#my anxiety attack

[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.

[the-og-gay-cousin]

Hey guys why the fuck are my brain chemicals doing the macarena rn send post

[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

[mihxiii]

FREESTYLER... 

WAKA MAKA FO

[angelcake10023]

//TW……. Panic Attack

Couldn’t get this idea out of my head djdkshsksjsk so now you get it too ❤️‍🩹

[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.”

[spoiledskullz]

ponies.... as PEOPLE?!?!?!? what'll they come up with next

[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.

[whumpypepsigal]

JJ + chest pain

[bigfatbreak]

Birds of a Feather previous / next tw: anxiety attack