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cametotheshowinsd · 1 year
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I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror; ANTI-HERO (2022) by Taylor Swift
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destinygoldenstar · 24 days
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What Separates Digital Circus’s Horror From Others
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Disturbing.
Unnerving.
TERRIFYING.
BUT WHY?!
On the surface to the… five people that never watched The Amazing Digital Circus Pilot, this show looks like a Five Nights At Freddy’s knock off.
It’s a cute mascot show that is actually secretly a horror monster infested world.
Even people who haven’t seen FNAF at least seen a few clips of it and what it’s famous for. I know I have.
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My sister is super into this, and she hogs the TV, so… RIP me.
That’s what most non-horror stans usually view horror as.
The jumpscares.
The unnerving imagery.
The designs made to freak out the viewers and make them uncomfortable.
It’s usually quite obvious when something is a horror, cause these aspects are often front and center. You can usually tell it’s a trailer of a horror movie by just looking at it.
At least, from my, a non-horror lover’s understanding. For some reason these sorts of things, especially indie animated ones, are the faces of a lot of content farms.
If the product itself isn’t r@%ing your audience, it’s those.
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(TAKE MY WARNING AND TAKE IT SERIOUSLY: IF YOU VALUE YOUR MENTAL HEALTH AND YOUR SANITY, DO NOT LOOK UP THIS MOVIE)
BUT BACK ON SUBJECT.
Digital Circus… doesn’t really have this stuff.
There’s no jumpscares.
(I mean there is in a trailer, but it’s used as a joke.)
The character designs are very cute looking without any alternate versions that are scary.
And the imagery of the show remains cute and fun all throughout. The darkest it gets is in a realistic looking office.
But there are no jumpscares in that scene.
It’s just… a normal office.
If this was a horror, then perfect opportunity, right?
So… what’s going on here?
This, my friends, is why Digital Circus is not your typical indie animated horror flick.
And why people even call it ‘scary’ at all.
Here’s the trick this show uses.
It’s not the imagery.
It’s not the designs.
It’s not even intentionally trying to scare you.
Caine is not intentionally trying to scare the audience. He’s just acting like an A.I.
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Yeah he has SOME unnerving moments.
But compared to THIS:
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I’d say Caine is pretty tame.
Maybe it’s an indicator that he’s secretly a monster like the Other Mother in Coraline.
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That horror flick is about the host lying to the protagonist and revealing their horror-like appearance later on.
But not only was it confirmed that Caine is NOT evil. But look at his design right away and his presentation.
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There is no sign so far that he lies about anything. At least not what he doesn’t know.
Yes he lied about the exit. But the exit ITSELF was the thing that sent you to the VOID. So really he kinda tried to protect them.
If he didn’t, he’d let jester girl eject herself like Among Us.
So why is it unnerving?
Because it’s the POV we the audience are in for most of the episode: Pomni.
Pomni is an Audience Surrogate.
Audience Surrogates are characters designed specifically to be a placeholder for the audience.
People usually assume this trope as the character made to be the bland and generic one. But that’s actually not true.
An audience surrogate can be as simple as a First Person POV. As all it means is that the character is designed to have the same reactions the audience would in the situation they would find themselves in.
Course, not speaking for everybody, but majority that would consume the content.
Thus, with Pomni as the audience surrogate, we the audience are thrusted into her shoes the whole time. We feel the fear she does. We are experiencing the circus the same time she does.
Notice the editing in some scenes. Specifically the scenes Pomni is NOT in.
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When Pomni is in a scene, there’s usually some change in lighting or camera movement that’s unnerving.
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But when she isn’t in a scene, these editing moves aren’t there at all.
Which makes it pretty easy to suggest that these unnerving edits are just what’s going on in Pomni’s head.
So with that, when she’s scared. We’re scared. We’re in her POV.
But she’s scared all the time. That’s just her average personality, right?
Then why make these specific edits?
Let’s think about this:
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This character is trapped in a world that isn’t her own. Everything is unusual, and she wants out. But instantly realizes there’s no escape.
And then gets told this is her new home and her new body.
A home she doesn’t recognize. And a body she doesn’t even know the name of.
She lost all sense of identity in an instant. Losing everything about herself in an instant. To the point where she can’t even remember what she was before.
And to make matters worse, because this is unusual, everything SEEMS terrifying. Even to those trying to help her adjust.
The only way out of such a confusing and terrifying world is to escape. Which is what she tries to find the entire time.
So THEREFORE:
The horror is this show is NOT the jumpscares or the creepy images.
The horror is THE VIEWER’S MIND.
This show constantly destroys your mind and breaks you through Pomni.
The idea of losing everything about yourself and being trapped in something unfamiliar forever. That IS terrifying.
If you were in this situation, you’d probably freak out even if you were the bravest being ever.
So it’s not about how scary the scene is on the outside.
It’s about what you’re THINKING that’s scary.
Ragatha’s distress monologue is not scary on the outside. But if you actually take into consideration what she says.
THATS terrifying.
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That toys with your mind. And it also toys with Pomni’s.
The monster figure in the episode, the abstraction, is nowhere near as scary as something from FNAF
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At least in my opinion.
Especially seeing what the monster does.
It can’t kill you. You’re just glitched.
Or maybe it CAN kill. But we never see that.
Even if Pomni ended up like Ragatha, Caine would’ve eventually came back, found them, and fixed them. And they would’ve been fine.
