#hes put himself into depression and a learned helplessness over shit. he sleeps constantly

[dnangelic]

dark obviously hates being called dark-kun over literally anything else like dark-sama or Just Dark but it's also nice when a muse recognizes that he is or at least should be just like. 17.

[rein-ette]

I wanna give you some tasty prompts for drabbles to pick from:

1) Engportfra + wine/blood stains

2) Any character and England + Fae contracts

3) Prussia and France + hiding

I'll do no.1 for now (though I may consider the others for another day)!

Warnings: description of PTSD and associated symptoms/illnesses such as anxiety and depression

Arthur escapes as soon as there is a lull in the conversation, pleading a headache. It’s not a lie — the incessant pain in his front temple is incredibly distracting — but more so is the exhaustion that weighs heavy on every limb like a bank of fresh fallen snow. He feels periodically as if he is floating away from himself, skin crawling with a chill no amount of throw blankets could stifle. And he had tried: it had been so long since they could get together for a simple night in, he had missed the easy banter and the flowing conversation of old friends. By the time everyone had moved into Francis’ living room, however, Arthur was fighting back periods of nausea — so he gently transfers Bella’s sleepy head onto her brother’s shoulder and makes a discrete exit.

Francis’ bedroom is blessedly cool and dark. Not bothering to turn on the lights, he strips off his clothes and crawls under the sheets, enjoying the soft fabric against his aching limbs with a low groan. His head still pounds to each beat of his heart, but he cannot muster the will to move. Burying his face into his pillow, soothed by the familiar scent, he watches the curtains flutter in the evening breeze, the spill of street lights onto the floorboards. The laughter from the living room reaches him distant and muted, and listening to it Arthur feels a familiar despair seize him in its dead grip.

The last few days — weeks, if he’s really being honest with himself — have worn him thin. Daylight was one kind of torture: long hours pouring over dense documents and repetitive meetings that went nowhere frayed his nerves and shortened his temper. But it was really the nights that had pushed him to a breaking point. He had always had nightmares ever since he was a child, and though they had taken a sharp turn for the worse after the wars he had learned to live with that too. A few sleepless nights a month, an hour here and there spent retching into the toilet while he waited for the awful, awful howling in his head to quiet — those were now routine. Even the occasional day where he just could not bear to go out he could manage, spending hours in his garden until he felt human again.

But the past few weeks had not been like that. The dreams came every night, a mix of the strange, modern anxieties woven into a fabric of old terrors. Even when he managed a few hours of sleep he felt as if he had spent it worrying instead, the stresses of the day churning constantly through his mind like a washing machine. He couldn’t make himself go on runs in the morning anymore. He couldn’t bear to look in the mirror. To escape himself he spent longer and longer hours in his office — it made his body feel like shit, but at the very least working temporarily soothed the incessant muttering of his heart and made him feel, with a vicious satisfaction, like he was still worth something. Like he could still do something right, even when everything else was decaying around him.

That was what it all came down to, in the end. Arthur revelled in control, in combat, in the delicious strain of responsibility. Stress that made him feel useful made him feel alive. But there was no war on, and the problems that accumulated on his desk every morning had no simple solutions. There was a threat, but he could not face it. There were worries, but he could not resolve them.

The helplessness aggravated old wounds, and it made him feel like he was rotting, disintegrating.

His friends are in the living room, but he cannot face them. He closes his eyes against a wave of self-disgust, and prays for a few hours of quiet from his own mind.

---

When his brother leans over to give Bella a sloppy kiss and sloshes half a glass of wine down the front of Gabriel’s shirt, Gabriel is almost relieved. He had enjoyed the conversation and the dinner, but now that Gil and his brother were getting increasingly rowdy the more they drank, Gabriel really had no desire to stick around and see where the night would end. Maarten, too, had lulled by the alcohol become increasingly monosyllabic, so taking the proffered excuse of raiding Francis’ wardrobe for a new shirt Gabriel made his way to the bedroom. It’s only as he opens the door that he remembers Arthur had also skulked away to some corner earlier that night, and quickly stops himself from flipping on the lights.

