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kindnessoverperfection · 9 months

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Please, if you can, take a moment to read and share this because I feel like I'm screaming underwater.

NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder) stigma is rampant right now, and seems to be getting progressively worse. Everyone is using it as a buzzword in the worst ways possible, spreading misinformation and hatred against a real disorder.

I could go on a long time about how this happened, why it's factually incorrect (and what the disorder actually IS), why it's harmful, and the changes I'd like to see. But to keep this concise, I'll simply link to a few posts under the cut for further reading.

The point of this post is a plea. Please help stop the spread of stigma. Even in mental health communities, even around others with personality disorders, in neurodivergent "safe" spaces, other communities I thought people would be supportive in (e.g. trans support groups, progressive spaces in general), it keeps coming up. So I'm willing to bet that a lot of people on this site need to see this.

Because it's so hard to exist in this world.

My disorder already makes me feel as if I'm worthless and unlovable, like there's something inherently wrong and damaged about me. And it's so much harder to fight that and heal when my daily life consists of:

Laughing and spending time with my friends, doing my utmost best to connect and stay present and focused on them, trying to let my guards down and be real and believe I'm lovable- when suddenly they throw out the word "narcissist" to describe horrible people or someone they hate, or the conversation turns to how evil "people with narcissistic personality disorder" are. (Seriously, you don't know which of your friends might have NPD and feels like shit when you say those things & now knows that you'd hate them if you knew.)

Trying to look up "mental health positivity for people with npd", "mental health positivity cluster bs", only to find a) none of that, and b) more of the same old vile shit that makes me feel terrible about myself.

Having a hard time (which is constant at this point) and trying to look up resources for myself, only to again, find the same stigma. And no resources.

Not having any clue how to help myself, because even the mental health field is spitting so much vitriol at people with DISORDERS (who they're supposed to be helping!) that there's no solid research or therapy programs for people like me.

Losing close friends when they find out, despite us having had a good relationship before, and them KNOWING me and knowing that I'm not like the trending image of pwNPD. Because now they only see me through the lens of stigma and misinformation.

Hearing the same stigma come up literally wherever I go. Clubs. Meetings. Any online space. At the bus stop. At the mall. At a restaurant. At work. Buzzword of the year that everyone loooves loudly throwing around with their friends or over the phone. Feels awesome for me, makes my day so much better/s

I could go on for a long time, but I'm scared no one will read/rb this if it gets too much longer.

So please. Stop using the word "narcissist" as a synonym for "abusive".

Stop bringing up people you hate who you believe to have NPD because of a stigmatizing article full of misinformation whenever someone with actual NPD opens their mouth. (Imagine if people did that with any other disorder! "Hey, I'm autistic." "Oh... my old roommate screamed at me whenever I made noise around him, and didn't understand my needs, which seems like sensory overload and difficulty with social cues. He was definitely autistic. But as long as you're self-aware and always restraining your innate desire to be an abusive asshole, you're okay I guess, maybe." ...See how offensive and ignorant that is?)

Stop preventing healthcare for people with a disorder just because it's trendy to use us as a scapegoat.

If you got this far, thank you for reading, and please share this if you can. Further reading is under the cut.

NPD Criteria, re-written by someone who actually has NPD

Stigma in the DSM

Common perception of the DSM criteria vs how someone may actually experience them (Keep in mind that this is the way I personally experience these symptoms, and that presentation can vary a lot between individuals)

"Idk, the stigma is right though, because I've known a lot of people with NPD who are jerks, so I'm going to continue to support the blockage of treatment for this condition."

(All of these were written by me, because I didn't want to link to other folks' posts without permission, but if you want to add your own links in reblogs or replies please feel free <3)

