#cw: panic

[the-big-boss-of-hell]

Lucifer has to wake up at some point right? I mean with the extermination coming up ( and the bun still cooking in his oven) everyone is going to have to hide in a bunker till the day is over if don’t have anyone to protect the hotel.

Alastor: *has been thinking about it. He’s been worried and he has so many questions about this state*

Charlie: *notices Alastor’s distressed expression* Alastor? Are you okay?

Alastor: *wants to write but has Lumi in his arms. He offer Lumi to Charlie to hold, and when she does hold him, Alastor immediately starts writing* “How long will Lucifer’s coma last?”

Charlie: *reading the note* Again it varies. He could be out for days, even weeks. The longest he was asleep for was about 50 years.

Alastor: *panicking, starts to write* “What if your dad was pregnant during his coma?”

Charlie: Pregnant?! Well that would be really bad! The reason he’s in hibernation is so his energy can replenish. If the baby is draining him, it’ll only prolong his sleep.

Alastor: *quickly writes* “HE’S PREGNANT! ABOUT 9 WEEKS ALONG! HE WANTED TO WAIT UNTIL HE WAS MORE STABLE BEFORE TELLING ANYONE!”

Charlie: *immediately panics* OH NO! WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING! BUT FUCK?! WHAT CAN WE DO?!

[rocklandjbrin]

[SOOTHE] - for sender to comfort receiver’s muse while they’re having a nightmare, trying to keep receiver asleep.

Despite everything he'd dealt with over the years, it wasn't often Rockland had a nightmare. Stress dreams? Sure. Those were a little more frequent when he actually slept deep enough for 'em. But a full fledged nightmare? Not so much.

He'd seen a news article on the anniversary of the 2012 Chitauri attack in the afternoon, and apparently his brain had run with it. 'Course, it started off normal enough...

The boy stood in front of a hot dog vendor, watching the sausages steaming on a grill. His old man was next to him, and his brain's interpretation of Aragorn from the Lord of the Rings suddenly raced down the street, hand on the hilt of his sword. Rockland pointed at him excitedly and his Dad nodded along.

The hot dog vendor drew his attention back to the booth, offering complimentary nail polish with the purchase, and Rock reached towards a navy blue colour, but Caleb yanked him away before he could take it. They walked a little ways down the road, hot dogs no longer in hand.

And then, just like that, the aliens glided into the city on their ships. Laser beams sliced through the air. Chunks of buildings broke off and crashed to the ground. Rockland's heart pounded in his chest.

Heavy, reptilian-like claws scraped at the ground as an alien stepped towards them...

"Get away from me! Get away!" The boy shouted. His perspective grew more distant for a moment, and he could see Caleb dart into a nearby pub. Rockland grew panicky.

"Dad-I-I can't go in there! I'm not twenty-one!" Why did he do that? Why would he go in there of all places? But his calls were met with silence, the doorway empty. And the alien still approached, laser focused on him.

Forcefields. Yeah! He tried to summon one, but it didn't work. The boy swore under his breath, growing more and more stressed, his hands held out in front of him.

[hidden-in-the-grass]

"Your fault."

He jumps as whispers echo in his ears.

"W-What...?"

"Your fault." The voice repeats. His vision clears and he's in the village. Houses are on fire and shots are ringing out. "You could've saved her."

Des' eyes dart around, his feet frozen in place. He turns his head to see the small field by his old home, the once beautiful green grass now soaked crimson as blood drips from the blades of grass, making small puddles wherever it lands. Theres an explosion and a distant scream. A familiar scream and he turns quickly to see his sister running. His eyes widen.

"Meiko! Don't!" He tries shouting but she can't hear him. Theres a loud bang and he squeezes his eyes shut.

The voice shifts this time to a youthful female voice and Des sobs, wrapping his arms around himself as his sisters voice rings in his ears.

"You were supposed to save me."

[canipleasegetthenumber15]

Part 1 | Part 2 >>

CW: Depression, beginning of panic

B-Team hurt/comfort (the pages I've finished so far, anyway) </3

Mikey is struggling with depression, and the refusal of physical comfort isn't helping. He tries to keep his depressive episode a secret, but it suddenly dawns on Donnie when he goes to check on the littlest bro (which results in Donnie feeling both incredibly worried and guilty).

Ofc this is fiction, but I do wanna point out that IRL the best response to mental health issues is to remain calm and patient, and to not panic (panic/stress is understandable, but often counterproductive).

[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 :)

[leafyeyes417]

Random Setting

Danny was honestly close to using the w word, which with Desiree being a possibility was not the greatest idea, but that is how bad things had gotten. Clockwork had told him he had reached the point where he needed to create his own summon sigil, as if he waited too long he would be considered a free roaming entity that could be pulled at random.

He hadn’t even procrastinated either, it’s just that making your own sigil has a lot of steps and he hadn’t manage to finish before the summons started happening. Luckily it wasn’t permanent, once he finished the sigil it would stop. Unfortunately he still had school and there wasn’t a specific time of when he would be summoned.

Trying to hide it wouldn’t work with his usual method, so he decided to fib and told both his parents and Mr. Lancer that he got tagged by some ghost and he may show some powers or something might happen. His parents had put him through a series of scans with their inventions and luckily found nothing.

