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#mental health flails

iwritenarrativesandstuff · 9 months

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idk why this bugs me a bit but I really don’t like when you see art or writing that delves into the dynamic between characters in a less positive way - like an argument, or clashes between coping mechanisms, or a miscommunication that causes some problems and doesn’t get immediately resolved - and you get people saying stuff like “oh they’re so fucked up” or “this would not be healthy irl but here it’s cute” and I just. what do you think a healthy relationship looks like. it’s never going to be perfect. people disagree. not everything gets resolved perfectly. sometimes there will be parts of a person you will never completely understand no matter how close you are to them. what matters is communicating in the ways that you can (which isn’t always in the way help books or therapists tell you to btw! there are lots of ways to communicate effectively that are specific to who you are as people), making active efforts to show your care (which yes, sometimes isn’t easy. that’s why it’s an effort), and enjoying this person’s company (they should make you feel good to be around overall! clashing a little is okay but they should not make you miserable!)

anyways I guess it also irritates me because I see these kinds of comments a lot under studies having to do with characters struggling with trauma or mental illness and therefore not communicating in necessarily healthy or productive ways and maybe always having issues that do not get resolved perfectly and I really can’t stand it. we already live in a world where people have to pretend to be fine all the time. I’m quite flattered when people are comfortable enough with me to let that veneer go. they feel safe around me! what a compliment! I always feel like that’s so much more than I deserve. sure things can be uncomfortable at times and I do sometimes have to say “I can’t listen or help right now but please tell me later” and that’s ok! because we all want to make sure we’re safe for each other to come talk to. to be honest with. a little personal discomfort at times is worth it. always.

people are messy. you’ve got to let people be messy. friendships, relationships, etc, they take time and effort from everyone involved. learning to manage less than ideal situations actually is going to help you draw better boundaries against things that are actually “fucked up” or toxic than expecting perfection, or for a happily ever after where all the conflicts you started out with get resolved.

idk. it’s just. people you care about deserve to not have to be ideal around you. likewise you deserve to have to not be ideal around them. isn’t that. the whole point of someone knowing your soul? the ugliness? and the way it’s a package deal with the rest of you? I would like to learn you. I don’t just want your scraps. I want every part of the whole I asked for. I will learn to manage the sharper edges.

#ugh ok so there’s a lot of nuance I couldn’t cover here this is more of a mini rant but yeah.#some of you do not know what ‘fucked up’ actually looks like I think…#fucked up dynamics are fun to play with! but a functional relationship that happens to have some issues is not it!#especially when the issues have to do with past trauma or mental health issues. kind of gross man.#I guess it extra confused me too because like. I’ve never found it to be overly stressful or a big issue to accommodate people?#I don’t find it overly taxing. At least not anymore than socializing in general #in fact I like it better because now I have a goal to focus on in the interaction - make person feel comforted/better/supported/safe #most interactions I feel like I’m flailing lol #agh anyways. bye #storyrambles

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justashadetalkative · 11 months

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[Image description: A chart of character inspirations for Clemcy. They are: Lord Vetinari from the Discworld series; Scar from the Lion King and Ursula from Disney’s adaptation of The Little Mermaid; Jonan from the webcomic Runewriters (showing a panel of him saying, “Hah! There are a thousand corpses beneath these streets! Are you inviting me to uproot them?”); Scorpius from Farscape; and John Marcone & Nicodemus from The Dresden Files. End ID.]

Honorable mention to MCU Loki, whose character does not particularly interest me but whose body language and appearance certainly influenced the design for Clemcy's original body. 😂

#(Ahhhh Runewriters)#(I’m glad the creator chose mental health over completion but I will also always be sad it was discontinued)#Clemcy #(Magic mishaps & rebounds! Disability rep! Constant peril & chaos! Funny! Lovely art! ‘Twas right up my alley in so many ways)#(Alas)#details #details: Clemcy #character inspirations #ooc #writing flails

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fakeoldmanfucker · 1 year

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Vent post below re: dysphoria and anxiety shit. I'm on mobile so idk how to make a read more thing but just be warned.

Hate hate hate this no-man's-land (ha) that I'm in rn where I want to dress masc but I don't have the clothes to do so and the clothes that are masc that I have, I don't have the confidence to wear (am I wearing it right? etc) and whenever I bind I'm either not doing it right or my boobs are too big for it to matter (or, my worst fear, both) and I don't have anyone irl to ask and at this point I'm considering going back in the closet entirely because I don't feel like I'm doing anything right and it's so hard to be trying and be consistently misgendered and idek what the point of any of it is anymore.

#i would send this text to my friends but ironically it's easier to type it here so idk what that says about society and my mental health #but oh well #finn's flailings #current mood: crying to mj rodriguez and george salazar's rendition of suddenly seymour

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bambeliowon · 10 months

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misophonia sucks because i can’t politely say shut up so i can stop thinking about killing you for like 5 minutes. no apparently that is rude anyway you put it and unreasonable.

#you cant even kill somebody without the stupid trigger though. if i stabbed someone and they fucking squelched and gurgled at me id cry #i cant even explain it because i live with the type of people who scoff at named mental health things #aka the worse people so be *general flailing* around #like wtf

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chrisevansonly · 4 months

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𝐕𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐏𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐲

𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: when the cold winter comes, lando’s quick to bring his little family back to the sunshine and warmth

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none, very fluffy

𝐚/𝐧: okay im sorry im so slow, my mental health has been taking a serious hit recently, and it still is but i really wanted to get a little something out for you guys, this is very small and im so sorry for that🩷

Baby babbles and gurgles filled the space under the pale yellow beach umbrella, the Cuban air warm and fresh against your skin as you watched your little Poppy smile and flail her arms, laying on the soft white towel you’d put down for her.

