#cw: panic attack

[ym523]

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

[alicewritingstories]

The art-based angst I promised, based on @kikker-oma's amazing art!

Sky stood slightly apart as the others read their letters, talking about what they were missing at home, comparing notes about loved ones. He tried not to feel the empty space that had been left in his hand after he'd handed over the last one. Nothing for him.

He knew it didn't mean anything, but it did.

He took a couple of steps away, running his fingertips over the soft cloth of his sailcloth, smelling the perfume woven into the fabric and remembering Zelda handing it to him. He could still see her smile, could still hear her voice and feel her hand in his, but at moments like this melancholy seeped out of his bones. He missed her desperately, more with every day that went by.

But at moments like this, he also wondered if Zelda loved him or if the Goddess Hylia loved her Chosen Hero.

He took a breath, once again focusing on the perfume and the softness of the cloth. She did love him as he loved her. She loved him as he loved her. They, themselves as they had always believed themselves to be, not the Goddess and her Chosen.

He took another deep breath, but as he turned to return to the others he saw Time also standing aside, reading a letter he guessed was from Malon.

Once again, he was aware of his own empty hand.

He ducked around a corner, intending to just take a moment to pull himself together. Nobody seemed to notice.

Something dark deep inside him wondered if they would notice if he never went back. If anyone would. If that was why, now that he was out of sight, none of those he loved on Skyloft had written to him.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. There was a good reason for him to have had no letters from Zelda or even Groose. They had a lot to do with organizing the move to the Surface, after all, and for all he knew the postman hadn't even been to his era recently. There was no need to worry.

No need to think that now that he was out of sight he was also out of mind.

That now the Goddess had no need for her Chosen.

He scrubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. He had to stop thinking like that and get back to where the others were probably waiting.

He was sure they were waiting. Someone would be along to look for him soon. He shouldn't worry them.

He knew this was an overreaction to simply not receiving a letter. They didn't know how the postman travelled; perhaps he couldn't even go to Sky's era for some reason; he didn't know.

But he thought of the light in Wind's eyes as he read a letter from his sister and Four laughing ruefully over something his grandfather had said and he felt absolutely alone, in his corner out of the way where he had gone without anyone apparently noticing he'd left.

Perversely, he almost wanted to stay here and see if anyone did come to look for him. Just to silence the part of him that thought they wouldn't. That expected them to write him off as slow and lazy and leave him behind, no longer a burden on them.

After all, that had been Hyrule and Legend's first guess for why he hadn't caught up with the postman this morning: that his heart and lungs had gotten the best of him yet again and he'd been too slow. That he'd failed in his own self-appointed mission because he couldn't run.

He could. Not for as long as some and not even as fast as he could before, but he could.

But what did that matter when he could be the butt of a joke?

He knew they hadn't meant to be cruel, but it had been a tiny jab into something that always hurt somewhere deep inside him and he didn't think that had ever occurred to them. That maybe it would hurt him to have his poor stamina mocked like that. He'd brushed it off as he always did and he knew he couldn't expect anyone to notice something he made an effort to hide, but it was there.

Slowly, it bore down on him harder and harder.

No letters from home.

The doubt that Zelda truly loved him.

The fear that he would be forgotten as soon as he was out of sight.

Failure.

Too slow.

Too weak.

Too cowardly.

Mocking laughter.

Silence and solitude and…

The sob came out before he could stop it and he clapped a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. There was no reason to give even more of an impression that he was weak, that he couldn't even cope with just not receiving a letter.

Another sob, ripping out of him. He clenched his eyes shut and wrapped an arm around his waist, trying to steady himself. He couldn't break down like this. He couldn't break down just because he was alone and lonely and homesick and nobody had come to look for him and…

Again, he could hear laughter ringing in his ears. Weak and slow and broken and maybe better out of sight and out of mind and uncared for and…

"Sky? Sky!"

His eyes shot open as a hissed voice in his ear and a hand on his back broke into his whirling thoughts.

Legend leaned into his field of vision, eyes wide. "Hey, can you hear me?"

He took a shuddering breath, choking on more aching, wracking sobs, but managed a nod. Desperately, he tried to stop crying, but it somehow made it worse.

"Wow, OK, uh…" Legend actually sounded lost for a moment. "Look, please don't cry, I…" He started rubbing at Sky's back. "It's OK, I didn't get a letter either, I'm sure everything's fine, what's wrong?" His words tripped over themselves as he spoke.

Sky, meanwhile, was torn between being glad someone had come to check on him and wanting to die on the spot to escape his embarrassment.

Legend had evidently realized his audience wasn't really there and just started saying "It's OK" over and over, still rubbing circles on Sky's back.

"S-Sorry," managed Sky, hugging himself.

"What happened? You're really… shall I get Warriors?"

Sky shook his head, making the world spin disorientingly. Chills were running up and down his spine as if he had a fever. "Just… stay?"

Legend blinked, but caught his elbow as he staggered and helped him sit down, leaning on the wall behind him. He knelt next to him, still rubbing his back, as Sky finally managed to start to calm down, reassured by having someone with him who, even after that humiliating display, was still willing to stay with him and comfort him.

"What… happened?" asked Legend.

As Sky sat on the dusty ground, trying to keep his breathing steady and swallow the occasional hiccupping sobs and still the shivers, he didn't know how to answer that.

He hadn't got a letter from home.

That was all, and it had somehow hurled him into the kind of spiral he hadn't experienced for ages.

"I… don't know," he whispered.

Legend stared at him for a moment, then said, "Well… something must have happened. Did someone say something?"

Well, yes, but teasing from Hyrule and Legend was nothing especially new either. It hurt sometimes, but not enough for this.

Legend was still rubbing his back and he sighed, trying to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"I really… don't know."

Legend looked skeptical, but didn't press further. "Well, if you want to talk, I'm here anytime," he said. "For now, we should get back to the others as soon as you're feeling up to it. They're all still reading their mail, but as soon as that's done someone less inclined to take no for an answer will come looking."

"You think so?"

Legend blinked. "Well… Yeah, I think so. Why not? It's not like we'd just leave without you."

Sky chuckled, knowing it sounded a little hysterical. There was something surreal about that casual remark after everything. "Yeah… well… just give me a minute."

"OK. Do you still want me to stay?"

"Would you rather not?"

Legend shrugged.

"Please stay."

When his brother agreed easily and with no trace of regret, Sky relaxed a little, rubbing his eyes to try again to dry the tears. "Thank you."

"Of course."

"Also for coming to look for me. And listening."

Legend nodded again.

"It was… a silly thing to get so upset about."

That got a shrug. "That doesn't mean you weren't really upset."

"No, I… suppose not." Sky wiped his eyes one more time. "How obvious is it that I've been crying?"

Legend looked critically at him. "I might not notice normally," he said carefully, "But some of the others probably still will. Give it a moment longer."

"Do you really think they'll want to know what happened?"

"You've spent as long as I have with this lot. For a start, Wind will worry, the captain will want to know if there's a problem he should be aware of, and Wild will try to help without really knowing what the problem is."

Sky chuckled again. It sounded better this time and lifted a weight off his chest. "Thanks," he said again.

"Anytime. Ready? Not to rush you, but there wasn't that much mail."

Sky wiped his eyes and cheeks one more time. "Ready."

---

(AO3)

[stevesjockstrap]

Time After Time

@steddiemicrofic prompt ‘time’ wordcount 485

@steddiebingo square ‘help’

Rated T(?) • read on ao3 • OCD Steve, established relationship • skip if you’re sensitive to panic attacks

Eddie could tell the second he got into their apartment something was wrong.

There was always something playing, a record, a tape, a movie in the background. His boyfriend would even settle for the radio, but he said he needed the background noise, or his thoughts would spiral out of control.

Kicking off his shoes at the door, hurriedly placing them side by side next to Steve’s, he listened closely to the worrying silence.

“Babe?” He called, trying to suppress his shiver as it echoed through the space.

Quickly going from room to room, he finally found his partner crouched over, holding his head, breathing fast.

“Oh, Stevie,” he breathed. Even his low voice made Steve jump and he felt worse. “It’s alright, it’s only me. Can you tell me where you got stuck?”

Eddie had learned quickly as he’d courted the man that everything needed to be ‘just right,’ sometimes Steve himself didn’t know how it needed to be right, or more importantly why it would ‘feel wrong.’

“The stupid light. There’s not enough time between,” the words rushed out of him. “O-or it’s making the wrong noise, when I click it off. I just can’t do it any more times, Eddie,” he started sobbing into his chest.

