#Mentions of panic attacks

[dangerous-mess]

Worried Mind

Characters: Reader (You), Aizawa, mentions of Hizashi, mentions of bakugo, mentions of kirishima

Contains: Panic attacks, insomnia, sleepless reader, mentions of anxiety, mentions of anxiety meds, hurt/comfort, slight angst, pre- war arc 

Word Count: 1.2K 

You couldn’t sleep, which was frustrating. Your insomnia has been at its worst lately which on any other night would have been nice, as you’d usually sat and talked with your husband, Shouta. Though lately, he had been on parole, protecting his students from the rise of League of Villains activity that had been happening. You knew past that demeanor of his, he would lay his life down for those kids at a moment's notice. He had been taking extra night shifts to make sure they were safe, not knowing if there was corruption from inside UA or not. 

So tonight, you were left alone. Being alone was nice, most of the time. You loved your alone time and taking the opportunity for self-care, but with the lack of sleep, being alone left you alone on a battlefield inside your mind. You went about keeping yourself busy, knowing that if it got bad enough you could always call your husband. You knew he would find someone to cover for him and come home in a hop, skip, and a jump if you really needed him. But you were strong, you could get through the few hours it would take to either fall asleep or until he got home from parole. 

So with that, you went about the usual routine during nights like these. You got up from bed and did some light stretches as your body ached from the constant tossing and turning you had done for the last several hours. Next, you grabbed the book you were currently reading from your nightstand and made your way to the kitchen to prep some tea. You jumped up onto the counter as the water heated up and began to read your book, or at least attempted to. The words kept jumbling together and nothing was processing in your mind. Your anxiety was spiking the more you were awake, and you knew it. You hopped off the counter and made your way to the medicine cabinet and pulled out your anxiety medication, the ones you took when needed, and popped it in your mouth, swallowing it without water. Hopefully, that would ease the anxiety and your worried mind. 

The kettle to the tea sang out and you made your way back over to it, removing it from the heat. You poured a cup into your favorite mug, it was a mug Shouta had gotten you as a gift back when you two had begun dating. It was simple, nothing extravagant, just a slick black and grey marble pattern across the cup. You put the tea bag in, some of your husband’s favorite tea, and went to grab your phone to set a timer for the tea to seep. As you set a timer, you noticed a text message from your husband. 

Shouta: I’ll be home later something came up, don’t wait up. I’ll see you in the morning.

Those words sent your mind spiraling. Was everything okie? Did something come up with the league of villains? You felt your heart racing and your hands began to shake. You felt like you couldn’t breathe and slowly made your way to the floor, holding your knees close to you, trying to ground yourself, quite literally. The time for your tea went off and you just turned it off, the tea the least of your worries right now. You needed to calm down, you tried to tell yourself that everything was okay, that everything would be okay. Some of the kids probably pulled a prank or tried to use the kitchen again and things went sour. But that still wasn’t helping at all. 

You felt yourself beginning to disassociate, as you just kept fidgeting with your fingers. Trying to keep some part of you at the moment, in this reality. You need to call him now, or Hizashi, or someone. Before you become unreachable before you fall into the trap of your own mind. You tried to use speed dial and reach someone but your eyes were too dazed and the phone was too blurry. 

You aren’t sure if you ever hit the call button. You weren’t even sure if it had been 5 minutes or 5 hours, regardless you felt someone talking to you. Luring you back into reality, or trying to. 

“Come back to me, my love. You are safe, I promise.” The voice spoke, so soft and tenderly. 

You tried to speak but it felt as if your mouth was sewn shut. You tried to look around but things were blurry and you couldn’t make out the face behind that soothing voice. Your brain couldn’t comprehend who it was. 

“It’s okie, my love, it’s only me. If you can hear me can you blink once? “ The voice asked you. 

You understood that and blinked once for this unknown figure. 

“Lovely job, sweetheart. Can you blink once if I can hold you?” 

Again, you blinked once to let the person know and before you knew it you were being held, your face buried in the figure’s chest. You just stayed there close to the person, not even realizing that you ended up slowly falling asleep as you wore yourself out. 

You woke up back in your shared bed, being held close to your husband, who was fast asleep. You didn’t remember going back to bed or even falling asleep. Honestly, you only remember the text that was sent to you from the man next to you. You felt the anxiety rise back up from last night and tried to sit up, waking your husband in the process. 

“Morning, sweetheart.” He spoke softly, his voice groggy as he clearly was still half asleep. He looked and saw the panic that was apparent on your face and sat up, shaking himself awake. “Hey, hey, you are okie. I’m okie, I promise.” His voice attempts to soothe the worries in your head. 

“But last night, what happened?” Your voice was shaky as you felt yourself on the brink of tears. 

“Those kids and trying to cook, if that’s what you are asking. If not you must have had a panic attack from the lack of sleep.” He opened his arms up, offering to hold you close again. You took no time to bury yourself in his arms. “You called last night Hizashi last night and he couldn’t make out a word. So he called me, and I connected the dots. I’m sorry for the text, I should have said more, but we just about had a fire, Bakugo and Kirishima are a terrible duo in the kitchen.” He chuckled and you couldn’t help but chuckle as well. 

“I’m sorry, I just,” you sighed, “ I was just so tired and my anxiety was already eating at me. I guess that knocked me over the edge.” You said curling close to your husband. He held you close and rubbed your back gently. He didn’t need to say anything as you knew there wasn’t much he could say. “I think, I need to get back to the doctor about my insomnia, see if I can get some sort of mediation or sleep study.” You mumbled. 

He nods, although you can’t see it, before speaking up. “I think that may be a good idea. Regardless I support you all the way, I love you.” He says placing a kiss on the top of your head. 

“I love you too, Sho. Wanna get some more sleep, I-” You were cut off by him dragging you both back into the laying position as he held you close. He could never say no to more sleep. And for once, you felt as if you could sleep with him next to you.

#bnha fanfiction #bnha #mha fanfic #mha aizawa #mha x reader #mha #bnha aizawa x reader #bnha aizawa #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa #bnha oneshots #hurt/comfort #anxiety #panic attacks #mentions of anxiety meds #mentions of panic attacks #mentions of insomnia #fanfiction #fanfic #my hero academia fanfic #my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction

[casper-perry]

bleeding blue

author: grimstail

summary:

Leona doesn't know where that strange sense of loss he keeps getting came from. It's as if he forgot something important. But what is it? And why can't he stop thinking about Idia Shroud? He doesn't even like him.

Or does he?

#twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar/idia shroud #idia shroud #leona kingscholar #romance #angst #memory loss #first kiss #first time #cuddling & snuggling #crying #falling in love #blushing #idia blushes a lot #angst and fluff and smut #anxitey #mentions of panic attacks #protectiveness

[tourettesdog]

DPxDC prompt where Danny has been going by Nightingale for awhile now, but he has yet to legally change his name. On paper he's still a Fenton, and after what his parents did to him he struggles to see it still attached to his name.

He's been living in Gotham for a while now. He's tried laying low, leaving his past behind-- still he can't help but get involved when shit hits the fan. He's on the bats' radar quicker than he'd have liked, and they deduce his identity quicker than he'd have expected.

When he's confronted by Batman, the man addresses him as Fenton. He lays down his past-- what he knows of it, at least-- and all of the weaponry and questionable science attached to that name.

Danny's not sure what he expected from his inevitable interrogation with the big bat, but a panic attack wasn't it.

#dpxdc #dpxdc prompt #dpxdc prompts #dogprompts #panic attack mention

[a-sip-of-milo]

#panic attack #neurodivergent #actually neurodivergent #tw panic attack mention

[xblackreader]

Jeremy Allen White, Ayo Edebiri and Chris Storer: “Sydney and Carmy were never meant to be romantic!”

The Audience:

#not to mention the song that plays during the panic attack scene #don’t get me fucking started on the panic attack scene #sydcarmy #sydney adamu #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmy x sydney #the bear #the bear tv #x black reader #black women #ayo edebiri #jeremy allen white

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

It was only supposed to be a simple mission. Red Robin and Nightwing were sent to investigate some magical ruins that might have a lead on one of thier shared cases. Kon had practically begged to come along since he and Tim hadn't seen eachother in a while. Nightwing didn't see a problem with it so off they went.

It was later that night when they were asleep in thier tents (Timm was forced to sleep via the power of kons puppy dog eyes) that something strange happened.

---

Phantom wobbled a bit in flight. He didn't know where or when he was. He had just escaped his parents after they saw Vlad transform and in a fit of rage, Vlad outed Danny too.

Vlad was killed pretty quickly. But Danny? They tried to "fix" Danny. It was only thanks to Jazz freeing him that he could bolt into the Ghost Zone and disappear. And bolt he did. He went so far so fast that he didn't even notice when he re-entered the living realms and just kept going.

Not wanting to make his situation worse, he decided to bed down for the night. His wounds weren't exactly healed but they were closed and that was what really mattered. He phased the blood out of his clothes as he silently approached a camp. Thier fire was out, properly drenched too. Danny had a thought to swipe some food but decided not to. Not out of morality, desperate times and all that, but because he physically couldn't muster up the energy to do anything more than curl up on the grass and pass out from exhaustion.

Needless to say when Tim wakes up the next morning and sees what appears to be a younger version of himself curled up outside he freaks out. He sneakily snags a sample and compared it to his own DNA and, suprise! Its a match. Aside from the obvious marks of cloning in his genetic structure and this odd unknown element sticking to it he was a perfect match for Tim Drake Wayne.

Nightwing woke up to find Tim standing over his unconscious mini and muttering about him being a dad. Dick was glad he packed that expensive coffee. They were all going to need it.

Kon was just excited to be an uncle.

#dp x dc #fanfiction prompts #prompts #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #tim drake #red robin #yum #kon #kon el kent #superboy #kons so excited to be a clone uncle #danny casually mentions he own clone one day and Tim has to use breathing techniques to not have a panic attack #Ellie is a terror to everyone except tim #she doesnt wanna stress him out further #or danny #tim pretends to be oblivious cause its funny #danny begs to not have to fight and the bats are heartbroken for him #he helps agent A instead while Ellie has a blast beating people up at night

[makorragal-312]

Manifesting Buck holding Eddie's hand when they're in the helicopter and Eddie putting his thumb on Buck's pulse when they're on the ship.