#actuallynpd #signal boost #actuallyautistic #mental health awareness #narcissistic personality disorder #people also need to realize that mental health professionals aren't immune from bias #(it really shouldn't come as a shock that the mental health field has a longstanding pattern of misunderstanding and mistreating ppl who ar #mentally ill or otherwise ND)#the first therapist i brought up NPD to like. literally pulled out the DSM bc she could barely remember the criteria. then said that there'#no way I have it because I have low self-esteem lmaoooooo #anyway throwback to being at work and chatting with a co-worker. and the conversation turning to mental health. and him saying that #he tries to stay informed and be aware and supportive of mental health conditions & that he doesn't want to be ignorant or spread harmful #misinformation. and then i mentioned that i do a lot of research into mental health stuff and i listed a bunch of things. which included #several personality disorders. one of which was NPD.#and after listening to my whole ass list he zeroed in on the NPD and immediately started talking about how narcissists are abusive and #he knew someone who had NPD and how the person who had it had an addiction and died from the addiction in a horrible way and he #was glad he did #fun times #or when i decided to be vulnerable and talk abt my self-criticism/self-hatred bc i knew my friends also struggled w that and i wanted to #support them by sharing my own coping methods. and they both(separately!) started picking and prodding at my npd through the lens of stigma #bc i'd recently opened up to them abt having it. they recognized self-hatred as a symptom and still jumped on me for it. despite me #trying to share hurt vulnerable parts of myself to help them and connect with them.#again..... fun times

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willthespy · 3 months

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HUYS WHY DID THIS DK WELL I HATE IT GET IT OFF MY TOP POSTS THE RVIEVDLBEBDH

a birthday gift from a certain god…

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theysangastheyslew · 3 months

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From helping rebuild settlements to teaching/further developing food production in barren regions to repurposing their odm gear into a leg brace for a certain someone, you know that post-Rumbling, Hange would find so many ways to stay in the action 🥲

#i get so emotional when i think about all that they couldve contributed #and staying busy would really help with the mental health part of recovery too #this was supposed to be a mix of both levi and hanges post-series activities but his snowballed into a comic so thats for next time oops #hanji zoe #hange zoe #levihan #levi ackerman #aot fanart #snk fanart #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin fanart #132 who?#click for better quality #i maed dis

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sword-of-stardust · 2 years

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More Technodad moments I wanted to save here on Tumblr.

(Link to original post 1, post 2, post 3)

#technodad #technoblade #technoblade never dies #save for later #mental health

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itsmaferart · 2 years

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Anya has the power to annihilate Twilight's soul in less than 00:01 seconds!

Nothing like the sincerity of a child to destroy 10 years of perfect professional record

#His brain died for the second time in a few moments.#Anya has a lot of power over this poor man's mental and physical health.#If you thought Anya was cruel to Yor #it's because you haven't seen two scenes.#He broke #Anya take care of him your dad's health hangs in the balance #anya forger #spy x family #twiyor #yor forger #loid forger #yor briar #spyxfamily twilight #twilight #sxf #loid x yor #age dreaming

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mediumgayitalian · 1 month

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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.”

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ilikecarsandlike4people · 3 months

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Some art analysis on why I think the new VR46 bike livery looks "off"

#yeah I don't know #the design just kind of pissed me off #cause last years bike was so pretty #they have dabbled into abstract shapes and colours #motogp #vr46 racing team #yes I spent all day doing this instead of school work #mental health day yk #marco bezzecchi #fabio di giannantonio #valentino rossi #and yes it was a whole powerpoint shh

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iinryer · 8 days

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i know we’re all super jazzed about bi buck, but please for the love of god y’all have got to stop saying “gay panic” and “bi panic”. i know it’s a funny-sounding phrase but it does NOT mean what you think you’re saying

#sorry to be a fucking downer but it needs to stop!!#if you don’t know what im talking about please google it #it’s a violent and bigoted legal defense #to quote my dear friend em: ‘not to be flippant but like. people literally died sharon’#evan buckley #iinryer talk #felt like this should be its own post instead of just adding it to the mental health post

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finemealprompt · 16 hours

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DP x DC Prompt #19

When Danny's team member asked him for a favor, Danny agreed before hearing him out. "What else are Titans for?" he had said, but really it's because none of the bats ever asked for favors. He was nosey, sue him.

However, he wasn't expecting to meet crime lord Red Hood and be asked to help with his "Pit Madness" or whatever.

Danny's sigh and hanging of his head seemingly worried the bats. He doesn't think the answer to their problems they were looking for was, "Go to therapy."

