#let's talk about mental health

[knifearo]

this year my challenge for everyone is to unlearn the association between love and morality. love is not something that is inherently morally good, and the absence of love is not something that is inherently bad. sex without love isn't morally bankrupt, it's just an action. people without love aren't less kind or less good, they're just people. when we can get past this false (and often unnoticed) dichotomy of good love/evil lovelessness then i think we are going to be able to take leaps and bounds in sex positivity, aro advocacy, certain discussions of mental health...

[uncanny-tranny]

Anger is such a normal part of recovery, and I wish it were normalized. I think it is genuinely harmful to depict recovery as this era of your life that only sets you free and makes you euphoric, and there will never again be a cloud in the sky because you have Ultimately Healed.

It's the fucking opposite sometimes. Recovery can feel violent, because the things you are recovering from are often (though not always) violent. It is so common to feel white-hot rage, grief, catharsis, elation, numbness - in essence, a whole host of emotions that aren't pretty, or aren't simple little categories to be neatly boxed and sorted and understood by the "normals."

Those recovering: Your emotions are real, and they aren't bad. You aren't a bad person for how you are processing and healing. You, however, aren't alone. You are doing so fucking well, no matter what it is you are healing from or for. I genuinely hope you can be proud of that.

[beanghostprincess]

There's just something so inherently beautiful about the way Luffy loves Sanji. Because his perception of Sanji, at the end of the day, is always "he's a good person". Plain. Simple. Easy like that. "You're just like that" is what Luffy tells him. He's just, basically, a kindhearted soul. And he could quite literally list all of his qualities, but he doesn't because he doesn't need to. Why would he do that when the best description for his cook is just saying he has a good heart? The way Luffy perceives Sanji is just so beautiful to me because, while Sanji sees himself as somebody unworthy of love and easily dispensable, Luffy sees him as the representation of kindness itself. For Luffy, food is the epitome of happiness and love. Hunger means wanting something. Eating means taking something you want. And food as a concept means being full. Hunger itself is a need your body asks for, and Luffy has never been shy about it and he takes and takes and enjoys himself until he's completely full. Sanji has been hungry his whole life but has never, not even once, thought about eating out of pleasure, but only need. His job is to cook and to serve and not to eat. And Luffy sees that as the most selfless act of kindness. To create and give food to the ones who need it and want it. Sanji makes others happy, and Luffy can't understand why he keeps depriving himself of the food (happiness) he makes. He does these things out of plain, simple kindness and without expecting anything in return, and Luffy sees that. Luffy sees Sanji's heart served on a silver platter because that's what Sanji offers him every time. And Luffy doesn't want Sanji's heart or selfless acts of kindness. He wants Sanji to be kind without harming himself in the process and actually take what he wants for once (eating). Luffy doesn't get why he keeps torturing himself and giving his everything to others when he could just share it. Sanji has so much frustration and rage and pain and sadness he won't let himself feel, and Luffy is quite literally the definition of "If you need to be mean, be mean to me" (from the song 'I don't smoke' by Mitski) and "If you gave me all the anger you can't swallow I would eat it gladly for you, just don't choke" (I just thought about this thing I'm such a poet).

[mediumgayitalian]

At around half past one, Nico gets a Feeling.

He gets feelings a lot. Nothing he can quantify, just something telling him that something is up, somethings wrong. Or something’s about to be. At this point, he’s learned to trust his intuition, based purely on the number of times it has saved his life; a number he’s long since given up counting. (He’s only ignored his gut feelings three times in his life: when Bianca went on her quest, when his father promised not to hurt Percy before the Titan War, and when he went looking for the Doors. He has learned his lesson.)

So when something at the bottom of his stomach tells him to get up, to check things out — he does.

He knows it could be nothing. (The last time he had a Feeling, it turned out that he had placed a book precariously on the edge of his desk, and it had been about to fall. Not exactly world-saving stuff.) But regardless, he steps out of bed, shoves his feet into his shoes, and creeps out of his cabin.

Camp is kind of beautiful at night.

There’s an eerie calmness to it without so many human disasters running about, and the quiet reflects that. All Nico can really hear is the hooting of owls in the distance, the chittering of nocturnal animals and monsters alike, the distant screeches of curfew harpies, and the pleasant crashing of the waves. The air is clean, when he inhales, and he takes the time to hold it in his lungs for a bit, imagining the sweet breath is healing his burned lungs, turning the scar tissue back to something flexible and normal. Whether or not it actually works, he doesn’t know, but it feels nice.

