#chronic pain defeated once again

[dyke-dyke-goose]

me when my back pain starts to go away

[ranger-jahen]

hmmm. this is difficult. but I’ve been reading a lot of post-game discussions in various places, and I think the answer to Selûnite Shadowheart’s final quest is truly that neither of the options are the “best ending.” and it really depends on what you personally take away from the story as being most important; it’s a malleable story, not set in stone either way.

for my games, I will always choose to let Shadowheart make the decision for herself, and yes, this does usually result in her letting her parents go and freeing herself of the Sharran curse. narratively, this is the ending I prefer. I believe rejecting Shar fully and completely requires Shadowheart to be willing to feel the depth of the loss that Shar wants so much for her followers to be afraid of, to be so afraid of that they will willingly turn to her promised oblivion in place of it. living with that grief instead of fleeing from it seems the truest way to defy the goddess who has taken so much from Shadowheart in an attempt to remake her in her own image. by Shadowheart embracing loss, freeing her parents, and freeing herself, she seems to defeat Shar’s influence over her life once and for all, and go on to find herself in the new life of hope that has been opened to her. she even finds herself with the presence of her parents’ guiding moonmotes, meaning that their love is not fully taken from her. this is the ending with the themes I appreciate most, despite its bittersweet tones. I find it reflects my own inner wounds and inner hopes that surround breaking away from abuse and learning to love the version of yourself that was forged during a time of great pain, yet still plodding on towards a better life somewhere down the road, even if it means grieving what might have been taken from you. the idea that grief isn’t the death of spirit, shackles are.

however, I am aware that if you manage to hit a very specific set of circumstances in triggering various memories of Shadowheart’s, there is also a chance that she may choose to save her parents of her own volition rather than to put them to rest. if there was a clear set of goals that led to this outcome, I’d be more inclined to entertain the idea of it being the “right” path, but as it stands, it can be very difficult to find all the right clues, even sometimes depending on whether or not Shadowheart is in your active party in different sections of the map. so unless you either datamine, spend eons studying different forks and party assemblies in the game, or follow meticulous guides pre-written by folks who are likely datamining themselves, this is a “random” outcome. and if it was the objectively “correct” outcome, I do not think it would be left to chance. (and I don’t personally ascribe to the idea that persuading Shadowheart to a specific outcome carries the same connotations as persuading Astarion to a certain outcome; the complex inner workings of the choices presented to the two of them are very different.)

with her parents alive, Shadowheart is much happier in the moment. she can find comfort and togetherness and learn of her past, which means she reclaims many of the things that Shar initially took from her. she does have to deal with Shar’s ongoing torment, but she seems willing to put up with it simply for the joy of getting to have her family together again. for some, the takeaway here is learning to live with chronic pain in order to experience all life has to offer. as a chronic-pain-haver myself, I don’t easily find my way into this interpretation based on some specific details in the story, but I think it’s wrong to say that this can’t be a valid interpretation. if that’s what truly speaks to someone’s heart as their main takeaway from Shadowheart’s journey, then this would be the best ending for them. that’s important, I think. very much so.

I don’t think either interpretation can claim superiority and “correctness” over the other because the themes presented in Shadowheart’s story are so genuinely complex, and the fact that different endings speak to different people seems to be a feature, not a bug. it’s fascinating, honestly, not least of all for the fact that she seems to be one of the only companions without a specific ending that is objectively “better” for her between the two. I’ve read lots of nuanced discussions about all of the companion’s endings, but I think Selûnite Shadowheart’s is truly the most dependent on player experience.

[berryispunk]

Insomniacs

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: friends to lovers, insomnia, mental health struggles (ptsd, depression), soft! Frankie, kissing, yearning, swearing, nicknames (hermosa), fluff, idiots in love, no smut, no physical description of reader apart from having hair

summary:  What if you can’t sleep and you call for your best friend to come over and suddenly everything changes ?

word count: 3,1 k

It’s nothing new that you can’t sleep. Dealing with various mental health stuff over the years and chronic pain on top, you should know better. 

You tried every sleeping aid under the sun; meditation, counting sheep, lavender on your pillow and melatonin. Nothing worked, so you started to build your life around it. Midnights became your afternoons to quote Taylor Swift. 

But you were creative, somehow still holding up the hope that it magically gets better or you’ll just get used to it. But it never happened. 

So tonight as the red numbers of your digital alarm clock illuminate your face, mocking you once again, you groan in frustration. You stare at the ceiling, watching the various colored lights of the cityscape dancing around and if you weren’t so damn defeated you would be able to find beauty in this, but you can’t. Not today. You reach for your phone charging on your nightstand and scroll mindlessly through social media. Minutes turn into an hour and you finally sit up in your bed, opening your messages app. It’s 2:30 a.m., who could possibly be awake at this hour? Your international friends? Yeah, for sure. But as you go through your various contacts you stop at one name, smiling to yourself as you press the call button. 

It takes three rings until a familiar deep voice fills your ears. 

“Hello?” the voice murmurs and you immediately feel guilty because you didn’t expect him to have been asleep. His voice sounds exhausted.

“Oh my god. Sorry Frankie, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you apologize and he chuckles softly at the other end. 

“‘s alright, wasn’t really sleeping just… dozing off. What’s up, hermosa? It’s….” he pauses shortly. “It's, fuck, 2:32 at night. What is going on? Are you alright?” The worry in his voice is palpable and it’s one of the things you admire about him.

“Yeah, it’s the same old insomnia again and I figured why not call the one person that gets my pain?” you say apologetically and you can practically hear his smirk. 

“Us good old insomniacs, huh? Is it your brain or the pain this time?” he asks and you sigh heavily in response. 

“Probably a mix of both…” you sink deeper into your cushion. 

Frankie might be the only person you ever met who understands the struggles that come with lack of sleep. His military background and the resulting nightmares made him an ally in the cruel game that called itself life. The two of you spent countless nights like this, on the phone or texting, watching nonsense over whatever TV channel was on but you’ve never done one thing: late-night meetings. 

You weren’t sure if it was a secret agreement the both of you made that late night meetings were off-limits in all the time you’ve known each other, but tonight something felt different. 

“Hey Frankie?”

“Hm?”

“Why have we never met? At night, when we weren’t able to sleep… I mean, you only live on the other side of the city, not the world.”

The other end stays silent and you think you may have overstepped an up-to-now invisible line by asking. 

Then he clears his throat. “Would you want me to come over? You never asked and I never did, because no way in hell I let you wander alone through the night…” he clarifies and you can’t help but roll your eyes. Of course, ever the gentleman Frankie Morales did not want to risk your safety. 

“Well, what if I’d ask you to come over now?” You hear him swallowing heavily at the other end of line. 

You don’t even know why you’re wanting this all of a sudden, maybe you’ve finally lost your mind. It’s not like there isn’t some underlying tension between the two of you anyway. Mindless flirting and playful teasing is all part of your friendship. 

Frankie is way too trusting for his own good, getting screwed up by his lack of judgement concerning other people and his soft heart, even if he would never let the boys know. They would give him hell about it. But around you he’s let his guard down and you have deep conversations with him about all things going wrong and the few that haven't. He’s one of the few people who know about your troubled youth and strained relationship with your mother. You in turn are one of the few people that know the severity of his PTSD. 

He makes you feel heard like no guy has ever managed to do. He really looks at you when you’re talking and it always makes you feel giddy when he remembers little things you told him a while back. 

You like his attentive nature, but somehow you have never found yourself thinking of him as a potential partner, even if he’s awfully attractive with his broad shoulders and unruly dark curls. His million-watt smile that, if it’s honest, creates little wrinkles around his eyes and makes your own smile widen every damn time in return.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice strained and uncertain. 

“I am,” you say boldly even if you feel anything but.

Fuckin hell, why does your heart beat so fast? 

“Give me 20 minutes,” is the last thing you hear before the line goes dead. 

You immediately jump up from your bed and panic takes over. What were you thinking? What do you even expect to happen when he’s here? Or worse, what if he expects something to happen? No, he would never. It’s Frankie after all, he would’ve had plenty of chances to make approaches but he never has, always keeping a respectful distance. And now you wonder if he only kept it because you made it seem like you weren’t interested in more than a friendship? 

When you first met him, you actually had a little crush on him but held yourself back because you told yourself he was out of your league and he was in a relationship. Then they broke up, but he was in a new one only a few weeks later. It went on like that for a long time until you were taken. Your ex never liked the boys so you kept your distance and the estrangement grew until you broke up with the guy and picked up your friendships where you left off. 

It’s always been so easy to be with Frankie. You could be yourself around him, no need to pretend to be someone you’re not. He saw you in every state: drunk, crying, bed head and pajamas or all dolled-up for another unfulfilling date. He still looked at you the same and it gave you some sort of confidence you’re usually unable to muster. So right now you don’t even think about changing. You stay in your sleep shirt and shorts, no underwear whatsoever, because it doesn’t matter anyway. The only thing you do is brush your teeth and open the messy bun your hair has been in, making it fall loosely over your shoulders.

For a moment you wonder whether he wants anything specific to drink, but as you check your fridge you see that you have plenty of soda and beer - both beverages you know he enjoys. So you sit down on the sofa, only the soft dim light of the standing lamp in the corner illuminating the room and you grow nervous again. Why, you can’t tell. This isn’t different from all the other times you’ve met him, the only difference being it’s late at night. But then you remember the saying ‘nothing good happens after 2 am’ and you get restless all over again until a soft knock on the door announces his arrival. 

With a few quick steps you open the door, but only a crack and Frankie looks at you, tired brown eyes mustering you. He’s smiling as per usual and holds up a plastic bag. “I brought the pretzels you like so much.” 

You open the door all the way to let him in. He’s wearing grey sweatpants, the standard oil cap which has to be glued to his head at this point, and one of his worn-down band shirts. Sometimes you “borrow” one of them when he doesn’t notice. You’re actually wearing one right now. 

“Hi,” you grin as he places the plastic bag on the coffee table. 

“Hi yourself,” he grins back and his eyes wander over your figure for a moment as his smirk widens. “Is that my shirt?” he asks, one eyebrow raised questioningly. 

“Maybe,” you tease back, mirroring his smirk. “You want it back?” 

He shakes his head, lifting his signature cap to run a hand through his curls before he puts it back on. “Nah, looks better on you anyway,” he says and somehow it makes your cheeks turn a bit warmer.

“You want something to drink?” you ask, clearing your throat. 

“Yeah, a beer maybe? But please tell me you’ve got more than the muck from the gas station? Because that tastes like piss,” he complains and you laugh as you walk over to your kitchen, opening the fridge. 

“Well, good for you I have actual beer, some Corona even if you’re feeling fancy.”

“Oh, I feel very fancy, hermosa,” he laughs and leans over the kitchen countertop as you reach for the beer. You feel his gaze on your backside, but decide to say nothing. 

You place the beer on the counter, a soda in your hand, and the noise of it opening echoes loudly through the apartment. He opens his beer with a lighter before he takes the first sip. 

It’s quiet for a moment before you ask, “How’s that girl you were talking about last week? Cindy or what’s her name?”

He shrugs, a lopsided smile on his face. “You’re asking me about my dating life?” 

You frown, tilting the soda can in your hand before answering “Guess so.” 

“Didn’t see her again,” he simply states and something blooms inside of you. Is it relief?

“Ah, okay…” you say, trying not to let your emotions show too much. 

“And… you? How’s that guy you told me about? Jack?”

“Jacob,” you correct, not that it would matter. You met him once and it’s clear that he’s still very much in love with his ex-girlfriend.

“Yeah, Jacob, sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “How is he?”

“Guess he’s fine…I wouldn’t know, as I only went on a date with him once.”

“Oh.” “Oh?” you scoff and he chimes in with a chuckle. 

“Yeah, what else should I say? He didn’t seem like a good match for you.”

“You know, you never said that about any of the guys I dated.”

“They were all losers.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“Shit, I‘m sorry…” he babbles but your eyebrows are furrowed.

“So tell me who’s a good match for me then?” You glare at him. It’s infuriating that he even thinks he’s allowed to judge you when he clearly isn’t better with all the girls he’s dated in the past. 

“Someone who really cares for you and sees you for who you are. Someone who treats you right and would do anything to make you happy, you know…” He’s fiddling with the label on the beer bottle. You just watch him, too stunned to speak as his words strike a chord. You know he’s right and that makes it hurt even more. 

“Maybe I’m just not made for a relationship,” you sigh as you take another sip of your soda, mimicking his stance by leaning across from him against the counter. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” 

“So what? You’re gonna tell me that there’s someone for me whom I just haven't met yet? That I didn’t search long or hard enough? I am 28, Frankie. I am tired of being in the dating pool. I just want… “ you exhale defeatedly. “I just want someone to come home to and who’s as happy to see me as I am to see him.”

“I am happy to see you,” he says quietly and it makes your heart miss a beat. 

“Yeah, but that’s not the same and you know it.”

“Why not?” he asks back, your eyebrows shooting up as he finally looks up from the bottle in his hand and places it onto the next available surface. “You’re a smart girl, hermosa. Don’t tell me you don’t know?” There’s indignation in his voice.

“Don’t know what?”

With one big step he closes the distance between you, standing so close to you you can clearly smell the last bit of his perfume he’s probably worn during the day and most of all you can smell him. The earthiness, musk and warmth are weirdly comforting as he looks down at you. 

“Do I have to spell it out for you or can you feel it as well?” he murmurs when you finally have the courage to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and searching. 

“Frankie, I–”

Suddenly he’s so close, so all-consuming it makes it hard to think. 

