#tw panic attack

[espers-n-espurrs]

OFFSCREEN POST

Connecting Roots

Continues from Laid to Rest

TWs // CWs : Hospitals, Child Injury Mention, Discussions of Pokemon Death, Discussions of Kidnapping / Child Abduction, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Complete upheaval of life, Police

The hospital was unnerving, with its pristine white walls and floors and its blinding fluorescent lights. The scent of disinfectant perpetrated the air, causing the room to feel artificial and dead. Esper shifted uncomfortably in her bed, forcing herself to not fidget or touch the IV stuck in her arm. Beside her, Victoria sat in the recliner with furrowed brows and a distant stare, her arms crossed and her leg bouncing anxiously. The ticking of the clock pounded its way into Esper’s skull as she waited.

It had been nearly an hour since Reina had excused herself from the hospital room to go make a phone call, ordering Victoria to stay with Esper. At first, the two attempted to make small talk to stave off the silence. But the lingering tension from earlier events hung over them, suffocating any conversation until it died down to nothing more than crossed arms and far-off gazes from Victoria.

And yet despite the passage of time, Reina had yet to return. Esper didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing. She couldn’t see the dust. She couldn’t see the scattered remains of the Hatterene in her room. She couldn’t tell if any had landed on her, if Barcelona’s last remnants were all over her or in the far corners of the room. She couldn’t tell and she didn’t want to know.

Her body ached, the pain medication only doing so much to dull the throbbing in her face and torso.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs and hoped she wasn’t breathing in the dust of Barcelona, and opened her eyes to refocus on the blue-haired girl in the room.

“How are your Pokemon doing?” Esper asked, desperate to focus on anything but what had just happened. “I know Maria had to leave the dorm with Esperanza.”

Victoria’s eyes flickered upwards to look at Esper, slipping back into the present. She blinked for a moment before quietly responding with, “Physically, they will be fine. They are Pokemon, they heal fast.” She cast a glance at the blazer pocket that stored her Pokeballs. “Esperanza, as far as I am aware, sustained no injuries. Maria escaped with a few scratches. And Matador…” She trailed off. “Matador doesn’t know Barcelona is dead…”

“Oh…” Esper paused, looking down at her hands as she rubbed the blanket fabric between her fingers, “You're right. He doesn’t.”

With the grim reminder of what had occurred only an hour prior, the girls once again slipped back into uncomfortable silence, with only the ticking clock and the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights to fill the void.

Minutes later, however, Victoria suddenly lifted her head and whirled around to face the entrance to the hospital room. Unfurling her arms, she squinted and furrowed her brows at the door, extreme confusion and disbelief riddled her face. “Wait—” The girl whipped her head to look at Esper, eyes darting around every detail of her face. “Wait wait—”

The girl in the hospital bed blinked, “What–” She quickly brought a hand up to touch her bruised cheek, “What– Is the bruise getting worse?”

“No– I—” Victoria looked back and forth between Esper and the door, her chest rising and falling increasingly erratically. “I don’t– Wait– no—” Her gaze became unfocused as she stared off into the distance behind Esper, shaking her head slightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that fell from her lips were unrefined stammers. “You– No– Nono– You can’t—”

“I– What–” Esper furrowed her brows as worry etched itself across her face. She watched her friend’s actions carefully, attempting to understand why her friend was acting so uncharacteristically emotional. Esper moved to the side of the bed, throwing her legs over the edge to sit up as she questioned the other girl. “Tori– Tori, what’s wrong?”

“Est— Esp—”

She was interrupted by a knock on the door. And before either of them could respond, Reina Velasco-Delgado had let herself into the room.

Two officers filed in behind her, along with a sharply dressed man— Victoria’s father.

The white-haired girl paused, her face paling as she eyed the police officers like a wary Pokemon, “Wha…”

Reina raised a hand to cut her off, “You are not in any trouble, love.” With her hands clasped in front of her, her smile warm, and her eyes soft, she appeared a lot less intimidating than she had been an hour ago. She had forgone the thick fur coat and wide brim hat for a much more humble white blazer. If not for her light complexion, she would appear a lot more like Victoria.

Speaking of Victoria, at the sight of her mother and father, the girl had quickly sobered up and sat straighter in her chair. She raised her chin in acknowledgement. The only hint of her prior state was the occasional glance she would throw in Esper’s direction.

Esper looked Reina up and down, doubt and confusion riddling her mind with all sorts of worse case scenarios as she asked, “Then– Then what–”

The girl was swiftly cut off by the clacking of heels as another figure entered the room, stealing away her attention and causing her to freeze in her seat as her eyes met those of an older woman. The older woman froze in turn, letting out a gasp at the sight of Esper and clasping her hand over her mouth where Esper could’ve sworn she had briefly caught a glimpse of the shining whites of fangs. But that wasn’t the only thing of note about the woman. No. Her hair that fell down to just below her shoulders was a brilliant snowy white and her eyes– her eyes were soft lavender with white pupils so bright that they almost seemed to glow.

But that couldn't be. These traits combined with the aged face of the woman resulted in what could only be described as the spitting image of Esper’s father.

If it were not for the fact that this woman was so clearly not her father she would’ve called out to them in excitement, but no. No. This was not her father, she did not know who this woman was.

Esper sat quietly, her guard raised as she stared at the woman through furrowed brows as she waited for her to make some kind of move.

And that was when the woman spoke. “Salut, do you remember me…? Do you know who I am…?” Her voice was soft and warm and she spoke with a strong Kalosian accent.

“...Am I meant to?” The younger girl responded rather bluntly.

The older woman's shoulders slumped slightly as she let her hands fall from her face but nonetheless she smiled at Esper as she answered “I had wished you did but that cannot be helped my dear…” She then leaned down to be face to face with the younger girl and this was when Esper took notice that the woman’s eyes were red and puffy as if she had just been crying. “Which means I should introduce myself, my name is Cécilia Wyrmwood. Does the last name Wyrmwood ring any bells?”

Esper shook her head with a growing sense of dread building in her gut as she glanced off to the side to see the two officers watching them intently.

Cécilia hummed in response, a seemingly sad look in her eyes before she shook her head in turn. “I… I understand. Let’s try this then.” She reached into her purse, pulling a series of photos. Thumbing through them for a moment the older woman selected one and bent down to show it to Esper. “Does this man look familiar to you?”

The white-haired girl looked down at the photo being presented to her and felt her stomach drop as she saw the ever so familiar face of her father staring up at her. It was undoubtedly him, the only difference being a bright toothy grin and a lack of wrinkles, but it was so clearly him.

Esper’s eyes snapped up to meet Cécilia’s, her face paling as she quietly asked, “Why do you have a photo of my da…?”