#911 #911 abc #911 on abc #911 season 7 #911 s7 #911 s7 speculation #911 spoilers #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 buck #911 eddie #buddie #911 buddie #buddie speculation #I literally forgot that Eddie being in the helicopter would freak him out until someone mentioned it on 911twt #and we already saw Eddie having a panic attack #but what if we see buck having a panic attack #like they get on the ship and are immediately met with a bunch of water #and buck just freezes because tsunami #and Eddie has to snap him out of it and tries to keep him from spiraling the entire time they're rescuing bobby and athena #oh the possibilities #but again #keeping expectations low to non-existent #but we'll see

[mauselet]

The Influencer - And All Is Not Fine

This story is for @ask-the-rag-dolly's blog, specifically The Influencer AU. Honestly, loving the blog so much. Huge thanks to Mod Bee for creating it and if you haven't already, go check out her blog.

Big thanks to WanderingDragon and Foolscap Hamato for helping with the fic.

Yes, the story is named after Entropy by Awkward Marina lyrics. Also, the anon/s that speak in orange and red, you got a reference in there cause it felt fitting.

Well, I really hope you enjoy this story!

Story includes: Ragatha X Pomni (but can be taken as platonically), angst, hurt/comfort

TW body horror, possessive behavior, possession, anxiety/panic attack, haphephobia/fear of being touched, questioning sanity, self-neglect

It's been a few weeks since Pomni found out that there were currently hundreds of voices inside Ragatha's head. Wow, and after all this time it didn't sound any less insane. From what Pomni understood, those voices were a virus that had infected the circus and latched onto Ragatha. They couldn't tell Caine about this because he'd likely kill them and Ragatha refused that. For some reason, she wanted to protect them which seemed even crazier than the whole situation. Some of them were friendly, sure, but others…

They attacked Jax, causing him to glitch out. They taunted Ragatha by plaguing her mind with the worst cases imaginable or calling her names or taking her too literally. They spawned that stupid paper shredder!

Oh, how Pomni hated that thing! The next time she sees one, she’ll personally smash it into pieces.

In short, the voices–all of them–stressed Ragatha out. And who could blame her? Sometimes even your own voice in your head can drive you mad. Pomni was actually impressed that the doll hadn’t reached her breaking point yet with these “anons”, as they called themselves, constantly following her.

Of course, it wasn’t all that bad. Sure, they led to Ragatha temporarily losing her arm, but it was also thanks to them that she worked up the courage to speak to Pomni again. The thought of that always brought a smile to the jester’s face.

She was glad she could talk to her. Not only because Ragatha was nice and overall pleasant to be around, but it was also good for the ragdoll; especially now that she avoided the other circus performers to prevent another Jax fiasco or a possible infection.

The redhead’s absence was noticed by the others and to Pomni’s surprise, they were concerned about her. When Pomni first arrived, she was too busy spiraling down her anxiety to see it, but these trapped souls were friends. They cared about one another, even if it’d be in their own strange ways. So Pomni decided to reassure them all with daily reports on how Ragatha was doing.

And that was usually the extent of her interactions with them. Until Caine’s adventures forced her to stick around the whole day. Sometimes she was able to avoid them, however, there were times when she just couldn’t no matter how hard she tried. Unfortunately for her, adventures like these stacked over the course of the last few days, making it basically impossible for Pomni to check on Ragatha.

By the third or fourth day, Pomni was getting anxious. Throughout the adventure, her fingers were constantly convulsing while stuck in an unnatural position, her eyes turned into scribbles and her thoughts were as far away from the game as possible.

Ragatha must’ve been lonely. It’s been days since she’s interacted with anyone. Well…since she’s interacted with someone who meant no harm to her. Hopefully, she was alright…

Pomni suddenly jerked and snapped out of her thoughts as a gloved hand waved in front of her eyes. Her head shot up and she saw Kinger, Zooble and Gangle who announced to her that they found a way to replace her in today’s adventure and that she could go see Ragatha. If she had to be honest, she didn’t even know what the adventure was, but if she really wasn’t needed there…

She gave the three of them a quick smile and dashed to Ragatha’s room as fast as her short legs could carry her. As soon as she arrived and caught her breath, she rang the bell, waiting and…

Waiting.

Pomni felt a pit in her stomach. No, no, no. She shook her head. Everything’s fine, it’s just taking a bit. She rang again.

“R-Ragatha? It’s me, Pomni. A-are you in there?”

But she was still left waiting.

“Ragatha!” she raised her voice, yet still no response.

Oh God, three days… Three whole days with nothing but those voices. That must’ve been a nightmare for the doll and Pomni left her dealing with that alone. She left her again…

“I’m coming in!” she announced and reached for the doorknob. Her body froze as she held it, overwhelmed by worried thoughts, but also by a sense of déjà vu. She chuckled darkly at the memory of desperately wanting to know what was behind a door she shouldn’t go through and then opened.

A wave of relief washed over Pomni as she wasn’t instantly met with a glitching blob with a thousand glowing eyeballs. She walked in and closed the door behind her.

She looked around the room and her heart skipped a beat. Ragatha was there, sitting on her bed, sewing what appeared to be a suit. She was so focused on her work; maybe that's why she didn't register the bell. Pomni can't actually remember if she'd ever seen her this focused, but she looked surprisingly calm and, the jester had to admit, quite pretty. 

“Um…Ragatha?” the short woman started, walking over, “I'm sorry for barging in, I was just worried when you didn't answer.” But the ragdoll didn't respond; it was as if she didn’t even notice that Pomni was in the room talking to her.

Was she ignoring her? Was she mad? Did she…hate her? All of those thoughts sounded really ridiculous considering that this was Ragatha we were talking about. She doesn’t even allow herself to hate Jax, someone who’s caused more than enough harm to her, so there is no way she’d ever hate Pomni. Right…? Yet all those thoughts, as unrealistic as they might’ve seemed, felt like real possibilities to Pomni.

Somehow despite Jax putting her worst fear in her room, voices constantly screaming at her and hurting her and Caine forcing her into some of the most dangerous scenarios, not being there for her seemed like the biggest crime of them all.

Well, there was only one way to fix it.

“I’m so sorry I took so long,” Pomni let out, her steps slowing down, “I tried to check on you, but Caine’s adventures-”

“Oh, it’s alright, dear,” hearing that gentle voice, Pomni stopped. It was nice hearing her again, but something felt off. Sure, Ragatha occasionally used pet names like hun or sweetheart or even dear–oh geez, Pomni felt her cheeks heating up just thinking about it—that wasn’t the issue. She sounded more nonchalant than reassuring.

That didn’t matter right now. She wasn’t mad and that brought a smile to Pomni’s face. However, that didn’t last long as the doll finally raised her head.

Pomni’s face turned paler than usual if it was even possible, the pinwheel eyes shrunk, making them nearly invisible and her smile vanished as if it was never there.

Oh %$!#... Oh %$!#! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO! This wasn’t… This couldn’t have been real!

She wasn’t just staring at a black void with two colorful eyes where Ragatha’s button was supposed to be. She wasn’t just witnessing her friend slowly abstracting in front of her! She wasn’t… She wasn’t…

This wasn’t real!

It… It was just one of the digital hallucinations that Caine mentioned. Yeah! That’s it! That’s…That’s what it…was…

But those eyes, that void, they were still there, no matter how much Pomni convinced herself about the opposite.

Caine. She had to go get Caine! As Ragatha said once, maybe there was still time to fix this.

“Stay here!” Pomni blurted out, “I’ll be right back!” She quickly turned around and ran to the door. She’s going to come back this time. This time she won’t let Ragatha suffer.

She reached for the doorknob, but before she could grab it, arms wrapped around her and she was pulled back. One of the arms held her abdomen while the other was around her neck, not too tight yet still uncomfortable.

Feeling the fabric arms against her skin made her dizzy and itchy. She could sense every single pixel touching her, causing goosebumps to spread over her body.

“Where are you going, dear~?” she heard a whisper in her ear. It was Ragatha’s gentle, calming voice- No. It sounded different and…wrong. The voice was demanding and rough.

Pomni’s breath hitched. Was really something wrong with Ragatha? Or was her mind just messing with her? Well, the physical contact didn’t exactly help her think clearly as her body was plagued with this disgusting sensation.

“Don’t leave me~” For whatever reason, those words made the black-haired woman sick.

The doll’s embrace tightened. The touch of the fabric felt so venomous and paralyzing. It felt sickening. It felt wrong.

The jester wanted to escape that trap. She needed to escape it, yet no matter how much the voice in her head screamed at her body to move, it wouldn’t budge an inch. She was frozen in such a predicament with nothing but her racing heart, uneven breath, and voice stuck in her throat.

She attempted to take a deep breath, only to leave herself coughing.

“Are you alright, dear?” That voice again. It made shivers run down Pomni’s spine.

She sucked in another breath and let out a very weak and broken “Ragatha”. She repeated this a few times until she made a sensible sentence: “Ragatha… Please, let go…”

“Let go?” the doll wondered innocently, “why would I do that?”

“Please…” the jester mouthed.

“It’s not like I want to hurt you.” The grip tightened even more. “I would never hurt you. I would never-” The taller woman went silent. She felt the pale jester in her arms trembling and her heart dropped.

“Pomni…” Ragatha let out softly and her embrace loosened, “y-you’re shaking…” Rather than talking to Pomni, however, she seemed to have told it to herself. Reminding it to herself as if just physically feeling it wasn't enough to make it sink in. 

Even some of the voices were yelling at her to let go while the others objected. Was it the good or bad ones? What even made them good or bad? Were there even any bad voices? Were there even any good voices?

The voices that objected weren’t yelling, but whispering yet they were somehow much louder than the yells.