“Tell me you don’t feel it and I stop,” he whispers. You feel his breath on your face and the warm feeling inside your chest spreads further. 

Of course you’ve felt that way before, but you didn’t think too much about it, not wanting to risk this friendship that's so important to you. 

“I won’t,” you croak out and he smirks in response, the cocky smile he always has when he is certain about something. 

“Figured,” he continues before adding, “So tell me, how many of these dickheads do you want to date until you give the one guy a chance that really cares about you?” 

“But.. We are…”

“Friends? Yeah, and I want to be so much more than that to you. Do you really think I would drive through the city at this ungodly hour for just anyone?”

You search for his eyes again, slightly blushing and shaking your head. 

He starts playing with a lock of hair, curling it around his thick fingers which makes you incredibly nervous.

“I woke you up, didn’t I? And now you stand here at 3 in the morning… I feel horrible.”

“Well, I don’t. I’m glad you invited me over. Who needs sleep if I can be with you instead?”

You smile at that. 

“I’m still sorry.”

“No need,” he assures you. “There’s no place I’d rather be right now…” 

And his voice drips with honesty as his eyes lock with yours and the intensity of his gaze paired with his words make your breath hitch. Your eyes flick onto his plush lips which look so much more kissable up close and you bite your own lips. He mirrors the movement and suddenly his big hand rests on your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheek bone as he pulls you a tiny bit closer. You reach for his cheek in return, his patchy stubble tickling your hand and you part your lips as he takes the cue, dips his head and his lips are only a hair's breadth away from yours. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he whispers hoarsely against your lips and you just nod in agreement.

His lips capture yours in a soft, tentative kiss and your stomach does somersaults. You’ve wondered in the past what kissing him would feel like, but nothing could’ve prepared you for this. He knows exactly what he’s doing, his lips moving with purpose without being overbearing. The softness of his lips is a stark contrast to the slight scratch of his stubble against your skin. You practically melt into the kiss and you’re certain that no one has ever kissed you like this, so soft but purposefully determined it makes your head spin.

You tangle your hands in the soft locks on the ape of his neck as you deepen the kiss. He’s parting his lips voluntarily so you can invade his mouth with your tongue as his hand wanders from your cheek into your hair, cradling the back of your head. He presses you against the counter with his body weight as his other hand wanders to your hip, his fingers digging into the tender flesh under his shirt. As your tongues dance feverishly his breathing gets uneven, panting into the kiss and you can’t help but smile softly that he gets so worked up over a kiss. 

“You okay?” you whisper as you part to breathe, your foreheads touching. 

“Yeah,” he breathes “It’s just.. Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long so I wanna get this right.”

You take his head between your hands, your thumbs stroking his cheeks now. 

“You’re doing everything right, Frankie,” you smile softly and his face lights up.

“Can I maybe take you out on a date first before I ravish you right here in your kitchen?”

You can’t help but laugh at that, an honest laugh not many people are able to elicit from you. 

“I’d love that,” you say softly and nuzzle your nose against his while his thumb draws small circles over your hip where your shirt rode up. 

Suddenly the tiredness comes back to you as you yawn heavily and he creates some distance to be able to look at you. 

“Do I bore you, hermosa?” “No!” you quickly protest. “But I’m tired all of a sudden…”

“No shit, it’s late. Let’s get you into bed, yeah?” 

He takes your hand and leads you to your bedroom where you fall headfirst into the pillow with a groan. 

“Frankie?” you call for him, lifting your head up slightly, his name suddenly sounding so big in the quietness of the night. 

“Yeah?” you hear faint footsteps as if he’s about to leave and the thought makes you sad.

“Would you mind staying?”

It’s deadly quiet for a moment before you hear the rustling of sheets and his weight next to you on the mattress. “Not at all,” he murmurs softly and you scoot closer to him, cuddling into his side as he puts his arm around your shoulders, his chin resting against your head. It feels so natural. It feels like coming home. You yawn and close your eyes again. 

“Thank you,” you murmur softly as your hand rests on his chest. 

“Anytime,” he says and then adds, “And just for the record, her name was Clara.”

“What?” 

“The girl I was on a date with, her name was Clara not Cindy. Not that it’d matter anyway because the only person I go on dates with from now on will be you,” he chuckles softly and you grin widely, even if he can’t see it. 

“Good to know,” you say sleepily and for the first time in weeks you drift off into a deep, restful sleep.

my masterlist - in case you're hungry for more :)

most recent work

[killerpancakeburger]

SILVER-TONGUED

SUMMARY: Soap drops by your office to pick you up, like every friday evening for your poker game with the Task Force. But when you turn out harder to remove from your desk than expected, he's going to resort to a different method.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader

TAGS: Civilian!Reader, Anxious!Reader, Clingy!Soap, Established Relationship, fluff, swearing, mention of chronic pain, suggestive/light smut: dirty talking, gropping, foreplay (?), semi-public (happens in your office on base but no one walks in lol), (they keep their clothes on). Idk how to tag, help

WORDS COUNT: 1.2k

A/N: Just because I wish I had a Soap to sweet-talk me from my desk at the end of the workday. *sigh wistfully* This is the filthiest thing I've ever written, so... enjoy? But also forgive my amateurism.

Plunged into your work, you’re essentiellement deaf and blind to the outside world. When you notice Soap's presence, he had the time to sneak into your office and behind your chair, arms folded over your backrest. By the way he pronounces your name, you can tell this isn’t the first time he's calling it.

“Hey,” you salute, surfacing back to reality with difficulty, focus not leaving your computer's screen, but reaching backwards blindly with one hand for contact. He grabs it right away.

“What's up?”

He chuckles a bit at that.

“Day's over is what's up. Ye coming?”

Your eyes fly to the clock in the bottom right corner of the screen. The evidence is damning: your shift has been over for ten minutes. It is far from unusual for you to stay too late, but tonight's friday and the 141's weekly poker game is summoning you in the form of an overeager Scotsman whose eyes you would damn yourself for.

On the field, the Sergeant MacTavish can remain immobile for hours on end with a sniper rifle in hand, stoically waiting for a target to get in his sights. On base however, your lover can hardly stay still more than a minute without a reason he'd deem legitimate.

His question is very much rhetorical. You tried to slip away once, not because you didn’t want to come but because you were worried the guys felt obligated to invite you out of politeness, and somehow Johnny must have read your mind because he snatched you and fireman carried you all the way there.

You wouldn’t have forgiven him if he had dared to pull those antics in front of others, but he managed to keep that spectacle just between the two of you. You still yelled at him a lot afterwards though. And punched him. And kicked him. Felt like hitting a punching bag anyway, so you didn’t feel guilt over the fact that he wasn’t defending himself at all. Once you were done huffing and puffing, you just glared at him, out of breath, fists clenched, and he stared back shamelessly, a grin on his face. The genuine joy in his expression was contagious, so you started laughing uncontrollably, and he joined you quickly. 

Coming from anyone else, this overly familiar behavior would have disturbed you. Being carried around like a helpless toy, powerless to resist someone else's will, wasn’t something you were fond of. But Soap proved himself time and time again to be safe. He could tell apart your serious reluctances from your playful protests, and if he had any doubt that you were uncomfortable, he would have stopped messing around instantly.

Deciding for you in that particular moment eased you off a burden, saving you from crippling indecisiveness and from endlessly weighing pros and cons in awkward silence. It was a favour.

You never contemplated refusing the offer again after that.

“In five minutes,” you bargain, not wanting to interrupt yourself in the middle of a task.

He loudly whines in protest at that, acting more distressed than he actually is.

“Nooo. Come ooon. Ye can finish later.”

“Be quiet,” you retort, and yet unable to curb an amused smile from stretching your lips.

He sighs exaggeratedly before admitting defeat. For exactly five minutes and not one second more.

“Bonniiiie.”

You don't relent.

“I'm almost done!”

“Ye were s'pposed to be done 20 minutes ago!”

You don't have any good argument to oppose that truth, so you remain silent. Soap does not.

He starts massaging your shoulders and dispensing cajoleries into your ear to coax you into compliance. You manage to tune him out until he curiously presses the tips of his fingers into your trapezius muscles and you wince. He lets out an impressed whistle.

“Fuck, yer tense. Yer shoulders feel like reinforced concrete.”

You sigh, having heard that one before.

“Bane of my existence,” you mumble absently.

He hums pensively, and you think that's the end of the matter, until his hand slides down your chest, all the way from your collarbone until your navel, leaving shivers in its wake, and his lips settle on the crook of your neck.

Concentrating suddenly becomes impossible.

“Johnny,” you call out in warning.

Or at least that was the goal, but you can hear in your own voice how affected you already are.

He treats his name like a demand for more, and leaves a trail of kisses along your neck and your shoulder, tugging on your collar to have more skin to work with. Meanwhile his hand caress and grope your torso, burning you through your clothes, in slow, unhurried motions that feel terribly suggestive. He knows your body so intimately well, only brushing the sore spots, like the side of your ribs, where the bone presses right beneath the skin, teasing the sensitive areas and tenderly stroking the rest.

“What do you think you're doing?” you contrive to ask, resisting the temptation to close your eyes to focus solely on his touch.

This may be afterhours, but you’re still in your work office, and anyone could barge in. While the idea may be arousing in theory, you know that the reality would mortify you.

“Just helpin’ ye relax, hen. Ye work too hard. Lemme take care o’ ye.”

Once again, you can’t find a good argument to oppose him. You do work too hard, and you desperately need to unwind before the pressure you self impose makes you explode like a time bomb. Since you've started dating, Soap had a tendency to mentor you into taking it easy, and he never steered you wrong until now.

You sigh in defeat, lift a hand to grasp his mohawk, letting your head tilt backwards, and surrender to his wandering hands and mouth.

Two fingers glide on the inside of your thigh, from knee to groin. In the meantime, his hand squeezes your breast. His lips stop from sucking and licking your flesh only to whisper filthy nothings into your ear.

“Could sneak under yer desk… make myself at home between yer legs… and let ye fuck my face while nobody knows. Would help with yer tension, ah'm sure.”

You suck in a gasp at the conjured mental image, legs spreading almost immediately. You, digging your fingernails into your palms with restraint, Johnny's cerulean eyes almost shining in the half-light of the bottom of your desk as he's staring hungrily at you, kneeling. Him raising a finger across his lips in silent command before spreading your knees further apart and nuzzling against your crotch. You fighting back against the urge to grind on his face and suffocate him between your thighs, the knowledge that he's not averse to the idea making things worse.

“Johnny,” you whimper, beguiled. “Fuck.”

He lets out an appreciative hum.

“Knew ye'd like that.”

The fingers tickling your inner thigh finally move to where you want them most. You grit your teeth to contain the moan that threatens to escape you as his middle finger runs up and down your slit.

Then the racket of your phone vibrating against the wood of your desk abruptly brings you back to reality. Your eyes open wide and you raise your head to see who's calling, only to swear in horror as Ghost's mask occupies the screen. As the contact's photo vanishes, a notification indicating seven missed calls makes your stomach twist in fear.

One does not stand up Lieutenant Riley and comes out unscathed.

[heartyluv]

hii i saw your recent post about reader w pots, and i was wondering if you could do one of the lads guys (doesnt matter who) with reader who has chronic fatigue syndrome, as someone who has it :))

no pressure tho <3

Note: Thank you for trusting me with this, luv. Again, I did as much research as I could to make sure that I portrayed Chronic Fatigue Syndrome as best as possible, so I hope that I’ve done that successfully. I felt like Xavier was absolutely perfect for this. You’re so strong, my heart. I hope you know that. ♡

Creds to @/cafekitsune for the divider!

Warning: Not sure if this needs any, but please proceed to read with caution!

Xavier/Reader

Today has been one of the hardest days you’ve had in a long time. When you woke up this morning, you felt as if you haven’t touched a bed. The amount of fatigue and exhaustion that coursed through your body made it seem as if you’ve never known what it’s like to rest in your entire life.

Trying to get out of the bed to prepare for work felt even worse. The nausea was undeniably terrible, immediate dizziness and the need to vomit because of it, suffocating your throat. Xavier was awfully concerned, unable to keep his eyes off of you as you attempted to assure him that you could handle everything on your own.

Of course he didn’t listen to that.

“Please focus on getting ready. I’ll be driving you to work and I’ll make you something to eat so you can have it on the way. Don’t fight me on this. Just let me take care of you, okay?”

He had gotten up with you at six in the morning when he didn’t need to be up for another two hours. You were so thankful for him that you could cry, but you physically didn’t even have the energy for it.

You were diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome a little over a year ago and while it was a relief to have a name for the experience you’ve been suffering from, the feeling of defeat from not having a definite solution was always saddening. But with Xavier right there to make sure you knew you weren’t going to deal with any of it by yourself, you knew that even on your worst day, you would survive it because of him and his love.

He was there for the days you couldn’t get up, when you had to stop your walks that you took with him because it was leaving you bedridden for more than a day—even when your sex life had slowed down. Not once did Xavier blame you or expect anything. All that mattered to your boyfriend was that you were taken care of and healthy. You had a whole life together to do everything anyways, in his eyes.

Getting through the day was a chore, most of the time. But when you walked into your building today, each step felt like there were weights on your ankles and dumbbells on your eyelids. Even though you were being strong for yourself, you were especially being strong for Xavier because his belief in and care for you was something so fueling that you wish you could inject it into your veins whenever it got difficult.

At almost eight o’clock, you felt like you could do nothing, but pushing through it, shaking it off as best as possible, and remembering the way Xavier kissed you goodbye, had you ready for your meeting by 9:30.

To everyone else, you were your regular self. Typing all your notes and engaging when expected. On the inside, you were in pain and suffering in a way that you would never wish on another individual.