But then, rather out of nowhere, she STOPS.
And we get this shot.
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I talked about this shot before. Said it quickly became one of my favorite shots in media.
This is why.
This shot makes me queasy every time.
The idea of looking in a mirror and not even being able to process or recognize yourself. Unable to even process your own reflection, that’s how unrecognizable you’ve become.
That’s horrifying.
And there’s no dialogue here either.
The episode effectively uses SHOW DONT TELL.
They SHOW you how scary the situation is. They SHOW you a single image that tells you everything.
It would’ve been so easy to just have Pomni say “I’m scared. I don’t recognize myself. Who is this person looking back at me?”
But no
They DON’T insult their audience.
They don’t TELL you.
They let you sink it in yourself.
Pomni doesn’t even have ANY lines after she goes through the exit door. And yet the shots after that with her have been plastered everywhere. Why? Cause she doesn’t need to tell you her mental state. You’re SHOWN it.
Can someone PLEASE tell the live action Avatar The Last Airbender that?!
Speaking of the office scene. This is the only moment in the show that looks… real. Not that cartoony.
Which I guess being in a setting that’s off putting from the rest makes it creepy, right?
Well not really.
Sure she’s running through rooms that seem to be repeating, which that of itself is sanity breaking. It reminds me a lot of another existential horror: The Stanley Parable.
But while that game is excellent and the monologue that plays in that ending is one of my favorites, it IS just telling you the sanity of the player.
Not that there’s anything wrong with this in that games style. There’s no other way that could’ve been done in that game.
Here, again, there’s no dialogue. It’s just Pomni running through these desperate for the exit.
The scary part about this is that we KNOW the absolute DESPERATION she has.
Even if we couldn’t see her face, that’s still across because we’ve seen it the entire episode.
And then there’s her break.
She snaps at the sight of a desk, and gets fangs, that of a FNAF character. But only for a second. She doesn’t even go out at the camera with them. She goes on her merry way.
But Pomni, being the POV character, really doesn’t have much to be scared at about her.
So why is this terrifying? Why not go all the way if this is supposed to be a jumpscare?
Well cause it’s not.
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A way to scare your audience is to make them feel dread. Lingering longing dread. Sometimes irrational dread.
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People with anxiety especially get scared at things even when they’re completely safe. They feel an unease in their stomachs. They feel unable to move. Unable to speak. Unable to put it into words at all.
It could be because we saw something unnerving that stays in our subconscious. It could be because we’re nervous about something coming up. It could be because we’re in an uncomfortable situation.
Either way, anything even remotely resembling that triggering thing can break someone to feel this anxiety. Sometimes even something as simple as the dark. Even if we know we’re completely safe.
(Speaking as a person with anxiety myself)
She only snaps and cackles when she sees a random desk with a computer. Which also has the headset she put on there. The thing that got her in this.
But you might not have even seen the headset on your first viewing. I didn’t.
But your subconscious sees it. The environment not being like the others aids in unnerving you and making it hard to process what you’re looking at.
Why is this terrifying? Why does it break you? Why does it mentally break Pomni? We don’t know. It just does.
We’ve been stuck going through doors in repeating rooms for hours.
Fear makes you not able to overthink it.
So all of that is build up to the near perfect shot of Pomni at the brink of snapping at the dinner table. With the others voices blurred in her mind. As all she can do is fake a smile.
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Terrifying End.
It’s not scary because it’s scary. It’s scary because it toys with the character, and the viewer’s mind
Now, is Digital Circus the first media to do this technique?
No. Not at all.
One of the most acclaimed animated movies, Spirited Away, also uses these exact same tactics for example.
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That’s obviously a master class at this tactic. And it scared me as a child as a result. For all these exact same reasons.
It’s not a horror. Not traditionally. It’s not trying to scare you. But it does anyway cause in your mind it’s a scary concept.
And also, well, Spirited Away is a completed story as of the time this post comes out.
And Digital Circus only has one episode. But we did get confirmation this would be a series. And I personally have high hopes that this brilliant tactic is kept. From the trailer, it does seem like they’re not forgetting the stuff I bring up here. So I hope this works out for the creators despite the drama and the internet BS surrounding this show.
But even if not, we at least get one case in this show where we all want to curl up in a ball and cry
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Us too Pomni. Us too.
Thank you for reading my… analysis a ton of people made before me, and probably better. Happy day for you all.
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The Grand A-Z List of Whump 1/3
This list contains ~290 items listed A to H
As always, I heavily encourage people to research topics thoroughly when writing. Whump is generally a 'dead dove' sort of topic, however it is important to avoid stereotypes/misinformation. This lists intention is to not glorify/romanticise sensitive topics in any way.
This part one-of-three comprehensive lists of injuries, Illnesses and tropes - including those from the Whumptober 2023 trope vote!
All submissions are listed in italics, and those who wanted to be tagged will be included at the end. If you have any more submissions: please send them via DM/my ask box.
[I-Q] [R-Z] [NSFW List]
List below the cut:
#
"I don't need your help."
"I'm doing this to make you better"
"I'm fine, take care of them!"
“I’m Fine”
"Kill me instead"
"Let me in."
"Look at me."
"Should I know you?"
"Take me instead."