“Because I’m his twin sister, dear.” The older woman spoke with such confection that Esper didn’t have it in her to argue. To say that, no, no, you’re lying to me, my da has no siblings. Because how could Esper know for sure? Her father always shooed away any conversation about his family, always scolding and telling her to stop asking him such questions. But here she was, in front of one of her father’s family members, in front of one of her family members. But why? Why now? Why here? Why at all?

Esper wanted to ask every question running through her mind, every single one, but the only one that came out was, “Then… then why didn’t he tell me about you..? Why– What–”

Her mouth went dry as Cécilia answered with, “Because he took you.”

“You’re lying.” Esper spat out before thinking. She had to be lying. Her da didn’t take her. He couldn’t have.

Cécilia frowned at this, “I’m not. I promise you, I’m not. He took you and your brother and, as we’ve found out, fled to Spik–” 

She was quickly cut off by Esper snapping back, “You are! You must be! My– My da never took me! I’ve lived in Spikemuth my whole life! He never took me if I’ve always been there!”  

Victoria visibly flinched at Esper’s sudden outburst. Yet she remained silent as always. Reina stepped to her daughter’s side and rested a hand on the back of the chair, shooting Cécilia a sympathetic frown.

Cécilia sighed in return, “I know. I know this is hard, trust me when I say this.”

“And why should I?” The girl snarled back.

Esper’s aunt took a deep breath and pulled out another photo from the collection she had in her hands, staring at it for a long moment before turning it around for Esper to see. In the photo stood a young girl, no more than six, with white hair and lavender eyes smiling brightly at the camera as she held an older boy’s hand, his complexion darker than her own with curly white hair and his own eyes a darker shade of purple. The two stood in front of a large and extravagant iron gate with Esper’s father off to the side, watching the two with sharp eyes and a soft smile.

“Do you recognize these two?” Cécilia asked in a tone that indicated that she already knew the answer.

Esper felt her hands begin to shake, her eyes scouring the photo for what felt like minutes. No. No. She doesn’t– Those can’t– No– “That’s my brother and I…” She quietly responded, her voice much more meek than what it had been before during her outburst. “But… That can’t– I don’t remember that– Where–”

“That was taken for one of many Christmas photos when you were six...” Cécilia pointed at the building in the far distance of the photo, “That is the Wyrmwood estate in Kalos. Where you grew up until you were taken.”

“But I wasn’t–”

“Your father has been lying to you, my dear.” Cécilia softly responded, reaching to place a hand on the girl’s shoulder only to have her instantly be shrugged off. The older woman held back a sigh as she continued, “He’s been lying to you about so much. That man is not named Cedric Hargrove but rather Lucien Wyrmwood… Much like how your name isn’t Esper Hargove–”

Esper’s chest began to rapidly rise and fall. No. No. No no nononono– This wasn’t real– This can’t be real–

“–but rather Estelle Lucille Wyrmwood… Lucien took both you and Flynn on November thirtieth twenty-seventeen and we’ve been looking for you ever since…”

“No. No– No no no–” Esper repeated in a frenzy. Her eyes began to tear up as she felt the pit in her stomach begin to twist and churn, a shooting pain firing through her as she felt her heart begin to strain and hurt. That was all she felt. Hurt. “Wh– Why would he– He wouldn’t do that—”

“Because he cheated on his wife, your brother’s mother, and had you with another woman–” Cécilia continued despite Esper’s protests, her brows furrowing as she tried to find the words, “We… We hadn’t known that was the case and it’s an incredibly long and upsetting story that I feel as though should be shared with you at another time–”

“You’re lying–” Esper interrupted the older woman, her voice strained, “You have to be lying– Pl– Please be lying–”

She can’t trust this woman. She doesn’t know this woman. Who can she trust? Was there anyone here she could trust? Was there anyone here who wouldn’t lie to her for some unforeseen gain?

Victoria.

Esper whipped her head around to look at the girl, tuning out Cécilia's voice with relative ease as she stared at her friend with pleading eyes. Victoria would tell her. Victoria would tell her the truth.

And as if Victoria could hear her thoughts, she lifted her gaze to look Esper in the eye. With trembling hands, she slowly reached to pull off her gloves, exposing the eye-shaped tattoo on the back of her hand. Setting the glove aside, she wordlessly extended her exposed hand to Esper with a small nod.

An invitation to discover the truth for herself.

She knew Esper would believe every word she said. And yet she was giving her the option anyway.

Esper stared at the open hand for a moment, fear of what she may learn causing her to hesitate and second guess if she really wanted to know. But she did. She so desperately did. Because if this was all a lie then she would need to worry about why she was being lied to. And if it wasn’t…

The room became dead silent as Esper slowly took her friend’s hand into her own.

The memory of two young girls flashed into her mind: one with dark blue hair and small freckles on her cheeks, and the other… the girl from the picture. The two girls were playing with dolls in a beautiful garden, burying a Ken doll that had clearly been set on fire in recent history. On the other side of the makeshift grave stood a towering Pangoro and Matador, Victoria’s Armarouge, lowering their heads solemnly as if attending a funeral service. The Pangoro pretended to wipe a tear from his eye as he held his cabbie hat to his chest. The girls put the Ken doll in a casket and lowered it into the grave. Normal little girl stuff.

But that was clearly a younger Victoria. And that was clearly a younger Esper. Estelle? A younger her.

The memory melted away as the girl’s hand slipped from her friend’s, falling limply at her side as she slowly turned back to Cécilia. She could hear that Cécilia was attempting to speak to her but no matter how much she strained, no matter how much she tried, she could not hear her. She could barely even see her face. 

Something wet hit her arm, pulling her gaze downwards to see dark spotting along her hospital gown. Tear stains. When did she start crying? How long had she been crying?

Esper could feel her throat squeezing tightly shut, narrowing her airways and making it harder to fill her lungs with air but when she could she could her chest heaving and shaking. Her heart was being strangled from within, sharp pains shooting through like salt to tender wounds. Her hands were unsteady as she wrapped them around herself in a tight embrace, squirming away as she felt someone else's hands try to reach for her. She didn’t know who it was. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to be touched.

She felt cold, clammy, as if all worth had been sucked from her in an instant. Thousands of thoughts ran through her head as tears stained her cheeks and mucus filled her nose. Everything hurt. Her muscles, her heart, her mind. Everything. Hurt. 

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurtsithurtsithurtsithurts–

She felt sick. 

Esper could barely feel her own mind as she tried to look at the faces around her, finding that her vision was startlingly becoming more and more fuzzy as seconds passed to such a point she wasn’t even convinced that she could see. “I don’t–” She choked out, her voice nearly inaudible, “I don’t feel well….”

She couldn’t see. She couldn’t hear. She could not think as her vision faded into nothingness and Esper, the now no longer missing Wyrmwood girl, collapsed onto her hospital bed.

Scene End.