Despite your perseverance, you had to give it your all to make it on the bus and were thankful that it was already outside when you stepped out of work. After the day ended and you got through your door, the first thing you did was strip yourself from your work clothes and laid down. You couldn’t eat, couldn’t shower. You couldn’t do anything. Just not right now.

Although you wished your sweet boyfriend was here to hold you and kiss away the mental and physical pain, you weren’t able to stay up longer than five minutes to even attempt to wait.

When he got home and saw you in bed with your things everywhere, he had no issue cleaning up for you. Typically, you at least did that, but he knew how hard of a day it’s been the moment you woke up. He cooked you a nutritious meal with one of your favorite little cakes on the side as a dessert.

Gently rocking you awake and calling your name, your eyes fluttered open to see him in one of his long sleeve sleep shirts and pants, looking warm and comfortable. The food you were smelling, as well as his soft scent, always reminded you of home.

“I know you’re tired, but I can’t let you sleep without something on your stomach. You’ll wake up feeling even worse,” he said softly as your eyes rested on him. “Eat and I’ll handle everything else. I can feed you, if you’d like. It’s not a problem.”

“I’m okay,” you say with a raspy voice, your throat dry from the nap. He points to the water at your bedside, already knowing you’d need it. That makes you smile. “Thank you, bub. I’m so sorry about today. I don’t mean to be so messy and out of it.”

He studied you, placing your food down on your lap when you sat up. “Please don’t apologize. Nothing is your fault.” He took your hand in his to press a kiss on top. “Times like these are expected and we work together to get through it.”

The kiss to your forehead feels like the cure to all your problems. “When you’re done, I’ll help you in the shower. I know how much you like to be clean when you go to bed.”

You slowly brought the food into your mouth, groaning at how tasty it was. “I can’t let you do that.” You cover your mouth as you chew, shaking your head.

“It’s a good thing it’s something that I want to do, isn’t it?” he smiles slyly. “And here, you’ve been forgetting to take your vitamins lately.” He pulled out the row of vitamins that you try to have prepared every week and you see how you’ve missed the last three days. The brain fog and forgetfulness has increased dramatically. “I’ll be sure to start helping to make sure you remember again.”

“I can’t believe you do all of this for me. Even though you don’t have to, I never have to ask…I know you say not to be sorry, but I can’t help it. I feel it. You do so much and I don’t think there’s ever enough that I can do to repay you for such patience, Xav.”

He places his hand over yours to stop you from fiddling with your food on your plate. His other warm hand cups your jaw to make you look up from the dish and your sleepy eyes look up into his mesmerizing ones.

“I will never look at you and blame or make you feel responsible for something you have no control over. I do what I do because not only do you deserve to be taken care of, but what kind of boyfriend would I be to let my girlfriend carry all the weight on her back alone?”

You nod, but he wants you to really hear him. So he leans in, kissing your nose before pulling back to let his breath graze against your lips. “Life is supposed to be easier when the person you love is in it. So let me make it easy and don’t feel bad when I do it. Not only do I have to, but it makes me feel good when you do. You’re my other half, you always will be.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you frown, but he runs his thumb across your bottom lip to make you smile. You don’t know why it does, but he rather enjoys doing it when he found out that little tidbit.

“You do. You deserve normalcy and fulfillment. That’s exactly what I intend to give.”

For the rest of the night, Xavier tended to your every need without you having to say anything. He did it all in comfortable silence because he knew how much talking could also aggravate your symptoms and add to your tiredness. One day I’ll be able to show him my gratefulness, you think as he helps lotion your body after your shower.

With that goal in your heart, you can’t help but hold him tight when you’re in bed for the night. And he holds you equally as close, knowing that in his heart, you being exactly how you are is all the repayment he’ll ever need.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 424: Detroit Tears

Previously on BnHA: You know what, fandom is way too heated about this still so we’re just going to leave that be that for now and not get involved. I have some conflicted feelings about it, but this is not the place or time. This is a happy post.

Today on BnHA: Oh right, Horikoshi still owns the rights to my soul. And I’ve just been reminded of why I willingly signed them over to him so freely.

Quick heads up that this isn’t going to be my usual style of chapter reaction post, in that it’s really just going to be a ton of rambling about That One Scene. Partly because I’m only halfway caught up with stuff, but mostly because tbh, this is the only thing that matters to me right at this moment.

Also this is your friendly neighborhood spoiler warning that I’m posting about a chapter which hasn’t officially been released yet! So proceed at your own discretion. This reaction is based on @pikahlua’s excellent spoiler translation writeup here. I’ve officially lost all of my fucks about spoilers and it’s extremely liberating.

I’m glad that Kacchan’s arm isn’t just magically better and that he’s never going to be 100% again. and also that the doctor mentions him needing to rest his heart as well. because I did feel like there needed to be at least a few lasting consequences from him LITERALLY DYING AND UNDERGOING OPEN-HEART SURGERY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BATTLEFIELD. but I’m also glad they established that it wasn’t career-ending or anything. he’ll probably have some chronic pain and occasionally aggravate his old injuries while fighting, all of which is great for angst purposes. but it was good to see him being calmly accepting of that while also being determined to put the work in to rehab it as much as possible.

also enjoyed the doctor summing up Kacchan’s highly improbable main character resurrection and subsequent antics as basically being some wild bullshit that nobody can explain. lampshaded the shit out of it. “I don’t really understand” lol. nobody understands. in truth it’s that his secondary quirk is bending reality to his will in order to kick ass.

moving on to the main event now! so Kacchan and Izuku’s reunion was obviously the highlight of this chapter and of my life, probably. I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like it wasn’t. y’all know how it is.

what really made this scene for me was Kacchan being more upset at Izuku’s loss than Izuku himself. all those callbacks and all that guilt. that careful selection of flashback panels. the fact that Kacchan’s past bullying of the quirkless Izuku wasn’t glossed over or forgotten, and in fact is the emotional core that fuels Kacchan’s reaction here. Horikoshi didn't have to cut that deep, but he knows what he's about.

and then the crying. I need to write a lot of words about this right the fuck now. first off, having Kacchan just flat out sob while Izuku for once is the calm one (at least until All Might goes in for the emotional kill later on), is such a beautiful reversal and really shows how far they’ve come. even better is that none of it was even remotely out of character. I’m always appreciative when an author can produce top tier emotional hurt/comfort like this and have it feel earned and authentic rather than forced. well done.

also, “Na--cchan!!” fuck yeah Izuku. we’ll never let him live this down. (but also, him later trying to reconcile his forever-tough image of Kacchan with the crying, hiccupping version standing in front of him, by blaming it on Kacchan’s weakened physical state... oh, Izuku.)

also the fact that Kacchan so easily reverts to this smol crying boy even after defeating the world’s greatest evil pretty much activated every protective instinct that I have. he’s seventeen. he’s practically a man now. he’s objectively one of the strongest and toughest people in the entire world. and yet his eyes still go so wide and his face is still so young and Horikoshi still draws him so tiny and vulnerable whenever he’s like this. goddamn gets me EVERY single time. let’s be real, it’s been this way ever since the “you looked like you needed saving” scene back in the literal first chapter. just, omg. he’s still just a kid and he’s too small to contain all these feelings SOMEONE HELP HIM.

anyway so NEEDLESS TO SAY, Kacchan full on mourning in between sobs because he wanted to keep being rivals with Izuku cut me to my core. I cried too, goddammit. because in Katsuki’s mind it’s like. he wasted a dozen years of potential friendship by being a giant asshole. and they were only able to start getting things back on track less than a year ago. and that was probably the best year of both of their lives. and that rivalry meant so much to both of them. pursuing their dreams together as equals. and he wanted it to continue!! he missed out on so much, and it was his own damn fault, and now it’s all being taken away again maybe!!

and I think it’s especially devastating to Katsuki because he was trying so hard to make up for how he treated Izuku, and then this comes along and now he’s worried it was all for nothing. he’s scared that Izuku will maybe have to quit being a hero. (we know that won’t happen, obviously, but Katsuki is living this and not just reading it. he’s never met narrator!Deku and doesn’t have the benefit of all that foreshadowing and stuff.) but even more than that, I think he’s scared that it will undo all of their progress toward mending their relationship. not because Katsuki thinks any less of Izuku now, quirk or no quirk; but because of how Izuku might feel about being quirkless again, and because of the memories it might bring flooding back to the surface. I don’t think Katsuki fully believes that Izuku has forgiven him. so that’s a major fear potentially rearing its ugly head once more now.

and of course, he’s also just sad and upset on Izuku’s behalf, because he knows Izuku is sad about it too, even if he’ll never show it and will just downplay it because of his selfless nature. it’s a major loss, and one deserving of tears being shed, even if Izuku won’t shed any of his.

so yeah. it’s a lot. in Katsuki’s mind it’s the potential loss of a partner (if Izuku quits heroics), and a friend (if Izuku does cool toward Katsuki as a result of being quirkless again), and a dream (of them reaching the highest heights together), and his friend’s dream. so it makes perfect sense that all of that would overwhelm him. all of this is stuff that’s broken him down on past occasions as well.

so anyway it’s going be very cathartic when all those fears prove to be unfounded (because they better be unfounded lol). but in the meantime it’s a very moving reminder of how much he really does care and how far the both of them have come.

also Horikoshi really couldn’t resist giving Nobu one last chance to destroy everyone when this scene rolls up in the anime. that’s so reckless of him. there will be no survivors.

All Might telling both of them they’d become the greatest heroes was also the perfect chef’s kiss moment on top of everything else. we already knew it, of course. but it was good to hear him say it. and they needed him to say it. they needed and deserved to hear it.

and I really love that the qualities he specifically praised them for were the same things that each of them had struggled with the most in their respective journeys. he tells Izuku, who had such a difficult time learning how to tell the world “I am here!!”, that he inspires everyone and has become everyone’s hero. and he reminds Katsuki, who struggled with learning how to save people, and has especially struggled with his guilt over what happened to All Might at Kamino, that he saved All Might’s life and is the reason he’s able to still be there with them. both of them just really needed to hear that acknowledgement and encouragement, and it was such a powerful passing of the torch moment. All Might gets so much shit from the fandom, but he really is a phenomenal mentor when he’s in the zone, and I’ll die on that hill.

also a nice touch keeping the focus of those panels on the two boys and their reactions. even though I would have liked to see All Might’s face when he thanked them at the end, it definitely felt deliberate. this is their moment. their soft little tearful smiles afterwards punted my heart off a cliff and then picked it up and held it gently.

lastly, let it be known that I’m still convinced Katsuki has OFA (All Might vestige explanation when??), and it’s not lost on me that that would be a mighty convenient way for Izuku to potentially still go on a-quirkin’ in the end, if that’s how Horikoshi wants to play it. I'm just saying.

also before I forget, just a quick shoutout to Horikoshi for FINALLY showing all three members of the Bakufam in a scene together in which they finally managed to not be completely dysfunctional lol. my deepest darkest BnHA secret is that Mitsuki is secretly super high up on my list of favorite characters. and she was great in this chapter, and I love how she was just “WHAT THE FUCK” aghast at Katsuki using his main character powers to continuously ignore his injuries. and then she and Masaru kind of silently agreeing to step outside the room and let the boys and All Might have their moment. while still secretly listening in. because you know they were. good for them.

lastly for reals, I just want you all to remember that as great as this chapter was, the one thing that it was STILL missing which we have STILL not gotten is a HUG. we demand HUGS. I’m not leaving this manga till I get a bkdk hug goddammit. I will stay here all night if I have to.

[mumms-the-word]

A Final Death

Pairing: Gale x gn!Tav Summary: Gale has ascended and has returned to his chronically ill lover in order to ascend them, only to realize that they have died while he was exploring godhood. He departs for the Fugue Plane to find their soul and offer them divinity once more. ao3 link A/N: This is inspired by an angst ask I got in my inbox (hi anon!!) but it got so long that I decided to make it its own post. CW: death

Wait for me. Give me time. Soon, I will return with the means to ascend you, and you will never have to fear dying again.

Those were the last words he had said to Tav before leaving them. The sight of them on the docks watching him bow and back away was burned into his mind, even long after ascension. They were stunning in the light of the rising sun. As beautiful as they had ever been, and more.

And oh so fragile. Brittle. Broken. The condition they had maintained so carefully before being taken by the nautiloid had proven taxing, dangerous, even deadly on the road to Baldur’s Gate. True resurrection should have cured it, but it never did, no matter how many times they sought Withers’ help, resurrecting their broken, dead body with true resurrection spells.

A curse, Tav later told him. The nasty result of a hag deal gone bad. Since then, every injury healed wrong. 

The evidence of the curse was staggering. Broken bones that never fused together just right. Bruises that never seemed to fade. Cuts that always seemed only half-healed. A persistent cough that would go away only to be replaced by other pains, other illnesses. A perpetual state of pain, never ending, ever changing, managed only by a careful schedule of potions and healing spells and rest. Some days were worse than others. Some days they felt only the dim pains of a single bruise. But never, not even once, had they admitted to a single pain-free day.

But there was no promise of rest and healing on the road and no end to the fighting. Yet still, they pressed on. Still they fought. Still they endured. Until finally the Netherbrain crashed, defeated, into the Chionthar, and Gale had the means to end their suffering at last within reach. For the first time in months, they could rest.

He hoped the last few months had done them good. That they had found ways to heal and secured the rare, nearly-pain-free day as they waited for him. He had dedicated all of his time in the pursuit of ascension, and then after that, in testing the limits of his godhood. He had to know what he could do, what he was capable of, before he returned. He only had one chance to ascend them. He wanted it to be perfect.