(No) Anaesthetic
A
A Good Ol' Sickfic
Abandoned
Abdominal Pain
Aching Wounds
Acne
Adrenaline Crash
Adrift (in space/at sea)
Agoraphobia
Airsickness
Alien abduction
Allergies
Alopecia
Ambulance Ride
Ambush
Amnesia/memory loss
Amputations
Anaemia
Anesthesia
Angina (Heart condition that causes pain)
Animal Attack/Bite
Ankle Sprain
Anthrax
Anxiety/Anxiety attack(s)
Aphasia
Appendicitis
Arrested
Arthritis
Asking for help
Asphyxiation
Assumed Dead
Asthma/Asthma Attack
Auctions
Autoimmune disease
Avalanches
B
Backache
Bad Caretakers
Bandaged Head
Banished
Barbed Wire
Bear trap
Beaten up by ex-friends
Beaten with blunt object (i.e, bat or pipe)
Beatings
Bedrest
Bedside Vigil/Hospital Vigil
Begging
Betrayed by close friend/team/family
Bites (Animal, Bug, Human….)
Biting
Black Eye
Blackmail
Bleeding Out
Bleeding Through
Bandages
Blindfolded
Blindness (this could be temporary or permanent)
Blisters
Blood Loss
Blood Poisoning
Bloodied Knuckles
Bloodstains/blood trail
Bloody handprints
Bloody nose
Blunt force trauma
Blurred vision
Body modification
Body Sharing
Body Switching
Bounty on their head
Brain Damage
Brainwashing
Breakdowns
Breathless
Bridal Carry
Broken Bones (Ribs, Arm, Leg)
Broken Nose
Broken Promises
Bronchitis
Bruises
Building Collapse
Bullet Removal
Bumpy roads jarring injuries
Buried Alive
Burning Building
Burns/Scalding
Busted kneecap
C
Cancer
Caning
Capgras syndrome/delusion (belief that someone close to/important to the person has been replaced by an imposter)
Capsulitis
Captivity
Captured
Car chases (and maybe a car crash)
Carbon monoxide poisoning
Cardiac Arrest
Caretaker has to “play nice” with whumper.
Caretaker has to hurt whumpee while undercover.
Caretaker sacrificing something dear to them to get something the whumpee needs.
Caretaker turned Whumpee
Caretaker-whumper who's a parental whumper. But their "love" is not real love. Or even right treatment.
Carsickness
Cataracts
Catatonia
Caught in a fire
Caught in an explosion
Cauterization
Cave In
Cavity
Celebrity whump (exploitation in the music/movie industries…)
Chaffing from ropes/handcuffs/shackles
Chained/Shackled
Checking for injuries
CHF - congestive heart failure
Chicken Pox
Chills
Chloroform
Choking
Chronic pain
Claustrophobia
Cleaning wounds alone
Cold/Flu,
Collapsed Lung
Collapsing (into someone’s arms is usually nice, bonus points for cradling their head as they lower the whumpee to the floor)
Collapsing after they win
Collapsing/Fainting/Passing Out
Collars
Coma
Comfort after a nightmare
Common cold
Completely betrayed by their own team
Complications
Concussion
Confusion
Constipation
Constricted Airways
COPD - Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease makes breathing increasingly more difficult.
Corporal Punishment
Corset too tight and won’t unbutton
Coughing
Coughing Up Blood
CPR
Cramps
Crikes (intubation through neck)
Crush injury
Crying
Cuddle pile
Curses
Cuts/Grazes
Cutting off hair (more of an emotional hurt)
Cyanide poisoning
D
Damaged Larynx/Vocal Cords
De-aging
Deathbed Confessions (don’t have to actually die and stay dead, just the threat of dying)
Defeat
Defenestration (throwing out a window)
Dehydration
Deja Vu
Delirium (bonus points for this being drug/ fever induced)
Deluded whumper/thinking they’re helping the whumpee
Dengue Fever
Denial
Depression
Dermatitis
Diabetes (type 1 and 2)
Diarrhea
Diseases ('mystery' diseases are the best kind)
Dislocations
Disorientation
Disowned by Family
Displaced hip
Dissociation
Distress call
Dizziness
Dragged Away
Dream sequence
Driving to the hospital with a whumpee slumped barely-conscious in the seat of the car
Drowning
Drunkenness
E
Ear Infection
Edema (swelling from build up of fluid)
EKG
Electrical Burns
Electrical shock
Electrocution
Emergency field surgery
Emergency Surgery
Emotional angst
Emotional manipulation
Endometriosis
Enemy to Caretaker
Energy Drain
Environmental whump
ER
Execution
Exes reunited with one wanting a relationship and the other just wanting friendship.
Exhaustion
Experimentation
Exposure
Extreme Weather
Eye injury
F
Facing Phobias
Failed Escape
Failure to thrive
Fainting
Fainting (but also fainting aftermath) / Fainting due to lack of sleep, food, or overworking fainting from exhaustion
Falling
Falling for Caretaker/Whumpee/Whumper
Falling Through Ice
Fatigue/Exhaustion
Fever
Fibromyalgia (Chronic Pain)
Field medicine
Fighting (while injured)
Financial difficulty faced + how whumper might take advantage of that + how caretaker handles everything (well/badly)
Finding your loved one dead without explanation but thinking they’re still alive.