===============

[ Victoria, Reina, and Alamar all belong to @victoria-vd / @jaimemes ]

[victoria-vd]

OFFSCREEN POST

The Calm

// tw: panic attack, injury, claustrophobia, physical abuse, discussions of missing children

To say that Victoria was on edge this afternoon would be the understatement of the millennium. 

The once comforting quiet of her dorm had fallen to a tense silence during the past week— as if the room itself held its breath for fear of being lashed out at by the girl that occupied it. The shadows cast by the flickering lanterns trembled in fear, and the curtains sat eerily still.

And yet despite the dim quiet of the room, it was all still too much for her. The air conditioning roared in her ears, the dancing shadows were visually overwhelming, and the soreness in her chest ached horribly. Lying in her bed did little to alleviate the pain from the bruises that littered her torso— putting pressure on her back only seemed to make her feel worse. But she hardly had the energy to sit or stand either, let alone walk and go about her school day as if nothing was wrong.

Just thinking about all the work that will have to be done to make up for her frequent absences…

The past week had been an absolute nightmare for Victoria both physically and mentally. 

She cast a glare at the Hatterene beside her bed. The mere sound of Barcelona’s breathing sent a wave of vexation through her. But she very well couldn’t tell her to simply stop breathing. Many would consider that rude. And her mother’s Hatterene was the last Pokémon she’d want to be rude towards.

The Pokémon in question spared a glance at the girl in the bed, flicking her tendril of hair from side to side like the tail of a cat. A warning. A silent command for Victoria to calm herself by any means necessary. Suppression of the self.

They both remember what happened the last time everything had been “too much”…

Victoria broke her gaze from Barcelona, turning away in the bed to face the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to block it all out. The lights. The sounds. The thoughts— both hers and everyone else’s.

Her powers were both a blessing and a curse. 

The young heiress felt a sudden warmth sneaking under her arm. She glanced down to find her Espurr forcing her way into her grasp, curling up beside her in the covers and nuzzling her head into her chest.

Esperanza. 

Victoria watched the little cat press itself against her. The Espurr had been a parting gift from the Wyrmwoods— dear family friends— shortly before she left for Naranja-Uva Academy that summer. They’d treated her like a second daughter.

A replacement for the daughter they’d lost: her best friend, Estelle Wyrmwood. 

… Has it really been seven years? 

The thought had sent Victoria into a spiral. She curled into herself, a lump tight in her throat. The time had flown by all too quickly and yet agonizingly slow all at once— she was acutely aware of the passage of time in her absence, and yet she was caught unawares by the realization of just how much time had passed. Soon, the years without Estelle will surpass the years with. 

(Across the room on the top shelf, the glass display case suddenly cracked.

Barcelona perked up at the sound, directing her attention to the girl beside her.)

But regardless of the presence or absence of Estelle in her life, her life has been defined by her only friend. 

…Well… that’s not exactly true, was it?

Wasn’t Esper also her friend? 

That question had plagued Victoria every day for the past month. What was Esper to her? The answer was complicated. She granted Esper luxuries that she’d bestowed to very few in her lifetime: her extended presence, a first name basis, the permission to use not just any nickname, but that nickname. There was a level of comfort she had with the girl that she found rare amongst individuals her age. She’d outright called Esper a friend of hers to the girls in the elevator. 

By all accounts, Esper fit the criteria of a friend. 

And yet Victoria hesitated to label her as such in her own mind. 

It felt like a betrayal to Estelle. 

Victoria turned her face into her pillow and choked out a quiet sob. Every heave of her chest sent a wave of pain through her torso. Her bruised ribs screamed at her to stop, but with just one moment of weakness, the entire dam had begun to crack under the weight of seven years of repressed emotions.

(The crack on the glass expanded, threatening to shatter at any moment. The flatscreen TV flickered to life for a moment before it too cracked under a sudden, invisible force.

No, not the screen. The whole TV.

The Hatterene whirled around to Victoria to place a handlike tendril on her shoulder, attempting to shake the girl out of the emotional spiral she’d put herself in.)

The young heiress hugged Esperanza to her chest, letting warm tears crawl down her cheeks. Esperanza; the subtle nod to Esper’s namesake had not gone unnoticed by her. Had she actually picked a name that fit her Pokémon? Or had she named the Wyrmwood Espurr after her in a poor attempt to fill a seven year long void?

Was she using Esper as a replacement for Estelle?

(The glass casing shattered into a million tiny shards that floated into the air. Loose objects scattered about the room levitated themselves from where they lie. A sudden pressure began to build within the dorm, like an invisible force was squeezing the outer edges of your skull, threatening to crush your brain matter between its palms.

Victoria was a ticking time bomb seconds away from exploding. 

Barcelona needed to act now.

She quickly snaked the tendril of hair around the girl’s torso and pulled her out of the bed—)

Victoria was suddenly ripped from the comfort of her bedsheets. Esperanza flew from her grip and was accidentally thrown to the floor. For a brief moment, panic surged throughout the girl’s entire body.

(The Hatterene pulled Victoria into the confines of her hair, encasing her in the cocoon of psychic-imbued strands that enshrouded her body.

When the risk of a psychic outburst was too great, the best solution was to suppress the psionic energy and block it from being expelled by the source.

To choke it out until it passes.)

NONONO. NOT AGAIN. NO SHE COULDN’T DO THIS AGAIN.

Victoria tried to thrash about and kick her legs wildly, but hair slithered up every limb to restrain her, leaving no gap for her psychic energy to escape. The bruises on her torso became increasingly apparent under the constriction of Barcelona’s hair. 

(The floating objects trembled in the air. The cracked TV crumpled into itself under the room’s pressure. The bathroom door flung open with enough force to knock it halfway off its hinges.)

Barcelona frowned at the state of the room. Hm. It seemed this outburst was particularly powerful. This could prove to be an issue…

Glancing to the nightstand where Victoria’s Pokeballs lie, she levitated them into the air and released the Pokémon from within.

Matador and Maria were quick to appear before her.

The Hatterene barked orders at the two Pokémon, directing them to assist in restricting Victoria’s psychic outburst to the confines of the room. They needed to act now before—)

A loud wail suddenly erupted from the other side of the room, briefly distracting the other three Pokémon to find the source of the noise.

Esperanza had started crying.

Which wasn’t a big deal.

The bigger issue was that this was enough of a distraction for Victoria to thrash her way out of her psychic prison.

And all Hell broke loose.

[cupcakeslushie]

First || Prev || Next

Y’all didn’t think I’d continue where we left off from, and reveal the mystery, did you??

I know it’s kinda an abrupt ending, but boy was this one fighting me. I redrew and erased like four or five panels before just cutting them out altogether, and deciding to end this part here.

Btw I know it looks rough, but Raph’s poke is not violent, it’s just a stern one.