Under the light of the brightly shining new moon and billions of stars, he starts his patrol. Around his own cabin first — there’s nothing, as he expected, the warning doesn’t seem overwhelming like threats tend to be — and then he makes his way around the circuit, checking behind gardens and shrines and inside braziers. He hums quietly as he walks, something preppy and bright the Apollo kids have been hollering for days, and waves to Lady Hestia, sword heavy at his waist.

“Come sit,” she calls, patting the seat next to her.

Nico does.

“Haven’t seen you out at night in a while.”

He hums, toneless this time, leaning back on his hands and mirroring her gaze at the sky.

“Been sleeping, for once.”

“I’m glad.”

He smiles, knowing that she means it. He watches out of the corner of his eye as she picks up his sword, sliding it from his belt loop, and uses it to stoke the flames. She doesn’t seem afraid of it, or wary. To her it’s just a stick of metal. It’s nice.

“You have you been, my Lady?”

She pokes at the embers a few more times, scooping a few to balance at the tip of the blade for a while. It glows with the heat, and he knows he’ll have to sharpen it tomorrow, but he doesn’t mind. Maybe he can do it while Will is in the archery range. It’ll give him an excuse to be at the armoury at the same time, anyway.

“I’ve been well.” She breathes deeply, small smile pulling at her face. “It’s calmer, and more people wave to me. I like it.”

“Good.”

She dismisses him a few minutes later, sending him off with a promise to chat again soon. She doesn’t need to worry about him promising — he makes a point to sit with her at least once a week — but it’s nice to know someone wants his company, so he appreciates it. He leaves with a wave, walking towards the eastern half of the cabins.

Nothing’s amiss. He can hear campers snoring, and see the odd reading light. Malcolm catches his eye as he walks past the Athena cabin and winks, sending a cheeky salute when he sees the sword held loosely in his hands. So far, everything seems fine. He’s beginning to think the Feeling might have simply been about Lady Hestia, so he decides to do one last check around the Big House and then head back.

Of course, that’s where the issue is.

The infirmary lights are always on. They’re dimmer in the night, more of a glow than anything, but there’s an extra brightness streaming out from the windows, and when Nico peeks inside, he sees Will, standing with his back turned at the nurse’s station.

He takes a moment to check his strength, making sure he has the energy for it — dinner last night was pho and he had three bowls, he most definitely does — and sinks into the shadows by the door. He materializes back in the little alcove by the bandage & wraps cabinet, lurking silently while he blinks the dizziness away.

The first thing he registers is soft singing.

He’s facing Will, now, and can see the glow coming from his hands, enveloping a bowl of some kind. He has both hands coated in some dusky pink substance, massaging and gently pounding it against the sides of the bowl, working it through with great care. As his voice gets higher, the glow gets brighter, fading as he dips lower. He sings something about hills and meadows and the breeze, about wing-song, about the sound of flower stems bending in the wind. For a while Nico stands, listening to the melodious ancient Greek, swaying with every pitch and hold. It’s captivating.

Will is almost haunting when he heals.

There’s a divinity in him — in all of them — but he glows when he sings. Not just his hands, and sometimes his head if he puts enough power in his words, but there’s an almost shimmer to the air around him, a shining warp. His skin gets clearer, and his hair goes more metallic, almost, like spun gold rather than blonde. His freckles make his skin into an inverse replica of the night sky, dark specks surrounded by bright empty between them. His long fingers pluck through bright strands of light like a harpist strums their chords; lightly, carefully, skillfully; like a braider weaves their hair. There’s an undeniable age to his magic, a practice that’s visibly replicated millions of times over thousands of years, as if every healer who has come before him links their arms with his, breathes their strength in his lungs. Sometimes, when he does something truly unbelievable, amazingly beyond reason, he flickers — his orange camp shirt fades into a white chiton, or long robes, or a white coat, or a blue tunic. Watching him heal is like watching the sunrise — breathtaking and unique, every time, but powerful in its cyclic archaism.

It takes Nico a long time to realise Will is swaying.

Snapped out of his trance, he begins to notice Will’s long, slow blinks, the unsteady way he stands, the weight he has leaned on the counter. Even his face looks plainly exhausted under the glow, face pillow-creased and eyes bruised, hair mussed, limbs leaden. Footsteps as silent as he can manage, Nico creeps over to the schedule posted by the door, scanning through the scrawled pen ink.