Lando off in the distance enjoying the water as he cooled off, as soon as the bitter cold and snow hounded England. It wasn’t as if you all disliked winter, but it was nice to get into the sun and sand, especially for your little girl.

Poppy smiled up at you, her teeth still not in yet, you couldn’t resist picking her up and holding her to your chest, pressing kisses across her face.

“My little sun baby, you’re so cute!”

Happy squeals leaving her lips at the attention of her mum, her eyes only lit up more seeing Lando walking towards the two of you.

“Here comes daddy, I think he’s done swimming!”

“Hi petal!” came Lando’s voice full of love as he reached to pick up the 5 month old, who immediately scrunched her face up at her fathers wet hair, dripping onto her

“Lando look at her face”

You laughed noticing the displeasure on Poppy’s face, clearly not appreciating the chilly ocean water

“Oh sorry my love, not a fan of the water?”

Lando smiled as his little girl tucked her head into his neck, almost as if to say yes to his question, but she soon relaxed, her eyes drooping ever so slightly as his hand began rubbing up and down her back softly

“I think your lulling her to sleep there baby”

When he looked back down, Poppy was very much asleep which allowed him to carefully sit next to you, your head finding its usual place on his shoulder

“This is nice isn’t it?” he said softly after a few moments

“Absolutely perfect…thank you Lan”

A kiss was placed to your forehead, his arm squeezing you a bit tighter

“Anything for my girls”

If anyone asked you what heaven felt like, you’d say this moment right here; cuddled up with your husband and baby girl, as the waves crashed gently onto the shore and the sun shone down warmly.

This right here, was heaven.

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thebibliosphere · 9 days

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just wanted to wish you luck with the emdr! it worked great for me despite being self-administered (not recommended, but nhs waiting lists)

Thank you. I've done EMDR for the Other Horrors in my life, and it works well for me (even if it's harrowing to begin with).

I'm pairing it with somatic movement therapy because part of my trauma/masking response is to completely freeze up internally while pretending to be completely fine outwardly.

(can't show emotion! my emotions are Too Big, and that makes me Annoying for others to be around, so I will simply not experience them. I'm sure this is totally fine and will have no lasting repercussions on my mental and physical health ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ… oh what's this? it's multiple immune disorders coming in with steel chairs!!!)

So, I'm learning to flail around to give my body something to do with all the adrenaline after EMDR sessions. Weirdly, that's almost harder than the actual EMDR.

There's something weirdly visceral about Kermit flailing to music in front of your therapist 😅

#therapy #trauma response #trauma recovery #gif warning

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grumpyoldsnake · 9 months

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I have managed to share an emotion or opinion of mine twice (2 times!) this month without first thinking and rethinking and subsequently at least rephrasing what I’m saying based on how it might come across

(In a good “expressing feelings less stiltedly & formally, or admitting to potentially-embarrassing feelings” way, not an “intentionally being rude or not considering others’ feelings” way)

And on the one hand it is less than ideal that this is noteworthy in the first place, and that doing so was scary and took inner pep talk.

On the other hand — still proud of myself!

#‘I don’t have social anxiety’ I say of myself #which is like. true. I think. in the traditional sense.#I’m not self-conscious in public; I’m comfortable interacting with strangers; I have actively enjoyed giving speeches to 1 #*thousand-person crowds #(working at the zoo was fun!)#but boy howdy do my emotions get a bit tangled interacting with my actual established relationships & people I care about fffff #and my hangups about ‘initiate a personal interaction’ are intense in a few specific scenarios (if nonexistant in others)#life flails #mental health flails #my stuff

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juliemolinaz · 3 months

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There have been a decent number of times where I get frustrated in Min-hwan's portrayal in the show compared to Soo-min's in that Soo-min seems more like the scary one while Min-hwan seems less threatening and comedic. Like, even when Min-hwan is being physically threatening or abusive, we get a scene shortly after where he's having his temper tantrums or flailing that we can kind of forget what he did earlier in the show. And then wham, the show gives us scenes like in today's episode that show just how more dangerous Min-hwan is.

Soo-min has done some fucked up and manipulative shit that has put Ji-won in danger, but I think today's episode really showed that Soo-min has some pretty severe mental health issues. She did a good job masking those mental health issues in the original timeline, but that was because she wasn't experiencing any stress and Ji-won was so dependent on her. But, in this new timeline, when Ji-won distances herself, Soo-min's "perfect" image goes away, and her life is falling apart, we can see Soo-min unraveling and spiraling.

But, man, Min-hwan can be an abusive and manipulative asshole. He might have been genuine with Ji-won in the beginning of their relationship, but he knew what to say and do to make Ji-won feel like he was amazing and be willing to stick around even when he started to become more controlling and abusive. And then we saw his manipulativeness in today's episode when he could see Soo-min unraveling and said the words he knew would get Soo-min to agree to marry him. And the fact that he said the same exact words to Soo-min that he did to Ji-won shows that he knows how to take advantage of someone who wants to be loved and wants to have a family. Min-hwan uses his childish and immature persona as a way to make people feel less threatened until he has them dependent enough on him that they stay no matter what abusive tactics he uses on them.