“Don’t listen to them–” “You can’t let go–” “You can–!” “She’ll find Caine and tell him about us–” “She wouldn’t–” “It’s too great of a risk–!” “If Caine finds out about us, we’ll be–” “What would happen to Rags–?”

“Ragatha, don’t you care about us? Don’t you care about what happens to you?!”

She flinched, instinctively tensing her hold on Pomni. In no way did she help the situation, with the jester’s body convulsing out of control.

“What is it, dolly? Are we too much for you to handle? Are we too loud? Can you even tell the difference between us and your own thoughts? Is there even a difference at this point?”

Oh God, her knees felt weak, her head was spinning, and tears filled her eye. She felt like she was about to collapse at any moment, but there was something forcing her to stand. Something kept her body like this against her will despite her exhaustion.

“Oh, dollface, do you feel the abstraction crawling under your skin? Or well, fabric? Did we do it? Did we f̴i̷n̴a̵l̸l̴y̸ ̶b̷r̸e̶a̵k̷ ̶y̷o̴u̵?̸”

All the voices then started shouting over one another again. Ragatha couldn’t even make out what they were saying as it all blended into an incoherent mess. With so much noise in her head, she wanted to join them. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs; let out all her frustration not just with the voices, but with her whole body. It would be a beautiful relief, but even that was a luxury. Her body wouldn’t let her. They wouldn’t let her.

She’d swear that in the middle of all the noise she heard things that made her want to throw up. She hoped that it was just her imagination and her brain tried to give those noises some meaning, however… That would mean it was her own thoughts and that creeped her out even more. Strangely, some of those words weren’t anything bad, they were just…words. Yet they all sounded so disgusting. So wrong. Every last one of them.

Every last one…

Every last–

“Please…” One voice silenced all of them despite how weak and broken it was. No… No, it was loud and clear. It was…real.

It hit her like a truck. Everything that just happened in the span of a few minutes. How Pomni walked into the room, apologizing. How terrified the jester was when she saw her. How she stopped her when she tried to leave. How she was holding her this whole time despite the pain she was clearly causing Pomni.

Ragatha jumped back, letting go of the jester, allowing her to collapse to her knees. The small woman was sitting there, swinging back and forth, hyperventilating. She reached her hands to her arms as if to brace herself, but she didn’t touch. Instead, she grabbed her hat and pulled, her eyes shut. The bells one would associate with joy and fun now sounded distorted to both of the performers. The bells were… unnerving.

“Oh my gosh…” Ragatha let out as it all sank in. She covered her mouth and a tear ran down her face as she stared down at the black-haired woman. Her heart was breaking at the sight. “Oh my gosh…”

She did this… No, no, no. The voices did. Right…? She…She wasn’t in control, was she?

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, although, she wasn’t sure if Pomni could even hear her, “I-I lost control of them.” She cried more. “I messed up. Ragatha, you idiot… You %$!# idiot! You scared her. You hurt her! Why would I…? I would never-”

She felt tears rolling down her right cheek too, but that wasn’t possible. She wiped the tears with her hand and when she looked at it, her fingertips were covered by dark liquid.

Her heart stopped, realizing what that was. The dark void was leaking. The voices were right…

The bells on Pomni’s head rang again, causing Ragatha to snap out of those thoughts. There was something more important she had to do than pity herself. Her emotions could wait. Her abstraction could wait! She didn’t matter right now. She didn’t matter at all! Pomni did.

Despite her own breakdown, she rushed over to the jester, kneeling in front of her. She was in tears, barely thinking straight, potentially on the verge of abstracting, but Pomni mattered more.

Ragatha reached her hand towards the pale woman but flinched when she realized it wasn’t the brightest idea considering what caused this in the first place. She instead laid her hands on her own knees so Pomni could see them.

“Hey, Pomni?” she spoke up, her voice trembling. That sure was reassuring…

C’mon, Ragatha! Get a hold of yourself! Pomni needs you! Don’t freak her out.

She took a deep breath and ran her hand through her yarn, brushing it over her right eye to hide it. She curled her hands into fists and calmed her breath before speaking.

“Pomni, hun?” She was doing her best to keep her voice stable this time. “Look at me, please. Hun, look at me.” Pomni cringed, her body still going back and forth. “It’s okay, it’s just me. The real me, I promise,” Ragatha continued, “I just need you to look at me.” The big eyes slowly opened, showing scribbles, and looked up. “That’s it.” Ragatha smiled at her brightly. “Good job, sweetheart. Good job.”

The smaller woman was still trembling, still pulling at her hat, still swinging back and forth, still not controlling her breath. 

“Alright, dear-”

Pomni flinched at that, tears streaming down her face as she looked away. 

“O-okay! Okay,” Ragatha said in an unintentional panic. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out. I won't call you that again, I promise. I promise. You’re safe now.”

Still in tears, the jester stopped pulling at her hat, yet the bells kept ringing. Each sob was accompanied by a happy metallic chime as her body jerked. Ragatha had to admit that it made her wails quite adorable and each little jingle seemingly made a voice in her head disappear each time. But she wished more than anything that they'd stop.

“Pomni?” Ragatha knew she had to keep trying. “Hey, Pompom, hun… Can you look at me again?”

The smaller woman didn't seem to listen. She then choked on her sobs as they didn't mix well with her rapid breathing. Seeing this, some of the voices panicked, but Ragatha had to stay calm. She instinctively lifted her hand from her knee, however, thankfully stopped herself from touching Pomni. 

“Please?” the ragdoll’s soothing voice asked and Pomni couldn't deny it. The black-haired woman turned to her, scribbles in her bloodshot eyes. 

“Good job.” A smile of relief and reassurance formed on Ragatha's face. “Now, honey, you're having another episode, but that's okay. It's okay, I'll help you through it. I’m not going anywhere. We'll get through it  together, okay?”

Pomni nodded slowly, choking on her sobs again. 

“I need you to breathe with me,” Ragatha told her, “four seconds in, hold and six out. Four, hold, six.” She waited for Pomni to nod again before she took a deep breath that the jester immediately followed, yet struggling. They held their breath, but sniffles broke them. Then they exhaled together. 

“Now, let's try again.”

And as Ragatha said, they did. Breathing was much easier for Pomni this time around. 

“You're doing great,” the redhead praised her, “are you able to go on your own?” She watched as Pomni nodded and took another deep breath with her eyes shut. “Good, keep going. You’re safe, hun. Focus on me, okay?”

When Pomni opened her eyes again, they were back to their pinwheel look. Ragatha also noticed that she stopped shaking and the swinging slowed down. Her smile widened in relief.

She kept talking to Pomni while the jester calmed her breath. They were like this for a few more minutes until…

“R-Ragatha…?” Pomni finally spoke up and the ragdoll gasped quietly.

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” Ragatha greeted her, “you feeling any better?”

“A little…” Pomni’s voice was still pretty weak, but she had much more to say. She held her hands together, rubbing her thumb with the other. “But I should be the one asking you.”

“What are you talking about?” Ragatha shook her head. “I just helped you through a panic attack-”

“And I’m forever grateful for that,” the jester blurted out, “but, Ragatha… You’re on the verge of abstracting!” They both flinched at the yell and Ragatha covered the black void on her face despite being hidden behind the hair. “And it’s all because of me.” Pomni shifted her eyes away. “Because I left you when you needed me. Again!”

“Pomni, you can’t blame yourself for that. It wasn’t your fault.”

“‘Can’t blame yourself?’ You’re the one to talk,” the pale woman scuffed. She then took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“No, you have all the right to call me out.”

“Did it happen because of… them?” Pomni glanced at the taller woman, her eyes narrowing at the last word.

“I think so,” Ragatha replied and noticed Pomni inhaling to speak, but she quickly interrupted her, “that’s why you can’t tell Caine.”

“But, Rag-”

“You promised.”

“And you said you wanted this to stop,” Pomni reminded her, raising her voice, “I understand you don’t want them to die, but think about what they’re doing to you. Stress? Mental breakdowns? Abstraction?!” The doll lowered her head in shame. “Rags, you’re suffering and I can’t bear to watch. You care about the people around you and I appreciate that, but for once in this digital life think about yourself first.”

“No need to worry, darling,” Ragatha said calmly, looking up with a bright smile as if the topic was just a casual small talk, “the anons are actually what keeps me from abstracting, otherwise I’d be in the cellar by now.” Pomni cringed at every word due to how cheerfully the doll said them. “We’re also really, really sorry for touching you. We were so afraid of you telling Caine that we had to stop you somehow. Sorry we hurt you.”

Pomni was just staring at her, an unsure expression painted on her face. This all felt wrong and Ragatha’s next words didn’t ease that feeling.

“I’m fine, really. I’m sure that I can join in on the adventures again soon.”

No, that wasn’t right. She just said she’s afraid of Caine finding out, why does she suddenly want to take part in his adventures? And that wasn’t the only thing off.

“What happened to staying in your room to prevent infecting people with the virus?” Pomni wondered, “don’t get me wrong, the others would be happy to see you and they’re definitely worried about you. Heck, Zooble, Gangle and Kinger helped me get out of an adventure to check up on you; it’s just…”

“You’ve been spending so much time with me and you’re not influenced,” Ragatha pointed out.

Well, Pomni couldn’t argue with that. There were still many other issues with this seemingly spontaneous idea, but the more she thought about them the less sense her reasoning as to why they were even issues made. It was as if her mind was getting blurrier the more she tried to use her brain. She must’ve been tired from her previous meltdown.

“I guess you have a point.” She let out a sigh and smiled at the woman softly, but then… Did Ragatha have that wide grin on her face before? That didn’t matter right now; she needed some rest.

“Look, I know I haven’t been here in a while, but I should really go into my room and take a nap,” she explained.

“Oh, no worries, d̶e̶a̸r̴,” Ragatha replied, “have a nice sleep.”