It was the next day that Danny had been summoned right in the middle of class. It was easy to end the summons and be sent back (just being some college kids having fun) but now the school knew he could disappear at random.

After a month of this, Danny had just about finished the sigil when he felt the summons again. He couldn’t help but let out a deep exasperated sigh when he appeared above some costumed guys restrained in a circle, obvious cultists talking about the Ghost King and cleansing the city.

Ugh, he can already tell this is going to be a whole mess.

[ym523]

Bit of a side project I needed to do for myself 🙇🏻‍♀️ might build on it in future.

[lazylittledragon]

pre-dadstarion shenanigans

bonus:

[scullcrusher101xd]

clinically curled

[solarmorrigan]

Saw someone mention how Steve tends to get defensive when he's anxious and it stuck with me, so here's my take on the "Steve breaks a dish and has a panic attack about it" trope

cw: descriptions of nonstandard panic attack, implied/referenced child abuse

-

The distinct sound of shattering porcelain is followed by a vehemently hissed, “shit,” and then silence.

“Steve?” Eddie calls from the couch into the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve calls back, but his voice sounds tight in the way it does when something definitely isn’t okay.

Eddie pushes himself up and moves to the doorway, looking in to see what the trouble is. The kitchen of the house he and Wayne had been “gifted” by the government isn’t exactly huge, and he has a straight line of sight to where Steve is standing by the sink, eyes squeezed shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose, and to the red and white shards of porcelain on the floor by his feet.

“Hey,” Eddie says, but Steve doesn’t look up; if anything, his posture only gets tenser. “You’re not cut or anything, are you?”

“No,” Steve says, and his tone is still a little off, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying.

“What was that, anyway?” Eddie asks.

Finally, Steve takes a deep breath in and opens his eyes, looking down at the mess on the laminate. “Mug.”

As soon as he says it, Eddie recognizes the colors for what the design must have been. “Shit, the Campbell’s one?”

Steve doesn’t say a word, just gives one sharp nod.

Eddie sucks a hiss of breath in through his teeth. “Shit,” he says again. “That was Wayne’s favorite.”

“I know,” Steve says tersely. “I’m sorry.”

His tone is definitely weird. “I mean, I’m sure it was an accident, Steve–” Eddie starts.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, almost snapping this time. “I’ll clean it up.”

“O-kay,” Eddie says slowly, watching as Steve jerks into motion and moves over to the corner where they stash the broom and dust pan.

“I’ll apologize to Wayne when he gets home,” Steve says as he starts sweeping up, even though Eddie hasn’t said a word.

“He gets home at, like, six in the morning.”

“I’ll make sure I’m up,” Steve says shortly.

“Steve, you can just tell him what happened later, he’s not going to stand around demanding an explanation. I mean, seriously, you think Wayne is gonna be pissed if you’re not there, immediately scraping at his feet when he comes through the door?” Eddie scoffs, but Steve remains silent. Eddie watches as he finishes sweeping in short, sharp motions, brows pulling together as Steve apparently fails to pick up on the joke. “…he won’t be, y’know.”

Steve shrugs. His expression has gone eerily blank, and he takes the dustpan over to the garbage can to dump it.

“Hey, don’t–” Eddie reaches out, and Steve jerks to a stop just in time. “You don’t have to toss it, man, we might be able to glue it back together.”

Steve sends Eddie a sharp look. “I’m not gonna be able to hide that it was broken, Eddie,” he says slowly, as though this should be painfully obvious.

“I’m not suggesting we hide it, I’m just saying we might still be able to use it,” Eddie answers in the same slow manner. “It’s not junk until you’re sure you can’t fix it.”

“Right,” Steve snaps, dropping the dustpan on the counter so sharply that the shards of porcelain clink against each other. “Can’t even clean up right.”

Eddie frowns, stirrings of defensiveness rising up in his gut at Steve’s continued sour mood. “I didn’t say that. I just said we might be able to fix it.”

“Fine. We’ll try to fix it,” Steve bites out, turning away from Eddie so he can put the broom back in the corner.

Eddie shakes his head, unwilling to engage with whatever snit Steve’s got himself worked into. “What happened, anyway?” he asks instead.

Apparently, this is the wrong tactic.

“What happened is, I’m too stupid to even do the dishes right,” Steve declares as he whirls back around. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“What?” Eddie is baffled, suddenly caught in the middle of an argument he hadn’t even realized was happening. “No! Why would I want to hear that?”

Steve throws his arms up, a demonstration of giving in. “Well I already said I’m sorry, and I am, and I don’t know what else you want from me!”

The heat of Eddie’s own temper is beginning to flare, but he does his best to shake it away because he still doesn’t know what the hell is going on and he doesn’t think getting angry will help. “I don’t want anything else from you! Why are you acting like I’m yelling at you? I’m not, I’m not even upset about the stupid mug, so what the hell is your deal?”