Fireman's carry
Flare ups
Flashbacks
Flinching away
Flu
Food Poisoning
Forced to... (Break out, Choose, Hurt, Kneel, Scream, Watch)
Forehead kisses
Forgotten by team
Foul-tasting medicine
Found family
Found unconscious
Fracture (Arm, Hyoid bone etc)
Freezing / cold whump
Friendly Fire
Frostbite
G
Gagged/Muzzled
Gangrene infection
Gaslighting
Gas (noxious, poisonous etc)
Gastritis
Glass (shards, debris etc)
Grief
Gunshot Wound
H
Hair Pulling/Cutting/Matting/Stroking
Hallucinations
Hanahaki
Handcuffs
Handgag
Hard ground
Haunted
Hay Fever
Head injuries/concussion
Head trauma
Headache/Migraine
Heart Palpitations
Heartburn
Heat Exhaustion
Heatstroke
Heavy metal poisoning
Held at gunpoint/knifepoint/weapon point
Hematohidrosis (Sweating blood)
Hemophilia/Hematophilia (Blood unable to clot)
Haemothorax
Hernia
Hidden Illness/Injury/Scar/Medical Issues
Hiding
High Blood Pressure
High Fever (like dangerously high)
High Pain Tolerence
Hit by a car
Home Sickness
Hospital Codes
Hostage Situation
House burnt down
Huddling for Warmth
Human Shield
Human Weapon
Hunger
Hungover
Hunted for Sport
Hurt no comfort
Hyperalgesia,
Hypermobility
Hyperventilating
Hypo/Hyperthermia
Hypo/Hyperthyroidism
Hypoglycemia
Hypotension/ Hypertension
Hypoxia
TAG LIST: Thank you very much to the following people for submitting ideas! (I apologise if some tags did not work, I'm not sure why tumblrs not letting me tag you!)
@I-eat-worlds | @greygullhaven | @letsgowhump | @cyberwhumper @firapolemos05 | @originaldeerhottub | @whumpilicious | @drawing-dinos82 | @carenrose | @stellarinuscronicles | @gottheseasonalblues | @marvelflame2010 | @sowhumpful | @avamcu | @courtneygacha | @lordofthewhumps | @autismmydearwatson | @kuddelmuddell | @the-most-handsome-ginger | @whirls-and-swirls | @painsandconfusion
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barbiekens · 1 year
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I’m just having a little anxiety.
Wolf Pack | 1.04 - “Fear and Pain”
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ceiwiart2 · 26 days
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Panic - A Steven Universe Fan Comic
First - Last - Next
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wejustvibing · 5 months
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day ruined
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one-time-i-dreamt · 11 months
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The other day I had an anxiety dream were I was just sitting in front of my laptop for like an hour trying to write an email about why I couldn't make it to driver's education.
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mysharona1987 · 1 month
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By Tom Gauld
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27paperlilies · 7 months
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Anxiety and fear tethers me in paralysis. My heart races wildly within this fleshy cage, externally my face is set in its gentle facade.
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keulixeutin · 2 years
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Breathless
a/n: my plane experience didn’t quite go like this.  would’ve been nice, though.  hope it makes sense, and hope y’all enjoy!  summary: a stranger helps ground you when you feel trapped on a plane. bakugou x reader.  she/her pronouns.  cw: claustrophobia attack, panic attack, anxiety, nausea (no vomiting), fluff, just bakugou doing the best he can. au, but no powers are mentioned so u can pretend its canon if u want lol.  word count: 4,258 words
You jerked awake, suddenly feeling odd.  
There was something—off.  
You didn’t feel right, but you couldn’t pick up on the reason why.  There was an uncomfortable sense of dread growing in the pit of your stomach, spreading throughout the rest of your body. Your hands were clammy; your skin felt sensitive; you were jittery in ways you hadn’t been before, and you couldn’t put a finger on why.
You looked around the plane.  It was dark; most of the passengers had their window shutters closed against the blinding afternoon light.  Many of them were dozed off, too.  You wondered if anyone else felt this—unnerved.
You were sitting in the back of the large plane, sandwiched tightly between the window and the man beside you.  You felt more cramped than you remember feeling in previous plane rides.  You normally handled them well, so what was happening now?  Was this plane somehow more narrow than others?  Was it more narrow in the back?  Did this man with his wild hair and impossibly wide shoulders really have to put his elbow so far across the arm rest into your space?
No, no, that wasn’t fair.  It was tight for everyone.  This uncomfortable feeling—you just needed to stretch.  Just need to shift a little, like a cat circling a spot three times before settling down to sleep.
You straightened your back, trying to soothe out the knots and kinks and pop it.  It didn’t work, didn’t pop and didn’t help.  The odd feeling lingered—intensifying even—no.  No, it wasn’t intensifying, because intensifying would be bad.  It was just there.  It was just uncomfortable.  Disagreeable—yes.  That was a good word, a calm and collected word, a not-too-negative word to describe your situation.  Once you found an agreeable position, you would easily fall back to sleep and bypass the last couple hours, you thought to yourself. 
Optimistic, you leaned against the window.
Then, you leaned back into the chair, folding your arms, hyper aware of his elbow still past the invisible line.
Then, you unlocked the table from the seat in front of you to try and rest your head on it, but you realized that there wasn’t much space for you to curl your back, so you pushed it back up, locked it, and sat, staring at the seat in front of you that began to recline back, toward you.
It was so tight here.  So confined.  You felt restricted.  You felt—
—Trapped.
You felt trapped.
As soon as that thought crossed your mind, you clearly felt the weighted dread on your chest, the difficulty swallowing, the starting heat.
It was a lack of air.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
It wasn’t discomfort; it wasn’t disagreeable.  It was suffocating.  