“I’ll try. Thanks.” Pomni stood up and headed to the door. She grabbed the doorknob and turned back. “And I mean it, try thinking about yourself. It isn’t hard to care about you; me and at least three other people can agree on that.” Her smile widened as she opened the door. “And Ragatha? …I… Thank you for helping me through the attack, I really appreciate it. You’re a great friend.”

She then closed the door and stayed in the room. 

She originally planned on finding Caine the moment she was outside. She was well aware that Ragatha didn't want that, however, Pomni was willing to do anything to help her stop hurting. She didn't care if Ragatha hated her for it–she was sure she would–she just wanted her friend to be safe.

But as much as she wanted that, she couldn't bring her body to go through with it. It was as if it didn't obey her. 

“Don't leave me,” she remembered the doll's words. No, it wasn't a memory; it felt like someone just whispered in her ear. 

That's crazy. It was just her imagination. Nothing else. 

“Pomni, please. Don't leave,” Ragatha's voice begged her. It sounded so real. But there was no way Ragatha's whispers could reach her, right?

The more she thought about it, the more her mind was filled with white noise, static. And the longer that went on, the more that noise made sense to her as if it spoke to her. 

“I'm scared,” one noise was much louder. Ragatha's voice.

Pomni's not leaving her again.

She let go of the doorknob and turned around to see the ragdoll still sitting on her knees, showing Pomni her back. 

“Actually, can I stay here?” the jester asked, “I don't want you to be alone and…I'd also feel more comfortable with some company.”

“Why of course,” the doll replied, the huge grin remaining on her face. She got up and headed over to her bed. Reaching into her hair, she pulled out her bow and used it to tie her hair up in a ponytail.

“You can take a nap in my bed,” she said. 

“Oh.” Pomni blushed a little, not only at the offer but also due to the redhead’s sudden hairdo change. Whatever it was, it had some strong influence on Pomni. "Thanks."

Once at her bed, Ragatha picked up the suit she was working on when Pomni first walked in. It was nearly done. It truly was clothing worthy of someone as powerful as her; someone with influence stronger than the ringmaster himself.

#[ the influencer ] #the amazing digital circus #theinfluencer!ragatha #tadc ragatha #tadc pomni #fanfiction #tw body horror #tw panic attack #tw self destructive behavior #tw self-neglect #ragapom #buttonblossom #jesterdoll #pomni x ragatha #but like can be platonic #tw possession #tw possessive behavior #the others are mentioned but very briefly #I love writing my favorite characters being possessed #angst #hurt/comfort #The Influencer really said gaslight gatekeep girlboss guiltrip #let me know if i need to tag anything else

[ghouljams]

can you please take us back to the beginning? from where it all started?

what did ghost do that made price decide ‘yep, imma ship you out with the horses’ and how did price mention goose before ghost met her.

I have been dying to write some Price and Ghost fic. I wanna do some fae au stuff for them too, but for now we focus on the cowboys. So here it is. Ghost tells Price he'd follow him into hell, and Price asks if he'd follow him to safety too.

"You're not renewing your contract," Ghost has never been keen on beating around the bush. Price is used to that, used to the sharp look in his lieutenant's eye that asks 'what are you keeping off the record and should I do the same?' There have been enough times that they've had to scramble in the dark without the cushion of military contracts, everything less than official in order to achieve the impossible, that he should have expected the look.

"I'm retiring," Price tells him, tugs open the corner drawer of his desk to fish for a cigar. The scrape of wood echoes through his office. Simon fidgets, a short flick of his nails against the pads of his fingers that is quickly stopped by Ghost's clenching fists.

"Retiring," Ghost repeats, feels the word out like he's never heard it before, "didn't know men like us retired." Price hums, clicking his lighter with a growing frustration, fucking military grade bullshit. Ghost flicks his lighter on, and holds it out for his captain. Price takes a moment with his cigar, letting the flame burn just a little long before Ghost flips the lid shut.

"When's the last time you slept?" He asks instead of rising to the obvious, if self deprecating, bait.

"Last night." The answer comes just a second too quick. Practiced. It's a standard question from the psych eval Price knows good and god damn well Ghost's been lying on for years. The kind of scars he's got...

"Really?" Price isn't asking, he lowers his cigar and exhales heavily, feels some of the tension melt off his shoulders, "I didn't." Ghost doesn't blink.

"Don't see how, they just keep makin' the barrack beds more comfortable." He jokes, the deadpan tone a distraction from his underlying agreement. Price would bet Ghost hasn't had a decent night's sleep in years. It won't be any better with him gone.

"Your contract is up about this time isn't it?" Price slides a folder to the side, flips up the edge of Ghost's papers. Same date stamped at the top as his own. It's been like that as long as he can remember. There's never been any question of what was going to happen on that date, except this time around. "What're your plans for that?"

"Renew." Ghost says without an ounce of hesitation.

"Without me?"

Ghost freezes. Price can almost see the gears turning in his head. A new captain, one he can't trust, one who doesn't know who he is or how he works. A new captain that might bring in new people, who might decide he's too much work and have him transferred out of counter terrorism. Who might not let his psych slip pass, who might discharge him for any number of things Price has let go over the years.

Ghost is a good soldier because he trusts him. Someone new? After what happened chasing down Hassan and Makarov, it's anyone's bet how he'll play. Those betrayals still hangs fresh over all of their heads.

"You like animals lieutenant?"

"Animals, sir?" Ghost's head tips forward ever so slightly, the smallest breech in his rigid posture betraying his confusion.

"My wife's family owns a ranch stateside. Would save me the trouble of lookin' for an extra hand if you wanted to change careers." Price leans back in his chair, "Good place to spend your retirement if you like animals."

"When'd you get married?" It's not the most elegant topic change, but it's also not a "no."

"Soon as I saw how shit the barracks were," It's the truth, but it sounds close enough to a joke that anyone else might think it was, "Got a kid too, Goose, you'd like 'er." Ghost grunts, breezing past that one, though Price knows he's carefully filing the information away. Mind like a bear trap that one. There's nothing Price has ever known Ghost to forget.

The two men regard each other across Price's desk. There's a level of trust between them that's carried them to this point, past every roadblock. It's not something that can be built up over night, nor is it one the affords requests lightly. Price has asked a lot of Ghost over the years, both of them understanding that the only way out was through. Now they stand at an impasse. One of them leaving, the other hoping they'll stay.

Ghost doesn't know what he'll be if Price leaves. He doesn't know what he is when he isn't this.

"Simon," Price appeals, leaning forward, "Let me do this for you. Let me get you out before this job kills you. The ranch is nice, it's quiet, you'll have your own place, work. You can sleep there."

Ghost is silent for a long moment, his eyes dark, clouded, as they stare Price down. It's anyone's guess what he's thinking. The conversations they've had- Price knows as well --no better-- than anyone that Ghost lives his life waiting for this work to kill him. He can't bury him again. Can't mourn Simon a second time when he knows he could have saved him. Price couldn't be there last time, but now? Today? He can try.

"I'm not babysitting," Ghost says finally. Price smiles, feels the tight anxiety in his chest loosen a little.

"Who? Goose?" He chuckles, shakes his head, "Doubt you'll get the chance to meet 'er, but I'll make sure she knows not to bother you."

#simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost #simon riley cod #john price mw2 #captain john price #john price #captain price cod #captain price #oc: goose #but only mentioned #cowboy!Ghost #Cowboy!Price #Cowboy!141 #Price snores through the whole trip back to the states #Ghost has multiple panic attacks about integrating back into civilian life #Ghost reads a whole book on horses on the plane #Duck picks them up from the airport #sort of

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Simon Flinches

Simon x gn!reader

Finally did it! And I looked at it so much that I hate it now, even went back in and changed some small words and stuff, but here you go. Take the flinching trope and make it Simon instead of reader flinching.

Warnings: panic attack, hurt/comfort, barely proofread because I'm too tired, reader being called "Sir" as a honorific not referring to the gender

Wordcount ~3k

You'd say you've gotten good at navigating the minefield that is Simon. You've been together a while by now and you've learned how to handle him so he feels safe and can be himself. It's been a long process that's far from over but you wouldn't have it any other way. Simon is worth all the time, all the effort. And if it means losing a limb in the process, crossing that minefield to get closer to him is worth it.

Simon would say he's gotten good at defusing the ticking bomb that he is. He's been with you for a bit now and he's learned how to trust you more, how to be vulnerable with you. His walls are lower than they’ve ever been and it has actually lead to good things.

But sometimes things don’t go as you want. No matter how hard you try, how carefully you try to navigate Simon. Sometimes just a tiny thing, a gesture, a word, makes everything explode, traps you in that minefield without knowing where to put your foot next, how to reach out to him without stepping onto another scar, tearing it open in a violent explosion.

Like now. It’s so goddamn stupid you could kick yourself. You've been arguing about whose turn it was to choose the movie. Something so insignificant, so trivial. But it's been a long day for both of you and what started as a joking argument has turned into an actual one and now you don't know how to stop it. Your voices are raised, you’re both shouting the frustrations of the day at each other. You hate arguing with Simon, just as he hates arguing with you.

You know it’s a normal part of any relationship, but with Simon it scares you. With Simon you never know when it could turn into him leaving. Into him pulling away. Yet you find yourself unable to stop your frustration from dripping from your tongue like venom. Simon’s not doing any better.

"Your movie choices are questionable anyway!", Simon throws into your face. "I suffer through them just for you. But they're horrible really! They all suck. I want to watch something that actually entertains me!"

Okay, that stung. Just a few days ago you'd shared one of you favorite movies with him. A movie that changed something in you when you first watched it, a movie that slightly tilted your world view. You didn't expect him to like it but that stung. And in your mind his sentence turns into you not being entertaining enough.

So you step forward, trying to hold back tears. "Yeah, as if your", you jab your finger at his chest, Simon flinches back "movie choices -"

You freeze. He'd taken a step back, raising his hands to shield himself and your heart drops, shattering at your feet. His big eyes are watching your next move in apprehension.

It should be ridiculous, really, someone as capable as Simon, a trained soldier, flinching over you putting your finger on his chest. As if you could actually inflict harm on him. As if you wouldn't rather die than hurt him.