He curses quietly. Will is not supposed to be awake.

There are really only three people who can work the infirmary to its fully capacity, barring Chiron. Kayla, Austin, and Will are the only ones who can magically heal, as much as the volunteers are imperative, so when the camp is in full swing one of them must be stationed at all times. That’s how Will sets it up. A bit of a waste of time, he acknowledges, but Nico knows he has memorized every time a camper who should have been saved. He carries far too much guilt to ever let it happen again, as inconvenient as his rules may be.

Night shift, though, is a need-be basis. If the infirmary is as empty as it is right now, then there truly is no need to keep one of the three of them awake outside their circadian rhythm, staring at nothing. Instead, they take shifts in the on-call room — asleep, but prepared should anything go wrong, should a monster chase a new camper at an odd hour. It’s Will’s turn for on-call. It’s two in the morning. He should be asleep.

And, yet.

Nico recognizes the look in his eyes. There’s a — frailty, to them, a deep-seated, animalistic fear, one he recognises from the hours after his own night terrors. A single-minded panic that cannot be unseated in any logical way, cannot be comforted with any gentle hands.

Nico handles his fear with slashing swords and bruised knuckles. Will, he knows, handles his fear with obsessive, endless preparation.

Knowing full well nothing is going to drag him away from his focus bar actual cardiac arrest, Nico walks right by him. Will doesn’t move. He settles behind him in the old, creaky leather office chair, curling his legs under him and resting his head on the soft arm. He watches Will, watches the almost machine-like movement to his kneading arms, and falls back asleep to his humming.

———

“…Nico?”

He wakes up warm and a little cramped, in the same position he fell asleep. Sun is streaming on from the many issues, blocked from burning his eyes by Will’s hunched frame, facing towards him now, hands and shoulders shaking with equal violence.

“What time is it?”

His voice is croaky and wrecked from hours of singing. Nico is willing to bet his throat is burned as badly as his hands, cooked from non-stop, sun-borne glowing. The divinity that had emanated from him before has abandoned him and he looks young, lost.

“Early,” Nico says softly. He unfolds himself from the chair, stretching slightly — gods, he is going to ache today — and wraps a slow, careful hand around Will’s wrists. “Probably around six, if I have to guess.”

“I don’t remember waking up.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’m tired.”

“That’s okay.”

His breathing is heavy, laboured.

“I don’t —”

Nico squeezes gently. “It’s okay, Will.”

Will swallows and says nothing.

“Come on.”

Carefully, letting Will’s stiff joints set the pace, Nico guides him out of the infirmary. The sun shines brighter as soon as he steps outside, but he doesn’t seem to notice bar a tiny, almost imperceptible flinch at the change in lighting. Nico switches from holding his wrists to laying a hand on the small of his back, half-worried he’s going to fall over.

Luckily, he makes it to the Apollo Cabin upright, although the stairs take them a while. The hinges of the old screen door creak as Nico pushes it open, and he sees both Kayla and Austin, up and dressed, jump.

“…Will?” Kayla asks softly, eyebrows creased in concern. She walks over to him when he doesn’t answer, frozen still, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Will leans — almost hesitantly — into the touch. The same blankness from before clouds his eyes, although this time there’s less of the fear.

“Hey.” Nico walks over to stand in front of him, waiting patiently for him to meet his eyes. In the minutes it takes, he hears Austin pad over, standing opposite to Kayla, hands clenching and unclenching like he can’t decide what to do with them. “You think you can sleep?”

Will doesn’t answer verbally, but drifts after a moment to his bed. Nico follows, helping him out of his shoes and shirt. After a beat of hesitation, Austin hurries over, turning down Will’s sheets and helping him crawl in. Soft guitar music begins to play, and when Nico looks over Kayla is fiddling with the CD player, turning the dials carefully. Without much fanfare, Will’s eyes flutter closed, and his breathing slows to something deep and even. His twitching fingers still.

“I don’t think today’s an activity day,” Nico murmurs. “I checked up on him a while after midnight; he’d been at it for hours. He didn’t stop ‘til sunrise.”

Kayla rubs harshly at her eyes. “Fuck.”

