#I’m in a major depressive episode right now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

francis-writes · 6 months

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I’m extremely shy at making requests but I need more feyd x male reader in my life and I’m obsessed with lingerie and pierced nipples being involved so just take that as you will and I will love whatever you write. ❤️

A/N: hi, i hope it's good enough<3 i couldn't wait to write this request, especially since i got out of my depressive episode and I started another attempt to stay sober.

Includes: lingerie, nipple piercings, nipple clamps, ass fingering, handjob, amab anatomy, licking cum

(No proof-read so sorry for potential mistakes and autocorrect)

You didn't remember the last time you were dressed up like that in the bedroom - not that you or Feyd didn't enjoy revealing lingerie, it was rather the opposite... but with all the things going on on Arrakis and the greater than usually turmoil between Major Houses, you had much less time for properly pleasing each other or indulging in your passions. You could only enjoy quick fucking in breaks from his political duties (rest of the court didn't appreciate him leaving once in awhile, but they wouldn’t rather risk his threats) or tired sex when you could finally rest in your chamber at evening.

But now situation calmed down a bit. You knew that life would never be peaceful while living with heir to one of the most powerful - and perhaps the most hated - Houses. But you made your choice. And you still could count on days like this, when you could rest and have you only to each other.

You put a long black robe on yourself and entered the bedroom. Feyd already waited for you, laying stretched out on the bed, with his hand under his head. When he saw you, he sat up, staring at you with a smile.

"Are you going to stay in that robe for the whole night?" He asked teasingly.

You didn't reply and simply took off the robe, revealing what you wore underneath. Feyd looked at you with a mix of desire and surprise because you decided not to tell him about the outfit you planned.

You wore black pleaser shoes (at first you didn't feel that sure about trying such a high heel, but seeing effect in the mirror gave you more confidence), dark stockings pinned to lacy pants, and the last element was corset, ending right under your chest. You knew that sooner or later this corset will end up thrown on the floor, but you didn't want to cover your nipple piercings even for a moment. It was seemingly a simple detail, but you knew that it drew Feyd wild. Now he was eyeing you up with a clear excitement.

"Do we have any occasion today? Or did you just decide to provide me special entertainment?"

You walked to the bed, enjoying the sound of the heels clicking on the floor. From his smile, you could see that Feyd already enjoyed this evening without even touching you.

"Lets say that I just missed taking my time with you"

You sat on the bed and started caressing his leg, focusing especially on his inner thigh. You could notice that his breathing got heavier but he still controlled himself and kept observing you carefully as if he planned his next moves. Finally he reached out and grabbed your waist, just to pull you on his lap. You kneeled on the bed, with his legs between yours. His hands started wandering across your body - from your legs, ass, over your sides and to your shoulders.

"I almost feel bad about ruining this outfit"

You kissed his neck and sucked his skin, not caring if he's gonna have to cover the marks letter. When he gasped, you leaned back and smiled to him, just to add:

"With an emphasis on >almost<"

Feyd just smirked and pushed you, so you landed on your back. He crawled on top of you and pinned you to the bed with one hand, just to lean over and start kissing your nipples, suck on them and playing with piercings, using his tongue. At the same time, his other hand grabbed your thigh and tried to lift it. Almost absent-mindedly you followed his action and put that legs on his back. Without interrupting playing with your nipples, Feyd smiled to himself, enjoying your submission to his actions. He unfastened the stocking from your pants, revealing bare skin of your leg. Now his hand was caressing your thigh and squeezing the soft flesh. You gasped under the next sensations but still you waited for more; this night you wanted just to please him and to submit yourself to him completely. You would like to touch him as well and kiss his body but he was still pinning you to the bed. His grip wasn't too tight but getting up would stop his caresses and you didn't have strength of will required for this decision.

Feyd's hand slowly wandered lower, now grabbing your ass and squeezing it. You still kept your eyes half-lidded as you were enjoying the caresses, but then his hand slided under the material of the panties, he pressed his finger to your butthole and began massaging it. You moaned quietly and tried to put your legs in position that would give him better and easier access.

Feyd noticed your movement with amusement. He liked how obedient and easy to control you became in bed. Of course, there were times when he let you took charge (and he enjoyed it more than he expected before), but usually when you got aroused, all your self-restraints disappeared and he could use your body however he wanted.

He spat on his finger and continued massaging your butt, pressing a bit harder than before. You shivered slightly and let out another gasp. He loved pain and tortures (to be honest, he liked equally to give and receive them) but he liked as well more delicate moments, when you were just caressing and gently exploring each other’s bodies; he also always made sure you got your satisfaction, especially that seeing you writhe in pleasure just from his touches, pumped his ego (and other parts of his body).

He interrupted his actions to move back a bit and pull off your pants so they wouldn’t get in the way later.

You opened your eyes and looked at him. Feyd just smirked, noticing your interest.

"Don't worry, pet, I am not finished with you yet" he said with his low, raspy voice.

He reached to the drawer of your bedside cabinet (that actually served as a collection of the "everyday necessities", meaning some of the basic toys and devices that you liked to have close at hand) and took out nipple clamps connected with a chain. Feyd kneeled between your legs, put the clamps on your nipples and yanked the chain. You let out a short moan. You got used to pain a bit, thanks to your experiments with Feyd, but your nipples remained very sensitive and the clamps were tight.

He spat on his finger and this time he slided it inside. Not very deep at first, he started with small movements to make you relax and get used to the feeling. Before going further, he took your dick in his other hand and started jerking you off, this time going fast and hard without hesitation. You slightly arched your back and moaned louder than before, not expecting that sudden shift in stimulation. Especially that as you got more aroused, Feyd also started to finger your ass deeper and faster. Your legs twitched but you clenched your hands on the sheets, trying to stay in place. Despite your desire to last as long as possible, you could feel being close to the edge, so you gathered your strength to ask:

"Feyd... can I cum?"

He smiled and replied without interrupting his moves:

"Go on, tonight I won't stop your satisfaction"

Not long later, you tilted your heard back and gasped, as your whole body relaxed after final wave of pleasure. Your cum ran down your dick, covering Feyd's hand. He brought it to your mouth.

"Lick it off"

You obediently licked his hand and sucked on his fingers, making sure to left it completely clean. When you finished, you looked at him with a slight embarassment.

"I'm sorry that I didn't last longer-"

Before you said anything more, he grabbed your chin and kissed you. Then he looked at you with a smirk.

"Who said that we're finished? I still have to get my pleasure"

#feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x male reader #feyd rautha #dune imagine

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frozenjokes · 20 days

Text

Penguins

TW: Grian has major depressive disorder and is going through a severe depressive episode. There are allusions to suicidal ideation, thoughts that are not explored in detail, but are present in this fic. No one is physically harmed, no one tries to harm anyone else, and the themes are mostly hopeful.

“Hey,” Scar waved as he ducked inside Grian’s apartment, a wreck as it was, but Grian didn’t care to clean up, “How are you holding up?”

“Hey,” Grian mumbled from his place on the couch, bundled up in six or seven different blankets. He didn’t entirely know how to answer that question, but Scar could probably assume not good since Grian had asked him to come over in the first place. They hadn’t seen each other since returning from the island, nearly a week now, but not from Scar’s lack of trying.. mostly. They probably both could have stood to try and speak to each other more. “I don’t know,” he decided, finally, “Depressed. But that’s normal. Maybe a little more depressed than average.”

“Hm. Want to go to the zoo?”

Grian snorted a short laugh, but shook his head, “I most definitely do not want to go to the zoo.”

“Darn. What about a hug?”

“I could use a hug.”

Grian tried to sit up, though he struggled within the confines of his self imposed prison, Scar helping him upright with a small chuckle and wrapping him in a hug given unconditionally to anyone that might need it. Grian closed his eyes. It didn’t have to matter that things were rocky between them, not right now. It didn’t have to matter because it didn’t matter to Scar, he would drop anything in an instant for anyone, but..

Grian wanted it to matter. He needed it to matter because he was so tired of this mattering, he didn’t want his world to be in so many pieces anymore, worsened by him and Scar continuing the stomp on the glass. He was too broken to go on like this.

“I don’t like the way things are between us right now.” Grian felt Scar tense around him, but pushed on through a choked up windpipe, “I was really confused about you. I like you, I like you so much, and I haven’t been able to stop, nor do I really want to. I know you feel.. it’s not that you don’t feel the same, you just feel those things differently, and I thought I knew what ‘differently’ meant, but I’ve realized I don’t really know anything at all. And I want to. I want to know.”

Scar was quiet for a long moment, the tension not leaving his arms, “I don’t know if I’m understanding. Could you be clearer?” The meek way he spoke was dizzying, and Grian was relieved he had someone to carry him.

“I want to know how you’d feel about dating. Don’t spare my feelings. Please. Just tell me how it is for you.”

“Okay,” Scar breathed, wavering, like the idea seized his heart just as completely as Grian was paralyzed under its weight. “I don’t mind it, dating. I like it, I do like it, but with you I’m afraid it might be just as stressful as whatever’s happening between us right now. Still, I don’t want to stop doing what we’re doing now. I know it’s bad for me. It’s bad for you. But I like you. I really like you, even when I’m angry at you. Even when it’s bad for me.”

“I don’t think I can carry on doing what we’re doing right now. I’m seriously.. I’m not in good shape, Scar. I’m really not in good shape. And it’s not just about you. It’s not even about Mumbo, my hand. Those things are there, piling up on the massive amount of- bullshit is the word I want to use, but that implies an emotional attachment I feel like I’ve lost the ability to feel. I’m exhausted. The weight of all my issues are latched to my ankles and the only way I can keep going is to just drag myself across the sidewalk by my fingernails. Who knows if I’ll make rent this month. I can’t afford not to care, but I’m too drained to get out of bed before 1:00. I haven’t left the house all week. I don’t-“ Grian’s voice cracked and he needed to stop talking.

Scar considered him for a long while. “I’m not so sure this is about dating.”

Grian didn’t know what to say. The words left him anyway. “I just want it to stop.” Scar stilled. Maybe he didn’t know what that meant, and Grian didn’t either.

“Let me help you with your rent this month, G. When is it due?”

Grian shook his head, he meant to do so violently, but instead he only jerked weakly into Scar’s shoulder, wretched when he spoke. “I already owe Jim money. I can’t- I can’t.” Scar didn’t know Jimmy, but that didn’t seem to matter.

“Are you still unemployed?”

“I don’t- Yes, but..”