But it's not ridiculous. It's a fucking fist to the face.

The sudden quiet makes your ears ring and Simon doesn't seem to be any better. His chest is heaving. His arms are still up, shoulders hunched, his entire stance small and scared. He’s ready to block your blows, ready to deal with you finally putting your hands on him.

His breathing is loud and quick and you want to guide him to calmness but you don’t know how when you caused his distress in the first place. This is new territory. A new step you took that landed you directly over a mine and it’s exploding right now. Exploding in slow motion, letting you see the details of everything you’ve built with Simon shattering and crumbling into dust.

Then his entire demeanor changes and you almost get whiplash. In a flash he’s squared his feet, narrowed his eyes and dropped his shoulders. His hands have gone down but they’re fists at his sides and there’s nothing relaxed about his new stance. You just watched every wall he’s let down for you come back up in the matter of a second.

His cold gaze almost hurts, his eyes distant and calculating, trying to guess your next move. Like a shield of ice that slipped into place before his soul, keeping it hidden from you.

"Simon -" It's whispered. A plea.

He takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders and then starts walking towards you with purpose. For an irrational second you think he’s going to hit you for scaring him. You think he’s going to get revenge on you for everything that’s ever been done to him.

The next second you’re ashamed for even thinking that. He’s not going for you. No, it’s worse. He’s going for the door of the living room behind you.

You’re helplessly watching, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, throat dry, almost painful. Your heart is hammering so hard it feels like it’s trying break your ribs from the inside. Trying to break free so it can follow Simon.

You’re frozen as you watch him leave the room. Every single muscle in his body is coiled tight, ready to whip around and stop any threat. Stop you should you so much as breathe too hard.

Holding your breath, tears gather in your eyes, dripping wetly down your cheeks. This is it, you’re waiting for the telltale sound of the door to the apartment opening and closing, Simon walking out of your life because this is irreparable.

The relieve you feel when you hear the bedroom door instead almost brings you to your knees. Then you hear the lock to the room turn and your heart breaks all over again. He’s locked you out of his safe space.

Fuck.

You sink down onto the floor and start crying in earnest. You never wanted to scare him. Never wanted to provoke that reaction. You had only pointed your finger!

You’re not even sure if you’re crying over what you’d just done or if your tears are for Simon, how he must be feeling right now. The one person he’s let in raising their hand at him, making him feel unsafe.

He’d thought you’d hit him. He’d thought you’d put your hands on him in a harmful way.

The pain coursing through you makes you breathless as you cry for Simon and everything he’s endured, as you cry over what you’d just ruined.

Hopefully he can’t hear you from the bedroom. You don’t want to cry over this, it’s not your place to cry when Simon is the one hurting. But you’re so scared of losing him of losing your best friend of losing your forever that you can’t help it.

In a weird twisted, crooked way his reaction is prove of how much he trusts you. Trusted you. He’d trusted you enough to let his guard down so far that a gesture of yours caught him off guard. You’ve never seen him so surprised by something someone did, his eyes always all over everyone. He’s always so aware of everyone and everything.

The fact that he felt safe enough to even be caught off guard shows just how close he’d let you. It was a privilege, a gift. A fragile little thing with broken wings in your palms and now you’ve crushed it.

You try to calm your breathing more. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Deep, slow. The way you instruct Simon to breathe when he’s battling his demons.

Demons he might be battling right now. And suddenly your tears run dry and you jump to your feet. This really isn’t the time to feel sorry for yourself. So you get a slippery grip on your emotions and push them back for a later time.

Rushing to the bedroom, you raise your hand and pause. You can hear Simon’s steps in the room; he’s walking in circles like a caged animal. You’ll be damned if you don’t at least try to help, doesn’t matter if this is your fault in the first place.

You knock.

His steps halt.

And then they approach the door, soft thuds drawing closer, you can see the door handle turn but it doesn’t open. And then he’s frantically shaking it, apparently not remembering locking it.

“It’s locked!” His voice sounds so confused and scared that your chest feels like it’s caving in.

“You locked it, baby. You can unlock it. The key is on your side.”, you try to say in a calm soothing tone but you’re pretty sure your voice is shaking.

The turning of the key is frantic and the door gets ripped open and then you’re face to face with Simon and his eyes are wide, flitting all over the room, disoriented. His chest is still heaving, even worse than before, and when you see him shaking, you know there’s no stopping it.

Simon’s eyes lock on you and he doubles over, his hands clawing at his chest and neck, he's breathing too hard, always in until his chest must feel like it’s exploding.

“Can’t… breathe…”, he chokes out, eyes utterly terrified, tears starting to drip as he’s frantically trying to breathe and not drown in his feelings.

You don’t know if this is a ‘touch helps’ kind of panic attack or a ‘don’t you dare touch me’ panic attack and you’re scanning over him trying to guess, when his hand grips your shoulder in an iron grip and his wide eyes look straight through you.

He’s still hyperventilating and your heart seems hell bent on matching his hectic panting. Grabbing his arms, you try to steady him as he goes down, his knees buckling. He’s heavy in your hold and your muscles scream but you put your all into preventing him from falling and hurting himself in the process. At least you manage to slow his fall and then he’s on the floor on his hands and knees. One of his hands tries to dig his fingers into the floor as the other fists his shirt, damn near ripping it.

You have to do something even if you don’t know if it’ll help or make things worse. There's no forgiving yourself if you don’t at least try, even if it’s fishing in the dark. If it doesn’t work, you can change the approach. But doing nothing won’t help anyway. So you wrap your arms around him. “I’m going to lay you down, baby. I’m going to hold you.”

You don’t think he hears you but maneuvering him without telling him feels wrong anyway. And then you do exactly as you said, you tug Simon with all your strength towards you and he topples over onto his side, landing on top of you instead of the floor and you’re glad you’re there to soften his fall. Even if you’re pretty sure you’ll have bruises from it.

Immediately you wriggle partially out from under him, keeping him on your thighs, in your lap and you wrap your arms around him.

“I’ve got you, Simon. I’m here. You’re in our apartment. Everything is okay. You’re safe, baby.”

Tears silently start dripping fdown your face again, when he curls in on himself clawing at the floor and you know he will black out if he doesn’t get his breaths more even.

In a desperate attempt you put your hand over his chest and push. “Simon, breathe out, baby, come on. Out.”

You exhale in an exaggerated way next to his ear and you think you hear him exhaling the tiniest bit, before he’s sucking air in in in. But that’s something. He can hear you, he reacts, which means he’s allowing you to guide him.

You press again. “Good, again. Ouuuuuut.”, you exhale and this time he manages to get a bit more air out. The way your top is sticking to you with sweat makes you shiver but you don’t give any attention to your own body being stressed. It will calm down when Simon does.

You continue. You don’t know how long you talk to him like that, reassurances between commands to breathe. It’s probably only been a few minutes, but you’re exhausted like you’ve been going for hours, fighting for every exhale until finally his breathing is back to a rhythm that’s as close to normal as it can get in this moment.

The exhaustion rolls over you as if you’ve had the attack yourself and your body curls over him, resting your head on him as he shakes in your lap and breathes.

The thumping of his heart under your cheek is still way too quick and he’s shaking like a fucking leaf, so you drag your tired body out from under him and turn him onto his back. Goddamnit he’s heavy.

Looking at his face resupplies your tears. His cheeks are wet, he’s pale as a sheet and his arms are clutched tightly to him as he continues shaking. You know he’s somewhat aware of his surroundings again but he’s still victim to his mind and body.

Remembering what he’s asked for before in moments when he’s needed grounding, you crawl over him and lay down with your full weight. Your head rests on his chest, near his shoulders and his arms, curled over his chest, dig into your own uncomfortably but that doesn’t matter right now.

Your own body shakes with his as you raise your hands, gently lifting his head - after a silent “please” because he resisted for a moment until his eyes focused on you - and pull a rug closer so he can rest his head on that instead of the hard floor.

Your entire body sags with relief when he pulls his arms out from under you and wraps them around you instead. His hold is tight as if he’s trying to make your bodies merge into one. As if he’s trying to push you into his ribcage to keep your right next to his heart.

His heartbeat slowly returns to normal under you and yours follows his lead. When he lifts his head and presses a kiss to your forehead, you curl your fist tighter into his shirt and finally try to push yourself off of him. The slight tightening of his hold on you makes you settle again.

The broad palms of his hands are warm and soothing as they pass back and forth over your back. You press your lips to his chest through his shirt and his next exhale is long and shaky.

He moves, jostling you slightly, and you try to get up again, but he doesn’t let you. His voice is low and tired as he says: “Hold on, lovie.”

You do and he sits up, maneuvering you in his arms until he’s got one arm around your back and one under your knees. Then he stands up and even though his movements are slow and exhausted the little to no effort with which he handles your weight still steals your breath.

His heavy steps take you both back into your bedroom and he puts you down on your shared bed, crawling in with you immediately.

You turn onto your side, as does he and then you’re looking at each other, the exhaustion on his face making you feel your own all the more.

Simon moves his hand, covers one of yours and squeezes twice. Immediately you return the gesture. A small sleepy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. The reassurance behind that gesture making both of you melt into the mattress.

Still there’s so much talking to do and you end up whispering “We need to talk about this, Si.” into the small space between you, where your joined hands lie.

He brings your hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to each of your fingers, before letting it fall back onto the covers, still in his hold. His eyes are exhausted but you know you can’t sleep without having discussed what happened.

“I need you to know, Si”, you swallow against the tightness in your throat “I would never, ever hurt you. I’d rather chop off my own hand than touch you in a way that could cause you harm. I’m so sorry, Simon, I-“

“I know.”

You shut up, big eyes on his and he smiles, kissing the back of your hand this time.

“I know.”, he repeats and practically watches the gears in your head turn. So he takes a deep gulp of air and continues. “It’s not you, ‘luv. It’s the fucking past. Not your fault that a damn finger is all it took today to set me off. It’s my brain being a fucker.”