#finemeal prompt #dp x dc #danny fenton #jason todd #batfam #you died and came back to life dude #you have issues #go to therapy #and get better #get some coping mechanisms #men will literally become a crime lord and try to force their dad to kill the man who killed them which is the one thing he won't do before #going to therapy #men will literally do anything before going to therapy #go to therapy jason #you had a traumatic experience #you've had a LOT of traumatic experiences #please take care of your mental health

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lovefrombegonia · 5 months

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tw // ghost, nightmare, haunting, gore

My PIDW headcanon: Luo Binghe is haunted by the "ghost" of Shen Jiu. Not...as in, there is really a ghost. Or you can think there is one. Either way is fine. But I like to think of it as Shen Jiu's memories still haunting him.

Sometimes, when LBH is alone in his chamber, he is unable to sleep, he can hear the subtle clinking of the chains. The sounds are there but at the same time, not. Sometimes, when he is enjoying wine, he can still smell the rotting stench of blood, waste and gore that he has learnt to associate with SQQ's prison.

One time, he had a horrible dream of being stuck in the woodshed again. He woke up, and walked around his study. He did it quietly, so that he won't wake up the wife he was bedding that night. In his study, he was pacing back and forth, when he thought he saw something at the corner of the door. He froze. Horrified. But that was just for a second. He could clearly see now. Nothing is there. But...he could have sworn, he saw a rotten figure peeking at him from the corner of the door, with chains and tattered clothes hanging, tangled with long, dirty hair. He could have sworn he saw the head peeking from the upper left corner. But it's not there now. Nothing is there.

Sometimes, when he is walking through his palace corridors alone, his royal robes dragging on the beautiful marble floor, he could hear the sound of the clothes dragging change just a bit, change into the dragging of a body dragging itself only by one hand. Every time he stops and turns around. Nothing is there. He is alone.

Sometimes, when he is making love, as he is lost in the throws of passion, he thinks that the lustful moans of his wives sound a bit too close to the painful grunts of his former shizun. He wants to stop right then and there. But he doesn't want to disappoint his wives. So, he keeps going.

He was alone in the large bath, the warm water and steam lulling him into sleep. It has been a long day. The royal court was brutal. The rebellions were suppressed but debates still felt unending. His eye lids were getting heavier. He felt so comfortable, so sleepy, he was already half-asleep, vision getting blurry. He was alone in the bath that could easily fit five. Eyes closing by themselves...blink...he is alone. Blink...it's a struggle to stay awake. Blink...he closes his eyes. He hears his voice. "Little beast." He is not alone. The water reeks. He opens his eyes. A mutilated corpse in the bath water, chained, limbless, staring at him. LBH startles awake so bad, he splashes water everywhere. He is gasping for air. He is alone in the bath and the water is warm. He is safe. He can still smell the rot though.

He decides to visit the prison again. He knows for sure that Shen Qingqiu is dead. He was dead the last time he saw him. He is dead now. So...he doesn't understand why he feels like when he opens the door, his shizun will be standing there, ready to insult him again. Why he felt like when he opens the door, he will be back in the woodshed. He opens the door. There he is, hanging uselessly in chains and dead, very much dead. LBH walks close to the corpse, just to be sure, checks for signs of life. The corpse is already being eaten by maggots. Skin rotten black and green. His shizun doesn't even look human, he is well on his way to become a skeleton. LBH thinks of feeding the corpse to sowers. After he performs an exorcism. Just in case. That's when he hears it from behind. The sound of a fan opening in one fluid motion. He turns around immediately! Hand on xin mo's hilt! But no one is there. LBH heart beat is racing, and he wants to just get out of there now. He must be losing his mind. Shizun is dead. He is DEAD. He is the emperor of all three realms now. He has nothing to fear from a stupid STUPID PATHETIC GHOST, EVEN IF HE IS REAL!! He calms himself down. He is gonna feed the corpse to beasts and burn this room. Seal it off, and never return. He will give the orders today--the sound of chains moving is now undeniable, he can hear it CLEARLY. Whatever is left behind, it's moving. LBH can feel its stare, picture it like all this is happening right in front of him. This time..the sounds don't go away. The cold dread doesn't go away. It is alive. It is grunting, croaking, almost trying to say something, raising its head. LBH... doesn't turn around. Doesn't look back. He runs. He dashes out of the room in almost maddening fear, and orders the first servant he comes across to seal the prison door. LBH walks as fast as he could without running to his private chamber, and finds Qiu Haitang there. He goes to her and embraces her. Trying to find some solace in her arms. QHT could smell the stench of death on her husband but she ignores it. He is clearly in distress, so, she tries to comfort him. Binghe has tears in his eyes, he hugs her tightly as she rubs his back. Suddenly, his pushes her away in shock. QHT is startled too. Her beloved is staring at her with fear in his eyes. She ignores the hurt she felt and coaxes him like he is a child, trying to ask what happened. He doesn't say that he heard the heavy chains clinking on her wrist when she was rubbing his back.

