#panic attack tw

[memepocalypse]

Panic Attack

Some people are... more helpful than others.

"Do as I do, okay? Breathe in, nice and slow -"

"You okay? You look a bit - oh no."

"You're okay, you're okay. I'm going to take your hand."

"Nice slow breaths for me."

"There's nothing wrong. You're okay. You're okay."

"I need you to tell me five things you can see."

"Do you know what cause this?"

"Tell me how to help."

"It's okay to cry. I won't tell anyone."

"Can you sip this water?"

"Don't be cruel. It's not your fault."

"Let me help you, okay?"

"Is it okay if I hug you? Would a hug help?"

"I don't know what to do, I don't know how to help you!"

"What's going on? Why are you making that noise?"

"What's wrong with you, why are you doing this!?"

"Are you having an asthma attack or something?"

"God, pull yourself together."

"Fucking seriously? Wow, you're useless."

"You need to get therapy or something."

"What's the cause of the act this time?"

"You're kidding me. That's pathetic."

"Are you - crying? Ew."

"Breathe? What useless advice is that."

"Don't - touch - me -"

"I don't want your help."

"Get me away from here."

"I can't - breathe -"

"I'm useless - worthless - there's no point - to me -"

"Go - away -"

[bunny-lovers]

If you have anxiety or panic attacks, your f/o will absolutely learn how to best comfort you.

Whether that means holding you close, verbally assuring you that everything is okay, or just giving you some time and space alone, your f/o loves you and will do whatever you need them to to help you feel better.

proship/comship/neutral DNI

[adrift-in-thyme]

@kikker-oma happy belated birthday!!! Sorry it took so long for me to finish this! But I hope it proves worth the wait <333 (Also I hope you don’t mind some whump)

CW for blood and injury, vomiting, a panic attack, and a cave-in (be careful if you’re claustrophobic)

————————————-

In the wake of the explosion, Sky feels nothing. There is a high-pitched ring in his ears, spots in his vision, warm, sticky blood trickling from his nose. But no pain.

Until there is.

It hits like a claymore, cleaving through the half-consciousness he has clung to thus far. And the next thing he knows, he’s jerking upward, gasping. Only, he can’t sit upright at all.

His mind screams the panicked order, his muscles attempt it, but a weak, agonizing twitch is all he manages. Something is holding him down, something massive and heavy. His chest struggles to rise beneath its constant compression.

Sky blinks again, squinting past the tiny eruptions of light and the dust that floats, thick and suffocating in the air around him. There is nothing much to see in the endless darkness. But he can make out jagged shapes, blocky forms, the outlines of sand-covered objects.

Caging him in. Holding him down.

He’s pinned, he realizes with a streak of mind-numbing terror. And suddenly, what little air he had managed to drag in turns to nothing at all. He gasps, eyes blowing wide, as he thrashes.

Or attempts to. All he manages is to bring on a fresh onslaught of dizzying agony. It strikes through to his very bones, sending sharp pricks of static dancing before his eyes and crawling up the back of his head. And for a split second, everything goes a striking shade of black.

Then, he’s breaching the surface once more, too soon, much too soon, skyrocketing back into a world of pain and suffocation.

Sky coughs, choking on blood and tears. He has never really considered himself claustrophobic, but this experience might just change that assumption. Of all the ways to die…

But you’re not, he berates himself. You’re not dead yet, so think, think. Figure out a way to survive.

He can’t reach his pouch. The rubble piled beside him makes certain of that. It presses against him, crushing his side and tugging at the hem of his sailcloth. But if he can move it just a bit…

Trembling hands press to its jagged surface. With a sharp intake of breath, Sky steels himself and pushes.

Something shifts and for a split second, Sky dares to hope that maybe, just maybe he can get free. But then, the rubble on his lower half crawls sideways with the rest. And Sky screams.

The nauseating numbness that had begun to take root vanishes, replaced with the absolute agony that splits through his legs. He turns his head to the side and chokes up bile.

That one moment seems to last forever, pain dancing along his body endlessly. He lies there, limp and gasping, gazing at the blurred splotches his vision has been reduced to. And the waves wash over him, stealing the air from his lungs and turning his thoughts into incomprehensible things.

Needles streak up his neck, bringing with them unnatural heat. His eyelids flutter, eyes preparing to roll back in his head and plunge him back into the painless deep.

“Sky!”

A hand finds his, desperate in the way it grasps at him. Sky inhales sharply, jolting back into some semblance of awareness.

He had thought no other heroes were near the blast. He had thought they were all clear of the area. So, why…

Wait.

Memories crash back into his mind like waves on the sea. Memories of a building crumbling behind him and a boy by his side, running, running away from the collapse, away from certain death. Memories of the fiery knowledge that had situated itself firmly in Sky’s gut, the knowledge that he must protect him, protect the hero who came after him.

Protect the hero who was the first to feel the brunt of his failures, no matter the cost.

His hands fly out on instinct to shove the small figure in front of him through the doorway. Echoes of a terrified voice in his mind as he leaps, meaning to follow, wanting to.

Only for darkness to catch him before he can.

Four. Sky’s breath hitches, a sob of relief and agony catching in his throat. Four is here with him. Four is alive.

And he came back.

“Sky, can you hear me?”

The Skyloftian focuses all his strength. Weakly, he squeezes Four’s hand. The smithy blows out an audible sigh of relief.

“Thank the goddesses. We’re gonna get you free, okay? We just need a minute. If we move anything now…”

Though he trails off, the words left unspoken weigh on the Skyloftian even more heavily than the rubble. He drags in a thin gasp, swallowing against the growing lump in his throat.

“But I need you to stay awake until we can get you out,” Four continues, forcing a lighter tone into his voice. “Can you do that?”

“Yes,” is what Sky means to say. “Hurts,” is the croaked cry that comes out.

Four’s grip tightens. “I know, Sky. I’m-I’m sorry.”

Sky closes his eyes. The darkness there is safer, more comfortable than the dusky dimness floating around him.

“Not your fa-fault.”

“You shouldn’t have pushed me.” The voice is grim and drenched in guilt. Though it aims to sound accusatory, Sky feels that it hardly meets the mark. “‘There was time. We could’ve both gotten out. We could’ve…”

“K-kept you safe.” It is hardly a croak. The word burns in his throat. “Smithy…I w-wanted to…”

He drags his eyes open, stares into the expanse of floating nothingness. He still can’t breathe.

“It’s the least I…could do.”

Four is silent for a long moment. Then, his fingers constrict just slightly. Their warmth is welcome in a world of cold darkness.

“You’re going to get out of there, Sky,” he murmurs and there is something in his tone that Sky cannot identify. Maybe he could if he wasn’t so tired. Far more than usual in fact. This exhaustion drags him down like a leaden weight, pulling at the remaining scraps of consciousness.

“Just hold on,” the smithy says, and Sky pushes back against the endless deep.

