#claustrophobia

[herrshepard]

"#breaking a nail is his deepest fear huh"

yall ever just punch a hole in a coffin

[blahlahblash]

Day: 25 "Phobia"

Claustrophobia!

[snekberry]

Too Close I Cannot Breathe

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

"It's hopeless! Every man who has gone in is either too large to fit down the squeeze or they completely lose their nerve and turn tail!"

"Don't despair, we'll get him out. We just need someone small, tough, and with no sense of self preservation."

A caver is stuck down a gypsum cave and has sparked a media frenzy. Tintin's editor sends him to America to get in on the story, but Tintin quickly discovers that while the attention the story garnered might have sent more help the caver's way, the disruptive crowds, moneyed interests and media circus might have only aided the cave's endeavour in holding its prisoner captive.

[foxprints]

Transport Crate

[whumpandothercomfort]

Pet whumpee who's kept in the sliding drawer under their whumper's bed during the day. It's too small to wiggle around, with their back and chest pressed tight between the slats. No amount of begging or pleading has ever changed this position.

Whumper lets Whumpee out at night so they can sleep chained to the mattress beside Whumper instead. Whumper holds and soothes them every night and then gently coaxes them back into their drawer in the morning.

Whumpee holds onto their sanity in the drawer by remembering it's only a matter of time before night will fall and Whumper will take care of them again.

[ky-landfill]

[olivexing]

Big fish, small regency house 🧜‍♂️🥲

If shrinking feels like tensing up, is growing like…stretching?

Is it freeing, or does it feel like being pulled on from all directions? Any thoughts on this?

[ichimakesart]

The labyrinth streaches infront of you. You are lost. Which way do you choose?

Go into the light.

To the weird squeaking from the right.

Is someone there at the left corridor?

…are those whispers?

Venture into the dark.

Stay.

Warning.

Entering the labyrinth can be too fearsome for some people. If you cannot stand dark or tight places please do not go forth. No sounds, mild jumpscares ahead.

[spoonguy]

Imaginary Friend

Pairing: Childhood Imaginary Friend x Gender Neutral Reader

Synopsis: You reconnect with your imaginary friend after moving back to you childhood home. They aren't willing to let you go again.

Work count: 3.0k

Content Warnings: Yandere themes, claustrophobia, death, near-death experiences, sleep paralysis

While you had made the drive back to your old family home more times than you could count, you felt especially exhausted. You barely had enough energy left in you to throw your bags down in your childhood bedroom and collapse onto the old mattress, not even bothering to remove your shoes. You were out cold before you registered the shadowy figure in the back of your closet.

Sometime around 3 am, you awoke to the sound of labored breathing. You panicked when you realized you were unable to move, locked inside your own body. From the corner of your eye, you watched helplessly as an ominous humanoid figure approached your bedside. It drew closer, its very presence dropping the temperature of the air surrounding it. You could only watch helplessly as its face split open to reveal row upon row of razor-sharp teeth drawn upwards into a sinister smile.

“Starlight?”

A familiar voice called out through the darkness. The mention of your childhood nickname opened the floodgates to years of repressed memories. 

“Bazel?” you asked incredulously.

“You—you came back for me! I thought you were gone forever. It was so quiet in the house after the accident, and you left, and I—” Their voice cracked, full of emotion and vulnerability,

“Bazel!” You willed your body into mobility again and wrapped your arms around their waist in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come back sooner.”

“No, no, Starlight, I could never be upset with you! I’m sorry I snuck up on you.”

You were still breathing heavily and your heart was racing, but you still managed to laugh. Even after all these years, their personality hadn’t changed one bit. Still the same goofy, overprotective imaginary demon friend from your childhood. 

Their appearance, however, was way different than you remembered. They were much taller and lankier. They had always had at least a couple of inches on you, but now they dwarfed you in height. Their skin was dark gray, almost pitch black, and cool to the touch. A smattering of softly glowing white freckles dotted their cheeks and nose, and their fluffy black hair fell in messy bangs framing their face. Their horns, which used to be blunt nubs hidden under their loose curls, were now as long as your hand and swept back over their head like a goat’s.

“You changed! You look so different,” you exclaimed, finally.

“Me? You’re an adult!” They scooted closer to you on the bed to straddle your lap and pinched your cheek affectionately.

“You say that like you're not!”

“No, silly, I’ve got at least another millennium until I’m fully grown. You humans have such strange ways of thinking. Anyways, tell me everything!” They giggled and grabbed your shoulders, pulling you off the bed with them and sending the both of you into a sprawling heap on the floor.

And all of a sudden, it was like you were back there, you and Bazel curled up in a blanket fort long past the witching hour, swapping your deepest secrets, pinkies interlocked as you crossed your hearts and hoped to die, stuck a needle in your eye that you would never tell. 

You had laid out the blankets, for old time's sake, and gathered every pillow and plush into a pile on your bedroom floor. You lay side by side, staring up at faintly glowing stick-on stars on your popcorn ceiling. Bazel grabbed your hand, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding as their fingers interlaced with yours.

But this time, you found no pleasure in bearing your soul to your childhood friend. Instead of detailing playground drama, you were recounting the accident, the faulty carbon monoxide detector, the day you woke up in the hospital clinging to life by a thread, cheeks flushed cherry red and starved of oxygen, mumbling nonsense about almost making it through the woods. The way your parents had fled the house, so terrified that their only child was so close to death.

By the time you had relayed it all, you felt hollow and had run out of tears to cry. Silent, tearless sobs wracked your body, and you put up no resistance as Bazel wrapped you in their arms and gently nudged your head into the crook of your neck.

“I'm so sorry, Starlight,” they finally spoke, voice barely audible.

“It's not your fault…” you sniffled, hugging them tighter.

“I should have protected you. I promise, Starlight, I'll never let anything take you away from me ever again.”

They rubbed your back as you drifted off into unconsciousness, falling deep into a dreamless sleep.

