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alloftheimaginesblog · 2 years

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panic {e.m}

Plot: Eddie is the person who knows you best and can calm you down when the panic creeps up.

Character: Eddie Munson x Plus Size Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Anxiety attack/panic attack, negative thinking over weight

requested by anon

part of my e.m ‘pretty eyes’ series

Exams were swiftly approaching and you couldn't help but feel the impending doom creeping up on you. You'd tried to study, tried to be as prepared as you could be for them but there was a lot riding on you to pass and get the best grades possible in order to get into your chosen college but there was too much pressure and you were crumbling beneath it all. You were barely surface level anymore, barely keeping your head above all the water.

Eddie knew that something was going on with you. You'd been cancelling plans left, right and centre recently, only seeing him when he practically had to drag you to his trailer. Even when you were with him, it was like you were in another world, always seeming so low and down and Eddie wanted to know what was going on.

So, as your boyfriend, Eddie Munson was prepared to go to any length to find out what you weren't telling him.

He knew that you wouldn't come over for no reason so Eddie told a little white lie. He hated lying to you, the two of you were very much against it but he knew that there was something that you were holding back and he needed to find out what it was. You'd pulled away from him, pulled away from yourself and he was worried. You seemed like a shadow of yourself so of course he was worried about you.

He had called you on the Friday after school and had begged for you to come over, giving an excuse of it was urgent and he needed you here immediately. His tone had been one of urgency so you complied, confused as to what was going on but when you arrived at Eddie's the first thing he said was, "Okay, don't be mad at me but everything's okay."

You frowned as you walked into the trailer, half expecting it to be on fire or something, "What's going on?"

"I lied." A pang of guilt reverberated through him as he saw the hurt on your face, "I'm really sorry, I know we don't lie and I know you hate it- I hate it too- I just- I was worried, (y/n) and-and I'm sorry." He looked sorry, to be fair to him. He looked terrified of your reaction with wide eyes and pale skin. He kept fidgeting with his rings and you knew that he was nervous about something. Usually Eddie was so confident in his choices but seeing him like this made you realise that something was wrong.

"Why did you lie?" You asked, "Why are you worried?"

"Would you have come over had I not said it was an emergency?" He asked, eyes sad.

You swallowed.

Eddie's face softened. It hurt him to know that you wouldn't have come had he not feigned the situation being an emergency but he knew that something was wrong so he gave you the benefit of the doubt. Before, Eddie would've thought it was because of him and he would've broken up with you in order to save his heart getting broken from you first but now, through your constant trust and love, Eddie was more secure in himself to not suddenly snap to the most extreme thing. He had remained calm which he was pretty proud of.

He led you over to the couch, sitting you down as he grabbed a beer from the fridge before sitting beside you, "I don't want to corner you," he admitted quietly, "but I know that you're not telling me something." Your heart beat began to quicken and you couldn't look at Eddie. Your eyes moved to look at your hands which were fidgeting with the sleeves of your jumper, "I'm worried about you, (y/n)."

God, you just wanted to cry. You hated that you'd pushed yourself so far away from the one person who was there to help you. You hated that you'd allowed yourself to become swallowed up by the ocean that was the pressure and stress you were under. You hated that you'd let it control you this much. That rising sense of panic which felt as though it was permanently nestled in the pit of your stomach began to swell and grow as though it was taking over you.

"I just want to help you."

"I-I-"

The panic was reaching out, grabbing onto the inside of you to drag its way up and up and up. It took control of your lungs, squeezing them and making them feel like they couldn't function properly. Your breathing hitched as you tried to suck in a deep breath trying to offset the panic but it didn't work.

"Babe? Are you okay?"

"I-I can't breathe-"

The panic's icy cold hands reached out, squeezing on your heart, repeatedly pumping it harder and faster until you were so aware of it painfully battering off of your ribs. As the panic crept up to your chest, squeezing it, your eyes snapped to Eddie's and he could see the terror. It didn't take long before the panic had taken your vision, replacing it with bleary, blurry vision instead and had taken over the rational side of your brain, replacing it with the negative, scary thoughts.

