#anxiety attacks suck

[weighted-hearts]

Why is it that people need to see pain in order to validate that it’s real? So annoying.

[stealingyourbones]

Ya girl is goin through a not so good time rn mayest I please have photos of y’all’s pets as a means to get that good good happy chemical

[kamil-a]

like does anyone want to talk about porter hello hello can anyone hear me (-porter when she found out she was muted)

[cuubism]

Whenever you post another Hope/Morpheus fic snippet my brain does this:

that's kind of what they are doing to my brain right now too 😂 i need them to get out of my house

(it's based on this post i made ages ago btw, that's what this fic was birthed from. it wasn't supposed to get this long XD)

I'm so glad you're looking forward to it, that makes me happy :)

here's a snippet. 1789 meeting. tw violence

--

Morpheus was hardly shocked when the goons stepped forward, though Hope looked between them in surprise, as if he had truly expected he might be able to negotiate his way out of this. And argument or not, Morpheus was not going to let these men step near him. He stood, which effectively drew both men’s gazes to him, discreetly picking up cutlery as he went. Morpheus had had plenty of occasions in life to need to know how to fight, and he was lightly built in comparison to lots of other men so he’d learnt to fight fast and dirty. He went for the man closer to Hope first, catching him about the wrist as he swung his blade, twisting so it dropped from his grasp and landing a hard jab of the heel of his hand into the man’s solar plexus. The man dropped to the floor, and Morpheus spun for the other, just missing the slash of a blade at his shoulder. He ducked under the blow and brought up the fork he’d grabbed from the table, spearing it right into the man’s eye, ignoring the spray of blood and the scream. He was calm, felt nothing about it other than the need to stay between Hope and these men who would do him harm, though perhaps he should have felt more, fear or regret for the violence. But he didn’t. Having downed both of the lady’s goons, Morpheus turned again—only to find the lady herself holding a knife to his throat. He expected to have to shove her off and possibly get his throat cut in the process—not that it would be permanent—when Hope stood and slipped between them, quiet as a flicker of light, and touched two fingers to the lady’s bare sternum. She gasped as if he’d plunged a blade into her chest instead, and stumbled back, eyes wide, dropping her knife with a clatter. She looked utterly dazed, far off, and as Morpheus watched, tears fell from her eyes, one after the other, and she clutched her chest. And then fled. Morpheus watched her leave with curiosity. Somehow, he hadn’t expected Hope to have any defensive abilities—he was always rather the type to negotiate with a burglar that they should be making better life choices—but in retrospect it was obvious that an Endless would be able to defend himself, even if he didn’t often use it. When Morpheus looked over at him—he was really standing quite close, which Morpheus tried not to think about—Hope was openly gaping at him. “You— you stabbed him in the eye.” Morpheus raised an eyebrow. “And?” “With a fork.” “Yes, I thought pulling a proper knife might be more conspicuous.” Morpheus couldn’t tell if the man was dead. He was certainly down. It didn’t really matter. “Vicious.” Hope looked at the fallen bodies. “Fates. What a turn for drinks to take.” “I suppose you hoped for better,” Morpheus said, and Hope grinned at him. “Always do.”

[superbattrash]

I know it’s 1.30am and I promised to be better with bedtimes but have you considered the fact that I’m a 30 year old yaoi obsessed guy who had the worst anxiety attack today? No? Then shhhh I’m totally on my way to bed n..nnnnn…nnnow

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[krissy25]

Nothing like having really bad anxiety on your birthday. Life sucks sometimes.

[h0n3yk1tt3n]

Things that make me want to rewrite L2C scenes from a different character's perspective OR add "missing scenes" via Tales From the Lagniappe:

Vague narration because POV Character is panicking/spacing out/passing out/ generally not All There/etc.

Implicit backstory

—Chapter 16 // Swamp Fever Part 3

[weighted-hearts]

I hate when people say “ you don’t look anorexic.” Like it’s a look and not a mental disorder. 6% of people with eating disorders are actually underweight!

[lightningstruck-arch]

sorry i haven't been writing a lot lately or reaching out to any of the messages i got, i've just been in a state of anxiety since like december lol and uni assignments breathing down my neck is also adding extra stress rn!! but these have to be done in two weeks so hopefully it will get better then! i'll try to get to the messages over the weekend though!

[maxattax]

Dread

Ectoberhaunt Day 11: Dread

CW: Panic attack

Danny has a panic attack. Jazz helps.

Danny had been fighting this ghost for entirely too long and wasn’t making any headway. It was a giant snake, and it either could not or did not want to talk. Danny ran out of clever quips a while ago and was more than ready to get it in the thermos.

Unfortunately, the ghost did not want to be in the thermos any more than Danny would. It wasn’t especially strong, but it was fast and slippery. It kept splitting into multiple smaller snakes, and every time he’d get rid of a copy, it would just make more.

Danny glanced at his watch; it was a quarter to ten. He was going to miss curfew! There were five snakes now, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to finish this in time. Unless… He took in his surroundings. An open field, a few trees and bushes. No people, no buildings. Good.