When you awoke, Bazel was gone. You couldn't be sure they were even there in the first place. While it was the first time you had thought about them since visits with the numerous psychiatrists you had bounced between as an early teenager. The more you woke up, the less and less you could remember Bazel. The memory unraveled like a sweater when you started to pull at it. By the time you had sat down for breakfast, you had convinced yourself that it was all just a dream. And your spine was completely jacked. Last time you slept on the floor, you promised yourself. That kind of thing only flies when you're a kid.

It was true that you had an imaginary friend, though, as a child. Bazel, the monster in your closet turned best friend. But your parents weren’t as big of a fan of Bazel as you were. While parenting magazines and informational guides had prepared them for you wanting to save your imaginary friend a seat at the dinner table, the way you spoke about Bazel was troubling.

It had started off mostly harmless, you telling them about the strange child who lived in the closet and came from the shadow realm. They started to become more skeptical, however, when you began blaming Bazel for knocking things over around the house. They had reassured you that it was okay; you wouldn’t be in trouble; they just wanted you to know that you shouldn’t spend the whole night on the floor or grab things from shelves higher than you. No matter how much they promised they wouldn’t be mad, the excuses continued to escalate. Candles were left burning, broken glass would end up covering the bathroom floor, but the final straw was when they found you seated in the kitchen, unharmed, but surrounded by the contents of the overturned knife block.

“Oh! Sweetheart, are you—No! Don’t move; I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Hang on, I got you.”

“Bazel said it was okay!” You giggled, unfazed by the cutlery surrounding you.

“Oh no, no, sweetie, Bazel’s not real. Let’s, uh, go for a walk to the park! Does that sound okay?” 

You had always had a healthy sense of imagination, but as you grew older, your parents grew concerned with the possibility of maladaptive daydreaming. One consult visit with a child psychologist turned into two, then a weekly occurrence. You hated the oppressive atmosphere of the office, the way the adults talked past you as if you weren’t even there, the pitying, self-righteous way the psychologist asked whether your friend was in the room with you. Of course they weren’t. Bazel lived under your bed.

This was a frequent topic when you vented to Bazel late into the night. They shared their own worries too, but they seemed genuinely upset when you recounted the way your therapists and doctors tried to convince you that they were just a coping mechanism for your lacking social life. 

After months went by, you finally caved. You gave in to the advice provided by your care team. You expanded your social circle, actively sought out more friends, and let your parents enroll you in countless after-school clubs and extracurricular activities. Around this time, your nighttime conversations with Bazel grew less frequent. They appeared on the darkest nights, when rolling thunder shook the house, but most days you were tired enough to sleep through the night.

Your parents were ecstatic with your progress. They hated to admit it, but the way you spoke about Bazel had started to scare them. They rejoiced every time you asked for a ride to see your new friends. They were over the moon when you asked for permission to have a friend or two over to hang out. Of course they accepted, and you raced to school the next day to let them know that your plans for the weekend had been approved.

That night you had curled up in bed and were just on the verge of unconsciousness when you thought you saw a shadowy figure standing in your open doorway. You blinked, and it vanished. Convincing yourself that it was just a trick of the light, you drew your comforter closer around you and settled in again. When you rolled over, you came face to face with Bazel, lying right next to you.

“Bazel! Where were you? I missed you.”

“You've been avoiding me!” Their tone was indignant and extremely jarring after you hadn’t spoken to them in so long.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been trying to visit you every night for the past month. You won’t let me in.

“I’m sorry, I really have no idea what you are talking about.” You were on the verge of tears, unable to understand why your friend was so upset with you.

Seeing you so genuinely confused made their heart melt. You clearly weren’t trying to avoid them, and they missed you so badly, so the only thing they could do was wrap you in a tight hug and sob silently with you until you were both calm.

“Do you not love me anymore?” They finally asked.

“Of course I love you, Bazel. You’re my best friend.”

“I love you too, Starlight. Forever and always.”

“I’m sorry, Bazel. I don’t know what happened. I was waiting for you; I tried. But I was so tired from school, therapy, and appointments; it’s all so much.”

“Therapy?”

“Yeah, I go see counselors and doctors and stuff. We just talked for an hour. It’s kind of exhausting.”

“What do you talk about?”

“Well, life, school, friends. We talked a lot about you at first, but I didn’t like to argue with them. They keep trying to tell me you aren’t real.”

Bazel froze. When they finally spoke, their voice was cold and measured.

“Starlight, what exactly do you mean by that?”

“They keep trying to convince me that you’re just a figment of my imagination. That you aren’t real, and you’re hurting my development.”

“You know I’m real, though, right?” they asked cautiously.

“Of course, you’re sitting right here in front of me.”

“And you know I would do anything to protect you?”

“That’s what best friends do. I would do the same for you.”

“Do you want a break from it?”

“Hmm?”

“Why don't you come to my world? Come with me. You'll never have to worry ever again.” Bazel reached out a hand, which you clasped. “It'll be just the two of us, forever.”

You nodded and followed them as they opened the door to your closet, transfigured into a dark tunnel, lined with jagged branches.

While you had ostensibly returned to your old house to fix it up and sell it, you weren't getting too much actual cleaning done. You had wasted most of an afternoon, and well into the evening, excavating the contents of your closet. Some minor sorting had gotten done, and a few boxes of clothes had been put aside to drop at Goodwill, but for the most part, you were just exploring the myriad of toys and knickknacks squirreled away in the back. You yawned and started to stand up when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Looking for something?”

“Nothing in particular. You, I suppose.”

“Well, you found me. You always do.”

“I can't believe I had so much stuff.”

“You'll get through it; you've got all the time in the world.”

“Yeah, I guess you're right.”

“Hey, tell me something.”

“Mhm?”

“The psychologists, did they really make you forget about me?”

Your silence was more than enough of an answer for Bazel. Their face fell.

“I never forgot about you,” they finally whispered.

