#my anxiety attack

[knight-in-sour-armor]

[sunsoaked-feathers]

just imagine if i was constantly mic’d up and someone made a compilation of all the moans and grunts i make because of my old lady joints throughout the day

[krs-kross]

[littlefankingdom]

Bruce is a overprotective and kind of strict parent, but he is very lax in some domains where other parents wouldn't. Here are some examples:

His kids stealing money from him. You will never catch Bruce Wayne lecturing his kids for taking his money. In the Arkhamverse, Jason steals 5 millions from Bruce's bank account to buy his army, and the problems for Bruce are: he didn't know it was Jason so it stressed him a bit, and Jason used it to buy an army.

Stealing from him in general. What is his is theirs. Unless it's dangerous. (Cars are death machines for his anxious self, which is why buying another batmobile for the young justice is not acceptable, or is kids taking it for a ride. He did made Redbird for Tim as a gift for when he got his license.)

Stealing from the cops (he has done it himself so many times)

Stealing money from rich people. In Knightfall, Bruce meets a British vigilante named Hood who steals from the rich to give to the poor, and Bruce had NO problems with that. He likes the young man. Stealing possessions is an issue tho. (Dick should follow his Robin Hood's dream, his father is fine with that)

Hacking into government facilities or anything really. Unless it's to harm an innocent civilian, like a classmate, he will not say anything. Hacking the FBI? Good. Hacking a russian mafia? Ok. As long as they do it safely and follow Barbara's instructions, it's fine.

Lying to him. Bruce is always impressed when he realizes one of his kids lied to him and he believed them. He's the Batman, after all, they have been able to fool the Batman. When he learns that Tim invented a fake uncle, he is proud of him and he tells him such, because he made the Batman believed it.

[diamondzart]

I simply could NOT resist, okay?

I SHIP IT! I DON’T CARE! I SHIP IT :D

[hajihiko]

The answer was 'panic attack'.

[pixlokita]

A very glazed page 39

Previous - next - first

[bruciemilf]

no I'm not biased abt Bruce. Where'd you get that idea

[icantbotherwithusernames]

ahem @candycatfalls i heard we were drawing theraprism bill now. i don't mind participating

[nonebinary-leftbeef]

His ass would NOT list five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste

[galacticmonsterenergy]

i shit myself trying to draw this

[pokedash55]

I don't know how psychologically sound this is but I had fun thinking about how Anxiety and Fear working together would actually be hell for Riley.

[mediumgayitalian]

Nico wakes up to gagging and a soft glow coming from the bathroom.

His first thought is, bizarrely, that Hazel’s home. But her bunk is still empty, and her shoes aren’t by the door, and she didn’t wake him when she came in. She always wakes him when she comes in, even if it’s four thirty in the damn morning, because nothing makes her cackle quite like Nico choking back curses and tweaking under her smothering pillow.

“Shit,” comes a small voice from the bathroom, followed by more retching. “Shitshitshit, no —”

Nico bolts for the door.

“Hi,” Will says, or tries to. His scarred knuckles clench with every gag, wrapped too tightly around the rim of porcelain to tremble like the rest of him.

Something about the wobbly smile he keeps trying to form in between gags. Something about the sweat that has drenched his t-shirt, something about the deep circles under his eyes, something about his spot in the bed completely cold, wrinkled.

Something is not adding up.

“You’re not sick,” Nico murmurs, pressing the back of his hand to Will’s forehead. Will mutters something about bliss, leaning into Nico’s hand; he smiles again, but it is strained, and at odds with the glassy look in his eyes. The sharp, rapid breaths.

“Just don’t — feel good.”

Every word is punctuated by a big, heaving gasp, like he’s trying to breathe through heavy cotton. On a hunch, Nico slides his hands down Will’s face, brushing the goosebumps on his neck, the irritated, pulsing tendons, and rest flat against his chest, over his heart.

His heart that is pounding, so quickly it is actually challenging to recognise as a beat rather than a buzz.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Nico says quietly.

Will shrugs. He gags again, but clamps his mouth shut before it goes anywhere, breathing deeply and carefully through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. His heart pounds faster, and the rapid movement of his chest grows shallow, but he manages to choke back his bile, swallow down whatever nausea is plaguing him.

“I’m — fine.” His laboured breathing is the loudest sound in the cabin. In the camp. “I’m handling it.”

Nico watches him. Watches him clench his jaw and squeeze his eyes shut and make a noise like he is being betrayed, like he is being sold for thirty silver by his own body, his own mind; watches him flex his muscles rigid and hold himself still like he can stop the nails and thorns from coming. He thinks of wide smiles and far away eyes and mental health pamphlets and cheerful slogans on infirmary walls.

“I think one of those things are true.”

“I don’t need —”

Whatever he doesn’t need is forgotten, because he is heaving again, only this time his body finds something to dredge up, even if that something is stomach acid and he cries as it burns its way up his throat, and in between heaving he wheezes, horrible whistling gasping noises, and his hair plasters to his forehead, and his body slumps into Nico’s hold and jerks away from him like rocky waves against a lakefront.

“How long have you been here?”

Will just shrugs again, and he cries, and he says “Leave, please,” and Nico wraps an arm tighter around his waist, and presses a kiss to his sweaty temple, lingering, holding, tasting salt from Will and from his tears both, and squeezing his eyes shut, and holding back the anger. Gritting his teeth and softening his hold, deliberately, resting his fingers delicately on the dip of Will’s hip, the raised pink of the stretch marks along his ribs.

