#cw panic attacks

[seth-whumps]

“Hey! Hey, calm down. Shh~.” -panicked Whumpee

"I can't, I can't do this, please don't make me do this."

"Hurts. It hurts. My chest--it hurts."

"I can't breathe."

"Stop, stop touching me, don't touch me!"

"I--I'm dying. I'm gonna die. I don't want to die."

[kurokawaia]

❛ EXTRAVERTAED? NOT REALLY ❜

Mello X Fem!Reader

WC; 500+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW :: anxiety, x fem reader, reader is slightly timid, shy and all that jizz jazz, mentions of panic attacks + more

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 :: (filled request) Hey! I wanted to ask if you would be up for writing fluff with Mello x female reader :)) it can be headcanons or anything, but I was wondering if the reader could be like extroverted one moment; having fun and then the next moment they are over whelmed and staying close to Mello due to anxiety 😵- ANON

HONEY'S NOTE :: i don't have diagnosed anxiety so please correct me if anything here is too out of wack, im just goin of personal experiences :)

m.list | death note m.list

Your personality lowkey confused mello at first.

He likes chaos, but he never was that guy to be the life of a party. However, you make people turn their heads at you without a problem as if it was so easy to just chat up any stranger and have him be your buddy in an instant. He just can't see too many people crowd around him, while he can't help but stare at the ease with which you pull this off easily, without even trying.

Mello enjoys the spark of you coming alive in social settings. It's that sparkle when you light up, laughing and bantering when you're in a good mood, he loves how your eyes glimmer 🥺. It's not actually that he enjoys the parties or noise; it's just that sparkle in your eyes when you're having fun.

But the moment you start feeling overwhelmed, he notices right then.

You're great at putting on a brave face, but Mello's too sharp, he notices IMMEDEITYLY. Your shoulders stiffen, your laughter becomes more forced, and in one smooth motion, you're sticking closer to him, hands fidgeting. Mello's not the coddling type, but he's quick to set a hand on your arm. He knows you well enough to pick up on the shift in your mood.

Mello doesn't question it when you start to retreat into your shell. He gives you space and doesn't push for an explanation. Instead, he slowly takes you away from the group, making sure that your presences aren't going to be missed, carefully taking you outside.

That switch from extroverted into anxious doesn't faze him. Mello understands emotional switches better than most. It's not unlike his mood swings, except where he turns his frustration into anger, you tend to shrink into yourself. He gets it.

You lean against his side, his warmth making you feel better, and Mello lets you stay there without complaint. In public he keeps his usual tough-guy demeanor, but his hand resting against yours or his arm casually thrown around you is his way of helping you from an overwhelming environment.

When you're back inside a more private space, Mello softens, but only just a tinee tiny bit.

He won't flood you with questions. He has his way of taking care of you when your anxiety has drained you. Mello's care is not exactly bold, and you appreciate that he knows just how to help without making it awkward.

He knows your limits, sometimes better than you do.

He pulls you gently out of a crowd when you don't even realize how close you are to a panic attack. Then he won't make a big deal about it when you are feeling better. Mello likes that you're independent but he's there when you need him the most.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | death note m.list

[statesys]

our christmas experience:

- woke up blurry and disorientated

- STOCKINGS CHOCOLATE RAHH

- arguments

- oh now we're talking politics okay adios

- oh hey new guy

- MORE CHOCOLATE

- oh I feel sick

- PRESENTSSSS /pos

- PRESENTSSSS /neg

- oh hey new guy

- ohmg this cow clock is adorable look at it's little nose

- WHY HASN'T FELIZ NAVIDAD PLAYED YET DAMMIT

- she likes the gift hrehehe ☺️

- MORE FOOD IM GONNA

- panic attack x2 combo move

- overstimulated combustion

- oh hey new guy

- oh hey new guy

- christmas dinner is gonna kill me

- oh hey new guy

- alcohol hrnrgh tastes FOUL

- FELIZ NAVIDAD PRÓSPERO AÑO Y FELICIDADDDDD

- willa please stop singing I can't take this

- oh hey new guy

- why're we ranking eating soap and licking windows

- more politics

- oh lord that's a lot of dishes

.

- oh hey new guy

- LACTOSE INTOLERANCE 😨

[the-path-of-dreamers]

Moon 4: An Echo

Encounters 2/3

[cartoonscientist]

in honor of disabled character whump month here are some thoughts about possibly characterizing cassandra nova as chronically ill/neurodivergent in fanwork

she’s literally not a human and her brain doesn’t work like a human’s, it’s even canonically stated that she learned human behavior and social cues from observation but doesn’t actually feel compelled to follow them. would she have difficulty integrating into human culture if she reformed and joined the x-men as an adult rather than being socialized as Ernst first? would she start to notice how mentally and emotionally different she is from everyone else after being forced to interact with them as equals for an extended period of time? would she begin to feel frustrated and inadequate by things she doesn’t understand now, when before she could ignore them as the trappings of an inferior species? what would it feel like if she wanted people to like her but couldn’t figure out how to socialize “correctly”? how would she feel if she kept being left out of things because her colleagues just assume that as a nonhuman, she isn’t interested or wouldn’t fully enjoy them?

it isn’t typical for mummudrai to have a secondary human body. we know that without her “flesh armor”, cassandra is blind and can’t think coherently. her astral body perceives sensory input on a different level. how does this affect her sensory processing abilities overall? she seems to have a preference for nudity, at least when piloting her brother’s body. when clothed, she tends to wear the same small selection of practical outfits. it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that clothing isn’t very important to her and may even make her uncomfortable. how does she feel about fluorescent lights or traffic noise or being in loud, busy areas with lots of confusing sounds and sights? she always tends to operate from a place of isolation outside the chaos in canon. could the sensory data between her two bodies get fucked up by stress or psychic damage? maybe if she gets overloaded with adrenaline her mummudrai brain tries to take over but can’t make sense of what her human body is perceiving or even figure out how to operate its limbs.