Arthur is a dark shape on the bed, curled near the edge closest to the window. As Gabriel’s eyes adjust to the darkness, he makes out the sheets tangled half-off around his legs, the small frown that graces his lips as he breathes softly. Making his way to the balcony, Gabriel quietly shuts the doors — it far too cold to be sleeping as Arthur is with them still open — and then slips into Francis’ walk-in closet. He turns the light on low even though Arthur probably can’t see it and changes quickly into the first sweater he finds that fits him. He had planned to stay in Francis’ bedroom for a while, maybe read a book, but he couldn’t well do that with Arthur here anymore. As he's still debating what to do he slips back out into the bedroom and is greeted with mild surprise at the sight of Arthur awake and scrolling through his phone.

An apology for waking him up dies on his lips as he lets his eyes rove over Arthur's expression, illuminated by the blue light of his screen. Gabriel tosses his stained shirt into the hamper and goes to him, watching Arthur put his phone down when he approaches and rolling half over onto his back. He looks up at Gabriel with silent eyes, the shadows and lines of his pale face pronounced like the valleys of the moon. Gabriel brushes a thumb over his cheek. He can see without asking that Arthur’s head still hurts — his lips are drawn and thin, neck held a little stiffly against the pillow. He looks up at Gabriel with those tired, tired eyes, and Gabriel feels his heart clench as he marks each sign of exhaustion on that face he loves, catalogues each tiny signal he had missed in the glow and chatter of the party they left behind. Arthur rarely lets Gabriel look at him for so long, but he does now, begging with his gaze for a relief he cannot ask for in words.

Gabriel strips off his newly acquired clothes and joins Arthur in the bed, tucking one arm around his waist and a nose in his hair. The pillow is a little too low for his tastes and the fabric of the sheets a little too slippery, but from the little shuffle Arthur does to get close Gabriel knows he’s comfortable here. So he nuzzles the back of Arthur’s neck affectionately and settles down to sleep, feeling the expansive rise and fall of Arthur’s rib-cage against his arm.

If he could whisk Arthur away he would; if he could get between him and the thoughts that clung to him like shadows he would scare them all off. But the suffering plain on his face is just as much a plea for Gabriel to pay attention as it is a reminder that there are burdens they can only carry alone, terrors that can only exist inside their own minds and no one else's. So Gabriel holds Arthur a little tighter, closes his eyes, and prays for them both that tomorrow will be better — that what little warmth he can provide is enough to gain Arthur a short respite from the relentless onslaught of the night.

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

So, I see you write in tags about your OCs. Could you tell us more about them?

YES!!!!!! OH MY GOD THANK YOU FOR ASKING I LOVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND-

I’m going to answer for my “main seven”/my favourites atm, AND for Var, Jose, Eva, and Claudia (these 4 are from a different original universe of mine than the “main seven”) bc I’ve been thinking about them a lot, BUT I have 25 OCs in total… it’s just overwhelming to answer for all of them at once. I hope this is okay!! A main masterpost for all my OCs is coming soon in the new year if Tumblr survives that long!!

Joseph is a 25 year old man. He’s got blondish brown hair and blue eyes. He has anger management issues that are a sure fire way to get him into trouble. He is all too loyal and protective of the people he loves and can love very deeply, which can also get him into trouble. He’s reckless, impulsive, but his heart is always in the right place where his loved ones are concerned.  He has a daughter, Claudia, by his late wife who he loves more than anything in the whole world. He was raising her alongside his best friend, Var, before the apocalypse hit. He later becomes a part of a poly relationship with Var and Eva.

Varisse is also 25 year old. He’s got close-cropped black hair (and a few grey hairs to show the years he’s spent putting up with Jose’s shit), dark brown eyes and dark skin. He is patient, intelligent, and caring, the ying to Joseph’s yang. He tries to try to see both sides of an issue, almost too much so. He worked as a DJ before the apocalypse and he has a lifelong passion for music… though he can’t sing a straight note to save his life, he’d be the first to tell you that, with a rueful smile. He’s known and been in love with Joseph since kindergarten, and was happy to raise Claudie alongside his best friend.

