the others. He was a workaholic after all. She didn't think there was more behind it. She felt horrible for not asking him, to make sure. “It does,” Percy said, “I should’ve said something, I’m sorry this is pushed onto you.”

“Stop apologizing,” she dipped her finger into the tea, deciding it was cooled down enough to drink, “That’s what partners are for, if you don’t get that comfort then what kinda relationship do you have. Would you have gotten mad at me?” He shook his head, even though he knew it was rhetorical, “Exactly.” She took a sip, Percy following soon after, “If you ever need to talk about it, I’m here for you. And if you don’t that is okay, too. I’ll still be right by your side.”

“I want to talk about it- I do, I tried.”

“Take your time, Percy,” she reassured, “We aren’t in a hurry. When you’re ready I’ll be here.”

He nodded, sending her an appreciative smile, “I promise I will be. Later.”

“Later,” she affirmed, and they drank the rest of their mugs in silence.

…

“I just remembered we have that dinner at Uriel’s,” They were back in bed, the woman playing with Percy’s hair as his head was tucked under her chin. They didn’t cuddle often, but this felt nice, “You excited?” She felt him nod, “Though I’d be more excited if Grog remembered his manners.” She snorted at his response, but she couldn’t find it in her to disagree.

“I can’t wait to have a change of scenery. Fancy foods,” she gushed, “and fancy drinks.”

“It’ll be good for us, to get some respect as Vox Machina,” Percy said, “It could get us better jobs.” She hummed in acknowledgement. That would be nice. She kissed the top of his head, “We should probably sleep then, to look presentable and all.”

“I always look presentable.”

The woman snorted, “You sure do, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

That night was the first in a while where Percy felt safe.

Alrightie, hope you enjoyed!

[bettsfic]

Oh yes! I think you would love the main protagonists and their connection. I'm feral about this movie, I just watched the day before yesterday, and I'm so anxious to have time off so I can draw fanart of the thing because it's soooo good.

Now, I love horror, so I have seen so much horror in my life that I can tell you this is one of those movies in the genre that are different. Our protagonist is Sam (short for Samira) and she has a cat named Frodo (I'm sorry but that was genius in so many ways, I can't tell you why because spoilers but they really make it made sense, there is truly a connection there). Frodo the cat is a character as well, I have never seen a movie before that has an animal that has indeed some weight into the movie (at least not one that is not like Marley and Me or those kind of movies).

Anyway, sorry, back to Sam. The first thing you know when the movie starts is that she has cancer. A woman who has cancer in a movie that develops into an apocalyptic world is really interesting. The movie explored this in detail, and I loved every second.

She is tired, she is angry, she is brave, and at the same time, you can tell she is scared af. She has some problems trying to connect with people because she thinks there is no point in it anymore, and probably because she thinks they are sorry for her and therefore their interest is not genuine.

She used to be a writer. She wrote a book about poems. She doesn't have the drive to write anymore, but she carries a notebook, whatever she goes, and I love her so much, Betty. I can't even explain the whole of it.

So next, we get to know the ML. Name is Eric, she is from England and went to NY to study to be a lawyer. He is how you write Eddie on your Stranger Things fics. I went even more feral at this point, I was chewing my fist. They were perfect together.

They connect. They make wonderful things for each other.

THEY EXCHANGE CLOTHES!!!!

OLDER WOMAN, YOUNGER MAN!!!

I don't wanna say more about it so you can enjoy it for the first time yourself, if you want to watch it. (But if you want to know more, just say so, I would be happy to talk about it for hours!)

I would say something I just learned yesterday before I go. Eric has anxiety in the movie. He has panic and anxiety attacks during the movie. What they removed is that he was trying to kill himself when the whole alien/monster ordinal began, and then, he met Sam. They erase this part from the movie, I guess because of time, because I could tell anyway while watching that Eric was maybe suecidal or that al least he was neurodivergent (again, I would love to elaborate but spoilers).

Hope you have the chance to watch it, I would love to know your thoughts if you do so. Also, you can scream at me about it if you enjoy it as much as I did.

So basically, this is a movie about two really lonely people that connect and gain perspective about life and themselves while trying to survive the beginning of an apocalypse. It felt very transformative. It was perfect.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk. Also, sorry for any weird grammar sentences. I hope I manage to come across all my ideas, English is not my first language.

I forgot to tell you, they are not trying to escape the apocalypse for 3rd parts of the movie. They are just trying to get pizza. SAM STOPS TO SMELL BOOKS AT A BOOK STORE IN THE MIDDLE OF AN APOCALYPSE!! HELP! SAD BOY FOLLOWING OLDER WOMAN LIKE A PUPPY!! There is so much going on, and I can tell this is not a horror per se. I just adore them so much. Sorry, I just needed to add these.

okay you have Compelled me. i will walk to the ends of the earth for any "sad boy following older woman like a puppy" narrative.

this is one of the few movies i don't want to see alone so i'll have to see if my roommate would want to go with me sometime this week. if i see it i'll let you know my thoughts!