He took a deep breath, planted his feet on the ground, and Wailed. Waves of energy poured out of his mouth. A bone-chilling moan reverberated through the air. The Wail knocked out a few trees in front of him, and the duplicate snakes fizzled out of existence. Tires squealed behind him; he paid it no mind, since anything behind him would not be damaged. He continued to Wail until the original snake lay on the ground, unmoving. Danny finally ended the Wail. He sucked the ghost into the thermos, collapsed to his knees, and transformed back to human form.

Danny took a moment to catch his breath. The Wail always took a lot out of him. He turned around and saw… oh no. The Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle, and his parents, wide-eyed stares on their faces.

“Danny?!” they said as one.

Oh no. Oh no no. He had to get out of there. Danny transformed back to his ghost form and took to the air. He sped home as fast as he could, flying faster than even Jack could drive the RV.

When he got home, he slowed down just enough to phase through the roof above Jazz’s room without ending up in the basement. He landed heavily on the ground and locked the door. After a few moments, his energy left him and he collapsed on the bed, human.

“Danny? What happened?” Jazz put down her journal and turned to pay full attention to the boy who had just crash-landed in her bedroom.

“Mom – and Dad – they – they –” he stuttered between rapid, terrified breaths. His heart pounded in his chest. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get enough air. The edges of his vision started to close in.

Jazz’s voice pierced through the fog. “Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” she said. No, he couldn’t, it was too slow, he needed more air. “In, two, three, four,” she counted slowly. “Out, two, three, four.” Danny’s breaths heaved, uneven and shallow. His lungs burned, hungry for air. “In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.” After a few repeats, Danny was finally able to steady his breathing.

“Jazz, they know,” he said as soon as he could speak, the words tumbling out all at once. “They know, they saw me transform, they’re gonna kill me, they’re gonna tear me apart molecule by molecule, Jazz help me, they hate me–”

“Danny.” Jazz’s firm voice interrupted his. “You’re having a panic attack. The door is locked; they won’t come in. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Danny said without hesitation. His fingers tingled. His arms felt numb. Waves of heat enveloped his body, buckets of sweat pouring down his back. Every breath was shaky. His vision blurred. The walls were closing in.

“Danny? Are you still with me?” Jazz’s voice was distant. “Can you tell me five things you can see?”

He looked around frantically. “Uh. Um. You. A chair. The bed. A desk. Uh. Your journal. That’s five?”

“Yes, good job. Now, four things you can hear,” she instructed.

Danny took a deep, uncertain breath. “Your voice. The birds outside. Your computer whirring. The front door opening. Oh no, they’re home!”

“It’s okay Danny, you’re safe with me. Three things you can feel.” Jazz’s voice was soft and soothing.

“My heartbeat. The blanket. My clothes.” Each one got a little easier.

“Two things you can smell.”

“Your air freshener. My sweat. Bleh, gross.”

Jazz laughed. “One more. Something you can taste.”

“A breath mint, if you have one?” Jazz laughed again, a pure, tinkling sound. “Of course, Danny.” She grabbed one from her desk and offered it to him. He popped it in his mouth.

“Okay. You’re looking much calmer. Can you tell me what happened?” Jazz asked, without pressure.

“I was fighting a ghost, and I wanted to be home by curfew, so I used my Ghostly Wail to get the fight over with quickly. I transformed back to human; it takes so much out of me, you know? I couldn’t stay in my ghost form.” Jazz nodded along as he told the story. “Mom and Dad saw me transform. They saw my most destructive power, then they saw that it was me who did it. I freaked out, I got a burst of adrenaline and transformed and flew all the way home. Jazz, they know how dangerous I am. I can’t face them.” Danny’s expression was a picture of anxious dread.

“Did you catch the ghost?” Danny nodded. “Good.” Jazz paused for a moment.

“They love you,” she said. “They’re not going to hurt you. They got home five minutes ago, and they haven’t busted the door down. You know they would, if they thought a dangerous ghost was in the house. They know you need time, and they’re letting you take it.” Jazz’s voice rang with conviction.

“How do you know?” Danny asked.

Jazz looked him in the eye. “I’ve been studying the psychological patterns of our family for years now. I know how they act. They’re not going to hurt you.”

Danny stood and hugged Jazz, squeezing as hard as he could without hurting her. “Thank you.”

“Any time, little brother. I love you. Now, are you ready to go downstairs?”

Danny took a deep breath. “I think so.” Hands shaking, Danny opened the door.

[shalegas34]

just got a prescription for drugs i had to sign for at the pharmacy. lets fucking go

[gvmdisease]

i think i’m gonna vomit im so anxious rn wtf i haven’t been this anxious in forever

[sir-adamus]

i have had an utterly miserable weekend

[vampykween]

i can feel a writing slump coming on :( i have ideas just nothing i really want to actually commit to writing and i knew i should’ve never posted the first part of second chances cause i’ve already lost steam writing it 😵‍💫

also realistically i won’t even have much time to write in like less than two months and i’m trying to not stress about it cause like who cares but also i am unfortunately addicted to people liking my writing woooo lordy

[ellalalala]

I've been listening to the circus theme on repeat for the past 15 minutes and wondering which of my biggest fears Pennywise would use to terrorize me. Tell me why I can't think of one. Like my fear of heights doesn't feel serious enough, I had an obsession with Laughing Jack as a tween so clowns don't count either. What's left? Spiders? Like I've no clue