cassandra is pretty much universally described as abnormally small and withered compared to charles. even in the form of a little girl her body is frail and prematurely aged. we can assume her body is kind of fucked because she had to build it cell by cell; maybe she has a lot of scar tissue in her skin, maybe her telomeres are messed up, maybe she can’t produce collagen, there are a lot of possibilities here for contrasting her insane power levels with how weak and decrepit her body actually is. maybe she overexerts herself because she has no issues using her psychic abilities but is distracted from what a toll her actions are taking on her muscles and joints until the dust settles and suddenly everything hurts. maybe after settling into her current body and achieving some degree of normalcy she starts realizing that chronic pain isn’t normal.

she has a healing factor, but we can see that it takes a while by how her vocal cords remain severed for a long stretch of time and the multiple times she gets her neck or jaw broken and has to realign them and wait for them to heal. she gets punched in the face in xmen red and quickly grows her teeth back but has a bruise for the rest of the series. what if her body got REALLY fucked up to the point of incapacitation, maybe through an accident that would completely obliterate a normal mutant, and she has to undergo the long process of regenerating while dependent on others to protect her body and provide her with nutrients; it would be so different from having to build yourself alone and unloved in the sewer.

finally, one of her very first memories is being attacked in the womb by her own brother, which is absolutely insane and very funny tbh, but also you can’t deny that such an early trauma absolutely fucked her up in concrete and tangible ways. she has an embarrassing flashback (encouraged by psychic attack but still) in marauders when she gets grabbed from behind. in her original appearance, logan acknowledges that she’s just a “fucked up thing trying to survive” (paraphrased). in xmen red jean calls her out on being lonely and afraid. you could make a strong argument that cassandra is primarily driven by a very twisted and misplaced but nonetheless intense fear that even she can’t recognize for what it is, which is thematically appropriate for the social justice messages traditionally present in canon. after being rehabilitated, where will that anxiety go? she does redirect it at non-mutant humans, but it could also present itself in the form of generalized anxiety, panic attacks, or dread. and since she has no concept of trauma except applied to others as a way to manipulate them, she can’t even comprehend that something like that could be wrong with her. it’s not a panic attack or a flashback, that can’t happen to mummudrai, it must be something else.

[abubblingcandle]

Augusnippets Day 25 - Flashbacks - Ted Lasso

cw - flashbacks, PTSD, past child abuse, claustrophobia, panic attacks

Jamie had been working with Doctor Fieldstone on the things that his dad had ruined for him and that caused his panic attacks. But every so often he still accidentally stumbled on something that set off a memory he had forgotten about

Here on AO3 @augusnippets

“Fuck!” Jamie cursed, dropping down onto the moist grass. He didn’t even do anything. He was just running, stopped and was stepping down the curb. His body went down the curb, his ankle didn’t agree with that as an idea and so his body crumpled.

“Shit!” Roy continued the swear word roulette. Before Jamie could think about moving, Roy had his arms underneath Jamie’s and was pulling him back upright.

“I think I’m,” Jamie winced before testing putting weight down on the irritated appendage. “Nope, nope,” Jamie cried out as it buckled again under his weight. He squeezed his eyes shut and let Roy manipulate him. All Jamie’s focus was on making sure his foot did not touch the floor. Until the back of his legs hit on the rear bumper of the G Wagon. The feeling was like a jolt of electricity, piercing through his veins leaving destruction in it’s wake. He couldn’t breathe, his chest was collapsing in on itself. There were hands on him, he didn’t want hands on him.

“Just get the fuck in junior.”

The hands weren’t letting go. He couldn’t struggle. It would hurt more if he struggled.

“We’ve got places to be and you’re the smallest. I’d do it if I could but I won’t fit you hear.” Jamie could feel his dad’s breath on his face and smell the stench of cheap cologne and stale beer.

“I’ll just walk,” Jamie whispered, hands finally reconnecting with his brain to reach up and grip tightly onto his hair.

“Jamie.” Hands gripped at his wrists, trapping him in place.

“Jamie do not embarrass me. If you will not get in there then I will make you. So stupid.” The grip on his wrists was becoming bruising as Jamie struggled in place lashing out with his elbows, his feet, his head anything that would move. But the grip wouldn’t release. The growling of displeasure continued. He was lifted up of his feet and then everything went black.

It was too tight. His dad had said with pride just a few days before that Jamie was a growing lad and would be taller than his dad in no time. That growth spurt height now was betraying him as Jamie tucked his knees into his chest to stop whatever else was in the boot digging into his legs. His head was already throbbing from the hit against the old opened paint can that had been leaking into the boot of his dad’s car for months. It was so dark. Jamie couldn’t even tell if he had is eyes open or not. “You’re lucky mate, kids just ain’t built like they were when I was a young un,” Jamie could hear his dad’s abrasive laugh over the rumbling of the engine turning over.

“Tell you the number of times my old man would take me out and I’d have to sit in the boot as there wasn’t room,” Denbo laughed and there was a chitter of mirroring chuckles from the other occupants of the car.

