Tw Panic Attack - Tumblr Posts

(as if summoned Argos runs in, looking for tele before running over to them.)

“Antinous-“

- @the-prince-telemachus

He looks over, wiping the wine from his lips, “What-”

"Hell raising, hair raising,

I'm ready for the worst.

So frightening, face whitening,

Fear that you can't reverse.

My phone has no signal...

It's making my skin crawl...

The silence is so loud.

The lights spark and flicker

With monsters much bigger

Than I can control now."

~

-Panic Room, Au/Ra

Whumptober No.18

He might've gotten out, but... That doesn't mean it's over.

(Click for better quality)

TW: venting about my whole ass panic attack. So yeah

So I'm literally in tears rn. My acne flared up really bad. My nose is to big. My lips are too small. My hair just won't work with me. I may be skinny isn't good when your face looks like God hit you 1000000000000000000000x with the ugly stick.

My brother decided to say, "It's not that bad. Why are you upset?"

Easy to say when you have every female in the world falling at your feet.

Like all my siblings got the attractive gene & my genes decided I'd be the ugly one.

My teeth are messed up to. Not lined up, under bite. Got scars lining my body so that's another flaw to add.

Why would anyone decide to date me.

The guy I was dating kill himself. I would to if I was dating me.

He didn't even leave my ugly ass a note. Such a shame ig.

Got ADHD, Bipolar, ODD, Generalized Anxiety, Depression, PTSD, & now possibly falling on the Autism spectrum.

Ugly af

Annoying af

Always fall in everyone's shadows. Only this person's younger sister or this persons older sister maybe this other person's daughter.

Can't even make a name for myself. Sometimes I wish I'd disappear. I was suppose to have a twin. If she made it maybe it'd be better.

School is stressing me out. I somehow passed last year. Kind of tired.

I'm just tired.

No matter how hard I try or how hard I work. Nothing will ever be enough.

Not for me, my mum, my siblings, my friends, my teachers, no one. I'm never enough.

I have a panic attack my mum decides the cry.

What gives her the right. She looks great. She's witty, kind, independent, knows what she wants. So why is she crying. Literally nothing happened.

You're crying cause I'm upset & making everyone else upset. Literally not my fault I'm having a panic attack while looking in the mirror.

Hell now I've started starving myself. Afraid of weight gain ig

I lie. Say how cool my family is. How I don't care whether I am skinny or not. Lie that I'm not ugly or pretty. I lie. Straight through my teeth.

I pretend my life is so great.

No.

I never have been close with my mum. I've always wanted to. Seems everytime I start to I get pushed back.

My mother is proud of all my other siblings.

I gave up on art. I was like 12 or 13. I went to show my mother a drawing.

My mother told me to shut up as my older brother & sister were gonna sing. She couldn't even wait one second to take a glance.

When she decided to look. After praising her oh so talented children. She just said my drawing was cool.

I flushed that drawing down the toilet.

I've decided that I'll just not try.

I'm 16 atm. I try to impress my mother. Be a oh so good kid.

Never one glance.

Where did I go wrong.

My ex boyfriend gave me hope. Maybe someone could love me. Someone could find a way to look past all my flaws & see some beauty that I just couldn't see.

But the rope he hung from could say different.

No goodbye, no letter. Nothing.

Last words were him breaking up with me in a group chat without notifying me .

Having to find out through someone he hates.

Someone who he despises knew.

Then when I joined. He just ridiculed me. Put me down. Kept saying cruel words. Just to break up. Then leave this world.

I know I wasn't the cause. That his world came to an end. But why?

I've only ever looked at the bright side. Wanted to help others. Sit by those who hurt. Helping others gave me purpose. Hope that maybe I one day could.

My mother's name is Hope though. Even she couldn't believe in me. How ironic. The woman who gave birth to me is named Hope. Yet any hope she could've had in me never met my eyes.

I would leave the world as well. I guess I just like the challenge. Tried to leave a couple times. Each one a fail. For 6 minutes & few seconds. My heart stopped. I was at peace. Then my heart decides to beat again. Body decides to work again.

October 23rd 2018. Was my near death experience. Was great honestly. Sadly death just won't take me. No matter how much I've tried. Even death doesn't want me.

How ironic. Death takes everyone. Yet not me.

Take people I care about. Not me though.

I gave up on attempting suicide. Never leads me to death.

I just kind of exist now.

Mother won't let me get a job. Won't let me pierce even my ears.

She says she cares yet victim cards Trump all.

I weirdly love my family though.

My mother saved me from going to foster care. Plus my father was abusive. The memories that'll never leave haven't grown because of her.

Yet it seems I really was just part of the package.

To care for any of the others. I was just the con.

She showed up to my football practice in 8th grade.

She looked so proud & congratulated me on knocking guys 10x my height down. For once she was proud.

One of my matches she showed up to. I was knocked down by a kid. Are team lost. Any hope she had in me. I could see disappear.

She lectured me after. Saying how I could've done better.

I quit the team. Coach said that I shouldn't. It just wasn't as full filing when the person who gives birth to you. Well the one you spend all your time trying to make proud. Look at you with cold eyes.

I had a choir concert not even a year ago. I did the whole thing. Hoping maybe she walk in. See that I was overcoming my fear of singing on stage.

She texted me once I was done. She waited outside the entire time.

Didn't take the time to come in. I thought maybe she was doing something. Shopping or riding around. No. She just sat in the parking lot.