“Then let me offer you a job. I’ll find a place for you, temporary or permanent if you like. Pearl and Impulse already love you, and everyone loves Pearl and Impy, the whole staff will take a shine to you, I promise. Hm. We don’t really have many fish besides the ones we feed the animals. Do you like penguins Grian? Oh you’d love the penguins, they’re like land fish if you squint and also don’t look at them at all. We have an underground area where you can see them swimming and hanging out and such, have you been down there before? Training can start tomorrow, we’ll log your hours in the meantime while I get you in the system.”

Grian didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to. There were about a thousand reasons he didn’t want to, but about a thousand more he couldn’t stand to fight this. Too tired. He was much, much too tired. So he didn’t say anything. Maybe that caused some concern in Scar.

“Why don’t we pack you a night bag? Something with a change of clothes for tomorrow that you can bring to my place, then in the morning we can drive together! We could have a classic sleepover, build pillow forts and read scary stories under the blankets. I could invite Bdubs! Cleo? I guess you don’t know either of them too well.. Pearl and Impulse? Any of your friends? I don’t have to know them, we could have a whole meet up!”

Grian wanted to cut in but couldn’t when Scar just kept talking, he wouldn’t stop, and Grian had to wait for him to burn himself out before he could say his peace.

“No. I can’t do that. I don’t want to see anyone. I can’t explain my hand and I can’t come up with an excuse. I don’t.. I can’t stay with you either.”

“Separate rooms, Grian, separate rooms,” Scar’s voice was yearning, the kind of energy that sucked the life right out of Grian’s lungs. It was that, the energy. Too much energy when he just wanted to be alone. Why had he called Scar again?

“No. I don’t want to stay with you.”

“Then I’ll stay here. I keep an extra uniform in the office, so it’s not super ideal, but I’ll just change at the zoo. We’ll keep it quiet, watch a movie if you want to, I’ll make you a nice dinner and we can eat together, yeah?”

“Scar,” Grian was wretched, the closest he’d come to crying after he thought he’d never have the energy to sob again, not that exhaustion the convulsions of his lungs and heart at the tattered breaths he couldn’t quite take completely, “I don’t want you here.”

He hadn’t meant the words harshly, only coming blunt with the absence of brainpower to reorganize them into something more civil, but Scar didn’t look necessarily like he took it personally. He just looked worried, concern continuing to crease the line of his brow at every passing moment.

“Someone else then, someone close to you. Someone who could stay the night, I could call them for you if you needed me to. Etho.. Etho mentioned you were saying some pretty bad things before we all got off the boat, I must’ve missed it with the trance thing but- I mean- I just don’t want you to be alone tonight, that’s all.”

And Grian understood. He understood maybe too late what Scar was worried about, mind too slow to call to mind the kind of dangerous trains of thought abysmally depressed people got up to in the quiet. He snorted, near silent, though the feeling was indignant. As if he had the energy. Grian closed his eyes, though this didn’t relieve the pervasive dry ache under his lids. When had this gotten so bad? What had he done wrong? It was better to think he’d done something wrong than to know he simply was wrong, that he could take his pills and meet his therapists and still it would not change the fact he walked his life on shifting sand, too petrified of falling to notice he’d already been sinking for months. And now, head below the grain, he finally noticed he couldn’t breathe, and the life-giving light of the sun could not reach him here, smothered below the surface. Funny, how it sneaks up on you like that. She’s a clever beast, depression.

“Stay, then,” Grian croaked, answering to the accusation that Scar had not spoken aloud, “If you need to, then stay.” He wriggled slightly in Scar’s arm’s which was enough to get him to release, Grian settling back into position on the couch. The all consuming need to be held had turned to some sick aversion, his misery of isolation flipping ruthlessly to misery he wouldn’t be left alone. Scar was left to sit beside him, though there was not enough room to fit comfortably with Grian laying across the whole couch. Scar looked away. Grian saw him fiddle with his hands.

“I hope you’re not upset with me. I’d be just as happy to leave if you’d rather someone else stay, or I could drive you someplace to stay with them.”

Grian shook his head. “It’s a shitshow.”

“What?”

“Me, sometimes. Most of the time.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so!”

Grian snorted. “You don’t know.”

Scar was quiet for a long moment, green eyes dull in the low light, boring into the mangy carpet below. He looked up, meeting Grian’s much darker eyes with an emotion so intense that Grian’s own mind waned at the smallest attempt of feeling it. “I would like to.”

And maybe Grian believed him. It was a striking thing to believe him, when Grian often did not in the case of other friends and family repeating that same sentiment, no matter how genuine their intention. He struggled to believe them because he was depressed, that much was true, but his knowing these doubts were not rational did not stop Grian from having them.

They, most people that is, did not know the mess behind his eyes. The tar that coated the filing cabinets in his mind, his legs, his hands, until every movement was an inconvenience, every inconvenience a spark, every spark striking the dry tinder of his bitterness, building the ever growing flame of disorganized anger and frustration and erratic neuroticism that made him a deeply unpleasant person to exist around, and much worse to love. But Scar had seen it. Scar had seen it already, the ugly, obnoxious, hateful thing Grian was, impulsive and brash and mean, Scar had seen it, he’d been seeing it for months, stretching out his own hand, clawed and spiteful and equally vile, and he’d set a dance for the two of them, spinning and swinging and snapping and screeching until the both of their feet were raw, legs shaky, hearts broken, but more than broken, exhausted. Scar had seen Grian. Scar knew him, and it did not scare him, nor did Scar’s cruelties bother Grian. So Grian believed him, and while he was not pleased, he was resigned to how this night was going to go.

“Then.. I guess that’s fine with me.”

***

It was not glamorous, as all things with depression typically go.

The world blurred by whether he was inside or out, with people or not, resting or active, asleep or awake. The kind of sickness that did not ease regardless of the time spent on his phone, with his friends, in therapy, trying different medications.. all of those things felt a little like standing at the shoreline, the waves waxing and waning past your ankles, a feeling at the periferie of your mind. The same thing could be helpful one moment, the relief of cool water over your toes, then abysmally frustrating the next, happiness retreating back into the ocean, seemingly never to be seen again. Grian didn’t seem to be able to control these feelings either, whether an activity was good or bad was a surprise to him as much as it was to everyone else, and often flipped on a dime, usually for the worse. The arbitrary nature in it of itself was a cause of extreme frustration. (Grian thought he’d learned to accept this part of his chronic depression, but as with most things he had declared to accept for what they were, he was wrong.)

But some things did make it better, even if Grian was physically incapable of feeling much more than stress. Items which were going well for him he simply found reasons for them to be stressful, but in hindsight, he simply lacked the ability to see small miracles for what they were.

The zoo, as much as he loathed it most days, was good. Having a job, a reason to coax himself out of the house, that was good. Having money. Not a lot of money, barely enough, but enough to make rent. To pay Jimmy back. To chip in for gas occasionally, when his various friends would let him.

Grian did not have the energy to work a 40 hour week, he struggled even to work a feasible part time job, but Scar was so massively accommodating it hurt. Grian worked about four days a week, three or four hours a day, with some flexibility. There was just as much relief as there was misery in how clear it was that Scar did not need him at the zoo, but he tried to ignore it, compensating by doing the menial and/or tedious tasks most of the other staff would rather shell off to interns, which, by all accounts, Grian filled the role. He was not qualified or allowed to be in close contact with most of the animals, which didn’t bother him at all, and he was often shuffled off between Impulse and Pearl for various chores and housekeeping. He drove himself some days, but found himself to be too dangerous to trust on the road with others, and got some help from Jimmy and/or Joel with rides, as well as Scar and occasionally Pearl or Impulse if one of them happened to be heading out around the same time Grian was. It was odd and stressful relying on so many people like this, but affirmations helped, and the fact that Joel and Lizzie had flexible schedules due to their work as content creators helped even more. Grian still felt bad, but as Jimmy so aptly put one day, ‘You feel bad about everything, those are fake feelings, and you better tell those imposters to shove it before I climb in through your ears and give ‘em a piece of my mind.’ It didn’t stop Grian from feeling bad, but the looming threat of Jimmy sticking his fingers in Grian’s ears was enough to quell him most days.

Grian didn’t actually see Scar very much during the day. He seemed to disappear into thin air, only to be seen out of the corner of his eye in odd places like a Loch Ness monster level myth. Some days Grian missed him, longing for the company of someone sickeningly positive, who held enough energy to knock him clean off his feet. A lot of days Grian was glad for it, bitter and angry that he was here instead of home, that this wasn’t helping, that he was worse off as a zookeeper errand boy than napping at home. He was suspicious of Scar, feelings not his own but prevalent nonetheless, that Scar thought of himself as some kind of savior, that putting Grian to work was some kind of holy act, when in reality he was only drawing out Grian’s suffering.

But Scar was right about one thing, and this was something Grian could not deny or resent him for; it didn’t even trigger his benign paranoia.

Grian liked the penguins.

He wouldn’t say he avoided them week one, because while that would have been petty and extremely in character for him, his brain was too scrambled to even think about it. He’d forgotten Scar had even mentioned penguins until he ended up next to the building at the end of his work day mid-week two. It was hot, he was exhausted, but he was waiting on a ride, and while he would have sat outside regardless of his discomfort, the penguins were right there, and it had to be cool in there, right?

It was indeed, but not uncomfortably so. It was dark, and at 2:00 o’ clock on a weekday, the building was closer to empty than anything. It was quiet. Grian found himself wandering the building like a ghost, glancing at the various exhibits, then relieved to see the penguins had a large area to sit.

So he did. And he watched.

They were very cute. They were clumsy and uncoordinated, running into each other and falling over, and while they weren’t overly active, there were so many that there was always something to look at, or at least the threat of something about to happen, a penguin eying the water or another penguin squirming, settling. Grian found them easy to anthropomorphize, but just as the seeds of human-esc penguin drama were forming in his head, he got the call from Joel. Grian was not so enamored as to be disappointed he had to go, but with time that would change.

Grian could not tell them apart, but he did give them names. These names were assigned to whichever penguin he decided fit the role day by day; Turbo had a very high opinion of herself, always swimming and exiting the water with little care for whoever was in her way, Brittany and Sox were always together, huge gossips, just as obnoxious, Mayonnaise was the cool, mysterious type, he kept to himself, but the others were drawn to him regardless, and Max was a bit strange, but she had her friends, and they all got on well together. There were cliques too; Kickflip, Popcorn, and Baxter were always together, talking shit and ruling the ice under an iron wing, though most of the other penguins found them quite annoying, humoring them just enough to get them to leave the rest of the penguins alone. Poppy, Trippy, Slipknot, and Munch were living in their own world, no one else in their penguin habitar able to get them down except each other; there was a lot of relationship drama, everyone in that flock was a total mess.