[unboundprompts]

If you’re still doing request, is it OK if you either

Describe writing a panic attack?

Or

Describe someone who has gray eyes?

-> a link for gray eye descriptions: x

How to Write a Panic Attack

Physical Symptoms of a Panic Attack:

pounding or racing heart

sweating

chills

trembling

difficulty breathing

weakness or dizziness

tingly or numb hands

chest pain

stomach pain or nausea

feeling lightheaded

tense muscles

dry mouth

constriction in the chest

feeling like they're being choked

Other Symptoms:

heightened vigilance for danger and physical symptoms

anxious and irrational thinking

a strong feeling of dread, danger or foreboding

fear of going mad, losing control, or dying

feelings of unreality and detachment from the environment

Triggers for a Panic Attack:

something unexpected (ex: a phone call)

a reminder (objects, smells, locations, specific phrases, etc. that can be tied back to a traumatic experience)

stress (from work, a relationship, family, etc. that has been building up)

silence (ex: being alone in a quiet room. The silence can amplify a sense of isolation)

flashbacks (a trigger that causes the person to flash back to a traumatic memory)

out of nowhere (sometimes panic attacks just get triggered by seemingly nothing)

Writing Prompts:

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

He couldn't breathe. Oh God, he couldn't breathe and he was going to die.

She knew the panic was building up, but it crashed over her like a tsunami that swept her off her feet. The pull threatened to pull her out to sea and it was all-consuming.

They felt the panic begin to wrap its arms around them like a shadow.

"Is it okay if I hold your hand?"

"Don't touch me-- don't touch me!"

Her mind was running at a million miles a second but she couldn't pinpoint a single thought.

"It's okay. You're safe."

An icy hand had reached through their ribcage and was squeezing their heart. They couldn't breathe and they didn't know what to do to regain their breath.

"My chest hurts. It hurts."

"I can't!"

They were a crumpled heap, stowed away in the corner as tears streamed down their face.

She felt like she was on a boat out at sea, the room swaying and adding to the nausea that was washing over her.

He felt like he was having a heart attack.

They gasped for air but each breath felt shallower than the last.

She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, beating like a panicked drum to the rhythm of her fear.

He felt like he was standing on the edge of a building.

They couldn't move. It was like someone was holding down their limbs, the panic rendering them utterly frozen.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider donating! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi!

[wolfnanaki]

undefined

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish | Puss’s Panic Attack

[downbadf0rficppl]

someone's there

Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: When you walk home from the office, someone seems to be following you home. Your best friend is not happy about that.

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Stalking/Stalker-Ex BF, Domestic Abuse, Anxiety, Angry!Bucky, Protective!Bucky, Panic Attack

Repost

You stepped out of the office, pulling your coat tighter around you against the night. It was mid-November and New York was getting colder and colder every day that passed by. You were excited about Christmas - it was one of your favourite times of the year. The lights that went up from apartment to apartment, the tree and ice rink in Rockefeller center that you and your boyfriend - Nathan - visited every year, you and Nathan driving up to Boston to meet your family. Well, your ex-boyfriend.

You'd broken up a month ago. He'd been laid off about a year ago and taken up drinking to fill the time. Nathan was not a very nice drunk. He'd yell and throw things when he was angry, which was most of the time when he was drunk, and then beg you to come back, saying that he needed you and that he'd clean up his act as soon as he got a job. You had a well-paying job - secretary to the Avengers - but Nathan was always the higher earner of the two of you. You could hardly sustain his lifestyle on your job, but you stayed. Why? You had no idea.

Nathan was a smart guy, he got picked up by some major firm headquartered in Manhattan just over a month after he got laid off. He was back to his old routine of leaving the house at 6 and coming back by 8 - you hardly saw him anymore.

And much to your dismay, the drinking didn't stop. Sure, he slowed down. He couldn't risk ruining his reputation at his new workplace. So he limited the drinking to after work. But he never stopped.

The throwing vases became throwing punches, the yelling became constant threats, consoling words became consoling sex.

You did well to hide the new bruises from your colleagues, although your act was not good enough to fool everybody. You'd let your guard down in the toilet, rolling your sleeves up to wash your hands, just as Natasha Romanoff. Yes, Natasha Romanoff aka the Black Widow aka the world's best assassin.

She didn't mention it there, but you were called to a meeting with her soon after. She sat you down with a glass of water and asked you a simple question: "Are you safe?"

Your wide eyes and trembling figure gave you away.

Nat implored you to break up with him or to at least come and live at the compound for a while - just until you figured out what you wanted to do.

You turned her offer down, stating that you were fine. You'd be fine. She fixed you with a stern glance, but even Natasha Romanoff couldn't force you to do something you didn't want.

Bucky, on the other hand, was a completely different story. He'd noticed the bruises long before Nat had, and gone out of his way to try and make your life easier. He sent you less paperwork to file, fewer menial tasks to do, and even put in a request for you to be moved to the New York office. In his eyes that meant you'd be further away from Nathan.

The next week, you both moved to Manhattan.

The bruises started to get darker, and more visible around your body. You dropped the short-sleeved dresses and low necklines in favour of long-sleeved turtlenecks with trousers.

Bucky worried for you. The dark rings around your eyes, the ghostly pallor of your skin. He was determined to save you. The only issue was he had no idea where you lived. New York was a big enough place that he'd never run into you. He knew you didn't live in Brooklyn, but that was about it.

The night where it all came to a head was after a Stark Gala. There was a group photo, where Bucky's arm rested on your hip while your arm rested on his. Nathan was pissed. He'd been sitting on the sofa when you came home, the photo open on his phone and a half-drunk bottle of whiskey in his hand. He pushed you into a wall and slapped you, his rings cutting into your face. He yelled every manner of words in your direction, calling you a 'slut' and a 'whore', and telling you that you were worthless. You cried, fresh bruises forming on your neck where he gripped you and blood dripping down your face.

You took his berating for the next few hours until Nathan retreated onto the sofa, sitting down and muttering under his breath. You opened your mouth, trying to defend yourself. Wrong move. Nathan stood up, even more agitated than before. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was almost finished and brought it down on your head.

The next thing you remember was waking up to 4 white walls. You were in a hospital, your hand being gripped tightly by someone. You tried to escape from the vice-like grip when a thumb ran over your knuckles. You knew those hands.

"Bucky." You whispered, your eyes still adjusting to the light. Your voice was sore from disuse, but the way that Bucky's eyes lit up, you would have thought that you were singing a love song just to him.

The calmness in your heart faded as soon as your brain caught up with you. You tried to convince Bucky that he needed to go but he shushed you gently.

"Shh. Don't stress yourself out. You're safe. I promise." The red rings around his eyes gave him away. Bucky had been crying. Over you.