“I truly am sorry.”

“You came back through; there must have been some part of you that knew I was still here.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I always am.”

“Hey, tell you what. I’m not going to make any meaningful progress on this tonight, so let me call it quits, and we can stay up late. I think I remember where the blankets are.”

Bazel beamed from ear to pointed ear. Any trace of anger dissipated from their face, and they pulled you into a warm hug, nuzzling their nose against yours.

The blanket fort you constructed was truly impressive. It spanned most of the dining room and was filled to the brim with all sorts of pillows and stuffed animals. You had lit dozens of candles, the small flames illuminating the fabric walls. You and Bazel were currently curled up inside, their head resting on your lap, and you ran your fingers through their wavy black hair. Absent-mindedly, your fingers drifted to their pointed horns, and you began to wonder exactly what kind of creature they were.

“Bazel, you said you were a demon. Did you mean that figuratively, or…?

“I suppose that is what you humans call us. We live in the shadows and eat souls.”

“You eat people?”

“Of course not, just siphon life force. A little at a time. Humans eat animals. I don’t feel my way is particularly gruesome.”

“Have you eaten my soul?”

“What? No, I don’t feed off you. You’re too full of light and life. You’re far better as a friend than food.”

“But you tried. The first night I came back.”

“To be fair, I didn’t realize it was you at first. You looked so different. I almost couldn’t help myself.”

“What do you do instead?”

“I eat your dreams.”

“What?”

“You ever wake up from a dream and can’t remember anything about it, but know it was there? I ate it. You have very nice dreams, full of creativity and life.”

You were silent for a long while. 

“Is that why you stay?” you finally asked.

“Of course not, I enjoy your company. I get lonely in the dark. You’ve always been the one bright spot in my life. My little Starlight.”

They reached one finger up to your face and playfully booped your nose, giggling. Their glowing white freckles seemed to flicker gently, their pitch-black eyes reflecting the warm candlelight.

You smiled, allowing yourself to relax. You missed the way that you and Bazel used to pass the nights. You longed to forget your responsibilities, your worries, to fall asleep in the arms of your closest friend. So you did.

The woods were exactly the same as you remembered them. A dark forest threatening to swallow up the tiny path. Gnarly branches, black as tar oil and covered with thorns, pulled at your clothes and scratched your face. Bazel pulled you closer to them, shielding you from their grasp.

“It’s alright, Starlight, I won’t let them take you away from me.”

You trudged on, screwing your eyes shut and letting Bazel guide you through the thicket. You were older now, taller, and it was harder to make it through the passage than last time. The air was bitter cold, and the wind shrieked all around you. When you felt their grip on your hand start to loosen, you cried out and grabbed for their wrist, holding on like your life depended on it.

  After what felt like an eternity, Bazel took you by the hand and pulled you away from the last of the wild trees. You opened your eyes to see them checking you all over for signs of injury. Aside from a few light scratches, you had escaped mostly unscathed.

“You made it,” Bazel’s voice was almost incredulous. 

They were right to be worried. The last time you were here, you hadn’t. A sound, a familiar voice, a trick of the woods, had startled you, and you had slipped from their grasp. They had turned, but too late, and could only watch as your face disappeared behind layers of thorns and black bark. 

You hugged them, standing for what could have been minutes or hours in silence, your face nestled against their chest.

“Starlight, you made it. We made it.,” they repeated. “I can’t believe it. Thank you. I’m so proud of you.”

You were a little confused; after all, it was them who had done all the work, guiding you through the claustrophobic woods, but you stayed in their embrace. It felt nice to have them offer such unconditional praise. You couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy it.

Finally, they released you, only to grasp both of your hands and stare deep into your eyes. An exuberant smile was forming on their face, wider than you had ever seen before, and they looked expectantly at you.

“We finally made it, Starlight.”

“Made it where?” you asked, still confused. 

“We crossed the veil; we made it to my realm. Like I promised you all those years ago. But we did it this time.”

Their enthusiasm was too infectious; you couldn’t help smiling, even if you didn’t understand completely.

“Nothing will ever take you away from me again. I’ll make sure of it. I can’t believe it. I love you, Starlight," they were rambling at this point, too caught up in their emotions to notice.

They let go of only one of your hands and turned to face the open expanse of void on the other side of the woods.

“Now where do we go?” you asked, voice trailing off into silence, tinged with fear.

“Anywhere you desire, Starlight. As long as we’re together.”

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim AU: Mermay Special

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: mer/vampire whumper, mer/vampire whumpee, whumper-turned-whumpee, dehydration, claustrophobia, starvation, torture, brief death wish, recovery, caretaking

have something special for mermay :) inspired by this fanart my friend lostie drew 2 years ago!!

-

It hadn’t rained in a week, Jim’s freshwater had run out the day before, and he was going to die.

He knew he was going to die. Kane would come back to feed, and his body wouldn’t be able to hold up anymore, and he would die. Either with Kane’s jaws clamped around him, or later, alone in the damp cold sand.

He wasn’t thirsty enough to be desperate yet, not desperate enough to drink the abundant saltwater taunting him from his prison’s little beach. He knew it would only make him die faster. It was poison.

It hardly mattered at this point. Months with no rescue likely meant no rescue at all, and this was hardly a life. Still, something cried out in him, wanting to live.

Jim scrambled against the rock as he saw that telltale fin start to poke out of the water, more and more until the vampire revealed himself in full, the head and torso of a man and the tail-end of a shark. Not that there was anywhere for Jim to use his worthless legs to run to.

“Food.” Kane slung half a seal onto the surface, raw yet unbloodied.

Jim cautiously crept forward. “I need water.”

Kane raised an eyebrow at him, then splashed him, leaving him soaked.

“Fresh water,” he pressed, pointing up to the clear sky. “Rainwater. I need it or I’ll die. Please, just take me back to the beach, any beach where there’s humans. I won’t be any use to you dead. You’re not some animal, you know this isn’t right, please!”