In the middle of night, week five, Grian was struck wide awake by the desire to go see his penguins. The kind of thought that left you staring at the ceiling, gaping near drooling, shocked into stillness at the simple sentiment of wanting something. Grian hadn’t wanted anything other than to go home, sleep, and/or waste away for over a month, and he hadn’t anticipated that changing any time soon when getting out of bed was just as bleak and miserable as it was before. He nearly called Scar. He had to go see the penguins. Then the other apathetic 95% of him set in, along with the logical recognition that it was 2:30 AM, Scar was asleep, the penguins were asleep, he should be asleep, and also he didn’t want to do any of that shit anyway.

He did not go back to sleep.

Grian did not go to the zoo the next day either, mostly because he wasn’t working, which would have been entirely enough on a normal day; case closed, he didn’t have work so he wasn’t going to go to work, thank god, right?

This was the oddest part of depression; to see a spark of light and instinctively cover his eyes, to bury deeper under the sand, to smother himself when he forgot what it was like to breathe, because learning to do so again was more terrifying than continuing to waste. He was used to coaxing himself forward and hating every step. He wasn’t ready for it to be easier, mentally easier, but still so impossibly hard.

This was the worst part. Where he was no longer a miserable mind trapped in a dead body, but the same mind given the power to move, to act. Who might he hurt in the path of his own destruction? A mother? Student? Someone with potential, promise? Selfish, selfish. He considered hospitalization for the first time, if only for the benefit of the world rather than himself. Jimmy had suggested it weeks prior, but Grian had dismissed the thought, too exhausted to even consider checking his sorry ass into the hospital. But even now, all it would do was keep him safe, then he’d burn through his non-existent savings for the sole purpose of not dying, and what was the point of that? Hospitalization would not help him. It would not fix him, just like pills and therapy and going outside would not fix him. Even if it kept Grian’s condition from worsening it would not be worth it, and honestly, given the state of some hospitals, the dreary, hopeless misery that permeated the halls, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility he’d leave worse than he came in. And who gave a fuck if he got worse? He would never be better, never, he would never be better, he would grapple with this monster his entire life, and was it really- seriously, was it really worth it?

“Hey, Grian, what’s up?”

Grian hadn’t remembered dialing Jimmy’s number. He didn’t even remember picking up his phone.

“Grian?”

“Can you take my keys?”

“What?”

“My car keys. Can you take them?”

Jimmy knew what it meant. He knew. “I’ll be over as soon as I can, I’m leaving now. Ten minutes, probably? How about we stay on the phone.”

Grian agreed, quietly. He did not have much of a choice, but he would not have hung up even if Jimmy had never suggested he stay. He was afraid. Afraid of getting better, spurred into wretchedness by glimpsing a spark of light in the all encompassing, sticky darkness. Pathetic, utterly.

***

He took Jimmy to see the penguins. He took Joel, then Joel again but this time with Lizzie, he made Pearl come see them and Impulse too, despite the fact they’d both seen the penguins hundreds of times. He wished he could take Mumbo. It was the first time he’d thought of Mumbo in weeks, months maybe. Time passed oddly.

The stories Grian had weaved about his penguins had become intricate sagas, no longer kept secret, shared with anyone who would listen to him ramble on and on. He started to recognize them in earnest, no longer guessing when assigning them their names, and every single penguin had a name now, they were all part of his story, vast and important.

Grian did not take Scar. Not out of malice or anything adjacent, Grian just rarely saw him during the work day, even when he started to work more hours. When Grian did see Scar, he was usually busy, caught up with wrestling bears or entertaining crowds or whatever else it was that he did. Scar was a little intimidating to approach during the day, and while Grian saw him after work plenty often (usually against his will, but Scar was the pushy type), he felt a little silly asking Scar to go back to the zoo with him, despite knowing Scar would be delighted to do so.

But eventually, when the penguin house was quiet and Grian was alone, Scar found him. If Grian was being honest with himself, he’d expected Scar to ruin the mood, loud and brash as he was, but Scar seemed to understand the atmosphere he’d established, silent as he walked up behind Grian, then sidled around the bench, sitting beside him. Grian was startled to see him, guilt prickling at the edges of his mind, but Scar’s smile was kind, the soft light of the exhibit catching his face flatteringly.

“I keep hearing about these penguins second hand!” he said, the exclamation persevered in a whisper, “I feel like I’ve been trying to catch you here for weeks, you just slip away!”

“I don’t visit unpredictably,” Grian snorted, amusing himself with the thought of banter, “At the end of my shift, every day. Don’t you make my schedule?”

“Just because a man writes your hours does not mean he goes and memorizes it! Pearl and Impulse do more work ordering you around than I do anyway, they have far more to say about when you come in.”

“I don’t see how this stops you from checking my schedule and finding out exactly when I’m here.”

“You think I have time for that?”

“If you have time to look for me with the penguins, yes, I do think you have time.”

Scar inclined his head back, nodding thoughtfully. “Yes, I guess that’s true. If you hate fun.”

“Irrelevant.” Grian pointed an accusatory finger, poorly hiding his own smirk, “This isn’t about fun, I might even argue this isn’t about wasting time either, I think you’re just lazy.”

“What are you, a lawyer?”

“But laziness doesn’t quite fit, does it. It would save you time to check my schedule, and ultimately it would save you trips to the penguins as well, checking to see if I’m here. Laziness might be a factor; you’d rather check the penguins than glance at my schedule, but I think something else is going on here..”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“I think..” Grian drew out the words, Scar leaning forward on his hands.

“Come on, G! I’m on the edge of my seat here!”

“I think you like penguins!” Grian stabbed his pointer finger into Scar’s chest, the other yelping in sharp surprise and throwing his hands up in defense.

“Well if that’s the case, I’d say you’re probably right! I do like penguins. I can’t say I like them as much as you do though, there are certain areas of animal enjoyment of which I can not compete. You, sir, are the penguin king.”

“Not true.” Grian corrected him, having some success keeping his straight face, “The penguins do not have a monarchy, they don’t even have leaders, no matter what The Iron Wings have to say about it. You can humor them, but it won’t stop you from getting pushed around, no sir.”

Scar sat back, arms crossed and relaxed. “Please, tell me more.”

“Those three,” Grian pointed to one corner of the enclosure, where three of the larger penguins were congregated, huddled together, “Kickflip. Popcorn. Baxter. Those are the guys you gotta look out for, they’d like very much to disrupt the peace of the metropolis. Establish an oligarchy, take control. Secretly, they’re all in a relationship together, but they can’t let word get out, because penguin polyamory isn’t a socially accepted form of love yet. It was a long road of acceptance to get to the point where they could all confess their feelings to each other, a lot of ups and downs and sick jealousy, but they’ve made it, and they’re happier than they’ve ever been. The politics are really important to those guys, so this is a really big deal to them, but they’ve kinda failed to realize no one else gives a fuck. Don’t tell them that though, they’d throw a real stink about it. More than anything, the three of them just want to be taken seriously. Unfortunately they’ve gone about it by being assholes. Everyone finds them really annoying, but saying so just leads to more trouble than it’s worth.”

“I see, I see,” Scar nodded, like the matter was one of grave importance, “What about the people? What part do they play in penguin society?”

“Oh, people? I don’t care about the people.”

“I would think they play a pivotal role in penguin life given they’re always watching. Feeding them, caring for them, you know.”

“Well sure, but who cares about people when you can think about the penguins. I’m here for the penguins. They like people because people feed them, but in the end, people are irrelevant. This is about each other.”

Scar chuckled, “If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

Scar sighed, a content kind of sound, one that lead nicely back to the comfy quiet of the penguin exhibit, dark and cool and safe. They watched in silence together, only broken occasionally by Scar asking a question, or Grian pointing out a certain behavior that contributed to the plot of his penguin soap opera. It was nice, surprisingly lower energy than the regaling of the penguin characters typically were to Grian’s other friends, but maybe that’s because Scar found him first, Scar was asking the questions, and there was no rush to keep his attention. A good thing, decidedly. Very good.

“How’ve you been feeling lately?” was a question that seemed to come out of nowhere, a question Grian liked much less. Maybe Scar noticed, because he followed up quickly, “You look well. Every time I see you I feel like you look a little better, and maybe it's not true- it doesn’t have to be true of course, I’ve just been glad for you.”

“I’m fine.” Grian answered a little more tersely than he’d meant to, but he didn’t correct himself. Scar’s face fell.

“You’re not well?”

Grian shrugged, struggling not to be frustrated. “I’m fine. Not good. Not bad. Just fine. Probably starting to level out to the normal feeling of mildly shitty all the time. Planned a small fishing thing with Gem, we’re going to be out all day Sunday. I’m looking forward to it. That’s a novelty.”

“Goodness,” Scar hissed, his frustration firing up Grian’s own anger, bristling until Scar continued on, “All the time? You feel shitty all the time? How many drugs are you on where you still feel shitty all the time, come on. Who’s your doctor? What are they doing, kicking their feet?”

Grian snorted despite himself. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you.”

“I do! This is crazy, isn’t it? How long has it been, nearly three months now? All that time of you being so sick, and nothing being done about it. That’s stupid!”

“That’s depression.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Yeah,” Grian drew in a long breath, releasing it without joy, “It’s pretty dumb. Psychiatrists don’t even know why the simplest drugs help some people and not others. It’s a mess. I try something for a few days, it doesn’t work, I try something else, suddenly I want to die more than I did before, they take me off that, put me on something else. Who knows if what I’m on now is even helping, or if that’s just time. Sometimes that’s how it feels. I have a mental health crisis, everyone in my life starts buzzing around like frightened bees, trying everything, only for time to be what brings me back to the surface. It’s not consistent either, no ‘Just hold on for three months and you’ll be good,’ it's just.. waiting. That’s depression. Why does it pass? Why does it happen in the first place? Who knows.”

“That- That feels- That is so dumb.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, dude.”

“I know,” Scar threw his hands over his eyes with a short hiss, like the failures of neuroscience and psychiatry had wronged him personally, “I’m sorry. All of this just.. I want things to be okay for you. I want you to stick around. I like when you’re around.”

Grian shrugged, unsure what he meant by the gesture even as he made it. “I guess I’m glad to hear it. I’m doing my best.”

“I appreciate that. I appreciate you.”

Grian snorted a small laugh, unsure how else to react. “You appreciate my valiant effort to not kill myself?”

“I- Yes!” Scar piped up, defensive in his confusion, or maybe alarmed by Grian’s bluntness, “And I don’t think that’s a terribly weird thing to say, either! I do appreciate you! I think you’ve been doing a very good job of it too!”

Grian laughed in earnest, shaking his head and speaking sarcastically, “I guess I have.”