“Just a part of growing up, George fucking spoils the little leech. Needs a bit of toughening up,” James huffed. Tears prickled at Jamie’s eyes. He pressed his fist against his mouth to bite and try and stifle the pained and scared sobs. He couldn’t be seen crying, not by his dad’s friends, that would just make it a million times worse. He wasn’t some little baby that was scared of the dark. It was his own fault. His dad would have taken off the parcel shelf and there would have been more room if he hadn’t had been a whiny brat. He just needed to get over himself and …

“Jamie, can you hear me?”

Jamie froze in place. That wasn’t one of his dad’s friends. It was too soft, too caring to be someone that would associate with James Tartt.

“He’s stopped the biting, that’s something right?”

Roy? Roy was here? But wasn’t there? Where was here?

“Jamie I need you to open your eyes for me?” the nice voice, not Roy, asked. But Jamie couldn’t do that. He shook his head slightly, too worried about hitting the paint can again to do it further. If he opened his eyes he would just see the darkness and Roy and Not Roy would go away and he would be trapped and alone again. “Jamie, you are on a side road near Richmond Green leaning up against the wheel of Coach Kent’s car. If you don’t believe me you can reach out. Just move your right hand off your lap and you’ll feel the tarmac.” Jamie shook his head again. No matter what the nice voice in his head was saying he couldn’t move his arm because it would hit something and what if it was the bolt cutters?

“Jamie, could you try? I’m, I’m starting to get really fucking worried mate,” that was Roy Kent that time. Jamie would know that voice anywhere. But Roy Kent was worried about him, why was imaginary Roy Kent worried about him and asking him to move his arm. But despite that his arm moved seemingly of it’s own accord. It stretched downwards and collided with a rough, bitty surface. It did feel like a road.

“There you are Jamie. See what that feels like. Focus on that feeling and open your eyes.” Jamie rolled a loose piece of the fine rock over his fingertips. His eyes did inch open to look down at the piece in his hand. It was dark grey and jagged and despite the prickle, felt good in his hand. He wasn’t in a car boot. He was sat on the side of a road with a very concerned Roy Kent holding out a phone with Doctor Fieldstone’s face peering back at him. “Are you back with us Jamie?” Doctor Fieldstone asked and that was enough to start the torrent. Sobs ripped their way out of Jamie and poured all over the pavement like someone had taken a knife to him and just started ripping things out.

He could faintly here Roy thanking Doctor Fieldstone then a hand settled on his knee. Roy could surely feel the small flinch at the contact but he kept his hand there, a settling weight. It was easily identifiable as Roy Kent’s hand, not anything that could be kept in a handyman’s car boot.

“I just want to go home,” Jamie choked out through his tears.

“Ok then lad. Let’s get you home. You wanna choose the music?” Roy offered, opening the passenger seat door with his free hand and leaving it there inviting for Jamie. Jamie nodded, that would help. He could do this. He wasn’t scared of cars. He could get in the passenger seat like the passenger princess Roy always muttered about him being and he could annoy Roy with his music selections. He could do this. This wasn’t going to be another thing ruined by James Tartt.

It was the topic of an emergency session with Doctor Fieldstone the next day, another trigger that Jamie hadn’t been aware of. Another thing ruined by James Tartt Sr. But when he stood a respectable distance away and saw a loving uncle lift a fantastic little blonde veterinarian for wild animals to sit on the edge of the boot so he could clean a scraped knee, Jamie felt like it might be one he could fix.

[unforgivenn]

SHACKLED BY ROYALTY

#4: Fractured hope

Previous/ Masterlist/ Next

CW: Mention of abuse, captivity, panic attacks, extreme distress, noah being a sad boi, pet whump, slavery

Noah's senses swam in the murky depths of semi-consciousness, his body hanging limply in the chains that held him suspended. He drifted in and out of awareness, the relentless pain a constant anchor dragging him back to the nightmarish reality. The chamber was silent now, Andrey having left him to marinate in his agony and humiliation.

Somewhere in the haze of his thoughts, Noah registered the sound of a door creaking open, followed by the muffled shuffle of footsteps. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt like they were weighted down with lead.

Every movement sent waves of agony rippling through his battered frame, a constant reminder of the horrors he had endured at the hands of his merciless captor.

"He's in bad shape," a soft voice murmured, tinged with professional detachment. "We need to get him down and treat those wounds."

Rough hands grabbed Noah's arms, releasing the shackles that had held him captive. He slumped forward, unable to support his own weight. Two figures caught him before he could collapse to the ground, their grips firm.

Noah slowly blinked through dried eyes as if registering his surroundings. A hazy man came in sight with a needle in hand. The glint of the needle in hand sent a jolt of fear through Noah's mudded mind.

"No, no, no..." he muttered, his voice barely a whisper, raw from screaming. Panic surged, adrenaline cutting through the fog of his thoughts. He thrashed weakly, trying to free himself from the hands that held him, but his strength was all but gone.

The man came in sight. He was an average sized man with dark brown hair and kind eyes that were filled with.. pity?

The man shushed Noah gently, but Noah wouldn't, couldn't, hear the reassurance, couldn't see anything beyond the needle's sharp point.

Noah's vision blurred as tears filled his eyes, mixing with the grime and blood on his face. Memories of Andrey's cruel smile, the gleaming instruments of pain, the endless hours of torment—everything merged into a single, overwhelming fear.

"He's having a panic attack," another voice said urgently. "We need to calm him down before we can do anything."

"G-Get that away from me!!" Noah stuttered, his voice rising in desperation and panic. "Please ngh! G-Get away!"

The hands on him tightened to prevent him from thrashing around more. Noah felt like a feral animal on a leash living only for the purpose of serving that jackass.

"Shh Shh" The first voice soothed, closer now. A gentle hand touched his face, brushing away the tears. "We're here to help you alright?"