You held his hand tightly that day. And the day after. And even the day after that. You weren't sure if you would ever find the strength to let go.

By the time you were out of the hospital, you'd moved back to Upstate New York - Bucky had made sure that you would never have to set foot in the city again if you didn't want to.

You returned back to work as normal - the restraining order you had filed against Nathan made your mind rest easier. The whole team was happy to have you back and smiling again, but they made sure to check in with you a hell of a lot more than they used to. Clint would swing by with an apple, and accidentally leave it at your desk - the first time, you'd felt bad and tried to return it, but you quickly caught on to his tactics. Nat would bring up game nights and movie nights, begging you to come, even if it was just you both.

But most of all, Bucky. Every day, you'd wake up to a text from him, wishing you a wonderful morning and spewing some inspirational affirmations for the start of the day. He'd bring you coffee, made just how you like it, as soon as he was back from his morning run. He'd spent a while perfecting the drink - making sure it was exactly to your standard. He'd walk you to your apartment for your biweekly 2pm therapy sessions (that he'd set you up with after he had realised how much difficulty you were having sleeping), and then off to lunch at some random hole-in-the-wall spot that he knew you would love. He'd call you as you got home, making sure you got home safe, and then a goodnight text to fall asleep to.

To others, his persistent need to be around you would be stifling. But after 4 years of having your needs be put lower than the damn cockroaches in the walls, it was nice to feel wanted.

You set your life up - personal bank accounts, new social media - anything to separate that part of your life from your new one. You got a new phone (courtesy of Tony, who insisted on buying you the latest iPhone, no matter how hard you tried to convince him that he didn't need to do that because 'where on earth would you find the money to pay him back?' He scoffed at that, "I'm a billionaire hun, I think I can afford to buy my secretary a new phone). You went to get your haircut, the shorter length was something you knew Nathan would have hated.

You'd walked into the compound the day after you got it cut, worried that no one would like it as much as you did.

As soon as you made it to the kitchen, you heard a loud wolf whistle. Nat was sitting on the sofa with Sam, and they both cheered loudly as you posed for them.

Bucky's jaw dropped as he walked into the kitchen. You were still showing off for Nat and Sam - you hadn't seen him walk in.

He walked over, reaching behind you to get a pod for the coffee machine, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "Looking good, Doll." His hot breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine.

You smiled up at him, before grabbing an apple and heading back toward your desk. You glanced back at Bucky and your eyes drifted downwards to a very large and very prominent issue. You stifled a giggle before getting back to work.

You'd continued to tease Bucky for a while, inconspicuous brushes and a few comments here and there. Enough to make him flustered, but not enough to make him suspicious.

He continued being the perfect gentleman. Helping you when you needed him to, being there when no one else was.

You started your normal journey back home, getting out of the compound was sometimes a tedious affair because of the thousands of security gates between the compound and the outermost gate. Given that this is where the Avengers live and train, it's justified. Still tedious though.

It was a quarter mile from the compound to the bus stop that took you home - you didn't like driving, especially in the frost and the dark. You put your headphones in, picking back up on the podcast you started this morning. It was an interesting one - some new True Crime podcast that your best friend had recommended to you.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you walked through a dark and lonely street. You gripped your bag tighter around you and sped up. There was someone following you.

You glanced behind you, your eyes catching sight of brown hair and a blue t-shirt. It had Palm Springs emblazoned on it. Funny. You'd bought Nathan a similar t-shirt a few years ago.

You fished your phone out of your pocket, quickly dialing the one person you felt safest with.

"Doll?" Bucky picked after the first ring.

"Bucky, cred că cineva mă urmărește." You said, your voice loud enough that the other person could hear you were on the phone.

"Tell me where you are, Doll, I'll come and get you." You could hear Bucky pulling on a jacket and grabbing his keys.

"Umm, cred că sunt aproape de Joey's."

"The pizza place?"

"Da, îl văd de unde sunt." The footsteps behind you seem to be getting louder, but you forced yourself to remain calm, "Am să te aștept acolo. Vă rog să veniți repede."

You ducked into the pizza place, walking straight up to the counter. By now, you were sure of who it was - but Nathan didn't follow you into the pizza place. Maybe you were just overreacting. Joey's was mostly empty, with a few teenagers here and there - probably camping out after some house party that got shut down.

"Same as always, kiddo?" Joey asked, and you nodded with a slight grin. You and Bucky came to Joey's Pizza Place a lot - Bucky used to say that it felt like home. You were inclined to agree.

"No metal man with you today?" Joey enjoyed teasing Bucky. His dad, also named Joey, had fought alongside Bucky in the war. Joey had grown up on stories of the greatness of the Howling Commandoes and it had been one of his greatest pleasures to serve him pizza every time they came.

"He's coming - got caught up in traffic."

"Busy men, huh?" You giggled at that.

The door opened again. You turned around to find yourself face-to-face with someone you hoped you'd never see again. Nathan's sister.

"Thought I'd find you here, bitch."

June stalked over to you, her face filled with rage. She had been good friends with you before Nathan and your relationship started going wrong, but when you had confided your pains with her, she'd turned her back on you. Blood is thicker than water. She'd called you names before - filling your comments with every vile comment she could think of, texting and emailing you death threats, anything to remind you of just how broken and damaged you were.

Before you knew what was happening, her hand collided with your cheek. The whole place burst into action.

Joey jumped around the side of the counter as June hurled insults at your face.

You tried to push her away as she swung at you again, but her hand hit your shoulder.

Joey pushed you behind him, as one of the kitchen hands stepped out to pull June back.

A teenager was on the phone with the police.

You tried to cover your ears as the noise built in your head.

The door swung open, letting in a draft.

Boots on the linoleum floor. Familiar boots.

Sirens.

"We were in the neighbourhood, Sergeant." Something about a noise complaint.

A hand pulling you into a firm chest. Tears streaming down your face. Your favourite voice whispering sweet nothings, stroking your hair, begging you to calm down.

"You're doing so good for me, Doll, just keep breathing." Bucky's pulse was steady under your hand. Slowly, your breathing evened out and you lifted your head to meet Bucky's eyes. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around you to stop you from collapsing.

You stayed in Bucky's embrace while the police wrapped up - June was being taken to the local PD for the altercation and also driving under the influence. Bucky told you that Nathan had also been arrested for violating the restraining order. Your heart sunk.

"I'll never escape him, will I?" You whispered to Bucky, as you sat down in your favourite booth to eat.

"You can, and you will," Bucky reassured you, squeezing your hand in his.

You ate your pizza in relative silence after that - most of the shop had cleared out with the police. Joey gave you your pizza for free, along with a tight hug on the side. He told you that you'd always be safe in here, "although metal man seems to have that covered." Bucky glared at the nickname, making you both laugh.