“You have!” Scar lunged forward to grab Grian’s hands, both of them equally, like there wasn’t a thing wrong, like there was no part of Grian that Scar would prefer not to touch. The movement snapped Grian out of his dismal, left helplessly to stare into Scar’s wide eyes, colored blue in the low light of the penguin exhibit. “You have. And I’m glad you’re here. I’m really glad you’re here.”

Grian didn’t know what to do. What to say. Like a rubber band stretched too thin, something snapped at the back of his mind and he broke into a fit of sobs, collapsing into Scar’s arms. Ending just how he started, but not ending permanently.

It wasn’t nice, sobbing was never a nice feeling, but it didn’t have to be nice. Depression was not nice, but love could fight just as dirty, couldn’t it, catching and holding you and forcing you to see it clearly, look it in the eyes and understand that even packaged with the grime, your friends would miss you if you went away. They loved you and they were proud of you and they knew it wasn’t fair, but they saw that you kept going, even when it was hard, even when you were so afraid.

It wasn’t over. Grian was still so fragile, he knew little of how to navigate the world he’d been absent from for so long, but god, he was going to keep trying.

The penguins paid the two of them no mind. They were caught up in their own affairs.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #hermitfic #grian #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #honestly a lot of guys show up in this fic but not enough to tag them #desert duo #hermitshipping #scarian #mumbomaid au #tw: sui ideation #tw: suicidal ideation #tw: depressive thoughts #tw: depression

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yuritsukikage · 13 days

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I’m having a mix of heartfelt sadness and some sense of anger (towards a certain company) right now

I know I’m mainly a Precure fan over here but I started my journey into the Japanese language, anime and manga when I first picked up and rented that Sailor Moon S DVD at a local hobby shop.

As I was watching the Region 1 DVD, I made a decision to try to watch it in another language because the old Pioneer DVD had both English and Japanese. I, a wee little depressed year 9 student was blown away by the voice acting from the Sailor Moon Japanese voice cast that I decided to look them up on the internet and find out the women behind these iconic characters.

What I realised was these women were not only around both my parents’ ages. They were in other anime that I literally grew up in, watching their anime in English. I decided to watch some of my childhood anime in those languages, just to hear how they performed. Spoiler alert: They we’re amazing.

And that’s how I started my journey into pursuing learning the Japanese language all the way to University where I graduated with a degree in that field.

The Sailor Moon Japanese voice cast were like those aunties (yes I am Asian) or older sisters (depending on the region) that you never knew but you connected with them through the anime that you have watched over the years. You watch them grow older seeing their public photos on news sites and social media through the events they attended, as you, yourself grows older.

The fact that we lost one of them in the 8th of September 2024 will be one of the most heartbreaking things to find out for me and a lot of people this year. Coincidently the shock announcement came on the birthday of one of the beloved Sailor Senshi makes it even more tragic.

Emi Shinohara was an fantastic seiyuu/voice actress. She worked in a lot of people’s childhood shows, many of us would have known her for her role as the ever reliable, ever strong Makoto Kino/Sailor Jupiter in the 90s anime of Pretty Soldier Sailor Moon (90s Sailor Moon for short). Others would have known her for Kaho Mizuki from Cardcaptor Sakura or if you’re old, B-Ko from Project A-Ko. However the majority of people (anime normies) would have mostly known her as the voice of Kushina Uzumaki from the Naruto Shippuden anime.

Her later years in life would really reflect on her roles she would later have with the aforementioned Kushina. A lot of younger seiyuu would have known her in Fafner (I hear that anime a lot on Twitter through some of the seiyuu involved and I know the character designer for Gundam Seed worked on the designs).

Probably the roles that really stood out for me personally asides her roles in Sailor Moon and CCS, would be an obscure 2007 anime called Claymore. That anime was one of those that the unfortunate case of “manga was still ongoing while the anime was airing situation”. However props to the casting staff involved in this anime because they brought in a chunk lot of veteran seiyuu that would get to show off their years of experience into this one single 24 episode anime. Emi Shinohara was no exception to this! She voiced the ax-crazy, hella insane, ultra mega bitch Ophelia and oh boy it was a ride and an experience to listen to her voice from the beginning right to the death of her character. I personally would recommend watching this anime for the voice acting in there, not for the anime itself because of its situation at the time.

Her music prowess was no joke either. Of the original 5 seiyuu of the Sailor Moon cast, she was definitely the most experienced and you can clearly experience it though the Moon Revenge live for a Christmas event that happened 31 years ago. She has released her own albums during the 90s as well and 100% she slayed on every character song that came to her during her active years in the 90s

I really cannot believe that Emi Shinohara has left us. The Sailor Moon community is definitely in mourning right now for this iconic voice actress. Our heart goes to her husband, Tokusatsu actor Hiroshi Watari and their only son who made a heartfelt and saddening message to Shinohara’s own personal Twitter account.

And our hearts also go towards the remaining 4 seiyuu of the original Sailor Moon voice cast, who out of the two who have social media, are currently in a state of devastation and sadness to have lost a fellow cast mate who they have worked and truly bonded together on the 5 years of Sailor Moon’s airtime from 1992-1997.

In particular fellow cast mate Rica Fukami who she considered Emi Shinohara as her twin, having being born on the same year, month and day. To the point they even have their own duo name together back in the 90s as Funky Twins, where they last year held a 3 day fan live together. Who would have thought that this would be the only time they would be together for such a special occasion. Let’s not forget the constant amazing and interesting quote tweets interactions between the two of them since Shinohara started her Twitter account a few years back from the constant birthday congratulations, to recently finding a hidden Sailor Moon treasure while Rica Fukami was in the middle of decluttering. The fact that we will never get this kind of interaction ever again is heartbreaking but it will live on through the past interactions that they have shared together.

I will briefly mention my anger towards Toei for losing this once in a lifetime opportunity to reunite the original 5 Sailor Moon voice cast for the 30th anniversary of the franchise. The fact that their last public reunion together was for a DVD commemoration in Akihabara, late 2009 has given me this sense of anger, frustration and sadness inside me that I will never forgive them for. And we will never have an opportunity like this ever again.

With that part out of my head. I will now leave this insanely long message with a single part of a message that Emi Shinohara’s son has written in that post on Twitter, “the name ‘Emi Shinohara’ will continue to live on as long as people remember her voice and the roles that she has portrayed”

Thank you Mrs Emi Shinohara for the past nearly 40 years of service to the anime and voice acting industry. We, the fans, will never forget you and we definitely will look back to the voices and songs that you have given us over the years. Rest in Peace. 🕊️💚

#sailor moon #sailor jupiter #makoto kino #seiyuu #voice actress #emi shinohara #bishoujo senshi sailor moon #pretty soldier sailor moon

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blues-valentine · 2 months

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Now here’s my TSITP take that no one asked for but I finally caught up to it out of boredom and while I am not invested in any pairing and couldn’t care less about the endgame, there’s some things I’ve seen (particularly in this site) and surely I’m not the only one with this opinion because Jeremiah being considered a healthier or better alternative for Belly is legit so wrong.

I can understand why some people would prefer Jeremiah because on the outside he looks like someone that could make Belly happier since he isn’t “complicated” but him being painted as the healthier alternative to Conrad is like, wrong, Jeremiah has alarming red flags that are often ignored by his supposedly “golden retriever” persona and that’s often way more damaging long term.

The constant anger and resentment issues that results of him feeling inferior to Conrad, often seeing their entire dynamic like a competition that extends to Belly, that has been clear by his actions and narrative. I’m shocked people on this fandom pretend this isn’t a clear narrative choice. He often speaks about how Conrad is perceived as the smart one, the athletic one, the responsable one, and in general the favorite child. Of course, he gets annoyed that Belly might be into him too. It’s always been more about Conrad than it is about Belly. He projects a lot of the insecurities he feels towards Conrad on Belly. He constantly feels the need to remind her “he is the better option” out of not reason and it feels like he is looking for the moment Conrad fails or mess up as if he is counting the scores. Him only making a definitive move on Belly after he sees Belly and Conrad almost kissing — and then he fires a rocket to stop them. I see this being a whole comedic discourse but that’s a major red flag. He cannot possibly have a healthy relationship with her if he feels like he constantly needs to measure up to Conrad. After that 4th of July episode, it’s very easy to see him trying to manipulate and sabotage Conrad with Belly and purposefully make him run late. And he does so intentionally. He knows he is being sneaky. He knows he is inserting himself in there. And I’m not saying he doesn’t like Belly, he does, but why denying that his main motivator isn’t his own bother.

Now, I’m not saying Conrad isn’t also annoying. He was written as the early 00’s broody type of bad boy and I feel the series it’s trying to fix it by showing more of him but it lacks in writing. I feel he needed more polishing to take him out of the archetype. However, Conrad’s approach narratively makes sense. It’s not like he’s being that just by pure aesthetic. Jeremiah thought out Season 1 is living a complete different reality as Conrad. So, of course he feels more laidback and funny. He doesn’t know his mom is dying. He doesn’t know his dad cheated on his mother. Only Conrad knows that. Of course, it would affect his behavior to the point he is emotionally detached. Even the narrative itself tells you Conrad usually isn’t this emotionally constipated or disengaging, and that smoking is also a new behavior. The constant need to make him feel like a villain is so weird because he is clearly depressed and self isolating. Both in Season 1 and throughout Season 2. It’s called grieving the death of your mother. All of them have their own ways of dealing with their grief.

And the funny this is — Conrad knows he isn’t in the right mental state to be with Belly right now. He tries, cause you’re allowed to be happy while depressed but he clearly wasn’t able to handle the grieving process, so he puts Belly’s happiness (or what he thinks she needs) over his own cause he doesn’t think he can provide her with what she needs at the moment (and he is right about that!). He isn’t problematic. I am confused about this. Particularly because while I think he could be clearer with Belly, most of it it’s not his fault entirely. And I’ve been told that by the end of the series, Conrad isn’t the same person he was at the start. He is a mature and emotionally open young man with a medical career that he loves that has learned to deal with grief. And those are very qualities you already see on the show.

Mind you, Jeremiah’s anger and resentment towards Conrad is totally valid and I feel is more on Susannah’s and his dad upbringing that just created that animosity but isn’t it the reason why people perceive Jeremiah as a ”healthier” alternative more to do with the fact his “red flags” aren’t as visible and Conrad’s grieving process is not that “palatable” to audiences?