You couldn’t breathe.
Instead of finding a comfortable position, you found that you were possibly—probably—very definitely having a claustrophobia attack.  
You felt yourself starting to panic.  This was new to you.  You usually flew so easily; sometimes, it got tight, but you never felt stuck.  Sometimes you ached, but you never felt nauseous.  
You closed your eyes, imagining that you were in a car driving through grassy plains, imagining beautiful wildflowers of all types of colors.  The sun was bright, as bright as the tall sunflowers that greeted you as you stared out the passenger window.  
Okay, okay, you thought.  This was doable.  You could do this.  You could manage two (and a half) more hours doing this.
The plane shifted suddenly—slight turbulence—and that was all your brain needed to go into overdrive.  The grassy plains in your imagination suddenly got taller, bigger, growing wildly to eclipse the flowers, the sky, the path, boxing you in, trapping your car—and then the car suddenly wasn’t a car, but a metal box getting smaller and smaller and darker and tighter and—
Your eyes shot open, breaths coming out in short, tiny pants.
You were dangerously hyperaware of all movement and spacing around you, how everyone seemed to take up so much space, how they seemed to take up so much of your space, the elbow crossing the arm rest, the reclining seat in front of you, the child accidentally kicking the back of your chair.  Your nausea was building, your chest was burning, your vision was darkening—shit, shit, shit, what were you going to do—what were you going to do?
“Hey.  You alright?”
You turned to the man beside you, the one whose elbow was two centimeters too far over the invisible line, and logically you knew that it was illogical, but with the way your breaths came out shallow and desperate, with the way your heart was trying to claw its way out of the heat behind your diaphragm as though there were a fire starting behind your ribs, under your skin, it only seemed right and helpful and sane to blame him.
He seemed to see something on your face.  His red eyes narrowed at you.  Maybe he saw the terror.  Maybe he saw the flames.
“I have to get up,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite your intense need to double over and cry and throw up and pass out, in whatever order gave you the most relief.  “Please.  Please, I n-need to get up.”
Without hesitation, the stranger woke up the woman in the aisle seat.  Instead of stand up, she stayed seated, twisting her body and moving her legs to the side, expecting the two of you to squeeze through, but the man hissed out an aggravated, “Move your ass, lady!”  She scrambled to her feet with a huff.
You all but fell into the aisle, feet trying to find ground beneath you, but you were furiously aware that nothing was solid ground, that you were in the sky in a metal bin, and it wasn’t the fall that frightened you but the walls, how they wouldn’t expand, and the people, how they could only expand, only take up more space, more oxygen.  
So close to the back of the plane, your eyes caught the back room where the flight attendants sat.  It was empty, though,  so you quickly rushed to the back, trying not to frighten people with your heaving so loud in your ear as you gripped the wall and turned the corner, slowly falling to your knees.
You swallowed a gasping breath—one, two, then another, more.  The darkness that had been dotting your vision was fading.  The space here wasn’t much; you wouldn’t be able to stretch out your legs without leaning against the emergency exit (which you absolutely weren’t going to do), but the fact that you weren’t pressed up against a hard shoulder and a shuttered window was already relieving some weight off your shoulders, extinguishing some of the flames from your chest.
“You need water?”  Same gruff voice—same gruff scowl.
He was crouched in the aisle, peering at you from the entrance.  You were vaguely aware that, though he couldn’t tell his elbow had been encroaching your space, he was mindful of not crowding you here and not hovering over you with his size and height.
You nodded.  He disappeared.  You hazily remembered the flight attendants were pushing their drink cart at the front of the plane.  When he came back, he handed you a cup and sat down on the other side of the little space, legs tucked against his chest.
“Thanks,” you said.  The nausea was still bubbling in your stomach; you didn’t want to give it fuel, so you took tiny sips.  “Y-you can go back,” you told him.  “I should be okay now.”
“It’s fine—I’ll stay.”  He was still scowling, eyebrows furrowed in sharp, angry angles, but there had been a softness in the red of his eyes when he had seen you gasping beside him, when you had asked him to let you through.  “Lean back and keep your chest open,” he said.  “Stop hunching.”  
You slowly adjusted your posture. 
“Good.  Fix your breathing; you’re on the fucking verge of hyperventilating.  In through your nose and out through your mouth to slow down.  Three or four counts.  Whatever you can manage.”
You didn’t realize that you had still been gasping for air.  The initial panic had subsided as soon as you sat down in this open space (open being extremely relative), but you could still feel the anxiousness on the edge of your skin, as though it were lingering smoke, or embers ready to reignite. 
You crossed your legs, tilted your head back, and rested your hands on your knees to ensure that your shoulders didn’t shift back into a cowering hunch.  You closed your eyes, counted three as you inhaled through your nose, counting again as you exhaled through your mouth.
“Good,” you heard him say again.
Good, you thought.
In—out.
In—out.
In—
The plane shook suddenly.  It wasn’t an abnormal shake, just a small, tiny piece of turbulence that was to be expected at that height, but in your delicate and frazzled state, it felt as though you were minutes from the door and ceiling collapsing on top of you, seconds from your breath being taken away.  
You choked out a gasp—
“You’re fine.”  
No, he couldn’t know that, he—
“Hey—look at me.”  
You felt a grip on your left hand that rested on your knee.  You opened your eyes; he was glaring at you—no, he was looking.  Brows sharp.  Angular.  Crimson eyes fierce—intense—but not knife-like.  Not jagged.  Not cruel.