The words struggled to penetrate the thick veil of his terror. Noah choked on a sob forcing his eyes to focus on the figure. Not Andrey. Not right now.

"W-Why...?" He croaked, his voice a raw whisper.

The figures exchanged a glance, then lowered Noah onto the floor. One of them produced a small vial and carefully uncorked it, releasing a pungent aroma that made Noah's stomach churn.

"We're under orders.. slave." The other explained, their tone a matter of fact. Adding the last word only made Noah's chest ache more. "His highness wants you alive. For now."

H-Huh? Noah's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Andrey, a fresh wave of fear washing over him like a tidal wave. But he pushed the fear aside, focusing instead on the fleeting sense of relief that washed over him at the thought of being out of Andrey's clutches, even if only temporarily.

"We're going to help you, okay? You'll feel better once we treat you." The kind voice spoke again, and now that Noah's vision had cleared, he saw that it belonged to a stout man, probably in his mid-twenties, with neatly brushed hair and a physician's cloak over him.

Another man approached the first, murmuring under his breath. "You’re asking for trouble if you get attached to this one. You do remember what happened last time?" The physician sighed. He knew the other was right.

The man took the sigh as a sign to start. They worked efficiently, cleaning the blood from his back and applying a salve that stung fiercely at first before a cooling numbness spread through his wounds. Noah's breath hitched as the pain receded to a dull throb, his mind slowly clawing its way back from the brink of unconsciousness.

"Rest now," The kind physician mumbled so that the others wouldn't hear nevertheless, his voice soothing. "You're safe for the moment."

Safe. The word seemed almost foreign in the context of his current reality, but Noah clung to it like a lifeline. As he drifted into a fitful sleep, his mind continued to wrestle with the fear and uncertainty that had become his constant companions.

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

When he awoke, the room was still dim, the only light coming from a small lamp on a nearby table. His body ached, but the pain was more manageable now, dulled by the salve and the rest he had been afforded.

Noah tried to sitting up, but the effort made his head swim. He lay back down, staring at the ceiling trying to block out his memories of the chamber. Never, Never had he in his life ever experienced such pain. His breath quickened, the beginnings of a panic attack clawing at his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, focusing on the rhythm of his inhales and exhales.

He had no idea how much time had passed when the door creaked open again. Footsteps approached, and Noah braced himself for another round of torment. But instead, a familiar voice reached his ears, cold and commanding.

"Awake already, pet?"

Noah's heart lurched as Andrey stepped into view, his piercing green eyes gleaming with a predatory light. The prince's presence filled the room, suffocating in its intensity.

"Y-yes, sir," Noah managed to croak out, remembering the rules that had been beaten into him. His body tensed, anticipating another wave of pain.

To his surprise, Andrey simply smirked and knelt beside the cot, his gaze sweeping over Noah's bandaged form. "Good. You've learned your place."

Noah's breath came in shallow gasps, his pulse quickening as he struggled to maintain his composure. Andrey reached out, tracing a finger along the edge of one of the bandages, his touch both gentle and menacing. Noah gathered up the courage to speak, his effort at sounding confident gone in vain.

"Y-You wanted me alive..?"

"Damian did a good job at bandaging you up.," Andrey said, his voice a low purr. "You see, breaking you is no fun if you're already broken beyond repair."

Noah swallowed hard, the weight of Andrey's words pressing down on him like a vise. Damian. The physician's name was Dmain. He fought to keep his expression neutral, knowing that any sign of defiance would only invite more punishment which he had learnt the hard way.

Andrey's hand moved to Noah's chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. "You will serve me and my family. You should understand that you have no other choice but to leave your old life behind. Wether its the hard or the easy way."

Tears prickled at the corners of Noah's eyes, but he blinked them back and bit his lip slightly, refusing to give Andrey the satisfaction of seeing him break down. "Yes, sir," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Andrey's smile widened, a chilling expression that sent shivers down Noah's spine. "Good. Remember that, and perhaps your time here won't be as unbearable as it could be."

Before Andrey could leave, he turned back looking at Noah, his presence itself dominating. "Oh and I have yet to make you meet my parents huh? Rest up. I'll be back in a few. And don't you even dare show any defiance or bullshit in front of my parents or I swear I will make you see lord jesus."

With that, Andrey stood and turned to leave, his presence a lingering shadow that seemed to drain the light from the room. As the door closed behind him, Noah's resolve wavered, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together.

For now, he could only bide his time, gathering his strength for the battles that lay ahead wishing Andrey's family wasn't as cruel as him though it only seemed like a childish goal just out of hand now.

Taglist: @miireux134 @nuriiz134 @ash-reh @noeul-whumpsss @morning-star-whump

@parasitebunny @anutz1234 @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumped-by-glitter (let me know if you want to be added or removed :D)

[gryphonlover]

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Hyrule & Legend (Linked Universe) Characters: Hyrule (Linked Universe), Legend (Linked Universe), Warriors (Linked Universe), Twilight (Linked Universe) Additional Tags: Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Not Beta Read, Temporary Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Blood, Vomiting, Panic Attacks 

Summary: Things had gone horribly wrong so, so quickly that all he could really feel was a faint sense of shock through the numbness of it all.

They had been expecting a fight, but it had come incredibly close to being a slaughter instead. If it hadn’t been for Hyrule, they likely wouldn’t have made it out alive. As it was, it was simply a miracle that the traveler hadn’t stayed dead himself.