Eddie was quick to jump into action. He moved from his place on the couch and propped himself on his knees in front of you, grabbing one of your hands tightly, "Hey, hey, you're okay," he said quickly, voice with an edge of fear but mainly calm, "(y/n), look at me. You're okay."

You blinked hard, squinting as you tried your best to focus on him but the panic was too much, it was interfering with your scenes and you couldn't focus, "I-I can't, Eddie. I- I can't see-"

"Close your eyes," he cut over you, "You don't need to see me. Close your eyes, (y/n)."

You could barely concentrate on what he was saying, the sound of your racing heart filling your ears like a drum banging loudly in your head. You felt dizzy, world spinning and tilting as you struggled to take a decent breath.

"Hey," his voice was louder but calm, "close those pretty eyes for me." You did and it helped to take the edge off. If you closed them, you couldn't freak out about not seeing, "Good, good, well done," he cooed, thumbs running over your knuckles, "Next we're going to slow our breathing, okay?"

"I-I'm so stressed, Eddie-" you choked out, "So- so fucking stressed. E-Exams and s-studying- and- and-"

"Shh, love, it's okay." He had to stop you from thinking about it or else it would get bad - well worse - really quickly, "Let's breathe. Remember nice and slow."

But you couldn't. You couldn't stop the thoughts that swirled around your head, you couldn't help but panic more as the anxiety coursed through your body, pressing down hard on your chest and squeezing your lungs tight until you were gasping for a breath.

"I-I can't," you wailed opening your eyes, ripping your hands from Eddie's and standing up. You were trying to gulp down air but the panic wouldn't let you. You were sweating, beads forming on your forehead as you flapped your hands, eyes wide open and blurred, "T-Too hot- c-can't-"

Eddie snapped into action, flinging open the kitchen window and throwing open the door to let air in, "(y/n), you gotta try and listen to me," he said, once again taking your hands and standing in front of you but you were too far gone. Eddie felt useless, he felt like he couldn't effectively help you and then he remembered something that he'd read in a book a while ago.

He didn't know if it would work, when he'd read it even he was sceptical of its effectiveness but he thought that it would be worth trying anyway. His hands tugged you towards him as you tried to form a sentence before he pressed his lips to yours, locking you in a hard kiss.

The abruptness of it shocked you, making you blink a few times in surprise as Eddie's lips were pressed hard against your own. You were confused. He held you there for a few seconds before pulling away slowly. You had been so confused and so focused on him for those few seconds that your brain had forgotten about the panic, had forgotten about your lungs not working and now, now the rational part of your brain had kicked in again. You could breathe, not perfectly, it still hitched every now and again but it was an improvement and your heartrate slowed.

"What- What was that for?" You asked quietly, focusing on getting your words out.

"I, uh, saw it in a book," he rubbed the back of his neck, "that a kiss might shock the person having a panic attack long enough for you to lose focus of the panic and instead focus on the kiss... Gonna be honest, it was a shot in the dark, I didn't know if it would work."

You moved into him, wrapping your arms around his waist as his looped around your shoulders, squeezing you gently, "Thank you, Eds," you whispered, "I-I just got so overwhelmed. I've not-" you swallowed and Eddie knew that you couldn't talk about it just now.

"Hey," he said pulling back, "have I played you the new Metallica song on guitar yet? It's called Master of Puppets and it's fucking insane." Eddie had played it for you already, several times actually, but you knew that you needed the distraction so you allowed him to tug you into the bedroom where he sat you on the mattress which lay on the floor before he grabbed his guitar and began to play.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in the music for a while, swaying gently. Eddie watched your carefully, constantly eyeing you to make sure your breathing was slow and you weren't panicking. He was always good at providing a distraction for you, always seemed to know your limits and know when to intervene. You loved him so wholeheartedly for taking care of you during an attack. He never complained, never once got annoyed at you; he was perfect. He didn't enjoy them, he hated that you suffered with them but he took on part of the responsibility to help you out of them as best as he could.