“It’s mild turbulence,” he said.  He squeezed your hand once.
You swallowed a nervous lump.  Your mouth was dry.  Your throat hurt.
“I’m telling you, you’re fine.  You need to keep breathing,” he said, then adding, “slowly,” as though you had forgotten (how could you forget?).
You tilted your head back.  
“Come on—inhale, one…two…three…four… Good.”  
Good, you thought.
“Again—one, two, three, four.  That’s it.”
He squeezed your hand a second time.
He was—odd.  And fucking rude.  You thought people were supposed to be more compassionate in these situations, empathy coloring all their movements, expressions, and voices, but this stranger was sharp, brusque, all angles and hard lines.  
And yet—there was an unusual and unexpected sense of reassurance in his terse honesty, in the tight grip of his hand, in the callouses that brushed against your knuckles every time he shifted and squeezed.  There was an inexplicable comfort in his curtness, in his hard angles, like you could touch him and your fingers wouldn’t sink; and there was something pleasant about holding someone and knowing that they had a weight to them, a structure, a frame that wouldn’t bend or break or flatten.  You felt like you could trust him to tell you without falsities or sweetness whether the plane was landing safely or exploding wildly.  You felt like he’d find space for you in his diaphragm in the fire, in the fall, like he’d give you the air from his own lungs if that was what it took.  You didn’t know why you thought this, or what about him said this, but you held onto that thought with clenched hands and clenched jaws.
It helped you settle against the makeshift wall behind you, made of the flight attendant’s folded seat.  There was still a curling ball in the pit of your stomach, but at least the air was coming in deep and leaving slow, unobstructed.
“How do you feel?” he asked; a question that was normally laced with concern was colored coarse.
“Better,” you answered quietly.
You felt a tender loss as he released his hand and shifted back to his end.  A silence settled between the two of you as you both listened to your breathing.
After a few minutes, he asked, “This happen often?”
You shook your head.
“No medication then?  Sedative, anti-anxiety?’
“No,” you said, shaking your head again.  “This is the first time.”  You would’ve laughed incredulously if you didn’t feel like every energy was being used to keep your chest open and not on fire.
You thought back to the past several weeks, leading up to this trip to visit your friends on the coast.  You thought about the stress from work, the deadlines you couldn’t miss and the projects you couldn’t disregard, your calendar piled on and crammed with events and hang-outs to try and please everyone’s desire to see you, the way you forced yourself to clean the apartment at 1 AM because you couldn’t stand the mess, and then sleep at 3 AM because you had to decompress, and then wake at 7 AM to shower and get dressed, starting all over again.  All of it finally caught up with you in the tiny back of this tremendous plane.
The flight attendant suddenly peered in.  “Is everything okay?”  she asked, looking between you and the stranger.  Her frown seemed to imply that she had initially thought something lewd was happening, but then she noted that you were sitting separately and still straining to keep from boiling over.  Her frown softened.  “Are you okay to go back to your seats?   You can’t really be back here, and the seatbelt light is on.  I can get you more water if needed, ma’am.”
Before any type of panic could bubble in your chest, before the words even had the time to linger in the air with her breath, the frenzy-haired and red-eyed stranger interrupted, saying, “She’s trying to catch her breath.  Give us ten minutes and then we’ll head back."
The flight attendant looked hesitant, but another look at you made her acquiesce.  “I’m sorry.  I can only give you five minutes; we’re almost done passing out drinks and the cart has to come back here, okay?” she said.  Then, turning to you, she asked, “Do you want more water?” 
What you wanted was for her to give you a break.
“No,” he said.
She looked to him, maybe confused as to why he was answering, maybe concerned as to why he was so rough, but she didn’t say anything else and disappeared down the aisle.  You relaxed the best you could against the hard wall, grateful for his gruffness, and murmured your thanks.
“It’s whatever.”
You sat back in silence, focusing on breathing.  You didn’t try to imagine anything.  You just counted.  You almost asked to hold his hand again, but then the flight attendant came back too soon and you were forced to get up.
The walk back to your seat was painful, each step rekindling the embers in your chest.  You took your seat, feeling the dread as a lump in your throat that, when you swallowed, sat in your stomach with a gravity you didn’t think you could keep contained.
“Hey,” the stranger said, catching your attention.  “You got anything to keep occupied?  Fidget spinner?  Games?”
You shook your head hesitantly, feeling small, feeling stuck, feeling tr—
“Focus on me, dumbass.  No games?  No portable consoles?  Like a DS?”
You sighed shakily, trying to focus your unfocusing eyes.  “I know what consoles are. I brought a book and my laptop, and I promise you, I will upchuck if I read right now.”
“Tch.”
He pulled his dark red backpack out from under the seat and rifled through it.  He took out a Nintendo Switch, turned it on, and shoved it into your hands.
“Here.  Play,” he ordered.  He didn’t explain the rules, just plugged in the earbuds, tucked both into your ears, skipped the wordy intro, and then watched you maneuver your character and die.  A lot.  He swore a lot, too, and you found that listening to his harsh mutterings was better than listening to the game’s soundtrack.  You tugged the earbuds off, letting yourself be distracted by his game and his voice.
You felt okay for a moment, whispering back to him—
“This is hard.”
“You’re just ass at it.”
—thinking that you could spend the rest of the flight like this, not relaxed but just okay.