And the love triangle isn’t even about who is better for Belly — this is a journey about grief that frankly should’ve been the core of the story. The way I see it, Conrad’s grieving process is self isolation. Jeremiah’s grieving process is anger. And Belly’s grieving process is denial. And the majority of the time Belly is reading Conrad’s feelings as him not being as into her as she is — which is untrue. Conrad’s problem is not knowing how to communicate those emotions to her. And Belly’s swimming in insecurities that she projects on Conrad. And she’s also a people pleaser and that has been very obvious on her coddling of Jeremiah. At the end of the day, I will always root for the female character getting the one she truly loves and that clearly isn’t Jeremiah. He isn’t the love of her life and this isn’t some story about second love. It’s about two people not being ready to be together for specific circumstances. Jeremiah is the one that was going to lose here. He inserted himself into this mess. He knows Belly and Conrad will always exist in some capacity that he’ll never be able to measure. He knows his brother loves her. And he knows Belly’s lying to herself about Conrad. So, why is he continuing a game that he knows he’s bound to lose? I genuinely believe that he knows how it will end so it’s going to be hard for me to feel bad for him when the inevitable thing happens.

And I’m also over the whole “Conrad was away while Jeremiah took care of their dying mother!” because that’s not an objective take. Conrad was at university studying to become a doctor. He should not be fault for trying to seek some normalcy after keeping most of the secret himself for months. Jeremiah wasn’t handling those bills himself. Laurel was also legit there the entire time. And I’m sure they also hired a caregiver. Instead of putting the blame and responsibility on teenagers — you should be wondering where was their own father, because divorce isn’t an excuse to not take care of your kids. And the show would benefit from making them build a better relationship as brothers than focusing on a “love triangle” that has a very definitive endgame, hence isn’t surprising.

#like belly&conrad are the endgame here #it’s not even an preference but an objective opinion #the story is putting them both as the main love story and jeremiah is the detour #like let’s be for real #also i think belly shouldn’t be with either of them because they should fix their relationship first #but anyhow #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty #belly conklin #conrad fisher #text post #bellyconrad #bonrad #anti jelly #anti bellyjere #i guess

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 2 years

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Hi. I don’t know if requests are still open or not, but I was wondering if you could do some headcannons of Hector, Isaac, Alucard and Trevor helping their S/O through a panic attack??

If you feel uncomfortable writing this or if requests are closed please feel free to ignore this request. I hope you are well and staying safe 💞

Ask: Hi. I don’t know if requests are still open or not, but I was wondering if you could do some headcanons of Hector, Isaac, Alucard, and Trevor helping their S/O through a panic attack??

If you feel uncomfortable writing this or if requests are closed please feel free to ignore this request. I hope you are well and staying safe 💞

A/N: Requests are still closed as of right now, but this one made it in before that- I’m just a super slow tortoise when it comes to getting things done. (I think I’ve had like a year of writer’s block. That or it was just a major depressive episode… Who’s to say?) Anyways, onwards and upwards! Here is how I think Hector, Isaac, Alucard, and Trevor would help their S/O through a panic attack. I hope they're good, normally when I'm panicking I just let myself freak tf out lol

☮ ☮ ☮

Hector:

Hector knows exactly what a panic attack is. Okay, well maybe he doesn’t know all the psychology behind it, but he’s had plenty himself, so he understands how overwhelming they can feel.

He may not pick up on the fact that you’re having one right away if he’s preoccupied with making night creatures at the moment. But he’s also one to worry about you- he’s lost almost everyone he’s loved in some way or another, so he makes a point of checking in between every couple of creations.

He’ll see your labored breathing, the fear in your eyes, or the way you bend your body in half and know immediately that something is wrong. He’s learned from observing your behavior: which words and movements mean you’re happy and which ones mean you need help.

He’ll physically come over to you, and place a reassuring hand on your shoulder. If you’re in his workshop, or somewhere else that isn’t exactly an ideal calm spot, he’ll usher you- carry you even- if he has to, to a safer place where the two of you can sit quietly.

If you’re okay with being touched, he’ll hold you close to him, placing one of his hands on the small of your back. Using the other, he’ll grasp one of your hands and bring it to his chest so you can focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat.

He takes deep calming breaths and urges you to match yours to his.

Once you're past the worst of it, he’ll leave you alone momentarily to go and make the two of you tea. The two of you can sip your tea and enjoy the company of your many adorable undead pets together. It may be unnerving to some, but to you, when you’re all together, it helps make the world look less intimidating.

Isaac:

Isaac doesn't panic often, or, well, ever to be quite honest. He used to be terrified as a kid, but now that he’s a man in charge of his own destiny, that’s all behind him. That doesn’t mean he’s unaware of your feelings or anything. As a matter of fact, he prefers the focus to be on your feelings so he doesn’t have to share his.

The first thing he has you do is drink some ice-cold water, to help your brain shift its focus from your overwhelming feelings to the shocking and quite refreshing feeling of the cool liquid going down your throat.

The second thing he does is rub soothing circles into the pulse points on both your wrists. He learned from an acupuncturist in one of his many travels, that these points, called the Great Abyss and the Spirit Gate respectively, are good pressure points to use in alleviating feelings of anxiety.

Thirdly, he makes sure those in and around the palace respect your privacy. He ushers any passersby away and uses his night creatures to reroute people to ensure no one other than him sees you in this state. He doesn’t want you to feel negatively judged for having feelings, because he lived his life like that for so long and he knows how awful it is.

Once you’ve reached the peak of your panic attack and begin to come down, he’ll ask if you want to talk about what triggered you in the first place. After all, he is the King of Styria now. If it’s something he can change in the palace, or in the way people work, you can bet he’s going to fix it for your benefit.

If it isn’t something he or you can change, but rather something you have no other choice but to live with, he mentally makes peace with it and urges you to do the same. Yes, feelings of panic are scary and they mess up your entire day, but if this is a part of who you are, he doesn’t want you to feel in any way angry at yourself or at fault. People carry all different burdens, this one just happens to be yours. And Isaac is more than happy, to let you know, you don’t carry this one alone.

Alucard:

Alucard is pretty stoic most of the time, at least, he tries to be. He’s not used to vocalizing or expressing how he feels. Hell, he doesn’t even really know how to process all that he feels, much less share it. So it’s safe to say, being a knowledgeable and comforting presence is foreign to him.

Greta and Sypha do end up teaching him a little bit, but you’re gonna have to be very honest and open with him going forward if you want him to anticipate your needs beyond eating and sleeping every once in a while.

You’d most likely come to him and tell him. Either with an “Alucard, I need you,” or even a whispered, “Help.” And he’d come running, like superspeed running, over to you.

Are you hurt? Are you bleeding? He’s checking for blood. No blood! Okay, any bruises? No bruises! He’s going through the physical list when he notices the way you’re trembling, the way you keep grasping at your chest, and the way you keep shaking your head ‘no’. He soon realizes it's not that kind of injury.

He takes you to your room and sets you gently on the bed. He asks you directly: what can he do, and what do you need? Whatever it is he’ll get it, or he’ll ask for someone else to get it, so he can stay there in the meantime and hold you.

He lets you play with his hair, something he rarely does, to keep your mind occupied on something else. He’ll even shift into his wolf form if you’d prefer a big fluffy doggie to cuddle with.

Stemming off of what he’s learned from Sypha and Greta, he reminds you how much he loves you, and how much you mean to him. He thinks you’re a wonderful person- brave and strong. Panic attacks don’t change that. And he’s not upset or even shocked- life is scary, and your guys’ life has been very scary.

Basically Alucard just wants you to know that even though he isn’t an expert at emotions, he’ll stay by your side, throughout it all.

Trevor:

Trevor actually used to have panic attacks a lot as a kid, but back then he had his family to help him through it. After they were taken from him, he shut down emotionally- something he needed to do to survive. So now, his emotional IQ isn’t the greatest. That doesn’t mean he’s not observant though.

Being a trained monster hunter, he’s good at reading people. He can spot fear or aggression from a distance, and he’d definitely be able to sense panic in you.

He would want to make sure the two of you are in a place and position for you to freak out freely, preferably away from prying strangers’ eyes. It’s not that he’s embarrassed, he just wants the two of you to feel safe enough to calm down, and it’s hard to do that with a bunch of judgemental eyes on you.

Trevor’s priority is safety: so once the two of you are clear of people (or night creatures), he turns his attention to you. He instructs you to take deep breaths: in through your nose and out through your mouth- he remembers reading something about that in one of his family’s books a long time ago.

If you’re not too hot, or in the middle of an anxiety-driven hot flash, he’ll offer you his coat/cloak to grip on or to cocoon yourself in. If you choose the former, he’ll place a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and practice his breathing with you. If you prefer the latter, he’ll pick your wrapped-up form and cradle you in his lap. And he’ll tell you stories from a happier time in his life- something he doesn’t share with anyone other than you- to distract your mind. It’s his way of being vulnerable with you.

Trevor knows he comes off as stony, bitter, and just completely over-it in general, but he never wants you to think he feels that way about you. He loves you, and he prides himself on his ability to protect you and keep you safe. You’re his family now. He’s going to stick through it all with you- thick and thin.

He might even softly sing some of the old Romanian lullabies his mother used to sing to him. But that’s only if you’re really, really panicked. Once you start teasing him about how he’s really just a big softie, he knows you’re going to be just fine.

#castlevania isaac x reader #isaac x reader #hector x reader #alucard x reader #trevor belmont x reader #isaac imagine #hector imagine #alucard imagine #trevor x reader #trevor belmont imagine #alucard tepes #isaac laforeze #castlevania hector #castlevania #hc

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cleo-fox · 6 months

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So: I mentioned earlier that I’m going through a major depressive episode right now. I’ve been on emergency leave for almost 3 weeks

My employer just told me that they are demoting me and cutting both my hours and my pay. I have never been written up and it’s pretty clearly based on my mental health. I’m going to be talking to a lawyer to better understand my rights.

Anyway, I’m taking kind of a pause on writing right now because I’ve been constantly crying or googling ADA laws and neither one of those things really facilitate writing smut, so it may be a bit before I post a new fic. But I’m still around, just really fucking miserable.

Feel free to send happy things my way. I could use it right now.

#personal

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soft-persephone · 1 year

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Normal Peter B Parker x WMMA Fighter!Spider-Woman!Reader AU

AU blurb. // idk that the word count is because I just wrote this on here.// Masterlist

I write with black women in mind but of course it’s for every woman.

I have a soft spot for Peter B. Parker, and this has been running around in my mind for a while. I just needed to get some of it out. Desperately.

So in a world obsessed with Miguel, here’s a little Peter B. I’m equally obsessed. Peter just wins in my brain.

Warning: indirect self harm. ( not eating or taking care of one’s person), mention of blood. Allusion to violence. Minor depression episode.( nothing too major or bad, but slightly possible to be triggering.

A Universe where he isn’t the hero and you are!