Hold on.

He can do that. He can…

“T-tell me about y-your Hyrule,” he croaks.

And Four does. The smithy has many secrets, perhaps, even as much as the old man, and yet, he tells him. Of his grandfather, of Dot, of his home and his world and the tiny creatures known as Minish.

Sky clings to every word that tells him more about the hero who followed after him and the land he fought to protect. He clings to the sound of his voice, the warmth of his fingers, the painting he paints of his life…until his brothers come.

And then, finally, finally, the world is opening back up and the sunlight is streaming in and he can drag in thin gasps of fresh air and…and Four is right there, still holding his hand but gazing down at him now. Concern gleams in his multicolored irises.

Sky offers him a weak smile. “‘M okay now, smithy,” he murmurs, every word agony. “T-thanks for…for staying.”

Four’s face splits into a grin. A teary one, but an expression of joy nonetheless. “I’ll always stay. It’s the least I can do for the person who paved the way.”

There is respect in those words, Sky realizes dimly. Respect and something else…A connection, perhaps, that is stronger even than their bond of brotherhood.

He deserves neither.

But as he lets his eyes slip shut, as the voices of his family swell around him and arms lift him with a gentleness that belies their strength…he is glad to know about their place in the timeline. He understands the look in Time’s eye a little better now, when he gazes upon Twilight.

He is proud of his successor too.

[thecluelessdoctor]

day 18: panic attack

YEAHHHHHH

Again, this one is more based on my personal life. Panic attacks are so fun guys

Dipcember belongs to @localcanadiancreature62

[theartistisme43]

Chapter Two: The Smell of Copper and Disinfectant

HOSPITAL, BLOOD, PANIC ATTACK, AND GUN MENTION TW:

There was a dense ringing in SMG4’s ears as he floated in a void of numbness, he could hear a distant beep every now and then, and muffled, discombobulated talking…

4 didn’t know where he was, or what was happening… Every time he tried to figure it out, something pulled him into a deeper rest, but he could feel himself getting closer to a light every time he attempted to gather his thoughts.

All he remembered was creating tomato soop, and then… Nothing.

4 tried to get out of whatever state he was in, but he felt trapped and unable to move, as if he was being weighed down by something, almost like…

Sleep paralysis?…

Was he asleep?

The more he thought of it, the more he could hear, the more he could feel, the more he could think.

Just like a knife, memory cut into him.

“I’m sorry, I have to do this…”

BANG!

With a gasp, SMG4 shot up in bed, making Mario almost fall back with a gasp of his own.

4’s eyes refocused as his mind began to process where he was, as they tiredly scanned the area around him.

All of his friends were here, scattered around in his hospital room.

Just as 4 intended to speak, a sharp, horrible pain made him hiss in reaction. He looked down, seeing a gauze pad that was secured by tight bandages wrapped around his chest and back to hold it in place. 4 could feel how tender his skin was under the medical wraps.

“…wh…” He found his voice as he winced hard.

A gloved hand took his, as Mario looked at him with love in his eyes… And an air of sorrow to them too.

“Miei cari Quattro... ero così preoccupata!” The red plumber embraced him, avoiding his wound.

SMG4 enjoyed the hug for a moment, but wondered what all the fuss was about, he couldn’t remember what happened for some reason… Did he have a kitchen accident or something?

“SMG4!” Meggy exclaimed, coming to hug him too. “You’re awake!”

4 attempted to use his right arm to pat her back, but it hurt far too much for him to move it, so he used his left to do it instead.

“What happened?�� 4’s question made almost everyone in the room uncomfortable, as a few of his friends avoided looking at him.

Meggy sighed, willing herself to say… Something bad from what 4 could gather from her face.

“SMG4… Do you… Not remember?” She asked softly.

“No, please tell me..” 4 said. “I can handle it, whatever it is..”

“SMG4.” Meggy began, brows furrowing. “SMG3 shot you…”

4 paled, the ringing in his ears returned as his heart began pounding.

Like a train, feelings of grief, betrayal, and heartbreak came hurtling into him.

Now he could remember.

SMG3’s eyes were cold and empty, the way his face looked was like something straight out of a horror movie.

SMG4 tried to brush it off by mentioning his newest meme, but 3 didn’t care, merely raising his gun with the intention of killing 4.

And he shot him.

Watching him bleed out as he lost consciousness…

SMG4 was hyperventilating as he clutched himself, suffering through a panic attack as the previous day’s events became clear.

The very person he had come to trust, come to love, stabbed him in the back. And why? Because he got bored of being good? Because being evil was much easier for him?

“SMG4, it’s going to be okay…” Meggy tried to vocally help him through his attack, but all of the emotions he felt were relentless.

SMG4’s brain couldn’t register anything as a monsoon of thoughts and questions rendered all of his senses useless.

His fingers were practically digging into his skin as his chest heaved, eyes staring into nothing.

All 4 could see in his mind was SMG3’s terrifying expression as he watched him lay there helpless, his own blood pooling around him.

But suddenly… He was encased in warmth, a safe feeling he had felt many times.

Mario held SMG4 close, letting him clutch at his shirt as to not damage himself anymore, like the other times he helped him through past panic attacks.

The meme guardian rode the aftermath of his attack, coming back to reality with heavy yet softer breaths.

“There we are…” Mario muttered. “I got you.”

4 had pushed his body too hard, his ribs hurt slightly from his rapid sharp breaths, and this didn’t help with his still tender injury.

Mario saw something in 4’s eyes fade.. He didn’t know if it was exhaustion, or… Hope leaving him.

As 4 returned to sleep, Mario still held his hand, his heart breaking as he watched someone who was so full of life feel so defeated…

“Gli farò pagare la pena per averti ferito, Quattro, te lo prometto. Non avrò pace finché non lo troveranno..”

Mario had tried to whisper only loud enough for 4 to hear, but his quiet promise was understood by his green brother.

Luigi looked on in concern, as he watched his twin brother begin a tread down a darker path... Grief considered, he wanted 3 to pay for this too, but this just wasn't right... This wasn't Mario.

"Come on guys." Meggy whispered. "Let's let SMG4 rest."

Their friend group had quietly, one by one, left the room, but Luigi stayed put. He joined his brother's side, placing a kind and comforting hand onto Mario's own.

Hurt, angry, tired eyes glanced down, and then up to Luigi's face.

Luigi looked back with a soft and concerned look in his, as Mario silently brought his hand down to his side, away from Luigi's hand.

It would be a fight to get Mario back, but Luigi was willing to do whatever it took to save his brother from his own rage.

"Sono qui anche per te, Mario. Non dimenticarlo mai..."

[alicewritingstories]

Part 2 of that fic idea, based on @kikker-oma's fantastic Whumptober art. (Part 1 is here).