As he materialized outside the Elfsong Tavern room, the one they sometimes shared when he and they longed for a night with just the two of them away from the others, the one his beloved had promised to be in while they waited for him, he wondered what kind of god they would become. Perhaps a god of healing, focusing their efforts on healing spells and potion crafting. Or perhaps they would hate that idea and surprise him. The god of knitting, they might suggest, the most mundane thing possible, or the god of puns, making use of that humor they used nearly every day to cope with the pain. He smiled to himself, remembering their many jokes, as he waved a hand for the door to open on its own.

He stepped inside, dimming his celestial light, only to find the room was quite dark without it. His smile faded as he gazed about the room.

Empty.

No, not empty, he realized, as a figure unfolded themselves from a chair in the far corner. The figure approached, slow and silent, the whisper of their ragged robes the only sound in the room.

“Jergal,” Gale said.

“Well met, young god,” Jergal said. His expression was that same old blank expression, his mouth just shy of a faint smile, and his eyes glimmered in the dark just as they had months ago, back when Gale had been mortal. “Thou come seeking that which is no longer here.”

“I can see that.” He could sense it, too. Though other souls slept, ate, and drank in other rooms beyond this, the only two entities present in that room were himself and the Final Scribe. “Where are they?”

“Gone.”

Gale tried to ignore the flicker of irritation kindling within him. “Yes. I’ve noticed. Gone where?”

“They are where they must be…until they goest where they must go.”

The irritation only grew. Jergal had always been vague, but that was when Gale had been mortal. Now, they ought to speak as gods do, one deity to another. The Final Scribe need not hide divine secrets from the God of Ambition, now that they were equals.

“Fine, if you won’t tell me,” Gale said, “then I shall simply have to find them myself.”

“Thou wilt search these planes for some time, I fear. They are not here. They are…beyond.”

“What do you…”

All at once the meaning came to him. Gone. Beyond. 

Dead.

“That…cannot be,” Gale said, refusing to believe it. But Jergal merely stared, silent. Waiting. Waiting for him to accept it.

Again he refused. He cast his senses wide, stretching out his mental presence far beyond the reaches of the Elfsong Tavern, over the whole of the city, and even further beyond, briefly touching hundreds of souls at a time, seeking, searching, hoping to brush against the soul that had once called to his own. The soul that had been his match. He would know it as soon as he found it, so familiar was it to him, though this was the first time he sought it out as a god.

But there was nothing. Though he felt the first embers of pride, the fanned flames of hungry ambition among dozens of souls, he couldn’t feel the one singular soul that he desired.

They were gone. And he knew, even if he searched the entire surface of Toril, that he wouldn’t find them. Not on this plane.

Tav was dead.

He struggled to find his voice “When?”

Jergal’s gaze softened briefly. “Nigh on forty days past.”

“That long?” he asked. “It can’t be, I was only gone for…” But even as he said it, he knew his estimation would be wrong. Jergal looked sympathetic.

“Time runneth differently when one is immortal,” he said. “As thou well know.”

Again Gale struggled to comprehend the news. Not because he misunderstood—he could see the truth as clear as crystal. Tav was dead, their soul having departed from the mortal plane days ago, and he had missed it. 

That was the part he couldn’t fully grasp. How had he missed the day, the very moment his own beloved had faded out of this life? Their brilliant life, bright as a star in the sky, snuffed so quickly—again. 

He should have felt it. It should have been, to him, the same sort of feeling as losing the light of a single candle’s flame in a vast darkness. Or perhaps a feeling like a chill, a dread, a pit in his stomach. He was divine. He could sense souls in a way he never could as a mortal. He should have felt Tav’s passing.

But he hadn’t. He couldn’t even recall what had been the focus of his attention forty days ago. A single day was like a breath to him. There and gone in a flash. One didn’t count every breath they took in an hour, much less in a day or a week. Had so much—so little time passed without him noticing?

He set aside those concerns for now. “I see,” he said quietly. “That is unfortunate. But it is time to bring them back now, if you would. That is why you’re here, is it not? To resurrect them?”

“No.”

Gale frowned. “No? I don’t understand.”

Jergal was quiet a moment. By the time Gale was certain he would simply refuse to elaborate, he closed his eyes briefly and then reopened them.

“I came to them in their final hour,” he said. “To offer them my services. They greeted me as a friend.”

He paused. Then he lifted a hand to his head and touched his temple. As he drew his hand away, a small orb of light followed after his fingers. A memory, Gale realized, as Jergal sent it floating toward him. Gale cradled it in his hands, letting it sink into his silvered skin, and immediately his vision was flooded with the memory.

He saw Jergal approach the bed in the room, sitting down in a chair at the bedside. For a moment, Gale almost didn’t recognize the figure on the mattress, lying beneath the folded sheets, but as he drew closer there was no denying who it was.

Tav.

He had never seen them look so frail. The months since their victory had wasted them away until they were left looking more dead than alive. Their skin was as thin as paper, their usual tones now cast over with a gray pallor. Dozens of bruises bloomed on their skin, all in varying stages of healing or freshness, and their lips were colorless, their hair thin. He could see their bones sticking out, their skin stretched over them, as though half their muscle and fat had dissolved away. They had the look of a corpse about them, even as they opened their sunken eyes and turned their head toward Jergal. 

He wanted to think them beautiful—this was his beloved—but he could only stand, vaguely horrified at the sight of mortality at its worst. There was very little beauty here, only wretchedness. He hated the sight. Not Tav—never Tav—but all the evidence of what the illness had done, the pain, the injuries.

Why had Tav not sought healing?

The sight didn’t seem to alarm Jergal as he sat at their bedside. “I heard thy call,” he said quietly. “What dost thou require?”

Tav turned their eyes toward Jergal and reached one weakened hand toward them, a faint smile on their lips. “Maybe I just wanted to see an old friend one last time.”

“Thou art dying.” It wasn’t a question.

“I know.”

“Then dost thou require my resurrection services?”

“No.”

Gale jolted. No? No?

“He isn’t coming, is he?” Tav whispered, their hand still outstretched toward Jergal, lying inert on the sheets. 

“Thou speakest of thy wizard. Thy newborn god.”

Tav’s lips twisted. “He’s not my god.”

Gale stared, his fists clenched at his sides. Shock and pain and anger swirled within him, tangling together in a complicated knot that was all too familiar, all so dreadfully mortal, that he couldn’t help but hate it.

“He’s forgotten me, I think,” Tav whispered.

The knot in his chest stopped swirling all of a sudden, frozen and cold. Forgotten…forgotten? 

He wanted to rage. To tear this memory to shreds. To claw his way back in time and make Tav see the truth. Forgotten? Never.

But even he couldn’t alter the fabric of time.

You’re wrong, he wanted to scream. You’re wrong. I’m here. I’m here!

But it was just a memory.

Jergal said nothing at first to their remark, but at last he spoke. “Thou knowest I can give thee more time. Is that why thou hadst called?”

“No.” They breathed in shakily and Gale could hear the rattle of their breath as their lungs struggled to take in the air. “No. I just…didn’t want to be alone. When I died. For the last time.”

The last time.

The words echoed in his head, but he couldn’t stop the memory from playing out.

Jergal nodded slowly. “I see. And so thou didst call me.”

“Yeah. I decided…who better to watch me go than the Final Scribe?”

Jergal chuckled softly. “Ah. Thou hadst found it out.”

Tav’s smile was crooked, a ghost of their old humor. “I followed the clues. You made it kind of obvious.” They moved their hand closer again to Jergal’s. “Will you stay with me?”

“Is this truly what thou wishest? To die, and not return? If I recall, thy wizard hath promised thee eternity.”

Tav swallowed once, twice, silent. When they blinked, the glimmer of tears appeared in their eyes and then was blinked away. “I…don’t think I can wait for that chance, old friend. He’s been gone for months. Silent for months. What if he has forgotten me? And even if he hasn’t, this body…all the pain that just keeps building, I…” 

They swallowed again, and this time the tears leaked from their eyes, dripping down the sides of their face. They took another shaky breath, and then couldn’t speak the words. Another rattling breath, and then a faint whisper, choked with tears.

“I don’t think I could start over and endure all this again. I don’t think I’m strong enough to wait for him.”

The words nearly drove Gale to his knees. He had been so close. Only days, mere days separated this memory from his reality. Tav couldn’t endure for a few more days, after yet another resurrection brought them back to life? They couldn't have endured one more cycle of death and rebirth, for him?

Why couldn’t they have waited?

For the first time, he began to understand the pain they kept hidden from him. Even as he understood, at the time, comparing the pain of the orb to Tav’s experience, even as they had bonded over a mutual knowledge of what it meant to be in pain every single day…he’d never realized the depth of their pain.

That it would be so bad that they would wish for death, even when promised eternity.

I don’t think I’m strong enough…

“Oh, my love,” he whispered. “If only you could have endured it, I…”

But the memory didn’t wait.

“It’s stupid,” Tav said, swallowing and finding a bit of strength to speak above a whisper. “I’ve died so many times since the nautiloid. I used to hate it. But I realized a while ago that…waiting there in the Fugue Plane…it was the only place I was free of this pain.”

“Thou were free of thy physical body in death,” Jergal said. “And where the soul doth go, physical pain doth not follow.”

“Exactly. You understand.” Tav took a deep breath, this one less difficult. “I think that’s why I’ve decided…the next time I die…I want to stay there.”

Jergal offered no opinion, he merely tilted his head and watched Tav, his glimmering eyes unblinking.

“So?” they asked. Again they inched their hand closer to Jergal. “Will you stay with me until I go? I know my soul is in safe hands with you.”

“Yes,” Jergal said, and at last he reached out to take Tav’s hand, his withered fingers curling around theirs. “I shall guide thy passing, as in days of old.”

Tav smiled again, their relief relaxing their entire body. “Thank you,” they whispered.

The memory faded as they closed their eyes, the moment of Tav’s passing obscured from Gale’s vision. He tried to cling to the memory, to see the moment of their final breath, but it was gone. Jergal had kept it from him.

He felt…empty. Hollow. For one, terrifying moment he wondered what all this divinity was for. If not to share with his lover, then…what?

But a spark kindled within him again. Was he not the god of ambition? Was he not the god of taking risks for the highest rewards? What was death to a god like him?

“You know where they are,” he said, turning once more to Jergal. “Take me to them. To wherever their soul resides.”

“Thou knowest as well as I that it would be of no use,” Jergal said. “Thy beloved’s soul is beyond thy reach, now. They hath made their decision.”

Gale could feel his anger rising, as it always did these days when someone dared to suggest what he could or couldn’t do. Anything was possible, given enough time and enough power—that was his creed as the god of ambition. 

“Fine,” he said, keeping his voice carefully controlled. “Then I will seek them out myself.”

“Go, if thou pleaseth,” Jergal said, watching him turn away. “Perhaps it is best thou see them for thyself. But I will not aid thy search.”

“No matter. I will find them. Even if it takes me aeons.”

So saying, he left the material world, casting his essence through the planes, heading for that ever-shifting realm of the dead.

———

He materialized at last in the Fugue Plane, obscuring his presence and divinity in a fog that matched all the rest as he moved through the vastness of the gray plains, seeking, searching, looking for Tav. He scarcely knew what he would say to them, other than all the questions he wanted answers to. But he had to see them.

Why couldn’t you endure? Why did you think I had forgotten? Why did you stop believing in me? Why didn’t you wait?

Anger and despair fought for dominance in his mind, anger at Tav, anger at himself, despair at losing Tav, despair at his own follies. But something in his divinity kept him from ever really taking the blame. He was a god, after all. He knew better than mortals. It was Tav’s mortal reckoning that was the problem. Their mortal frailty. Their mortal inability to see the scope of eternity beyond their brief lifetime of pain. Perhaps if he had given them more glimpses of divinity, to show them what they had to look forward to…

His train of thought halted as he finally found them standing among the gray. Tav. His love.

They looked as they had in life, when they were at their very best. Healthy, standing straight, their hair full and thick, their skin clean and without blemish. They were stunning. Beautiful.

But gray. All over gray, in the same shades as every other wandering spirit here. Colorless and without vibrancy.

Yet...more solid than the wandering souls around them. Gale paused, remaining in the fog, watching. They stood on the plains, looking around, but not with the dull, aimless look of a soul shambling directionless in this plane. No, they appeared alert and confident, as if they knew themself, as if they had purpose.

After a moment, they seemed to find what they were looking for. They walked over to another soul that was sitting on the ground. The soul’s gaze was lifeless, dim, just the same as every other soul around them. This soul was a shade of their former self, their memories and life already slipping from their grasp. Tav softly called their name and held out their hand.

Kelemvor has sent me, they said, offering the soul a kind smile as the soul looked up slowly at them. I can take you to the City.

…Kelemvor?

Suddenly Gale understood.

Thy beloved’s soul is beyond thy reach.

So that’s what he meant. 

Gale had come with two, perhaps three ambitious plans in mind. If he couldn’t convince Tav to be resurrected and then ascended, he had planned to ask them to be resurrected and then become his Chosen. If Tav didn’t agree to either, then Gale was prepared to ask them to join his domain in death. One way or another, he thought, they would be together. As gods, as a god and a Chosen, or as a god and a faithful soul. Together forever.

His divine mind hadn’t conceived of a fourth option. He hadn’t anticipated what was now clearly Tav's new reality, irrevocable and unchangeable. Yet it stood before him, the evidence as obvious as day.

Kelemvor had claimed Tav’s soul before he could. Tav was beyond his control.

Though his anger flared up briefly in response—how dare Kelemvor claim his beloved before Gale had even had a chance to speak with them?—his anger soon cooled as he watched Tav take the hopeless soul by the hand and help them to stand.