So, while Soo-min's mental health issues do not excuse her actions and how she's treated Ji-won, I am glad that the show does come back around to remind us just how much more dangerous and threatening Min-hwan actually is.

#marry my husband #i also want to give the actress for soo-min kudos in how well she's showing soo-min's mental health spiral #as a therapist i'd say soo-min shows a lot of characteristics of borderline personality disorder

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dearestspirit · 5 months

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a note heard in heaven - 01

mizu x fem!reader | au based on the film the handmaiden | word count: 3,388 | warnings: mdni. this series will contain sexual and dark themes, including: abuse, sex, sexual assault/harrasment, period typical misogyny, murder, allusions to suicide, and period typical stigmas against mental health. series masterlist | previous part | next part

“Fuck!” Mizu grunts, knocking her head into the ceiling of her little room after hearing your scream.

Hissing, she hurriedly flails up and out of bed, Madame Kaji’s words on her mind. The older woman had told Mizu about your nightmares– she was no stranger to them herself. If she were back in that dingy village she called home right now, she would’ve gone right back to sleep. It’d be a lie if she said she wasn’t thinking about ignoring you, even now. Taigen would have her head if she didn’t follow through with the plan, though… The thought of losing out on the money is enough to make her quicken her pace through your door, nearly tripping over herself.

Your voice is torn between muttering and full-blown shrieking– crying for your mother. Your mother, who, as far as Mizu knew, was long gone. Once she reaches your bed, she’s out of breath and already has her arms at, what she assumes is, your shoulders to hold you in place. Buried under your blanket and absolutely thrashing around, Mizu can barely get a word out to calm you down. Eventually, she can tell you’ve become more conscious when you start calling out for the name of your old handmaiden.

“No, no, I’m the new one,” Mizu hushes you, your wild movements slowly ceasing. “You had a bad dream, go back to sleep.” Her tone is rough, hoping you’re through the worst of it.

Finally, you take hold of the blanket, easing the hem of it down to your midsection. Mizu, for a moment, gulps as you’re revealed to her. In the glint of the moonlight, your eyes were almost crystalline. Tear tracks stain your cheeks, complexion ruddy with grief. Her eyes trail down to your lips, trembling. Grasped tightly in your arms was a doll. You looked… fragile. Fragile in an all too familiar way. Fragile in the way that she knew she once was too– a child, having a bad dream, calling for their mother. No mother would come for either of you.

She watches you raise your arm, finger pointing out into the gardens your room faces. “Do you see the cherry tree? My aunt… she passed. There’s nights where I see her out there.” Your rasping barely breaks through the quiet, hoarse and shaky.

Mizu’s attention is turned towards the large window, squinting out of it. Watching you from the corner of her eye, she can’t shake the thought of how eerie you are. Neither Taigen nor Madame Kaji had even hinted at the notion of you seeing ghosts to her. She wasn’t superstitious in the slightest, but she felt the weight of her responsibility for you become heavier. Melancholy like yours was easy to sense, deeply buried as it may be. This job was going to be the end of her. She sighed, hoping to turn around and find you peacefully sleeping.

“For fuck’s sake!” Mizu grits her teeth, finding you not even in the room at all once she turns back.

She’s quick to chase after you, finding you huddled in a swathe of your own blankets at the top of the stairs. You’re sniffling into them, knees pressed tightly to your chest. When you peer up at her, a zing of guilt courses up her spine. Maybe you didn’t just look fragile.

“Come to your senses yet?” She asks, tilting her head with her arms crossed. Reaching a foot out, she nudges at your legs.

You give her a sluggish nod in response, having exerted all your energy. Between the scrambling in bed and the mad dashing to the staircase, you felt well and truly exhausted. Part of you felt remorse; for looking at Mizu, even in the dim light, you could see the weariness under her eyes. In the gauntness of her cheekbones, too. Despite feeling despair holding you down, you reach your arms out, gesturing for her help. Mizu drags a hand over her face, grumbling. Squatting down, she’s somehow able to enclose her arms around the mass of blankets covering you, lifting you easily. It barely takes her any time to lug you back into bed.

Her awkward nature is obvious as she stands once more at your side. “Okay, well… goodnight?”

Sitting up, you don’t hesitate to take Mizu’s sleeve into your hand and pull. In response, she tugs herself away from you, scoffing.

“Don’t grab me like that,” Mizu seethes. “Ever. Just call for me.”

Your mouth runs dry. Whether that’s due to the harshness of her tone or the fact you upset her, you aren’t entirely sure. “I apologize… Could you stay with me until I fall asleep again?”

Her face scrunches. “Don’t you have a husband? Call him in here.”

You squirm, clearly uncomfortable. “We aren’t actually married yet. Calling each other husband and wife… it’s for appearances,” Your head lolls back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling. That doll you had– it’s returned to its position of being clutched tightly in your arms. “Men like him are only gentle with women when others are watching.”

Mizu’s chest heaves, a strong exhale leaving her as she contemplates her next move. “Fine, just for tonight.”

Your eyes light up almost instantaneously. The sight makes her swallow, stiffly. Had… anyone ever looked at her like that? Those sparks of joy, finally overtaking that shadowy gloom in your irises; it captivated her. Briefly, at least.

“Ugh,” she shook her head, taking little care to climb into the spot next to you. “Look, if I’m staying here until you fall asleep, you’re facing the other way.”