Eva is a 26 years old woman. She has fair hair, green eyes, and pale skin that burns very easily. She tries her best to be brave and level-headed but is far out of her depth, since she’s used to being a teacher and dealing with a bunch of 6 year olds, not hordes of ravening undead. She can still show spine when pushed to it, though, and is capable of ripping apart arguments and ego with no effort at all. She was Claudia’s teacher before and after the apocalypse and over that time developed a crush on both Varisse and Joseph. After they meet up again amid zombie-filled hardship, that crush developed even more and was quickly requited. She’s out of depth as Claudia’s mother but is learning more each day, and is always a pillar of faith for her boys.

Claudia is Joseph’s 6 year old daughter. She may have her father’s sandy-brown hair but otherwise she’s a spitting image of her mother, with her olive skin and hazel eyes (she’s cranky she didn’t get her dad’s eyes). She’s made up of pure precocious intelligence and sass. She doesn’t take shit from anyone, least of all her dad; Varisse is the only person that can order her around and she’ll listen to no matter what. She has no problem with doing what she’s told… so long as that person asks her respectfully, she thinks it’s a good/fun idea, and they don’t try to boss her around. She has her Dad’s recklessness and will and her mom’s wit and cute face, not a great combination if you’re an authority figure, she’s a master manipulator. She’s very proud of her dads and mom and will loudly support them.

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June is a demon. They’re agender, have black hair cut down to their chin, olive skin, black eyes, and an oval-shaped face with a sharper jawline. They’re covered in tiny crucifix-shaped scars all over, one in particular above their left eyebrow. They’re tiny (4′9) but armed with a mouth full of razor-sharp shark teeth, hands tipped in claw-like nails, and a ready willingness to use them. They dislike the features of the modern world and are generally a Grinch about everything. They only like about 2 people in the whole world. They believe complaining to be an art form and practice it - regularly. In a nutshell they’re a bitter, cynical, PTSD-filled, cantankerous ball of apathy and hate. They’re the leader of Hell’s pack of hellhounds. They were in a very abusive relationship with Mars but after a particularly horrific event, they left with Dante’s help. They keep a lessor hellhound with them at all times as a companion; on earth, it takes the shape of a small black pug named Taco. They somehow mix not caring about anything and being very Extra. They sleep in expensive silk pajamas. They’re fond of red wine. They also love fast food - they particularly enjoy it when it runs. :) yes June’s my favourite how can you tell

August is a drama queen angel. They’re genderfluid (they go mostly by gendered pronouns but since their gender isn’t clear or pointed out in most posts I make on Tumblr, I use ‘they/them’ as a catch-all kind of thing.) They’re Asian in appearance but since angels are not natural humans, they have silvery-blonde hair down to their shoulder-blades and their eyes are a bright crystal blue (they hate looking so unusual though so most of the time they use dark contacts and hair dye to blend in with the humans.) They’re tall at 5′11 and they love elegant dresses. They excel at dancing (they’ve mastered all kinds but their favourite is ballet) and swordsmanship. They have AD(H)D but rather than sort it out like a normal person, they deny it and disguise it as them just not caring. They also have anxiety and struggle with overthinking. They’re somewhat (understatement) of an alcoholic due to the constant deaths of their mortal lovers from old age, while they themself remain unchanged. They’re aloof and think of themself as superior, though they’re easily flustered if you try and can actually be quite clingy. They’re very emotional despite their shows of coldness in public.

Myriad is a demon. They’re also genderfluid and they’re indifferent to pronouns. They’re very tall at 6′5, they have very dark skin, and wear their black hair in dreadlocks down to their shoulders. Their eyes change colours like a kaleidoscope, shifting eerily between shades of yellow, grey, blue, and green depending on the lighting and their mood. How they treat you depends entirely on how you treat them and others: if you’re kind, they’ll be fine with you, but if you’re a bad person… well, they are the demon of punishment after all. They do have a soft spot for the small, the sweet, and the helpless and can be quite protective, but mostly they’re entirely self-centred and act on their own whims. They’re quite sexually prolific. They enjoy pranks with malicious glee. They’re very physically intimidating. They have 2 sets of fangs, both potent, one full of a paralytic venom and the other an excruciatingly painful and lethal venom. They also have a harmless pet ball python named Albert and their favourite item of clothing is a soft knitted sweater with kittens on it. :D