This time it's based on Day 11: Examination

Four groaned as he was shaken awake by Twilight. It couldn't possibly be morning already…

But then he became aware of the alarmed tones in his brothers' hushed voices. He opened his eyes and sat up as Wind - at the other end of the same bed; they were the only ones small enough to share - scrambled off the bed and ran to the window. Four rubbed his eyes. The moonlight flooding into the room looked oddly red.

"I'm going to ask the innkeeper," said Warriors. "Twilight, come with me."

Four gasped as he looked out of the window. It hadn't been his imagination; the moon was blood-red.

"Where's Time?" asked Twilight.

"I'll go check on him," said Four. "You go with Warriors."

Twilight hesitated, but before he could reply Four was climbing the stairs to the attic room, leaping up them two at a time. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer.

The old man might still be asleep, but he wasn't normally a very heavy sleeper. Four knocked again, pressing his ear to the door.

This time he thought he heard a faint, horrible whimpering noise.

He didn't wait any longer; he shoved the door open.

Time was sitting on the bed, his back to the window, the moon shining behind him. His eye was wide and he was staring blankly at the floor, trembling, visibly struggling for breath.

Four's heart skipped a beat as possibilities flashed through his mind. Poison. Magic. Maybe the red moonlight was doing something, though that wasn't likely given that nobody else had been affected…

Even as he was thinking, he ran to the old man's side. Time took another desperate, strangled gasp.

"Time?" said Four softly, crouching to look up at his friend's face. "Link, can you hear me?"

Time's eye squeezed closed and he nodded, a tear suddenly spilling down his cheek.

"Four…" he managed, the word coming out in a croak. "Help…"

Good, he's aware.

Though the soft plea wrung at Four's heart, he had to stay focussed. The next most important thing was Time's breathing.

"Time, can you take a breath for me?"

Time gasped in another of those sharp, almost agonal gulps of air.

"OK, and out again."

It came out in a panicked whimper.

"And in. Try and breathe a little deeper, it's OK."

Time gasped and slurred, "Gotta go… gotta…"

"It's OK. Once we've got you breathing properly you can go."

More tears were trickling down Time's cheeks as he struggled to take another, deeper breath. Four climbed onto the bed next to him and pressed an ear to his back, listening for any sound of blockage or injury.

"Again, as deep as you can."

A gasp.

"And out. Nice and steady."

A moan.

They kept going, Four coaching Time's breathing. He couldn't hear anything except the frantic pounding of Time's heart.

"No time," whimpered Time. "No, have… have to…"

"Deep breath in, Time. It's OK."

Time's breath was steadying gradually and he slumped. Four grabbed his shoulder to stop him pitching head-first off the bed, but he hadn't fainted, he was just leaning on his elbows, his head hanging.

"Easy, old man. Another deep breath."

"I… It…"

"Shh. I know, Time, but I need you to take a deep breath for me."

This time the breath was deeper, though Time shuddered pitifully as he forced it into his lungs and out again. Four still couldn't hear anything wrong.

"Keep going," he said, rubbing comforting circles on Time's shoulder. "In… and out… In… and out…"

Slowly, Time's breathing eased and shifted into exhausted sobs.

"I can't… not again…" he croaked.

Now confident that there was nothing physically wrong and nothing preventing Time from breathing, Four shifted back to sit beside him, taking his hand in one of his own and continuing to rub Time's back with the other as he kept coaching his breathing.

"Not again… Please…"

"It's OK, Time, you don't have to do anything. We'll take care of it." Four heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up, raising a hand to halt Twilight in the doorway. The rancher stared in horror for a moment, but when Four waved his hand in an urgent shoo! motion he backed away. Four was glad; the last thing Time would want was too many people crowding around him.

Time didn't seem to have noticed his mentee's presence, still lost in his own world.

"Time, can you still hear me?" asked Four.

Time shuddered and nodded.

"Is the problem to do with the moon?"

Another nod. "I… I can't. Not again. D-Don't…"

More footsteps on the stairs and Four looked up again. This time it was Warriors, Twilight behind him. He too paused in the doorway, but he pointed past Four and Time at the moon and raised a questioning eyebrow. Four nodded and started to shoo Warriors away as he had Twilight, but the captain walked in and knelt down in front of Time, taking the hand Four wasn't holding.

"Time, we've spoken to the innkeeper about the moon," he said clearly. "This has happened before. There will be a surge of dark magic in an hour or so, but it is not an immediate danger. Do you understand?"

For a moment Four thought Time hadn't heard, but then he took a slightly deeper breath.

"There is no immediate danger," Warriors repeated, still speaking clearly. "Do you understand, Link?"

Time nodded, taking another hiccupping breath. Warriors gently squeezed his hand.

"Come and join us when you can," he said gently. Then he got up, nodded to Four, and left again, herding Twilight with him. Four turned back to Time and started coaching his breathing again, rubbing his back as the gulping, desperate sobs eased. Slowly, Time relaxed to lean against Four's shoulder, clearly exhausted as the emotion drained out of him.

"I… I'm sorry, Smithy," he said softly.

Four squeezed his hand. "Don't be."

"Shouldn'... have had… to see that."

"It's OK. Take a break for a bit and then we'll go join the others and hear what the innkeeper told Warriors."

Time nodded. "Thank you."

[justtorturewhump]

Whumpee who has been free of the torture for a year, who is recovered except for the panic attacks, volunteers to return to the torture chamber in exchange for a loved one’s safety

[groupalpha]

WARNING! This comic depicts a panic attack and may cause some to be uncomfortable!

Comic under cut!

[hmshermitcraft]

Not for theme (TW: panic attacks mentioned)

When something stressful happens, Tango goes into a panic attack which is very dangerous for a blaze hybrid like himself and genuinely for anyone around him because he is literally on fire when he is having one.

When Tango is having one he shakes constantly and go into a corner and sob because he doesn't want to harm anyone with his fire at the moment, Etho knows when Tango is having one because Etho can hear very well because he's a artic fox hybrid.

Etho will grab Tango's blanket and hug Tango like that (if Tango does want to be hugged) so that way he won't get burned.

But after Etho calms down Tango he gets Tango to bed and cuddles him aswell.

Tango thought that a fire blanket was a silly idea at first, but he's pleased with it now. It helps a lot to have that contact even if it's through a layer of strange foiled texture.

And, for desperate situations, Etho has started keeping fire protection potions on him. It's not as effective without a big blanket, but he likes to think he's a pretty good cuddler too!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Ugh I love how the Streetkid Chris AU shows his parallels and differences to Kauri so well.

I wonder if Jake may be expecting Chris to be a little more like Kauri, and how that preconception alongside Chris being a little older and having his pill dependency vs seeing the "statue boy" in the rain will change things. Jake is very nonjudgmental so I think he'd quickly adjust to taking him how he comes, but this is a much more guarded Chris than he's used to. Plus Antoni is clearly worried about him being in the home.

