#i feel sooo lethargic and dead today

[riaki]

dog treats (for humans) | yuuji itadori x reader

pt.5 of christmas event! vry short sorry, a day late but it works as fluff for the jjk ep today !?

"[name], look! i baked something!"

your immediate thoughts are something along the lines of oh, no.

yuuji's a decent cook. or at least, that's what you like to believe; hours of the two of you making messes in your kitchen after ruining the recipe book you were following prove otherwise. still, he's not half bad. and there was that one time he taught his roommate to make meatballs; something vague like 'a legacy of hotpot meatballs'. that's your boyfriend for you.

baking, though, is certainly not his forte. as demonstrated by the giant blob of half-baked somethings on the tray; an amalgamation of dough stuck to the wax paper.

you're not quite sure what you're looking at when you enter the kitchen of your apartment; it's an absolute mess. there's flour everywhere, and some strange looking leftover dough sitting in a clump on the counter. it smells a bit weird, but that's not new. what draws your attention the most other than the flour coating the polaroids on the fridge or the four spatulas on the counter is the mess on his person.

he's coated in flour. there's dough sticking to his cheeks, almost like whiskers on his face— but that does nothing to dampen the sunny grin on his lips. his hair is ruffled, clumps of flour and powdered sugar clinging to the tips. you can just picture him mussing his hair in frustration, fingers running through the soft pink strands, the color of grapefruit and strawberry lemonade on a midsummer evening.

"what exactly did you make?" you asked, glancing him up and down. he's wearing the holiday apron you bought him on a whim; it's so dirty that you don't even recognize the pattern of the golden retriever stitched to the front. it looks more like a lima bean now.

he grins, pushing the baking tray towards you as if you're supposed to come to some grand realization of what exactly he did make.

"i made dog treats! for fushiguro. you think he'll like 'em?"

"those are dog treats...?"

you certainly wouldn't've been able to tell from first sight. but that explains the peculiar smell; it must've been a product of whatever he was doing.

"yeah! aren't they great?" he laughs, full of mirth, and you catch his smile on your own lips. his enthusiasm is infectious.

"they seem more like regular cookies." you note, observing the mess on the tray. the edges are burnt a gentle caramel crisp; if you didn't know better, you would've definitely taken the initiative to make cute cookies with your cookie cutters and frost them however you like.

you're too lost in your thoughts to notice what he's doing until it's too late— your stupidly beloved boyfriend has broken off a chunk and taken an equal sized bite out of it, chewing with all the thoughtfulness of a michelin star chef. there's a few crumbs in the corner of his mouth, and if not for the contents he probably would've asked you to wipe some jam on his lips and treat yourself to a sweet treat on his cheeks.

"yuuji!" you reach out, snatching the tray from him and setting it down before you scowl out the cheeky look on his full cheeks. "spit it out." you demanded, and you're faintly reminded that it's probably fine for him to be eating them because he's acting like a puppy anyway.

he just grins at you through a mouthful, shaking his head vigorously and swallowing as he pumps his fists, and you can practically see the stars in his eyes. "'s great! you shbould try ib, bwabe."

you just roll your eyes (albeit fondly), reluctantly reaching over to the tray to break off a chunk of the dog treats(?). you give it a good feel and sniff before nibbling off a piece, trying to discern the taste in your mouth. you're starting to think that yuuji might've mistakenly made regular cookies and called them dog treats. there was no sign of raw meat or anything on the counters, which only strengthened your suspicions.

"hey, it's actually not that bad." you marveled, glancing up at him again. he's watching you expectantly, waiting like a little puppy for your response. his eyes light up like stars; far too excited for such a weak answer as yours, but his enthusiasm shines through either way.

"right? i was thinking, maybe we could keep them to ourselves..."

"don't get carried away, yuu." you sighed, shaking your head. but he just grins, grabbing your hand and pulling you close to press an insistent smooch to your lips.

he laughs, sending vibrations through your skin as he peppers your face with floury eskimo kisses. "you'd rather me gift him these things? he'd sic his dogs on me!"

"...maybe you're right. let's just keep them, then."

my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

[maximumdenial]

Sooo I'm very sorry for temporarily turning this blog into Whining Central but I've had a rough day and I gotta vent a bit.

WARNING. This delves into self-harm and suicidal ideation. (I’m fine don’t worry.)

I'm in the middle of my winter break and I'll continue to be free from university until April. That gives me some time to breathe but also tends to make me rather lethargic. I'm working on a few drawings on and off but I also spent a lot of time just playing Civ6 and Heroes of the Storm. Basically I just got a lot of time to turn myself into a hedgehog.