You’re so relieved you could cry again. He didn’t think you’d hurt him. His brain just didn’t make the distinction between the finger belonging to you or someone else at that moment. In that moment it was only a hand raised against him.

Still, maybe there’s a way to prevent that in the future? So you tentatively ask: “What can I do so you feel comfortable trusting me more? So you don’t feel like you’re endangered by a gesture from me?”

“I trust you.”, he states calmly and you shake your head.

“There has to be something I can do better. So it’s easier for you to trust-“ The way Simon takes your joined hands and brings them up to his throat, abruptly shuts you up. He's pressing your palm against it so it would be easy to squeeze and hurt and – you try to pull it back and he forces your hand harder against his throat with his own. You freeze completely.

“I trust you.”

Your eyes widen and fly to his from where they’d been locked onto his throat and the way your hand is curled against it in a chokehold.

His eyebrows are drawn together and his eyes fixated on you, willing you to understand. The soft caress of his thumb on the back of your hand - a hand that could cut off his oxygen if you wanted - makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

“Okay.”, you whisper and he finally drops his hand, allows you to slowly draw your hand back from his throat. Your eyes are still widened and lock onto his neck again. Leaning forward you press a kiss to the delicate skin over his Adam’s apple and feel him swallow heavily under your lips.

When you look at hom again his eyebrows are still furrowed and warm palm finds your cheek. “I’m sorry, I reacted like that to something so small.”

You shake your head and nuzzle into his hold, giving a little kiss to his thumb. There's desperation in his eyes and you whish you could kiss it away.

“I’m sorry, ‘m all kinds of fucked up, ‘luv. Wouldn’t fault you if it’s too much. If you want to –“ Your hand covers his mouth and his eyes betray the surprise at that gesture.

“Don’t you dare, Si. Don’t you dare even say that.  As if I’d want that. You shouldn’t even think that. The only reason why I mind the panic attacks is because I know how heavily they weigh on you. You can flinch, you can scream, you can break, I don’t mind. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t enjoy seeing you hurt, if I could I’d make it stop, but I’ll take that as long as I have you in my arms at the end of the day.”

His hand gently draws your hand away from his mouth and he whispers: “But I’m a handful, lovie. How can you not mind the hassle?”

You smile at him, a little mischievously. “Good thing that I’ve got two hands then, baby.”

He snorts, while his entire face softens, and draws you in closer, you're pressed into his chest, his arms around you and he showers your head with kiss after kiss.

“I thought you were going to leave me.”, comes your muffled voice abruptly halting all of Simon's movement. Gently he pushes you away a bit so you can see his sincerity when he answers.

“Never. As long as you’ll have me.”

Your eyes water and he tilts your head up, with the tip of his finger under your chin, and presses the softest of kisses to your lips. “Don’t care about the flinches and panic attacks and hard moments as long as I get to be in your arms at the end of the day.”

You laugh, when he uses your words against you, a cracked, teary laugh and kiss him again.

“Fuck I need a nap.”, he groans once you’ve managed to stop spelling your love against the lips of each other. You giggle.

“We both do, but drink something first. You’ll wake up with a headache if you don’t.”, you say and he groans with the effort of rolling over and drinking out of the bottle on his nightstand.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve you, what he did to find someone so caring. Who looks at his hard exterior and handles it with soft touches and patience. He doesn’t know what he did right in his life, because he for sure can’t remember ever doing anything right, to find someone like you. He’s not going to let you go and if he has to beg at some point, then he’ll strangle his pride with his own two hands and do so.

When he faces you again he grins. “Mission accomplished, Sir.”

You groan and hide your face in your hands, missing Simon’s soft expression at your flustered state. God you’re so cute. Especially when you’re voice comes out all embarrassed when you say: “You can’t say that! You know what it does to me when you call me that!”

He wraps his arms around you again, pulling you close, your bodies fit to each other, immediately finding comfort in each other. And he can feel a wave of calmness crash over him, making him sleepy and slow. “Ya can do something ‘bout that when we wake up. Don’t think my soldier’s up to doing any long marches right now.”

He’s expecting it when your hand wriggles free and slaps his shoulder. “Simon!” You can feel his upper body shake with silent laughter.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Si.”

Your eyes are heavy, your muscles finally relaxing after all that tension of earlier. Your bodies melt into each other. You can feel Simon’s breathing getting slower, a telltale sign of him falling asleep.

“I love you.”, you mumble again before sleep takes you.

Simon’s too far gone to reply but you feel the two squeezes of his hand on you, pressing his love directly into your skin.

#the sewer writes #simon ghost riley x reader #simon x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #hurt and comfort #simon x gn!reader #simon riley x gn! reader #gn! reader #hurt/comfort #panic attack #mentions of being hurt in the past #cod simon #cod ghost x reader #cod simon riley x reader

[traumasurvivors]

While it doesn’t really bother me, and I just delete the messages, I want to bring attention to this because not everyone is okay with having trauma details dumped into their inbox.

It feels like a common theme on the internet nowadays honestly. And I’m mostly making this post to ask people to be mindful. There are still real people behind these screens. And dumping such details to someone without their consent can be triggering for them, exhausting or any number of things.

Being lonely sucks. Feeling alone is awful. And I’m sorry for that. But please don’t assume that internet strangers are okay with you sending them messages or comments about some trauma details.

#tw animal death #mention in tags #it has triggered me badly once #I lost one of my dogs in a really traumatic way #and came on tumblr to escape #and opened to see a message from someone detailing their dog’s death #and wanting advice #and to know if it was allowed to be traumatic #I have an ask blog for this reason #so I can actively choose to read triggering content #I ended up having a really severe break down and panic attack #and had to be consoled by my partner

[toasternuggets]

Roy being comforted by his friends when he has a panic attack about his uncle’s abuse regarding…ya know. Roy is a major comfort character for me and I relate to him a lot, so I’d really appreciate you drawing this

It’s ok if this makes you uncomfortable and you don’t wanna draw it <3 I completely understand

I just want to say to everyone out there who is going through/went through this kind of thing, please tell someone. I know it can be hard, but once the hard part’s over things will be ok. Healing from things like this takes a long time, so don’t be hard on yourself. It was NOT your fault. Stay strong.

Also a good way to deal with panic attacks to anyone who needs it;

See, smell, touch, taste, hear

Name 5 things you can see, 5 things you can smell, 5 things you can touch, 5 things you can taste and 5 things you can hear

#art #character art #artists on tumblr #digital art #my art #robert spooky month #sm robert #roy spooky month #sm roy #ross spooky month #sm ross #ross #robert #roy #poor roy #tw mentions of abuse #tw mentions of sa #tw panic attack

[justvibingwhilecrying]

Barnaby x Wally Comic (barnaby’s drawn by @weebannihilator )

Extras:

#my art #welcome home arg #wally darling #barnaby b beagle #idk their ship name #panic attack mention #wally x barnaby

[tadc-ragatha]

So would ya do pomni with a reader that takes the form of a teddy bear and is has very comfortable hugs

Pomni with a Teddy Bear Reader

TW: Panic attack mentions

Type: Headcanons

A/N: I combined the asks because they worked well together. Reader has been there the third longest (Kinger, Ragatha, then the reader). Spoilers.

You were a rock amongst the group. Really, it was you and Ragatha keeping everyone stable and from abstracting. It was all thanks to your personalities, of course. Both of you were very kind and empathetic towards the others, able to identify with their situations all too well.

So, it was no surprise the two of you immediately wanted to help Pomni feel better when she arrived int he digital circus. You remembered how Ragatha and Kinger had helped you adjust, and although there were other people there (and although Kinger was in a much better mental state), you still wanted to return the kindness to someone else.

But, alas, Jax took over the situation. He sent you with "crybaby" and "hoo-haa", or Gangle and Kinger, as they were really known, to assess and deal with the gloinks situation while he took Ragatha and Pomni to check of Kaufmo. It was a shame, really; you had wanted to help Pomni out a lot. And knowing Kaufmo and Jax, she may have found herself in quite the situation if it weren't for Ragatha to keep everything calm.

However, it soon turned out the situation was much more dire that you had initially expected. When Kaufmo abstracted, you felt terrible. Not only for Kaufmo and everyone else who knew him, but also Pomni. She had been hoping so hard to find out about the exit through him--even if said exit you knew didn't exist.

At the dinner table after the ordeal, you tried to talk to Pomni and comfort her. There was little reaction out of her at first, and it definitely freaked you out when she started smiling out of nowhere, but you did your best to calm her down. It took a while--a good while--but as everyone started to finish up you finally got her out of her existential crisis trance.

From then on, Pomni stuck to you and Ragatha. Jax was a no-go for comfort, Gangle needed a therapist of her own, Kinger was too unstable, and Zooble wasn't there to comfort others. However, having been there longer, Ragatha's own mental state was more at risk of slipping, so Pomni ended up sticking to you more.

Being a large teddy bear, you were always very nice to hold on to. At first it started with you gently wrapping an arm around her or putting your hand on her shoulder (with permission, of course) when she was having a panic attack. Since then, it grew to her latching onto you when she got frightened during moments of heightened anxiety to her just wrapping her arms around you when she was having too much.

You never complained once. For what it's worth, you were just glad she wasn't abstracting. Being the largest in the group (about the same height as Jax, but with a lot more width), it was easy for you to shield her from prying eyes when she was freaking out. You'd also pick her up on occasion when she was having a really bad time and take her to her room to sleep and forget about what was worrying her. Pomni appreciates it so much, and at times she doesn't know what else she'd do if you weren't there.

#amy's writing #deepest collection cards #anonymous #the amazing digital circus #tadc #the amazing digital circus spoilers #tadc spoilers #tadc headcanon #tadc x reader #x reader #tadc pomi x reader #panic attack mention #tadc pomni #pomni x reader

[sp0o0kylights]

Part Seven/ Part Eight (YOU ARE HERE)/ Part Nine

Ao3

Monsters aren't real.

The thing that's flying towards him is--a hallucination. A figment of Gareth's imagination.