Eddie had some experience with anxiety, though at the time he didn't know what it was. When he was a kid, he suffered a lot, it would feel like his chest was being crushed and he'd lie awake, panting and terrified. He learned his own coping mechanisms such as counting the stars he could see out of his window, trying to name every street within a two mile radius, humming a song quietly; all of those things helped shift the focus from the panic to concentrate on something different, that's why he kissed you because he knew that the shifting focus could work.

When he finished playing, he set the guitar down before crawling onto the bed beside you, pulling you down to lie with him, wrapping you both up in the duvet, "How we doing?"

You nodded, "Better... Thank you."

He shook his head, "You ready to talk about it?"

You puffed your cheeks out, "It's all a bit silly if I'm honest."

"Your feelings aren't silly," he chimed in, "let's go through them."

So you started at the beginning. You started about how stressed you'd been, "We've got exams coming and every time I try and study, every time I actually try and do something, I just can't- I can't focus, I can't concentrate. I started staying up late at night to try and see if that would help and it did... until it didn't."

He had noticed the dark circles that had been residing under your eyes for a few weeks.

"At night that's when all the bad thoughts came, telling me I wasn't good enough, I wasn't smart enough, pretty enough, skinny enough... It wasn't just the stress of exams anymore, it was everything. I felt like I was drowning under it all. My brain was attacking me, telling me I was ugly and pathetic, telling me I'd amount to nothing, telling me that you hated me, that you wouldn't love me... I..."

Eddie shook his head, "Baby, look at me, show me those pretty eyes," you looked up at him, "You are more than enough. I love your body. I don't care what size you are, it doesn't bother me or affect my love for you at all, I promise... Look at you, you're so fucking gorgeous, I love everything about you. You are so deserving of love and I am here to give you it."

You smiled up at him, "I love you, Eds."

"As for your exams, we'll study together. We have plenty of time before your exams, we'll study together and come up with a plan of action, yeah?" You nodded, "It's going to be okay, regardless of your results. One day at a time." He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, "But you have to let me help you, you can't shut yourself away from me if you do that again, you'll make it worse off for yourself. Let me help, let me take some of the pressure from you, okay?"

You nodded, moving into rest your head on his chest, "Okay..." you breathed slowly, "I won't shut you out anymore, I'm sorry by the way. I- I didn't mean to, I just got so overwhelmed and-"

He shook his head, "Hey, it's okay. I'm not mad or annoyed I just want to help, okay?"

You nodded again, promising him that you'd let him in and talk to him more. You pressed a soft kiss to his clothed chest as you lay there before Eddie started talking about his new Dungeons and Dragons campaign, he knew that when you were anxious he would talk about random topics so tonight's topic of choice was Dungeons and Dragons. You relaxed into his embrace, getting lost in his words. Already, you felt like a weight had been taken off of your shoulders. You felt ten times better after talking to Eddie and letting him in. It felt nice to be reminded that you were wanted, that you were cared about and that you had that one person who was there to listen. It wasn't long before your eyes fluttered shut and you were snoring softly on Eddie's chest.

He smiled, he always loved when you fell asleep on him, before pressing a kiss to your head, "I love you," he whispered softly, "You're gonna be fine, I promise."

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krikeymate · 1 year

Note

slight Canon divergence

What if Sam also deals with major depression because of everything that’s been going on. Tara pushing her away, not really having a focus or goals for the future outside of Tara. And if Tara doesn’t want her then what does she have to live for?

Cue her argument with Tara at the beginning of the 6 leaves her feeling so depressed that she actually tries to end her life. This way she won’t be a burden to Tara anymore and Tara wont have to deal with people coming after them. She genuinely believes Tara would be better off without her and Tara wants her to let her go and the nsuper angsty aftermath of Tara realizing that Sam is missing, Tara getting the call that Sam is in the hospital for the attempt and then the subsequent rush of guilt that just ruins her as she sits at Sam’s bed side waiting for her to recover.