And then the plane shuddered and your stomach clenched and your vision was wobbly, and he was too close to you, the game was too much in your hands, just another thing taking space, and you had to drop it into your lap or you were going to be so nauseous.  You gripped onto the seat in front of you, aware that you were encroaching on the passenger’s space but not finding it in you to care.  You fought the desperate urge to clamber out of your seat and crawl toward the back, quickly forgetting why you even needed to fight it.
“Chest open.”
You were vaguely aware that you were nodding, vaguely aware that he had shifted back from you as far as the seats would allow, even to the point where he was invading the aisle woman’s space, but it didn’t seem like he cared either.
“Keep the count,” he told you.  “You want to sit in the bathroom?”
You shook your head.
“Then you gotta sit fucking straighter than that.”  There was no fire behind his words.  You wondered if swearing was just part of his everyday vocabulary.  He gently grasped your shoulder, touched your back, helped you sit up with your chest up and shoulders back.  You closed your eyes, counting, counting, breathing.  
It felt like there was a blazing in your chest, like something ready to ignite, something trying to—and it felt like you were trying to cover it with just your body, just your small diaphragm, just the little bones of your ribs.  How could so much heaviness, so much fire, fit behind the smallest bones, you wondered.
He must’ve noticed you squeezing your knees, because you felt his hard hand grasp the back of your soft knuckles.  Another hand gently massaged the back of your neck.
“You’re alright,” he said.  “You’ll be fine.  Keep breathing.”  His hand dipped to your shoulders, moved up and down your back, heavy fingers pressing against knotted muscle, blunt nails scratching at clammy, stiff skin.  “Good?” he asked.
You nodded, appreciative of the touch, of a different type of pressure on your body.  Good.
“Focus on my voice.  Just keep breathing.”
“—W-why—” you gasped out softly.
“Why keep breathing?”  He looked like he was restraining himself from yelling.  There was a pulsing vein in his forehead, visible even in the dim light, that would’ve made you smile, that would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t so busy trying to rework your lungs.
“No—why h-help?”
He frowned.  “Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”
What a bizarre response, you thought.  What a perfect one, for someone whose scowl didn’t quite match his red eyes.
You flipped your palm over, interlaced your fingers through his, and held tightly.  His thumb rubbed circles into the back of your hand.  The callouses right beneath his fingers were dry and cutting.  His hand and hold felt honest.  He murmured encouragingly, the same few lines in the same low tone, choppy and curt, on repeat like he didn’t know what else to say.  His hand on your back was similar.  Sometimes he massaged too hard; sometimes he scratched too light. A clumsy and sweet effort.
You closed your eyes, fighting the mismatched breathing, counting your breaths, counting the seconds, and then counting the circles he drew against your skin and the times he gripped your shoulder, the hold slowly grounding you.
You were on the edge—but you were tied to a lifeline.  Your toes hovered over the black space right past the threshold, but you wouldn’t fall—you wouldn’t fall—you wouldn’t fall.  You weren’t comfortable—but you were okay.
You leaned against the shuttered window, and fell into a light and jerky sleep.  Whenever you felt yourself fall too deep, though, you were wracked with an immediate and sudden fear.  You’d shoot awake, panting, gasping, but he’d squeeze your hand tight, murmuring the same comforting and clumsy words until you settled down—“In through your nose, idiot.  How many times I gotta tell ya?  Good, good, just like that.”
Good, you thought.
It was the same pattern every five, maybe ten minutes.  You didn’t fall asleep for long, the nerves always working you up to a dreadful jerk awake, even if there wasn’t any turbulence.  But he squeezed your hand every time, with a scowl that didn’t meet his eyes, and he’d repeat the words again and again, like a chorus, like a mantra, like a prayer, one you held onto fiercely as you hovered over the edge for the rest of the flight.
&&
The jostling of the plane landing was what woke you up next.  Rather than a panicked gasp, your eyes fluttered open, feeling an ache in your neck and a weight on your head.  The seat before you was crooked—no, you were crooked.  Your head was tilted, resting on the stranger’s shoulders—and his head was rested on yours.   In your lap was his Switch—and the both of your hands, still intertwined.
You smiled and took in a deep and unimpeded breath of stale plane air.
You touched his shoulder tenderly.  “Wake up,” you said.
“Shut up,” he muttered.
“We’ve landed,” you said, pulling your fingers out of his warm hold and watching how his hand twitched in your direction, as if chasing your grasp.
He sat up, eyes groggy.  He tried to stretch his arms, immediately hitting the top of the aircraft cabin with an annoyed growl.  You wondered if he ever had claustrophobia attacks.  His frame was so large; how could he move through this world without feeling enclosed, encaged in every room he stepped in?
He caught your eyes staring.
“You good?” he asked, voice surly and shaded with sleep still.
“Good,” you said.  “Thanks to you.”
You watched everyone get up before you, thinking that it’d be easier to let the fast-paced crowd hasten toward the exit first.  The man sat with you; you shouldn’t have been surprised, but you were.  He seemed like the go-go-go type.
When it was finally your turn, the stranger stepped out, slung his backpack over his shoulders, and grabbed his black suitcase from the overhead compartments. 
“Which one’s yours?” he asked.
You pointed to the dark mauve, plastic one behind him.
Without another word, he pulled it out and set it down; his biceps flexed under the weight.  He let you leave first with your backpack over your shoulders and his Switch against your chest, with him following behind, easily rolling both suitcases down the aisle.