Eddie could only nod, rubbing across his back with a flat hand. Even this worked up, he could feel Steve’s own fingers tapping against his arm, always in sets of three.

“I got you, darlin’. You want me to try? Or we can throw the whole lamp out the window,” he offered.

That at least pulled Steve away from his chest, his face red and tear stained. “No, I love this lamp. It’s just, I can’t-“

“Can’t get it just right. Well let me do it wrong for a second, yeah? You know how much I love being wrong. How many times did you do?”

Steve huffed a small laugh. “I did three, of course.” Things usually had to be in multiples of three, sometimes five worked but only occasionally. “It just didn’t click right, it didn’t feel done. I feel like I’ve been doing it for hours.”

“Okay my precious, let me give it whirl then.”

Steve watched warily as he went over to the lamp, as if it would turn and attack them. This was the worst he’d been lately. He wondered if something had set him off, something completely unrelated to this lamp debacle.

He twisted the lamp switch once, turning it off, then again to turn it on. Steve shook his head, so he did it two more times.

“Okay, let me try now,” Steve traded places with him, and he held him close, tucking his chin over his shoulder to watch.

Taking a slow deep breath, he finally reached out and spun the switch. Off on off. “There. You did it.”

“No, you did it. I’m so proud of you, baby.”

dividers credit @/cafekitsune

[stagark]

Warmth Amidst Dust

Gender-neutral Reader & Jiyan Comfort

Minors DNI - this blog writes dark and sexual content.

Content warnings: Panic/anxiety/ptsd attacks, left vague but reader experiences extreme dissociation and derealization and struggles to breathe due to anxious thoughts. Mentions of minor character death, paranoia on reader’s part. Basically, reader has a panic attack and Jiyan holds you while you breathe. Please be aware of the tags and do not read if these topics may trigger you.

Can be interpreted as romantic or platonic! You are a soldier under General Jiyan who has pushed yourself too hard recently, causing panic attacks. General Jiyan noticed and offered a shoulder to hold while you relearn how to breathe.

Word count: 1.5k - Also read on Ao3

You never once thought you would ever thank the dust of Norfall Barrens. As a rookie soldier you had grimaced through it, determined to protect the city you loved despite the discomforts and hardship of enlisting in the Midnight Rangers.

But now, three years later, it was a welcome respite from the sharp, biting winds. The particles stuck to your sweat-slick skin, a grimy but effective layer that allowed you to fight the abominations with a shield from the bone-chilling wind streams. The icy breeze got to you over time, seeming to attack your skin at every opportunity, leaving your limbs tender and your bones brittle.

Unexpectedly, what relieved the wind chill the most was another gale, one scripted by your trusted general, Jiyan. He moved like a deadly dancer guided by a loong dragon’s spirit. It was clear your sentinel itself chose Jinzhou’s general, his unwavering sense of justice an arrowhead directing the war against the Lament’s effects.

A composed man who overflowed with warmth and care at his core, he warmed every space he ever entered both with his aero resonance and his very spirit. The medic turned leader was almost universally beloved, a man who faught alongside his soldiers, a voice of strength and reason so desperately needed in and out of the battle field. His mere presence strengthened resolve against the Lament’s corruption, igniting and directing soldiers’ will to fight for their home like the strong tendrils of wind that uplift gentle embers into roaring and ferocious wildfires. His guidance inspired you and so many others, and you worked hard to earn your place in a unit directly below him.

The call of your name by one of your companions shook you out of your thoughts. In the relative safety of your camp you were able to let your mind float following your shifts on watch. You tended to do that more often these days. Only in battle was your mind sharp; otherwise you were simply a shell of a human, no different from a golden echo on the field. Warmth graced your hands in the form of a bowl of hot soup, the scent of spices wafted into your nose, a very welcome surprise. Such commodities were rare these days, perking up even your dulled senses.

“Come on, I know you’re tired from your shift but we have a feast prepared today!” a new fellow you fought alongside with today called at you with a smile. You managed to offer one back. A feast in these parts meant warm food and extra proteins, and spices it seemed, this time. A welcome blessing in this hell. While you’re sure you would be glad, truly, your soul never stirred in celebrating any longer. Years of war had stolen your life force, only your determination and spite sustaining you. But it was easy to wear a mask of normalcy, falling into habits to alleviate your mind of a little bit of stress, letting your consciousness float and watch your body acting from above you, a spectator instead of a player.

The warmth of the bowl certainly sang to your body, blood pumping heartily from the sustenance. But your mind was as barren as the lands you camped on, a floating ghost devoid of nearly everything, that only came to life with skill and sharpness gifted to you in battle by adrenaline.

That very familiar chemical rushed through your veins, releasing your body from its cold prison and igniting your muscles to tense, ready for action. A foreign sound had resonated around you, causing the adrenaline to release. The call was loud at first, a deep bellow sounded, followed by quick, breathless exhales of mirth and an echo of the very sound by vaguely familiar voices. It occurred to you then: laughter. The noise was laughter. You shifted your gaze around the camp, finding the young soldier who handed you a bowl howling heartily with some senior officers. How long had it been since you had heard laughter for it to sound so foreign to you?

You truly didn’t know.

It wasn’t unwelcome, but it was a disruption to your routine that allowed the voices in your head to rise louder, your mind waking to make sense of the new occasion.

What was the joke, why was your comrade so happy? asked your mind. Mild annoyance traipsed through your thoughts, uncharacteristic, but an understandable ally. This was not a place for disruptions. Anything could happen here.

What if there were TDs creeping up on the camp right now? What if they had heard the ring of joy and legions of them were gathering to snuff it out, racing here in ground-shaking gallops like horsemen of the apocalypse. You had seen so many of your allies, your friends, fall to those beasts. Resounding memories of their cheers of camaraderie in the early days echo throughout your mind, cruelly juxtaposed with visuals of their brutal deaths. The monsters taunted you, holding your loved ones’ image captive and jeering at you while they poisoned your world, your beloved city, your home.

The world around you seemed to distort at the thought, the sky dropping. You were caged in by some invisible force, and noisy panic bubbled in your chest. Air began to feel denser, a newly elusive substance your lungs had to chase. The very thing you began craving seemed to mock you, seeming to grip your ribs and crush them inwards while refusing to let you draw in a breath. Your chest stuttered and attempted to heave before being yanked back by your achingly empty lungs as you began hiccuping for breath. Only when your airways started to sting and your face began to numb did you realize your situation and manage to gasp for breath.

You didn’t know how long had passed after you wheezed the sound of panic. You felt nothing until the bowl you were clutching was removed from your lap. A large hand came to rest on your shoulder, replacing its warmth. A scent so familiar that it unconsciously calmed you followed its motion: a fresh forest breeze tinged with the sharp sting of metal. The air began to flow in smoothly, enriching your body. A cooperative ally once more.

“Breathe, soldier,” the strong voice rumbled.

General Jiyan. Your general, Jiyan. The air once again blessed your bloodstream, feeding every inch of your body and once again giving you the gift of life. You had begun to breathe slowly and deeply, just as you had learned in training. In for four, hold for four, out for four. The familiar timings of the count served to calm both your body and mind.

The presence of safety, of your general’s strength near you, was a very welcomed gift. You sighed from your chest once the world had returned to clarity and life size in your vision and you once again heard the murmur of celebration around you. Unfortunately, your reaction was not unfamiliar to you. The toll of seemingly endless battle drew on your very soul, leaving your body weak and weary. And yet, after dozens of times, not even a decorated soldier under the great General Jiyan could manage to snap yourself out of the hell on Earth that was your own mind, not on your own, not in a way that left you sane.

“I’m sorry, general. I let my head get the best of me. Thank you for-“

The hand on your shoulder squeezed gently but firmly, a message to stop talking. As you looked up to gaze in the golden eyes of your general, you were met with pure gentle care. His understanding smile reached his eyes.

You caved to your pure exhaustion. Wordlessly, he let you relax into him, your head coming to rest against the front of his shoulder. You sighed once more, lungs filling to capacity and deflating equally in rhythmic undulation as your spirit came back to inhabit your body, bit by bit. Your general was so warm, so caring, so safe. Eyes closing against his form, your breathing slowed even without your measured counting. One steady hand gripped your side while the other came to rest along your shoulder blade, forearm resting comfortingly against your tired back. He rubbed gentle circles firm into your spine, grounding and soothing the ache in your muscles.

“Don’t speak. Ive seen you pick up extra shifts, push yourself hard. It is the most worthy of causes, no one here faults you, least of all me. But your work is done today, soldier. Rest.”