When he comes back from the other world with a "kind shizun", he walks straight towards shen qingqiu's prison, and smashes open the sealed door. Nothing is there. The room is completely clean, no track of blood or torture. LBH almost thinks that he went to the wrong prison. Sha Hualing followed him after she heard the commotion. SHL asks, her voice laced with hesitation and worries, "What is it, my love?"

LBH: "Where...where is he? Did I enter the wrong room?"

He sounds...genuinely confused which further scares SHL. "Binghe...?", she holds his face gently and says,"My lord, you ordered to feed the remains to the beasts and scrub this room clean as if nothing has ever happened here last month... remember?" LBH... doesn't answer for a while. Just stared at SHL with a dumbfounded expression. Then, "oh...yes. Yes, I-It must have escaped my mind." He smiles at her but it doesn't reach his eyes.

That night he swears that he sees his shizun's torn body, still bound in chains, swinging slowly at the corner of his eyes as if the chains itself have grown sentient and replaced his limbs. But every time he turns around, nothing is there. As he tries to fall asleep in Ning Yingying's arms, he swears that sometimes her light snores turn into his shizun's croaking sound every time he is just on the edge of falling asleep.

#luo bingge whump #luo bingge #pidw luo binghe #pidw headcanon #shen jiu as ghost #or is he?#open to interpretations #headcanon #shen jiu #original shen qingqiu #this doesn't ruin luo bingge but dies affect his mental health imo #luo binghe #svsss headcanon #svsss #pidw #i don't think that sj ghost is real coz i like to think that he has alrdy passed on & is together with his qi-ge in their afterlife

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druidonity2 · 9 months

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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)

#world of warcraft #anduin wrynn #onyxia #Do you think this man has ever had a therapist?#I think hes stubborn and goes to the one required visit he was mandated to go to and tells her hes fine and then stews in it till he dies #He likes to be a therapist he does not like when someone talks therapy at him #at least I headcanon #'none of this matters because ive got work to focus on' twenty years later he sees mawrats in the corners of his eyes still #The moment someone SHOULD be talking therapy at him he runs away and dissappears for three...four....five years? by the end of Dragonflight #bRo dont talk to NOBODY he is NOT letting them know he hallucinates mawrats #anyway i think he focused so hard on his dad being home that he pushed all his onyxia trauma down for it to fester later in his life #Its the snow which beings the snowball that idunno does something later in life who knows #I think too much about a fictional man's mental health and not enough about my own #mayhap a reason he is thy comfort character

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carrotkicks · 9 months

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SO I HAVE THIS HIGHLY TOXIC POST CRYSTALLIZED CANON-DIVERGENT LLORUMI AU.

#yeah so i know ninjago fans hate llorumi but. but i like it. they're sooooo bad for each other. i'd like explore that.#yes also this is lego ninjago fanart #can you believe ninjago gave me the toxic ship ever?#so the premise is that harumi -now in prison- starts reverting back to how she was before the overlord showed up. which is to say: dead #lloyd being the hopeless fool he is files her parole and helps her check off her bucket list before she dies.#lloyd's mental health has also been on the decline since the events of s15&16 and starting to lose his control over his oni form #toxic relationship ensues.#lego ninjago #lloyd garmadon #princess harumi

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aficionadoenthusiast · 1 year

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jason: HYDRATE OR DIEDRATE

jason: *aggressively throws water bottles*

nico: uh...

annabeth: he's trying to yell mental health and wellbeing into us

jason: I APPRECIATE ALL OF YOU

percy: *crying* it's working

#jason is weak for the tartarus trio #pjo incorrect quotes #pjo #incorrect quotes #percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #nico di angelo #jason grace #mental health #funny #source: random tumblrs

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jankwritten · 3 months

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Jasico Bingo Challenge: Boyfriend Sweater

When Nico walks into the dining pavilion wearing a golden yellow sweater, Percy does a double-take. Actually, it’s a triple-take: first, he thought it was a new Apollo kid, then he realized it was Nico, then he realized it was Nico. Wearing a color.