“Your eyes are blue. I couldn’t see them that well before.”

“Yes, they are. Just another good reason for you to turn around, right?” she sneers. “Or better yet, go ahead and fire me.”

You frown, holding her gaze. “I wouldn’t fire you for something like that,” you’re mumbling as you bring a hand up to her cheek, caressing it with the back of your knuckle. “For what it’s worth, I think they’re beautiful. Someone would’ve been very happy to have you as a wife someday, I’m sure.”

Mizu snorts at that, carefully edging her face away from your touch. “I’ll pass, but… thanks. Even if it’s empty flattery.”

She can see your lips form into a pout. “It’s not!”

You’re playful, all of a sudden. She figures that this is it. Your loneliness bubbling to the surface. An undrownable creature made of desires and aches. Mizu knew your old handmaidens were mostly a lot older than you– elderly women vastly more experienced than the other youthful servant girls. It’s been very, very long since you’ve had a friend, if you’ve ever had one to begin with. It was only slightly unfortunate to her that she’d have to be the one to prey upon your vulnerabilities.

“Do brats like you whine all the time?” She huffs, taking your arms within her hands and turning you around herself. “You must be worn out by now, so go to bed. I’ll… be here.”

You chuckle at her, the grimace she must be sporting is obvious even though you’re not looking anymore. You can’t help but think that your mattress felt a bit softer tonight.

It was a long few minutes that passed by, Mizu’s eyes trained on the motions of your breathing. When your body rose, fell. The slight shivers that would run through you when your blanket slipped lower than wanted. Clearing her throat, she eased herself off of your bed. With her first night as your handmaiden over, she questioned just how sane she’d be after the end of all this. At least she’d be rich, she supposed, slipping back into her bedroll with a smirk.

Mizu awoke to a bleary morning and the sound of Madame Kaji’s grating nags in her ear. Something about even the handmaiden eating in the servant’s quarters– she didn’t care all that much, barely half conscious to hear it. It took her a few groggy minutes to make her way outside and get her hands on a bowl of rice and some sort of… porridge, she assumed.

The hall was filled with the gossip of the other young girls serving here. Together they squealed about The Count; he was due to make an appearance today. Supposedly they saw a light ghosting through the hallway, speculating it was him meeting you in your bedroom. She almost laughed at that, knowing the reality is that it was her going after you during your nightmare. Fiddling with her chopsticks, she felt little appetite knowing Taigen would be here today. Everything in this plan had to go perfectly, there was no room for her to be suspicious or lack confidence in her abilities. Perhaps the seemingly endless downpour of rain was also putting a damper on her? Taking only a few more bites, she pushed her bowls away from her. Padding over to where she left her shoes, she felt a bristle of anger. One of her shoes was gone, with a crowd of other servant girls giggling. Unfortunately for her, and fortunately for them, Madame Kaji was approaching her with a parasol held over her head.

“Is that how you intend on going to meet with the Lady?” Her eyebrow raises, gesturing to Mizu’s feet.

“I didn’t exactly plan on having my shoe taken.” Mizu fumes.

Madame Kaji sighs, massaging her temple. “Ah… Very well.”

A sense of unease settled in Mizu’s chest. This would be her first official meeting with you. It’d be up to you whether you’d take her on as handmaiden or not… and it was looking grim for her, right now. As if she isn’t on enough people’s hit list, she’d have to go and be added to Taigen’s for screwing up. She follows closely behind Madame Kaji as she leads her to your room, trying her best to ignore the sogginess of her footwear. It takes everything in her to not grumble with every step, keeping up a polite disposition. Even if you were willing to put up with her irritable nature, Madame Kaji certainly wasn’t.

Before long, she stood in front of you in a deep bow, hands folded at her waist.

“This is Mizu.” Madame Kaji spoke.

You felt a prickle of heat trail up your neck, a twinge of embarrassment at realizing that through the entire night, you hadn’t asked for her name once.

“I’m at your service, my Lady.” She straightens herself out, eyes now set on you.

You’re much more put together today. That hair of yours is pinned up neatly, off your shoulders. And your eyes, today, aren’t sullied by the red tint of sorrow. Your choice of dress guides the eyes– from nose to lips to neck to the faint hint of exposed collarbones. Delicate; the word that comes to mind when Mizu collects her thoughts. Madame Kaji leaves a less than pleasant swat on her back.

“Right, a letter from my last mistress.” Mizu stands before you, holding out the paper.

You don’t open it yet, instead choosing to focus your sight on Mizu. “Did you enjoy your first night here? It’s rare for the sun to come out. My husband prefers it that way, otherwise his extensive library would be at risk. To take joy in a place like this… it’s difficult, no?”

Mizu’s eyesight flickers between you and Madame Kaji, wondering how to answer. “I don’t mind it.”

“Hm,” You hum inquisitively. “You don’t have to lie when I question you. I want your honesty. Do you have parents?”

“What?” Mizu asks, somewhere between anger and surprise.

“I’ll be going now.” Madame Kaji shakes her head, sighing.

“I don’t have any either, so don’t feel bad. I had my aunt and Madame Kaji, so how much can the love of a mother really be worth?” For a second, she hears the twist of something bitter in you. You look back down at the letter Mizu handed you. “Read this to me, if you will.”

“You’re spoiled, aren’t you?” She grunts, taking the parchment out of your hands.