The same way the feeling of time slowing to a crawl is just a trick of the light playing with his anxiety.

He'd be fine.

(It won't hurt.)

Gareth's limbs froze, locking him in place even as the manticore bore down on him.

Thankfully, Steve did not have that problem.

Gareth's shirt was snatched from the back, choking him as Steve yanked him out of the way.

It was just in time--the Manticore blew past seconds later, too-large body so close Gareth could feel the air move past him.

The stench was unimaginable.

A fuckload of noise exploded in Gareth's ears as time kicked back in. He fell hard, behind Steve as the older teen swung his nail bat with his left hand.

Huh. Gareth thought distantly as wood, nail and flesh connected. Steve's ambidextrous.

He never would have guessed.

Doesn't think anyone would.

(Should Gareth survive this, he will immediately tease Steve about it. Right after profusely thanking him for saving his life and having a meltdown about honest to God monsters existing in Hawkins.)

The fucker barked a noise, and the only comparable thing Gareth could relate it to was a seal--if a seal had played with some of the sound effect pedals the music store.

Maybe got run over by a car right after for good measure.

In one breath, the monsters' weird, elongated hand-paws raked lines through the floor.

In the next, a wing smashed high over Eddie's head. The finger-like claws at the crux of it pierced through Stewart's still-stuck door, balancing itself as it turned.

This brought the manticore's gore-filled hole of a mouth so close to Eddie's head Gareth thought it forfeit, and it was only Steve's interference that kept Eddie the Banished from being Eddie the Buried.

"Come on!" Steve bellowed.

He smacked the bat into the floor, as much a challenge as it was a distraction.

Thick saliva dripped to the floor in clumps as the manticore's head, a bulbous thing composed of five petal-like slices of flesh and too many teeth rattled in response.

A car horn trumpeted again--and if it was a warning it was one coming far too late.

The Manticore dropped its chest to the ground as it took the bait. A dark, black tipped scorpion tail rose over the back of the beast, stinger longer than Gareth's arm and wider than a sword.

Faster than Gareth could track, almost faster than Steve could parry, the tail lashed forward, stinger out like a lance.

(But Steve, wonderful, amazing, athletic Steve, caught and parried it with his bat.

Then and there, Gareth swore to never mock a jock, ever again.)

The bat met armored exoskeleton with a sickening crack!, the force of the hit shaking Steve's arms. His right foot slid back, biceps flexing as the stinger pushed against him, straining hard against nail and wood.

Steve grunted, shoes squeaking as he was forced to give ground, the Manticore overpowering him by the sheer strength of its tail.

The entire encounter had barely lasted a few seconds but without interference?

Steve would be thrown aside--and impaled.

Before Gareth could think about how stupid it was, he was on his feet and rushing to help.

He grabbed the fire poker off the ground and thrust it forward, towards the manticore's not-a-face.

Screamed “Go back to hell you piece of shit!” So loud his voice cracked.

It worked.

The beast flinched, tail rocketing back as it rose back up on all four paws, hissing in outrage.

Steve staggered with how fast the tail had moved, but caught himself, bat wavering in the air, and--

There was no reprieve.

No moment to breathe, because as soon as the stinger's gone there's a grotesque, hand-like paw swiping at them both.

Gareth fell back, only to realize he wasn't the target.

Steve was.

The claws flash in the flickering overhead lights and there wasn’t any time.

He's as good as dead and Gareth can't do anything to save him--

But Eddie can.

Sometime during the last few seconds, the older teen had pulled his knife. Jammed it deep into the back of the manticore's front leg, and twisted after the blade had sunk down to the hilt.

This, and the resulting aborted attack, saved Steve's life.

The thing wailed as the struck leg crumpled, sending the fucker’s head on a collision course with the floor.

Stewart's door jumped in its frame as the wing-claws, dug in deep into the wood, caught the manticore. Two flesh-petals scraped the floor, but the move kept it from falling-- at the cost of putting its full weight on the door.

A door already bowed. Hinges pre-fucked with, thanks to Eddie’s early meddling.

It didn't hold.

Hinges screamed as the wood bent, before gravity asserted itself and shattered it. Massive wood splinters shoot out in an explosion of wood, more than one piece embedding itself into the manticore.

Eddie scrambled backwards half turned to protect his head, saved from two large chunks of wood only by the grace of his thick leather jacket.

Several things happened at once.

The car outside honked a third time.

The manticore lunged.

And Eddie tripped.

One petal of teeth tore into him--a graze that left his leg a bloody mess and ripped a scream from his mouth.

Gareth and Steve both shot instinctively: Steve to attack the side of the manticore's head, Gareth to slam the fire poker into a wing.

(One second turned into three.)

The manticore in turn, leapt backwards, head shaking with the hit of Steve's bat--and Gareth had exactly one half-second to realize all they had done up until this moment was piss it off before the wing he'd struck swept out.

It struck him in the gut and Steve in the chest, sending both of them flying.

Gareth's back met the floor a second time expelling all the air from his lungs, vision going dark at the edges as his head hit the floor.

(Three seconds turned to seven.)

This time he physically couldn't move, too stunned as Eddie screamed Steve's name.

Stewart, Gareth realized, was screaming too.

(Seven seconds became eighteen, until Gareth's chest could take in air again, the loud ringing in his ears easing somewhat.)

He kept blinking, thinking the weird streaks of orange light was his vision blurring, until his brain kicked in and informed him that no, those were flames he was seeing.

Gareth pushed himself up on his elbows to find that reinforcements had arrived.

Flames flew in an arc as another on-fire tennis ball struck the Manticores side. The ball bounced, flames trickling down to the floor as the monster beast shrieked.

A third ball had it slamming itself into the wall as Gareth whipped his head to the opposite end of the hallway.

Tiff and Dustin were spraying a can of something onto a number of tennis balls--the ones Gareth knew Tiff kept in her car for tennis.

Lucas loaded one into his slingshot, drawing the rubber bands back and holding so that Jeff’s lighter could turn it into a proper weapon.

He launched it once flames encompassed it fully, and Gareth watched as it flew true.

Landed to the right of the muscular, lion--like chest, flames catching every piece of skin that was touched.

A part of Gareth expected this to only distract the fucker, the same way the pieces of wood sticking out of it’s sides had barely slowed it down--but fire, apparently was its weakness.

The manticore reacted like it was being burned with acid more so than fire, dropping and rolling and ping-pinging between walls as more and more of its wing was overtaken.

Its screams turned into rapid, wracked yelps, until finally it threw itself so hard into a wall that it fell through it.

For a moment a dark hole remained open.

Gray pieces of ash lazily floated out, giving them all a glimpse into a terrifying, dark blue forest, red lightning slashing the sky above before the hole re-sealed itself.

(It closed the way a wound did. All sides creeping in at a speed far too fast for human skin, but was just slow enough to make the wall appear like a living membrane instead of wood and plaster.)

For a long moment, the only thing Gareth could hear was all his friends' harsh panting.

"Did you kill it?" Stewart asked, head peeking around the corner.

Eddie looked to Steve to answer.

Which he did.

"Rule number two, man.” Steve raked a hand through his hair, trying to comb out the sweat that had collected at his temples after he climbed to his feet. “If you can’t see the body, it’s not dead.”

Stewart crept cautiously into the hall, looking as shell shocked as Gareth felt. "Why the hell isn't that rule one?”

"I don't know, the kids made the rules. You can ask them.”

Gareth’s head pulsed unhappily, but Gareth had other concerns as he made his way to his feet.

“How bad is it?” He asked as he made his way over, Eddie still on the ground.

“I’m alright.” Eddie lied, as if they all couldn’t see the sticky patch of blood on his torn jeans.

"Stop talking, start walking!" Dustin yelled at them.

“Eddie’s injured, give us a minute!” Steve yelled back. “God. Go make yourself useful and get my medkit!”

“I’m fine, it’s fine! ” Eddie yelled out right after, voice waspish in his pain.

It convinced absolutely no one, and in fact, caused several people to come down the hallway towards him.

Lucky for him, Steve made it there first.

Dropping to his knees in front of Eddie, he gently moved a ringed hand away from the wound, giving it a critical once over as Gareth and Stewart hovered.

“It’s not bad.” Eddie tried to argue, wincing as he poked around his leg, Steve continually having to bat his hands away. “If we can wrap it I’ll be able to walk out of here.”

“I won’t know until I see more of it.” Tiff said, Jeff and Grant right on her heels to circle Eddie and Steve. “But he might be right for once--there’s not much blood. You’re gonna lose the pants though.”

“Noooo.” Eddie said, in a poor mimic of one of his D&D voices.

“Not to rush you, but we need to get out of here.” Jeff cast an anxious look over at the wall, and Gareth nodded his agreement.

This wasn’t a safe place right now.

(Had likely never been a safe place, if it was birthing out monsters like the manticore.)

Steve looked up at Eddie, holding his gaze.

“Think you can hobble over to the cars if two of us help?”

He got a sharp nod back.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Now hop to it.” Tiff said with a clap. Her voice was dry, tone almost sarcastic, but Gareth heard the unease in it

Not that anyone needed any convincing to get the hell out of dodge.

("I'm going to take up running." Eddie told him later, hands shaking from pain as Gareth drove Van Helsing after FrankenCar, Grant's Ford Escort

They had managed to wrap Eddie’s leg up in a quick bandage with the medkit. Gareth hadn’t truly been able to bring himself to look at the wound, but he’d caught a glimpse.

The fang marks stood out on Eddie’s pale skin, and ran in so many rows it looked like he’d shoved half his leg into a shark's mouth.

Tiffany insisted it was more horrific looking than it was actually horrific, and given Eddie had made at least three “am I gonna lose the leg, Doc?” jokes, Gareth believed her.

Still--it was weird, to drive Eddie’s van.

Weirder still to see Steve's Beemer (unnamed on grounds that Hellfire couldn't decide between the Batmobile and the BeemHolder) lead their little procession--though it had been a fight to get Steve to drive the car instead of ride along with Eddie.