When the two of you exited the gate, you pulled off to the side, relieved to be back on solid ground—but a little disappointed, you found, to be leaving him.
“I really appreciate everything,” you said, giving back his Switch.  “I don’t even know how to truly thank you.”
“It’s fine.  Don’t mention it.”  He was gruff, he was scowling—and he was soft.  You could see it clearly in his eyes.  Now that you were out of the dim plane cabin, you could see how his brows had imperceptibly straightened, how his eyes weren’t so much red but a darkened and complicated pink.
“Can I hug you?” you asked quietly, hearing your heart hammering for a variety of reasons that you were too tired to think on.
He didn’t answer, but he uncrossed his arms, holding his hands out to you, the posture as gentle as the pink in his eyes.  You stepped into his embrace eagerly, his larger body engulfing you entirely. 
His heartbeat was strong.  Steady.  Curt, like his words.  His body was all hard angles, all flexed muscles, all sturdy structure and heavy frame.  His cologne smelled faintly of spiced wood, reminding you of summer storms, electricity crackling through a vibrating air.  You took in a deep, deep breath, holding the smell behind your aching diaphragm, behind the small bones of your ribs, inside your tired lungs for as long as he held you.   
You pulled back finally. Reluctantly.
“Thanks,” you repeated, looking up at him and catching the softness in his eyes again, the only part of his body that wasn’t all sharp. 
For a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you.
You didn’t know why.  Just a feeling.  Just the way his grip tightened on your waist, the way his eyes flickered down to your lips, the way the air seemed to buzz, your body answering on your tip-toes. 
But he pulled away, dropping his hands to grab your suitcase handle.
“Got anywhere to be?” he asked.
“Not yet,” you said.  “Why?”
“You should hydrate and eat.  Come on.”
”Wait—”
“Stop complaining and let’s go.”
You smiled, touching his arm as you caught up.  “I was just going to ask your name.”
He glanced at you.  “Bakugou,” he said.  “Katsuki—just call me Katsuki.”
“Okay,” you said, breathless in a way you didn’t mind.
But he didn’t ask your name.  Instead, as you followed him down to luggage retrieval, he asked when your return flight was, and when you found that you were both on the same plane again but not in the same aisle, you saw him check the airline app for any available seats near you.  You thought that it was somehow on brand that he didn’t ask for your name.  You thought this was part of his curtness, part of his clumsiness, part of how his hands were so rough but encompassed yours so warmly, so sweetly.
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onlyhams · 1 month
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unfortunately I suspect that the one sure fire way to make one’s health anxiety prophecies come true is to not get something checked out 💕
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ofwindydays · 2 months
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Open for @exitiumstarters bathroom (could be unisex or the mens)
Juri found himself sweating. Was it because of the one oea member. It couldn't be-he said as he continued to wash his hands. Juri isn't scared. He wasn't scared. That man can't kill him again could he. Juri tried to wash his face, trying to ignore his own trembling fingers. He took a deep breath seeing a shadow in the corner of his ye. He forced a nonchalant look on his face.
"I don't do great at parties." he signed.
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exquisitexagony · 4 months
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open to anyone!! plot: Sam left the house after hours of psyching himself up and smoking a couple of joints, but now he just woke up halfway in his car after passing out from standing up too fast--presumably upon arriving at xyr destination. They're panicked and can't remember what happened, not even what they were supposed to be doing, which is why they've called your muse to pick them up. This isn't something that happens often, but they probably have asked your muse to drive them places/pick them up from places before. Or maybe not, maybe your muse is shocked and confused by the sudden call...whatever works (: It's also worth noting that Sam only does drugs of any kind when he's under extreme stress/pressure/having a big anxiety spike, so if your muse happens to notice he is high that would also be very surprising
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The cold in the air stung Samuel's lungs as he took in a deep breath, releasing it slowly and heavily. His hand was shaking horribly, too much to even think to start the car so he could warm up. It was chilly out, but not freezing, still he shivered as he lifted the phone to his ear.
"Hey, uh..." Their voice was anxious, jittery. A sucked in breath, pressing their lips together. Don't cry. Don't make this worse. "Um, I- I- I...I need you to c- come pick me up." Xe held xyr breath to avoid making a sound as tears began to fall down xyr cheeks. Xe couldn't think straight, could hardly breathe...There was no way they could drive themselves home. Normally he wouldn't ask, but...They were the only one he knew that wasn't busy.
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heybuddythatsnotok · 5 months
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what some people don’t understand is anxiety is funky. it can show up for no reason at all. it exaggerates everything. it can show up at times when most people would think “why would anybody be anxious about that?” people can be anxious for silly, unrealistic reasons. it happens and it’s not fun. we make up scenarios in our head that will never happen. we come up with strange, out of this world reasons to be anxious. i don’t know what to say, we’re creative people. anxiety is an unpredictable toddler with anger issues. she will blow up at random times and there’s no way to know when. eventually you can learn some patterns, but she will always be blowing up at times you don’t expect. point is, you may not understand why someone’s anxious, and they might not either, but don’t dismiss it. it’s real and it sucks.
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barbiekens · 1 year
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Anxiety’s not such a bad thing. It’s like a survival tool, right?
Wolf Pack | 1.08 - “Trophic Cascade”
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ceiwiart2 · 26 days
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Panic - A Steven Universe Fan Comic
First - Last - Next
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