What's been rough as of late is my self-esteem. I had a rather bad breakdown earlier today which luckily got feathered by my councilor and I generally bounce back pretty quickly. I've come to call it my "five minutes" (It's a german idiom I don't really have a fitting translation for atm) since I occasionally just have moments of thinking I am the worst person in the world, worthless, a burden, sometimes I even get self-harm thoughts (I used to cut) and think I deserve to be dead, or I start to imagine ways I could kill myself. I don't cut anymore and I'm not suicidal, but the thoughts just get to me sometimes.

I'm 23 and I still live with my parents. I cant get my shit in order, my body just feels really bad especially because I'm a good 30kg overweight which is like a third of my current bodyweight. I get up in the mornings thinking that I dont want to see how messy my room looks. If my back didnt hurt in the morning I'd probably not get up at all sometimes. And then I see my reflection and I just feel so... disgusting. One night I stayed up for hours till like six in the morning. I cut off my hair that had gotten long again because I hate hairdresser appointments, and I felt I had to get rid off SOME part of myself somehow. And then I had to get to a hairdresser anyway because it looked terrible and I had to admit to them that I had tried to cut my own hair. Sometimes it's like I just want this body to separate from me and melt away or something. I can't stand it. I don't take care of it, I fill it up with garbage until I feel awful... it's a mess.

Even when things go well and people assure me that I did well I feel like I failed anyway, and the feeling just won't go away. My councilor says I improved a ton, the social department says I improved, my parents claim I did. Then why does it feel like I kept failing? Why do I just feel more and more lethargic and messed up and emotional? A few months ago I started trembling. I could ignore it for a while but it got fairly bad a few weeks ago, and that's what I hoped to bring up to my doc.

That aside, I have bad dreams when I sleep. Generally of getting ridiculed in some way, of my teeth falling out, or losing control of the car and slamming into pedestrians because the brakes wouldn't work, or there were only gas pedals. Because I also sweat so much in my sleep due to my meds, i just don't feel rested at all, no matter how much I sleep. All these issues combined are the reason I wanted to talk to my neurologist about switching my medication. I've been on these for nearly four years and I think the trembling might be tied to them. The dreams and sweating definitely are.

I've also finally set things in motion to get a new GP who is actually familiar with psychiatric problems. Maybe then I can finally get my health checked out.

All in all, Just BPD things I guess.

I'm gonna go back to sleep now. Maybe delete this in the morning.

[gospacegay]

LRTIHEW: Part Eleven

The title stands for “Longest Rusame Thing I Have Ever Written”.

First Chapter: https://gospacegay.tumblr.com/post/165808913233/lrtihew-part-one

Previous Chapter: https://gospacegay.tumblr.com/post/166073134773/lrtihew-part-ten

There is swearing, fluff, eventual smut, insanity, and lord knows what else

It was late afternoon, with almost a whole day before the inaugural party. Not feeling very interactive, Ivan read Voltaire while seated in a plush arm chair. Alfred hummed war songs while tending to his large gun collection. The Russian glanced over his book occasionally, not envying the task of caring for such a large firearms collection.

In the lull of comfortable silence, Ivan began staring at his book and thinking. He looked at Alfred again. “Do you hate me?” the Russian asked, curiosity buzzing in his skull. Alfred put down the semi-automated rifle he was cleaning, opening his mouth to speak. He closed it and frowned, as puzzled as Ivan at this point. “I don't seem to... no. I don't hate you.” The tanned nation surmised after a moment of contemplation. Resuming cleaning his gun, he hummed again. After minute, Russia pushed the boundaries, inquiring “Why is that?”

Without missing a beat, America replied “I just don't. You've broken in here and read my computer files like ten times, but you've never black mailed me. You steal my stuff, but you always return it... usually. Even when you're being a fuckin' creep and scaring me in bed... you could have raped me in my damn sleep. But you didn't. So yeah. I don't, like, trust you very much. But I don't distrust or hate you. You're just weird.”

“I have never raped anyone.” Ivan retorted sharply. He had subjugated, beaten, and murdered others before. Ivan was no better than any other ancient nation. The Russian did pride himself on never having been a rapist though. He used the highly feared threat of rape, but never completed the act. After his dark time as part of the Golden Horde, Ivan wouldn't wish that fate on anyone.

“Never?” Alfred asked in disbelief. “I presume you have.” Ivan replied, not surprised. Alfred was influenced by France during colonization after all. “I... did. Once. I'm not proud of it. I've been trying to make it up to the Philippines for centuries but... I deserve his hate.” the freckled blonde sighed, looking dejected. “Do not be sad, Alfred. Imperialism brings out the worst in us, yes? I have enslaved and killed many for such causes.” Ivan dismissed, setting his book down. He tented his fingers, looking at his younger companion thoughtfully.