“He’ll be okay,” Austin whispers. He runs a gentle knuckle over Will’s forehead, then turns his careful, imploring gaze to Nico. “You kept an eye on him?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Nico inclines his head. “Had a feeling.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Kayla admits. “He was —” She trails off, staring at something in the left half of the cabin — the empty half. “He was like this after the Titan War, too. I think he spoke maybe two words for the entirety of September.”

Nico almost can’t imagine it. The very thought of it makes something twinge in his chest, clench in his stomach.

“We’ll figure it out.” He nods, to convince himself as much as Kayla and Austin, who look to him with way more trust than he deserves. “We won’t let it — it won’t get that bad. We’ll help, and if we can’t figure it out we’ll get help. It won’t be as hard as last time.”

It won’t be as hard as last time because there won’t be twelve shrouds, Nico doesn’t say, but he doesn’t need to. Both Kayla and Austin nod, looking at their sleeping brother with firm resolution.

“This time, we’ll be there.”

[moonkhao]

hi.

[144]

so there's that one post talking about modern day isekais being a modern day equivalent of the wish fulfillment narrative of "guy goes to place where all the things making him suck in normal society make him king, and has no need for self reflection" and it's pretty good. obviously i started thinking about that goddamn novel.

this whole thing is played both straight and subverted in ORV. dokja as a character doesn't develop. his development is less of changes in his behavior, and more of us learning how deeply fucked he is in the head.

everyone around him changes, for the better or for the worse. he grows beloved. it's wish fulfillment for him, of course - it's his dream. all of this is born of his dream.

and he's beloved but he can never reap the rewards from it and the only responsible for that is himself. because he's stuck in place. because in the end he never stopped being that 15 year old. he starts and ends by himself, in a subway train, reading the same story again and again.

[druidonity2]

I looked at my fanart of War Crimes with Anduin holding himself dying with Chromie, and I decided I wanted to draw more Anduin trauma with dragons...(wip)

[transjudas]

Leathermouth - Sunsets are for Muggings / The Hirs Collective Ft. Frank Iero and Rosie Richeson - Trust the Process (x, x, x)

[mothgardens]

Super cute of Dean to give permission to an angel and a demon to possess his younger brother. Then, instead of apologizing, he began talking about how much people are hurt when they are around him.

Super adorable how he didn’t even let Sam get his frustrations out or even really talk the situation through. Super sweet how he immediately turned the situation around to be a Dean moment.

[thedeafprophet]

My last thought for the night... thinking on Josie's fascination with the red honey changes. Thinking on Jamie experiencing some physical changes

Thinking of Josie gripping their chin and *looking* at them

[stinkyhyena9000]

Buster Moon Stimboard !!

For my Sing friends still out there, here's some food for y'all

🤍 💙 🤍 | 💙 🐨 💙 | 🤍 💙 🤍

Totally non-abrupt segway to a sentimental message:..

I just wanted to thank all of you for hosting such a lovely and wholesome fandom. I love we're a small community, but y'all have always made me feel so extremely loved, and I'm glad have had y'all be my first and sofar only fandom experience.

Please never stop making art and writing stories!

[dirt-grub]

Smiling friends hc basically canon tho that pim is one of those people who had a lot of really bad shit happen to him but tries his hardest to keep everyone around him happy almost to his detriment. I mean in the first episode u saw his family lol

YESSSSS YESSS and thats why im so obsessed with him i can't think of another character that's like that off the top of my head and its so fucking relatable TWT like the message a lot of people got from the first episode is that pim is naive and i dont think thats the case at all, i think he just realized over time how to keep himself stable as long as he doesnt dwell on shit until he spirals and he started spiraling, i dont believe for a second hes never once thought the same shit desmond was talking about

[uncanny-tranny]

This might be controversial to some, but you cannot "tough love" your way to preventing suicide. You cannot have the attitude that people who complete suicide are selfish or are ungrateful or immature. If your mindset about suicide isn't coming from compassion rather than judgment, it won't help suicidal people. You will never help us with a slap on the wrist and a lecture about how we're awful for even thinking about completing suicide.

Suicide intervention starts with compassion and care.