Also, from Anon: please forgive me for storming into your asks so soon after you've posted already. but i am sobbing please write a continuation for streetkid chris (if you want to)

Streetkid Chris AU: One | Two | Three | Four

-

CW: Brief references to dubcon, heavily internalized ableism, conditioned fear response, panic attack, meltdown with stimming that causes injury, head banging

The pills kick back in about halfway through Baldur fumbling through helping Kauri to create a bed from a pullout couch. He's had some water and a handful of crackers, in the kitchen. Kauri had pulled him into the living room and moved around the space like it was his own, pulling sheets out of a closet door Baldur hadn't even noticed yet, along with pillows that he dropped unceremoniously onto the floor before he told Baldur how to take off the couch cushions and then pull the folded-up mattress on its metal frame out. Like watching paper, he thought, that you've made snowflakes out of when you open it up.

The twinge of pain he feels when the thought comes to him makes him wince. He keeps smelling something in the oven that makes his mouth water for a familiar taste he can't remember. It's locked tight back behind the white lights in his mind, and Baldur tells his thoughts to swerve away as fast as they can, to make the pain stop threatening to take over.

He's lucky.

The pills are working.

His mind is moving slow, but it's listening to him at least. It's like syrup pouring out of a bottle onto a stack of pancakes, so slow your hand is shaking with impatience, waiting for the promised sweetness that doesn't come. He feels clouded over, wading through fog, but it's a comfortable way to be. It's being good, to be like this.

Like mornings spent lying in Sir's bed, staring upwards at the ceiling or maybe beyond it, without thinking anything at all.

It's easier, this way.

Safer.

"So, there you go," Kauri says, standing back with his hands on his hips. The couch has become a cozy bed, with a half-dozen pillows and four blankets piled up high. Baldur could sleep there for days, and as long as the pills kept coming, he wouldn't even notice he wasn't moving. "Will that work? We'll have to share, though, is that okay?"

Baldur swallows. "I-I don't, um-" No. No no no. Statue boy, he reminds himself. Good boys are statue boys. Silence is better than stammering, stillness is better than what I do. His fingers twitch, just once, and then the fog of the pills smothers his fears and presses them down. The prickling energy that bursts out of him when he's sober is safely held back. He pictures his racing mind running out of air, limbs slowing, lungs expanding just once more and then no longer. "I don't mind. I... don't like to sleep alone."

"Yeah." Kauri's face briefly goes strange, like it's been emptied-out of feeling. "Me neither. Never have. Alone is-"

"-bad," Baldur finishes, in a whisper. "No one wants you."

"Right. Yeah. They taught you that, too, huh?"

"No one wants you... then you're not real," Baldur says. He can feel his handler's hand heavy on the back of his neck, like a ghost breathing against his ear.

"... Shit. I guess even the worst shit was just part of the program, huh?" Kauri stares down at the couch-bed for one long moment of heavy silence, then he inhales sharply and laughs, empty and hollow. "We're just fucking dolls in the toy store for rich idiots to pull the legs off of, aren't we? All the same, come in the same boxes-... never mind. I'm having a weird day." He shakes himself like a dog shaking off water. "Just ignore me being weird, it happens sometimes."

"Yeah," Baldur murmurs. "Me, too. Happens... to me, too." Baldur hears an echo of someone screaming in his mind - maybe himself - but the stab of pain doesn't come. He manages to smother the memory before it can come together enough to hurt him.

Kauri takes a deep breath. "Okay, so. Weirdness steadfastly ignored, we'll just settle in and then when dinner is ready-"

The front door opens, and Baldur spins on his heels, hands slipping behind his back. Position One is thoughtless, effortless, instinctive. He always met Sir in Position One or Position Two, depending on the day. Kauri, though, doesn't slip into any position - he just smiles, wide blue eyes sparkling with a warmth Baldur has never seen in him before.

The man who walks inside isn't that much older than Baldur, but he's huge. Tall, and heavily muscled, built like the handlers who could pick Baldur up like a child and force him back against the wall or onto a table no matter how he kicked or fought, until he learned not to fight any longer. He has close-cropped ashy blond hair trending towards light brown, pale skin, and his own face lights up as soon as he sees Kauri, returning the sunshine looks they give each other.

It hurts.

Baldur's never had anyone look at him like that.

"Hey, Kauri," The man says, in a deep voice that sounds like the warm summer nights when Baldur sleeps out in the park and doesn't get cold at all. Then he looks over to Baldur, still standing in careful position, and some of the warmth fades. "Woah. Who's this?"

"Friend of mine," Kauri says, and he grabs Baldur by one arm and pulls him closer, careless of how he stumbles. Once they get close enough, Baldur can smell the tall man's cologne. It's a good smell, kind of woodsy. Not at all like Sir's, which would feel like it stuck inside of Baldur until it was all he could smell. "This is Chris."

"Hey, Chris," Jake says. His smile is back in place, but it's more polite. He holds out a hand, and after a delay, Baldur realizes he's supposed to shake and sticks his hand out. "I'm Jake Stanton."

Baldur catches the way his eyes drop, seeing the barcode on the inside of Baldur's left wrist. Nothing in his expression changes at all, but something of the fizzing tension in the air does. Baldur swallows around a tightness in his throat.

Those eyes are back on him-

Oh. Jake's eyes are blue, too. Like Kauri's but not like his at all.

"WRU, Facility 001, Designation Romantic 223499," Baldur says automatically, to the unspoken question he thinks he sees there.

"You don't have to do that here," Kauri says in a rush, putting a hand on Baldur's back. "It's not like that."

"It's... always like that," Baldur says. He thinks he sees interest in Jake's face, curiosity, and maybe that's who he'll have to give his body to, to earn dinner and the couch bed to sleep on. He can do that. As long as he keeps his mind untethered from his body, he can move his hips and arch his back and make all the sounds and drift inside of himself until it's over.

"Not here," Jake says, voice deep and gentle. He won't be so bad, Baldur thinks. He'll be slow about it, not like the ones who don't care if it hurts. He won't have to lie as hard to make it believable that he enjoys it. "You don't do that here." He turns back to Kauri, and it feels like light moves behind a cloud when his eyes are off of Baldur. "Where's Nat?"

"Up in her room," Kauri says, shrugging. "And Antoni-"

"Is here," The feline-eyed man says from the bottom of the stairs. Baldur blinks, then jumps - a half-second delayed. He hadn't even heard him come down, even though the stairs are creaky in such old houses. "I can talk to you about something?" Those dark eyes briefly rest on Baldur.

There's no warmth in them.

"Huh? What's up?"

Antoni pauses. "In my room, please, Jasha."

Baldur's heart chills. Even through the pleasant fog of pills, he can hear the coldness there. And he knows it's about him, he knows it. He's done something wrong, wrong enough to be talked about. Like handlers outside his door, talking about what he did wrong and what they'll do to make him sorry. He chokes on the fear of it - consequences hurt so much. He must have been caught swaying, or touching, or making sounds that are against his rules.