“Human mine,” Kane dismissed firmly.

Jim sobbed drily. “I can’t. I can’t. You’re going to kill me.”

“Eat.” Kane shoved the meat toward him, making him flinch back. “Then I eat.”

Jim looked to the sky, Kane’s hungry eyes never leaving him as he devoured the vampire’s leftovers. If it didn’t rain tomorrow, he wouldn’t make it another day.

“Human.” Kane gestured him forward as soon as he finished.

“No, no, I don’t want to!” Jim backed up to the rock again, even knowing it was useless.

Kane huffed, climbing up onto the sand. “Food,” he called him now, a warning tone to his voice, piercing red eyes growing angry.

“Stop,” Jim insisted, squeezing his eyes shut. “No!”

A clawed hand grabbed his leg, any attempt to kick him away futile. He couldn’t match a vampire’s strength on his best day, and this was not his best day.

He cried out as sharp teeth dug into flesh once again, feeling much like the seal in his stomach.

-

Kane whined softly, squirming against the glass.

The fishers had put him in a smaller tank again. He couldn’t be sure–though he learned more of their language every awful day, there were still gaps–but he was near-certain it was a game to them, at this point, how small of a space they could force him to live in. He didn’t need to know their language to see their smirks.

He hadn’t even meant to break the last one. He had been trying so hard this time, and he’d been asleep when it happened. Even so, the fishers left him gasping on the floor in a pile of broken glass for hours. Even the tiny tank was better than none at all. How far he’d fallen, that he could consider this lucky.

Kane wished he could go back to complaining about not having room to swim. He would do anything to go back to the first tank. This one hardly afforded him room to move, to breathe. No matter how he tried to position himself, he always ended up touching the walls, his tail bunched up uncomfortably.

The water was too salty, burning his gills with every breath. He didn’t dare complain about that again. Last time, they left him in that horrible freshwater humans love so much until he screamed and bled to the point where any other fish would die.

But he was a vampire, and there was no driftwood here.

Every time a fisher walked past, Kane tensed. Some carried cruel metal tools, meant for fish already dead, though he’d already known their sting far more than he’d like. Some carried cruel metal tools and looked at him, making him wish he had anywhere to hide.

“Comfy?” a fisher mocked, tapping the glass with the end of his fishing stick, the unavoidable vibrations reverberating wherever he touched it.

Kane shook his head, hoping the answer was acceptable.

“Good. �̴̢̛̙̃̎̀̏͌�̶͙̪̉̃̐͋̈̈́̉͝�̵̛̹̪̳̾́̏̂̏̊͊�̴̤̬͖͖̬̹̣̏�̴̧̹͓͒̋͝�̸͎̝̂̅͋�̴̧͚͍̼̠͌�̵̤̜̻̦̬̄͒̏̃ little display case, leech. �̸͖̞̩̳̒̿͐̚͝ͅ�̴̢̫̺̟̺̬̯͔̋̄�̶̧̺̯͚̳͎͉̆͆̀̉̍�̵͚͈͛̌̑̚�̷̰͝͝���̢̡̯̗̖̥̈́̑̄̅̃̀̎̕ feed you this week.”

He perked up at the mention of food, whining louder this time.

The fisher laughed, flicking one of those foul little ash-and-paper cylinders into his tank. “Eat it.”

It would make him sick, but far worse would come of disobeying orders. Maybe the fisher would allow him some food if he obeyed. Kane wriggled until he could position himself enough to reach the bottom of the tank, scooped it up, and swallowed it down.

Another fisher joined him, saying something he couldn’t understand and nodding at his tank before approaching.

Nothing good ever happened when he was taken from his tank.

“No, no, no!” he wailed as his head breached the surface, his salt-lined gills burning all the more against unforgiving air.

-

Jim didn’t go to the beach anymore.

After months stranded and years after living in fear, he never thought he’d get even ten miles near a coastline. Not even twenty. Yet here he was, getting within two, just to see the damn vampire. Just to confirm it’s him.

The scars on his arms and legs floated the vague line between hurt and not, leaving him unsure if it was in his head.

The smell of distant saltwater made him want to vomit.

Jim greeted the fishers in a daze, letting them lead him to the vampire that might be his.

And there he was.

Kane looked worse for wear. He was littered with more scars than Jim was, trapped in a tank barely wider than his body, and even his body looked near-emaciated. His wide eyes locked onto Jim with sudden, harsh terror, and he squirmed as if to try to get away.

“Why’s he… in there?” he asked dumbly.

“Gotta keep a vampire reeeal secure, you of all people know you can’t trust the fuckers. Give ‘em an inch and they’ll take a mile. Can’t move around, don’t have the energy to fight, knows it’s got hurt coming if it tries, that’s the safe way to keep ‘em,” the fisher explained.

Jim couldn’t look him in the eyes after that, so he looked at the tank instead.

“Kane?”

Kane whimpered, pressed against the back of the tank, though that only left him what looked like a couple inches away from the front of it. Jim felt claustrophobic just looking at it.

“So?” the fisher prompted.

“This is him.” Jim took a step forward, hesitantly pressing a hand to the glass. He was really here, powerless to hurt him again.

But Kane was hurt, and terrified, and trapped somewhere small and uncomfortable. There was no way he could leave him here.

“Do you think… I could take him?”

-

Every day, humans came to the aquarium in droves. As an unending mercy, Kane’s tank here was large, with ample places to hide. He never came out while the humans were visiting.

No one hurt him at the aquarium. He always had enough to eat at the aquarium. The workers always smiled at him when he surfaced for his meals. Not the malicious smiles of the fishers, but real ones, like they were friends. They talked to him like he was a person, and he was getting better at talking back, and they didn’t even get mad at him when he wouldn’t come out for the guests. Bellamy slipped him an extra fish and told him he deserved it for being a trooper. He didn’t know what a trooper was, but it sounded good when he said it.