[u3pxx]

PROF IS YAPPING AGAIN

[icewindandboringhorror]

sometimes looking at like Self Help Strategies lists for the symptoms I'm having is always just like:

thing that I already do

thing I have tried 10 times

thing I already do

thing that I don't have the money to do

thing I already do

thing I've been doing since I was 10yrs old to no avail

thing that is impossible given my situation

thing that doesn't apply to me

thing that I already do

thing I have already tried

hrmm, oh wait, maybe finally- OH, yeah.. okay. thing that I already do but it was just phrased slightly differently

thing I have already done

[gingermintpepper]

On that trojan war au thing you're writing. 1. What are the tags for it, cause I'm super interested! And would love to read what you have so far! 2. "And Odysseus is a much grimmer darker man due to his home being one of the places that were first swallowed up by Erebus" - I wanna know more about this. Please tell me more.

Oh , wow, I'm so flattered! I'm very happy it sounds appealing to you <33 This work is a huge passion project of mine so I'm always glad to talk more and more about it, especially since there are many aspects occurring in the background (such as the alternate fates of the main players of the Trojan Conflict) which I cannot properly cover or even explain within the events of the novel itself.

That said: 1) If you mean tags as in ao3 - unfortunately, this work isn't on ao3 my friend :( As I said above, these are elements and concepts in the greek mythology based-fantasy novel I'm currently writing (the concept of which I outlined here in the introductory post of my novel concept!) As for wanting to read whatever writing I currently have available: I currently have three fics available on ao3 that are written in my Pursuing Daybreak verse!

The Prince and Princess series deal with a young Apollo and Artemis and the many consequences they face after Apollo has slain Python. The two works uploaded right now are Exeunt Phoebus Apollo which covers the murder trial of Python and Manent Apanchomene Artemis which covers the intense feelings of helplessness and alienation Artemis experiences after Apollo returns from his banishment and is completely changed. Both of these have themes of family, grief and relationship exploration at their heart.

The third bit of writing I have up is quite outdated but does cover the immediate aftermath of Hyacinthus' death. It's called A Petal Falleth and features Apollo making one of those Big Silly Decisions that have completely unintended but extremely important consequences: namely, instead of the larkspurs being made of Hyacinthus' spilt blood, Apollo anchors the boy's soul to the flowers so Thanatos wouldn't take him. Like the Dawn is also set in this world but because it is nsfw in nature, I wouldn't recommend it as easily as the other three bits of writing. If you don't mind the whole naked men thing though, I'd definitely suggest reading Like the Dawn for a better idea of what my current writing is like (along with eventually getting to see characters like Hector, Andromache and Cassandra/Helenus) Like the Dawn's themes are also different to the other three works with it focusing more on the power dynamics of a god/mortal relationship, exploring masculinity and masculine sexuality and self discovery.

The running theme here, of course, is that all of these bits of writing are centered on Apollo/Artemis or Hyacinth because my novel itself is centered around them. There are, of course, other important characters and figures like Eros, Psyche, Penthesilea and Iaso (one of Asclepius' daughters) but while there is the definite presence of characters from the Trojan War they most certainly aren't at the center of the novel (and the ones that are aren't the Greeks but rather the Trojans i.e Hector, Alexander, Andromache, Cassandra, Helenus, Aeneas, so on and so forth.)

2) The basis of the apocalypse in my work is cosmological! Due to Apollo's err-- untimely departure, there's no longer anyone maintaining the axis of the heavens or the navel of the earth. Because of this, Erebus - whose darkness is usually kept firmly in the spaces between the realms - begins to spill out into both the heavens and the earth. The beasts of Erebus (referring primarily to the Seven Curses - Old Age, Misery, Deceit, Violence etc etc) consume, torment and destroy whatever is inside of Erebus' darkness and Ithaca, as one of the islands on the far edge of the world, was one of the very first places that were devoured in this manner. Odysseus was visiting the Argives at the time for a festival and had left the pregnant Penelope at home since he didn't want her to suffer through the voyage in discomfort. He only finds out about the destruction of Ithaca after it had already been consumed when Athena personally interrupts a feast to warn both him and Diomedes. Needless to say, Odysseus, like everyone else, assumes that everyone on Ithaca has died and thusly is a very, very different man in terms of humour and comport. A part of him still stubbornly clings to the belief that Penelope managed to escape - that she was smart and resourceful enough to see the end approaching and do her best to escape - but that doesn't stop him from being dour for the majority of the time. Diomedes does his best to keep his spirits up in the meantime. Without him around, Odysseus is something of a black hole when it comes to the oppressiveness of his discontent though he does manage to lighten up when in the company of Helen, Clytemnestra and even Menelaus on occasion.