Ben is a fallen angel/demon. He identifies as male. He’s medium to smallish height at 5′8. His facial features are quite plain, with a slightly crooked nose and a squarer chin. His eyes are calf-brown and his hair, the most noticeable thing about him, is wavy/loosely curly down past his ears and a bright, dark, unnatural red colour (though it is quite natural for him.) He fell in love with a demon and fell from heaven for her, but it turned out that she was tricking him and left him soon after. His angel grace is out-of-control since he is now technically a demon, and randomly bursts out of him every few months, obliterating everything around him with black fire. Despite how volatile he is, he’s a very quiet person who keeps to himself. He has trust issues and is wary of people, and can be quite timid and easily embarrassed. He works on earth as a primary school teacher, since he loves kids and the demons in hell scorn him and he can’t return to heaven. His fashion sense is absolutely abyssal and he dresses like he’s a 90 year old (technically he’s older even than that but, come on, man, get with the times!) He is very, very depressed.

Ginger is a demon. She identifies as a girl and, unlike the others, who are all pansexual, she is mostly only attracted to girls. She is chubby and has carrot-orange hair (thus, the nickname-that-stuck-and-became-her-name-while-on-earth) and pale turquoise eyes. She doesn’t have a filter and loves very loudly, openly, and strongly. She has a big heart but that can be hard to see since she mostly only thinks of/about herself. She has a great need for speed and her version of heaven is being behind the wheel of a fast car. She has a hard time settling down and is constantly itching for her next adventure and/or challenge. She thinks of Ben as a big brother and constantly annoys him like a little sister; she’s the only demon who accepts him as one of them. For somebody who is so loud, she has a hard time really and truly expressing her feelings when she cares deeply about someone. If she has a crush, she is the stereotypical ‘teenager in love’, stuttering and blushing bright red. She swears a lot, is pretty brash, and - you guessed it - has a strong Australian accent.

Mars is a stink man, evil horrible person, most hated OC an angel. He identifies mostly as male with some exceptions. He has white skin, cherubic blond curls, bright golden eyes, a kind, handsome face, and a charming smile. He’s also an abusive piece of shit . He often dallies with the mortals, luring in lovers with charm and sweetness, and then abusing them in every way possible before eventually killing them. If somebody refuses him, he hunts them down, murders their loved ones in front of them, before raping them and murdering them, too. He’s very possessive and volatile and will throw very dangerous tantrums when denied what he wants. He’s spoiled rotten and has never had consequences for his actions. He wears a ring adorned with a crucifix. He’s got an excellent sense of fashion and is very rich. He’s owned a great number of mansions throughout the years and still does, though he currently lives in a very expensive penthouse.

Dante is a demon - a hellhound, to be exact. He identifies as male, and is the only of the seven to have been born a human before being inducted to hell. He’s not very tall but is bulky due to pure muscle, Vietnamese in appearance, with brown skin and a large scar across his collar bone and shoulder like he’d been savaged by a massive dog at some point (spoiler alert: that’s exactly what happened.) His black hair is cut short military-style. He’s second in command of the pack of hellhounds, under only June, who he sort of took under his wing after they left Mars, built them back up from the years of servitude  and abuse. He cares about them more than anyone… That being said, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t call them out if he thinks they’re making a dumb decision. They banter like siblings and he finds great delight in taking his life in his hands and messing up their hair. He’s fiercely loyal but strong willed and will only take orders that he thinks are good ones. A solider born and raised, from human life to demon existence. He loves adrenaline rushes and thinks all fun has to involve danger of some kind. He’s absolutely deadly in a fight, whether it be in his ‘normal’ form with its proficiency with all kinds of weaponry, or his hound form - a mountain of sheer muscle and terrifyingly large jaws. He shows affection in rough ways, such as headlocks and friendly punches, but make no mistake, he really cares. also his ears stick out a bit and he sleeps with his mouth open and hes actually kind of adorable

If you made it this far… thank you so much. Getting questions/messages about my babies honestly keeps me going, so… thank you!!!