“It’s only because my head hurts before every reading session with my husband. Though your honesty is refreshing.” You’re grinning, unused to someone like her. Your previous handmaidens were at your beck and call– annoyingly so.

It’s odd, but in her mind she’s quick to consider you… charming. You’ve been spoon-fed and privileged your whole life, yet here you are conversing with her without taking any offense. Delight has always been scarce for her; still, she reminds herself whatever she feels now will and must be short lived.

“Dear Lady of the House… The Count said you needed a new maid…” Mizu starts, reading off the neat handwriting which she knows is Taigen’s, but you're oblivious to.

“Ah, enough,” You wave a hand at her, taking the letter back. “You’ll be my handmaid. I know Madame Kaji forbids it, but I don’t particularly care if you curse or steal. It’s my word that decides whether you stay or not.”

“You speak like you have a condition for my staying?” Mizu questions.

“I do. Don’t ever lie to me.” You smile, though your words are cold. It’s a chilling ultimatum that rings in the back of her mind for a while.

She freezes as you put her hands on her– resting them on the outside of her arms, slowly trailing to her wrists. There’s a second where she can pinpoint the exact change in your expression. Where it morphs from man-eating to genuine. She thinks that through all the rain, the sun might be shining a little brighter through the gray now.

“And, another question,” You’re scanning her appearance, zeroing in on the frames sitting on her nose. “Did Madame Kaji ask you to wear those- your glasses?”

“Yes, for my eyes.” She mumbles, finding the topic easily aggravating her.

“You don’t have to wear them if you'd rather not, and…” A finger of yours comes up, untucking a curl of her locks from their neat place. “You can wear your hair like this. It’s how you had it last night, too. You seemed more comfortable.”

Since when has anyone like you ever cared about the comfort of someone below you? She opens her mouth to speak, maybe even say some sort of gratitude, but you’re already flitting away from her. You’re eager, waving her to and fro every corner of your room. Trinkets on display are taken out of their designated place and into her palms, each one connected to a story. You talk.

You talk, and that loneliness once again bubbles, showing it’s soft underbelly to the skies.

“This is my mother.” You open up a locket to reveal an old photo.

To Mizu, the two of you have an uncanny resemblance. It’s almost bizarre, the way each of you is the picture of a man’s ideal wife. Again, the word delicate springs to mind. “She’s stunning.”

You tilt your head, eyes squinting. “And me? My husband says I don’t compare to my mother.” You turn, mimicking your mother’s pose. There’s nerves in your tone, a shadow looming over you as you wait in suspense for her answer.

Fuck. Your own despair would betray you. You’ve unknowingly gotten yourself ensnared in the perfect moment to sink her teeth into you. Your softness would be met only with blades. With her as his wing-woman, you’d be eating out of Taigen’s hand in no time.

Her stare lingers on you. “The Count says–”

“You’ve met him?”

“What?” She stutters, blinking rapidly. “I mean, my… aunt met him. She used to nanny him, so I’ve just heard things from her.”

“So, what did he say about me then?” Your eyes hold an expression of curiosity, maybe even a tinge of hope.

“He lays awake at night thinking of you. In bed.” She tacks on the last part of her sentence as an extra measure.

There’s a brief flash of a smirk upon your face before you speak. “In bed…” You trail off, gaze landing on her one shoeless foot. “And what happened there?”

When she recalls the events to you of her losing her shoe, you click your tongue, sighing. You reach out a hand to take her by the arm, but remember her warning about never grabbing her. Instead, she herself holds out her arm for you, rolling her eyes. Guiding her over to a large closet, you open the two doors, displaying your wide collection of shoes.

“Take a pair, please.” You indicate which ones would fit her. “It’s not like I’m allowed to go anywhere, so someone should get some use out of them.”

Mizu, uncertain, takes the plainest pair out of the ones you’ve shown her. They’re simple and black, seemingly comfortable enough to do her handmaiden work in.

You seem to be happy with her choice, the way your lips upturn. “You didn’t want any of the flashy expensive pairs?”

She shakes her head, shrugging. “Not my style.”

“Hm,” You look out the window, then shift your gaze to the room’s clock. “I have to go for my husband’s reading. You can stay put, I’ll go alone.”

“It’s pouring out there.” Mizu says, as if you can’t see the state of the weather.

“Come get me at noon, okay?” There’s that smile of yours again– do you have to smile so much?

The door is closed behind you before Mizu gets any sort of goodbye out. Adjusting her glasses, she snorted as her eyes landed on the clock you were looking at before. You’re rich, of course you have the latest inventions at your disposal. It was a handcrafted Western clock made of brass. She wondered who had gifted it to you, were they too trying to get in your good graces? Seduce you? She’s not sure if it mattered, since she– The Count, she corrects herself– would be the one to succeed. Letting out a moan of boredom, she decides to pass her time by looking through your belongings.

The overindulgence of wealth nearly sickens her. Your extravagant kimono collection, sorted by color, the best season to wear them, what obi pairs well with them. She thought that was nauseating until she plucked through the cases of jewelry. Gold, silver, every gem you could imagine existed right here in front of her very eyes. It’s not impossible for her to picture you bathed in their opulence, as the kind of woman that such a fortune suits. Would you ask her to put your earrings on for you? Moreover, would she be tame, tender? Snapping the jewelry box shut, she checks your foreign clock once more.