"... sure, Ant. Just a sec." Jake frowns. He leaves his sneakers on a mat by the door and follows Antoni up - the stairs creak when he walks up them. They're already talking in low voices that don't quite travel.

He hears Antoni's voice, a soft, Not sure it is a good idea for him to be here.

He did something wrong.

Suddenly, Baldur can barely breathe. His vision is blurs of color, shadow and light. His fingers twitch again, and this time they don't stop. His head is full of a crashing noise that even the pills can't hold back.

He's in trouble. He did something wrong. He's in trouble, and they'll come back down and ask, Do you know what you did, darlin'? And he'll have to guess, and he always guesses wrong.

The games are always rigged for him to lose.

You don't learn any other way, sweetheart.

His breath gets halfway down his throat and stops there. It's stuck, and he wishes he was so drunk he blacked out, or so high he slept for the next few days, until whatever he's done wrong blows over and they forget to punish him, or maybe just punish him but he doesn't remember it.

His heart beats so loud inside of him, blood rushing in his ears. His eyes go to the wall, and he can quiet the chaos inside him if he can get to it, but his feet are stuck right here to the floor. He can't. He can't, it's against his rules, he has to be good, be a statue boy, be silent be still but being still hurts so fucking much when he's scared-

Kauri isn't looking at him. He watches the two men go, thick eyebrows a little furrowed. "I wonder what that's about. Antoni can be so weird, sometimes, I swear-" He breaks off and turns, looking at Baldur. He must see something there. He must see the terror in wide green eyes, the white showing all around, in the way his fingers are shaking, how he can't quite stop bouncing on the balls of his feet with the need to get to a place he can curl up and hide, or hit his head on the wall, until the chaos quiets and he can think again.

The pills are supposed to stop this.

They don't.

"Chris?"

He flinches violently backwards when he realizes Kauri is right in front of him, has somehow moved without him seeing. Those long-fingered hands are warm, palms on either side of his face. Those big blue eyes are looking right at his, reflecting him there in Kauri's pupils. When he flinches, Kauri pulls away, and Baldur misses the warmth of touch the way he used to miss darkness when he lived always under white lights.

"Hey." Kauri's voice is soft, slow and gentle. "Hey. Chris, what's wrong? Talk to me?"

There aren't words. He can feel them, there are words, but they're trapped behind teeth on top of tongue. They shift, dipping beneath the surface before he can get his mouth around them. He can't use any of them at all. His hands move, shaking, to twist and pull at the hem of his shirt, but-

No-

Have to be still-

He can't.

He can't be still. He can't be the statue boy, the fear is too strong. And if he can't be still, he'll be in even worse trouble. It's a cycle, a loop of warm ocean water sucked up into the hurricane. It's ash blocking out the sun, killing all the dinosaurs. He remembers the dinosaurs. He remembers the asteroid hit the earth, and the planet was swept by fire burning everything that survived the strike. He remembers that his mind moves like objects in space, impossibly fast and dangerous, because it isn't allowed.

"Chris?" Kauri's swimming in and out of his awareness. He knows there are hands on him, leading him to the couch bed. He feels, distantly, the softness of pillows as his back rests against them. He knows as if staring from the top of a mountain that Kauri is speaking to him in a voice like the clouds rolling in far below.

He can hear other voices, too, but they don't make it through the haze of panic. It's derailed everything. The pills aren't helping, they're making it worse. He can sense the comforting warm blanket of being high just out of reach, and instead it's all terror, overwhelming, flooding the plain.

He knows his mouth is moving.

He can hear himself, tinny and small and from a distance too far to cover, saying, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't be mad, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to I didn't mean to I'm sorry, please don't be mad over and over again. He tries to be still. He hits his head on Kauri's shoulder and that strikes new terror, so he hits his head harder, then he bites - he buries teeth into skin that he only belatedly realizes isn't his when Kauri makes a sound of pain.

It's a cycle.

He's circling, he's a hurricane, his mind is dangerous and his body is wrong and it has to be stopped.

He can't stop.

He wails, half a scream that he tries to catch and pull back. The sound dips and drops, it becomes a low, wordless moan, over and over and over again. It rises from the person inside of him who used to exist before he signed his life away and they wrote a new him onto the body of the old one.

He used to be someone else.

He used to be someone better.

He used to make noises like this, before they made him stop. Before they made sure he knew that rocking - he's rocking, he feels himself sway forward and back, his fingers twisting and pulling at fabric, moving and moving to calm the rising chaos and violence inside of him - would lead to pain and fear. Before they taught him to take every pill he was given until his body was quiet and still and good for them, for the handlers for Sir for anyone who wants to fuck him or put a hand on his head and make him choke.

The thick clay shell they made him build up around himself, though, has gone brittle.

It shatters.

He rocks and rocks. He hears the sounds he is making like they belong to someone else. He feels tears, hot and burning as they track down his cheeks, cooling rapidly to drip onto his shirt, onto Kauri's shirt and neck when his face buries itself there. His sounds vibrate against Kauri's scarred collarbone. His fingers are gripped into Kauri's shirt now, holding so tight the threadbare fabric rips and his fingertips brush the heat of skin beneath. There are other voices besides Kauri's, but he doesn't listen to them, he can't listen to them or the fear will rise again.

Kauri is talking to him.

His chin is on Baldur's head, and he's talking, murmuring, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I've got you, I've got you, honey, it's okay," over and over and over again. One hand is on the back of his neck, a gentle weight that starts him falling back down to earth.

He rocks with Baldur.

The hurricane starts to wear itself out, spinning and spinning but the wind dies down. He's falling out of the eye onto the ground. The noise inside his head is agony but it's agony he can hear over and around. He doesn't know how long it's been. The rocking is gentle, endless and soothing, and Kauri's other hand rubs up and down his back like-

His mother-

Someone he can't remember used to do when he did this, a long time ago.

"It's okay. You're okay. You're okay," Kauri whispers.

There are other voices, but Baldur can't hear them or he'll be a hurricane again. He keeps his thoughts on Kauri, on the rock of their bodies together, on the weight and warmth of someone holding on to him until he can come back down to earth.

The eruption stops, the flow of rivers bright orange and red and white with heat cooling to dark, solid, safe.

His bones stop burning, his head stops pounding with the noise inside of it.

Kauri is still rocking.

"I've got you," His low voice whispers, too deep for his delicate shape and size. "I've got you, Chris. Let it out, you're okay, I've got you. I've got you."

He struggles to remember how to make the feeling inside him into words, manages to whisper, " Don't-... don't go-"

"I won't," Kauri promises. His arms are tight and strong around Baldur's shaking, skinny body. "I won't. I'm right here. I'm right here."

"What the hell-" Jake's voice interrupts. "What the hell happened?"