Come with me, they said to the soul. I can guide you safely to the city.

Tav had been chosen as one of Kelemvor’s spirit guides, to help guide souls to the City of Judgment, or perhaps even to other gods’ domains, if Kelemvor’s judgment were so inclined to send them there. As Gale watched the two of them disappear into the fog, Tav leading the other soul gently by the hand, all his questions, all his anger, all his despair melted away,

He was left feeling hollow.

His ambitious plan had been thwarted, long before he’d even had a chance to enact it. The defeat should have stung, but instead he felt numb to it.

All that time spent exploring his godhood in order to ascend Tav, wasted. Yes, he had to admit, despite the humility churning his gut with discomfort, he had been too enamored with learning the limits of his power. But he hadn’t been gone long.

They chose this over him…?

He hovered in those gray, shifting plains, a cloud of fog amidst more fog, as he contemplated the matter to himself. Ran a thousand useless scenarios in his mind for how this could have gone differently. Tried to tease out new paths forward, only to be blocked at every turn by the rules of divinity and souls. He didn’t notice how much time had passed, until movement drew his gaze back to his surroundings.

Tav had returned. Only this time, it was clear they weren’t looking for a particular soul. They looked around them slowly before saying, out loud, “I know you’re there. You can come out now.”

They wouldn’t say such things to a soul they had been sent to guide. Which meant only one thing.

They were looking for him.

He hesitated at first but then decided that no more harm could be done. Not to them, anyway. And how much worse could his divine heart break, really?

He dropped his cloak of fog, settling down to stand just a few feet away from them. As soon as he materialized, their eyes were on him. Not shocked or surprised. As if they had been expecting him.

There was, however, a faint hint of nervousness in their face.

They locked eyes in that gray space, the fog swirling around them. A silver-toned deity, glowing with electric blue divinity, and a grayscale spirit guide, their eyes burning with silver light. They watched him silently for a moment, waiting.

Gale opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, to beg, to argue, to weep, but not a sound issued forth. What was there to say? They were out of his reach now. Separated from him for an eternity.

In the end they spoke first.

“Kelemvor said you were looking for me,” they said, in his silence. “I suppose you have questions.”

He had so many questions. But has he watched them stand before him, looking more alert, more confident, more vibrant with energy and vitality than they had been in life, even on their best mortal days, his questions all died on his tongue. All save one.

“Are you…content?”

The question surprised them, he could see it in their face. They nodded. “I am. You’ve probably already guessed what I am, then?”

“One of Kelemvor’s spirit guides. To lead the lost souls wandering this plane to the City of Judgment to await Kelemvor’s judgment of them.”

“Yes.” They hesitated. He could sense the words on their tongue that they wanted to say but were uncertain about. He saw them swallow the words back.

“I have a purpose here,” they said, instead. “There are so many I can help. So many places to travel in this line of work. Sometimes, when Kelemvor decides someone fits a different god’s domain, I even get to visit it with them as I take them there. I’m still trying to figure my way about, but…”

They trailed off, again uncertain. Gale could only smile.

“It suits you,” he said softly.

And it did. In life, they had longed to travel, to see new sights and meet new people. And then when forced to travel, it had brought them nothing but pain. Yet even so they had pushed through, seeking to help everyone they could, even as they themself were hurting, broken by battle and their curse.

He still felt there were better alternatives—could he not have made them a god of new things, of rebirth, of travel, of care for the downtrodden, or more? But they had chosen this instead.

He should have expected nothing less and nothing more.

“Thank you,” they said. Again they hesitated, until finally, in a burst of words, “Gale, I’m sorry. I know you said—”

But Gale held up a hand, stopping them. “No. No need to apologize. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

They frowned. “And yet you must think me the ultimate fool for giving up your offer of godhood for an eternity of playing messenger and guide.”

“What I think doesn’t matter,” he said. “But…no. I could never think you a fool. You simply…chose the path you felt was best for you.”

And now there was no turning back. 

They both lapsed into thoughtful silence at that, each of them watching the other. He could feel them studying him, taking in the new glimpses of his divine presence, the silvered skin, the lightning crackling at his temples, the white-blue glowing eyes. Here in the Fugue Plane, the two of them didn’t look that dissimilar, with all the grays and silvers that coated Tav’s body now as well. 

He still loved them, he realized. And he would always, he felt, love them. But that love had shifted. He was the god of ambition now, and they were a spirit guide of Kelemvor. Separated in death, yet still part of the same godly realms.

“Gale,” Tav said uncertainly. “I know you’re a new god, and there’s no one, that I know of, who is worshipping you who has died just yet. But when they do…perhaps Kelemvor will be kind enough to let me guide those souls to your domain. Maybe then we could…see each other. Once in a while. From a distance.”

Gale smiled at that. He could just picture Tav arriving at the edge of his domain, leading an ambitious soul to him. “A visit every now and again? I’d like that.”

“It won’t be every time, mind you,” Tav said. “There are a lot of guides. And you’re responsible for picking up your own faithful.”

Gale chuckled. “I am aware.”

“But other souls…ambitious souls who didn’t know you but that might fit your domain…well.” They offered him a little smile. “I’m just saying maybe this isn’t goodbye. It’s just…until we see each other again.”

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Gale would never forget the chance he missed with them, to have them reign as a god at his side. But the hope shining in Tav’s silver-toned eyes was impossible to ignore or destroy. If they were content with this lot, perhaps, in time, he could be too.

“Very well,” he said. “I look forward to your first visit to my domain, then.” He gave them a little bow, a return to some of his mortal mannerisms.

Tav nodded, their smile faint, but as full of love as they had been in life. “Until we see each other again, Gale.”

He returned their smile and gentled his voice, bringing with it all the tenderness and love he still felt for them, and may yet feel for them for an eternity.

“Until then, my love. I will be waiting.”

[overwatch-headcanoning]

Overwatch 2 Angst Headcanons

Just a few angsty headcanons for my overwatch favs because I'm having a bad day. Enjoy!

Mentions of self harm, chronic pain, SA and other abuse below the cut. Please read with caution and minors DO NOT interact. 18+

☣️ Hazard: He hides it well but his body aches, all the time. Phantom pains, chaffing until the skin is raw, muscular stress from uneven limbs. You name it, he's dealt with it. He metabolizes the pain as just another part of life and has learned to mostly ignore it but some days, especially after a particularly rough mission, it all comes crashing back and he can barley stand. He laughs it off, makes excuses to slink off on his own and as soon as he's alone he collapses. Screwing his eyes shut and just trying to breath through the pain. Feelings of loss and weakness crashing over him like a wave, threatening to drown him. He sits like that, in a heap, for hours, sometimes a full night. Just trying to lessen the pain or ignore it until it fades back into the dull ache he carries every moment of every day. It's still better than the alternative but sometimes it threatens to drive him mad.

🦉 Reaper: Sometimes, alone in the middle of the night, Reaper hauls himself to the bathroom and stands in front of the mirror. Staring with hallow red eyes at his own reflection for hours, trying desperately to spot any remnants of who he used to be. He drags claws fingers over his cheek bones and chin, trying to see something besides a monster. Trying to pretend it's a living face once again. He stares at himself until he's disoriented and angry. Sometimes the mirror takes the brunt of the frustration and pain, other times he turns it on himself. Tearing at his face and body just trying to bleed like he used to, or hurt in a different way. Something, anything to make him feel alive. Nothing ever works and eventually the rage and desperation dies down into exhaustion and surrender and he leaves the room in a cloud of smoke, letting his body come apart in defeat. Knowing he will be called back to work soon and the cycle will start all over again.

🐸 Lucio: Sometimes before a show and often times after one he will make cheerful excuses to head to the bathroom or his dressing room for a few minutes. As soon as the door closes behind him and he's sure he's alone he sinks to the ground, already hyperventilating. He curls into a ball, digs his fingers into his hair and has a panic attack. Sometimes they last 15-20 minutes. Other times he only allows himself 1 or 2 minutes of shaking on the ground, sobbing, struggling to breathe and pulling on his hair. The panic, the pressure, the risk he endures every day would get to anyone but he doesn't allow himself much. Just those few minutes of complete despair and terror. He's had panic attacks since he was a child so he knows how to deal with them but he can't stop them. So he just makes sure he has his time alone to come undone, even just for a minute or two before pulling himself back together, plastering on his happy face and going back out to face it all again. He has a reputation to uphold and people need him. They can't think he's weak or not enjoying himself, so he never lets anyone see it.

🪷 Lifeweaver: Most of the time he is all smiles and confidant quips but some nights, sitting alone in what ever safe house he is hiding away in, alone, the tears come. He sits tall, back straight, staring straight ahead as tears run a river down his cheeks. He doesn't sob, he doesn't shake. He just lets the tears come and burn his eyes as he thinks of his family, his school friends, his exes. All people he couldn't keep in his life. All people he was forced to turn his back on or watch them turn their backs on him. Niran is a people person but the path he has chosen in life forces him to spend most of his resting hours alone. Completely, staggeringly alone. He has learned to cope with it for the most part. Tea, music and novels help. As well as losing himself in his work, but some nights he can't escape it and the tears overwhelm him. Flooding him with memories of people he can't have, people he can't afford to love. People who have betrayed him or given up on him. Or worse yet, people he has betrayed or abandon. He can't tell which is worse but he sheds tears for all of them.

🐰 D.va/Hana Song: Not much gets to this streaming super star but there are dark parts of the internet she can't quite stand to look at. Once, near the beginning of her career taking off she took some time to scour the internet for what they were saying about her and what she found left her stomach in knots. She found hate forums, webpages full of threats and worst of all, a lot of people fantasizing about assaulting her. She closed the computer and never spoke of it again, never daring to look or let it get to her but sometimes the thoughts sneak back in. She tries to be a hero and entertainer and devote herself to her fans and her country but every once in a while it breaks her knowing how many people out there want to hurt her, take her against her will, humiliate her, etc. She gives everything and it's still not enough for some people. They want to take more and she can't ignore it. No matter how much she tries. One wrong step and people would descent on her like hungry wolves.

🟡🟣 Moira: Her confidence is unwavering but sometimes even she has to admit she might have gone too far. It's not uncommon for her to wake upon the middle of the night in a cold sweat, struggling to breathe, dizzy and sickly pale. The throbbing pain in her arm threatening to overtake her. She did this to herself yet in the wee hours of the morning, alone in the darkness. She can't help feeling like a victim. The pain is unimaginable and while she has learned to manage it with painkillers and injections to slow the spread, it's still there, it's still happening. Her own brilliant work eating away at her flesh. Sometimes it makes her so sick she can barley move, too dizzy to stand and too nauseous to eat. In those moments, despite herself and her ego, Moira wonders if she will be able to save herself after all. For all her plans, theories and experiments, she is still withering away, painfully. In those few, rare moments of weakness she wonders if she will be another victim of her own ambition.

[nyxtickled]

sleep diary #1

you can absolutely ignore this series but i’ve decided to combine business and pleasure since i have no problem remembering to be horny on main but i have every problem remembering to record my flare ups and sleep problems so i can actually have an accurate measurement of my symptoms once i finally see a rheumatologist

ok so! i’m just going to see if i can remember to do my sleep diaries if i incorporate them into my kink blog lmfao. if you wanna filter them out just block my #nyx.sleep tag, OR if you’re chronically ill and you feel seen or curious about the shit i write, feel free to jump into the replies and scream with me!

sunday night - fell asleep around 3am? woke up around 11am. covered in sweat from head to toe. body pillow was soaked through and cold from sweat. tank top was cold and wet, sticking to me. waking up like this is not uncommon, probably 2-3x a week on average, so it’s probably not related to having a virus. the most notable thing from today was that the tip of my middle finger was completely numb. this is the same finger that has had a weird knuckle for a while now, looks like the tendon is slipping off the side- but the fingertip has never been numb before. took about 10 mins to get feeling back into it. also had excruciating neck pain on the same side (right), from neck to shoulder and back, strangely no pain really in my forearm or bicep but then pain again in my hand and knuckle.

pics of weird knuckle tendon thing, super swollen, no idea why. def wanna show the rheumatologist, doesn’t always look like this but looks like this a lot.

gf threw me into a hot shower because i woke up shivering and freezing, body temp highly dysregulated, just had to sit in the shower chair and literally melt in a sauna for like 20 minutes. immediately had to take tylenol after waking up as well for the neck and hand pain. also 20 mins post-shower, i still have a headache that feels stabby every time i cough, but that could just be related to the cold/flu thing i have. currently i’m just feeling very out of it, dizzy/lightheaded, exhausted, definitely feel more tired than i did before i slept for 8 hours. it is a defeating sensation but very common for me. probably contributes to depression.

[enden-agolor]

this is chronic illness anon I decree he has fibromyalgia

Oh absolutely.

Fibromyalgia is something that follows him for the rest of his life after the events of season 2. With how much physical damage he has undergone with possible broken bones, I can't even imagine the amount of bruising, and not to mention all of the scarring he endures... Once the adrenaline rush is over and he's begun to settle into normal life once again, that's when the aches and pains hit the hardest.

It's one of those things that paves a path for an early retirement in the near future. Once Romeo is defeated and Jesse knows his reign of terror is over, he attempts to settle down into normal life by going back to his mayoral duties. One of his favorites being to assist in builds, but the task of doing so becomes a lot harder and way more physically taxing. Like, he'll get through the day fine, but once the build is finished, he'll look upon it with a somber smile when that deep, dull pain returns to remind him that the day is still far from finished.