It hurts. I lost my childhood. Lost someone I loved. Lost any hope of my mum being proud. Lost my pride. Lost any love for myself. Lost any meaning for my life.

I've given up. Won't kill myself.

Wouldn't give myself the satisfaction. Plus I've tried to many times. Shot my shot. Missed everyone besides one that I rimmed & missed.

Guess I'll live just to survive. Then die peacefully in life.

Maybe I'll die saving someone. That'd be good to. Be remembered as someone who saved someone .

Well thx for reading ig

Day 7 June of Doom: What Happened? (Stumbling) (tw panic attack, identity crisis)

This had to be a nightmare... this couldn't be real. But that way Belos had looked at him, the branches snapping under his feet, the underbrush snapping at his legs and tearing holes in his pants. This wasn't a dream. This was all too real. All Hunter could do was run. Run as far as he could. His legs stung and ached, and he was struggling to breathe.

Eventually he couldn't run anymore, stumbling to a stop before collapsing onto the floor. He was crouched down on the muddy ground, breathing heavily. Everything was fuzzy and he felt so light headed and overwhelmed. Belos he... he never cared... all these years... all the people he hurt, *killed* for that man...

Everything was a lie. He had never given two shits about Hunter. He was just a replaceable puppet, something once Belos was done playing with he could cast away without another thought. Hunter felt sobs wracking his body, hot tears running down his face. He could feel Flapjack nuzzling against his neck, trying to get him to calm down, and while he appreciated it it only helped a little. Not enough to stop his hyperventilation and the tears running down his face.

He had no meaning. He wasn't some important "Golden Guard", just a replaceable pawn. Hunter wasn't even a *witch*, just some monster that shouldn't exist, just like the basilisks hidden in the deepest cells of the palace. He couldn't even go back to that palace. Belos knew he was in there. He would kill the boy the moment he got back, that was fully what he had intended to do back in his mind. He had nowhere to go, no one to turn to, nothing to-

"Breathe, little prince." A voice said, and Hunter felt a hand on his shoulder that gently pressed him down to be sitting. "Breathe with me, yeah?" Darius said in a voice Hunter hardly recognized from his usually mocking voice. Hunter looked up slightly, tears still running down his cheeks, still shaking a ton.

Then he felt arms wrap around him, and he came to the realization Darius had hugged him. He felt Darius's breathing, felt his heartbeat. Hunter let out a choked sob, burying his face into Darius's shoulder. It was hard to steady his breathing, but the sound of Darius's heartbeat was weirdly grounding, and once the boy could think straight he started trying to match his breathing to Darius's.

Darius gently rubbed the boys back, a look of concern on his face. How long had it been since Hunter had ran from the Owl House? How long had it been since his life came crashing down on him? He had no idea. He just stayed in Darius's firm embrace, his panic subsiding into fear and guilt. Then Hunter hugged back, sniffling quietly, never wanting to move from the new embrace.

Never wanting to face the truth.

@juneofdoom

// panic attack mention

had a panic attack infront of my parents and they did nothing :)) might end up at a mental hospital :)) get me out of here

Whumptober Day 2: Regret (Alt Prompt)

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Summary: After a long day, Luke starts thinking about his decision to join Kronos while trying to get ready to take a shower.

    It had been a long day. Luke walked into his room, a place he hadn't been in over for 24 hours. He slammed his sword down on his desk and sat down on his bed, putting his head in his hands. After a moment, he stood back up and walked over to the closet that was tucked into a corner. As he grabbed a towel he walked back into the middle of the room.

    Kneeling down, Luke unlaced his boots. Then he took off his shoes and socks. Placing them by the door, the demigod grabbed his towel and walked to his bathroom. When he walked in, he turned the light on and then the water. The man didn't touch the cold water handle.

    Leaning against the wall, the lieutenant sighed. After tugging his shirt off, he slowly pulled bandages and wraps off of his arms and hands. Luke stared at his arms. They were lined with scares. Some, he remembered where they were from and others he didn't. They weren't pretty, at least not to him.

    Looking up, Luke met his own eyes in the mirror. Then his eyes looked down. Scars stained his body. They reminded him of everything that had happened to him and if everything he had done. Slowly, he looked back up at himself. Staring back in his blue eyes, Luke's eyes glanced over at the scar over his eye. It was larger than it had been years ago when he had gotten it.

    Before he thought about it, Luke raised a hand to his face. Gentler then had been to himself in a long time, he traced the scar. Holding up the sky had torn the wound back open. The demigod remembered the dragon's claw and he remembered trying to get the slash to stop bleeding.

    Looking back into the mirror, he thought about the second time he had to fix the wound. Thinking about the blood that poured down his face made him angry. Thinking about the Gods had him angrier. However, thinking of the way he was treated with Kronos's forces made him resentful of everything he stood for.

    All the sleepless nights and excessive training that had been destroying him, the thought of not being in control of his own body, and the memories of the family he had left behind for something 'great' all hit him at once. Before Luke knew it, his fist was in the mirror. There were small, sharp shards of glass in his hand and blood dripping down his arm and the mirror.

    Pulling his hand away, the demigod looked at the remaining glass on the wall. His left eye reflected back at him.

    How could he do this? Had Luke really let anger destroy him? How could he let this happen? Looking at his shaking and bloody hand, the man slid down the wall. Tears fell from his eyes. The steam in the bathroom made it harder to breathe.