There was no hint of a waver in his voice, no false sympathy or concern. This was General Jiyan. This was safe. You nodded into his chest, accepting the help you so desperately needed. Jiyan hummed his approval as he continued to soothe your back. You could feel him brush away the dusr, replacing its tentative shield with his own unrelenting one. Your very bones seemed to breathe again, and your thoughts wandered not to the chaos and havoc of the war, but to the warmth and comfort of your general’s presence as you were surrounded by a joyful camp, grounding you instead of letting you dissociate. This was safe, and so, you breathed.

[prism-empurress]

Hello! I got an idea, ran with it, got it beta'd by @circusfable, and now here it is! I don't have a witty title for this one, it's just called... Out in the Field. Hope you enjoy! ---

They couldn’t breathe. Their already poor vision was blurring. Siffrin’s heart hammered in his chest as he took off running. He didn’t know where he was, he didn’t remember what he was doing, he just...knew he had to escape. Even though he tripped a few times, dirtying his pants and cloak, he kept getting up and ran further.

Finally, he collapsed on his hands and knees out into an open field, taking shaky, ragged breaths. But all he could feel was ice. Ice in his veins, his blood, his fingers. His brain screamed for him to get away, but his body screamed for mercy. Burning hot tears fell into the soft soil. Siffrin choked on his own spit as he gripped the grass. Begging the Universe to not send him back to the accursed loops. “Please,” he begged. “Please don’t send me back. I can’t do it again.” Footsteps approached. Siffrin whipped their head around, and saw Isabeau calmly approaching.

“Sif…” Isabeau sighed, sitting next to him. “Siffrin. What happened?” Siffrin hugged their sides, trying to wrangle the words out of their throat. All that came out was foolish stumbling and nonsensical noises. Suddenly, there was warmth. Isabeau gently placed a hand on Siffrin’s back, just below the shoulder blades. Siffrin took a breath, in and out. “I don’t know.” Siffrin gnawed at his lip. “I don’t know.” “Was it...a certain smell?” Isabeau asked. Siffrin shook his head. “Did someone repeat something?”

...Siffrin nodded, but didn’t want to repeat what he had heard. Hesitantly, he scooted closer to Isabeau, but he felt incredibly selfish. Selfishness corroded his insides. They squeezed their sides tighter to try and quell it. Isabeau then wrapped his arms around them, holding them close. “You’re out of the loops, Sif,” he said softly. “...B…” Siffrin winced, trying to make at least one word come out. One name. “Bonnie…?” “Bonnie?” Isabeau repeated. “Bonnie’s okay.” Siffrin released his grip on himself just a tiny bit, “Odile?” “Odile’s okay, too.” “M-Mira…?” “She’s good.”

Siffrin sighed with relief, hesitantly taking one of Isabeau’s hands into their own. And finally looked him in the eye.

His eyes showed deep concern, but reflected in them was the light of the stars. Siffrin clutched their head, tearing away from Isabeau’s gaze. “Hey. Hey hey,” Isabeau said softly. “I...I can’t…” Siffrin choked out. “Can’t...what?” He asked, tilting a brow at them. “I can’t look at them right now.” “Huh?” Isabeau looked around, then finally up. Oh. “The stars?” “I can’t look at them right now,” Siffrin repeated, fighting back more tears. “It’s okay, Sif. Do you want to come inside?” He offered.

Siffrin shook his head, gripping Isabeau’s large hand tighter. “We can stay out here; it’s fine with me.” He smiled.

They struggled again, why couldn’t they make normal words come out of their mouth? Sighing, they gave up, and pointed to their own chest. “Hurts,” they said. “Hurts…? Oh. Your heart?”

Siffrin nodded. “What’s making it hurt, Sif?” Isabeau ran his thumb across the back of Siffrin’s hand. Siffrin merely pointed upwards, sighing heavily. He then drew in the dirt, without taking his glove off. He drew himself, broken into multiple pieces, surrounded by stars. Isabeau examined the dirt picture intently, trying to decode it. “You feel...broken?” He asked. Siffrin nodded.

“It’s okay to feel broken, Sif.” Isabeau smiled. “What matters is you pick up the pieces and make something new out of them. Rebuild yourself, one step at a time.” Stars. He was crying again. Silently at first, then full on weeping. The dam fully burst, nothing was holding the onslaught of water back, now.

But Isabeau just held him tightly, rubbing his back. “You’re safe, Sif,” he whispered. “And...if you want, I can hug your pieces back together.” Siffrin clung to Isabeau, weeping. Even though Isabeau’s turtleneck was getting soaked, Isabeau kept holding onto him. Finally. Siffrin could speak again.

“Thank you,” they croaked,, wiping their face on their sleeve. “I...I don’t know what got into me.”

“It happens.” Isabeau shrugged. “Now...how about a nice hot meal?”

“I’d like that.” Siffrin smiled.

They both got up, Siffrin dusting himself off, and Isabeau still holding onto his hand. Isabeau glanced at the stars, wondering what about them exactly put Siffrin in so much anguish. But right now, Siffrin’s family was waiting for him. Tomorrow morning, they planned to go fishing. Siffrin and Bonnie would actually be the ones fishing, as Isabeau hates touching worms. Mirabelle and Odile would be there, too, and all of them would make many more memories. Memories that would replace the forgotten ones that cannot be retrieved. Out with the old, in with the new.

[steddieas-shegoes]

just a hug

for @steddielovemonth prompt ‘love is a warm hug’

rated t | 719 words | cw: panic attack | tags: friends to lovers, idiots in love, getting together (officially)

🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

It was just a light flickering. It shouldn’t have caused Steve’s heart to stop beating, his breathing to quicken, his chest to constrict.

He excused himself from the room, turned the corner down the hall, and fell against the wall. He couldn’t do it again. It was supposed to be over, they were supposed to be safe-

“Steve?” A voice said behind him. It should’ve startled him, but he barely heard it as he continued to picture the walls opening in front of him, a clock chiming.

“No, please,” Steve squeaked out, no longer in the Byers’ house, surrounded by vines and debris, choking on ash and dust.

“Stevie, Steve, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re not there.” Was that Eddie? It couldn’t be. Eddie was, he was- “Hey, you feel my hands? I’m gonna hold yours. Squeeze my hands if you can hear me.”

He squeezed. Even if it wasn’t real, even if Eddie was still dying on the ground, even if he’d already died, he wanted to do what he said.

“That’s good, angel. Can you take a breath for me?”

He could, but his chest hurt and he choked on a sob, felt his throat closing up. He shook his head.

“Alright, let’s sit. C’mon, bend your knees.” Steve was guided down by strong hands, familiar hands, Eddie’s hands. “Yep, I’m right here. Not going anywhere. Let’s try again, deep breath.”

It was a little easier sitting down, focusing on the way Eddie’s voice was right next to his ear, his hands were on his arms.

“Better. Another one.”

Steve lost sight of the Upside Down. He lost the feeling of dread slowly. The hands on him felt warm now, less like a weight holding him down and more like a buoy pulling him to shore.

His head fell to rest against Eddie’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, something that had seemed impossible only a moment ago. The warmth of his body was bringing Steve back, making every breath easier as his heart rate returned to normal.

Eddie’s arms were around him, pulling him close, hugging him. He never really liked being consumed like this during a panic attack, or even after, but with Eddie it was different. Eddie knew exactly where to wrap his arms to make him feel grounded, warm, safe.

He was in Eddie’s lap, matching his breaths.

“I got him,” Eddie said softly to someone behind him, moving a hand to wave them away. “Just Joyce, angel. It’s okay.”

“I’m okay?” Steve didn’t mean to ask, meant to confirm it, but Eddie started running his fingers through his hair to comfort him more.

“You’re okay. I promise.”

“I’m okay. And you’re okay?”

“I’m okay. I’m right here.”

Steve was shaking, but felt a little more in control. He needed to be sure Eddie was okay.

He pulled away enough to touch his face, his shoulders and arms. Eddie was silent while he did it, used to the routine by now, patient while Steve made sure he wasn’t bleeding or broken or dying.

“You got me out of there, remember?” Eddie whispered to him.

“Sometimes it’s hard to remember,” Steve admitted. “Sometimes it feels like I’m back there and you’re dying and everyone’s dying and I’m alone.”

“You’re not, sweetheart.”

Steve looked up at him from under his lashes, eyes scanning Eddie’s face.

“You never call me that after they’re done,” Steve’s voice was hesitant, hushed.

“I always want to,” Eddie said just as hushed, not wanting to break the moment.