Noon. With clouds still darkening the sky, she grabbed one of your umbrellas, heading out the door to follow the path you had taken to your husband’s library. Stepping carefully to avoid scuffing her shoes– or, your shoes– in case you’d ask for them back. There was a thin layer of trust she was willing to grant you, but she of all people knew how quickly one could turn. When she makes it to the door of the library, she sits at the entrance.

You’re kneeled on the floor, your husband sitting at the table. He shoots you a questioning glare once his eyes land on Mizu.

“This is my new handmaiden, Mizu.” You’re talking to him, but your eyes stay on the floor, hands neatly in your lap.

Mizu goes to walk inside, before your husband shouts, pointing at a golden snake decoration. It gives her a shock, stepping backwards. She sees you pull a lever in the corner of the room, bringing down a grated gate.

“You may not cross that barrier!” He sounds fucking deranged, Mizu notes. She also makes the observation of his black tongue. Ink?

Trying to peer through the gaps of the metal, she searches for you. At the lever she saw before, you’re rooted in place. Trembling, in the face of an unhinged man you were forced to call ‘husband’, you looked scared. Fragile. Delicate.

Mizu wondered just how long she could pretend to be picking up the pieces of you until she would have to let them fall and shatter– to dust, to infinitesimal shards no one could see anymore.

a/n: the official chapter 1!! i hope people enjoy and can see where i'm going with mizu's characterization. there's a lot of shuffling i have to do of the plot to make sure i feel it's accurate to mizu. or at least as accurate as it can be in an au. so i hope that it's worth it and people enjoy!! i can't guarantee the quickest publishing rate with chapters, as i'm still figuring out how i want to structure them and they'll probably vary here and there in length. anyway thank you for reading!!

#mizu x reader #mizu x you #mizu #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai x you #bes x reader #bes x you

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tang3r1n · 2 months

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tw; panic attacks, bad self image, implied father/parental issues, bad mental health, self-deprecating thoughts. (reader is implied to be aizawa’s student/hes implied to be a sort of father to them. platonic vibes, but big on physical touch cause it’s my love language)

“my head hurts.”

“take some aspirins then, hon,”

“m’kay,”

aizawa was still nose deep in paperwork, one hand scribbling away on his… less than… academically inclined students, the other softly rubbing your legs spread across his lap. the calluses on his hands felt like sandpaper, but in a nice way, “…your hand feels like a cat tongue.”

“…” he laughs a bit, “…thanks, your legs feel furry,” you scoff and lightly kick him in the gut, causing aizawa to laugh louder, “kidding, kidding,” you lean back down, staring up at the popcorn ceiling above you.

your head feels funny, your nose stopped up, cheeks buzzing and tight. your eyes burned, rubbed raw from crying for the better part of two hours. a heavy sigh was forced upon you, heaving your chest harshly before your breath staccatos out of your lungs rather roughly.

aizawa pats your thigh, tired eyes swiping over to look at you for a moment. you were in the ‘aftershock’ phase of a panic attack, face puffy and flushed, your skin was still stick with tears you didn’t even register falling. he sighed, taking off his glasses and heaving you closer with a grand show of struggle as he groaned and huffed your hips up onto his lap.

you sighed, face numb as he forced you to sit up, your head swimming in the heavy mix of tears and aizawa’s cologne while he wiped at your face. he rubbed away your shiny tears and snot with a soft tissue, patting your back to the rhythm of your heartbeat, “you still feeling it?”

you nod.

“wanna eat something?”

you shake your head ‘no’.

“wanna put something on to watch?” he bends down, grabbing a water and opening it, holding it to your mouth as you take a big gulp. the cold water shocks you, it feels nice.

you shake your head ‘no’, again.

he takes your hands into one of his larger ones, the other still patting your back softly. he starts to rock you two back and forth.

“you’ll be okay,”

you nod, his soft tone makes your nose itch, your throat closes up and your eyes well back up.

“and i’ll be here,”

tears fall slowly, fat and slow as they trail new tracts down your hot skin, burning from the pressure pushed against it.

“every time.” he kisses your forehead, “i’ll always be here for you.”

you start to pant and huff again, chest tight as the tears turn fast and hot. his hand just squeezes yours, still rocking softly, still patting your back in that same rhythm.

“i love you.”

a shrill gasp escapes you, throat burning as air claws down the raw tunnel. you feel loved and it feels awfully warm. sickeningly comforting. it’s terrifying, how softly he handles you, it’s horrifying, how slow he is. you’ve begged for love like this all your life, and now that you have it, you’re petrified he’ll leave, clawing at his sweater, desperate for his warmth, craving his love like the air forcing itself into your deprived body.

but he stays.

he stays, rocking you both, patting your back, aspirin bottle open and knocked to the ground, water spilt all over his younger student’s exams, his ‘old man’ glasses thrown to the floor with your flailing. you’re so ugly, so broken, so jumbled and mixed up and upset and ruined and worthless and sensitive and hungry—

but he stays. he’s there, holding you, breathing for you, feeding you his love, teaspoon at a time, one ‘i love you’ at a time, one aspirin at a time.

#.v speaks #yall it’s been a DAY.#i need a father :(#JK IM FINE #aizawa fluff #aizawa angst #mha fluff #platonic aizawa #dadzawa #mha dadzawa #mha angst #platonic x reader #x chubby reader #mha aizawa #aizawa shota mha #shota aizawa mha #..aizawa #..mha #rating; pg-13

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pileofmush · 7 months

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the sun still rises ☼

pairing ➸ monkey d. luffy x fem!reader

synopsis ➸ luffy catches something in the water. it's a girl, to his dismay. not a fish.

details ➸ tags: pt. i, angst, introspection // cw: very much a vent fic, near-death experience, struggles with mental health, i gave reader a name bc i can, an attempt at prose // wc: 1.4k // series m.list

Water crashes against a rocky shore. It whispers; it sings. Rising and rolling, the water recedes; it warns.