Your name is NOT MJ!

You’ve been Spider Woman for a good 7 years.

You’ve gotten the hang of saving people and keeping your identity secret. You’ve worked with the Avengers ONCE!

And you never want to do it again.

They were nice and all, but someone’s been spreading a particular rumor ever since, and you are not to happy about it. You refuse to even talk about, least the press run with it and claim it’s true.

You’ve been fighting more crime than you ever had in your entire career.

But what sucks most is you don’t get to set time aside from your normal life and your life as Spider Woman to see PB Parker.

He was your everything.

Which is almost embarrassing to admit because he doesn’t even know what you look like.

HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME!

But that doesn’t stop you from seeing him.

Lord knows, you’ve saved his life more than enough times.

The first time you ever saved his life was when he was working for a particular scientist in a particular lab.

Neither of you were aware of the secret illegal lab underneath the main lab.

After some unrelated investigating before you had even met. Your super smart play cousin who hooked you up with your spider suit and other techy stuff, was the one who told you to look into this lab. Faking as a journalist you snoop around only to befriend Dr. Octavius’ number one man. Dr Peter B. Parker

He talked, ALOT.

And you liked to listen.

A few bad guys and one giant explosion later, he was in your arms as you swung around the city.

It was not the first or the last time.

“Do you hold every citizen like this after you save them?” You held the side of his face before brushing a hand through his hair, “Only the special ones.”

It was like that between you two for a while.

Three months to be exact.

“I saw you on the news this morning! The way you swooped down and around was insane!” You smiled. Taking a sip of coffee.

Meeting at what used to be his favorite coffee shop was becoming a favorite of yours. It had a fancy star and everything.

“I’ve always wanted to eat in a place like this when I was young.” His big brown eyes would droop for a moment. Watering just a tad before he’d smile again like nothing was happening. As if there were no sad memories running around in his head.

“And with a fancy scientist salary, now I can!”

All the fancy places he liked to eat, the food trucks on random corners, the restaurant only certain people new about, he’d bring you food from them all.

He had a nice studio apartment. A sizable living room and kitchen, a small stairway that led up to a bed that hanged over it all. Nothing too fancy, but it was evident how well off he was.

After every other long night of crime fighting, you’d swing by his balcony, hoping to see him there.

He would always bring you food, always knowing you skipped a meek or two, but outside of that. It was always about the chance to see each other, to talk to each other, and you would raise your mask, just right above your nose, and you would eat. You would talk.

He would tell you about Aunt May or his uncle.

You would tell him about your mom. How you don’t know much about your dad. The life you had with your cousin and her parents. The boxing matches and fighter you adored.

But only so much. Not enough to give you away. Only so much until your heart ached and you couldn’t say anything else.

He asked about your suit and was very disappointed in its jersey moisture wicking cotton blend material. He was even sadder when you told him it was very replaceable because of its nature to rip apart or catch fire or unravel altogether.

“You need to let me make you something.” He would fuss. “Something that could actually keep you safe.”

“Something that will last!”

You would only laugh in response.

“I’ll hold you too that.”

But one day you came to him covered in blood and bruises.

“Spider Woman?”

You laughed.

It was a dry, hoarse, and wretched sound that muddied the joy you felt. You had only wanted to see him.

You reached to touch his cheek. To wipe away the tears from his big brown eyes and let him know you’d be alright.

But you winced, and it filled him with even more fear.

“Don’t move.” His voice was firm, but full with emotion.

You needed to save him from his worry. You thought.

“PB.” You muttered weakly.

“You need to go to the hospital.” He smiled through his tears and you were glad. However, tears were now filling your eyes. You could only blink away so many. The mask covering your face was making it hard to see.

“I can’t do that, Peter. You know I can’t do that.”

“Call an avenger or something! I’m not leaving until you do!”

You reached for his face, and he bent down, meeting you half way so you wouldn’t have to raise your arm so high.

The blood from your hand smeared his stubble, your thumb leaving a ghastly trail from his chin to his cheek.

You put your hand down in shame.

This isn’t what you wanted.

You couldn’t do this to him. You refused to ever put him through this.

You mustered ever once of remaining strength in your body to stand.

Peter chiding and scolded you with every movement.

“W-what what are you doing? Sit back down! You were gonna call someone.”

He followed you to the ledge. Pleasing and pleading in your ear.

You hugged him.

You ignored how your blood that stained his clothes. How his body on your made your every pore on your skin scream. You stayed there until he stopped shaking. Until his voice was horse and dry from yelling and crying over you.

Then you pulled back, cupping both sides of his face in your hands.

“Peter,” he placed both hands over yours, squeezing as tight as he could, “I’m sorry.”

And you jumped.

It wasn’t the time you two saw each other.

Lord knows that would have killed you both if it didn’t drive either of you insane first.

If his life was ever in danger, you swore you could feel it just as any other sense of danger you could get.

You could taste it in the air.

While that part of your relationship didn’t change, the time you spent with each other after each save surely did.

“Are you alright. . .sir?” You gently placed him on the ground. The crowd of people around you screaming and clapping.

“Yeah. . .thank you.” He looked up at you. His big brown eyes, pulled at something in your chest.

He had already been declaimed safe and sound. Feet firmly on the ground. No crazy green villains trying to steal his current research.

But his hands still held your waist, and you still had your hand on his side.

It wasn’t long before you were doubting your feelings.

Does one bad day ruin a relationship? Could it work? Did you need to do the unthinkable and tell him everything?

You couldn’t eat right. You didn’t get enough sleep. So you worked all day at your regular job, and you spent every waking moment of the night fighting crime.

Your run of the mill bad guys were looking worse and worse at the end of a fight. Your fists getting a little more bloody each time. They stayed cut up and bruised, but luckily your skin color hid those, and you could just tell people you fell on the sidewalk to explain the cuts.

Your body was giving out but you chugged caffeine, ate your protein, at least when your stomach ached until you were dry heaving on the floor, and you took a pain pill, and then you would move on.

But then the incident happened.

A giant monster. It’s was pink, purple, white, and gross.

You had never seen anything like it before.

Not even with the Avengers.

You didn’t do stuff like this in your part of the city.

You handle street thugs. You dismantle the occasional nefarious schemes and plots of drug dealers. You fight wanna be Scarface’s.

But then they showed up.

A pregnant Spider-Woman on a bike, and two. . Spider-guys?. . . Spider-Men? . . . Spider-Man?

That didn’t even sound right.

One was tall and the other the straight up biggest man you had ever encountered this close. Muscly wise.

Why the fuck does a Spider-Guy need to be that big?

“I need your help! This things been going at it for three hours!”

“We know.” The big one deadpanned. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Don’t mind him,” the other Spider-Woman chided. “He stays trippin.”

“He looks like it.”

“We can stay here and chat while your city burns to the ground or we could actually do something.”

You both rolled your eyes.

A giant hole erupted from the ground.

“What the fuck is that!”

“If we take care of this monster, you won’t have to worry about that!” The other Spider-Man added.

“Well what are we waiting for?”

You jumped down, and they all followed you.

It took much less time with a team.

However, you were running out of gas.

After being slammed three feet into the ground by it’s tail, and taking a head shot that flung you into and out of a High-Rise.

You were done.

“Spider-Woman?”

You were on a bed. It was your bed.

A large hand was tapping you gently on your shoulder. The other cupping your face. It brushed your hair away from your forehead before resting a thumb on your cheek, dancing back and forth under your eye.

You mask was off!

How—

“Please tell me your not dead?”

“No?” You croaked.

He laughed.

The sound was so warm and familiar. It couldn’t be. There was no way. Why would he be here? How? Who brought him here?

He’s seen your face!

You opened your eyes, fast.

“PB!”

The light in the room made you wince.

“Uh, I haven’t heard that one before. Can’t say it’s a favorite, but I don’t really mind it either.”

But it was him. And he was wearing a Spider suit.

“What are you wearing? Why are you here?” You sat up, and tried to get out the bed, but the effort to swing your legs around was quite difficult.

“Well it’s safe to confirm she does not have a concussion.” Jessica chided.

“I know we left things pretty open ended, but PB. . . This isn’t the answer.”

“Uhhm. . . I’m not PB. But I do. . . Believe you.” You watched his hands raise to his chest in an effort to calm you down somehow by keeping them in the air as if you were some startled dog on the street.

“PB, nock it the fuck off! This isn’t funny!”

“He’s not your. . . PB.” The other Spider-Man took his mask off and revealed a tired scowl. “This is Peter B Parker from another universe. A universe where he IS Spider-Man and you don’t exsist.”

What the fuck?

#Spider-Man #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #spiderverse #spiderverse au #peter b parker #Jake Johnson #peter b parker x reader #peter b Parker x black reader #jake johnson x black reader #jake johnson x reader

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corazondebeskar-reads · 1 month

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hi everyone I’m still alive 🖤 thank you to everyone who has still been messaging/tagging me even tho I’m in the depths of Work Hell

I love y’all!

here’s my mid-hiatus update:

I’m not just alive I’m fucking living. This is the most stressful time for my job but also it’s where I thrive so rest assured I’m out here fucking killing it (and maybe also myself by exhaustion but it’s only 4 more weeks of this soooooo…)

I cannot go back to my old life, y’all, there’s gonna be a huge breakdown/depressive episode when I get back

I’ve been plodding along at chapter six for “of rage and ruin.” It’s hot, it’s messy, it’s angsty.

that being said. I can barely write right now so idk a TBA after I get home. I’m literally on the go from dawn until past midnight 😬

and the biggest update of all

MY MOM IS CANCER FREE.

when I tell you I bawled like a baby…

(Obv we have to work about it coming back and stuff plus all the complications that come after major surgery and cancer treatment but for now… I can finally fucking breathe again. My mommy is ok 🥹)

y’all’s support has meant the world to me and I love you all so much.

#toni talks #personal #toni shares too much on the internet 2k24 #tw: cancer

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ittybittyluci · 8 months

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How am I ever supposed to get over this man?

Hah, funny story, I’m not.

Have some Headcannons:

🍎 Luci takes a weekly/daily eccentric bubble bath with scented candles, a glass of rosé, dim lighting, the WORKS!

🍎 He mainly shows his love through Acts of Service and Gift Giving

🍎 But Physical Touch and Words of Affirmation are much more meaningful for him to receive.

🍎 Mainly Physical Touch. He’s hugger. After spending so long alone, he loves being reminded that someone is right there next to him.

🍎 He’s a crier. Most of the emotions that he feels are connected to his tear ducts. Joy, anger, fear, you name it. The only time it doesn’t happen is when he’s entered pure-demonic-rage-protective-daddy mode.