Eddie had been helping him through panic attacks for months now, but he’d also been there for everything else. They were together almost every night, sometimes for Hellfire, sometimes for movie nights, sometimes just for dinner with Wayne. They were in each other’s pockets most of the time.

Robin joked that they were basically a married couple. She wasn’t wrong, but Steve was terrified to show his cards.

“You want me to be your sweetheart?” Steve asked, playing with the ends of Eddie’s hair.

“Yeah, I’d really like that,” Eddie grinned.

“Me too.”

Steve was still off, still shaky and unsure of himself, but Eddie wrapped him in a warm hug again, whispered gentle reassurance against his ear.

He knew it was too soon to say it, but all he felt was love.

[hedwigoprah]

Thursday Bangers (from a couple weeks ago)

As if I’d miss the Taylor Swift prompt 🤭

Thanks again @woundedsoul12

I’ve loved you three summers now honey, but I want them all.

Lover by Taylor Swift

This prompt was different for me because I actually know the song for once.

This one started out as something and then went somewhere else. Here’s your content warning for a panic attack.

@serensama does this count as a WIP? I wrote it this morning 😉

2.4K words that I’ll probably publish to AO3 later. Probably with more thorough edits too. Please forgive my errors, it was 4am when I started this.

If she bit at it any more her thumb would start bleeding. She hadn't really even noticed she was doing it until the zip of pain of her nailbed being breeched gave warning. Veryl took a quick look at her finger before tucking it into a fist and leaning forward on her knees. The bouncing was jarring but it did what it needed to.

They were playing games tonight in the main hall. A few rounds of cards and then something with dice that they were laughing and yelling about now. Veryl had tried hard to concentrate on it but her heartbeat kept accelerating unprompted, making it more difficult to keep up.

The weird heaviness she had felt at the start of the day had not abated. She thought that sparring or even running on their rare off day might help to alleviate the feeling, but no luck.

Reading while Bellara tinkered on something in her workshop didn't help. Nor did talking with Neve about theories, or keeping Lucanis company while he cooked— a mostly silent endeavor. When quiet activities had failed, she turned to hitting things with Taash or playing tag with Assan.

The well just seemed to open further and further. The pressure of wasting a day of rest compounding the gaping absence of… something.

And there was no direct cause she could point at. Of course there were a lot of variables that could trigger something like this, but in most cases she usually felt comforted by the lack of conclusions they could draw. They knew that it would be hard, and that was all she needed to know to get through it.

Life was reasonably okay, they were safe for now.

If she had to guess, it was probably that lingering feeling in inadequacy that she kept fed and silent most of the time. Visiting Varric hadn't really soothed that beast. His injury had brought forward all the shit that went wrong in Nevarra. The choices she made. The loss of life. Inevitable consequences and fallout. These people, so talented and worthy, didn't deserve someone who couldn't protect a team.

And when this was over? What was to become of them? They'd continue their lives and close the book on this part. It would become a mere talking point at parties. She would become a character in a story they repeated to children around a camp fire.

A few heads looked up when the dining room chair scraped against the flagstone. The sudden announcement of her movement was anomalous but she couldn't be bothered right now. Not with the thoughts that circled and tightened themselves like the threading of a bolt.

"Darling? Is everything alright?" Emmrich glanced up from the small book he had been reading while the others played their game. He had been keeping them company after dinner, electing to put his current research on hold for the evening.

Harding also watched, only half paying attention to the game. She was the only one who had witnessed this kind of behavior from Veryl before. Once. Back in the early days. Pacing their room at a tavern like a caged animal.

Veryl had gotten into an unprovoked fight that night. It wasn't her greatest moment.

But then, which of them were?

"Rook?" Emmrich asked more specifically this time, leaning to catch her attention from where it focused on the table between them.

Veryl watched briefly as his posture adjusted to bring more of his focus to her, turning his body, closing his book before marking the place, a frown starting to form between his eyebrows.

And she left.

She was out the kitchen door within seconds. Her few long strides were quick and silent. No one would really notice she hadn't vacated the premises,

Though Emmrich would come looking for her, that much she had ensured.

Did she want to be found? How difficult did she want to make the journey for him? All options weighed evenly, should could always hop through the Eluvian and go for a jog in the forest. A brisk walk in the snow could help clear her head. Even basking in the actual sunlight on the beach would probably soothe the aching that was taking up residence in her skull.

She ended up on the floor in front of the fish in her room. Head between her knees. Too aware of the way the frame of the chaise bit into her spine. The sofa had shifted when she had more or less collapsed against it, moving it off the ornate rug and exposing a sliver of the flooring below. She felt the cold of the stone seep through her bones.

Breathing, though accustom to losing it, or holding it, or reserving it, became a rare commodity. She tried hard to regulate the greedy gasps she made, feeling embarrassed by her own noise in the quiet room. Everything was out of her control it seemed.

She could do nothing about the hand that was currently cinching like a tourniquet around her thigh. The tightening came as a ache and then a throb, accompanying a cramp in her fingers and joints as her grip refused to loosen.

The pain was grounding and Veryl finally realized the big fat tears that dripped from her face were real. She felt her face contort in unrestrained emotion.

She barely noticed the rustling of clothes as another body was pulling her in tight. A hand eased over her locked one, wedging between its grip on her leg and prying it away. She didn't try to ease up either, switching crushing the hand that reached for it.

In a crushing sweep the pressure finally started ease but for as long as she wailed and sobbed openly. She was too far gone for the action to feel awkward, instead she only felt increments of relief. The other person tucked her in more closely with each body wracking shudder that she gave into.

At some point she blacked out, either from lack of oxygen or just simply because of the turmoil she gave into. The weight of it finally claiming her and pulling her into the deep. She was relieved to come awake peacefully, instead of jarring herself into consciousness in order to escape the nightmares.

A cold touch. A familiar scent that so often reminded her of home. A vibration of bones that drew the line between the dead and the living. She snuggled a little closer to the warmth that cradled her. There was shifting to accommodate, and something moved down her back.

Her eyelids lifted slowly revealing clothing and then skin. She was tucked into Emmrich's chest, his hair tickled at her nose. She felt how her body outlined his, both stretched out across that pitifully small green sofa. Her legs tangled with his, a s measure to keep her from slipping off, she was sure. And a roving hand ran circuts up and down her spine, fingers paused to press along her vertebrae sometimes.

Her own hands were close to her face, bent at the joint and tucked under her chin. Emmrich's other arm acted as a cushion for her head. She felt his muscle bending and flexing. He was probably trying to keep it from falling asleep too.

"Emm-" she started, though her mouth was dry and her voice got caught along her vocal chords. She sniffed and tried clearing her throat.

"If you start with an apology, I'm afraid this may be a very different kind of discussion." There was warning in his voice, but there was concern too. Veryl closed her mouth and swallowed the decidedly polix remorse she had planned on relating, her throat still sticky.

He sighed, a deep thing that expanded his chest in front of her. She felt an unbidden blush start to creep up at the sight. It was only made worse when his free roving hand reached down to gently lift her chin, forcing her to look at him.

When he was satisfied with her obedience, keeping her eyes locked with his own, he transition from her face to her hair. Long fingers gently tucked it back and away, some pieces having been stuck to her cheek with salty moisture.

"Are you alright?" He asked, so very delicately. She didn't so much hear his voice as she felt it. His low timbre resonated when he spoke, a soothing reverberation. Any hint of reproach was gone, his face was all concern and care. A small frown hinted along his mouth.

She tried again to clear her throat, and provide some semblance of clear communication. "I'm… alright." It came out as several high pitched eeks, a scraping that generally sounded like words.

She gave him a small smile. He returned it though it didn't really change his countenace. His hand moved again to cup against her cheek and on instinct she pushed into it and closed her eyes.

"I cannot tell you what to do, my darling." He said, words barely there between them. "Goodness knows I could never wield such power with someone as willful as you. But I fear I must implore you anyway."

Veryl blinked up at him when he paused, waiting for what he would say, what he would ask of her. She tried not to think of the futility he felt in his request. That he thought so little of asking something of her. As though he felt he had no sway over her, when truly, it was quite the opposite.

She would do anything he asked, fight any foe he pointed her at, go anywhere he desired her to exist. He could merely say the word and she would. If he didn't know that, she would rectify such a sad misunderstanding as soon as she regained her voice.

"Please tell me when something is wrong." He kept her stare as it widened. Ah, the one thing she could not do. "Do not let your fear keep you from allowing me to stand with you. I am more than capable of holding you together when you yourself cannot."