Alfred glanced over at him with those baby blue eyes, frown changing to a gentle smile. “Yeah... I guess, huh?” he replied more quietly than usual. The rest of the evening was peaceful. Well, technically a movie was being played while Alfred squealed and talked endlessly. In relative terms, that was peaceful. It wasn't like the suffocating silence of his own home, completely absent of life. Ivan enjoyed all this sensation, even if it was tiring.

Sleeping in a guest bedroom, Ivan lay in bed, restless. Alfred trusted him, if even a tiny amount. Somebody actually trusted him. They probably weren't friends, but that didn't matter. The fact that someone trusted Russia warmed his heart, making him feel a little better. With that pleasant though, he finally fell asleep.

The morning was still when Russia woke up. He stretched and climbed out of bed, wearing his silky black soviet union pajamas. It was a waste to throw them away after the USSR crumbled, given that he had so many made. Padding downstairs carefully, He started the coffee maker. After quickly mixing and frying blini, Ivan dumped jam over the warm breakfast. He checked on his heavily sleeping host, the alarm clock screaming away.

The Russian shook his head, turning the useless thing off. A fresh cup of coffee was placed on the dresser alongside the steaming fresh blini. Settling with his own plate, on the bed, Ivan began eating. He had not shared breakfast time with anyone since his cat died four years ago. He would feed his beloved pet at the table, talking about his frustrations to it. Even now, Koshka's body was preserved through taxidermy, perched on his bedside table. On particularly difficult days, he still held the cat close, whispering his burdensome secrets. He wished his precious kitty was here now, even if it was dead.

Still, Ivan had to take advantage. He finally had a live breakfast partner, a talking one at that. “Alfred! Wake up!” he urged, shaking the man's shoulder roughly. The ash blonde knew America could easily take the force, though lesser nations had broken bones from it. The snoozing lump of blankets shifted and groaned. “... ugh... I don't wanna...” it yawned sleepily. Taking another bite of breakfast, Ivan grew impatient.

He dragged the lump of blankets and nation into a sitting position against the sturdy head board. Bringing the fresh coffee close, a hand reached out lethargically. “Coffee...” Alfred mumbled, emerging partially from his blanket cocoon. He was wearing a Captain America shirt, squinting blindly without his glasses. Grasping the blessed beverage with both hands, he took an appreciative sip.

After a while, Alfred was consciously aware of the world and chowing down on blini in bed. “Omigod, 'is is sooo goo'!” he praised with a mouth full of food. Mildly disgusted, Ivan didn't dignify that with a response. The food and coffee vanished quickly. “That was so nice! You are being super cool today dude!” the American complimented loudly, still snuggled in bed.

“I am the Russian Federation, powerful and feared. I do not do nice or cool.” Ivan argued, regretting his spontaneous act of kindness already. “Yeah yeah, mister macho. Say cheese!” Alfred dismissed, leaning in close and snapping a picture with his phone. “Look, it's perfect!” he enthused, showing the result.

Ivan was clearly wearing his socialist sleep wear in the background, looking confused. Alfred was posing in front, looking stupid like usual with a grin. A hashtag attachment of #breakfastbros already being typed. Horrified, Ivan tried to grab the phone but failed. “Do not post that on twitter.” he threatened, knowing his boss checked such things.

“Too late!” Alfred cheered, pressing a button. Ivan impulsively punched him in the jaw, then stomped out of the room. Laughing, Alfred trailed after him. “What the fuck! You call that a punch? Let's go man!” he teased, putting up his fists. “MY BOSS READS TWITTER, ALFRED! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE?” Ivan yelled furiously, losing his temper.

The wave of rage and frustration made America pause in his tracks. “He knows where I am staying now! He'll expect me to do... something... on my day off! I NEVER GET DAYS OFF!” Ivan hissed venomously, grabbing Alfred by the collar with both hands. He shook with the need to strangle his thoughtless host. He let go after a deep breath, running fingers through his shaggy locks.

“I... didn't know. My bad.” America half-ass apologized. After a few more breaths, Ivan forced the rage down with a swallow. “It is fine. Everything is fine. I need a drink.” he dead panned, walking off to search his luggage. Two bottles of vodka later, Ivan felt evened out. Alfred was being somewhat cautious, waiting for another explosion. This. Ivan hated This. When people acted differently around him, filtering words. The Russian had to fix this before it poisoned their thinly stretched bond of trust.