Maybe he would start showing himself, one day, just to make them happy. Maybe if it ever stopped being scary.

As it stood, there was only one guest Kane would leave his hidey-hole for. Thankfully, they allowed him to come just after closing, away from the crowds.

“Hey,” Jim greeted. “Just came to, uh, check up on you. Make sure you’re still doing alright.”

Kane couldn’t speak underwater, and Jim was nowhere close to the top of the roomy tank, so he nodded. He looked at his hand, trying to remember the sign for a second, before making a ‘thumbs-up’.

“You’re okay? You’re happy? No one’s hurting you? They’re feeding you good? Helping you with medical stuff?” Jim asked.

Kane nodded again, smiling this time. He tried not to show his teeth.

Jim sat by the tank. “That’s good. I’m happy for you, man. You know how long ‘til the doc clears you to go home?”

It wouldn’t be long, now. He was gaining the weight back, his injuries had healed, and the exercises he’d been given were helping him learn to swim normally again. Soon, he would be able to survive in the ocean, just like before any of this nightmare had ever happened.

Bellamy said they could do a program together, if he wanted, where guests would come to learn about vampires and ask him questions. He said Kane didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, but winked and promised him some of his blood if he gave it a try.

No fisher could catch him again if he stayed at the aquarium. People would protect him at the aquarium.

Kane shrugged, not sure he would ever leave.

-

sorry all i can write are AUs lol <3 they're warming me up for the main series i prommy

taglist in reblogs!

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 I'll Take Such Great Care of You by CheekyBrunette

💙 I'll Take Such Great Care of You

by CheekyBrunette

G, 49k, Wangxian

Summary: Sizhui has grown up with a single father. Now, he learns what it is like to have a mom. Kay's comments: This story was recommended to me by a friend and it completely wrecked me. Left my crying. Broke my heart in the best way possible. This was so perfect?? Modern AU from Sizhui's perspective who's slowly getting used to having another adult around - Wei Wuxian, his father's boyfriend. Slowly though, mysteries of the past unravel. Both of his own and Wei Wuxian's past. Make sure to check out the warnings too, because it gets really dark, though there is a happy ending for Wangxian and Sizhui. Excerpt: “Wei Ying has inquired about your birthday.” Lan Sizhui quickly lowered his cat-ear headphones and sat up a little further in bed. He had been winding down for the evening, his laptop balanced on his knees, when his father had come to join him in his bedroom. Currently, Lan Wangji sat carefully on the edge of Sizhui's bed. “My birthday?” Sizhui asked. “It’s January 12th.” His father's expression was always as placid as a lake sheltered by mountains. And yet, he somehow managed to look amused. “I am aware,” he said. “Wei Ying also knows as such. He is hoping to join you in celebrating.”

pov lan sizhui, modern setting, modern no powers, families of choice, adopted lan sizhui, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, lan wangji adopts lan sizhui, lan sizhui needs a hug, wei wuxian needs a hug, panic attacks, claustrophobia, nightmares, implied/referenced sexual assault, implied/referenced suicide, implied/referenced organ harvesting, dysfunctional jiang family, good sibling jiang cheng, good sibling jiang yanli, family fluff

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[whumpster-dumpster]

I see a lot of whumpees who are claustrophobic after spending so long in a cell but what about whumpees whose cells were so huge they could never find their way? Now they get so easily lost, always needing a wall to lean on to orient themself, seeking small spaces

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

tintin is incredible at timing

(possibly) the final snippet I'll post from my story The Gypsum Maw, the previous part which follows directly before is here - I've been seeing comments asking about where to read the full thing, I'm afraid what I post is basically it - I have more pages in my sketchbook but I suspect they are only legible to me!

this post is already long so more notes and credits under the cut!

I asked for some help for coming up with friends for Chang! The gentle giant Masek was created by InkyTrink on Twitter and the super excitable Libby was created by dreamyopal, a discord mutual:

They came up with some great character notes and were super helpful providing feedback on my designs!

Writing this felt pretty odd in ways. I graduated in 2020 during the Plague Year so my class didnt get a public art showcase. I attended one last year and it was a bittersweet experience.

Reunions feel a bit like time travel, you see people after a few years and things change quite a lot. I wanted to explore this in my post canon series, Chang has grown up, found himself and has been able to live a fairly normal life with family and friends. Tintin in a way reflects that young adult insecurity about being stagnant, like you haven't been able to fully reach adulthood properly. His fame and status as a Young Boy Reporter is holding him captive, he longs for connection but is held back by expectations from both himself and the outside world.

I've also been inspired by the concept of 'queer time,' the concept that the lives of queer people progress differently to the lives of non queer people. It takes time to come to terms with yourself and to come out. Queer people are often excluded from milestones like marriage or having children. Tintin being confronted with his peers at a university highlights his insecurity about being left behind, but he's slowly making the journey to self acceptance by talking to others, and recognising common ground he has with others.

Chang's university isn't a one to one reference to a specific institution but in Belgium there was a secular movement in reaction to the dominance of the Catholic church, in which universities played a key role. There's references to art movements that were deemed "degenerate" by the Nazis here, such as Fauvism and Surrealism.

[7cfc00]

[The Grotto Episode 1: Buried Alive]

Move on the exhales. Feel your heartbeat. Calm your mind.

[studiogrimm810]

Cut and Dry

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x gn!you, dean is also there

summary: when on a hunt with sam and dean, things go wrong and reader ends up stuck in a very small metal box and has a panic attack

warnings: hurt/comfort, claustrophobia, graphic depiction of a panic attack, reader has major anxiety :(

word count: 4,013

A/N: this one is pretty freaky i think, i had a hard time proof reading it due to my own claustrophobia lolol. if you’re also claustrophobic or have anxiety issues just be prepared, i feel like i funneled some of my own paranoia/anxiety into this one :/

———————

This hunt has completely gone south, leaving you, Sam and Dean scattered across the expansive property. An eerily beautiful house was in the center of this small open field, showing signs of slowly becoming reclaimed by nature overtime. Snakes of vines wrapped around the edges of the home, dipping into any broken window or cracked siding. Moss stained the exposed wooden doors and shutters and years of wear and tear almost made this probably once strong, sturdy home look soggy and warped.

