eventually you’ll have to start choosing yourself and for yourself or when you look back it’ll be too late and you will never know what it could’ve been
shia labeouf DIE. brad pitt DIE. chris brown DIE. johnny depp DIE. cristiano ronaldo DIE. conor mcgregor DIE. die die die die die die die DIE. every single abuser DIE. if you support them DIE TWICE!
as a person who is beyond saving i loveee giving life advice. waterlogged corpse at the bottom of the ocean reminding people to swim parallel to the shore to escape a rip current
i absolutely adore your shy!reader and related so much to her! i was wondering if i could request a fic where reader is at a concert with friends and she starts having a panic attack and clark instantly notices the different in her heartbeat (he’s been listening to her heartbeat the moment she left. especially bc she had spoken about how nervous she was to go to the concert before leaving ) and he drops everything he’s doing to fly over to her and make sure he takes care of her bc she knows her panic attacks aren’t noticeable and she won’t want to tell anyone she’s having one. i’d love to see how clark would be with a gf that has severe anxiety 🥺
tysm for requesting <3
Clark Kent x reader ✩ 930 words cw: panic attack
You can’t believe that no one around you can hear your heart beating loudly in your chest. It feels like you're gonna die. It's going to be in this crowd of strangers while the band plays so loudly you can feel the beat pulse through your skull.
One second you were with your friends having fun, the next you turned and they’d disappeared. With that, the world seemed to collapse in on itself.
Your chest locks up so tightly you can barely force another breath into your lungs. Your heartbeat feels violent now, pounding against your sternum like it’s trying to claw free. Every inhale catches halfway, your throat tightening around it until it comes out in short shallow gasps.
You stumble through the crowd, bumping shoulders and muttering apologies you can’t hear yourself say. By the time you push through the venue doors out into the cool evening air, your vision has started to tunnel around the edges.
A blur in your peripheral vision approaches, pressing into your space with a hand outstretched. Another sharp jolt of panic seizes you. Given the options fight or flight, you freeze. Fuck, you’re so stupid.
With a hand still outstretched the blur morphs and transforms. It’s Clark? He’s standing with bent knees so his face is level with yours and as soon as he sees the flicker of recognition in your eyes he plants his hand gently on your shoulder in an effort to ground you.
He’s speaking, you realise vacantly. His lips are moving but the sound of his voice is eclipsed by the ringing in your ears.
“Honey…” His brows are pulled together, blue eyes flooded with concern. “Let’s sit down, okay? You’re okay.”
You can’t process anything beyond your panic but you know he’s asking something and Clark has never steered you wrong before. There's still not enough air to answer so you just nod.
His hand never leaves your shoulder as he guides you to the steps that lead up to the venue. He pushes you to sit down and settles beside you quickly, staying close enough that you’d know even without looking that he’s there.
“It’s okay, you’re okay.” He murmurs, his voice is too quiet. “Head between your knees. Big deep breaths, baby.” His palm slides carefully between your shoulder blades.
The gentle pressure encourages you forward and your body folds almost automatically.
You try to take deep gasping breaths while hot tears start to fall from your eyes. You dig your nails into your palm with clenched fists to try to ground yourself.
Clarks hand is warm where it stays on your back. You focus on him and the pattern of the floor while you wait to come back into your own body.
“It’s okay.” He repeats, his hand moving in slow passes up and down your back. “Everything’s okay, just try to relax.”
You're crying in earnest now. A running nose and shuddering breaths that consume you. Clark is patient and steady, his exaggerated calm breathing starting to anchor you in place.
“Sorry.” you whimper, finally having enough air in your lungs.
“Don’t apologise,” he says, sounding a little heartbroken. “You’re great. You’re good, sweetheart.”
It's the first time you're hearing his voice clearly and it’s the final push you need. You sit back upright with shaky limbs, wiping uselessly at your face. When you turn towards Clark, the worry clouding his features is still visible but he has a sympathetic smile.
You're confused. How did he get here? You don’t remember sending him a text and, honestly, it would’ve been a miracle if you had in your current state.
“Why are you here?” you sniffle, voice small.
His smile turns sheepish and tilts his head to the side almost like a shrug without his shoulders.
“I was listening, just in case.”
Nothing about his statement does anything to alleviate your confusion. Clark realises and while he lifts a hand to wipe at the tears still falling he purposefully and quickly drops his gaze to your chest before lifting it again.
What?
…Oh.
“My heart?” you ask quietly and Clark nods. It’s strangely comforting, discovering yet another impossible little detail about your boyfriend's impossible life.
The tears have mostly stopped now, your breathing interrupted only by the occasional lingering hitch.
“Is…” You sniff. “Is that hard to do?”
“Not really.” he shrugs, some of the worry leaving his face now that you're talking easier.
It's kind of crazy, he definitely didn’t tell you about this when you had the whole I’m Superman conversation.
“What?” you whisper. “You can just pick out a specific person's heartbeat from miles across the city?”
“Oh, uh, No.” He answers sheepishly. Clark slides his arm around your shoulders, pulling you carefully against his side as a shiver runs through you. “Just yours, really. We spend so much time together, and I love you and I know you, so keeping track of yours is easy.”
“Oh…” you sigh, trying to piece that all together. It’s a tricky thing to think about as the adrenaline fades, your senses dulling as you relax in Clark’s hold. “I love you, too.”
He smiles this great lovestruck smile and you feel the gentle pressure of his lips against your temple. Neither of you speaks for a while. You listen to the muffled music that spills out of the venue doors every time they’re opened. His thumb traces absent circles against your arm until your breathing is completely steady again.
Influencer brothers Andrew and Tristan Tate have been arrested by federal authorities Saturday in Miami, according to U.S. Marshals Service.
Some news in the manosphere right now, not that anyone wanted to know.
Apparently they are being prosecuted for additional sexual offenses:
The CPS has decided to prosecute Andrew Tate, 39, with seven further counts of rape, three counts of arranging or facilitating trafficking for sexual exploitation, three counts of assault occasioning actual bodily harm and 19 additional charges for offences relating to indecent images of a child and extreme pornography. The CPS has decided to prosecute Tristan Tate, 38, with one count of sexual assault, two counts of rape and three counts of arranging or facilitating trafficking for sexual exploitation.
For those not in the know, Andrew Tate is kind of notorious for marketing sex trafficking as an alpha male lifestyle
It's a shame your a terf. You'd be so much cooler if you were a cute lil enby like me, you could be spending your time getting kisses and cuddles and headpats from other enbies, and resisting capitalism, and sacrificing to ancient gods, and covering your body in cool tattoos and piercings, and maybe getting top surgery or nullification, and never having what society considers a real job. Instead you're stuck living the miserable life of a conformist, becoming angry at those more free then you are.
“It’s a shame [you’re] a [woman]. You’d be so much [more palatable] if you were [to assume a performative, trend-driven identity] like me, you could be spending your time [seeking validation] from [others], and [prioritising superficial aesthetics over meaningful action], and maybe [undergoing unnecessary, invasive medical procedures to disassociate from the reality of being female], and never having [financial independence]. Instead you’re stuck living the miserable life of [an adult], becoming angry at those [who choose to live in fantasy].”
areudirty
dailybridgerton
theartofmadeline
amandla
origamiaround
prguitarman
germansingergirl