    It wasn't the first time the demigod regretted his decision. Luke was tired and worn. "This isn't right." He thought. 'I should leave.' Going to stand, Luke fell back to the floor, overwhelmed. Pulling himself against the tub wall, he turned the water back off. Then he sank back to the floor.

    Slamming his head against the wall, he sighed. "I don't want this." As the truth settled in his heart, Luke knew he had made a grave mistake. Looking back at his hands, every sin he had committed painted his pale hands red. The blood may have been his, but it didn't feel like it anymore. It felt like sick symbolism that made his want to watch the blood cover his floor until he bleed out. "I don't want this."

There is not enough time to explain what he's hiding but all I can say right now is what he is hiding is hurting him mentally you need to go find him right now

Was Kakashi sleeping in the kitchen so that he's closer to the sink for when he has his regular nightly panick attacks and needs to excessively wash his hands?

Also time can only help wounds with proper treatment. If you let it get infected and do nothing about it, time's just gonna make it worse.

pushed play on today’s run of naruto episodes and immediately got socked with baby kakashi obsessively washing his hands bc of nightmares about killing his dead friend. this show doesn’t fuck around anymore

Somehow Supernatural

Chapter 2: It's All Starting to Feel Real

Tags: poc!oc, gn!oc, teen!oc, panic attack, heavy cursing, Dean always needs his own warning, self-deprecating thoughts, mentions of anxiety, Cas not taking a hint, Deanstiel (or whatever the fuck Dean and Cas's ship name is), general chaos

Summary: The Winchesters and Cas have a meeting about Casey. It doesn't go too well, and Casey realizes what shit their stuck in.

Words: 2,675

I kinda felt like I was gonna vomit. Not because I needed to vomit, but because my tum-tum was doing flips and turns like a fucking rollercoaster due to my crippling anxiety. Usually, I would do little exercises that helped me regulate like my mom taught me, but that just reminded me that I was in a different universe where I might not be able to see my mom - or anyone I knew in real life - ever again. These consistent, little thoughts did not help my already upside-down stomach.

I was sitting in the bunker, in the room with the table that has the big map of the world. I liked to call this room the “meeting room” when I watched the show because… they met people in the meeting room. Come on, it was like the foyer of the bunker so everyone had to pass through it to fight and argue and shiz.

Anyway, I was sitting in the meeting room surrounded by men that I never thought I’d ever meet in person. Maybe the reason for my anxious tum was because of the “omg-smexy-men-are-staring-at-me” effect. If so… give me an anxiety stomach ache every day.

Dean sat straight across from me at the map table. Even though he wasn’t in pouncing position anymore, he was still on guard; which, I mean, valid. All that shit he’s gone through definitely made him a tough cookie. 

Castiel was standing right behind Dean’s chair like a guardian angel. I mean, literally right behind. He was basically breathing down the hunter's neck. Maybe he liked the smell.

And Sam.

Oh. Sammy. Boy!

He had his ass sat directly on the table and was staring at me in wonder. Sam’s hair was hanging in his face at an angle that was just… perfect. It was also the perfect length, not short enough to make him look like he was 15 and not long enough where he looked crusty. Did I mention that he looked fucking perfect? Honestly, if I didn’t know any better I would’ve thought Sam was the angel.

No offense, Cas.

All three attractive men were gathered around the meeting table to discuss me. Me! I was kinda feeling myself and basking in the attention that I was getting from multiple hot men before I realized something a bit alarming.

Dean, Castiel, and Sam… were deciding what to do with me. I wouldn’t put it past Dean if he decided to kill me or abandon me in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. He doesn’t seem like the type to have a father instinct for just some random teen.

…or maybe whoever’s body I’m occupying is important to him.

“Y’all gonna talk or just stare?” I asked. Yes, during my whole internal monologue full of ogling men and withering away from anxiety, not a single person talked. They gave each other looks, but they didn’t utter a word. 

Someone finally decided to speak up after realizing how weird they were being.

“So…” Sam started. He had his hand thoughtfully under his chin. I thought I might mention it because it almost took me out, “You just appeared out of nowhere?”

“I mean, I guess so. I’m just as confused as you guys are,” I spin in my chair, “Honestly, I thought I was just having one of my regularly scheduled psychedelic dreams but then, I woke up with Dean in my face.”

“A dream?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah, dude, a dream. I was basically floating in this void and then I started hearing someone telling me to wake up and then… Dean’s face.” I took another twirl in my chair. 

The guys looked like they were trying to solve a puzzle. They had their thinking caps on full blast, you should have seen their faces. 

“Did you try the usual holy water, sliver, cross stuff?” Sam turned to Dean in question.

“Yeah,” Dean replied.

I get trying to make sure I’m not a bad type of baddie, but he could have used his non-dominant hand so it wouldn’t be as hard cause damn. That shit really hurt.

“They didn’t try to attack you?” Sam continued.

“No.”

“Then, I think we should be good for now. We can let them stay here since they seem discombobulated,” Bless you, Sam. You’re the greatest of all these fuckers.

“But if they try anything, they're out,” Cas nodded along with Dean’s words. The angel barely even looked like he was listening to what Dean was actually saying, “And if we figure out you were lying about who you are, I will find a way to send you to hell. Trust me.” 

Go shit on a brick, Dean. And you too Cas, agreeing with Dean like a lost puppy. 