There was a small shed behind the heart of the property but it was almost entirely exposed bone, leaving nothing to the imagination and absolutely no extra hiding places.

You had managed to escape the confines of the home, taking a few deep breaths and trying to recenter yourself back into some sort of plan to gank the spirits haunting this house.

It had been at least 10 minutes since you’ve heard or seen Sam or Dean and your anxiety was starting to eat at you.

As you round the house, you spot the Impala still parked a little ways away and since you’ve lost your weapons, you jog to the car and open the trunk. You grab another sawed-off and a quick go-back of salt, lighter fluid, matches, and a few other essentials before locking the trunk and heading right back into the maws of the rotting entryway.

You keep the gun hugged close and up to your shoulder, aiming it straight ahead. Each step creaks the floorboards so you go slowly, letting your eyes drink in all of the dark shadows and details of the rooms before you.

Thankfully, this is a shotgun house, meaning you can see the complete opposite end of the home from the front door, which makes it easier to scan through. You head down the main hallway and peek into passing rooms, keeping quiet and steady.

As you get halfway through, you’re stopped at the stairway, deciding to creep up the steps and continue your search. The walls groan as your feet weigh down the aged wood and you silently pray that they won’t crumble beneath you.

Once you’ve reached the top of the stairs, you survey the open area. When you were last here- just a few minutes ago- you only got as far as exploring the main floor, so all of what you see before you is new and uncharted territory.

You take cautious steps to the closest room to you and push open the door only to find a decayed mattress and a rusted bed frame. The window to this room had been punched in by kudzu and was now practically flooded with green. You back away into the hallway again and go to the next room, a bathroom. Once shimmering porcelain was shattered and dusted about the small room, tiles cracked and the mirror almost completely vacant. You backed out of the doorway as well and went across the hallway to another door, creaking it open and finding one of the brothers’ duffels- Dean had taken the upstairs so it had to be his.

You pick up your pace and crouch down to look at the bag, it was half open and on its side- dropped. Glancing around the room, you find a few moldy pieces of furniture and more vines but on the far right wall, there was an opening. You stand up straight again and creep slower to the opening. Upon further inspection, it was a laundry chute and you guessed it led straight down to the basement since you couldn’t see past a certain point of silky black darkness.

“Shit,” you say, resting your hand on the cracked wooden framing of the chute. After grabbing Dean's abandoned duffle, you head back downstairs to the basement door that was under the stairs.

It was now almost midnight and the full moon only offered so much light, leaving the basement completely dark. You pull out your flashlight and aim it down the steps.

Each step feels like you’re purposely leading yourself down a well of quicksand, sucking you further into a voided abyss.

When you reach the bottom of the steps you shine your flashlight around, take in the general layout and make mental notes of how to go about this. The ceilings were low, so low that you bet Sam would have to crouch around door frames and support beams. The cement floor had numerous veiny cracks and layers of dust and rubble crunching under each step you took.

The air was so still and so thick that you felt as if you had to almost swim through the basement or push past mounds of quicksand to take another step.

Or maybe that was the tunacan feeling of the basement constricting your muscles into a tense knot of buzzing anxiety.

Between the radio silence from the brothers and the cramped basement that you were almost certain they were in, you felt like your heart was going to pound right out of your chest and abandon you with a heart shaped hole in the wall on its way out.

There was a dim spotlight of a cool glow in the far other side of the basement and it had to be the chute opening. As you pan your flashlight down, you find a Dean unconscious with blood at his temple.

“Shit!” You hiss quietly to yourself, quickly making your way over to him, discarding the duffle and shaking him awake. After an annoyed groan, you finally get him to open his eyes and look at you. His memories catch up and he looks pissed.

“Fuckin’ ghost shoved me down the damn dumbwaiter,” Dean grumbled, sitting up with your help and dusting himself off the best he could.

“I think it’s a laundry chute,” you mindlessly correct, wiping off some debris from the back of his jacket and only stopping when you noticed him turned to look at you with a ‘really? right now?’ kinda bitchface. “Sorry,” you murmur, hiding your smile as you help him off the floor.

“Where’s Sammy?” Dean asks, his eyebrows pinching when he realizes that Sam isn’t with you.

“I don’t know, he was behind me one minute, then the next he’s vanished,” you say, your own forehead contorted in worry. Dean sighed and looked around the basement as he felt his jacket, looking for something. You shine your flashlight around and spot another one that’s identical with its batteries popped out on the floor. Dean reaches down to pick it up and reload the batteries in the light, looking around the basement himself.

“Think he’s down here?” Dean asked, looking around the walls for any indent or signs of a hidden passage.

“That’s my best guess, the ghost obviously wanted you down here at least,” you say, looking around at a shelf along the back wall trying to find any clues.

Both of your lights started to flicker and you and Dean stopped to find each other's eyes again as if to anchor yourselves. The room dropped in temperature and a chill tickled up your spine. You shiver, walking towards Dean to be closer in case something happens.

But you aren’t quick enough.

The flashlight is smacked out of your hands and it’s shattered against the cement wall, leaving Dean's flickering lamp to be the only light. Your gun is the next to fly out of your grasp, clanking and scraping across the floor far out of your or Dean's reach.

You look around you, trying to find the invisible force that did this but you land on nothing. Dean calls out your name as he tries to progress to your location but he’s flung just like the objects in your hand and before you can react, your mind goes dim.

———

The cold is what wakes you up. Chills running along your skin like a million little ants scattering about. You groan softly as you tilt your head and you bring up a free hand to touch it to your temple but you can hardly get your arm up before it hits something solid above you.