A thud. Feeble knees collapse into wet sand. Salt lingers on your tongue, though you’ve scrubbed your mouth three times now. You choke on the grains still lodged in your throat. Blink the sand out of your eyes.

Alive. You’re alive, you think to yourself. Your cruddy boat is gone, washed away somewhere. But you remain—alive. And the sun still rises and the world still spins.

Not that the world would have stopped spinning had you died. Not when death makes the world go round. Still, the sun rises. Still, the ocean’s tide sings. The tide drapes over you, blocking out the sky. Perhaps you should have fled, when you had the chance. But you didn’t-- you don't, and the wave crashes over you as consequence. You are moved. Moved by the wave; moved by the weight of your circumstances. No one prepared you for this. Your mother didn’t dole out this particular lesson in her long spiels about the meaning of life. And now, she will never speak again.

Mother leapt.

Mother crashed.

Like waves against a rocky shore.

If only you could take on the attributes of the sea. The sea knows no god. She does what she wishes. But you? You bend. Bend to the will of those who want harder than you. Bend to the magnificent wave’s power as it drags you back, back into the godless sea. You are nothing, in comparison. Flotsam.

You don’t want. But there are things that you don’t want.

For instance: you don’t want to return to your mother.

Oh, you thought that you did. You thought a lot of things. You once thought your mother believed in the hollow words she said. She didn’t. You once thought dying would be easy.

It isn’t.

Dying burns. Like the burning in your lungs. It takes, and it consumes, until there is nothing left of you but a mound of ash.

And, dying squeezes. Squeezes you out like a dirty dish rag, until out spills every morsel of fear, frustration, desire and hope that once existed inside your fleshy body. And, there you are. Your essence, pooled into the ocean for all to see. And in your last few moments, you are left to wonder, perhaps I did exist; perhaps I should have lived.

You inhale. You don’t want to die. There has to be more to life than drowning in the waters of a strange island, strange ocean, stranger world. Saltwater fills your lungs as you begin to mourn the life you never lived.

Dying, you find, is a color. A deep, solemn purple. The color of a fresh bruise; the color of your mother’s wine; the color of regret.

Cupped hands cut through water, frantic, as you try to rise; as your head spins. Above the waterline, above your flailing body, the wind howls. It warned you, you know. The ocean warned you. And now the wind howls, though the wail doesn’t quite reach your ears. Not over the deep blue croon of the ocean, and your own pained gurgles.

You can’t think, any longer. Only feel.

Feel your fingertips just barely breach the surface. Feel your legs kick with a renewed sense of urgency. Feel the sudden intake of air—sweet, glorious air rushing through your body—almost too much, but not even close to being enough. Feel the hands that wrap around your torso like a lasso, firm and sort of rubbery. Feel your body fling through the air, and your stomach lurch, before you collide into a person.

It knocks the breath out your lungs, and you choke, for a second time.

The same hand that deftly plucked you out the ocean whacks your back, while the other keeps you upright. You would wave your savior off if you had the energy. You possess no devil powers—you dare not make a foe of nature itself—yet the ocean saps your strength, anyway. Takes what little you have left to claim, like she took away your mother.

You’ve yet to open your eyes, but you can reason you’re on a ship. You can hear the calls of a woman over the song of the wailing sea, preparing the ship for docking in the middle of a thrashing storm. You hear the grunts of men, and the flapping of wind-beaten sails, and the stamping of several feet, scurrying across a wooden deck.

When you’re finally done hacking your lungs, the savior makes to set you down. Your knees buckle.

“Woah there,” you hear them exclaim, then let out a boyish laugh. The stranger hoists you up by your arm pits, like you’re a drenched cat. “You’re not a fish!”

This is true.

You blink the water out of your eyes. In front of you: a boy. Just a boy with a wide, proud grin, and a curved scar underneath his eye. A yellow straw hat hangs from his neck.

You cough up water as a greeting.

You know of this strange, savior boy. He belongs on fading, brown parchment above big, bold letters—Wanted; Dead or Alive—his toothy grin immortalized on the bulletin board outside the pub back home. But he isn’t just any old criminal. No, this boy is far worse. For he looks at the expansive blue sea—godless, boundless—and has the gumption to declare it his playing field.

He looks at what the world has to offer him with wide, peering eyes, and yet, he is still not satisfied. Surely, the world has more to give. Surely, it has more to take. That’s what he does, and it’s what he will continue to do: take and take until he’s had his fill.

He’s a pirate, after all.

The boy sets you down on the deck and you are finally centered—reunited, at last, with the ground. He’s kind of awkward looking: gangly and disheveled and bright, but his carefree countenance wraps it altogether and ties it in a messy red bow. He tilts his head at a 90 degree angle and stares at you point-blank, thin black brows furrowed in confusion.

“If you’re not a fish, what’re ya doing in the middle of the ocean?” he asks bluntly. Like you could help getting swept up in the current of Mother Nature. Like his crew mates aren’t currently scrambling to safely dock this ship.