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

Chapter 3 (the final chapter!) of it makes me mad, it makes me sad, i break in half is live for day 1 of @whumptober - panic attacks

read on ao3

[mors-pulchritudo]

Since there's a possibility of Calli having more kids in the future, what would her initial reaction be? Like I mean her emotions at the moment. Just curious, she seems like a very interesting character with how you portray her! ^^

also her kids are adorable-

Good question, nonnie! (Also thank you I love Zeke and Gineva too :3)

Also — just some possible content warnings: mentions of pregnancy (both planned and unplanned), mention of trauma (not specified, but you can probably use context clues), and panic attacks (just being safe!)

Me basically rambling below the cut lol ⇩

In this situation, we’re going to go ahead and say that she’s having the kid with a long term partner or a spouse. She wouldn’t want to have a kid with someone unless she was sure that they’d be up to the responsibility of having one and taking care of it with her.

If it was planned, she’d absolutely be over the moon and probably wouldn’t shut up about it. Like for days. She’d be bubbling over with excitement in preparation for the baby and all. Then, after the initial euphoria wears off, she’d probably be very anxious at the thought of being pregnant again, with it being heavily associated with her past trauma.

She’d just quiet down for a while, most likely just sitting and really thinking about what’s going to happen. She already knows the stresses of giving birth and all, so she’s prepared in that sense, but it would still freak her out.

She might disassociate a little bit, maybe isolating herself as she freaks herself out thinking about what’s going to happen. Obviously, her partner would get her to calm down, and she’d be back to normal in no time.

If the baby was not planned, she’d still be happy as can be about it. But it wouldn’t last as long as it would if the baby was planned. It might only last for a few hours before she starts to freak out.

One of her first negative thoughts might be if her partner would be upset about the baby. What would they say? What would their reaction be? Would they be mad? Would they want her to get rid of the baby? (In this case, we’re going to assume that the partner wouldn’t be upset about finding out that she’s pregnant)

This would probably cause her to hide the news. She wouldn’t tell anyone and keep it to herself, which would in turn start to make her even more stressed. And after a while, it would begin to show.

I haven’t shared this with you guys yet — but Calli does have occasional panic attacks. They usually happen when she’s very, very stressed or anxious about something, and she feels like she doesn’t have an outlet to go to, so she keeps it to herself. The attacks have lessened, but they’re still intense.

With something pretty big like this, it just might trigger a panic attack. Mostly because the whole ordeal might remind her of her past trauma, hence causing her to freak out.

But, she’d calm down sooner rather than later. Then she’d be able to have an actual discussion with her partner about the pregnancy, what it would entail and what to expect (given her previous knowledge).

And, yeah! That’s my whole spiel on this subject :3

[hallothere]

41 with... Lothrandir maybe? 👀

41. Panic attacks (and tw for associated content)

Alone was easier, most of the time, as opposed to being around other people. This is it, this is the thing that kills you. It's here, and it's coming and there's no stopping it now. Other people often had tells that were hard to stomach. A raised eyebrow. Alternatively, a frown. Techeron's face would pinch and his brows would crease up while he fought back the urge to use the 'And what's making you think that?' he asked when schooling. It's over. Feel that? That's death. That's already here and it's not stopping for you.

When he was alone, he could lie down, press the heels of his hands into his eyes and counting his breathing. Sometimes for an hour, sometimes less. He would have a quiet place to cry or to be sick. Being sick... that was one of the worst.

You're already dead. You just don't know it. But you'll feel it. You're feeling it all the way to the end.

The worst one in memory was with an audience. Here's the rest of your life. You're the last one. What's it going to be like, however long you have left, to be without them forever? He'd been bound, standing, feeling his heart hammering into the wooden post while the Wizard cocked his head. Amused. You know what you saw before you left. Dead. That was the sound of them dying. And he's told you the ways it happened, some of them. Do you even want to think about it? Can you afford not to?

He'd blacked out that time. He'd wept, never more thankful that the fear always dissipated on waking.

But he didn't always have the luxury of sleep. It's not really over. It's a trick, just one more in the downward spiral. You're on borrowed time. At least now you won't be alone when it hits. Be on your guard, and maybe you'll see it coming, however much good that will-

"Dagoras."

Lothrandir stood just outside the circle of the fire. There were a few Ithilien Rangers with mugs of ale, Rohirrim with mead, and the appreciative exchange happening between them. Dagoras turned and found his face. He didn't frown.

"Lothrandir. Need anything?" he asked as if he couldn't guess.

"If I could tear your from the revelry for a moment-" he paused to look at the assembled company and grinned, "-We won't be long."

Dagoras sighed heavily, for the benefit of the assembly. Lothrandir saw the mug go down to the log seat unfinished, saw Dagoras' face steel a second before sliding back into unconcerned acceptance.

"Keep my seat warm, will you? I'm getting too old for cold nights." It meant nothing. Everything. Past the line of tents and behind the heavy trunk of a culumalda, Lothrandir pushed his face into his hands.

"It... it is over? The War? The generals, at least, please tell me something is ended--"

Dagoras' face seemed to droop in recognition. Not in resignation, or reluctance. Compassion. Pity.

"The worst of it, yes." He spoke softly even for their relative isolation. "If the evidence in the air isn't enough, the evidence in your heart either-" here Dagoras set a hand on his shoulder and Lothrandir held onto it right back, "-then we can trust Mithrandir. Frodo cast the Ring into the fires of Doom, and that much has ended things. You saw him too, did you not? He wasn't some trick of the light. Mithrandir, too, seems glad, and we all know there's precious little that causes that these days."

Lothrandir managed a laugh. His eyes stung, and his head hung there a moment longer while the words sank in.