“Okay…” I muttered. I didn’t really like the idea of dying, especially if it was in someone else’s body, but what could I have done? Said no? Been kicked to the curb? I’m not really worth anything to them so-

…wait.

“You never told me, whose body is this?” 

All of a sudden, it got a little awkward. Sam’s cheeks were pink and Dean was avoiding my eyes. Even Cas looked a little weird.

“Well-” Dean started.

“We-” 

“Sam found the kid on a hunt and couldn’t help but save them. They almost died, but Sammy got Cas to heal them,” Dean blurted. Sam’s face turned a dark red now that the truth was out to the masses.

“W-well you cared about them enough to train them!” Sam retorted. Now it was Dean’s turn for a red face. 

“You brought them stacks of books!”

“You made them your big bacon breakfast…three times! I can barely get you to cook for me!”

“You eat salad. I’m not making a fucking salad for a meal!” 

“It’s good for your body! Your body will rot away from all the red meat you eat!”

“At least I’m not eating rabbits' food!”

“You know,” Cas finally piped up, “The kid was bound to die.”

Silence. Damn, dude. That was a bit harsh, wasn’t it? From what I heard just now, the Winchester brothers really liked this kid. It kind of makes me feel bad for pushing them from their own body, but… what was Cas saying?

“They were meant to die the night of the hunt. Right on the floor of their living room where you found them. It was their fate. It was a miracle I was able to heal them and it was almost impossible for them to survive a month like they did,” Sam and Dean were getting pissed. Castiel - bless his heart - didn’t seem to notice, “They were never supposed to have formed relations with you two because you weren’t supposed to meet them while they were still alive.”

Poor Cas and his sucky communication skills. Now due to his harsh words, the angel’s collar was being winkled by Dean’s man hands. Castiel didn’t look alarmed at all. I wasn’t sure if it was because Dean was a mere human or because the majority of the Supernatural fandom was right about these two.

“Shut up,” Dean seethed. Sam was hovering behind Dean either waiting his turn to get a lick in or making sure Dean didn’t take it too far. I was now feeling really bad because this was all making a bit of sense. I finally understood why Castiel didn’t seem fazed by my sudden appearance, why he’s been saying all this shit about how this person should be dead already.

Speaking of Castiel, he was just letting Dean choke him up against the table. I knew he didn’t really need my help in the situation, but I was starting to feel a little awkward just sitting there. It’s way different seeing these men fight when they’re on screen and I’m in a whole other world looking like a mole rat on my couch. 

With courage that I didn’t know I had, I muttered, “Guys… I need to take a shit. Real bad.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at me in… surprise? Disgust? Both? It didn’t really matter what they thought of my statement, all that mattered was Castiel’s insensitive words were forgotten. For now.

Fingers combing through his hair, Sam sighed, “Come on then,” he said, walking off. He expected me to follow him and I did. To the best of my ability. He’s got long fucking legs, so he’s got even longer fucking strides. I had to practically run and I’m of average height!

Sam finally stopped at the door to the bathroom. I didn’t actually have to shit, but I figured I could use this opportunity of aloneness to recoup, realign, and do all things zen. 

Closing the door to the bathroom, I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. Today was one of the weirdest days of my life. I wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad weird yet, but it was weird. I never thought I would travel to a different universe. I never thought I would ever meet the Winchesters. I never thought I would get to walk with my own two feet - mostly - through the bunker that I’ve adored for years. 

What the hell brought me here? I wasn’t really complaining, but I still have to wonder. Was this planned? Was this person’s body kept alive for me to go in it? Do I have to save this world somehow? Am I connected to something here? Was this fate like Castiel mentioned?

I sat on the toilet seat feeling pretty lost. I wasn’t sure why it was so bright in the fucking bathroom, but it was bothering me so I slammed my face onto my lap. It was dark and warm and what I really needed at the moment. 

I know, a really sharp change in my emotions, but that’s just how it be sometimes. Perhaps being alone right now wasn’t the best decision. Usually, being alone worked, but now it felt like there were 20-pound weights on my shoulders, and it was getting kind of hard to breathe. It was also really hot, so I started squirming on the toilet seat like that was gonna cool me off.  I don’t know what I thinking because that’s not how heat works.

Then, I thought I could sit on the floor and continue my deep ponder about how the fuck I got into this situation, but I finally realized I was having a panic attack and didn’t really want to move. I found that if I moved, I would black out or it would be 10 times worse, but who knows, maybe this body works differently.

So, I moved to the floor. The floor was nice and cool, but then I started thinking about spiders because I was on the floor in an underground bathroom and spiders here really made sense. I wanted to get back on the toilet, but my body didn’t wanna listen. So now, I was a lump of a human on the bathroom floor that was probably shivering, but I couldn’t really feel my body anymore.

I wonder why when my body’s panicking my thoughts are calmer than when my body’s not panicking. It doesn’t really make sense. Like, none of my thoughts were screaming at me or telling me to do stupid shit. They were just calmly saying stuff like ‘you should get up’ or ‘there might be spiders here’ or ‘your probably gonna die, but take your time’. 

Yeah, the calm thoughts were definitely worst.

Now I recognized the feeling of tears falling down my face and I felt pretty pathetic. I mean, what the fuck was I crying for? Nothing was wrong. They hadn’t killed me yet. I’d always wanted to travel to another world, but I guess my body couldn’t take it. Wait! This wasn’t even my fucking body!