Is the world ending again? Was there something really wrong with the milk in his cereal? What in the everloving Hades was going on?!

Nico sits down at table 13, unbothered as ever, and pulls the sleeves of the hoodie up. It’s way too big on him, like Big Bird shed and some poor fucker decided Nico di Angelo needed the empty muppet skin in his wardrobe.

(Is it Nico? Maybe some changeling creature kidnapped their resident son of Hades and has decided to take his place? Maybe Percy needs to go over there and test him out, y’know, knick him with some iron or something to see if he burns. If it’s an imposter, though, they’re doing a piss-poor job. Is it an intentionally bad job? Gods, it’s barely eight AM on a Tuesday, does he seriously have to go save Nico from somewhere and kill a monster wearing his face? That does not sound like his ideal Tuesday, if he’s really real. He’ll totally do it, but he won’t like it, and maybe he should start planning how to take out a creature like-)

“I can see the mountain you’re building,” Annabeth says, popping Percy’s strangely detailed daydream of hunting down and killing a weird, half-Nico, half-demon gremlin creature. He blinks the image out of his eyes and looks up at her, her hip resting against the edge of his table.

She looks amused. He squints. “Nico’s been bodysnatched.”

“Mm, no,” she says easily, with a shake of her head. “Nico’s wearing a jacket.”

“A yellow jacket.” Percy looks at the son of Hades again. He just- can’t wrap his head around it. He hasn’t seen Nico willingly wear a color since the guy was ten years old. “A yellow jacket that’s, like, twice his size.”

“It’s a molehill, seaweed brain. A jacket’s just a jacket.”

“But it’s yellow.”

“What was your nightmare about?”

Percy physically recoils at the non sequitur, tilting back in his seat incredulously. His- what? His nightmare? What does his nightmare have to do with a jacket, anyway, that’s got nothing to do with this.

He folds his arms on the table and makes a face. “That’s unrelated.”

Annabeth’s mouth raise at the corners, her eyes watching him like an all-knowing hawk. An owl, three-sixty vision and nothing but questions, who, who?

She pets through his hair and pushes her weight back up. As she draws her hand back, she taps his cheek, then his chin, and says, “just leave him alone, then.”

Percy watches her walk back to her table. When she sits, he buries his face in his arms and groans.

“Jason has also been bodysnatched,” Percy hisses to Annabeth during pottery class.

“What makes you say that.” She throws her lump of clay at the pedestal in front of her and gives Percy the same look she gave him this morning.

Percy decides to ignore that look, because that is the look of reason and he is far beyond that now. “He was wearing this black jacket with, like, skulls in hourglasses and weird skeleton butterflies and shit during Latin.”

“He is related to Thalia, you know,” Annabeth hums. She wets her hands as the plate before her starts to spin. “Maybe he’s going through the family goth phase.”

Had she not just leaned in to start forming something magical and incredible out of clay, Percy would slouch over Annabeth’s shoulders and plead with her to at least consider that something weird is going on. Maybe it’s not bodysnatchers or changelings, okay, but something is strange! Jason Grace does not just decide to wear emo shit! Jason Grace once had a panic attack because the Aphrodite Cabin stole a pair of his jeans and cut them into shorts! This is a man who has a stricter sense of style than Nico, who, fucking hell, don’t even get Percy started on that. The yellow jacket has remained on all day and it’s haunting him.

Annabeth dips her thumbs into the top of her clay and does not respond.

Percy slumps down into the stool beside hers and huffs, more for himself than anything.

Change is okay. Change is fine. But change like this, with no reason, is the opposite of fine. Change like this is a low-blow stink bomb in an otherwise perfect Capture the Flag game, impossible to get out of his clothes and his skin and his hair. Change like this is how people die.