You walked hand-in-hand to Bucky's motorbike - his fingers ghosted over the bruise on your cheekbone from the slap as he fastened your helmet on your head.

"It's nothing, Buck. I've had worse." Bucky gave you a pointed look, "Too soon?"

He threw his leg over the bike and you settled behind him, resting your cheek on his spine. "Forever is too soon for my liking."

You smiled at that and nuzzled further into his back.

"Where to madam?" He said, putting on an exaggerated British accent. You leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"Take me home, Buck."

fin.

buy me a coffee

[factual-fantasy]

I wanted to draw something that showed what happens when Glamrock Spring and Fred are separated. And I was SOOO CLOSE to keeping it serious... but then the savage corrupted Moon idea came to mind and I couldn't not draw it XDD

Now don't worry! They got reunited shortly after.. XDD

Though now that I got the funny out, I'm tempted to make an actually serious comic about them being separated.. 🤔

[goldenjuniper]

hold on to each other

[conspicuous-clown-car]

pushing boundaries

[ayyy-imma-ninja]

oh. oH. OHHH !!!!! reference to that old post in which you said sun picks apart cotton balls when hes stressed so he doesnt mess up his rays ??? very nice. we love slowly tying in more lore. i am in love w your comic rn megmeg. seriously. you are incredible :D

good callback ;)

[teaableu]

Usagi in the Nexus what will he do (he’s been away from home too long)

[gaecactae]

A Cozy Cloud

08. Dad⛅️

Tenko getting love and care that he deserves part: 9273838290

I love this kiddo. Sm.

And I hope you enjoyed the lil appearance of Todorokis being our little guests for the comic! Cause honestly I doubt that Tenko and Toya will be friends, on the further notice..😅

Also, absolutely no hate to Toya. Kids are just kids! Bound to make mistakes painful to others and feel no remorse; they’re learning about the world:)

[cupcakeslushie]

i love the donnie and timothy content 🥺 but now it’s getting me to wonder about the love language between leo and usagi and how they show affection toward each other

They show affection by basically being ride or die for each other lol. Their love language is…battle. Their first kiss was after a exhausting fight with the Foot, where they kicked absolute ass. They watch each other’s backs no matter what.

[tranzfalgar]

kakashi has what appears to be multiple panic attacks throughout the show, and he takes the same stance every single time, and i only recently noticed this, so i wanted to point it out bc idk if anyone else has noticed this. you can visbily see his shoulders quickly rising and falling, meaning he is breathing quite heavily.

1st screenshot: After Gai uses the 8th gate, and Kakashi presumes he did not survive the action

2nd screenshot: Kakashi choking up while using Chidori soon after the incident with Rin

3rd screenshot: Obito takes Kaguya's rod to the stomach and begins to fall apart

4th screenshot: Soon after Kakashi exited the 72 hour genjutsu from Itachi

(in the second screenshot, that was a canon panic attack, as we see his eyesight get blurry and stuff, but the other three are me simply implying with context clues such as his heavy breathing.)

[v-albion]

….

He’ll be fine

…

Eventually

Context

Masterpost

@tmntaucompetition

[nyrandrea]

Everything's Fine

As you try to deal with everything that has been thrown at you so early into your journey: forced leadership, mindflayer tadpoles and taking on everybody's personal problems, it all just gets a bit too much for you.

(Takes place during Act 1)

Word Count - 3.5k

Also available to read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

xxx

You felt your patience starting to wear incredibly thin when you realised Astarion had been staring at you for over five minutes now. 

Not directly, he would never be so conspicuous—at least, not intentionally— but you kept catching those fleeting glances he was throwing your way; the corners of his red eyes crinkling every so often before returning to whatever book he was pretending to read. It wasn’t one of those charming, smouldering gazes he would sometimes give you after a night of feeding, asking if you were alright, knowing full-well that your answer was a resounding ‘I’m fine’, and that you would provide for him again soon. 

No, what he was doing right now—very carefully—was scanning you, studying you,  judging you. It was as if he was trying to leer right through to your very soul. 

You almost had half a mind to stomp over to his tent and demand what his problem was, but there were other unfortunate issues to contend with. 

Namely Shadowheart and Lae'zel. 

“I already told you that the artefact is my responsibility,” Shadowheart said, her aloof demeanour and confident tone betrayed by the hand hovering over the hilt of her dagger. “This way it will protect us all, I thought we had already established that!” 

“We have established nothing,” Lae’zel hissed back. “We only agreed not to slit each other’s throats in the night, though...,” she grimaced. “I still have no reason to trust that you will not try again.” 

“At least there’s still some sense in that bullish head of yours.” 

“Tsk!” Lae’zel spat at Shadowheart’s feet, much to the latter’s disgust as she recoiled back. “However, the matter still stands that the relic you hold onto belongs to my people. Therefore, it should be in my possession!” 

The cleric sneered. “I would sooner slit my own throat.” 

“Then go right ahead. Nobody will stop you.” 

Rubbing at your temples to try and ease the incoming migraine that, for once, was not caused by the mindflayer parasite living rent-free in your head, you decided to step in-between the two women, not really caring about risking a gutting from their trigger-happy blades. 

“C’mon, we’re not seriously having this fight again?” You huff incredulously, the question already sounding stupid as soon as it left your mouth. Because of course they were having this fight again. They had it yesterday, and the day before that, and they were probably going to have it tomorrow as well. 

“We are, as it happens,” Shadowheart replied, her eyes flickering briefly to you before narrowing forward again. “Because this savage bitch won’t leave me alone!” 

Lae’zel bared her teeth in a cruel grin. “Better to be that than a revrykal of Shar.” 

At the mention of her Goddess’s name, Shadowheart practically lunged herself towards Lae’zel with an enraged scream, her dagger raised high with the intention of plunging it straight into the githyanki’s chest, who in turn raised her shield to protect herself. In that moment, you were nothing to them but a speck of dust in the wind. 

It wasn’t until your hand shot up in a blind panic when Shadowheart realised what she was doing, forcing her to suddenly pull back to avoid injuring you, only a moment too late as her knife slashed the palm of your hand. Blood sprayed across the ground as your short but pained cry echoed throughout the camp. 

“Oh Gods...” Shadowheart muttered as everyone was suddenly on their feet and crowded around the three of you in a matter of moments. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t... mean to...!” 

“What? Attempt to kill our leader in cold blood?” Lae’zel muttered as she took your trembling hand to examine it, you only stared ahead as the shock took a moment to wear off. You didn’t even register her uncharacteristically gentle touch as she turned your palm up. “Only a flesh wound, you will live.” 

“Still,” Astarion piped up from behind. “Perhaps it would be best to get that dressed up lest you attract any...*ahem* unsavoury visitors.” 

“It would seem we already have,” Lae’zel replied, to which the vampire put a hand up to his chest in mock offence. 