You peel your eyes open and let your eyes try to adjust to the nearly pitch black scene above you. A metal pane covered in splotches of rust hovers only a few inches from your face, so close that you can see the individual specks of rust or dirt.

Your lungs immediately clench at the sight and you try to look down but your head meets the pane and a layer of dust ripples from the surface, settling on your face and body making any exposed skin itchy with its feather-light touch. You take in a sharp breath only to inhale some of the mixture and you cough. You try to bring up either of your hands again but due to the cramped space, you can’t lift or twist your arms in any way to reach your face.

You turn your head to try and look around, and thankfully there are a few air slots on either side of the box. There are three 4-inch long slits- sort of like gills, you think.

Past the gills, you can tell that you’re on the floor in some metal coffin. The moon shines through to cast a window beam into the center of the floor and you try to move your head to find the window. You successfully do so and also see the steep arch of the ceiling.

So far, you can tell that you’re on the floor, in the attic, in some metal confine.

You let your head fall back to its waking position and you’re met with the pane again. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to ignore the fact that you can barely move- or breathe.

Your hands feel around and you wiggle your feet a bit to try and find any way out of this thing but there’s nothing. Your hands get more eager and your breath picks up. With your building desperation you begin to pound your fist against the sides of the box but that only lets more rusty dust fall on you which leads to more coughing and leaves your breathing in more disarray.

“Fuck!” You grunt with a wavered voice after banging the box a few times. Your eyes start to prick with stinging tears.

A familiar voice calls out your name.

If your body wasn’t already completely malfunctioning, your heart dropping at the sound would be more noticeable.

You tilt your head to look back through the gills to find something you missed before, another box on the opposite side as you with matching slits and brick-red rust.

“S-sam?” You tremble out, your voice so small and so so scared.

“It’s me, honey, you’re okay,” he replies. The feeling of relief from his voice alone makes you feel lightheaded.

“Sam!” You call out again, your voice thick with tears and you bang on the box again, earning a fresh layer of dust.

“You need to calm down, sweetheart,” he warned softly. He knew of your claustrophobia very well. “We’re gonna be okay, but you just need to lay still and let yourself breathe, okay?” His voice floats over to you, slightly muffled but you can still make out what he is saying.

“N-no, Sam, I c-can’t-,” you stutter out, words interrupted with instinctual breaths or choked by soft sobs. Your body is trembling and you feel absolutely sick. Your lungs are beginning to feel like over-chewed bubble gum and your head is beyond dizzy.

“Yes you can,” Sam says sternly, his words dripping with worry and concern over your mental and physical well-being. “You can, okay? Are you hurt?”

“I- I don’t think so,” you say, your words drawn out with a whine as you continue to cry.

“Good, honey, that’s good,” Sam breathes out a puff of relief at shortening his list of concerns. His own worry was eating away at him, making him almost nauseous at the thought of you in such emotional distress. “Have you seen Dean?” He asked, trying to continuously ask you questions to distract you but also worried about his brother.

“W-we were looking for you when sh-she-,” you said enough for Sam to know that you were talking about the ghost.

“Okay, okay,” Sam said, taking his own deep breaths to try and figure out how to get out of this situation.

You kept your eyes so screwed shut that colors started to dance on your eyelids and your ears were ringing. You still couldn’t get your breathing under control and it felt like you were under water. Sam spoke again but you didn’t hear him this time, your sniffles and quick breathing piercing through the air. The sound makes Sam wince and his chest tighten with worry. He continues to try and talk but you can’t hear a word he’s saying.

Your fists are clenched tight and nails dig in your palms as you try to grip onto some sort of control over the situation.

Your breathing is getting fast- too fast- and Sam can hear it.

“Honey, you need to calm down, you’re gonna pass out,” Sam pleaded, it was killing him that he couldn’t get to you to help you or comfort you, “please,” he said, his own words trembling with heartache.

A loud thud rattles the floor and you feel the shake in your box which makes you freeze for a moment- in fear that the floorboards were caving and that you’d fall.

God, if you fell?

Falling in this metal death trap?

Another sob shook your body and you were really starting to get dizzy, you can’t do it, you can’t.

Heavy footsteps walk around and you hear Sam’s voice again and another voice- Dean maybe?

There’s some metal clanging and more rushed talking but everything is muffled so you can’t hear. You try and look through the gills again but your tears blur your vision to the point of complete disorientation.

You start to bang your fists again causing more dust to fall but you can’t even care because you NEED to get out of this box.

You think maybe if your fists can match the intensity of your heartbeat then you can push out of this dreadful box and never look back.

There’s some more heavy footsteps and voices- all muffled and a million miles away.

There’s even some more metal clanking and you know that it’s your box, but everything feels so distant and empty.

What shocks you back to reality like a defibrillator is a loud smack of metal on cold wood right next to your ear and you flinch, cowering away to nowhere since that’s all you can do. Your head snaps to see that the metal pane of which you once looked through its gills was now flat on the ground and there’s a hand reaching out to you. The hand pulls your body out and you're so lost in your own mess that you can’t see or hear that it’s Sam just yet so you struggle, sobbing and heaving small puffs of air that felt like your lungs trying to outrun your heart rate.

Sam beccons your name, lifting you up to look at him. Your wide eyes finally meet his panicked ones, completely freaked and unsure what to do- he has never seen you this bad.

“S- s-, oh m-,” you try to speak but your teeth are chattering as if you’re freezing to your core- you’re not.

Sam's hand reaches up to cup your face, his mouth gaping like a fish but he finds no words to speak. His own eyes are glossy with a well of tears and his jaw trembles with staggering thoughts that are unable to form complete sentences. He snaps his jaw shut and lets his face morph into a wince of such emotional pain. He pulls in a sharp breath and settles his face back into a look of complete determination and observance.