What could she say to relieve him of the obvious stress this predicament caused? The frown on his face had deepened and she had lost his eyes as they had dipped away growing less confident with each word.

She reached her own hand up to mirror his. Gently cupping his cheek she ran a thumb along his high cheekbone, marveling at the way he melted at her touch.

"Things are always wrong." She spoke quietly and his eyes closed. His eyebrows drew together seemingly in pain, as he inhaled deeply near her wrist. The kisses landed softly against her palm.

"There will never be a time when things are not wrong. Would you have me come to you for every small thing? Every miniscule complaint?" For as long as they endeavored to stop the world from collapsing, there would be no peace. Surely he would not ask her to burden him with her displeasure.

"I would have you tell me absolutely everything down to if you stubbed your littlest toe." He spoke into her hand as his own held her to his face, brazenly he breathed her in. His eyes were back on hers, dark and unwavering. Some sort of heat was growing in them, making Veryl aware of that blush from earlier, bringing it roaring back to life.

"There is nothing so great that I cannot handle. Even if there was, it could not be something we would not face together." He closed the few centimeters of space between them. He transferred from kissing her hand to kissing along her cheekbones. Veryl closed her eyes and her chest felt light as she let a long sigh empty her lungs.

"My darling, let me convince you of my devotion." A whisper in her ear that sent a tingle down her spine. "You have posessed the very essence of my being and I exist wholly at your leisure.

He caressed the shell of her ear with his lips and anointed her with a small noise that made her whole body shiver. Only then did she become aware of how their legs still tangled, sensitive parts brushing nearer to each other with each shift of position.

Veryl slowly reached to wrap her arms around his neck. Her fingers let the way, eventually finding themselves sunk into his hair, massaging and pulling. It wasn't long before Emmrich's wayward kisses along her jaw reached her lips. She sank into the oblivion he encouraged, opening up for him and meeting his tongue stroke for stroke. Her breathing became erratic again, the indication of losing control.

She broke away briefly to catch up, the sensation feeling too familiar to earlier in the day. Emmrich kept up his offensive, dragging kisses along her neck, and skin he could access.

"Let me do this for you, darling." Emmrich whispered the words against her skin. He bit once, causing her to wince. A quick, soothing lick followed and Veryl shuddered. "Give yourself over to me. Let me take care of you. Let me be the one to worry."

She felt him everywhere. How his arms surround her, his hands holding fast to her ribs. The way his tongue traveled along her collar bone and her nose buried into his hair. How many points of connection did their bodies bare? Forty? Fifty?

She craved him. She had from the start, from that very first kiss. There was never any denying that. But she was unwilling to give up that control, that safety she put in place. That ultimate vulnerability. It would never be just sex with him, it would always be a meeting of two souls that could never be extricated from each other.

She was the one who sought him out this time, her kiss certain as she slid her tongue along his. Her hands shifted to grip his hips, pulling until he rolled them over. He hovered above her, caging her in there on the chaise. He broke away for a moment, to watch her, to look for answers to the question he had yet to ask.

His hand revisited her cheek, "Are you sure? I feel as though we should talk about what happened before…"

Veryl smiled, a small thing with a few teeth, a genuine display of contentedness. She shook her head.

"Help me forget, my love. That the world is ending. Take it away." It was all the permission he needed.

Under his care and ministrations, Veryl handed her entire being over to him. Worries drifted away with the whisper of pleasured sighs.

Here is the other Thursday Banger Prompt I posted, one more to go! Well, till tomorrow.

Trivia for your time: Honey never spoils. It can remain edible indefinitely if stored correctly, truly natures candy.

[khaos-creator]

I was a kid, but I wasn’t clueless

Summary: Cub and Scar start a lighthearted fight and Mumbo freaks out, escaping the house after feigning some excuse

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65160961

~*~

Mumbo, Grian, Scar, & Cub were all hanging out in the living room of Scar's place.

Cub & Scar eventually began bickering about something, with no real heat behind it at all, just messing around. But that didn't stop Mumbo's anxiety from building.

He'd always been pretty bad with loud noises as it was, but fighting especially remained as a trigger for him since his young childhood. No matter how much he tried to logic his way out of his growing panic, nothing worked. His heart rate spiked and he could feel his thumping heart beat throughout his whole body.

The need to escape grew stronger as the minutes passed, his mind yelling at him to flee. The two "siblings" bickered for long enough that he had to excuse himself, saying he needed to step outside for a second as he tried to made it look like someone was messaging him.

He power walked to the front door, trying to seem as normal as possible. However, he didn't have the brain capacity to care a whole lot in the moment, as his panic screamed for him to escape as quickly as possible.

As soon as he opened the door and stepped through it, the cold air whooshed around him, shocking his body and temporarily slowing his quickened thoughts down a bit. He probably should have grabbed his coat on the way through though…

The panicked feeling in his chest remained, along with his now quicker breathing. He was usually ok with playful fights, even joining in himself. But apparently today was not one of those days.

Due to his sensitive hearing, he could still faintly hear the passionate debate from inside. He covered his ears, practically mirroring the way he had as a young child.

His family wasn't the most cohesive bunch in the world. It wasn't nearly as bad as some of his friends', but yelling was a common occurrence between his parents. He'd often have to sit there and wait out their arguments. The worst ones for him being in places he couldn't get away from, like in a car.

He hated it. Every time he was up late and heard their muffled voices getting progressively louder, every time he was in one of their conversations and it turned angry, every time there was a misunderstanding between them and it sparked a harsh argument.

Every time they yelled, he grew more scared. Not of them necessarily, they never directed anything towards him, he just hated the yelling. There had been once where he tried to speak up and stop their pointlessly long argument, but when a strong verbal correction was directed at him, he never tried again. He couldn't explain it then and he still can't now, but he just couldn't deal with fighting.

In his much younger years, he would cry as an argument, muffled through walls, continued. Questioning why they had to fight, why they thought that would get them anywhere, why they couldn't just talk it through normally.

He couldn't understand why people fought at all, especially over small things. It didn't make any sense, which really didn't help him at all. The unease of things you don't understand is truly a bitch.

He was thrown back into reality by the front door creaking open behind him. He quickly looked over his shoulder, looking up at the other person in slight fear before he realized who it was.

He took a deep, shaky breath and looked back away from the house, only now feeling the tears streaking down his cheeks from the frigid air. He hadn't cried about this in quite some time, so he grew embarrassed as Grian sat down beside him on the concrete steps. He turned his face away from his friend, blocking him from seeing his tearful face. Grian had already seen it briefly when Mumbo whipped around as he'd walked through the door, but Mumbo still hid anyway.

"What's going on, Mumbo?" Grian inched closer

"Nothing, I'm ok" he knew it wasn't going to be very convincing when he heard his own broken voice

"Don't cover it up," Grian leaned forward to actually look at Mumbo, "talk to me, Buttercup" his voice maintained a soft, comforting tone

Mumbo breathed out a little laugh at the nickname, he'd never expected it to stick around after "The Buttercups" disbanded, but the three actually still used it from time to time.

"I.." Mumbo started, then looked over at Grian, "I've told you about how my parents were when I was younger, right?"

Grian's mouth twitched to the side as he thought for a moment, "Mhm. They fought a bunch, yeah?"

Mumbo nodded, "Yeah. So because of that, I'll sometimes get panicked by fighting or raised voices," he paused and looked down at his hands, where he was picking at the skin from around his nails, "and even if I know it's all in good fun, it can still freak me out"

Grian continued to watch his friend, trying to get as many clues from his body language as possible. Mumbo's elf-like ears stay pinned back to listen to any noise that came from in the house. He glanced back at the house and it took a second but it finally clicked, "Cub and Scar.." he trailed off

Mumbo tensed up minutely, nodding in confirmation.

"Oh Mumbo, I'm sorry" Grian inched closer once again but this time he wrapped his arms around the taller man, "I didn't know stuff like that bothered you"

The vampire tensed at first, but quickly relaxed and sighed heavily, leaning against his avian friend, "I'm usually ok with playful stuff, but today was just different for some reason"

Grian wraps his wings around them, in a protective and gentle way, while making small noises to try and help calm his friend. He also noticed that Mumbo hadn't taken his coat with him and was now shivering, so he tried to block as much of the cold wind as he could as well as fluffing up his feathers to keep the warmth in.

Mumbo closed his eyes and rested his head on top of his friend's.

Grian's soothing chirps and purrs gave him a lifeline to hold onto as he tried his best to breathe in the 4-7-8 pattern he'd learned for this kinda thing. And it's only in the warmth and comfort of Grian's arms that his panic finally begins to ease.