"Why... why is he-" That's Antoni, who wanted to talk, who was talking to Jake about him. His voice is shaking, though, his accent thick and heavy. "Why he is yelling so loud-... you can make it stop? The-... screaming-"

Baldur stiffens.

Stop.

Silent.

Still.

Be good.

Good boys are statue boys, good boys-

The thought breaks apart when he hears Kauri's voice crack loud like a whip against the tile floor. "Probably because the two of you decided to go goddamn gossip. Get the fuck out of this room before I take a cast iron to your faces, you assholes."

"Shit." That's Jake, he thinks. Baldur hides against Kauri's neck until he can't possibly see their faces. The anger, the hate, how they'll be planning his punishment.

But then... footsteps.

They leave.

They go.

Because Kauri told them to.

"Let it out," Kauri murmurs, once they're alone again. "Let it out. Whatever you gotta do, you do it. I'm staying right here."

Baldur tightens his grip on Kauri's torn shirt and starts, finally, to cry. The last of the hurricane falls as tears when the wind dies, draining the terror from him to soak into Kauri's shirt.

"I, I bit you," He whispers, when the words are there. When throat and teeth and tongue work together, finally, to form them. "I'm sorry. I... I, I bit you-"

"No worries," Kauri says, right against his ear. "Didn't even draw blood. Trust me, you're not the first guy to bite - probably not even the tenth - and you won't be the last. But, just between us... I think you're probably my favorite."

Baldur starts to cry again.

This time, it's not a hurricane at all. It's summer showers, welcome warm rain soaking into a thirsty dried-out earth. He cries until he's emptied-out of the fear, until all that's left is hollow like cracked clay warming in the sun.

Like grass growing between dinosaur bones.

He used to know about that.

Someone who lived in his head did, anyway.

But he knows about it, too.

Baldur didn't.

But... Chris does.

-

[mossfeathers]

Writing and art for day 16 of lifetober: Deal

Fic takes place in an AU by my friend Rose in which the rage crystal Scar gives Tango has a few strings attached. If you guys like this, I have more written I can polish up + post!! Word count: 1.3k TW/CW: Possession, panic attack (implied), swearing, villain Scar (not really a cw just a heads up)

“Tango, Tango, Tango, I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you here,” Scar said, voice low, not quite a growl but still menacing enough and grinning with the sort of happiness that wouldn’t end well for anyone else. His pale grey hair was long and a few of the more wild strands draped over his face, breaking apart the cutting gaze of his bright yellow eyes staring right through Tango.

‘Well not really, mister crystal-butt-man. Me and my crew back there were just coming by for a bit of enchanting-magic-funtimes and you were all ‘Ooh only Tango can come in’ and shooed my guys away. Jerkface.” Tango leaned back in the ornate wooden chair Scar had pulled up for him in front of the amethyst pedestal the enchanter usually sat upon, twirling the emerald-green crystal he had bought from Scar just a few days prior boredly in his ash-tinted fingertips. “But I’ll bite. Whaddya want, Scar?” Scar’s such a pain sometimes, honestly, Tango thought to himself. Always asking for this or that and another and never giving anyone the time of day, favoring selling you a clock over sympathy. Tango really wished he wasn’t stuck with him in the wizard hut, but it’d be rude to leave and he’d rather not tick off the one guy who had a knack for tracking down the enchanter.

“I’m so glad you ask! It’s all got to do with that little crystal you got there. It’s been working, right?” Scar said, leaning forward in his chair with a sick smile, crossing his hands under his chin. 

“Yeah?” He stopped fidgeting with the crystal and now let it dangle limply from a thin brown string looped on his fingers

Scar’s grin widened. “Excellent! Oh, I’m so glad to hear it! The custom rage crystal, if I remember correctly. Well, not to go full ‘Villain-Scar’ mode here, but I may have… let’s say neglected to mention a bit of fine print on that fine piece of merchandise. I’ll be honest with you, I don’t feel like explaining it so I’m just going to show you. Besides, I think you’d get the point more if you just saw it in action,” Scar said as he stood up from his own chair, grabbing the wooden cane leaning on it, bejeweled with an intricate laying of crystals and engravings of cats. Tango grimaced and laughed awkwardly, not quite sure what else to do.

“Hey buddy, you feelin’ ok?” Tango barely managed to get the words out before Scar had closed the distance between them, looming over him with unnerving authority.

“Ok Tango, I’m going to need you to stay very calm, alright? Ok?” Tango nodded along slowly, a pit of concern growing in his stomach. “Great! Now, I need you to go get me a diamond from Joel’s cave. I trust you know where that is, right? Bye!” Scar spoke quickly and excitedly, words bouncing with anticipation and playful malice.

Tango’s face dropped. He tucked the crystal into his pocket and made his way down the ladder and out of the wizard’s hut without a sound. This, in theory, was against his will, but his mind was just blank, like someone had smudged out all his thoughts as one cleans off a whiteboard after using it in school. There wasn’t a will left to defy, the only thing in his mind the faint ringing of an order, carried out dutifully by his body. His hair flickered weakly, fire somehow managing to glow less than it should. To someone who knew Tango, they wouldn’t have thought him to be himself, lacking a certain swing in his step so signature to himself. Once he reached the edge of the mountain, his dull eyes hardly glanced down as he walked off, stumbling off jagged edges and drops, scraping knees and elbows until he reached the front of Joel’s cave. By some miracle, he wasn’t home, and Tango dragged himself through the entrance and started to rummage around through a few chests, getting nicked by a spare sword left unsheathed in the wreckage, until he pulled out a diamond, sharp edges seeming to glow in the miserable afternoon’s light that flooded the cavern. His eyes sparked with something akin to recognition, and hardly a second later he was heaving himself up the cliff-face.

He stumbled through the door, breathless with a straight face, to Scar’s awaiting smile leaning against the wall next to the ladder going up to the enchanter, idly twirling his hair between his fingers. Scar extended his hand, Tango dropped the diamond in, and promptly collapsed; a puppet with its strings cut. His hair exploded upwards, flames licking the roof of the shop floor and body small as he took in heaving, gasping breaths. He was shaking, but more importantly he was back. His thoughts flooded back in, horrified and scared and screaming, desperate cries to get back into his own head swirling with relieved terror at release back into his mind, the flood of sudden information and emotion making him sick to his stomach. After a long, anguished moment, he looked up at Scar with furrowed brows, rage boiling over alongside tears out of bright red eyes.

“What the fuck have you done,” he growled, furious and terrified and helpless all at once as he stared with the most intense hatred he’d ever felt at Scar, stronger than Bdubs, stronger than the games themselves. His gold eyes just smirked down at him, glinting with the sort of mischievous malice he’d now learned to fear. Tango made a move towards the dagger he kept hidden in his back pocket, wanting nothing more than to bring him down to his knees, make him feel even a fraction of the anguish he felt rushing through his body, make him hurt.