Your voice sounds strangled when you speak, words getting caught in your throat and roughly tumbling out of your mouth. “Drowning. I was drowning,” you manage to say.

The rocking of the ship you’re on is not kind to you. Hunched over, your hands brace against your knees as you huff. Your fingers are pruned grapes, wrinkled and trembling.

“That’s dumb,” the boy tells you. “Just swim next time.”

Maybe he has a point.

You look to the sky. It’s a deep, foreboding gray, pregnant dark clouds looming above and promising rain. Somewhere, you register, behind the clouds… is the sun. It’ll set, yes, and plunge the realm into night, but by dawn it will rise again. And the world will spin.

“Who’re you then, if you’re not a fish?” The boy draws you back to him, demanding your attention. His eyes are dark as coal, round with open curiosity. You burn under his gaze; greedy and intense.

Your back straightens. “I’m Yuna.”

“Like Tuna?” he questions.

“Just Yuna.”

He accepts your answer with a swift jerk of his head and a slight pout. In the distance, you can hear the woman from before calling the the ship to anchor. One of the men—this one has a slender frame and long, long legs—leaves the helm and drops an anchor to the ocean floor.

Your gaze flickers back to the boy who saved your life. “I’m Luffy! Monkey D. Luffy,” he introduces himself, then reaches for his straw hat to place atop his head. A red ribbon wraps around the base.

Things make sense when the hat is on, you think to yourself. He makes sense.

“Remember that,” he demands and jabs a thumb towards his chest, something like passion lighting his coal eyes aflame. “You’re talkin’ to the future king of the pirates.”

As if the heavens already bow to him, this future king, it begins to rain. He pulls off his hat and looks up. Water droplets kiss tawny skin. They roll from his cheeks, to his chin, down the curve of his neck.

Rain, your mother liked to say, is good luck. Fathers renewal. Change.

You hope she’s right.

#mushy writes .𖥔 ݁ ˖#luffy x reader #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #monkey d. luffy #one piece #m.monkey d. luffy #m.luffy #m.op #tw: angst #battle scarred;

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omegalomania · 1 year

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i think what i admire most about this record after sitting with it for a full day is the marriage of its musicality and its lyricism.

lyrically..."nihilistic" is a really good way of putting it. i was honestly kind of floored by how goddamn bleak so much of the lyricism on this record is. there's so much desolation, so much hopelessness, so much struggling to find meaning in meaninglessness. lyrically, i think this might be some of pete's darkest but also some of his best work. there's so much grappling with the feeling that maybe it's all pointless. maybe none of it fucking gets better. maybe you're always going to be fighting to figure out some kind of sense and feeling displaced and the further you look toward the horizon, the more the inevitability of the end scares the living shit out of you.

so much (for) stardust is utterly desolate lyrically. even little granules of hope feel tongue-in-cheek or in denial. so...what? does anything ever get better? are we all just flailing around, trying to make our stupid lives make sense? but at the same time, fall out boy are the happiest they've ever been as a band. they waited five years so they could savor making this record and they were genuinely excited to share it with all of us. pete is wearing skirts and letting his hair down and they're playing songs that once got them booed off stage with fearless love in their eyes and they're looking after each others' mental health and supporting one another through it all. what does it mean for a band to release something this somber at this point in time for them?

the "reality bites" pink seashell speech sums it all up kind of perfectly. so maybe life is inherently meaningless, but at the same time...there's good food. there's beautiful weather. there are still good movies, and the sound of rain on the windows, and hope, and friendship, and joy. maybe there's no point. but that doesn't change that there's still laughter. there's still love.

and that's what's in the sound of this record. the big, cinematic swell of an orchestra. the upbeat chirps of a synth. the screeching of a guitar and some bouncy, catchy goddamn riffs that'll live under your skin for days. this is a record you dance to and cry to. (cry a little, cry a lot, but don't stop dancing, don't dare stop.) sonically, this is a record laden with grit and delight and a powerful sense of purpose, from catchy pop hooks to roaring, cinematic anthems. it sits in delicious contrast to the words but it doesn't undermine them. it complements them. happy music for sad people.

of course there's pain, and there's frustration, and the world is full of tragedy and hopelessness and maybe the worst part of it is that it doesn't go away once you grow up. as you get older, you don't ever magically learn how everything clicks together. you just have to fumble through it and hope for the best, even if it feels like it never gets any easier.

it's a hard lesson to learn. but you aren't alone in it. so what fates do we share? we're all stardust. we all share the same end. we are not alone in our fears and uncertainties and we will not be alone at the end either, not really. we came from stardust and to stardust we will return.

i think if there is a hope i can take away from this record it's like...this feeling that it doesn't get better, really. but you do get better at living with it, and to someone like me, that's vital. years ago i had to come to terms with the valuable, painful lesson that i will not, mentally, neurologically, ever get "better." there will never be a point where i am "cured" of all that i must live with. but i've grown better at living with it. and there are things out there that i'm living for anyway - good food, better friends, and maybe a long-anticipated record you need to put on replay for a good long while as you soak it in.

maybe none of this matters, in the end. but if it doesn't, then this is what matters. this.

"if nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do."

#fall out boy #so much (for) stardust #*making poasts #*meta #expanding on some thoughts i was going on abt in the gc earlier #this is pretty freeform and it doesnt sum it all up for me but i tried my best #im allowed a little bit of sincerity from time to time #that parting quote is from angel the series. which is a show i have mixed feelings on but its an important quote to me so

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