“I hate it when you run from me,” he murmurs, and Will sobs again.

“I can’t breathe,” he says, and Nico squeezes and promises he can. “I’m dying. I’m dying, I’m gonna —”

“I’m here, Will.” He doesn’t say you’re not dying. He doesn’t say you’re fine, because this is the longest they’ve sat together in five days, because it is the the quiet middle of June, because yesterday Kayla spent half her shift screaming at Will to get out and ignoring him when he shouted back. Because the bandage around Will’s wrist has been worn to threads, because Lee’s hoodie has not been washed in weeks, because there is a newcomer named Michael and Will cannot even look at him. Because it has been bad. “I’m here.”

It is as much a reminder as it is a plea as it is a reprimand as it is a fruitless nothing, because when Nico struggles he gets angry, when Nico struggles he gets mean and biting and violent, but when Will struggles he wants the world to kill him. And for all that Nico is halfway to the grave he has clawed and chewed and fought his way to survival. And when Will scratches at the skin around his ears and screams into his hands and opens the chapped over scars on his lips his palms his fingers, Nico can only hold him, Nico can only gently pry his nails from his flesh and tell himself that one day they will get to the point where Nico wakes up. Where Will wakes him up, where he burrows into the place between his arms and his chest and hides in someone else for once. Where he trusts someone outside of himself enough to bare his back.

“I’m here,” he whispers again, and he presses his lips to Will’s hair and holds him as he sobs, “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

[nonranghaes]

heads up: panic attack. vent for writer.

jisung knows how to take care of you now. he shuts your laptop, setting it aside as he quickly books it to the fridge and back to push a cold water bottle into your hands. you're getting overwhelmed, rambling up a storm about an assignment you did that now looks like you copied someone else who had the same idea. he tells you that it happens, that its normal, and to just email your professor about it... but he knows you. he knows himself. sometimes little things feel too big to handle, and they blow up like this. he holds his hands over your own, thumbs tracing alongside the inside of your wrists.

"it's okay," he says, keeping his voice as calm as he can. "it's gonna be okay. it's early enough. you haven't done any work yet. if she wants you to change it, it'll be okay. you're going to be fine."

you sniffle, tears streaming down your cheeks as you struggle to breathe as your chest grows tighter. you're babbling all over again: what if what if what if she gets mad at you what if she hasn't graded your assignment because she reached out to your advisors who's on vacation what if you're in the process of getting in major trouble for a misunderstanding and you just don't know it yet?

he kisses your forehead, gentle as can be, and his hands slide up to your biceps. "honey. i promise, it's going to be okay."

the water bottle slips from your hands, hitting the floor and rolling away as you move in to hold him. you squeeze your eyes shut, breathing growing more rapid as you try to hide. from what, you don't even know, but you bury your face in his chest and grab fistfuls of the back of his shirt. he embraces you, tracing circles on your back as you sob.

"it's okay," he says again. "just get it out..."

and you do. you sob into his shirt, losing yourself for a minute. two, five. you lose track. but you pull away, breathing a little more even, face stained with tears. and you meet his eyes after a moment, sniffling still.

"'m sorry..." you wipe at your face with your sleeve. "'m overreacting again--"

"it's okay," he cups your cheeks. "i'd panic, too. would i be overreacting?"

he knows the answer is yes. but he knows you'll say no, just because neither of you downplay each other's feelings in the moment even if you do sometimes laugh over the stupid things later on. he kisses your forehead again, wiping away some of your tears with his thumbs. he reaches down, scooping up the water bottle and offering it to you again. without a word, you accept it, twisting off the cap and taking a long sip of it before passing it back to him.

"better?" he says quietly. and when you nod, he sighs in relief. "i think... before you do your next assignment... we should do something silly."

you nod, and then reach for your laptop. "after i email her. will you--"

"yes." he kisses your cheek, always on the same wavelength as you when it comes to moments like these. "i'll read it before you send it. do you want a snack?" he stands, stretching, already ready to hunt in the kitchen for whatever will make you smile the most. "i'll grab us some snacks."

"yes, please." you open up your email, and wait a moment before turning to watch him go. "i love you."

he beams as he spins to face you one last time now, already making a heart with his arms, just to hear you laugh a little at him being silly for you. "i love you more!"

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

-> people stealing, binding and selling fics on Etsy, risking everything that AO3 has built since the Anne Rice lawsuits

-> AI scraping being everywhere and Gen Z seeing nothing wrong with using AI to "help" fanfiction or outright "write it" for them, while older fanfic authors have struggled for years to perfect the style you love

-> comments being down across the board and consumption culture being at an all time high. a fic gets 800 notes practically overnight and doesn't get a single comment (and sometimes I literally have to beg for comments/feedback on my fics when I know that hundreds of people are reading them)

-> me, grinding my teeth while pouring my heart and soul into a 40k fic that I know will be forgotten by fandom in a month or could possibly be stolen to be sold as a "novel": I do this because I love this. I do this because I love this. I do this because it's my passion. I don't want to quit doing something that I love so much.

[felisgalactus]

Another doodle dump

I’m obsessed with how I drew Prime Bumblebee he turned out looking completely haunted, or like he’s gonna break my kneecaps.

Busted out the glitter gel pens for fun