“You’re okay, you’re safe,” he says each word as if they’re their own statement, letting them melt into your ringing ears and soothe away the buzzing around you. “Dean took care of the ghost, we’re safe,” he continues to speak his words slowly and carefully, pausing to make sure you’re keeping up and understanding each syllable. “You can breathe, you can move, you can stand, okay?” He says, nodding his head to show his own certainty and confidence in his words, “I promise.”

You look up past Sam to see Dean standing behind him, watching you with his own pained eyes, glossy with emotion. Dean offers you a curt nod, showing no signs of ‘maybe’s’ or ‘if’s’.

You bring your gaze back down to Sam’s who hasn’t left you, looking over your face and taking in every last detail. You look down between you, Sam’s left hand gripping your bicep a little harder than he means to but the pain is grounding and his right hand still cupping your cheek. Your body is covered in debris from the rotting inside of your coffin. You look back down at it to see just how tiny it looks from out here and you can’t even imagine how you fit into that thing in the first place.

Your heart is still racing and breathing is still coming in short, painful gasps and looking at the box wasn’t helping.

“Hey, no,” Sam almost bit out, gently directing your face back to him, “You’re safe, okay?”

This wasn’t a hypothetical question and you know that, Sam was used to your attacks and usually you would go mute during them due to a complete inability to speak, so when you could respond then that meant you were okay enough to move.

But right now you can’t seem to get a grip.

As you look back into his eyes your face melts into another sob and you lean fully into him, letting your forehead rest against his chest and he quickly engulfs you in his arms.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he says as soothingly as he can but the crack in his voice betrays him, “you’re out.”

Your shoulders shake with pitiful sobs.

“Just breathe, just breathe,” Sam says, keeping his voice low and running his hand through your hair, hoping to calm you enough to get you to speak. “You’re okay, you’re safe. We can leave and never look back, okay?” Sam says again, hoping you’ll reply. Your silence sinks his heart.

Your breathing starts to slow a bit as your panicked heart realizes you’re now out of the box. You’re still trembling and completely exhausted but your more rational self is starting to come back a bit.

“We’ll leave and get in bed and be warm and so comfortable, honey,” he paints a mental picture for you and you now start to realize how cold it is up here. “We can get food if you’re hungry or you can take a shower to get cleaned up. You’ll feel so much better,” he promises, sniffling before he places a kiss on top of your head. “You’re okay,” he repeats.

“I-I’m okay,” you mumble softly into his chest, fingering the edge of his jacket. You feel his shoulders slump in relief as he lets out a lungful of air.

“Yeah, you’re okay,” Sam nods, holding you a little tighter before pulling away to look at you again. “Can you stand?” He asks, his face still layered with concern. You nod, ready to get the hell out of that house.

Sam stands first and then reaches back down for your hands, guiding you to your feet. Your legs are wobbly and feel like jelly but Sam keeps an arm wrapped around your torso to keep you balanced.

Dean led the way back to the opening to the attic which was a foldable ladder- that's what that bang was, you think. After a silent conversation with Sam, Dean descends first, looking back up and waiting for you to be helped down by Sam. Your legs are still weak so you hold onto Sam’s arms like a handlebar and when you get a few steps down you feel Dean's hands on your hips, guiding you the rest of the way.

The floorboards groan as you step off the ladder and Dean keeps a firm grip on you.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean asks, looking down at you with the same concerned expression. You don’t meet his eyes due to the now growing guilt and shame you have over your reaction. You only nod.

Sam hops off the ladder and goes to reach for you again, letting Dean lead the way out of the house while Sam keeps you close and secure.

The drive back was silent- mind numbingly silent. Sam sat in the back with you and continued to talk you down, trying to calm you any way he could. You stayed silent.

When you all got back to the motel, Dean headed straight for the shower to give you and Sam some privacy which you appreciated. Sam led you inside and sat you on the edge of the bed, pulling up a chair to sit right across from you.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, his voice so low and so loving that it’s practically a hum.

You just shrug, looking down at your shaking hands that intertwine with his. He rubbed his thumb along the back of your palm and you watched.

“Are you thirsty?” He asks patiently.

You don’t respond.

“Honey, look at me,” he lets go of one of your hands to tilt your chin up to him, using only 2 fingers so as to not overwhelm you too much. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” He keeps his eyes glued to yours, waiting until you’re ready to speak.

You swallow thickly, trying to find the right words to say.

“I’m embarrassed,” you whisper and Sam could barely hear you but he followed your lips and immediately understood. He nodded softly.

“That makes sense, but you shouldn’t be,” he leans in a bit to show his emphasis- as if digging your eyes up with his own. “You did nothing wrong, you were scared and you reacted. That’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he spoke as if it were cut and dry.

Your eyes fall closed, letting out a sigh. You feel the last tear that your eyes can muster up roll down your cheek. He’s quick to wipe it away- cut and dry.

He’s really worried about you, sure you’ve had panic attacks before but this was next level. You were absolutely inconsolable and nothing he was saying had really gotten through to you.

“You’re safe, okay? And you have done absolutely nothing wrong,” he repeats, hoping you’ll just believe him.

“I-I’m sorry,” you mumble, sniffling softly.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Sam shakes his head, running his thumb along your jaw, “You never need to apologize- not to me.”

You’ll never understand how the sweetest, patient, most understanding and kindhearted man became yours. Sure, sometimes you question it, but you will always and forever take it.

“At least your fear makes sense, remember when I freaked out about that killer clown and you had to cover my ass?” Sam jokes with a soft and warm smile, you would chuckle if you had the energy. Instead, a small curl of your lips show him that you found humor in his comment and his chest ignites with a wash of relief at the movement.

You take a full breath that is staggered with the aftershock of your sobbing and let your shoulders slump as you let go of the tension holding you stiff and you wrap your arms around him, holding him close. He’s right in suit- pulling you into a firm hug.

“You’re okay, we’re okay,” he whispers in your ear, his cheek pressed into your hair and arms covering your torso.

“We’re safe now,” he says slightly strained with painful love, and you believe him.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here