Even while his duties in town come to a close once night has fallen, he still ends up laying in bed awake most nights, reliving the memories and feeling the ghost pains of what it was like being knocked around like a ragdoll and clinging to half a heart. Gently caressing his scars makes his heart leap into his throat and his vision shakes when images of Romeo come back to haunt him. It's a terribly bittersweet end for our hero.

Even though he won the fight and Romeo is long deceased, he continues to live with the tragic physical and mental trauma of what he endured. His body will never be the same as it once was when he was a young and naïve newspawn. Innocent and pure to the horrors his world truly harbors.

He lives in a constant state of exhaustion. Sleep evades him most of his lonely nights, and when it doesn't, it's because the pain knocks him out before he gets a chance to dwell on the past.

But he'll be okay. Good things are on the horizon for him. He just doesn't know it yet. <: )

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Ayesha Liveblogs Spy x Family S2

Awww, I like that Bond Forger the Dog also gets an intro about HIS secret identity. Equal opportunity deceit

Are we finally going to learn who exactly Yor is fighting? I would like to know!

Been there Anya, I also had little patience for watching the news as as a kid. Though, it seems more important in a pre-internet era

"Okay, you can change the channel." Loid Forger, International Spy, defeated by one (1) sad look from his little daughter

"I absolutely cannot tell him that I got shot in the butt while fighting a group of armed men." 10/10 episode plot, I cannot wait

"I've been relying on her too much without realizing it, and it's upset her. Yes, that must be it! I must do everything in my power to remedy this at once!" Loid immediately blaming Yor's mood on himself and deciding he has to be respond by being a better husband!!! I will keep saying it. He is THE Husband. World's Most Husband

"Why don't we go on a date?" HEE HEE

Puzzling that Yor thinks she hasn't been on a date though, when I can think of at least three dates so far (party-grenade-proposal date, lunch date, and drinks-and-reassurance date)

"I can't leave Anya alone at home, and this is a very important mission to ensure that we remain one happy family." It seems Loid has learned from the spy transmission debacle

"Last night, I came up with 862 date plans to ensure that Yor has fun." He's insane. I want to give him a leetle kiss

HAHAHAHA Franky being absolutely thrilled to bother Loid and Yor on their date. What a friendship 💕

Intriguing that Anya's telepathy has a distance limit. Tell me more!

Honestly, Yor having to position herself in a specific way to avoid pain is relatable. We love a chronic pain queen

"This woman had built up an immunity to poisons." HAHAHAHAHA the poison fixing Yor's pain. Sometimes, drinking does solve your problems!

LMAOOOO them censoring the bomb components. A real "don't try this at home" moment

NOT THE BABY MAKING THE BOMB. ANYA PLEASE

"I'm going to forget all this and live a normal life." Perfect. Forgers reforming their enemies left and right

"If it's not too much trouble, please invite me out again sometime." Never let being married stand in the way of your husband becoming your boyfriend 🥰

SCREAM at Bond's perception of what Loid does for work. I guess he's closer to the truth than most:

"Are you trying to do this for your... no. Are you trying to get revenge for your friends who were experimented on?" HAHAHA is Loid blushing because he wants to call himself his dog's dad?

FBKFJHFFHKJHF Loid taking on Bond as his mission back-up. He truly can be swayed so easily

WHERE DID LOID GET A DOG-SIZED SKI MASK AHHAHAHA

I love the giant puppy spy sidekick, employ this dog ASAP

"While they're busy playing, I'm going to work hard to get to the top," said Damian Desmond, Six Years Old, for whom The Top was beating all the other little bougie first graders

"Your friendship... preciously elegant." Me whenever I finish hanging out with my friends

I love that Henderson-sensei sends the kids out on a picnic as a punishment. He really is as silly as he is strict

I don't know if this is a vegetarian thing or a cultural thing but it always seems wild to me how people in anime bite into fish, scales and all

"Did you know that the most recent studies in neuroscience suggest that your brain feels really revitalized when you're spacing out?" I like Mr. Green, Grizzled Navy Custodian, too

HAHA Damian trying his hardest to space out. Me when people tell me to practice mindfulness

"Oh, you don't [have a goal], eh? That's perfectly fine!" "Actually, I want to live my life eating lots of snacks." "Splendid! You'll have to think earnestly about how to make that possible." I take it back, I LOVE MR. GREEN

Ready to sob about this field trip actually. AHHHHHHH:

"Good evening, Mr. Vile Trash." ACAB; All Cops are (Weird) Brothers

"What's so wrong about trying to improve the country my family lives in?" Nothing but the hostile, paternalistic nationalism of a Cold War, Frank Perkin, Newspaper Sensationalist and Adult Bully of Wealthy Children

"I'll request that your father gets some financial aid to get by." I feel like that will not make up for imprisoning his son, Yuri, but whatever helps you sleep

"Blech." That's also how I feel about Weird Brother Yuri, Anya

"Revenge will only make you sadder. I'll make you forget about all that with my love." This is the plot of Naruto

Honestly, I was super sold on the Bondman Polycule when it was just him, his spy partner Agent M, and the enemy spy lady who had all linked arms together. I feel like this could work:

"How was anything he did gentlemanly?" Loid said: I'm a one-woman kind of spy

"Lord Damian, how could you possibly pick the joker there." "Shut up!' [Internally] She's so unfair... Damn it! I like to believe Loid might approve of Damian's crush purely because he is also willing to do whatever Anya wants if she makes one (1) sad face

Poor Anya. She's really most suited to using her street smarts

"Garden? The group of assassins who have been in this country for ages? They're basically urban legends, aren't they?" FINALLY we're finding out more about Yor's job!! They do in fact seem at cross purposes with the spies

[Loid already walking away] "He's such a heartless jerk." I bet you $5 he has already decided to help Franky LMAO

Update from 8 min later: Alright, I owe you $5, he didn't care

"Am I normal?! Oh, thank goodness!" said Yor excitedly, as if that were not a moderately suspicious response to being called normal

Excited for an ep with no double-barreled title. Plot progression!

I truly don't know where this falls on the spectrum of ways that anime will depict black and brown characters LMAO. Like Donovan Desmond, the Shopkeeper has an extremely haunting aura:

"You will be providing protection on this mission." Oooooh, change of pace!

"Is there actually any reason why I should continue my job as a killer?" A question every assassin should ask themselves, I think

"HQ may or may not be trying to cut back on our shady overtime practices." Incredible. I can't believe even the underground spy agency has PTO. I wonder who regulates spy labour law

"If not for this bodyguard job, the three of us could've enjoyed this vacation together." AWWW Yor loves her family so much

"You can say this is a gangster's destiny." [Reba voice] A single mom who works too hard, who loves her kid never stops!

"Papa! We need to hurry up and explore the ship before it sinks!" "It's not going to sink! Stop scaring everyone." The fact the staircase looks distinctly modelled after that one scene from Titanic really sells Anya's point

Loid incapable of framing having fun as anything but a mission ljggkjgj truly he might benefit from a Real Psychologist

"That family's just for camoflauge, right?" "Yes, you're right... Is... that true?" I love Yor slowly admitting that she loves her family for their own sake 💗

As Yor was declaring doing her best, I did worry briefly that someone was going to [redact] Olka. Other anime have been less kind to me than Spy x Family

I love Yor making another mum friend in Olka 💞 Gal pals

Finally saying suspicious things in public has a consequence!!

"It's been a while since we've had dinner without Mama." "Yeah, it's a bit lonely." Hee hee, Loid misses his wife

I love the immediate transformation in Yor's face as soon as Olka/Shaty says she didn't order room service

I don't have much to say but I am really entranced by the assassin vs. assassin + informant goings on!!

"I may not look it, but I'm a married woman, so I'll have to decline." Absolutely loving Yor quietly and efficiently beating these hitmen unconscious as she passes through the cruise ship

"Which is it?! Would normal parents buy their child something in this situation or not?!" Loid is incapable of making a decision without thinking about how it looks in relation to him being a spy. Anxiety king

[In Anya's mind] "Yor! You're an assasin who hates frogs? Let's get a divorce. The Forgers are done." Like father, like anxiety-ridden daughter

"I am a normal father. A good father," said Loid, which is frankly not usually something a good or normal father would say

"Papa, you're not excited at all." Loid defeated by one (1) six-year-old's piercingly accurate psychoanalysis

Loid is facing a true Psychological Battle: The Fitting Room

Anya Ultimate Wingman Award for convincing everyone her mum's battle is actually a circus act

Awwww, Zeb, Fake Husband to Olka, likes her. I hope this is a healthy experience in Yor seeing other fake couples work it out, but I do also think Zeb could mega-die

"As long we people continue to be people, conflict will never end." Alright, Director Doomsday, calm down

"What am I? What am I doing this for?" [B Eilish voice] What was I made foooooor?

"Does she hate me? Or is she just going through a rebellious phase?" Loid whenever one of the Forger girls looks upset: THIS MUST BE MY FAULT SOMEHOW

A hasty and confident NO to Assassin Sniff's whole vibes

We interrupt this program to think about how cute Loid and Anya are!! I love Loid entertaining Anya and also supporting her while he thinks she's missing Yor

"Nice, Mr. Husband!" Oh good, we love a bulletproof vest for Zeb!

Truly a wild juxtaposition of Forger Family Fireworks Night:

"This might be a bit late to ask, but would you consider just peacefully going home?" I love you, Compassionate Combat

I'm having a hard time believing all this will happen without Loid eventually noticing; the fireworks are long gone. I actually do hope Loid crashes her battle, Director Doomsday is out cold

"I'm doing this to support my family.... wait. I guess I am also doing this for money. But... no, I make enough to survive now. I'm hunting down bad guys for my country! For my country? Have I always been so righteous? What am I doing this for?" Poor Yor, this is like the worst possible time for an existential crisis

YOR AND LOID BOTH BEING MOTIVATED BY THEIR DESIRE FOR OTHERS TO LIVE A PEACEFUL LIFE 😭💘😭💘😭💘😭💘

[In Yor's flashback] "Be it for someone else, or for a specific reason, having to endure a merciless job... That's something to be very proud of." I'm sure Loid will acknowledge me. He'll forgive me. I like to think so too, Yor!!

Never mind to Loid helping Yor out, he is busy disarming a bomb threatening to sink them. This truly is the Titanic LMAO

LGLHGLGJHGLJHG Anya accidentally tripping the assassins so they shoot each other. Like mother, like daughter 💖

"You'll be able to enjoy the symphony of agonized screams and roars coming through the wiretaps on this ship." I can't wait for Loid to sink this guy with his own clock-bomb

Update from 30 seconds later: See? Self-owned and sunk

Awwwww Yor really does deserve the baby hug after the day she's had:

"I pray that, someday, you and your family will be able to find true peace." OLKAAAA

"I know it was an emergency, but I ended up casting my family aside again." Loid and Yor having the same crisis about whether to prioritize their family or their jobs 🥺🥺🥺

Loid's blush at Yor catching him skipping as he continues to skip over in her direction. Hee hee

"I hope peaceful days like this will continue forever." ME TOO, YOR!

Get you a mum who would secretly beat up sharks for you ❤️‍🩹

Setting aside how fun snorkeling is, absolutely terrible idea to go into the ocean with an open wound OMG

Loid carrying his whole family is the cutest thing I've ever seen, 10 bajilion/10zo; perfect:

[Internally] "You did a great job." Loid is in loooooove

"I can never tell if he's actually clever, or clumsy." Me either, Handler

Anya learning about the vacation disparity of rich kids LMAO

"If youre going to create a persona for yourself, you need to be strategic and commit." Not Loid turning this lie lecture into a spy lecture in his mind

"Lying is too much work, so I'll try not to do it anymore." Anya's entire set of adult role models do nothing but lie all the time, she really has no frame of reference for honesty

I do a little bit hate the Becky fantasizing about Loid thing, I have been Cardcaptor Sakura'd too much in life

NOT ANYA SELLING OUT HER MUM FOR THE POSSIBILITY OF BECKY BEING HER RICH SIX-YEAR-OLD STEPMUM OH MY GOD

I feel like they take a lot of liberties in translating "Loid-sama" as "my precious Loid" but hey, he is precious

"Yor's going to get the wrong idea, somehow." Loid has finally registered that this child is obsessed with him and he is only concerned for wife not thinking he's a freak. A good husband above all else

"I really don't understand the children of rich people." Me either, Loid

I need you to see Loid's face as Becky declares that this is his expression of love for Yor:

"Your heart is as vast as the sky, and you're stronger than the earth itself. You're the perfect lady." Correct, Becky! Yor is amazing

"I had some extra souvenirs left after handing them out to everyone else. Do you want them?" LMAO @ the implication being lost on Fiona that he doesn't even think of her enough to warrant her own souvenir

I will say, I really do resonate with the theme of the ep being Loid is Hot and Amazing to Everyone But No One Will Ever Measure Up to Yor in His Eyes

"Maybe you're too nice, and biting and barking don't really suit you." Everyone in the Forger family is too nice for their job, including Bond Forger, Precognitive Puppy

Awwww Bond trying to help out all the humans with his visions

LNKFHKFHKJFH Loid really just got reprimanded by his dog

"And he went into save [Daisy the puppy]? What an impressive dog!" I love the Spy Dad-Psychic Puppy tag-team ❤️

[Internally] "I am a cool-headed spy. I cannot let my emotions show." Loid remains deadpan through SO many things but his dog looking a little funny while wet is his limit. What a man!

