casual shoutout to everyone in the gt fandom who’s mentally ill
i’ve been in the fandom for about five years, active for about one. i’ve seen a lot of people come and go, some in worse shape than others. one thing i’ve noticed is that a lot of us tend to put on a front, since gt is our happy place we feel like we have to be happy all the time. and that does wind up hurting when depression hits or mental illnesses flares up or you’re just not feeling your best.
theres nothing wrong with that. theres nothing wrong with not being chipper all the time, when you joined the fandom you didn’t sign a paper saying that you always had to be the bouncy tiny or the cheerful giant.
you just gotta be you.
and if you’re depressed? or have an eating disorder? or an anxiety disorder? have ptsd? have something else? have no mental illnesses but still have your bad days? thats okay. you’re okay here.
gt is a more intense fandom, because for a lot of us its so much more than fandom, its practically a way of living. and since its such a huge thing in all of our lives, its reasonable to have ups and downs. and honestly i find so many of you brave.
being a mentally ill tiny is hard, being a mentally ill giant is hard, being anything in between is hard. but that doesn’t stop this fandom. and when i see any of you pull through a tough time, come out alive, or even take time to take care of yourself, i get so proud.
i’m rambling at this point, but i just really wanted to say that even though this fandom is mostly geared towards being positive, its perfectly okay to have your bad times and be open about it.
going through mental illness doesn’t make you weak. it makes you brave. in the end, it’ll make you strong.
Headcanon about jake helping Amy after a nightmare? Like an extreme anxiety attack after waking up because she thought he died
Amy’s side of the bed is empty, but warm. It’s the first thing that seeps into Jake’s consciousness with the slow stretch of his fingers across the space, worming through the folds in the sheets, seeking the soft skin that is no longer there. He hears a door close - not slam, but far too loud for such a solid, pitch black darkness shrouding their bedroom - and the sound reverberates through his skull for a moment.
It takes a second for his brain to start functioning properly again, but the moment he does he realizes that something had awoken him. A sound, a grating noise, had pricked his senses and lured him out of sleep. He thinks he has a hazy memory of trembling fingers pushing his hair back from his forehead right before the mattress dipped violently beneath him, probably the result of Amy quickly evacuating.
Jake’s eyelids snap open as the pieces suddenly fall together. It was Amy causing the noises that woke him up - it was Amy who’d torn out of bed like the apartment was on fire.
He can hear her now, in the bathroom, her abrasive hyperventilating gasps for air clearly audible over the running sink and the flushing toilet. His heart thumps and throbs uncomfortably in his chest as he quickly disentangles his legs from the sheets, practically falling out of bed in his haste to get to her. He stumbles across their darkened bedroom floor and essentially throws himself at the bathroom door, just to bounce back from the solid surface - it’s locked.
“Amy?” He calls, too tired to remember to hide the desperation in his voice. He raps his knuckles quickly against the surface, hyper-focused on the hitch in her already erratic breathing. “You gotta let me in, Amy, please -”
He hears a shift, a drag of jello-limp legs along the tile floor, and then she’s fumbling with the lock with what he knows to be lead fingers. He waits as long as he can once the door is unlocked, carefully tracking her awkward shuffle away from the door before pushing it open and hurrying inside.
Amy’s pale and sweating, her hair sticking up wildly where it isn’t plastered to her forehead. Her eyes are wide and her face is blotchy and tears are practically spraying down her cheeks. She’s folded in on herself in the tightest fetal position he’s ever seen, and seems to recoil when he drops to his knees before her. “Amy,” he hears himself murmur, pushing her hair away from her face and trying not to take it personally when she jerks her head away. “Hey, hey, sh,” he whispers as chest-ripping sobs begin to tear out of her. Her chest is still heaving but she seems unaware; her dark eyes stay trained on Jake’s face, like she’s incapable of looking away, only fluttering closed briefly when he runs his thumbs over her cheekbones to wipe the tears away.
It’s never been this bad before, never been this visceral. For the first time in the six years he’s known her, he’s genuinely frightened on her behalf. He pushes through it, though; she very clearly needs him. “Focus on me, babe, I’m here and it’s okay now, I promise. You’re okay. Breathe, babe, keep breathing - that’s it, you’re doing great.” She’s leaning into him more now, eyes closed in concentration, and he methodically counts her through her breathing exercise while fitting quiet praises in each pause.
It takes about twenty minutes (six minutes longer than her worst panic attack on record that he knows of), but eventually her heart rate is normal and her eyes are no longer bright and gleaming with panic. He shifts to sit beside her then, pulling her close, leaned back against the bathroom cabinets as Amy quietly folds herself into his side. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, one palm smoothing up her upper arm, the other gently holding her head in place in the dip of his shoulder. His eyes are dry and prickling at the early hour and a yawn is threatening to bubble up his throat, but he ignores it.
“Sorry,” Amy whispers hoarsely after another moment of peace.
Jake clenches his jaw. “Why are you apologizing?”
She sniffles, and he feels her fingers curling around the loose material of his t-shirt down near his ribs on his right side. “I dunno,” she admits, quieter than before.
He turns his head and kisses the crown of her head, letting his lips linger there for a long moment before lifting his head up to rest his chin on top of her head. “I’ve told you before,” he says softly, “you never, ever have to apologize to me for that stuff. Ever. I don’t care how stupid you think it is, you wake me up. I love you, all of you. That includes the chronic anxiety.”