“Lae’zel, you depreciate me,” he pouted. “I’m hurt.” 

Astarion’s sudden cold grasp on your wrist startled you as he decided to examine the cut himself in a much less gentle manner than Lae’zel. “Not that I would be able to get much from this anyway, even if I tried.” 

You were slightly worried that he was pondering the idea the longer he stared at the wound; you could practically see him drooling. It wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he snapped out of his daze. 

“Well, we should probably get this cleaned up anyhow,” he finally said. “To avoid infection and whatnot.” 

“...You’re not gonna lick it clean, are you?” Karlach asked with a grimace. 

“Of course not!” Astarion bit back, much more flustered this time. “I’m not some savage beast, you know.” 

“That’s... debatable,” Gale piped in. 

“Well! It’s lovely to know that you all think so little of me; the feeling is very much mutual,” Astarion said with a fake smile before taking you by the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’ll have to nurse this poor wounded soul, as well as my pride.” 

He started guiding you away from the rest of the group, you only allowed him to because the whole situation had you in a bit of a daze, but not before Shadowheart tried to get in another “I’m... I’m sorry.” 

“It’s... I’m fine,” you replied with whatever level of composure you could muster up with a smile in a small attempt to reassure her before allowing yourself to be led towards Astarion’s tent. Your words seemed to satisfy her as Shadowheart returned a sorrowful but grateful nod, though her expression turned sour when Karlach stepped between her and Lae’zel. 

“Alright now, ladies, what do you two say we let out our pent-up aggression towards each other in a healthier and less murder-y way, huh?” The tiefling suggested before holding up her finger to not let the other two get a word in edgewise. “And before you ask, I will not be taking no for an answer.” 

A small smile graced your lips at Karlach’s enthusiastic yet surprisingly pragmatic way of taking charge, and it seemed to be working as Shadowheart and—to your utter astonishment—Lae’zel agreed to whatever training regimen she had in store for them.  

‘Perhaps Karlach should take over as leader...’  

The idea was extinguished as soon as it had entered your mind, replaced with thoughts of the tiefling messing everything up, of her killing you in your sleep, that you shouldn’t trust her to lead your party. The only one who should have any authority over these subordinates is you. Only you are worthy. 

The voice quieted down after a few moments, leaving you only with a pounding head—just another one of the many wonderful side-effects of the parasite. 

You didn’t take any heed of whatever thoughts the tadpole forced upon you. You knew that Karlach would never hurt you, or any of the others for that matter—not by choice, anyway. However, those flashes of betrayal and blood were starting to wear you down a bit, especially with the lack of sleep; the very notion of it had been non-existent since you escaped the nautiloid and accepted the leadership that everyone had practically forced upon you. 

You weren’t exactly a natural-born leader; hell, you barely managed to keep yourself alive never mind a whole group of people. 

“That’s going to need stitches,” Astarion said as he observed your hand more closely now that the two of you were in the privacy of his tent. Heat flushed around your cheeks at how close the two of you were. Flashes of that night you had shared a bed—or well, the forest floor—came to mind, and you hated how flustered it made you. It was a one-night stand, a bit of fun to ease the stress of adventuring; clearly it meant nothing. At least... that was what you were made to feel. 

What had been a night of passion for you, had been the same old dance for him. 

“Take a seat there,” Astarion’s said, his voice cutting through your thoughts like a knife. “I should have a needle around here, somewhere.” 

“You know how to sew?” You asked, settling down on a cushioned stool. 

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, and a sting of guilt surged in your chest. “How do you think I’ve kept these clothes looking so good for over two hundred years? Certainly not by magic.” 

“Why not just buy new clothes?” 

Your prodding seemed to hit a nerve as he paused for a moment. 

“Why waste the coin?” He finally replied, sounding a little dejected. 

“Sorry,” you said, biting your lip as you tried to think of a way to quickly rectify your carelessness. “You do look great, by the way—y-your clothes, I mean,” embarrassment takes over as you trip over your own words. “The gold embroidery is um *cough * it’s nice.” 

Astarion seems amused at your inability to grasp basic English as he chuckles, the sound deep and almost musical. “Why thank you, darling. I’m glad someone around here appreciates the finer details.” 

The vampire kneels next to you and threads the needle before gesturing for you to hold out your hand. “It has been a while so... let’s just hope I’m not too rusty, hm?” 

Those words don’t instil a great deal of confidence within you, but you won’t allow it to show, trusting in him to get the job done. If you ended up getting sepsis, well... Withers was always on stand-by. 

“Now, hold still,” Astarion instructed. “This may sting a little.” 

You nodded, only wincing a little when he made the first stitch, the pain became more bearable as you watched him focus with the kind of laser-like precision that only came with a practiced hand; it made you wonder how many times he had done this. His methodical movements almost lulled you into a sort of relaxed trance, had your mind have not been working overtime, you honestly might have fallen asleep: Gods know you could have done with a bit of shut eye. 

Ever since the ship crashed, your problems just seemed to keep piling on top of each other: Lae’zel was hellbent on getting to that githyanki creche, and there was the matter of Karlach’s engine, Gale was close to blowing to kingdom-come if he didn’t get another magical item to consume soon, Astarion would probably need another feeding at some point, not to mention the dog, Scratch, and the owlbear cub who had started hanging around the camp. A dog was one thing but how much did owlbears need to eat?  

It was fine, you reassured yourself. Everything would be fine. 

“There we go,” Astarion said, relinquishing your hand back, freshly stitched and cleaned. The pain was still there, dull and throbbing, but it wasn’t anything a quick healing spell couldn’t fix. 

“Not my best work but it will just have to do for now,” he huffs, as if he was annoyed with himself. “You’ll have to excuse the sloppy stitching, it’s... been a while.” 

“It’s beautiful work,” you can’t help but admire the stitching; it was flawless. “Thank you, Astarion.” 

His gaze remains on you for a moment, as if he were expecting some sort of quip or punchline, and his eyes widen slightly when he realises you’re being genuine. 

“I... uh... you...?” He pauses and squints; still nothing. “You are... most certainly welcome.” 

You raise an eyebrow; did he really think so lowly of you that he believed you simply weren’t capable of a simple 'thank you'? Or was it himself that he had no confidence in? Your thoughts turn to when you asked him about how he came about becoming a vampire. Astarion kept most of his history closed off from you but told you just enough to let you know that this ‘Cazador’ fellow had treated him poorly. Belittled him. Enslaved him. 

You couldn’t begin to imagine how horrible it must have been; no wonder he didn’t trust anyone. 

A part of you wanted to pry into his thoughts, to let him know that you were here for him should he ever want to talk, but a new figure entered the tent, startling you into closing your mouth. 

“Hello!” Gale cheerily greeted with a smile, his eyes latching onto you immediately. “How are we feeling?” 