"Don't push yourself too hard. There's someone waiting back home who would be sad if you died." 1) V sweet, dad first, hero second. And 2) This is the second time Loid has directly spoken to his life situation with a simultaneous thinly-veined dog metaphor

WAHHHHHHH Loid and Bond's heroics being acknowledged by Anya giving them little paper Stellas:

Yor immediately joining in and congratulating them for their hard work on their walk!!! I LOVE ONE (1) SPY X FAMILY 😭😭😭😭😭 IT'S A NICE SHOW

[critter-genfic-events]

This week, we have ten amazing fic recs all about Ashton! Dive in and enjoy some stories about everyone’s favorite punk rock! Check them out under the cut, and as ever, comment or kudos if you like them!

Krook House Family Shenanigans by Beauteousmajesty (5109,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Fresh Cut Grass & Ashton Greymoore & Milo, Ashton Greymoore/Milo Krook (querplatonic)

Snippets of everyday life in the Krook house + Milo dealing with Ashton leaving. Reccer says: All of these fics are amazing, so I had to rec the series. I love the shenanigans they come up with and the care and love they have for each other

A Head Full Of Smoke Leaves Little Room For Pain by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink) (2272,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Ashton & Imogen

Ashton partakes of some smoking - for recreational and painkilling use. They offer to let Imogen join in Reccer says: I love any fics that deal with the bonding between the two chronic pain-havers in the group!

just don't by ivelostmyspectacles (5194,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Ashton & Orym, Ashton & Milo

Early in campaign 3, Ashton finds Orym beat up in an alleyway and tries his best to take care of him. Reccer says: It's a great look on Ashton's early learning how to care about other people again

Trust > Memory by Clare_Hope (2706,Teen) Warnings: temporary amnesia through head trauma Pairings: Ashton & Bells Hells

After a rough fight, Ashton's head injury is acting up. They trust the people who are there to look after him, even if they don't fully know why. Reccer says: It's great hurt/comfort, and deals with Ashton's realizations that they really care for these people, even when he doesn't really remember what they've been through together.

a spark of potential by mousecookie (1189,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Ashton Greymoore & Caleb Widogast

After Ludinus's defeat, Ashton approaches one of their new allies with questions about dunamancy. Reccer says: One of the things I really want to happen is for Ashton to finally learn a little bit more about the dunamancy juice that got poured into his brain - both Ashton and Caleb's voices are pitch perfect here.

And The Pain Descends Like A Thundercloud by Deramin (2473,General) Warnings: Chronic pain and insomnia, described in great detail. Pairings: None

It’s 4 am and Ashton can’t sleep. They lie awake cataloging their pain and trying to describe it, unable to focus on anything else. Reccer says: I wrote this fic. I'm disabled with severe chronic pain, and I tried to describe what experiencing that pain is like poetically. It seems to resonate with other chronic pain sufferers. I think it helps explore a very important aspect of Ashton's life that many fic writers don't have the experience to describe.

Painful hugs by Deramin (1511,General) Warnings: None Pairings:

Ashton reflects on their complex relationship with gentleness, their inner feelings about fucking up, and how they feel about their friend's reactions. Reccer says: The chronic pain and self loathing seem very true to Ashton

Gold Scar by jam_jarmusch (699,General) Warnings: Implied self-harm Pairings: Ashton & Milo

Ashton and Milo in recovery after the Hexum robbery Reccer says: AFAB nonbinary Ashton is something that is very dear to me

If We Hit the Bottom by bluegreenamber (2620,Mature) Warnings: Graphic Descriptions of Violence Pairings:

Ashton has failed the communication challenge, and as penance, he is falling and falling and falling once again. They were not expecting to see what they see in the darkness they fall into. Reccer says: I liked it

To Care or Not to Care by MasterQwertster (313,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Anni Aughta & Ashton Greymoore & Milo Krook

Anni notices that Ashton is good at taking care of Milo but not so good at taking care of himself. Reccer says: I liked it

This is one of our weekly communally-generated gen rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. Please note that the summary and content notes are provided by the reccer, and may be different than what the author has provided. Please assume good intentions all around. <3

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we'll be featuring fics focused on Hair Care!

Then, it'll be Pre-Campaign, Crashing A Party, and Calamity Focused!

Any fics coming to mind?  Well, then use this form to submit!

If you're looking for some more, check out some fics written in the critter genfic bingo tag, or the older rec lists! Or you can request your own card and join in on the fun!

[sapphic-moon-child]

Chronically Ill Truths

Fibromyalgia

Larissa x Wife!Reader

Chronically Ill Truths

Fibromyalgia - Larissa x Reader

Chronically Ill Truths

Fibromyalgia - Larissa x Reader

It was truly the worst time of year for you. The warm summer days that eased your joints in the early sun were fading and the chill of fall was setting in. You knew a flair was coming on when you went to bed the night before, but when you woke up it was so much worse. You kept a bin next to the bed for bad pain days, and today was no exception. Rolling over your joints ached and cracked as you're swollen hands quickly reached for the bin. Retching almost painfully, you felt your hair being moved from your face and a soft hand rubbing circles on your back. Once you were finished the bin was removed from your shaking hands and taken care of quickly. You could hear the water running in the tub and the smell tea followed.

“Come darling, let's try to get a head of this and ease the symptoms while the needs kick in.” Larissa said sweetly, handing you your purple cane and helping to steady you on your feet. This woman was your rock, and you loved her. When you first came to Nevermore as an English teacher you only had mild symptoms, now 5 years later you were happily married to Larissa and together you co-taught your classes allowing you to still work and enjoy your passion even with your disability. The worst of your symptoms started two years ago, it was just a lot of swelling and aches. Now it was full blown flair ups, that sometimes lasted for days and on the rare occasion a week or more.

When a bad flare would start, Larissa would help start an IV of fluids to help ease your symptoms and push Your meds if you needed them. She was insistent that she learned how to do it, so that you could have them at home instead of the hospital. After a soak in the hot epsom salt bath and a cup of ginger tea she helped you dress in something comfortable and settled you back in bed. Starting one of your IVs she asked if you wanted some pain meds to help, you nodded and were grateful for her help and dedication. “Riss, I think I'm going to need my compression wraps” you told her, admitting defeat to the hell they were. She handed them to you and prepped your meds before pushing them through your IV and flushing it. After getting one leg wrapped in the tight compression wrap, you were exhausted. Handing her the other she took it without complaint and wrapped your other leg for you. The relief was worth the trouble of these stupid things, but you didn't care right now. “Can I have some Zofran please?” You asked, still feeling nauseous. She gave you a quick kiss and retrieved the minty tasting pill for you before placing it on your tongue to dissolve. After she did she set the flow rate on your IV and climbed into bed next to you. It only took about 5 minutes before you were so tired you couldn't hold your eyes open anymore. The fatigue set in and you easily succumbed to it.

When you woke it was midday and Larissa was gently stroking your cheek. “Hello darling, I brought you something to eat. It's time for some more meds too. You noticed she replaced your IV bag with a new one and it was on a very slow drip. Smiling, you thanked her and ate as much as you could of the cheese on toast and tomato soup she made you. “I have your pain meds as well as some anti inflammation meds and some more Zofran for you if you want it. I noticed you were perking in your sleep a bit too so I grabbed your spasm medication too.” She set the different syringes of meds down on your nightstand as she sat on the edge of the bed. “What would I do without you? You could have fallen in love with someone normal, and instead here you are taking care of me.” She almost looked hurt at your words. “Darling I married you because I love you, that means all of you. Good, bad and ugly.” You leaned forwards and gave her a soft kiss before settling back on the pillows again as you watched her push your meds again and flush your IV for you.

The day went on with lots of love and patience from your wife. You were blessed that she was compassionate with you, always making sure if you needed her she was there for you. You dropped your mobility aids and she would pick them up without question. And even during the night she would feel you start to get up and would wordlessly come around to your side of the bed and help you to your feet. She never complained, you hated how much like a burden you felt. She would just scoff and give you a kiss and tell you how much she loved you and that you were never a burden to her.

One of the things you most loved was how much she came to bat for you with your doctors, none of them seemed to take you seriously thinking you were just another drug seeker. She would tear each one a new one and bring your medical binder to slam in their faces if need be. She kept a detailed record of everything for you, calming her own anxieties in doing so keeping it all put together as fine as her updo. One doctor made the mistake of telling you on one of your bad days that it was all in your head and to try meditation. That was a mistake. “You mean to tell me that the pain, tears, swelling of her joints and other various symptoms are just a figment of her imagination? Well if that’s the case I’d rather like to take my stiletto to your ass and see how you think that imagination feels!” you still giggle over the memory of that poor doctor's face when Larissa was done with him. She could be down right scary when it came to the ones she loved. She was your lover, protector, wife, and blessed caregiver, and you loved her with everything you had in you.

Your students were also very loving and compassionate to you, they were always eager to help around the classroom and stay after class to help you prep if you needed it. You and Larissa thought of them like your own and had become mother figures to most of them. Your disability and adversity to it was the reason one particular girl came to you and Larissa with her own issues showing signs of the same chronic disease that plagued you. When you found out she had worthless parents, Larissa and yourself were determined to make sure Amara got the care she needed so she could thrive. When the diagnosis came back true, she cried and cried. That was when she told you she had lived with the pain for six years, her parents accusing her of attention seeking. Larissa made sure her medicine was picked up like clockwork every month personally and she had your cell numbers if she needed you anytime day or night.

There were a few times she was unable to go to class and would spend time in Larissa’s office doing make up work or homework under a heated blanket with a cup of hot cocoa. The girl thrived after she was given the help she needed. Her grades improved and she graduated in the top of her class, that was two years ago now. She stayed at nevermore as a dark arts teacher, and when she got married to a lovely gorgon boy a few months ago, her own parents decided they wouldn’t be attending. She didn’t mind though, because she walked down the aisle with pride having both of you on her arms guiding her and giving her away. This is what love was. This was acceptance. She was so worried that she would have a flair the day of the celebration and wouldn’t be able to enjoy it, you remember it like it was yesterday. Kneeling down to her eyes where she sat, you spoke softly.

“Your disability doesn’t define you, anyone who thinks it does can go to hell. You are strong and just as able as any other girl, your mum and I will be there with you and will hold you up if we need to, just like we did when you walked the stage at your graduation. You will never be alone my love, you have us to lean on when your own feet can’t hold you up.”

*********

My Groupies: @aemilia19 @lostmyotheraccount @shyladyfan @dingdongthetail @barbarasstar @maxfanartfan @no-phrogs-in-hats @weemssapphic @cissyenthusiast010155

[hao-and-yoh]

Shaman King “Fractured Duality” - Main FD Timeline

This Mini Ep is Canon in FD

Fluffy / Comfort / tiny bit of Hurt

The world has a new King. Life must go on. But there’s one living in this world who understands the sacrifice that comes with a peaceful life.

Mini Episode - “There Will Be More To Come”

Looking out at the familiar Funbari skyline peering over what was left of the sunset crescent – Asakura Yoh took in a deep inhale. As he exhaled slowly, he failed miserably to remedy that familiar deep throbbing in his chest cavity that had chronically affected him since the day he and his friends stepped foot in the Patch Village. His only real cure for his condition no longer part of this world.

He lifted his hand and smiled fondly at the prized item he had grasped in his fingers. He gently rubbed his thumb across its smooth surface before lifting his other hand to trace the star-shaped crevasse with his finger tip. Something he did often and had done every day countless times since the very last time he saw its owner’s face.  

The Shaman Fight.

It had been the most spectacular and earth-shattering experience of his entire life. Every day leading up to it felt like a new adventure. Every day during it felt like a new beginning. But every day since…

…felt like an ending.

He winced slightly as he recalled the first time he lost his twin during the Fight... then he let out a soft defeated laugh, amusing himself at the idea it must be some kind of cruel joke exercised upon them both by the universe itself. Perhaps the longing he felt throughout his childhood, the crippling loneliness, it all came from this ailment he was all too familiar with now:

Missing a part of himself.

No, he had to try and find the joy in this new chapter. He had permission to be happy now. The world was at peace. They had a new King. A great King. Even though most would never even know his name. But to Yoh... he was more than a King.

He was his Hao.

He brought the cherished parting gift his brother had given him to his face and pressed the cold metal to his chin, resting his bottom lip against it. He looked down at the grassy mound below him. He had wondered how Amidamaru’s tombstone had been miraculously repaired whilst he had been away. He wondered if perhaps someone he knew very well had seen to it that it was fixed. It seemed like the sort of thing he would do… Then suddenly, something occurred to him. That painful vice grip around his heart had softened. He sighed happily as he enjoyed the blissful feeling of relief in his chest. But… wait, that could only mean…

“Hey, looking for me?”

The startled shaman almost fell backwards off the tombstone as he leapt to the ground and frantically turned around.

Yoh froze.

Standing directly behind him - wearing a glowing red elegant floral robe - adoring one singular earring that completed the pair with the one in his own hand - Yoh immediately met the soft kind eyes and warm radiant smile of The Shaman King.

“Nii-chan!!!” delightfully yelled Yoh, immediately leaping into his big brother’s arms.

The King embraced the over excited boy happily – finding himself with four limbs wrapped around his torso. Though he didn’t mind. His brother didn’t weigh anything to him now. Mortal strength was a thing of the past for earth’s new mighty God.

Hao’s glowing aura eclipsed them both – wrapping around the identical pair like a soft invisible comfortable wave. Yoh buried his face into his twin’s neck, his body shuddering slightly from the joyful sobs he tried to stifle. The relief, the joy, the overwhelming excitement, the peace, the belonging. All of it consuming the younger twin all at once.

Hao held his brother close, something they had only done once before, something the King had longed to do again since that first and last time. They could be finally be whole. They could finally be together. Maybe not forever, not in this realm, but a lifetime of memories was enough for the new King.