She sniffles again, but he feels her nuzzling a little closer, so he squeezes her arm reassuringly. The bathroom floor is cold and uncomfortable but neither one of them seem to be keen on moving.
The next part of the conversation is never fun. But then again, the whole affair is pretty unpleasant to begin with, so he supposes it’s to be expected.
“D’you wanna talk about it?” He murmurs into her hair.
He can’t see her face, but he can imagine the look of anguish there. He’s seen it so many times, most often in response to that very question; vulnerability has never been one of Amy’s strong suits. He likes to think she’s getting better at trusting him, even if she still shuts him out sometimes after panic attacks.
“Not really,” she mumbles after a long moment. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t press her; he just keeps lightly, steadily caressing her arm. He feels her shift, shuffle closer, roll her shoulders, and heave a sigh. He remains silent. “I just - I had a dream.”
There. The start. “Good dream or bad dream?” He prompts her after a pause.
Shift, squeezed fingers, adjusted head. “Bad.”
Up and down, up and down. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
The longest pause yet. “I…you…you died.”
Well that’s new. His hand freezes on her arm, his grip suddenly firm, and her discomfort rolls off of her in palpable waves. He desperately wants to see her face, but her fingers have tightened even further around his shirt and he’s got a feeling that if he tries to move away from her, she’ll cling to him as hard as she can just to avoid eye-contact. “I died?” He repeats instead, hoping his voice sounds steadier to her than it does to him.
“Yeah,” she rasps. “It just - it happened so fast, but it felt so real - I woke up panicking, and you were right there but - but for a second, it almost looked like -” she pauses, her shoulders and chest jerking slightly beneath his arm, and he realizes with a pang that she’s started crying again. He resumes his caress, more forceful than before, and shushes her quietly again.
That explains why he’d felt her hands on his face, at least. She was checking to see if he was still breathing. “I’m okay,” he reminds her, voice soft. He feels her nod, and then she turns her head until the delicate line of her nose presses lightly against the side of his neck. There are a confusing number of emotions swelling in his chest right now - too many to dissect this early in the morning with Amy’s tears soaking into his t-shirt and her breath warming a little patch of skin over his chest. “Amy?”
Her eyelashes are fluttering against his neck. “Hm?” She hums.
“I love you so, so much. No matter what.”
“Mm,” the hand fisted into his shirt disentangles and skates across his stomach to wrap around on his other side, bringing her even closer than before. Suddenly they’re embracing sleepily right there on the bathroom floor. Amy squeezes him slightly, a quiet, contented hum vibrating softly in the back of her throat, and Jake has to stare up at the ceiling to fight back a sudden wave of tender affection threatening spill out of him at the noise. “Love you, too.” She mumbles, and then her lips press quickly against his throat.
He should get up. He should get to his feet and pick her up and carry her to bed and crawl in next to her. He should pull her close, he should be the big spoon tonight, he should wrap himself around her so tightly while she sleeps that the nightmares can’t find a way back in. He should not fall asleep with her on the bathroom floor, because they’re both in their thirties and while he may still be a kid at heart his body is most definitely not.
He should do all of those things. But instead, he lets his head loll to his right, his lips brushing against her hair. “I got you, Santiago,” he whispers sleepily.
He’s asleep before he hears the quiet, sleep-addled grunt she makes in response.
Will you do some comics to haikyuu again? Its so cute and awesome.... So gay ಥ⌣ಥ i miss them (♥ω♥*) pleeeeaaase (with lev would be cool....)
Uh, sure? I mean, I posted one just yesterday, I’m not sure what’s giving you the impression that I’ve stopped haha
I think I’m obsessed with the matsu.hana thing
Ohhhhh I’m glad you liked it!!!!! *O*
Aah matsu.hana.. that pair of memeing dweebs never let us down.. ♡
Haha I know right? Whenever I draw them I always feel better right after, they’re such a chill pair~
Hi! I noticed you posted some tana.noya a little while back and honestly I almost died of happiness. So thanks. But I was wondering what your thoughts are on tana.hina.noya? Because honestly they are so cute and work so well together and I love them all so much.
Love it!!! Not my fave ot3 with Tanaka and Noya tbqh, but as I’ve mentioned before I’m weak to every and each Hinata ship, and Tana.Hina and Noya.Hina make me really super weak, like, top-5-Hinata-ships weak, so yeh! They’re adorable and I love them!
how do you play the korean rock paper scissors with multiple people?
There’s quite a few different ways to play, actually, but my students usually play it like this:
In a smaller group (3~5 people), keep throwing until only 2 of the 3 options (rock, paper, or scissors) are thrown. Then the winning group and the losing group each play within their own subgroups.
Ex: 5 students are playing. 3 throw scissors, 2 throw rock. The 2 students who threw rock are the ‘winning’ group and they play one another to find out who’s 1st and 2nd. At the same time, the 3 ‘losing’ students play against one another. 2 throw rock, 1 throws paper. The one who threw paper is 3rd, and the other 2 students will play against each other once more to see who’s 4th and 5th.
In a larger group, the majority is out first and each group then plays amongst themselves using the same method as above.
Ex: 7 students are playing. 3 throw rock, 2 throw scissors, 2 throw paper. The 3 who threw rock play amongst themselves to see who’s 5th, 6th, and 7th. The other 4 play until only 2 options are thrown (and they continue as above).