"Tell me again, then." Dagoras spoke up after a moment. "Like you did in Pelargir. Name the fear, that I might know it and dispel it."

Lothrandir took a deep breath. "That... that we didn't really win. That I have.." He swallowed hard. Dagoras didn't interrupt. "...That I have you all back, and I'm going to lose you. That orcs are going to sweep down from that hill over there and cut us down to a man."

Dagoras paused to look at the hill. "It's a worthy concern, don't mistake me." He pulled Lothrandir to his side, facing the hill, but did not insist Lothrandir look. "It's wise to be vigilant, but our Ithilien cousins scouted the hill. They did find trolls- turned to stone- and a few orcs trying to scavenge their caches. Our friend took care of those. Every hiding place of the enemy on that hill has been scattered. Better yet, the Eagles have taken great delight in picking off stragglers. I think I overheard Gwaihir compare them to fleas."

Lothrandir laughed again, deeper, and Dagoras ran a hand down the back of his head to his shoulders, again and again. Lothrandir felt something like a skittish horse, but didn't move to complain.

"Thank you" he said.

"Come find me any time. Any time at all, Lothrandir." Dagoras continued to tend to him like a frightened foal without complaint. "Or, if I'm not there, try one of the others." Lothrandir stiffened, and he felt it. "At least sit with one of them. For a minute- I'm not asking you bare your heart." More quietly, he continued, "Radanir is much the same. You may bristle, but he will try to help in his own way."

Lothrandir remained still for the measure of a few more breaths. Then, he straightened. He clasped Dagoras' hand tightly.

"Thank you." He repeated. We're alright. We're going to be alright.

[heartxsighs]

✦ ・( aslihan malbora. cis woman. she / her. ) ⸺   🦬   greetings,  buffalos !   walking  around  campus,  sporting  HER  LIBRARY  BOOK  TUCKED  UNDER  HER  ARM  we’ve  spotted  ZEYNEP  SAHIN,  a  thirty  years  old  who  contributes  to  our  thriving  community  as  a  LIBRARY  ARCHIVIST.   according  to  our  intel,  she’s  been  around  the  sanctuary  for  TEN  YEARS  and  what  we  know  about  her,  aside  from  the  fact  that  she  DOESN’T  agree  with  the  decision  to  close  the  gates,  is  that  only  a  handful  of  people  know  about  her  ongoing  autoimmune  disease,  something  that  has  afflicted  her  for  several  years  and  does  not  seem  to  be  letting  up  no  matter  how  desperately  she  hopes  it  does;  she  can  most  often  be  seen  with  her  nose  in  a  book  and  while  zeynep  doesn't  make  it  obvious,  she  enjoys  writing  anything  from  poetry  to  short  stories  just  to  keep  her  mind  occupied  when  she's  unable  to  sleep  or  when  she  isn't  working;  she  struggles  to  verbalize  what  she's  thinking  or  feeling  at  times,  and  this  is  where  words  on  paper  come  further  into  play  for  her,  so  she  keeps  a  little  notepad  in  her  pocket  in  case  she's  feeling  anxiety  and  doesn't  think  she  can  verbally  communicate  effectively.  doesn’t  that  make  her  fantastic ?   we  think  it  does,  and  that’s  why  we  appreciate  her  so  much,  grateful  for  what  she  gives  to  our  community.

 

꒰ basics ꒱ ✦ full name. zeynep aylin sahin ✦ nicknames. zey, z ✦ age. thirty ✦ d.o.b. february 29th (pisces) - they celebrate on either feb 28th or march 1st typically ✦ gender. cis woman ✦ pronouns. she/her ✦ orientations. demisexual heteroromantic ✦ marital status. single ✦ occupation. library archivist ✦ languages spoken. english, turkish, some arabic

꒰ physical ꒱ ✦ hair color. brown ✦ eye color. brown ✦ height. 5 ft 6 in ✦ piercings. one in each ear ✦ tattoos. none ✦ distinguishing marks. a couple of birthmarks on her arms ✦ fashion style. when she's at home or alone, it's sweatpants and a raggedy t-shirt at all times. when she is out and about in the sanctuary, she likes to make herself presentable, to put forward the illusion that everything is fine, even when it isn't. her outfits vary in styles, from skirts that make her look Extra Librarian-ish, to dresses, overalls, and black jeans with a nice top. two things you can always expect from zeynep: 1) her Outside:tm: clothes will always be clean, neat and nicely put together, and 2) she will always accessorize with a necklace or bracelet or a series of rings. ✦ face claim. aslihan malbora

꒰ psychological ꒱ ✦ positive traits. gentle, sentimental, creative, kind, engaging, thorough, organized, observant ✦ negative traits. sensitive, quiet, guarded, awkward, anxious, petty, self-conscious, gets very in her own head ✦ mbti type. infj - the advocate ✦ temperament. melancholic ✦ education level. she is relatively smart, and given that she was homeschooled, zeynep finished her high school education a year early, practically devouring the courses and information she was learning. she was set to begin college at eighteen, but unfortunately never got the chance to, as the outbreak happened and squashed her plans. ✦ hobbies / skills. it may not be a very useful skill now, but it was a hobby back then: dancing. she was placed in ballet classes from a young age and advanced through with the rest of her peers, learning various moves and eventually working her way up to going en pointe. for all her distaste for being in the spotlight, something about the recitals and performances seemed to quash that fear, although she would experience a load of anxiety beforehand. other than that, if you want to know something specific, zeynep is the girl you go to. she has an interest in various topics and studying them, so if you have a question you want answered, and she doesn't know it, she'll gladly do research for you, just so she can have the chance to learn, as well. for other hobbies, she enjoys 'old lady' crafts, such as crocheting, knitting, and the like. she is also a very good writer, though she'd be embarrassed for anyone to read her works or to be given praise for them. ✦ mental ailments. anxiety, panic attacks, occasionally struggles to get her words out and thus finds herself frustrated and goes non-verbal ✦ physical ailments. multiple sclerosis, which is a chronic disease of the central nervous system. essentially, her body attacks itself, leading to various symptoms. some days are much worse than others for zeynep, and she latches onto the good days like a child would their mother. her bad days... well, they're the ones where she stays inside and struggles to get to work, depending on how utterly exhausted she's feeling. before coming to the sanctuary, stress caused horrific flare-ups for her, and she was sick for a long time after she and her father arrived. zeynep doesn't let anyone know about her ailment, because she doesn't want to be a burden on others, mentally or physically. it's easier to pretend like things are alright, though i'm sure some people have noticed in the collective ten years she's spent here that she's not altogether well.