"We both know you’re not seriously considering going running.” Gareth told him, voice shaking. “Which is unfortunate, because I'm going to make you anyway."

His fingers tightened hard on the steering wheel.

“I’m going to make everyone go running.”

It was a testament to how scared both of them were that they ended the conversation there.

No joke, no walking back what they'd said.

Running apparently, was back to being a core survival skill and Gareth very much enjoyed staying alive.)

xXx

Gareth hadn’t asked why the Byers house was the chosen place to regroup.

Had kind of assumed that it had been picked because Will’s mother wasn’t home.

Definitely was not expecting an adult to come flying out of the door with the air of a frazzled border collie, herding kids inside before freezing when she caught sight of Eddie.

Or rather: Eddie being carefully pulled out of Van Helsing by Steve and Jeff, cursing and whining the whole way.

“You big baby, you’re not that hurt.” Jeff huffed as Eddie’s squirming almost forced him to let go, resulting in Eddie gripping at Steve’s sweater like a liferaft.

“You can talk when you’re the one that got bit by a monster, Jeffrey.” Eddie snapped back, hopping on his good leg. “I almost died!”

“Steve said it just barely grazed you--”

“Steve was busy trying to keep it off of me to really notice what was happening! Unlike you. What were you doing, Jeff? Honking the fucking car horn?”

“I wasn’t the one honking--”

They continued to bicker as Miss Byers marched forward.

Gareth expected her to yell--and given the way Eddie’s eyes went wide at the sight of her, possibly even deny them entrance.

Shoo them away or send them home.

It wouldn’t be the first time a member of Hellfire had been beaten, only for the adults around them to act like they were the ones causing trouble.

Instead, she earned Gareth’s respect immediately by moving alongside Steve and asking; “Is anyone else injured?”

Barely waited for the shake of Steve’s head before spinning on her heel and heading back inside, yelling all the way.

“Will, fetch me towels. Jonathan--get the medkit! ”

“No worries, Miss Byers. Stevie here already has one.” Eddie said, before his attempts to charm her fell utterly flat when he accidentally jostled his leg and hissed out a curse.

“Steve’s not as good as mine, hun.” Her eyes swept over his leg, calculating. “Is that bite what I think it is?”

“Related.” Steve answered, starting the lengthy process of getting Eddie inside.

“Shit.” She sighed, and for the first time that night Gareth realized she too, wore the same haunted look Steve did.

Which meant she'd believe them.

A part of him, the part who was still a teenager, a kid in his own right, relaxed that an adult knew.

As with most of Hellfire, Gareth didn’t typically trust adults, but his relationship with his own parents was slightly better than most of the others. It led him to such beliefs like that maybe, just maybe, this would be the end of the monsters.

That he’d never face a thing like that outside of D&D, ever again. That whatever events haunted Steve would be handled by the proper authorities.

(That they’d be okay. Everyone would be okay.)

Sirens sounded in the distance, and even as Gareth walked inside the house he knew it wasn’t true.

Whatever all this was?

It wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“Munson?” A rumpled Jonathan Byers said, blinking like an owl hit with sunlight as the Steve-Eddie-Jeff procession went past.

He got a half-assed roguish grin and a waggle of fingers while Steve rolled his eyes over Eddie’s head.

“What happened!?” Jonathan asked, as Joyce bustled past him, relieving Jonathan of the medkit.

“It’s a long story, but we have a code red at the lab.”

Gareth knew he was frazzled, purely by the fact his hands once again went to mess with his hair, right after helping Eddie down into a chair.

“Which they knew apparently.”

‘They’ was accompanied by Steve jerking his thumb towards the living room--where the kids were talking to themselves in a huddle.

Outside, the sirens grew louder.

Jonathan looked to the living room and back, before heaving a sigh so world weary it was almost impressive. “Of course they did.”

“Demodog?” Miss Byers asked as she laid out various medical supplies on her kitchen table, pausing every so often to stare at Eddie’s leg.

“It was a manticore!” One of the kids yelled.

Gareth wasn't surprised to learn some of the brats were listening in.

There was a pause, as Miss Byers stared quizzically at Steve.

“It's like a demodog but much larger?” He told her, making an awkward shape with his hands that explained absolutely nothing. “With wings? Oh--and a scorpion tail.”

“It was terrifying.” Stewart added in a mutter, all of Hellfire awkwardly camped themselves around Eddie.

Which wasn’t good, given the frown on Miss Byers face as she carefully cut away even more of his jeans and their shitty attempt at band-aiding his wound.

It was the face of someone who was about to cause pain in an attempt to heal, and knew it.

For all that he was their front-man and self-proclaimed shepherd of Hellfire, Eddie's pain tolerance was absolute shit.

The guy could take a punch well enough, and the rings on his hands meant business when he hit back--but when adrenaline wasn't flowing?

Eddie broke down faster than his van did.

This whole thing was a bit of a sore spot. Something Eddie had admitted once under extreme duress had come from his father repeatedly telling him a man needed to be tough, and a Munson man even tougher.

(The duress in question was during one particularly animated D&D fight.

Eddie had gotten too excited and slapped an open palm down on top of a pointy figure, embedded it well into his skin.

The incident had derailed the campaign entirely and caused Hellfire as a whole to learn that their fearless leader really hated people watching him cry.)

Needless to say, a room full of children, his friends, his crush, and one of said kids' mothers wasn't exactly an ideal set up for Eddie to lose it.

So Gareth set himself up as a sort of barrier, blocking Eddie's view from the living room (and hopefully, vice versa, before making eyes at his friends to do the same.

Thankfully Jeff at least, caught on.

Communication was given through pointed looks and nudging elbows, but quickly enough, Hellfire managed to make a decently solid barrier between the kids (and Jonathan, who was doing an amazing job of chewing out said children) leaving Steve and Gareth as the sole onlookers.

“Alright, someone start talking.” Miss Byers loudly commanded, as she finally unearthed Eddie’s wounds.

To Eddie, she offered a well-used bottle of Tylenol, muttering quiet apologies before she began cleaning his very gross looking wound.

“Hey--” Gareth himself muttered, half praying he’d magically think of an excuse for Steve to fuck off, only to realize Hellfire’s jock had actually moved into the kitchen.

A line of mismatched mugs and cups was taking form on the counter, and it took a minute of carefully looking anywhere but at Eddie as Miss Byers worked to figure out Steve was making hot chocolate.

Figured that was probably smart, given Grant looked so tense Gareth expected his head to explode at any second.

(The loud arguing from the kids as they tried to explain didn't help any.)

A thought that Jonathan also seemed to have, given he put on a voice that sounded far to fatherly for Gareth's comfort and bellowed;

“Alright, enough!”

--which at least got him the silence he wanted.

“One at a time!” Jonathan parented from the living room. “Will, you start. Dustin you’re up next, then Mike, then El.”

He put his hands on his hips and Gareth nearly laughed aloud, because apparently the children weren't the only ones picking up Steve's mannerisms.

“Start from when you decided to sneak out without telling anybody but Steve.”

“If it makes you feel better we didn't actually tell Steve.” Dustin chirped.

Jonathan stared at him, and judging from his face alone Gareth expected utter hell to erupt from his mouth.

Instead they got a sort of quiet: “That does actually make me feel a bit better, thanks.”

Steve scoffed from the kitchen in response, which thankfully covered Eddie’s pained hiss from where Miss Byers was patting hydrogen peroxide into his bite mark.

Unfortunately for Jonathan, the kids came up with their own order and as always, let Dustin and Mike be their talking pieces.

“Like we told everyone else, it started because Will and El sensed something--” One began, right as red and blue lights splashed across the walls.

The source of the siren--a police truck that, judging bu the loud crunch of tires sliding on gravel and a shriek of breaks--had arrived.

Several of the children (plus Grant) cursed.

“Who called Hopper?!”

“He’s El’s dad idiot, of course someone called him.”

“Come on Max didn’t we talk about calling people names--”

Eddie tensed, as did the majority of the room, as loud, pounding footsteps tore up the front porch.

“I called him.” Miss Byers said as she rose from her crouch, apparently done re-bandaging Eddie.

She weaved her way through the room and was nearly taken out by her own front door when it was flung open to reveal the man himself, who looked like he’d spent the night fist-fighting his way through a bar, in the dark.

“El?!” He bellowed, eyes frantically scanning the room before landing on her.

The relief was so immediate it seemed to make him slump for a second.

Or rather, long enough for him to draw in enough air to get out a proper yell. “Someone better start explaining, right now. Starting with you Michael Wheeler!”

It was only then, as the man himself stepped into the light, that Gareth finally figured out why he looked sort of--off.

Unreal even, like a figure stepping out of a dream and into reality.

Jim Hopper, Chief of Hawkins Police Department, was wearing Scooby Doo pajamas.

The top was a faded orange color, boasting an image of a footstep in the center of a magnifying glass.

The bottoms were green, the head of the famed Great Dane patterned all over.

Combined?

It was Gareth's last straw.

‘You cannot be having a panic attack over the Chief’s pajamas.’ A far away part of Gareth thought hysterically, as his vision kaleidoscoped.

God, was he so fucking lame.

#adopt a jock #pre steddie #steddie #gareth emerson #steven harrington #eddie munson #the hellfire club #the party #and #a manticore #0o0 fanfics #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #hellfire adopts steve #RIP to hellfire you had a good run not knowing about any of this lol #tw small injury mention #tw panic attack mention there at the end #cause Gareth just kinda paused his while fighting for his life lol

[movedto-bunny-lovers]

Your f/o would help ground you during a panic attack, helping you breathe to the best of their ability. Your f/o would help you calm down and would make sure you were safe with them, too. Your f/o would be worried but caring and would do anything to be there for you.

proship/comship DNI

#f/o imagines #f/o imagine #imagine your fictional other #imagine your f/o #self shipping #selfshipping #self shipping community #self ship community #selfship community #selfshipping community #self ship imagine #panic attack tw #tw panic attack #panic attack mention