🍎 Now that he’s staying in the Hotel (probably), he will drop anything and everything the minute Charlie starts to talk, even if it’s not directly to him. She has his focus 100% of the time. He wants to make up for all the time he lost in his major depressive episode.

🍎 He’s actually kind of insecure about his duck obsession, and it takes him a little to open up about it with new people. However, once he does, and it’s well received, he never shuts up about them

🍎 Man has some seriously debilitating social anxiety. He can’t even go out for a nice meal without stressing out about having to order. And all the demons staring at him because he’s the King if Hell does not help

🍎 Of all his siblings (if they’re canon, and whatever they are to him in Hazbin if they are. I’m talking Micheal, Gabriel, etc) he was closest to Raphael. They were practically joined at the hip before his fall, and that was probably one of the toughest losses to cope with.

🍎 He has a very small appetite, and it gets worse the more his depression kicks in. Sometimes he’ll go a whole day with hardly any food because he just doesn’t have the energy to eat.

🍎 He refuses to take credit for any of Charlie’s traits other than physical. He insists that she gor most of who she is from her mom, and the rest she came up with herself (despite the fact that everyone is aware of how similar the father-daughter duo are)

🍎 If he fucks up with you, he will go to the ends of the earth to make it right again and it will be the cutest thing ever. Even if you were never that mad to begin with.

That’s all I can think of for now. Might be back with some more later as they pop up in my brain. My main point is Luci is a cutie pie and deserves the world. Protect him at all costs

#hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer #i love luci #lucifer hazbin hotel #headcanon #he’s so fine #and adorable #gift giver #crier #emotional little baby #protect him at all costs

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plasticflwrs · 8 months

Text

⠀⠀ ⠀┈─ NOTHING NEW ⠀⠀／ ⠀⠀ an oliver song story ( 2022 ).

RACH. I wrote it when I was 19, and I've written a lot of other things since, and it's just... what if... what if that was the one... what if that was the one, best thing I'll ever do and I spend the rest of my life just getting worse and worse and drying up, uninspired, and I never become great. — The Prelude by Dave Malloy.

WORD COUNT. 3.2k words. WARNINGS / NOTES. Discussions of mental health symptoms related to general anxiety and major depressive episodes. (Passive) suicidal ideation. Alcohol mention. Originally published in 2023, but now featuring small changes of names and timeline ( rip minghui 😔 ).

“GOOD TO SEE YOU, OLIVER,” Yeonghui smiles as she lets Oliver into her office. “You never answered my text messages. I was worried about you.”

Oliver knows what Yeonghui is doing.

She’s been worried about Oliver more recently as the bags under his eyes become more prominent and the schedule is more focused on going out with friends than actually writing their next album. This impromptu therapy session was not going to solve any of their current problems and he had other events to attend. Drinks with Rowan, Jiyeon, and old friends. A phone call with his mother. A real therapy appointment.

Oliver is a busy person and finding a break in their hectic schedule was almost impossible. If the opportunity presented itself, he was going to take it. In reality, he never fully disconnected from his idol life. Always created new voice memos for new music, hid behind a mask so he wasn’t recognized, and appeared on the social media of his closest friends to get the band’s name out there. He liked to create a separation between his personal and professional life but the lines had blurred at the end of 2020.

He doesn’t understand why this is such a big deal.

He had written some of their discography before this album and the rest had been solely written by Salem before that. Yes, they had been missing for sixteen months, but, he was not the only member able to write music. Since he had returned from the states a few months ago, these meetings to discuss "music" (read: his personal life) had become more often. She was more open about her demands for a new album and Oliver was growing tired of it. He knew Salem had enough drafts to cover them for a few years at minimum, Jiyeon had showed him a few things, and even Junyeong of all people brought up a new drum line during their last practice.

Why was Yeonghui not calling them every day? He never understood her actions.

Oliver gives her a smile, the same that fans gushed about on Twitter and he had perfected over the years before speaking, “I’m fine. You know I’m allergic to my cellphone. I never answer anyone.”

“I’ve known you for almost seven years so I’m allowed to worry,” Yeonghui replies, keeping her voice even and her smile is tight-lipped, a sign of annoyance. She’s known amongst the artists for her quick temper. “Everybody is worried about you.”

“Everybody?” he questions. Oliver knows for certain that some people could care less about his health right now.

“Yes, everybody that’s important, which is your managers and myself. You know we have a comeback scheduled for the end of his quarter and I needed to know how that was going. There’s a lot riding on this, as you know.”

Oliver leans back in the armchair and crosses his arms, defensively. “Have you asked Salem or JIyeon yet? They seemed… excited to run a project.”

She shakes her head and says, “we don’t want that. Plastic Flowers has been out of the public eye for ten months, so we need to retain any relevance from Teeth last year and that will only come from you."

“What if I don’t want to?” Oliver challenges and both of them are surprised by his attempts at talking back.

“We can’t force you, of course,” Yeonghui says, leaning closer to Oliver. “But, I can cancel this album and make sure it looks like your fault. Junyeong and Salem are already upset, Jiyeon just sent us a lovely demo to compliment what you’ve already written, and Deurim's growing restless without any work. It would be very easy to recreate that outrage. Your choice, Oliver.”

He’s quiet for a few moments, remaining in that defensive position as she meets his stare directly. Oliver has always had an interesting relationship with his CEO and has never gone directly against her in their seven years of working together. He is a people pleaser at heart and at this moment, he wants to continue the fight against her but also knows that Yeonghui isn’t one to bluff. Sure, she’s prone to exaggerations to get her way nonetheless, she would find a way to twist these events in her favor and they both know that.

“Fine. I’ll send you some files later tonight.”

“Great. Why don’t we find some inspiration right now though? We have big plans for the promotion of this album,” she smiles, satisfied with winning the conversation, and opens her notebook to keep track. “So, how have your days been?”

First, he wakes up at eleven-forty-five.

He pulls himself out of his bed and reluctantly puts on a new pair of clothes, brushing his hair of any knots before entering the living room. Salem gives him an annoyed look as she clears off the table from that morning’s breakfast. Junyeong is in the shower after his daily workout. Deurim doesn’t pay him any attention, she’s too focused on trying to learn all their old music from Minghui's poorly taken notes. Jiyeon is drinking her coffee and reading some book, pretending she doesn’t see him, but Oliver can see her eyes flicker around the room. She looks from the corner of her eyes to watch his every move like he was going to do something stupid if she didn’t.

Oliver can’t find it in himself to care.

He wishes Jiyeon a good morning, the smile and light excitement in his voice not reaching any other part of his face. He’s never been that good of an actor. Jiyeon smiles back, small, and thanks him before returning to her book, leaving them in silence as the microwave hums. He wishes he could be better for her and provide their relationship with something indispensable. Instead, their days were spent inside his shared bedroom with Minghui and recounting the one-sided disagreements between the oldest members and Oliver in their debriefs. It was all they discussed recently and he wanted to bury those feelings of resentment. There was nothing Oliver could do to change their minds and he was not going to make the first move to repair their relationship. Salem had said enough during their last practice session.

( She had gone on and on and on about how boring his latest composition was. It played too much into the tropes of the last two albums and whatever he released on Soundcloud. The fans were going to get bored and he could not handle their criticism as she could. The last single she had written performed at the same level as they did in 2019, right after his Superband appearance. It was Oliver that had given them popularity in the first place and she hated that.

“Have you written anything yet?” he asks, not hiding his annoyance. That shuts her up and they return to working in silence, the only sounds coming from his pen scratching against paper and her acoustic guitar. He sighs and almost apologizes. Almost. )

Jiyeon is good friends to have, despite the lulls in their conversations these days. He knows it's his fault for that too. She provided feedback on his latest demos, offered to plan a celebration for his return to South Korea, and gave him enough time to melt into his bed after long meetings. She never rushed Oliver into hanging out and understood that he needed some time to himself. He needs to step up and be there for her. Invite her out or something, stop locking himself in his room. She deserved better friends than Oliver.

“Are you nervous about tonight?” Jiyeon asks, testing the waters of that day.

“Not really, um—” Oliver begins to answer as his phone rings in his pocket. Another missed call from his mother. The third of that day. He gives Jiyeon an apologetic look before slipping back into his bedroom to answer. “I’ll be right back.” She just nods and goes back to her book.

“Hi mom,” he tries to sound happier and it almost works. “How are you? Isn’t it like close to midnight back home?”

His mother, despite the time difference, is ecstatic to hear from him. “Oh, Oliver,” she gushes. “I’ve missed you so much. I couldn’t sleep and wanted to see if you would pick up.”

Kathleen Suh is a wonderful mother and person, easily one of Oliver’s favorites. Until his step-father taught Oliver how to play the piano, he wanted to emulate her. He wanted to attend Harvard University, he wanted to study history, he wanted to have a family of his own, and he wanted to be happy. His mother accepted the idea of his debut easily, wishing him nothing but the best for those years of training. She would send him money for food, new sneakers, and anything that the company needed. Oliver was forced to just take it since she would not take no for an answer. Now, he does the same and plus some extra gifts for his family. Two weeks ago, his checking account showed a small dip as he provided Harry, his younger brother, with a new Macbook for his final years of high school.

She’s happy to hear from Oliver, unsurprisingly. It's been two full months since they’ve last spoken and Oliver covers it with an excuse about being busy with writing for their new album. She accepts it and they move on to a conversation about his siblings with Ivy’s recent engagement still being the talk of the town and Harry’s already joined the poetry club, making friends already. He’s glad to hear that they are happy and healthy. Maybe he should call them this weekend… Did they even want to hear from him, though? Oliver wasn’t sure. It had been months since he initiated contact and would not blame his siblings for ignoring his future attempts to reach out.

The call continues like this for almost an hour. They go through the important details that Oliver would have missed from the stateside and Oliver give her any information about Plastic Flowers. Its a nice change of pace compared to the rest of the week, which was spent dreadfully alone. Oliver is an introvert at heart, but having these catch up calls with his mother wasn’t the same as meeting friends. They could never drain him.

However, the tone changes for the worst.

“You know I’m proud of you, right?” she asks and any good feeling leaves his body at that moment.

Oliver hates when she does this to him and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. He gets it, really. Not hearing from their children would get anyone in a sentimental mood but Oliver hated discussing his current feelings with anyone and did not want to worry his mother. After a few moments, he answers, “I’m fine, mom. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ve just been busy preparing for this album,” A pause in the conversation. Neither of them speaks so Oliver ends the conversation there. “It’s late in Boston so I’m going to hang up now. I love you.”