Sam has depression with anxiety, Tara has anxiety with depression.

Tara wants her to let her go. But how can she? How can she let go of her whole world? Who is she without her sister? She can't do that again. Sam never realised how empty her life was until she held her sister in her arms again. She spent five long years surviving without her heart, nothing but a zombie stumbling her way through life in the hopes it would lead her back home once again. But what do you do when you find it and it shuts the door in your face?

Sam can't do anything but let the latest argument stew around in her head as she sits at the bottom of the complex stairs. Tara's right. She can't just follow her sister around for the rest of her life, can she? Tara's not like Sam. She's normal. She's going to lead a normal life: get a degree, get a real job... meet someone... settle down, have a family of her own... Sam doesn't fit into that equation. Tara... she- she wouldn't be happy with the vision of the future Sam holds. One where they're eternally young and wrapped in each other's arms, where no one can rip the other away from them.

Sam finds she can't sit there any longer. She needs fresh air, she needs a walk.

Tara does her best not to make it obvious how hard her heart is racing as the tv drones on. She closes her eyes, trying to breathe deep. This can't be happening, not again. It's a coincidence, it has to be, it has to be. I need to just breathe and think clearly and I need... I need... I need Sam.

"Where's Sam?" Thankfully it's Mindy who pulls the words right from her brain. Tara opens her eyes to find Chad in the doorway, shaking his head. "She's not down there."

Tara finds her body moving of its own accord. Her feet take her back to her room, her hand fishing in her pocket for her phone. It rings, and rings, and rings, and- the number you have dialled cannot be rea- Tara slams the phone onto her bed in frustration. "You're supposed to pick up when I call!"

Sam feels her phone vibrating in her pocket, but can't bring herself to look at it. The night air is chilly as she sits in her still-damp shirt, but Sam doesn't really feel it. She's having trouble feeling anything at all. Her hands fiddle with a switchblade aimlessly. Open, closed. Spin it around. Open, closed. Spin it around. Open, clos- ouch. A car horn in the distance makes her jump, knife slipping and cutting into the meat of her palm.

Later, Sam will wish she knew what to say when asked why and what were you thinking. The truth is that she doesn't know why, and she wasn't really thinking at all. It was instinct, perhaps. A thirst for blood that sits in her very bones, starving for another sip, another taste. The next cut is deliberate. The sting feels delicious, it feels. There's a moment where Sam doesn't think about her sister, where she just focuses on the pain and the blood, and then the knife is slipping from her fingers to the floor, and she realises how dizzy she feels, how cold it's gotten. How deep she's cut. Oh, she thinks. Tara's gonna be so mad at me.

She manages to call 911 before she passes out.

Tara hates hospitals.

She's spent her entire life in and out of them. Usually as the patient. Somehow, being the visitor is worse.

She sits there unable to tear her eyes away from Sam's wrists, bandaged and tied down to the bedframe. A necessary precaution, just in case, the nurse told her, not unkindly. It wasn't very reassuring.

This is her fault, she knows. She knows. Sam's always been the strongest person of them all, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have a weak point, something that makes her fragile. Tara knows that weak point is her. She may as well have held the knife herself.

She scoots the chair forward, and brushes her fingers over her sister's arm. She has to do better, she thinks. She blew up at Sam tonight, and it was unacceptable. She needs to get control over herself, for her sister. She can't let what happened last year have this power over her. She's stronger than that, she has to be stronger than that. For Sam. Sam needs her.

#/mp #ask box #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #my writing tag #scream canon divergence #topic: trauma #topic: neurodivergence #topic: medical #-hospitals #trigger warning #-> self harm and suicide attempt #the depression with anxiety/anxiety with depression thing is not the same thing btw! they're two very different experiences!#i would know. i've dealt with both. they like to change hands occassionally to keep me on my toes.

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