“So goddamn pathetic,” I wheezed. My right cheek was pressed against the floor and when I talked I could feel the tears smearing all over the place and it gave me the ick, but I couldn’t stop myself from crying. 

I love to mention the fact that I have a superiority complex, but I never talk about the opposite of that. My dandy ‘you’re a fucking loser and will never do anything in your life’ complex. It always sneaks up on me at the worst times, like when I’m supposed to be enjoying myself in another universe for crying out loud, and makes me feel more worthless than - fucking - everything. It makes me wanna crawl into a hole and never come back out.

Feeling worthless and having a panic attack simultaneously isn’t the best. It means not only can you not breathe, but you also don’t feel like trying. So, I laid on the floor of the bathroom and didn’t do any of the breathing exercises that my therapist taught me. I just waited to black out.

“Hey, kid, you doing okay in there?” Sam’s voice sounded so far away. I could barely hear it. My lungs were starting to hurt from lack of air, so I curled my aching body into a pathetic little ball.

Pathetic.

“Did you hear me?” Sam sounded. I didn’t move a muscle. I wasn’t surprised when I heard his footsteps getting farther from the door. Of course, he would abandon me. Even I would abandon myself. I was so damn pathetic that I didn’t deserve to be cared for.

Bang!

“Kid! What the hell?” Sam’s voice was now closer. Was it odd that I could smell him? Was I really that desperate for someone that I was imagining things?

So fucking pathetic.

Strong arms lifted me off the floor. I was now pushed against a firm chest and not cold tiles. I don’t think I was imagining this, but I wasn’t gonna get my hopes up. I couldn’t see much because of the tears, so I just snuggled deeper into Sam’s flannel.

More footsteps approached. More voices.

“What the hell happened?”

“They were in the bathroom and I heard sobbing, but they wouldn’t answer the door.”

“Are they hurt?” 

“No, I think they’re having a panic attack.”

“A what?”

“A panic attack, Dean. I’m just gonna get them to lay down somewhere other than the floor.”

“The floor? Did they pass out?”

Sam brushed my hair back to see my face, “Maybe. They’re awake now.”

When we got to the couch, Sam put me down and crouched in front of me. He was looking into my eyes while I was trying to look at his. 

“Breathe with me,” Sam whispered gently. 

I tried to do what he said, but my lungs were burning. Every breath I tried to take would come out shaky or devolve into a sob. Sam slowly took my hands, giving me a chance to pull away, and continued breathing with me. It took a while, but soon I was breathing steadily and my crying had stopped.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

I nodded.

“You want some water?” 

I nodded again.

“Dean?” Sam turned to his brother that was standing behind him, “Mind getting them some water?”

Before Dean could move Castiel appeared with a glass of water in hand. I hadn’t even noticed he had left. The angel handed me the glass and while I gulped it down, he stayed hovered over me. He looked really worried, but I wasn’t sure why.

“Does this happen a lot?” Sam questioned. His hand was still holding one of mine. It was comforting.

“Yeah,” I croaked, “No big deal.”

“Is there something wrong with them?” The shorter brother asked.

“Nah, I’m just kinda sensitive,” I huffed, “Kind of hoped I wouldn’t have to deal with that in this body.”

“Sorry you have to,” said Sam, “I know how it feels.”

Well, well, well. One of my personal headcannons was true. 

I gave Sam a smile and finally let go of his hand. I didn’t really wanna talk about this anymore.

“So, you guys got anything to eat?”

I used my own experience with panic attacks to write the scene in this chapter, so if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.

AN: loved this chapter sm. I really like the tone of this fanfiction and I'm gonna try to keep it like this so when it gets dark... well- it doesn't get too depressing.

Hope you enjoyed!

(Tw panic attack, Social Anxiety)

Social Anxiety just made me have a full blown panic attack. Why you ask? Because the intro was scary and i didnt know anyone. Yep. Im just so brave. Went down crying. barely managed to get out of the lesson before crying. Im just the spitting image of bravery.

Nightmares

SO i had a nightmare and like imma talk about it below here so if it is a huge trigger cause this WILL get gory soon, please pop off! Go on sometime diffrent for a little while! I’ll give each post after this a warning in the title so you can skip it :)

Okay, Hi! I'm not sure if you're taking requests at the moment but is it okay that I ask for a lil something? So, I've been looking for Vincent Van Gogh x Readers FOR EVER and can never find any. If I can, can I request a Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High) x Reader? Maybe a clone of a great artist (made up haha) and is struggling with living up to their legacy? Good make for some good Angst/Fluff 😶

I gotchu! It's in my bio if anything 😉 Before I write this, here you have other amazing blogs that have written/are writing for Vin from Clone high:

@tearsofaclonehighfan

@clone-high-imagines

@thesfwwildsophia

Perfect in his eyes

Pairing: Vincent van Gogh x reader

Summary: Your art teacher is a mean prick who definktely shouldn't teach art. When he startd to compare you to the famous artist, which you are a clone of, you can't take it. Luckilly, Vincent won't let you suffer alone.

Warnings: insecurities, panic attack, bullying by teacher

A/N: (O/N) - original person's name, I hope this isn't too long for you 😅

Let happy Vinny bring you comfort 😌

* * * * *

Being an artist was...nice, most of the time. Most of your lessons were pretty chill and you could really use your imagination and come up with new, interesting ideas and test your skills with each new piece.