[himluv]

Spiral

Chapter 23(?!) of Say My Name (Say it Twice) is here! Find it below, or head over to AO3 to read from the beginning.

After a harrowing day in Isana Negat, Lucanis decides to finally tell Rook how he feels.

cw: PTSD, panic attacks

Lucanis reread the parchment for the third time. Teia had sent word, Viago’s people had found something. Something big enough that the Talons wanted to meet outside of the city. Outside of Illario’s reach.

Normally, he’d bring this straight to Rook. They needed to get to Dock Town, to the Cobbled Swan soon. And they would. But not tonight.

Tonight, he was just grateful they’d all made it out of Isana Negat alive. For a moment, he’d thought all was lost, that Rook and her big, soft, foolish heart chose to stay and die rather than leave Harding to the Titan’s rage. 

He would have run, had tried to get Rook to run. But, she’d refused, and of course he couldn’t leave her to face Harding alone. So, he’d followed her up to that stone platform, certain it was their final moments. 

And, yet again, Rook proved that he should know better than to doubt her heart. Against all odds, she’d reached Harding, soothed her rage and reminded her of who she really was under all that pain. Lucanis was still rocked with awe each time he thought of it. 

Was there anyone Rook couldn’t reach?

But, their misadventure in the mines also left him feeling uncertain. Not about Rook, he was more sure about her than ever, but about himself. She had done the impossible time and gain, but she was still mortal. And they were still hurtling toward a confrontation with two ancient, blighted gods. Even after all their wins, the odds of victory were long. Too long. And if the Cantori Diamond had taught him anything, it was that, eventually, their luck would run out. 

If something happened to them, shouldn’t she know how he felt? Could he survive losing her, knowing he’d never told her? But would it make her grief that much worse if he did, and he was the one lost? Or would the knowledge of his affection be a comfort in the aftermath?

Tell her, Spite hissed. You want. She wants.

Lucanis knew the demon was right. And, he could feel the gods’ noose tightening. When they did face Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, it would be all or nothing. There were no guarantees anyone would survive, and they were running out of time. 

Yes. He would tell her. Now. He’d delayed long enough.

Yesssssss!

Lucanis left Teia’s message on his side table, checked his hair in the mirror, and stepped out into the dining hall. Dinner had been a quiet affair. Harding had promptly gone to her quarters and passed out upon their return. Taash had brought her dinner and also not returned. He and Rook had both been reserved, tired after the physically and emotionally draining day. 

As he crossed the courtyard, Lucanis felt a flicker of doubt. Maybe tonight wasn’t the right time. It’d been a difficult enough day without adding an emotional confession to the end of it. And there was still the matter of Illario and whatever Teia and Viago had learned. There was so much to do. 

And by that logic, he could put this off forever. 

No! Spite barked. Tell Rook. Tonight!

Right. If he waited for the perfect moment, he could always find a reason not to have this conversation. He was doing this. Now. 

It wasn’t a long walk to Rook’s quarters, but Lucanis took it slow, rehearsing in his mind what he would say to her. 

Rook. I don’t want to wait any longer. We might not have long and–

No. Too grim. 

Rook. I want… no, I need you–

No. Too clichéd. Even if it was true, he couldn’t steal his confession from the pages of one of his romance novels.   

Just. Tell her. The truth! Spite growled, the demon’s tone distinctly irritated. 

Right. The truth. He could do that. And Rook deserved to hear only the truth from him. He looked up when his path met with her door. He knew she was in there, because Spite had led him here and not to the music room. The truth. Just, tell her the truth. He took a deep, steadying breath, and then knocked on her door. 

It took a moment for her to answer, and when she did she peered around the door with a puzzled look on her face. 

“Lucanis?”

He gave her a tight smile. Mierda, he was nervous. “Rook, I–”

“Come in,” she said, swinging the door open. 

Right. Yes. Good. This wasn’t a conversation to be had in a hallway. He stepped through into the room and froze at the sight of the floor-to-ceiling aquarium. Behind him, he heard the door close. Heard Rook say something. Both sounds were muffled, as if heard from underwater. 

Nooooo, Spite hissed. No! Get out!

He was out. Had been out for months, but the shimmering blue light filtered through the water still turned his blood to ice.

Lucanis closed his eyes and took another deep breath. This was Rook’s room, not the Ossuary. Zara was dead. She couldn’t hurt him anymore. And he would never see that prison again. 

“Lucanis?”

That voice. Rook’s voice. She was the reason he was free, the one who had come to save him. And yet, when she put a tentative hand on his shoulder, he flinched. He spun to face her, hopefully camouflaging his knee-jerk response to her touch. 

“What’s wrong?” Her eyes darted across his face, searching for some clue.

“Nothing,” he lied. Which was stupid – it was painfully obvious something was very, very wrong.

Rook frowned at that and gestured to the green velvet chaise in the center of the room. “Maybe you should sit down.”

He nodded. His knees felt weak, his chest suddenly so heavy. Lucanis let Rook lead him to the chaise, his eyes on her hand where it hooked onto his elbow. He hadn’t noticed this touch – he was afire and frozen all at once. Was he breathing?

“Rook,” he said before she could drag him any closer to the glass. His voice sounded strange. Far away and thin. He licked his lips, eyes darting at the aquarium glass, then back to her face. Breathe. Just breathe and say what you came to say. “Rook, I–”

Neve’s voice rang through his head, ‘even mentioning the Ossuary sends you spiraling.’

Spiraling? No! Spite shouted, face pressed to the glass. DROWNING!

“Lucanis?” Again, her voice pulled him back. And when he saw the concern, the fear in her eyes, he knew the real truth. 

He closed his eyes. “Rook, I can’t.” He turned his back on the glass wall, blinking back panicked tears. Mierda, what was happening to him?

Rook stood beside him, her hand still at his elbow. Then she cursed. “Shit! It’s the aquarium isn’t it?”

She didn’t wait for him to reply. She dragged him from her quarters and down to the music room. He followed her, numb and panting against the frozen blocks of his ribcage. It wasn’t until she pressed him down into his usual chair that he felt like his head was back above water. 

Slowly, his chest loosened and he was able to take slow, deep breaths. Eventually, his pulse settled and he became more aware of his surroundings. Rook crouched before him, a hand on his knee. Her other hand was in his, gripped tight. 

“Hey,” she said as he blinked at her. 

He leaned back, resting his head against the wall and covering his face in both hands. Then he let out a string of profanities that would make Teia proud. 

After a beat of silence, Rook said, “I think I understood most of that.”

Lucanis groaned from behind his hands. Leave it to her to tease him at a moment like this.

“Are you okay?” She asked. 

He took a deep breath and felt the last shards of icy panic break away. “I’m all right,” he said. Still, he kept his face covered. 

��Will you look at me?”

No. He didn’t want to see her concern. Or her tenderness. He didn’t want to face the proof that she’d seen him at his worst. He would rather vanish into dust than look at her in that moment. 

“Give me a moment,” he said.

“Okay.”

He expected her to move, to sit at the piano, maybe even to play, but Rook did not leave his side. Her hand stayed on his knee, rubbing gentle, soothing circles above his kneecap. For a moment he let her touch anchor him, his mind swirling like crema in a freshly brewed cup of coffee. 

Mierda, he needed a drink. 

What was the matter with him? How could an aquarium unravel him so completely? How could Rook ever trust him after this? How could he fulfill his contract, how could he keep her safe if all it took to unmake him was a glass wall of water? This was worse than he’d realized. He was worse.

When he didn’t speak or move for what felt like ages, Rook tapped his knee. “Lucanis?”

He grunted.

“I can hear you thinking.”

Lucanis sighed and let his hands fall into his lap. But he kept his face tilted up toward the ceiling. He couldn’t look at her. 

“It’s okay,” she said. “You shouldn’t feel embarrassed.” Rook shook her head. “I should have realized the aquarium might bring up… bad memories. I should have warned you.”

“You can’t take the blame for everything, Rook.” His voice sounded so tired, even to him. 

“No,” she said. “But, I can try.”

He shook his head. “And why would you warn me? It’s not like you expected me to knock on your door.”

A beat of silence hung between them. “Not tonight, no,” she said. “But, I thought, maybe, eventually–”

Lucanis looked down at her in surprise. Did she mean…? She thought about him coming to her room? In the middle of the night?

Judging from her blush, yes. Yes, she did.

Rook smiled up at him. “There you are.”