He takes a couple of steps into the kitchen, reaching out for Steve, hoping just to touch some part of him. Physical contact has always been grounding, has always been a comfort for them both; it almost seems like they can communicate better if they can just be in contact somehow. Instead of reaching back, though, Steve tenses up; it’s not exactly a flinch, but it’s as if he’s bracing himself, as if he’s waiting for Eddie to–

Eddie takes in the painfully blank expression on Steve’s pale face, the way his chest is rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths that he can’t quite seem to control, the way he’s angled himself just slightly away from Eddie, and suddenly Eddie feels cold.

It’s as if he’s waiting for Eddie to hit him.

Eddie wonders how the hell he hadn’t realized he was walking through a minefield until he was already standing in the middle of it.

(It still takes him by surprise, sometimes, that Steve’s anxiety, his panic, tends to look more like anger. That he tends to lash out like a wounded animal when he feels backed into a corner, hurt too many times in moments of vulnerability to do otherwise.)

(It takes him by surprise, but he’s learning.)

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, dropping his hand slowly back to his side, “I’m not angry.”

Steve stares at him, almost confused, like Eddie’s not doing it right, like this isn’t what’s supposed to come next. Eddie sort of wants to break something (he thinks, briefly, that he’d like to start with the fingers on Mr. Harrington’s right hand, and then move on to his left).

“It’s just a mug, Steve, it’s okay. No one’s upset about it,” Eddie says. “I’m preemptively speaking for Wayne, because I know he’s not gonna be mad at you. Seriously, getting upset over a broken cup? Does that sound like something Wayne would do?”

Slowly, once he seems to realize that Eddie is waiting for an answer, Steve shakes his head.

“Does that sound like something I would do?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head again, though he’s still watching Eddie with something approaching trepidation.

“I promise it’s fine. I’m not angry,” Eddie repeats, and chances a couple of steps closer to Steve.

Steve doesn’t react this time, no tensing, no flinching, no verbally lashing out, and so Eddie lifts a hand again, reaching slowly for Steve’s. Steve lets him.

When he gets his fingers wrapped around Steve’s own, Eddie can feel how cold they’ve gone, can feel the fine tremble of adrenaline working through them, and can’t quite choke down the noise of sympathy in his throat. He tugs on Steve’s hand.

“C’mere,” Eddie says, invites him by lifting his other arm, but leaves it up to Steve.

It only takes a moment for Steve to step in close, and when Eddie lets go of his hand to wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders, Steve reciprocates by cinching his own arms tight around Eddie’s waist. He takes one sharp breath, and then another, and Eddie can hear the way they shake going in and out.

“There you go,” Eddie says quietly, rubbing Steve’s back.

“I just dropped it,” Steve says, his voice a little hoarse. “It was an accident.”

“I know it was,” Eddie assures him. “It’s okay.”

“It was an accident,” Steve says again, and Eddie wonders how often someone has believed him – how often he’d ever even been given a chance to explain.

“It was an accident,” Eddie agrees. “You’re okay, Steve.”

Steve lets out a little noise, like maybe he’s trying to laugh, but then he pulls in another shuddery breath and rests his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. “Okay.”

In a little bit, Eddie might lead Steve to sit down on the couch, or maybe just take them both up to bed, because fuck doing the dishes after this anyway; he’ll make sure to leave a note for Wayne about the mug (ask him not to bring it up until Steve does, to not even jokingly make a thing about it), but for now, he concentrates on holding Steve close.

He’ll stand with him as long as it takes for the shaking to stop, for his breathing to even out, for him to relax even just a little against Eddie, and he'll promise, as many times as Steve needs to hear it, that it’s okay. Things will be okay.

[Prompt: Embracing your partner]

[disastersappho]

list of responses that wymack and abby have to add to ban neil from saying after he gets more creative than “I’m fine”

- it’s not too bad (he tried to come to practice with pneumonia)

- i’m managing perfectly well (his shoulder dislocated mid game)

- it’s nothing (grade 2 concussion)

- don’t worry about it (had a panic attack and coped by running a half marathon away from palmetto)

[vangh17a]

Something is wrong with Donnie's brothers.

...

Based on the very painful but so well written fanfic Caged Lungs by @qoldenskies!

It's such good Donnie angst but please please mind the tags

(Don't worry he's still alive at the end-)

If I missed any cw's let me know and I'll add them!

[panic-flavored]

The Savior of Earth and the Man who Loved Him

.

Alt version under the cut

[rhapsoddity]

Cuteguy Arc Part 13 - 6

[eemamminy-art]

Can we get up and try to feel okay again?

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 136

 There is a small child floating in the Watchtower. 

They’re visibly not human, a too-big cloak of purple (what shade no one knows, all they can describe about the cloak is purple, nothing else) hanging from them as big Lazarus-green eyes glare down in something of a pout. The child huffs, blowing white hair out of their face despite it shimmering and shifting on its own already. 

How the child, inhuman or not, found their way into the Watchtower- without setting off an alarm no less- is a concern. A very large concern, but it can wait because there is a four-year old (if the child is the equivalent of a human child that is) at oldest staring down at them. 

 “Do you know where the speedsters are?” the child piped up after an awkward stare-down, none of the league members present quite sure what to do in this situation. It was probably around time to call Batman… or they could call Flash instead.