Yeah, being an artist was pretty cool...

Until you got an assignment that is.

Most of your classmates never had any problems with assignments, some of them even preferred being given a topic for a drawing or a painting, but not you.

You hated being given a track that your piece had to follow. You loved to be creative with what you do and so the mundane topics like 'nature' 'city' 'a portrait' felt more like handcuffs than something to spike inspiration in you.

So naturally, you tried to push these boundaries as far as you could, just to see how much you could deviate from the original task.

The teachers, of course, didn't like that at all.

Another assignment turned in, another time period of waiting for the results. Another art class and yet another scolding...

"I would like for our dear (Y/N) to stand up, but only, of course, if that doesn't restrain their creativity." those were the teasing words of your teacher, dripping eith venom.

Not trying to agitate the man even more, you slowly stood up, looking him right in the eye with defiance. "I don't know how standing up would restrain my creativity." you said lowly, trying to match his venomous tone "But I know a thing that would." you finished with a smirk.

Your teacher sighed, trying to stay calm "As you all know" he adressed the class "the theme of your work was 'lovers'." he turned his attention back to you "Would you be so kind, (Y/N), and explain what is this?!" he held up your piece of three skeletons, dressed in elegant robes, dancing the night away while gazing lovingly at each other. Well...as much as they could...

"Those are lovers who even death didn't do apart." you calmly explained. "And why exactly are there three of them?" your teacher raised his eyebrows. You just shrugged "Why wouldn't there be?"

The man just huffed from the comfort of his chair and shook his head "When I said the theme was 'lovers', I meant it as real lovers. As if a realistic piece! Real people! I'm grading this work an F."

Now that made you angry. Not only did he interrogate you every time you handed in a new piece, but now he wants to grade it poorly even though you worked your ass off to create this? Seriously?? Does he know how many allnighters you had to pull to make it perfect?? "You told us to get creative!" You complained, done with this mans bullshit.

Your teacher looked apalled. How dare you raise your voice at him?! "I didn't mean-" But you wouldn't give him the chance to finish "Like that. You wanted us to get creative, but no, not like that. That's too much. Too creative. You're too close to being original and open minded individuals!" you mocked him, fake fright in your voice.

Your teacher, sensing you had him cornered, but refusing to let a teenager win, tried to blabber out "Well, if I'd let everyone do as they please, I wouldn't have to bother setting a theme!" "And maybe that would be for the better!"

Suddenly, a dark look set in his face. Your teacher abruptly stood up and slammed his hands on his desk "I am very dissapointed by your attitude! Do you know where will your disobedience get you? Do you?! Out on the street, that's where!"

His shouting made you flinch. When your teacher saw that, he smiled triumphantly. He was getting to you. With an almost sadistic satisfaction, he decided to push on "What do you think (O/N) would think of you, huh? Just think about how dissapointed she'd be in you. You've been given such a great talent and instead of pursuing (O/N)'s legacy you only do what you want. Do you think that's really necessary (Y/N)?"

You couldn't stand it. The fake honey like tone in his voice, the fake interest in you as a person. How he compared you to (O/N), as if tou weren't your own fucking person, but just a clone.

Your stomach twisted at the feeling of all of your classmates' eyes on you, waiting for a smart rebuttal, but you couldn't form a coherent sentence.

Everybody was still looking at you! Couldn't the teacher just tell you to sit already? Breathing was becoming harder by the second, you could feel cold sweat sprout on you forhead, your throat was dry like a desert and everybody was still. Looking. At. You.

And so you ran.

You bolted out of your seat, forgetting all about your stuff, and rushed out of the classroom.

You couldn't see it, but your teacher had a smile on his face, too drunk on his victory to see the tears streaming down your face or the obvious signs of an oncoming panic attack.

Meanwhile you made it around the corner, before your legs gave up. Luckily, you could fit yourself under the school staircase leading to another floor.

You huddled up next to the wall and hugged your knees to your chest, finally letting the tears freely flow.

You remained in the same position even after the bell rang and the halls were swarmed with students. You managed to calm down a little bit, but the lesson was playing in your head over and over and every time it did, new flow of tears came out.

Before you could start panicking about next lessons and how you were going to mask that you've been crying, let alone face your classmates, a familiar shy voice softly called out to you "Hey, uh, are you ok?" the voice said as you felt a tiny body slide next to you.

You rubbed your eyes to see more clearly over the tears and saw your tiny classmate, Vincent.

He looked worried as he scanned you over with those adorable blue eyes of his, his lips pursed into a thin line, his orange hair sticking out fromhis bandages.

"What are you doing here, Vinc? You'll be late for class." you hiccupped and turned your head away from him, facing the wall.

Vincent only shook his head "Doesn't matter, I just want to make sure you're ok." he searched for more words "That was pretty terrible back there."

As if on cue, at the mention of the incident in class, a new flow of tears made their way out of your eyes. "Please don't talk about it." you croaked, voice choked by your tears. The tiny redhead rapidly shook his head.

For a while, both of you were silent. You were desperately trying not to break down against Vincent and he was wrecking his brain, trying to find a way to soothe you at least a little bit.

"Do you...wanna talk about it?" he asked uncertainly, afraid to worsen your state. You sniffed for a bit and burried your head in your knees "I overreacted I guess..." you sighed "I just...He was right. I'll never be like them. I never was even remotely like them, not personality-wise, not even artistically-wise. I'm really not doing them any justice Vinc." you forced it out of yourself before sobbing again.