꒰ familial ꒱ ✦ mother. ceren sahin (deceased) ✦ father. bayram sahin ✦ siblings. ahmet sahin, twin brother ✦ children. none ✦ significant other. none ꒰ history ꒱ (i'll make this nice and filled out later) cw: illness (multiple sclerosis), familial death

✦ yada yada, born to older parents who had her and her brother as 'oopsie' babies; the two were homeschooled because their parents wanted to keep them close; both were put in classes for things they enjoyed - zeynep in dance, ahmet in martial arts, though his parents worried about him getting hurt; when she wasn't dancing, her head was in a book and she read at least 2 every given week; she started dealing with health issues at the age of 16 and it would take a year for her to get a diagnosis; of course, it was only a year after that that the outbreak occurred and life went further to shit; her mom passed due to other circumstances, but zeynep, ahmet and their father remained; they were her rocks when she struggled, when her medication ran out and flares couldn't be tamed; they would arrive at the sanctuary two years after the outbreak, calling the place home; it would take her one year to get healthy enough to begin to work, and she immediately locked eyes on the library, where she was trained to be an archivist; some days, she thinks she won't survive, not because of the outbreak, but because of her own body raging against her ꒰ headcanons꒱

✦ she gets very sentimental about things that are important to her. she'll keep them in a special place, organized to perfection, and handle them with extreme gentility. before the outbreak, she kept all of her old pointe shoes and cried over the fact that she couldn't take them with her (although she understood it wasn't rational to keep them.) she also cried when her mom's necklace was lost after she, her father, her brother, and the group they were with had to make a quick run for better shelter ✦ she takes her time with things, prefers to be slow moving and not in wild rushes that stress her out, since her mind tends to do that anyway; thus, she ends up having a greater appreciation for the small things - the way the moon looks shining through her window, the soft fluff of a kitten's fur, the twinkle in her father's eye when he smiles. small details mean the world to her ✦ zeynep tends to be pretty socially awkward. some days, it's like she's fighting with a demon to get the right words out when they just don't want to come. quietness is her comfort zone, because she can too easily get over stimulated by voices and loud chatter. that said, she doesn't necessarily have a large preference towards being completely alone, but being shy makes it hard for her to be in large groups of people or entertain conversation from more than one or two at a time. she'd much rather be by the wall, watching what's going on or reading a book than to be stuck in the middle of it all, or the center of attention. too many eyes on her makes her wary, as if they can all see right through her. ✦ while she uses her little notepad to communicate some days when her mouth just doesn't want to work or she's too anxious to also deal with stumbling over her words, zeynep is also very big on physical communication - little hand touches, bumping someone with her shoulder, giving them a hug. obviously she's not going to just walk up to someone random, who she hasn't gotten to know very well, and hug them. but if the two are friends and she wants to show that she's there for them, she'll use one of these gestures, or show up at their door to spend time with them when she's not in her own little world ✦ she has several notebooks full of short stories she's written, but her latest piece is a poem; more later ✦ zeynep has a competitive streak, likely from growing up with a brother. she's also incredibly passionate, and sometimes, these two traits mix together in a 'deadly' way; more later lmao ✦ comfort matters deeply to her. this isn't just mental comfort, but physical, as well. for as much as she wants to have her mind at ease, she also needs to have her body relaxed and at peace. wrapping up in several blankets at a time can help zeynep with this, and if you end up visiting her in her room, you'll likely see her in burrito form ✦ loves psychology and reading about it; more later yeet ꒰ wanted connections꒱

✦ other librarians, as well as those who visit the library, please! i'd say this is where she gets most of her social interaction, and something about it being 'professional' really helps her to keep that hat on and choose what words she's going to use with a lot more intention than just in a regular conversation. she can answer questions about facts and books a lot better than she can talk about herself. watch out, though, she might start rambling about a topic she's really interested in, and then you'll be stuck listening to Nerd Shit:tm: for at least five minutes ✦ i'm ngl, having either her father, her brother, or both of them would fill me with such happiness, i can't even describe. they're both part of her support system, and she's part of theirs, holding their hands, telling them it's going to be okay, or giving them sympathetic smiles if they're having a rough day ✦ i'd say she might do the above (holding hands and telling them it'll be okay during a rough spell) for people she's close to, as well. it might take a little bit of extra effort to become an actual friend of zeynep's, but once you are, it means that she feels more comfortable with you than anyone else and can let herself just be, without having to feel self-conscious. she can engage the way she wants, without having to explain. she might not be overtly talkative, but she understands that being a physical presence is important, too, when it comes to others not feeling alone. just being there for someone, essentially, whether they're talking about an issue or just silently spending time with each other making idle chatter ✦ i'd say she's rather understanding towards others, except for when they're being assholes. then, she'll think the most petty thoughts about you all while staring you down a bit menacingly. seriously, it's kind of scary how she can get. even if she's not saying what she thinks out loud, it's not hard to tell how she's feeling, especially if it's anger or frustration ✦ it's been ten years, so maybe a past romantic interest or two? i have no idea exactly how this would have gone, so we can discuss it in depth together if you're interested. she has a preference towards men, but needs to have a connection with them on some level to be able to take the step of "hey, we're in a relationship now". she doesn't want to play around, or do casual dating - but hey, that could have happened in the past, before she figured out what she's interested in. and/or closed herself off because she thinks her illness would be too much for someone else to handle ✦ i'll get more here later as i think of things!!