“Oh, can you stop that?” Scar laughed, and Tango felt his hand freeze in place, that same complicit nothing washing over him in a wave of pure white nothing. “Would you mind getting up too? I don’t want the floor getting damaged, that stuff’s not cheap!” He stood up.

Tango was still shaking. Badly, in fact; he could hardly stand. But Scar had said he needed to stand, so he would. Scar hadn’t stopped smiling the whole time, as if this was just a joke, just a prank. Just a prank. The fact Scar hardly cared, didn’t think what he was doing, whatever he was doing, was a terrible thing made Tango want to tear him apart with his bare hands, limb from bloody limb. It filled him with such violent, earth-shattering rage Tango forgot about the crystal sitting in his pocket. It filled him with so much rage while he couldn’t do anything but listen when Scar started to speak again.

“So! Whaddya think? I’m proud of myself for that one, I mean who else would have come up with putting a control spell on a crystal? Genius, right? It’s really quite easy, to quote Mumbo. You’ve got questions, I’m sure, but I’m not quite qualified to answer them. I’m just your local wizard, after all. I cast the magic, not a clue how it works.” Scar sighed, a slight shrug in his shoulders. “I can try though.”

“Just tell me what the hell you’ve done to me.” Tango’s eyes were bright with fury, and he could hardly spit out the words through his throat thick with anger, voice cracking as he did so. “Now.”

“Were you even listening? Gosh, it’s a control spell, Tango. Simple, too. I just… say what I need you to do, and you listen! All tied to that little crystal you got in your pocket there. Rather convenient for me, you’re like my little helper! I really am sorry for not mentioning it beforehand, I just needed you to take the deal. Think of this as a good thing! We’re very lonely here in the wizard hut after all, and I do believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship.” Tango didn’t do anything but bore into Scar’s soul with his burning eyes. “I apologize for any discomfort, can’t do anything about that I’m afraid. Oh, and don’t mention this to your little crew, okay?”

Tango just stared at Scar, and he only walked out when Scar said he could.

[movedto-bunny-lovers]

Your f/o would help ground you during a panic attack, helping you breathe to the best of their ability. Your f/o would help you calm down and would make sure you were safe with them, too. Your f/o would be worried but caring and would do anything to be there for you.

proship/comship DNI

[bunny-lovers]

Your f/o would help ground you during a panic attack, helping you breathe to the best of their ability. Your f/o would help you calm down and would make sure you were safe with them, too. Your f/o would be worried but caring and would do anything to be there for you.

proship/comship/neutral DNI

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 1: Helpless (Wild & Twilight)

Read on Ao3

And so it begins...

I'm super excited for another whump-filled month! Thank you in advance to everyone coming along with me on this wild ride! Your support means the world to me <33

CW for a panic attack

----------------------------------------------

Wild looks down at his hands. Maybe, that isn’t the best idea at the moment, because they are trembling so violently he thinks that if he picked something up he’d drop it.

And that is not the only thing shaking either. His entire body is. Like the leaves on the trees in Hateno Village, blown wildly about by a hearty wind. 

He breathes in and gains no oxygen from it. This…whatever this is has been coming on all day, squeezing his chest and throat and turning his vision fuzzy at the edges. But now, it has broken free.

He is just glad that he made it to camp before it did. 

Why it even came, he hasn’t a clue. There’s some reason behind it, he’s sure. But it’s not often that he can pinpoint it.

This just happens sometimes, an outpouring of unpleasant emotion he isn’t expecting. A feeling so like the one that had hounded his footsteps throughout his journey to save Hyrule. The terrible, inescapable certainty that the world is going to end. 

But it’s not going to end…at least from what he can see. The sky is a calm, unassuming navy, speckled with stars. The moon glows a golden hue, innocent and merciful. The cheerful voices of his brothers drift to his ears from where they sit, bathed in the warmth of the fire.  

They are safe. He is safe. 

Yet, Wild feels anything but. He feels like a hinox has just sat down on his chest. 

Nearby, someone laughs. Warriors, he thinks. The sound is like a knife driven into his heart. 

Wild curls in on himself. He clasps his hands together, fingernails digging into calloused skin. Desperate tears spring to his eyes and slide hot and fast down his cheeks. Breathing feels useless now, impossible. He’s drowning even as he drags in air. 

His surroundings blur into shades of blue and green.

Get it together, Link, he tells himself, even as a rushing noise floods his ears, followed up by a high-pitched ring. He remembers that sound from before. He heard it so many times – during ceremonies and dances and every other stuffy royal performance that stuck him at the forefront of the people he would fail. When he kneeled before Zelda too. When Ganon attacked and all he could do was run.

You’re fine. It quickly becomes a chant. Everything’s fine. So, just pull yourself…

The sound of footsteps comes crashing through his tumbled thoughts. Whatever wheezing little air he had been able to drag in sticks in his throat. His pounding heart skips several beats.

Wild scrambles to his feet, eyes wide and feet unsteady. He reaches for his sword. But he doesn’t find it.

Oh, yeah. Because it broke the other day. Great. Just great.

The piercing blue eyes that gaze up at him, however, and the slender gray body that curves through the brush with the grace of a serpent are those he knows. A wolf sits down before him.

The panic that has reached a fever pitch dims slightly. Wild chokes out a half-breath.

“Twi.”

Twilight pads toward him, concern in his eyes. 

“Are you alright, cub?” He seems to ask.

“I—” Wild clenches his hands into fists. “I’m…”

Fine. Everything’s fine. Nothing for you to worry about. 

He shakes his head, defeatedly. Tears burn hot behind his eyes. In the next moment, his legs give way beneath him, landing him in a pitiful pile on the ground. 

“I’m not.” It’s a croak torn from a throat too tight for anything else. A truth that Wild wishes he didn’t have to voice and yet, is certain the rancher already knows.

He has never been able to hide anything from him.

Twilight steps forward, as silent as the moon gazing down on them from above. A cool, wet nose presses against Wild’s forehead, hot breath blowing his bangs. Blindly, Wild reaches out. Thick, soft fur meets his clawing fingers. He buries himself in it. 

Twilight smells of the forest and shadow magic — wildflowers and damp leaves and the dew that settles in the early hours of the night. Smoke and something mournful.

Wild breathes it in. His fingertips brush back and forth through the fur, feeling the warmth and fluff beneath them. 

Twilight inhales, and Wild can feel his chest move. His breath hitches. 

The rancher feels real, sounds real, smells real. His presence softens the blows of the terror thrashing about within him, drives aside the sensation that the ground is crumbling beneath his feet. 

He is here. Twilight is here. And they’re okay.

“Okay,” Wild whispers, hoarse and desperate, a plea for his words to be true. Tears streak in steady streams down his cheeks. “We’re o-okay.”

Twilight nuzzles him, gently. “That’s right. We’re okay, cub.”