You felt the tiny painter lean against you and then he muttered "That doesn't have to be a bad thing, y'know?" You turned your head to look at him, one eyebrow quizzicaly raised. "I mean, look at me." Vincent chuckled and gestured to himself "I'm probably too much like the original van Gogh..." suddenly, Vincent slouched a little "Sometimes I wish I could be someone else. Maybe life wouldn't be as hard as it is."

You couldn't help but hug him. Vincent made a startled sound at that unexpected contact, but relaxed after a second and snuggled more into you. "Don't say shit like that, Vin. You're perfect the way you are. And I wouldn't want you any different." You pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

"That applies to you too, y'know?" he mumbled into your chest, looking up at your face.

You giggled, your tearstained cheeks turning apple like red. And at that moment you two decided to ditch school and just stay there.

Just two teens, perfect for each other.

One | Two | Three

-

hurt/comfort

you ever been with your fam having a good time

and suddenly youre back in a terrible no good prison dimension

and you cant tell whats real

cuz same

-

a short story about flashbacks and veterans

One | Two | Three

-

you ever need someone outside your family

to make you have the hard conversations

whether you want it or not

cuz same

-

also! warm water/ice/smelling something strong (like lemons!) can help ground people who are having a panic/flashback

i swear by the warm mug of water

The next chapter is up for my AO3 readers. Warning: This one gets pretty gory near the end. Graphic displays of injuries and violence. A character also has an panic attack too so beware.

Hit y’all with that double upload to compensate the temporary loss of art. Hope y’all enjoy it!

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22068301/chapters/52665553

Hiya I was wondering if you could do a (platonic) fic that is Reader x Antisepticeye where he comforts the reader that's struggling with their anxiety (if you want you can put in that the reader is having a panic attack) and he just gives them support and comfort (hugging, encouraging words and cuddles) Hope this isn't too much of an ask <3

Panic Attack (Antisepticeye x Reader)

TWs: Panic attack, mentions of argument(s)

(Sorry this took so long, I've been very busy. I hope you like it!)

You sat on the floor, knees to your chest. Your thoughts spiraling with every little breath you took. The argument you'd had with your roommate, Anti replayed in your head.

The things you'd shouted at each other stung deep into your soul.

The silence of the air around you felt thick enough to slice through as your tears pooled around your feet. The weight of every little word you'd shouted at him felt like an avalanche of guilt.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of faint glitching by your bedroom door.

"May I come in?" Antis raspy voice called out, it was filled with uncertainty. You didn't respond aside from some more tears and frantic breathing. He glitched into the room and knelt in front of you. "I'm uh, really sorry 'bout the things I said t'ya. Could ya try breathin' with me?" He suggested, You did as he told, a small weight lifting from your shoulder. You made an attempt to stand but your legs trembled, you started falling back to the floor but Anti caught you. "You're gonna be alright, Lets head t' the kitchen and I'll make you some tea. Then we can sit on the couch and watch whatever ya want, sound good?" You nodded, leaning on him for support.

You sat on the living room couch as Anti placed a hot cup of tea in front of you before he sat beside you. "Thanks." You muttered quietly, smiling at him. You leaned over to him and gave him a hug. He just sat there, a bit shocked for a moment before he hugged back. "Course, it's what friends do." He responded, a small smile forming.

yumi has pyrophobia. it's not as severe as it was years ago ( right after her childhood home got burned down ) when she just needed to think about it to feel dizzy and nauseous, and she's now managed to work through it for the most part because she had to if she wanted to survive on her own but there are still moments, especially when she sees large fires when she becomes very anxious. it starts with her heart beating faster, her body trembling, and her becoming short of breath. for a moment, she's pretty much rooted to the spot, unable to do or think anything until her fight or flight reflex kicks in, and she flees the scene, trying to get away as far and as fast as possible. her phobia is also part of the reason she's not too fond of firebenders.

Ooh boy! First tma g/t here we go!

...

Proposition

Tw for fear play and general Elias-ery, panic attack I think? Spiraling/circling thoughts

...

Jon used to love living in the institute. He could see all different kinds of humans and here what they were scared of. Not to say it was comforting, knowing the creatures that towered over him could feel small and terrified like he could...

But it was definetly comforting knowing that the creatures that towered over him could feel small and terrified like he could.

The lady, "Archivist" Gertrude read the stories out loud, and Jon, from when he was a little boy, had always been entranced. Much to his grandmother's chagrin, he would stand at the edge of the wall entrance to her office and listen.

He found himself wandering the walls to her office even more, after the spider. Too big, too spindly, hypnotizing. Jon was lucky a chair bumped onto the wall he was in, snapping him out of the terror of the spider and into the terror of the human.

A few years after that, Gertrude didn't show up to work. The day after, people were in and out of her office like ants in a line. The man with the clicky shoes- Elias bossed people around as they lifted boxes of stuff out of the room.

One of these days, Jon was on the book shelf. He enjoyed going behind the old dusty books and being pressed against, like knowledge was giving him a hug. Of course he could never read that big a book, it'd take him ten minutes to turn the page, but it was comforting.

That's where Jon was when he heard the clicking shoes. Elias. He froze in place, not breathing or moving a muscle. The office had been finished being cleaned out a week prior. Surely he wouldn't look at the dusty old books NOW.