Before he ends their call, his mother bids him goodbye and tells him that she loves him too. A hand goes through his dark brown hair, recently fixed from the bleaching sessions of the year prior, and he sighs loudly, flopping onto his mattress. Oliver, for the thousandth time within two hours of being awake, wishes that he was a better person and most importantly, a better son. If he didn’t feel like this, his mother would not have to worry about him and life would be easier for everyone.

Without him…

Nevermind.

Jiyeon don’t want him thinking like that anymore. ‘It’s not good for the band,’ Jiyeon had said a few months ago, sitting on the balcony with three bottles of white wine between them. They always ended up back there, like in the old days, where they felt on top of the world and like nothing could truly hurt them. The days before he realized the band’s relationship breaking down in front of him and along with the divide between his personal and public life. It has always been the three of them against the world with Salem and Junyeong drifting in and out, depending on their feelings toward the youngest members at the time.

He still remembers the celebrations that came with their first single to enter the top ten in the music charts. At the moment, it felt like things were changing for the better. Less glaring and more attempts at working together, the creation of 403 a few months later, and securing their first win.

It was going well… until it wasn’t.

And the world would turn without Oliver Song for a comeback. He was sure of it. It might not reach the same success as Salem indulged in a more niche audience and the general public was not her biggest fan these days, but that was okay with him. It was the company's problem and they would have to work hard to rectify that. If Yeonghui could turn the world against him, she could definitely change the public opinion of Salem in a matter of a few weeks. At the same time, the band might not survive without the input of Oliver as the public’s favorite member and the lead vocalist of Plastic Flowers. While Oliver could take himself from the equation, with the fanbase also divided between favorite members, showing a weakened lineup could spell disaster. Rumors would circulate and the world would stop turning and Oliver would be lost forever, with—

“Oliver? Are you okay? You’ve been in here for, like, three hours,” Deurim's voice interrupts his spiraling and she’s standing just outside of the doorframe with an odd look on her face.

Glancing down at his phone, Oliver could have sworn it was only two in the afternoon last time he had checked and now it was nearing four, closer to the end of the day than the beginning and yet another day lost to his downward spiral. This had been happening a lot more lately, with days blending into nights and the inability to be in the moment. He was always stuck between the past and the future, there was no time to worry about the present and he could not stop moving even for a moment. There was always something to do, even if that was nothing in reality.

“God fucking—” Oliver swears as he sits up, all the blood rushing to his head, and goes to his closet. “I should have set an alarm. I’m going to be so late.”

Deurim watches as he stumbles around the room, pulling a sweater and a new pair of socks from his bedside table. “Late for what?” she asks.

“I have a meeting with Yeonghui in a few minutes. She’s having one of her moments about a new record, I just need to appease her for now. I’ll still make dinner later.”

“Are you sure you’re well enough to go? You look like shit, Oliver,” Deurim remarks.

“What are you talking about?” It's at that exact moment that Oliver gets a closer look at himself in the mirror and pauses for a moment. “Oh. Well, that’s nothing a bit of makeup can’t fix. I’ll just put it on in the car, no big deal,” Oliver’s voice is quicker than normal as the nerves start to get too much and he offers his roommate what should be a smile. Things are suddenly moving miles per minute. “Reservation is for seven, right? I can meet you guys at the restaurant if she runs over time, I’ll keep you and Jiyeon updated, yeah?”

Oliver is not doing well and someone else had noticed. So much for not making anyone worry anymore.

Anyone could see that from miles away. He hasn’t only lost weight over the last few months, but the dark circles have grown, and much more affect his naturally bright appearance. Before this moment, he never had the chance to truly look at himself in the mirror but it seems that the reaction of not only Deurim but the small gasps from the makeup artists was warranted. Oliver isn’t sure when it all got this bad, but, he can fix it, no problem. Starting that night he would change his life for the better. More meals, a peaceful rest, and spending time with Jiyeon was first on the list. That would help him feel better. (Hopefully).

Deurim nods, still looking uncomfortable. They both know stopping Oliver from going to this meeting would be near impossible, he hated missing tasks. “Sounds like a plan. Good luck with the meeting.”

In a few minutes, he is not only ready for the meeting but his plans for after. Their manager knocks on the door and Oliver and escorted to the Superbloom Media headquarters, just ten minutes down the road. The ride is quiet save for the soft lull of whatever song was currently going viral in South Korea and his manager taps the steering wheel to the beat to save them from complete silence. Oliver is thankful that he doesn’t ask many questions and just goes along with whatever the members were feeling to keep his job. At some points, Oliver thinks that the manager is looking at him before remembering that checking your mirrors is always an important safety measure, especially as he turns street corners.

They park in the artists-only lot, the third floor of the private parking garage and he is left to his own devices. The manager has to pick up something else for the members, something that Salem requested from the shop down the street and he wishes Oliver good luck. They both know that he would need it.

That was Oliver’s day.

That had been Oliver’s day for the last three months and it seems like nothing will change.

The only changes come from whatever plans are happening at the same time, guided through the motions by either his bandmates or manager. Nothing ever seemed to change and after a while, it all blended together. Yeonghui isn’t satisfied with his answer and she stopped writing a few minutes into his attempts at recounting his day.

“And, how long have you been like this?”

“Three months.”

She is silent for a moment. “That’s a long time.”

“I know.”

“What happened three months ago?” she asks, trying to get more information out of him.

Oliver shrugs. “I’m not sure.”

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hetalia-club · 1 month

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Giving you this bc ur like, the only hetalia blog i still follow that still posts. But like.

Okay back in 2018-2019(?) i had a pretty big hetalia phase, i watched hetafacts videos n every episode that was on YouTube, i listened to the music on repeat. It was a major hyperfixation before i knew that i was autistic.

For the longest time after i stopped, engaging with hetalia for some reason i would. Cringe really hard whenever i saw anything hetalia related. Like. On ao3 when you go to search things it tells you how to search things and one i got (and keep getting) is like "hetalia tag:f/f" or something idk how proper ao3 searches work. Id like screenshot it and go to my friends n say "it haunts me" or some shit.

But like recently ive been. Embracing that part of my past? I guess? Like. Almost like coming to terms with it? Idk i started having a less bad reaction n like, realized it probably one of the more normal fandoms i was in. I was, cringe, as all kids are, but i was. Happy.

And then like. At a sleepover a few weeks ago, one thing leads to another and im telling my friend abt the songs and how ich leibe is. Just a recipe, and how i used to listen to almost all of the songs. I show them the clip of France trying to get England to sign a marriage contract, America ordering fucking condoms from Russia.

It has been at least 2 weeks since, and i can feel the hyperfixation coming back, half the music ive been listening too again is hetalia character songs (theyre so fucking good???) and ive been getting. Urges to watch the show and. I dont know how to feel or what to do?? Like. I'm afraid almost to get back into hetalia? Like i watched black butler a while ago, and i realized how. Theres some weird fucking tension between ceil n sebastian n i think im afraid im going to have that same reaction to hetalia?

Cause like there is shit i just completely forgot about. Like. The Bad Touch Trio. And im scared man.

Im sorry to fuckin, give you all of this, but i just. I dont know what to do ig. None of my friends like or used to like hetalia, the one i do info dump hetalia stuff too does not like hetalia and is learning shit about it against their will.

Idk, should i watch the show again? Is it, good? I genuinely can't remember anymore.

Sorry for using ur ask box like a confessional

I mean I’m right there with you man. The sole reason I am still in the Hetalia fandom is because hetalia got me through some real dark chapters and events in my life. I discovered Hetalia years ago in Highschool while with a very abusive ex who had to know everything I was doing at any given time. He wouldn’t let me go anywhere without him there. I tried to break up with him but he actually wouldn’t let me. He would threaten to off himself if I did so I felt bad because his mom was an alcoholic and his houses burned down. I stopped really going anywhere at all because if I did he would come with me and he ruined my relationships with most of my friends just by being ‘the worst’. I stopped cheerleading, I got depression really bad, I started to do terrible in all my classes but I discovered Hetalia while on deviant art and was instantly intrigued. It was like “idk what this is but I will now make it my personality”

Years later while with my most recent abusive Ex that I just broke up with last November I got back into Hetalia when our relationship started to get really bad and hard to cope wit on my own. I needed an escape and something to help me avoid him and no care so much about his insults something that I could think about instead of being sad all the time. Hetalia is something that just brings me joy. Instead of venting to people, getting therapy or increasing my meds Hetalia was just always there to go back to and escape. No idea what it is about it. Won’t go into details about the relationship, it’s irrelevant right now but I’m sure you can guess.

To answer your question, no Hetalia isn’t ‘good’ it makes zero sense and is confusing as hell. But for me it’s fun to use as a spring board for basically any kind of AU I could think up. The characters can fit into any type of situation you want to shove them in.

I would say give it a rewatch, as much as you want anyway. What is the worst that could happen? You continue an interest that brought you joy? Worst case. You are a bit cringe? Who cares if you are cringe if you are happy? Also not encouraging you to live a double life but if you are embarrassed to like Hetalia you don’t actually have to tell anyone how obsessed with it you are. No one but my ex knows how much I like Hetalia and he really has no idea just how deep I am in this shit. But if people knowing about one of your interests humiliates you then just don’t share it. At the end of the day it’s your comfort and it makes you happy it’s no one’s business.

There are a lot of old fandom tropes that have disappears the BTT being one of them. They put them as a group still but I guess they call it ‘bad friends ti’ now. There are still some things that make me side eye. But that’s every fandom I feel. You can choose who you wish to associate with and who you want to block or avoid. It’s your blog you don’t own an explanation to anyone.

Personally I don’t interact much with the people of the fandom itself I got a few people it talk to every now and again but really i just do my own thing. I write my own fics for myself. I got my little tumblr, discord and TikTok, I post about my little AUs and dumb thoughts and continue on. If people want to follow me that’s great, welcome. If they don’t that’s cool to!

Thanks for sticking around with me even after your Interest in Hetalia fizzled out tho haha! That had to be difficult I am very annoying at times I’m sure 😭.

Again worst thing that could happen than if you are a bit cringe. But not being cringe is boring as hell. Irl I’m one of the most normal bitches you could find. Carbon copy white girl. Absolutely no one would guess I were a Hetalia obsessed loser irl. In a line up you could not pick me out and guess my interests. So in February I got my hair done right? I got like. 500 dollar biolage it fades from brown to strawberry blonde. Want to know the reason I got this hair style? Because of Italy that’s why. I wanted red hair like him. Did I tell anyone that? No. When people said they liked my hair and asked me why I went red I would just go “idk just felt like it” but I would be thinking about him knowing the real answer.

Good luck anon, if you stick around welcome back the water is fine. If you don’t can you toss me that life vest up there if you don’t mind? Thank you!

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