[potionruneroarsfelton]

Rhink Fanfiction

This is the first writing that I’m posting. Based on a prompt.

12-01-17 Closed eyes enveloped him in a crimson void. It was early February, the remnants of the winter chill surrendering to the oncoming season and vanishing slowly. But the mountaintop was covered in snow and the temperature in the cabin was less than comfortable. He could hear the ambiguous sounds of nature, pushed to the background by his overworked brain. Located deep within the forest, their cabin gave the illusion of living in the middle of nowhere, which was precisely what he had asked for. This project had a lot riding on it. He had assumed it would bloom productivity. Productivity. He gave an internal scoff. 2 days in the cabin had yielded nothing. Not a single arc in the story line, not a single supporting character, not even part of a song. Absolute squat. His creativity seemed to have hit a wall while his “partner” was constantly distracted by his disrupted routines and irregularities in the workplace. I was at least trying. All Link has done is arrange, rearrange, complain, rest, yell and complain some more.  He was lying on his bed, dressed in nothing but his underwear, ignoring the goose bumps rising on his skin whenever a breeze blew too close, too cold. It was one of those days. There was nothing playful about the arguments they had been having, no hint of humour when insults were thrown. It was one of those days when the frustration wasn’t on his skin; it was deep within his bones. Anger and dissatisfaction weren’t pricking at his nerves, they had lit a fire in his gut, making his vision bright red. How many times do I have to go through this shit? In the 39 years that he had put up with life, he had felt like this a few times. When he and link were on the verge of breaking bones, when his family had almost become broke, when Jessie had considered breaking up, his mind had painted itself red. It had gotten worse every time and always left him with a nagging knowledge that someday, it might be unbearable. In his younger days, he had tried different ways to cope. The alcohol buzz was a downer and would pull his spirits even lower, not to mention the hangover. He couldn’t talk to link- he had already spat a lot of venom he would regret later. By isolating himself in the mountains, he had effectively cut off anyone else who could have helped. He recalled his college strategies- hooking up, getting violent, all that weed- which had made his life, and the throbbing in his head, a lot worse. Why am I still here? He opened his eyes, hoping to escape the scarlet haze of slowly boiling bitterness. He stared at the wooden beams on the ceiling, lying motionless under the weight of all his responsibilities. He felt paralysed under the people relying on him. He felt helpless against the barrage of thoughts flooding every crevice of his mind. He felt like he had perfect recall- he could almost hear the stinging, spiteful words from every fight he’d had with Link over the past 33 years. When he tried to shift his focus, he could see the cake splattered on the floor, shattered glasses of wine. He could feel the heat on his face from having screamed unthinkable things at Jessie, who looked at him with tear stained cheeks as she ripped her dress, if only to release some of her anger. That dress was red. Her lips were red. His eyes were red later that night, knowing that neither his wife nor he was going to forgive him for ruining her 30th birthday. Do I even know what I’m doing? What I’m living for? Was this all a mistake? The love of his life was taking care of his family for him while he voluntarily dragged himself away. A friendship that began with innocence, grew with care, toughened with brutal honesty was beginning to feel manufactured. The rawness with which he used to interact with Link had now become a carefully fashioned, partly scripted entertainment program. All of this to pander to an audience who were more interested in unearthing their insecurities and commenting on their looks than the content they created. The content he poured his heart into. The content that birthed most of the fights, awkwardness and accusations. The content that might cost him his best friend. Everything is nasty. He was becoming acutely aware of his body. It startled him how much he was repulsed by it. He is not an exhibitionist. The thought of millions of people staring at their screen, eyes unblinking, following his muscles when he was shirtless on the internet, made him feel nasty. A random comment echoed in his brain. “You aren’t entertainers. You target depressed teens with painted smiles and fake intimacy. You’re pimping yourself out to pander to lusty girls who are half your age. You may not be traditional sell outs but you’re a lot more dangerous”. Nasty.

Rhett closed his eyes. The troubles of the day had taken a deeper turn, becoming a darker, burgundy hue. Or maybe it was maroon. He always had trouble with those two shades.