"I Know you're there."

Jon bit his tongue. What the hell. He must be talking to someone else, there was no chance he saw Jon, and there's nothing Jon left behind that would make a human think "borrower" first, rather than "a few scraps of string I need to pick up".

No, there was no way Elias was talking to him.

Jon was thrown out of his thoughts at the book he was behind shifted, pulling away from him and letting the too bright lights filter onto the shelf where he was.

"Jon."

Shit.

Okay okay okay. Elias peered down at him. It's fine, he just needed to shimee behind the shelf to get out. But that takes a few seconds, and that might prompt Elias to try and pick him up. But he was exposed, standing there and breathing so hard that all the archives could hear.

He couldn't tall he couldn't think he couldn't BREATH-

Jon has lived in this place long enough to know what humans did to things they found unnatural. Maybe Jon would be in a box in a cabinet for the rest of his life. Or dissected. Or just killed like any other pest, an intruder. In his own home.

Jon backed up into the wall and shrunk into the shadow. Please no please god no-

"Oh cone on," Elias picked him up with ease, wrapping a hand around the full length of his torso like it was nothing. Jon yelped as his whole body was washed over mith motion. "Don't be like that. I thought you were interested in what we did here."

Jon was placed on a hard metal surface- a desk. He tried to back up again, not wanting to crane his neck up to look at that already way bigger than he thought human, but was stopped by Elias's cold hands.

Elias's eyes cut into him more than any scalpel could. Jon felt like his insides were already open to study. He was frigid cold, but his face and chest were damp with sweat. His breathing was unsteady, and the intake of cold air made him shiver.

"Do you have any other friends?"

"No." The answer spilt out of him. Jon gasped, slapping a habit over his mouth.

He felt like he was looking up at the spider.

"Hm," Elias hummed. He chuckled. "I can assure you I am no spider, Jon. And though I do wait for my prey to come to me-"

At that he bapped Jon on the head with a single finger, ruffling his dark hair.

"I do not intend to kill so quickly," Elias smiled. Jon didn't like Elias's smile, he decided. "I prefer my patience to be rewarded handsomely. What do you know of the archives and the institute?"

"I've lived here my whole life, humans come in here to tell stories of scary and abnormal things that have happened to them," Jon's mind raced to answer Elias was quickly as possible. "Sometimes there's scary objects and they're all kept in a room my grandmother wouldn't let me go into. The Archivist read some written stories out loud and she has been gone for two weeks. There used to be... actually a lot more people before she worked alone."

Elias hummed again. "Very astute. I would have thought someone of your sort would have wanted to keep themselves as far away from the host it leeches off of."

Elias cut off his back handed compliment and returned his full focus to Jon, pulling in his arms closer to force Jon to scuttle closer to him.

"I've caught you," Elias stated the obvious. Jon still felt his mouth go dry. "So you're not exactly in a position to refuse anything I offer you. So here's how this will work. You will fulfill Gertude's roll in reading statements and being the Archivist and you can continue living in the archives."

"And the catch?" Jon said automatically. He had heard Gertrude say that to plenty of people. The lady with the books. Her assistant that could pull any string. The boy with black hair.

Elias didn't like that much.

Hands encased Jon, compressing him tight to the point he could Varela breath. With how short and fast Jon was getting air, he doubted he'd last more than a minute like this.

"The catch is same as it always has been," Elias glared. "I can See you at any moment, I could do away with you whenever I want. I can send another spider on you, I'm sure my friend would just LOVE that. I can give you to any monster I want. I See and Know you, and all these years I let you live in comfort and ignorance. So just be thankful, and don't try and get anything else out of me."

The hands released their pressure, allowing Jon to breath. But they were still around him.

"Do you accept?"

It wasn't something he could say no to, Elias already made that clear. The fact he was asking was anything if a little insulting.

"No one can know I'm here," Jon balled his fists, looking back at Elias. "I'm... humans shouldn't know we exist."

Elias sighed. "I suppose that doesn't necessarily detriment your new job. And I do like the idea of a secret only I know. No one shall know of your existence."

Jon flinched back. If someone knew he was here, even if it was a human, they could have saved him.

"I'll... I'll do it." Jon nodded.

Elias smiled. God, did Jon loathe that smile already. "Excellent."

Elias swiftly opened a drawer, nearly throwing Jon inside. He hit the rougher wood with a thud.

"Ex- excise me!" Jon shouted up, doing his best to stay cordial as his heart threatened to leap out of his chest. "You said- I thought I wad able to return to my home!"

"Oh Jon," Elias tsked, looking down on him. The walls were not quite double his height, but still impossible to climb without his equipment. "I said you can stay in the archives, didn't I? I'm simply restricting your access. Besides, here I can watch you and make sure no one else will see you. You'll be much safer in here than in some dusty walls, where another less... compassionate human could find you, or where another spider could get you for good this time.

Jon covered his ears as the drawer slid close, the world going completely dark. Jon tried to keep his sobs quiet, knowing it was futile to keep up a defiant facade if Elias could "See" him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Archivist," Elias's shoes clicked towards the door. "And don't worry, I'll have some friends to keep you company soon."

Jon pressed himself into a corner. Stale dusty air ripped through his lungs as he cried himself to sleep.

Me: *on the verge of a panik attac*

My brain: lol

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