For now, that traitorous voice whispers, the one that squeezes the air from his lungs and overwhelms him. Until the moment when it all falls apart. When you lose them all. Because you weren’t enough.

“Why?” He can only manage a murmur, strangled and hopeless. “I feel—I feel so helpless, Twi. Why do I — ”

Another sob tears his throat apart. He can’t see past the salty liquid cascading down, can’t feel past the terrible, inescapable pressure in his mind and on his chest. 

It’s too much. Everything is just too much. The noose around him tightens until the breathtaking pain of it is unbearable. 

If he hears one more sound, feels one more sensation, has to fight one more fight, he will explode. He is certain of it.

So trapped in the prison of terror is he that Wild hardly realizes it when fur turns to the soft cloth of a tunic. Arms encircle him and pull him close. A heart beats steadily in his ears.

He clings to that noise and the promise it contains, however temporary it might be. And he clings to the sound of Twilight’s voice washing over him like a wave, assuring him that it will be alright, that he is safe, that he is anything but helpless. 

…That he doesn’t need to be invincible to protect those he loves.

“You’re stronger than you know, cub. And you’ve made me proud. But you don’t have to be strong all the time. You can’t and that’s alright.”

And though Wild can’t bring himself to truly believe that — maybe he never will, maybe that horrible tightness will remain a permanent fixture in his chest — he curls into his brother and tries to trust. 

[irondad-defensesquad]

unmade

Also posted on AO3!

TRIGGER WARNING - anxiety/panic attack

DO NOT SHIP PETER AND TONY, NOR PETER AND RHODEY. P/ROSHIP DNI.

--

Peter wants to cry.

He really wants to cry.

But he can’t do that now, right? Not in front of Mr. Stark, and least of all in front of Colonel Rhodes, who doesn’t always come to visit. Peter has to show them that he’s doing great, that he’s worthy of being there.

The tears keep trying to break free. His eyes are drowning; but Peter won’t let them come out, he won’t let them breathe.

He knows that, if he does, they won’t stop.

His chest hurts like there’s something inside that’s screaming to get out.

How long is it going to last?

Why now?

Peter can’t make up an excuse to leave the room and cry a little, they’re going to suspect it, and Peter is afraid he won’t be able to mask it.

He’s listening to Mr. Stark’s and Rhodes’ MIT stories, not quite paying attention to them.

Peter can feel it coming.

Like he’s going to vomit.

He does feel a little sick.

It’s like poison.

Lava.

It burns.

It corrodes him.

Peter suddenly stands up. Quite abruptly. He almost falls.

The conversation stops.

The whole room stares.

“… I gotta, uhhhh, use the bathroom real quick!” Peter rushes outside of the lab, without elaborating further.

He doesn’t get to hear the other men’s response as he ponders. He can’t go to the restroom, it’s going to be suffocating.

The big window gives him an answer.

Peter takes the elevator to go to the balcony. He needs air. He needs air.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. is talking to him but he can’t understand her.

Thankfully, he gets up there. The moment he does, he drops on the floor, already panting.

He swallows, scared he might throw up.

But the tears, finally, fall.

Peter sobs, sobs the loudest he can, growls, for some reason. He’s angry. Why?

It fucking stings.

Did he get bit by another spider that he isn’t aware of?

That must be it, right?

He’s dying. He must be dying.

Peter wants to cry for help.

But he can’t, he’s Spider-Man. He’s Spider-Man.

He’s…

…

…

“There,” someone says from not too far.

Peter can barely see through the tears, only two figures that try to approach without making it worse.

Another voice, closer to him, but keeping distance, calls:

“Kid?”

Oh, no, Mr. Stark can’t see him like this!

Peter hides but to no avail.

“Kid, you don’t have to hide,” Mr. Stark notices. “Oh, bud, you’ve been bottling this up all day, huh?”

He doesn’t sound irritated.

“I won’t think any less of you, okay?” The man reassures.

“Me neither, kid,” Colonel Rhodes adds. “You’re a real fighter, you know that?”

Mr. Stark sighs, stepping a little closer. He might be kneeling down next to Peter.

“I know it’s scary, kiddo. You must feel like you’re dying. You don’t have to go through it on your own, okay? You don’t deserve to hurt alone.”

Peter won’t stop crying. Honestly, he might cry more hearing his mentor’s words.

“I-I didn’t”– he sobs –“I didn’t w-want to…”

He can’t finish the sentence, but it seems like Mr. Stark heard it anyway.

“Okay. Let’s focus on something else. Let’s try breathing a bit, alright?”

“I-I can’t breathe, Mr. Stark. It hurts- too much.”

“I can imagine.” There’s a pause. “Can I touch you?”

Peter nods, swallowing.

“Tell me to stop if you feel worse, okay?”

And then, there’s a hand on Peter’s back, rubbing up and down.

Slowly.

Peter focuses on that.

It takes a while, as Mr. Stark also rubs his back in circles, before Peter realizes the touch might be calming the thing inside him down.

He breathes. It hurts. But it hurts less now.

“Yeah, that’s right. You’re doing great,” Mr. Stark praises him.

The teenager cries, but not to the point of being overwhelming.

It’s more out of relief, not panic.

Peter also relaxes, as in, not holding onto himself too tightly, to the point of hurting his skin.

As he no longer cowers, Mr. Stark squeezes his shoulder and rubs it with his thumb.

Peter breathes.

He breathes now.

…

Peter shyly glances at his mentor, who doesn’t berate him for breaking down.

“You can count on me, kid. And you can count on Rhodey, too. You won’t be getting in the way, okay?”

Colonel Rhodes smiles at him, still standing on his feet.

“You want a hug?” Mr. Stark suggests.

“Um. Really?” Peter can’t contain his surprise and yet the desperate ‘yes’. “You’re not just doing it because—”

“Is that a yes or a no?” Mr. Stark rolls his eyes, but more affectionately than anything.

The teen gulps. “Yes.” Please.

The man wraps his arms around Peter, the two on the same level. Mr. Stark might squeeze him a little bit. Peter then feels bad for probably scaring him and Colonel Rhodes. But for now, he doesn’t apologize.

The hug doesn’t last long, but it’s more than enough.

“If you’re up to it,” Mr. Stark begins, “we can anticipate our movie marathon.”

“O-Oh, that’d be cool.”

His mentor helps him stand up.

“You okay?”

“Y-Yeah. Thanks.”

Mr. Stark doesn’t completely let go of Peter, wrapping an arm around him, likely so the latter won’t fall.

Colonel Rhodes also pats Peter’s back and tells him, “Hey, kid, you can have all my ice cream if you want.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.”

“You can have Tony’s too.”

“Hey,” Mr. Stark glares.

Peter snorts, his smile not fading as the two men snark at each other.

[whumpneto]

Jamie Dornan as Dr. Leslie Ferrier in A Haunting in Venice (2023)