The night stretched out for what felt like an eternity. The Asakura twins lay on the Funbari hill top until the starlight became dawn, reminiscing over every shared memory they had together and beyond. The King told his mortal little brother every detail from his solo venture through Mu, to learning of the illusion and his beautiful fabricated life, to seeing the faces of those he loved the most for the first time in one thousand years - all the way up to the vast wonders of the universe. Yoh listened to every word, absorbing every single detail. As he did, he felt his broken heart mend itself in his brother’s embrace – as he learned of what their sacrifice had done for them, and not just for the world around them.

“And I will come and visit, as much as I can.” gently went on the King with a gentle smile. He lifted one hand to the side of the younger twin’s face, delicately laying the backs of his fingers against his cheek. The one laying on top of him sighed happily at the King’s gentle touch. The comfort he felt in Hao’s arms was all consuming and overpowering, his softly spoken words healed something in him he did not even know was broken.

“I think this might be the happiest moment of my life.”

“And there will be more to come, little brother.”

Read “Fractured Duality” in full here.

[purplewingedwarrior]

Welcome!

Hello,

If you are here, I feel it is safe to assume either you or someone you are close to have had to fight against a chronic illness. This page is a safe space for you. A place to ask any questions or vent any feelings you might have. I am new to tumblr so I am not entirely sure how all of this works. But, as I approach 1 year of diagnosis with SLE Lupus, I knew it was important to create a space where people can have the outlet I so desperately needed at the beginning. The outlet I still need occasionally. Together we can all heal and grow on this journey together!

So, a little bit about me. About 1 year ago now, I was diagnosed with SLE Lupus at the ripe age of 23 years old. Although I have only been diagnosed for a year, the symptoms of my Lupus have severely impacted my life for the past three years. During undergrad I slowly began pulling out of more commitments in an effort to create more time. I was constantly exhausted. Feeling like I took a sleeping pill every day. I had to quite my part-time job (and luckily, was in a position I could do so between savings and my families help) in order to make it through my courses with a high GPA. I was constantly looking around me and wondering why I couldn't do everything so many other kids my age could. I blamed myself, time management, and an inability to manage stress. When in reality, it was not something in my control at all.

After my diagnosis, I didn't think life could change much from what I was already facing. In college, I had lost numerous friends due to my inability to hang out enough (both for financial and energy reasons). I Sacrificed the typically college experience to work towards my career (a career I now will not be able to pursue with my condition). After graduating I immediately got to work at a full time job. I loved everything about my job. The people I worked with, the job I got to perform, the things I was learning in terms of my future career. And yet, once again I was faced with the reality of having to give up everything in order to preform at a basic level. By the time I got to the weekend I would be tucked in bed. Often crying out of pain, or attempting to get over whatever viral illness wanted to wreck further havoc on my immune system. I never saw friends, and often barely had to energy to stay in touch with them through text. Simple household chores felt like laborious tasks. I spent most of the time sleeping, and the time I was awake feeling absolutely trapped in pain and discomfort. I kept returning to the same thought over and over again, "it shouldn't be this hard."

And I was right. It's not supposed to be that hard for people to simply exist. When I finally received diagnosis I was expecting for somethings to change. But nothing could've prepared me for what was actually waiting for me. Turns out, my lupus was intense. So intense, I was immediately put on cellcept and tests were run to see what the state of my kidneys were. It was terrifying. Suddenly, I was advised to avoid alcohol (I chose to stop drinking completely), recommended to go out on disability (I tried to keep working part-time until my body literally could not take it anymore), and told all of the different ways I could accidentally trigger a flare. It was overwhelming. Nearly 8 months into the process, I received the news that my lupus is so aggressive I might not ever go into complete remission. That my providers goal was to get me as close as possible. With that, it was likely I could not work more than 2-3 days a week without causing a full-on flare. I felt defeated. It was not longer just alcohol or social energy being affected, I now was literally facing the dilemma of giving up the very career and life I had worked so hard towards school. It was rough at first. But following the realization that my body and organs would be negatively impacted I knew the choice I need to make.

A year out, I have learned how to adapt to the circumstances and build new dreams and a new life that was attainable for me. But that doesn't mean my journey is done or that I have learned everything. There is still so much I do not know.

Throughout this process the hardest realization for me was how little people understand what it is to live with chronic illness. I see people commonly joke or make light of what many of us go through. Because of it's invisible Nature. I often had my symptoms or instructions compared to that of those who had friends and family with Lupus, who didn't understand how severe my case was. I was asked "when" I could drink again. Told everything would be fine "when" I get better. Asked what I can do to stop a flare, or know when it's coming. All things I do not have answers to. The misunderstanding of chronic illness is enough to drive you up a wall on it's own. Having to deal with it while also trying to grapple with a diagnosis that effectively changes everything about your life as you know it makes it ten times worse.

This space is for us. To vent. To ask questions. To feel seen. To share our story without fear that we will be shamed or judged. I have given you a brief glimpse into my story today. I cannot wait to share even more with you all. Feel free to message me any questions or topics in relation to lupus or chronic illnesses you would want answered in the future.

Thank you for reading.

[lovelydisc]

Golden wings and a silver-tongued truth-sayer; possible part one

Synopsis: I'm writing a story about an oracle/seer in the supernatural world and how she eventually gets in contact with the Winchesters, she brings Gabriel back to life, she falls in love with him, and eventually how she saves the world.

warnings: its going to be shit, sorry; mentions of a psych ward and medical malpractice/generally treating patients with extreme mental difficulties and disability as less than human; one slur but used incorrectly by an antagonist to degrade main character; main character is going to be OFC and because I'm basing OFC around parts of myself, she is going to have similar traits and opinions to myself, such as being white with blonde hair and autistic or being fucking fascinated by crows; canon typical violence; NO SMUT; i refuse; you can be mad, but I'm not gonna change it; that's it

pairing: gabriel x reader (eventually. bear with me)

genre: angst mostly, fluff

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I wake up choking on green smoke and a prophecy, the words tumbling from my mouth, forcing themselves from my vocal chords. The noxious green smoke that always accompanied this event billowed around me in soft waves, dissipating slowly. A cut had opened above my left eyebrow and bloody hatch marks have appeared on my knee in the process of telling the future. I was still rambling incoherently, my tongue not my own right now. Repeating the same prophetic nonsense:

It ends where it began:

in the Garden of Sin.

The Father’s greatest Tragedy,

tempts once again,

seeking a maiden not his own.

She slays him with biting words

with a silver tongue she has not grown.

And the Brothers Winchester,

Atlas-beings anew, must defeat a novel darkness,

a neoteric evil, virginal in its ugliness.

Diaphanous smoke and sheer bullshit still spewing from my mouth, I stumble to the legal pad on my desk, and scribble the words down. They join a collection of similar nonsense that has since come true, but that nobody seems to really believe me on. None of my prophecies have ever been believed, and no one ever sees the green smoke. Eventually my tongue belonged to me again, and I stop choking on the green smoke. My eyes still glow battery acid green as I glance up at the Anti-Ligature Institutional mirror mounted on the wall across my bed. They will fade by the time the nurses get here with the medication. They will not believe my forehead just split over night. Nor will they believe that my arm tore itself open. Even though it’s the truth. Even though the truth is the only thing I can say. Even when my tongue is not my own, when my vocal cords and lungs and teeth are owned, taken, used by another, the only thing that rolls off them is the truth. Never anything so beautiful as a white lie. No. I get gritty, unbearable, bitchy truth. 

The starched white of my psych ward shirt rubs against the healing eczema on my wrists and forearms as I stretch the burning remnants of sleep and chronic pain out of my arms. I wet a hand towel in the bucket nailed to the floor that contains the weekly ration of water we are allowed before cleaning out my knee. I apply pressure with the dryer parts of the (pathetically thin) hand towel and start tending to my forehead. I clean the gash out as well, but don’t apply pressure, as it is relatively small and wasn’t bleeding that much anyway. The door pops open and I glance up to see one of the nurses struggling backwards into the room with a morning Food and Medication Cart. But then she turns around, and her face. Oh god, her face. I shove myself into the nearest corner, as I stare at the shifting horror that is her face. It is beyond description. Underneath her true form, the vessel she possesses has an orange-juice-smile; artificially sweet delight, with an aftertaste so bad you never want to see it again. “Morning Cassandra, here is your breakfast, and your medication” she says as she presents the tray and a Dixie cup of pills. “Oh sweets, what happened to your eyebrow? And your knee!?” she questions as she reaches out to attempt to graze the clean cut above my eyebrow. I shove myself even further into the corner of the room, and the blood rapidly drains from my face. “Are you okay? You just got really pale, really quickly” she retracts her hand and sets the Food and Medicine Tray on the bedside table. “Here, let me check your temperature.” she reaches into her front pocket for a mercury thermometer with her right hand, whilst encouraging me forward with her left. She’s turned her face away for once and I can no longer see the…the…her… I shudder. I can’t even think about her face right now. She’s about 3 feet away from me and now seriously rooting through her apron pockets and the pockets of her dress underneath. I force myself to move as quietly as possible off the bed whilst she’s distracted and to the door so I could bolt, but I make it about 2 feet to the door, before it slams closed and she whips around to face me. “Now where might you be going, you Gypsy bitch.” she sneers, black eyes on full display now. 

“I don’t know” I mutter quietly, veins and feet icy with fear. “And I’m not Romani” slips out, my tongue steeled and stolen by someone else’s strength. 

“Now, let's not lie. It's not good for psychological improvement. I may have to send you to a new, firmer facility if you refuse to comply, and we wouldn’t want that, now would we? I hear the warden is quite… old fashioned in his punishments, and we want your brain fully intact for the job we require of you. It makes interpreting your predictions easier, though you can be replaced.”

“My predictions?”

“Why yes! Your wonderful little snapshots of the future. They are oh so useful in our grand plan” she grabbed something from the cart, and turned around, but her face was so awful that I have to look away. The twisting, turning agony of her soul made me feel like I was burning, burning and I wouldn’t stop and then all the flesh was tearing off my bones and I was turning inside out, and I was dying and drowning, and being birthed again, and the very atoms of my body were disintegrating as I watched and—

nothing. 

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I wake up swinging from my ankles, my short psych-ward-hair hanging below me. This is definitely not good for the drug-induced headache I can feel coming on. The cut above my eye has butterfly stitches, and my knee is wrapped, which is kinda odd, cause I was just kidnapped, but I’ll take what I got. My hands are handcuffed and a rope is secured around my arms to keep them in place. As I twirl slowly, I observe the parts of the upside down room that I can see. It's made of barren concrete, though it is surprisingly well lit, for being underground (at least I think it’s underground). No windows, not even the weird floor/roof ones in some city apartments. There’s a desk with papers and weird herbs on it, a metal folding chair bolted to the floor, and a  rolly table with what looks like a leather roll of tools. This was fucking excellent. Suspended barely upside down 3 feet off the ground was exactly how I wanted to spend today. The door I had not noticed was behind me burst open and two demons, the nurse from before and a man in an all black suit. She is uglier. They approach me as I rotate incredibly slowly around the axis of the rope I'm suspended on. This is not good for my sedative headache, nor my proclivity for vertigo. “Cut her down,” the man says gruffly as he turns to approach the leather roll of tools on the rolling cart. “And put her in the chair,” he adds. As the nurse saws through the ropes holding me up, I ponder something. “What use am I to you if no one can believe me anyway? I could spew all the prophecies I want. You're still gonna try and kill me anyway. It’s happened like three times already. We might as well get it over with. Slit my throat? cut my wrists to make it look like a suicide? Straight up stab me? Pick your poison and it’s probably been tried.” The man glances up, a knife glinting invitingly in his left hand. It’s sharp enough to glide through my soft flesh like butter, and it shines bright enough that I can almost forget that. “Well since no body can believe you, and we as demons have no real corporeal form on earth, we kinda get a free pass. So rest assured, we will believe you” He smirks, before turning back to the tools in front of him. The woman, having finally cut me down, deposits me and joins the man at the rolled out tools. She fingers a syringe of some strange yellow liquid, and then hones in on a corkscrew and a pair of pliers. And then the world dissolves into green mist whilst my purloined tongue and shoplifted teeth force words past my lips that are no longer mine:

Children of the Venus angel,

lost, corrupted souls make a home, a life

In the valley of the Father’s dissent.

Squalor is all they know, so squalor is all they are.

They inherit nothing except the knowledge of pain.

If the Atlas children and the silver-tongued truthsayer succeed,

if they bring their pain and squalor to an end,

return them to their rightful place down below,

remove the abominations,

golden wings will be returned to their lives,

a child of the Father’s chosen garrison reunited with his brethren.

A soldier back from battle.

I slump forward, the prophecy tumbling, tumbling, tumbling off my lips, and I shake with racking sobs as pain and panic rip through me. I need a pen, anything to write this down, to stop suffocating in the green smoke spilling uninhibited from my mouth. Suddenly pen and paper are shoved into my lap, and hands, shaky, stolen hands, scribble the prophecy three times before the green smoke abates. I’m still shaking with pain and I can feel a broken rib shifting under my skin, but the choking presence of the green oracle smoke is gone. The man jerks my chin up, and I cry out sharply at the way it pulls at my ribs. “What the FUCK does that mean!? Who the fuck are the Atlas children!? And who is the Venus angel!?”

“I don’t know! I’m sorry I don’t! They just force their way out of me! I don’t know what I’m saying until I write it down! I’m sorry!” I struggle against his grip on me. He stalks away to the door at the other end of the room and shoves it open. It slams hard, clattering the objects on the rolly cart this far away. The nurse walks out, likely following him, and I am left alone in the silence of the concrete basement.

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