The bedroom windows rattled as the wind picked up. He could hear the howling, from outside and within. He noticed the long shadows, barely discernible in the descending darkness. This negativity was flowing through his bloodstream, poisoning him as he just laid there, a passive onlooker. The passion in him to do something about this, to change what ate away at him had fizzled out. Just as he was about to succumb to the darkness and maybe catch some troubled sleep, the door creaked open. He didn’t bother to look- he could sense the scene unfolding in front of him with his eyes shut tight. He knew the man walking in. He had unwittingly memorized Link’s features because they had dominated his thoughts all his life. He had unabashedly grasped Link’s soul through his countless observations and all their conversations. He had irrevocably trusted Link, sometimes on instinct alone. He knew the man; he didn’t need to look. Is he gonna talk? Maybe the turmoil was dying down- he heard every soft footfall echo on the wooden floor with impressive clarity. Thud thud thud… In rhythm with his heartbeat. But he wasn’t in the mood to acknowledge it. Link walked right up to the bed and for a moment, everything was quiet. His thoughts vanished as his whole being tensed, waiting for the next blow to fall. “Turn over”. What? Annoyance flared in him. Why was he being ordered, and a peculiar one at that? When was this man-child going to learn to communicate, to behave the way that Rhett would prefer? He had half a mind to ignore him completely, but he didn’t have the grit to have another fight today. Wordlessly, he flipped onto his stomach, heartbeat slightly erratic, thoughts a relentless blur. I feel exposed. The first touch was a mild surprise. Soft, wide palms pressed into his shoulder. They moved an inch or so apart and pressed again. And again. He was self conscious about the knots, the tightened muscles and the very obvious stress in his upper body that was giving away his exact state of mind. The hands were warm, confident and familiar as they moved downwards, working on his upper back. The heels of Link’s palm dug into the spots which were predominantly affected by his frequent back pains, which Link had witnessed firsthand since they had begun. The balls of his thumb traced soothing patterns on his flesh. I don’t need you to take care of me. A part of his mind remained indignant, though his body was quickly surrendering to the serenity of the massage. It felt like his hands were physically removing the negativity from within him. It felt like Link was casting a spell to repair the wear and tear of simply existing. Most of all, it felt like love. This man had had a long day, maybe longer than Rhett’s. Yet here he was, battling through his exhaustion, knees on either side of Rhett’s waist, trying to make Rhett feel better. It was Link’s way of saying “I love you”, and “I’m sorry”. He turned around, abruptly stopping the massage, overcome with the urge to see Link’s face. Sad blue eyes were filled to the brim with everything he was feeling, easily understood by Rhett. He could see the same weight, frustration, anxiety and guilt that had plagued him just a few minutes before. Something he had said before flitted by, “things in our lives that are not just parallel but we experience them together”. Emotions surged through him as he realized exactly what that meant. What it means to have someone who not only understands but also lives through everything he feels. What it really means to not be alone. But in those naked, vulnerable eyes, he saw something far more disturbing. He saw fear. I wish I could take care of you. There was a lump in his throat. Suddenly, none of his doubts mattered. His past mistakes, their changing dynamic, constraints and disappointments and confusion just didn’t matter, because he knew why he was doing it. He had known when he had first decided to write a comic with Link in grade school. He had known when they had taken the blood oath. He had known when he had decided to quit his decent paying job to attempt a career in an industry that couldn’t even support itself at the time. He had known when they had put their earnings into this new project. He was following his heart and Link was the best man to do it with. Nothing else mattered. He looked calmly at the face that looked so troubled, the face of the man who always knew how to give Rhett a breath of air when he was threatening to drown in his personal red sea. His expression was gentle and his voice sweet when he said with full conviction, “We’ll be okay, bo”. And maybe he knew how to save Link too because he could have sworn, his eyes got a little bluer. We will be okay. I won’t have it any other way. Link plopped down on his stomach beside him, head turned to look at his face. “I know”, he said, in a tired but steady voice, and Rhett knew he meant it. He looked back, nothing but kindness on his face. His brain was moving on to Buddy System, making a mental note to start working on the script when he said, “I think I might be maroon-burgundy colour blind.” All he got in return was an exasperated smile and a “Goodnight Rhett.”