He claws his hands up into his hair and listens to the steady whir of the pottery wheel, the sound of wet clay being molded and shaped in different ways. There’s a lull of conversation from other campers in the class, kids from all different cabins, because to them this is any other day.

Maybe this should be any other day to him, too. No, not maybe. It should be. This should be a regular Tuesday, full of regular classes with his regular friends who are ordinary in whatever ways they can be, but instead, Percy’s brain has to go and mix up everything, make everything feel- out of control.

HIs next exhale shakes too hard for his liking. His shoulders are too tense.

Beside him, Annabeth keeps calmly shaping her pot. She dips her hands into the water every so often, probably executing some flawless plan of action she drafted the night before. She’s not always delicate with her hands, with art like this - Percy knows that’s something she’s self conscious about. She never thinks she can be good at finer things.

That’s normal. That’s normal for her. Ordinary, to think that Annabeth Chase would tackle arts and crafts in the same way she would a war strategy, devising the perfect approach for a flawless result. Executing it flawlessly.

She pinches too hard pulling up the walls of the pot. It crumples, then swings off the wheel entirely with the force of it’s motion, splattering wetly across Percy’s arms and the other campers at the bench.

Percy watches Annabeth glare at her failed creation. She sticks her hands in the dirty water to scrub the clay off, wipes her hands off on her shirt, and pulls on Percy’s sleeve.

“I hate pottery,” she mutters as they rise together.

Percy grins. “I think it knows that,” he teases, and follows as she stomps toward the exit.

When the answer slaps Percy in the face, it feels more like a gut punch in the way it makes him breathless and off-balance.

“You’re…huh?”

Annabeth clicks her tongue. “You two couldn’t think of a better way to do this?” she gestures between Nico and Jason, standing awkwardly side by side as if they don’t know what to do with themselves.

They’re still wearing the wrong jackets. Each other’s jackets.

Percy makes a face, then realizes that might not be the best response to his two friends telling him their dating, so he tries to make a different face.

The world’s not ending. They’re just…together. Sharing jackets, like couples do.

“We didn’t want to make it a big deal,” Jason says. He keeps glancing at Nico and chewing on the inside of his lip. Nico, with the golden sleeves of apparently-Jason’s-jacket pulled over his hands once more, looks stubborn. Like he’s ready to fight about something.

Percy wipes his sweaty hands off on his shirt and gestures, though he’s not sure at what. “But Nico’s wearing a color?”

He feels more than sees Annabeth’s disapproving glare at the side of his head. Jason draws himself up, then seems to falter. His head cocks to the side and he shakes his head.

“What?”

“That’s a big deal,” Percy reiterates. “Nico doesn’t wear colors.”

“Nico is standing right here, wearing a color,” Nico grumbles. He shoves his hands into the pocket of the sweatshirt and gives Percy a glare that is far more familiar than literally anything else happening right now. “I’m allowed to wear whatever I want to wear, for the record.”

“But you don’t!”

“Well I do now. If you have a fucking problem with it-”

“I never said I had a problem with it,” Percy snaps back, immediately on the defensive. “I was fucking worried about you, you little shit, I thought something was wrong. I thought- I don’t know what I thought! I thought you two were swapped with some other versions of yourself, I thought you’d been- I don’t know- abducted by aliens, or fairies, or something!” He throws his hands up in the air, then drops them back onto his head, staring sort of at the middle point between the two of them. “You can’t do that shit and not expect- I mean, because, come on, guys, you’re you, you two fucking freak out if someone so much as touches your clothes. What were we supposed to think?”

The hearth crackles. It’s too pleasant a sound for the sick Percy feels.

Annabeth takes his hand, at least, and squeezes. His face burns with the shame of yelling like this, over this, it just feels so fucking stupid all of a sudden. He feels so stupid. Annabeth tried to tell him it was nothing, and he let it all get away with him, he let that nasty part of his brain win and win and win, and now he’s taking his losses out on them.

“I’m happy for you two,” he makes himself say, when no one else speaks. “I think I just also need therapy.”

Finally, Annabeth snorts. It’s a noise Percy knows, one he can ground himself with, same as her palm hot in his, her weight tilting into his side as her head bonks into his chin.

The stress he’d held bundled up in his spine and his shoulders and his stomach all day releases in an instant. He slouches back in against her and laughs against the top of her head.