“Oh, we’re feeling quite dandy, thank you,” Astarion interjected with a frown. “You didn’t think to knock before deciding just to barge in?” 

“Well, given the materialistic structure of this very sound establishment, I think you’ll find it’s a little difficult to uh...” Gale trailed off, attempting to rap the tent flap to no avail. “...knock on.” 

“Then why not just knock on the wooden beams with that...” The vampire waved lazily towards Gale’s staff. “Very large stick of yours.” 

“Duly noted, but I think we’re getting a bit off track here,” the wizard said before turning to you. “I need a word.” 

You were taken aback slightly by his bluntness, and you couldn’t help but notice the almost pained way he was wringing his hands and how his eyebrows subtly twitched. He looked incredibly... uncomfortable. 

His hand hovered over his chest briefly, just above the mark that glowed whenever he consumed magic. 

Shit. Was it that time already? But hadn’t you given him something only yesterday? Or had it been a few days now? With recent events, it was hard to keep track of the time anymore; day and night just meshed into one big messy blur. 

Judging by your panicked look, Gale held up his hands in a placating manner. “Now, I know you’ve had a lot on your plate recently but this little uh... situation of mine is growing quite dire again so... if you could just relinquish whatever magical artefact you have, then all will be fine and dandy.” 

“I... don’t have anything on me at the moment.” 

Gale’s expression dropped. “Come now, you must have picked up something along the way, surely?” 

You grimaced. 

“In a dungeon? Along the road? What about that little goblin camp you rampaged through recently?” 

His sudden passive-aggressiveness made you feel uneasy. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Astarion cut in, folding his arms. “But we were a bit preoccupied with fighting for our lives to be on the lookout for any magic boots for you to chew on.” 

Gale chuckled dryly and drew the vampire a dirty look. “I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of what might very well happen if I don’t find something to contain the beast within me very soon- “ 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, darling.” 

“This isn’t a joking matter!” 

“Ugh! Just shut up!” You snapped. “I do get it, Gale. Because you remind me Every. Damn. Day. About this big, scary, mystery catastrophe that might happen without actually explaining anything about it! A bit of context would go a long way!” 

Gale’s hurt wince suddenly had your stomach churning in guilt; you shouldn’t be snapping at people; you were better than that. 

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologised. “As soon as we’re out on the road again, I’ll make it our priority to look for an artefact for you, alright? You have my word.” 

Astarion scowled and Gale forced a smile; his lips too strained for it to be genuine. It seemed like you couldn’t please anyone today. 

“That’s all I can ask for, and I promise... all will be revealed soon, otherwise the tadpoles will be the least of our worries.” 

When Gale left, you plopped down to the ground and took ragged breaths to calm your nerves, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of hurt as you nestled your injured hand in your lap. Had Gale only checked in on you so he could ask you for a magic item in return? Was he really that desperate? He must have been, seeing as you had completely forgotten about his predicament. 

What kind of leader were you? 

“You know, you can’t go making promises all willy-nilly like that,” Astarion said. “We have enough problems as it is without having to worry about...” 

His chastising faded into white noise as you grasped your head, the sting of your fingers curling and tugging through unkempt hair was just enough to distract from the pounding that came from within your brain. The ability to focus was suddenly lost to you as your heart raced, and dark emotions swirled within your chest like a wild tornado; it was tempting to let them sweep you away, to ride the waves into the unknown. To be anywhere but here without anyone depending on you for so, so much.  

“Hello?” Astarion drawled. “Are you even listening to- Darling...?” 

He moved closer to you; his steps measured and deliberate as he lowered himself down next to you, still allowing you enough space while being close enough to reach out a hand to your trembling shoulder, his touch cold yet oddly comforting. 

“Hey,” he spoke in a soothing, soft tone, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with unwavering support. “I’m right here with you, you’re safe, just breathe along with me, alright?” 

You nodded, albeit shakily, and tried to mirror his calm, measured breaths, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, attempting to regain control over your racing heart. 

Astarion’s voice never wavered as your frantic gasps slowly started to synchronise with his calm breathing. “I know things are tough right now, but these feelings will soon pass. You’re stronger than you think, darling.” 

He continued to gently rub your back, tracing comforting circles with his fingertips, a rhythm that matched the cadence of your breath. Your hands slowly unlatched from your hair as you felt Astarion’s reassuring presence and honeyed words grounding you. 

“There we go, you’re regaining control,” he encouraged softly. “Now, I’m going to get you a glass of water, will you be alright for a moment?” 

You nodded again, and with a quick squeeze of your shoulder, he left. As your panic attack started to ebb, your breathing evened and your heart slowed as you felt yourself returning to the present moment, the tension that had your body rigid starting to ease. 

Astarion was back by your side within moments, gently pushing a glass into your hand and helping you lift it to your lips for a small sip of water, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat. 

“How do you feel?” 

“I’m-” 

“And don’t you dare say ‘I’m fine’,” he scowled. "Because we both know you’re clearly not.” 

You racked your brain to try and find a way to explain that you were okay and that this was just a small moment of weakness, a blip in the road, that there was nothing to worry about and you had it all figured out. 

But the words never came, instead you draw your knees up and hug them close to your chest as if to hide away from his piercing gaze. 

Astarion lingers by your side for a moment, his expression unreadable. 

“Would you like to stay in here for a while?” 

Unable to find the energy to speak, you simply nod. 

“Then come on, scooch over.” 

As you shuffle slightly to the side, Astarion sits down next to you, draping an arm over your shoulder and allowing you to settle your head into his side and cling to his shirt in a way that a child might cling to their mother. 

“...I’m sorry." 

From the corner of your eye, you could see Astarion’s expression soften as he waved a nonchalant hand. “Oh, you have nothing to be sorry for, dear. If anything, I should be the one apologising, who knew being in my mere presence would be so breathtaking?” 

You managed a small chuckle at that. 

“But in all seriousness,” he continued. “I know a thing or two about putting on a façade and... well...,” he paused. “Just... know that if you ever want to talk, I’m all pointy ears.” 

You hum in acknowledgement, though you can tell by his undertone that he’s being disingenuous, kindness wasn’t exactly his forte after all, but you appreciated the attempt all the same. But you were just content to sit in his arms for a while, and he seemed pleased enough with the silence. So, for now, you inhale the comforting aroma of bergamot, rosemary and brandy, letting yourself get lost in his comforting presence. 

And exhale. 

xxx

Hellooooo Baldur's Gate 3 has me in a chokehold and the brainrot is real. I'm only in Act 1 hence why this fic takes place so early in the game but this idea wouldn't leave me alone so here we are. Apologies for any inconsistencies :'3 Let me know what y'all think!

*Edit - since this has been pretty well received, I've opened up requests! Pop me an ask if you would like one :)