He didn’t look away from her, even though he desperately wanted to. He felt… fragile. Like a single misplaced touch would shatter him and he’d fall to pieces all over again. But, if there was anyone he trusted not to break him, it was Rook. Lucanis put his hand on hers where it still rested on his knee, squeezed her fingers in his. 

He could tell her how he felt, now, and she would accept him just as he was – fragile and half-shattered. He knew that, deep in his chest. He felt her acceptance in the weight of her hand on his knee, in the weight of her gaze. He should tell her now. He wanted to. 

But hadn’t this… episode proved him right? Like Neve had said, with everything he was dealing with, how was it right for him to squeeze Rook in? He’d thought he was ready, but he couldn’t even step inside her room. There was still so much he needed to do, needed to deal with before he could pull her into his life and not hate himself for it. 

Lucanis squeezed her hand one more time, and then released her. Rook took the cue and removed her hand from his knee. His leg tingled at the loss of her touch. 

Rook stood and put her hands on her hips. “So, what did you come to talk to me about?”

Lucanis stared at her for two panicky heartbeats, then remembered Teia’s message. “Viago and Teia sent word. They want to talk. About Illario.”

Spite growled from behind Rook at mention of his cousin.

“Whatever it is, they wish to speak away from Treviso. Away from anyone who might be listening. They won’t put more to paper.”

“Oh,” she said. She sounded disappointed. 

“I need to meet with them, as soon as possible.”

“All right,” she said, nodding. “We’ll head out first thing tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Rook,” he said. He hoped the weight of his voice told her he meant it for more than just their impending trip to Minrathous. 

“Of course, Lucanis,” she said, and the warmth in her eyes told him she understood completely. Just as she always did. 

Lucanis couldn’t bring himself to confess his feelings to Rook now. Not after this mess. But he was also desperate not to be alone just yet. 

“Rook?” He called as she turned toward the door. 

She stopped and looked at him. 

“Can I ask another favor?”

She smiled. “Always.”

He smiled at that, even as he felt the heat bloom in his cheeks. “Will you play for me?”

She laughed. “Now?”

He shrugged. “If it’s a bother–”

Rook waved his words away and sat at the piano. “I did say ‘any time’.”

“You did,” he murmured. He watched, rapt, as she settled into the instrument. She played the same notes she’d hunted out that first night he’d found her in this room, but she’d obviously been practicing. Her fingers were sure as they danced across the keys, drawing the song out, coaxing it into a reverberating being with such tenderness it made him ache. 

Lucanis had attended more than his fair share of operas, had listened to live musicians countless times at parties in Villa Dellamorte and in the close intimacy of cafés. None of them compared to Rook playing for him –privately– at his request. 

He had basically zero experience with what made him… want. But in that moment, watching Rook’s hands, seeing the expression on her face shift to match the tone of the song, Lucanis’s whole body suffused with delicious heat. He always wanted Rook, in some low, background fashion. But this was different, pointed and–

Hungry, Spite hissed. 

Yes. It felt a lot like hunger. Or, a craving. He’d expected his feelings for her to diminish in the wake of his embarrassment, but instead they only seemed stronger. That she could see him like that, and still care? It made something in his chest open up, vibrating like the notes through the room. Lucanis felt uncoiled and strung tight all at once, so much so that he had to close his eyes and focus on his breathing. 

He couldn’t tell Rook how he felt now, because if he did he didn’t think he could keep from devouring her whole. That wasn’t what he wanted when they finally spoke about this… thing developing between them. He didn’t want reckless passion and possible regrets in the aftermath. He wanted them both to be sure, to have no illusions or misunderstandings. And right now he was too twisted up with his panic and Illario.

So, he took his pleasure in the music she played for him, imagined her sitting at the instrument in Villa Dellamorte’s ballroom, maybe in an elegant, backless dress that shimmered as golden as the sunset in Arlathan Forest. It was a pleasing thought, one Lucanis was more than happy to sit with for as long as Rook wanted to play.  

They would go to Minrathous tomorrow and deal with whatever news the Talons had about his cousin. And maybe, after, he could finally tell her how he truly felt. 

[lara-prism-light]

"The Accident"

[Content warning: panic attack, trauma and ptsd]

On Wattpad And Archive of Our Own 

For context, in this au, Clay stays(Floyd had left for his solo career and returned three years later on the day of the incident) and the day their grandmother is eaten he sees her being taken away, unable to do anything he blames himself for not being there at the time of the incident, believing he could have done something if he hadn't was so neglectful of his younger brother. Now as an adult he sees himself responsible for Branch's condition, and has constant nightmares about what happened.

[a-very-sneaky-mimic]

So I had a lot of fun thinking about how to write this scene, specifically figuring out how I think healing craft would interact with an allergic reaction! I figured, the craft can't really do anything about the actual allergen, as its just healing vibes and removing an allergen isn't in it's job description ya know? But something healing craft probably CAN do would be to calm down the immune system! Since a lot of symptoms that healing-craft would normally treat, ex: burns, wounds, cuts etc. In addition to treating those problems and the damage those problems caused on a cellular level, it probably also signals the immune system to tone down the inflammation! And since the thing that makes allergic reactions so deadly is typically the whole throat-swelling-up-so-you-can't-breath thing, I figured healing craft would maybe be able to temporarily relieve the swelling! (If you haven't read my fic and are worried about Sif at the end of these images don't worry he gets better!)

[tealottie]

sorry, prissy

[asktheevilgeniusesson]

The jackals sat in a corner, knees tucked close and face hidden in his knees and fur, the short skinny figure of the canine miht be hard to make out in the corner, but hes there. Shaking and silently having essentially a PTSD-induced panic attack. His mask is discarded on the floor infront of him and he seems to be unaware of his surroundings right now.

[lavendarlily]

3 pitch pearl

cw: panic attack

3. cold hands in warm hands | pitch pearl

The Honors English 3 class shuffled into their first period, the students bundled up from the chilled December air. Wet shoes squeaked against the linoleum after braving snow and ice outside. The air was thick with tension and exhaustion as the junior class was just barely surviving their final exams before their holiday break. 

Danny found his way to his seat, hoping, praying for the best. This was an important semester after all - college applications were just around the corner. He had to do well or risk his chances at getting into a decent university. Sure, he’d gotten by decently with his higher-than-average intelligence (it was a Fenton thing), but this year’s courses had been rough. If he didn’t pull out of this class with at least a B…

He took a deep breath, and tried to calm the butterflies in his stomach, ignore the ache in his head, and steady his shaking hands. The first part of the English exam was multiple choice - he was confident enough in that. The second part scared him slightly - writing essays wasn’t his strong suit, but he’d seared the entirety of Catcher in the Rye into his mind. He could do this. He had to. 

“Alright students, phones off, clear your desks,” Mr. Lancer announced with a stack of papers in hand. “I want to get these passed out to you as soon as possible so you have the full amount of time to complete it. A reminder that there are two parts - don’t forget to do both of them.” 

The teacher looked around the room. “Best of luck to all of you, and enjoy your break.” His smile did little to ease Danny’s nerves. He grabbed his lucky pencil (it was hardly more than a nub at this point) and placed it on his desk, then dragged his sweaty palms against his thighs. 

Mr. Lancer reached his desk, gently setting down the exam, and gave Danny an encouraging smile, which he tried his darndest to return, but probably gave more of a grimace. 

Danny took a final breath, then dove in. 

The first section did some good for Danny’s confidence - he only had trouble with a small handful of the questions, but at least he could take an educated guess. Now onto the essay section.

Three prompts were provided. He only had to answer one.

As he scanned through the list, his heart gave a drop. No, he shook his head. Just gotta read them again. Carefully. I can do at least one of these.

Yet as he read through them again, then again, and a third time, Danny couldn’t help but feel absolutely screwed.

His breathing picked up, hands shaking once more. His thoughts began spiraling until he couldn’t finish one before picking up the next. Danny was panicking.

He nearly jumped out of his seat when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Mr. Lancer looked down at him with a concerned expression. His teacher made a nod to the door, and guided Danny out into the hallway.

“Take a minute, Daniel. Come back inside when you’re ready,” he said with a smile. 

Danny leaned against the hallway and slunk down against the wall. How humiliating. He crossed his arms and leaned his head forward. Now I’m gonna fail the test and everyone saw me freaking out about it. Fuck fuck fuck.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there before a soft “Danny?” interrupted his mental spiral. He didn’t move though. He couldn’t.

“Danny, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” the familiar voice said.

Danny still didn’t answer. 

The air around him became colder as the presence approached him. Icy hands grasped his arms and unfolded Danny from his cocoon. Now he was looking into the burning green eyes of Amity Park’s own ghostly hero.