“Jesus Christ,” Nico mutters, when Percy can’t stop himself, dissolving into a fit of hysterics over his own bullshit. “This is why I said we should just tell them. He’s laughing at us.”

“I think he’s laughing at himself,” Jason says. He sounds uncertain.

Percy hugs Annabeth tight, and laughs himself hoarse.

EXTRA

Nico stares at himself in Jason’s mirror, with the sweater hanging halfway down his thighs, sleeves hanging off his hands, the peak of his collarbone through the freaking collar. He narrows his gaze into a glare.

“I look like a toddler,” he says derisively.

Jason, still getting dressed himself, laughs. When he appears in the mirror behind Nico, looking far more proportional in Nico’s sweatshirt (which is frankly fucking unfair), his grin softens into a smile that’s- something. Sweet.

Nico twitches his nose.

“I look like I’m six years old,” he says, grabbing the hem of the sweatshirt and yanking down. “Why are we doing this.”

“‘Cause it’s silly,” Jason says. He presses a kiss against the side of Nico’s head and hugs him loosely from behind. “You don’t look like a baby, either. You just look your age.”

Nico looks down at himself. Maybe there’s a point there, a point to be made about how he dresses for practicality, dresses to blend in, but never to express himself. Maybe there’s a point to be made about how his discomfort isn’t really for how he feels about this, but how he thinks others will feel about it.

He tugs at the hem again, and looks back up. Jason’s eyes in the mirror are bright, as if taking in the sight of Nico in his hoodie like this is something to savor.

Nico likes when Jason looks at him like that. He likes how it feels to be looked at like he’s attractive. He likes how it feels to be wanted.

“I guess,” Nico concedes, leaning further back into Jason’s chest. Immediately, Jason’s stance is more solid, sturdy, holding them both up as easy as breathing. He holds Nico like it’s a promise that he’ll never let go.

He looks at the pair of them in the mirror, a cohesive unit rather than two separate halves. Jason in black is definitely something Nico wants to see more of, especially with the way Nico’s clothes fit snug over him, just a little tight at the biceps and chest. He looks good, not that he doesn’t look good otherwise. Different.

With Nico his contrast in yellow…maybe it isn’t so bad. Maybe he likes being the counterbalance, even.

Jason squeezes him again. Those damn eyes in the mirror are making Nico too warm, like his stomach is full of hot jell-o.

“Okay, fine, let’s do this,” he huffs. The difference in his tone must be audible, though, because Jason perks up and grins, his eyebrows up, face aglow. Nico can’t look at him for too long. It’s still strange knowing he can make someone feel like that. He doesn’t know what to do when Jason turns the full puppy-love thing on. “And stop looking at me like that, you’re going to give me cavities.”

“Okay,” Jason says in a voice identical to his expression.

Nico grabs his hand and squeezes it twice.

Jason squeezes back, so tight it aches. Nico’s heart swells with bright affection.

Alright. Maybe yellow isn’t so bad, actually.

#jasicobingochallenge2024 #boyfriend sweater #fanfiction #okay so this is mostly actually about Percy and Annabeth BUT BUT BUT. it's the Jasico that matters.#Jasico is the heart of it the crux of it.#so it still counts #I think Percy has a lot of trouble dealing with things that he doesn't perceive as normal from his friends #I think the switch really fucked with him in that regard #He feels like if all of a sudden the people he knows aren't doing the things he knows them to do then maybe he's losing his memory again #maybe something fucked up has happened and he hasn't realized it yet #maybe nico wearing yellow signifies he's grieving because the last time Nico's style drastically changed overnight was when his sister died #i think percy is also WAY too attuned to Nico in general when it comes to his own mental health #I think he immediately jumps the gun on ANYTHING NIco is involved with (hence him immediately arguing when Nico assumes wrong)#I think he and Nico have a fucked up weird friendship where they both hate that they need to know each other the way they do #idk. Annabeth and Jason are holding Percy and Nico's leashes while letting them meet in the most controlled of dog parks #Percy bites first but Nico bites harder kinda deal #ANYWAY #pjo #jason grace #nico di angelo #percy jackson #annabeth chase #jasico #percabeth #hoo

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