[zet-sway]

Cyst update

After TWO MONTHS of steroid injections, antibiotics, and panic attacks, the dermatologist finally drained my cyst. At it's most swollen, this thing was like 5 inches accross. Without swelling it was still half that. It hurts so much less now, and even though I need constant help to take care of it, I'm so happy I could fart a fucking rainbow.

It's going to be a while longer before it can be excised. Right now they said it's much too large to excise without significant scarring and high potential for recurrence. I'm going to be visiting the doctor more times throughout September to continue draining it, to keep it empty so it can shrink itself and be removed later down the line.

Seriously if you are ever diagnosed with a sebaceous cyst and your doctor says "you can leave it if it's not bothering you," don't believe it. Removing it is scary to think about until it becomes inflamed and / or infected through no fault of your own. The reason mine is so large is because it's been there for like three years and I thought I could just have it removed if it ever became a problem.

Apparently my father and grandfather both had recurring cysts on their neck/back similar to mine. So hooray for genetics lol I guess I would rather this than something worse.

[thegalaxyonherlips]

I've been having the worst panic attacks recently and they keep getting worse. I've ended up in the ER twice now because I thought I was having a heart attack. These attacks are starting to happen five times a day. I know there's nothing physically wrong with me. I know I'm trying to juggle so many emotions at the minute and it is a lot. I know I will get through this. But, boy howdy, is it an inconvenience 🙃

[dxrkl1ght]

CW: Panic attack, musophobia, and scratches!!

everything's okay...

Part 5/5

- Part 1/5

- Part 2/5

- Part 3/5

- Part 4/5

DCA! Serial Killer AU by @ayyy-imma-ninja & @moonlit-dreamers

This comic is not canon to the AU!! This is just made for fun :)

[abubblingcandle]

Augusnippets Day 3 - Thunderstorm - Ted Lasso

cw - panic attack

“I’ve got him.” “Are you …” “I’ve got him. You are fine Jamie. It didn’t hit you. But you are very wet. Let’s get inside where it’s dry. I’ve got you. Yes let’s hold on. I’ll get you inside I promise. I’ve got you.”

Here on AO3 @augusnippets

“That’s it I’m calling it. Oi! You lot back inside!”

“Thank god, freezing my tits off in this.”

“I’m never gonna be dry again.”

“We’re not stopping because of the rain. You need to be able to play in the rain. Football doesn’t stop because of the fucking rain.”

“Coach don’t want us to get zapped do he?”

“Odds of getting hit by lightning in the UK are about one in a million. And only three percent are fatal.”

“Thank you Jan Maas but the odds of getting hit by lightning inside are zero so get moving.”

“You heard the man!”

“Nate, whistle from at least three steps away.”

“Sorry.”

“Getting moving, this ain’t the time to be fucking bout!”

“What the …”

“Fucking hell!”

“Hell was that?”

“Was that …”

“Everybody move!”

“Jamie?”

“Jamie lad?”

“Tartt!”

“Jamie did it hit you?”

“Coach he’s shaking.”

“People don’t shake after being hit by lightning.”

“Not now Jan Maas.”

“Everybody inside! Now!”

“But Jamie.”

“Tartt is fine. But you lot won’t be if you don’t move.”

“Jamie. Lad I need you to get up.”

“Roy, we need to get him inside.”

“I know that!”

“…”

“Staring at me is not helpful.”

“I’ll keep the rabble inside but you need to get in too.”

“I can’t believe it burnt the grass.”

“…”

“Right, yes, yeah, priorities.”

“Jamie, muchacho, I want to see your face.”

“Dani go with Beard.”

“I am sorry coaches but I will not.”

“Dani …”

“Jamie and I will go inside together.”

“Fuck! Fine!”

“Jamie, please.”

“Tartt! Get up!”

“Jamie?”

“I’m going to have to drag him.”

“We can’t he’s scared. He’s shaking.”

“Dani, now.”

“Jamie … no no I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Dani …”

“But you need to get up. Can you get up?”

“We don’t have time! … ah fuck!”

“Coach are you ok?”

“Little prick lamped me.”

“I told you he was scared and you shouldn’t touch him.”

“Fucker!”

“Jamie I’m going to touch your shoulder.”

“As if that’s going to work. He got me right in the eye ball.”

“… Ok now I’m going to pick you up alright?”

“Why is he not hitting you?”

“Because I am being nice? … And not growling at him or people who are helping. Sorry coach that was very rude!”

“… fair point.”

“Jamie friend. I’m picking you up.”

“Dani do you …”

“I’ve got him.”

“Are you …”

“I’ve got him. You are fine Jamie. It didn’t hit you. But you are very wet. Let’s get inside where it’s dry. I’ve got you. Yes let’s hold on. I’ll get you inside I promise. I’ve got you.”