Phantom kneeled in front of him, grabbing Danny’s hands in his. 

“I don’t know what happened. But I know you’re upset. I know you’ve been stressed, and working so hard the last few weeks.” As he spoke, Phantom gave Danny’s hands a comforting squeeze.

“I’m gonna fail,” Danny croaked.

Phantom’s face hardened. “Don’t say that. You don’t know that. As long as you get back in there and finish what you started, you cannot fail. 

“You’re the smartest person I know, Danny. I’m so proud of you. And whatever happens, you should be proud too. Now can you just take some deep breaths for me?”

The two sat in silence, hands still intertwined, as Phantom watched Danny steady himself. It wasn’t a cure-all, but Phantom’s presence was doing something to bring Danny back to earth. 

“Okay,” he said, a little shakily. “I’m gonna go finish my exam.”

Phantom leaned his forehead forward so that it was touching Danny’s. “You got this babe,” he whispered, then planted a kiss on Danny’s cheek before swiftly disappearing.

Danny swallowed, stood up, and went back inside.

[facewithoutheart]

Freak in the Club

Teen, 7k, Buddie, Henren, Madney, Bathena & the firefam, Complete, Crack Treated Seriously

CW: panic attacks, drinking, some brief Chris angst bc these days you kinda can’t avoid it

The gang goes to a gay bar AKA what if that Pink News article actually happened?

“Why is he even here?” Josh has to yell so Maddie can hear him over the club’s obnoxiously loud music. (And if they play that Lady Gaga song one more time …)

“Buck invited him!” Maddie shouts back.

Her shoulders shimmy to the beat. When she’s not talking to Josh, she mouths along: ab-ra-cadabra abra-ca-daaaaa-braaaaaa.

Josh wants to fling himself onto the dance floor and pray a masc in Docs stomps him to oblivion.

God, he hates clubs.

Read on ao3

[the-big-boss-of-hell]

It’s ok Alastor, Ozzie just wants to help you ok?

Long post ahead! CW! Medical exam, panic attack

Alastor: *looks away and stands up, cradling the baby in his arms deciding that he’s been outside his suite for too long. Though as he walked, he spotted the tail end of Asmodeus leaving. He didn’t know why, but Alastor began to follow him out*

Ozzie: *pausing mid-step, turning fully to face Alastor, his warm smile softening when he sees the watery sheen in Alastor’s eyes* Oh? Decided to follow me after all?

Alastor: *hesitant, clutching the baby close to his chest, his fingers trembling slightly. He glances down at the baby, then back up at Ozzie before pulling a small notepad from his pocket and scribbling something quickly*

Ozzie: *waiting patiently, his gaze flicking briefly to the baby, then back to Alastor* Take your time, sugar. No rush.

Alastor: *finishes writing and flips the notepad around for Ozzie to see:* “I’ll do the exam. The baby’s fine. Just me.”

Ozzie: his smile widening slightly as he nods That’s brave of you, Alastor. Really, it is. And I promise, this won’t be anything you can’t handle. Do you need someone to hold the little one while we do this?

Alastor: *eyes widen slightly, and he shakes his head vigorously, clutching the baby tighter. He quickly jots down another note:* “Baby stays with me.”

Ozzie: raising his hands in a gesture of surrender Understood. Baby stays with you. Let’s head somewhere quiet, then.

Alastor: *follows Ozzie to a small, cozy sitting room in Alastor’s hotel suite*

Ozzie: *gesturing to the bed* Have a seat, Al. You can keep lay the baby in the bassinet and keep him nearby.

Alastor: *settles into the bed, laying the baby in the bassinet. He watches Ozzie warily as the Sin pulls out his stethoscope and other things. His eyes widen as some memories began to flood back to his mind, being in a lab table…arms bound…the noise of metal scrapping —*

Ozzie: *gently, keeping his voice calm* Alright, sweetheart. First things first. I’ll just listen to your heartbeat, okay?

Alastor: *nods reluctantly*

Ozzie: *placing the stethoscope against Alastor’s chest, listening carefully* Heart’s a little fast, but that’s to be expected.

Alastor: *watches him closely, his eyes darting between Ozzie’s face and the instruments*

Ozzie: *removing the stethoscope and pulling out a blood pressure cuff* Now, I’ll need your arm for this one. Just a quick squeeze, nothing more.

Alastor: *hesitates, but nods, offering his arm.*

Ozzie straps the cuff on and takes his reading.

Ozzie: *nodding thoughtfully as he jots down notes* Pressure’s a little low, but nothing we can’t work on. You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?

Alastor: *doesn’t respond verbally, but his eyes lower slightly, and he nods once*

Ozzie: You’re doing better than you think, sugar. We’ll get you back on your feet.

Alastor: *shifts uncomfortably but doesn’t pull away. He writes on his notepad again*: “What else?”

Ozzie: *chuckling lightly* Just one or two more things, if you’re up for it. Mind if I check your reflexes and breathing?

Alastor: *nods cautiously, and Ozzie proceeds with the exam, keeping his movements deliberate and gentle*

Ozzie: *finishing up, he sits back with a thoughtful hum* Physically, you’re not in bad shape, considering everything. But, Alastor... *his tone grows softer, more serious* your body’s carrying a lot of stress. And I don’t just mean from taking care of the little one.

Alastor: *stiffens as he quickly scribbles:* “I’m fine.”

Ozzie: *reading the note, his smile faint but understanding* I won’t push you, darling. But if you ever feel like talking—or writing—about what’s weighing on you, I’m here. No judgment.

Alastor: *hesitates, then nods once, his gaze still guarded but less hostile*

Ozzie: *glancing at Alastor’s tense posture, his voice gentle* One last thing, Alastor. May I check your neck and shoulders? Sometimes, stress manifests in physical tension, and I want to make sure there’s no underlying injury.

Alastor: *freezes for a moment, his fingers curling tightly around the edge of the bassinet. He swallows hard, then slowly nods, his hand trembling as he lifts the collar of his shirt to expose the back of his neck*

As Ozzie leans closer, his expression softens immediately. His usually cheerful demeanor shifts into one of quiet concern as he notices the faint but unmistakable scars running along the back of Alastor’s neck.

Ozzie: *softly, his touch feather-light* These scars... they’re recent, aren’t they?

Alastor: *doesn’t respond, but his eyes dart away, and he clenches his jaw tightly. He picks up the notepad with a shaking hand and writes,* “Mind-control device.”

Ozzie’s eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of anger crossing his features, though his tone remains calm.

Ozzie: *gently tracing the edge of one of the scars* Someone put this on you, didn’t they?

Alastor: nods, his breathing shallow.

Ozzie: *sitting back slightly, his voice filled with quiet resolve* I’m sorry you went through that. No one deserves to have their autonomy ripped away like that.

Alastor: *scribbles quickly, his writing shaky but clear*: “I don’t want to think about it.”

Ozzie: Of course. We’ll focus on the here and now. You’re safe, and you’re in control.

Alastor: *exhales shakily, clutching the baby’s blanket for comfort. Then, as though remembering something, he writes again*: “Test me. I need to know.”

Ozzie: *raising an eyebrow, his voice careful* Test you? For what, sugar?

Alastor: *hesitates before scribbling*: “Pregnancy.”

Ozzie blinks, surprised but quickly masking his reaction. He nods once, pulling a small test kit from his bag.

Ozzie: *handing it over with no judgment in his tone* Alright, sweetheart. Here’s how it works. You can take it in private, and we’ll see where we stand.

Alastor nods, taking the test with trembling hands. He disappears into the bathroom, leaving Ozzie sitting quietly, his expression a mix of concern and anticipation.

After several long minutes, Alastor returns, holding the test tightly in his hand. He sets it on the table in front of Ozzie but doesn’t look at it.

Ozzie picks up the test and glances at it. His expression softens immediately as he sees the unmistakable positive result.

Ozzie: Alastor... it’s positive.

Alastor: *face crumples, his breathing quickening as he backs away. His eyes are wide with horror, his chest rising and falling rapidly*

Ozzie: *standing quickly, his voice steady and soothing* Hey, hey. Breathe, sugar. It’s okay. You’re not alone in this.

Alastor: *shakes his head violently, in denial*

Ozzie: *placing a steadying hand on Alastor’s shoulder* I know it’s overwhelming. But listen to me. Whatever happened to you, it doesn’t define you. You’re not alone, and I’ll be here every step of the way.

Alastor: *just continues to cry though, because it was the only thing he can’t do. Since, after all, he can no longer smile through his pain.