#and exhausting on a profound level

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

.

[connorsui]

In the Quiet Afterhours

Zayne x reader

Synopsis: In the quiet of afterhours, you and zayne find solace in the intimacy of simple acts of care, your love unspoken yet deeply felt through the tenderness of shared moments.

Genre/warnings: pure fluff, silence of intimacy, zayne wanting to drown himself in your warmth, you are the light in this manz life, no warnings tho …zayne has suffered enough

note: I just wanna take care of him...like plz let me give my man his needed care..

w.: 1,180

There was, perhaps, no greater feeling than the quietude of love that existed in those moments where words fell away, leaving only the hum of companionship to bind two souls together. Zayne had always been a man of few words—practical in his pursuits, level-headed in his judgments, and ever the picture of self-possession. Yet, beneath that stern exterior, there was a tenderness reserved solely for you, a tenderness that revealed itself not in grand gestures or fervent declarations, but in the subtleties of shared moments, and the warmth of a gaze lingering far longer than propriety might allow.

This evening was no different, save for the weariness etched into his fine features, the faint shadows under his hazel-green eyes telling the tale of a long day spent in service to duty. He returned home as he always did—quietly, with little fanfare, his shoulders still squared despite the obvious weight that pressed upon him. And yet, when his eyes found yours, there was a softening in his expression, the firm lines of his brow relaxing as though the sight of you alone was enough to ease the burdens he carried.

"Welcome home," you murmured, the warmth of your voice drawing him nearer.

"Hello, love"

Zayne, ever pragmatic, offered a small nod, but it was the way his hand rose to brush a stray lock of hair from your cheek that spoke volumes more than any pleasantry could. There was an intimacy in that touch, in the way his fingers lingered against your skin as though reluctant to part, as though you alone were the balm to his tired soul.

He said little as you coaxed him toward the shower, his resistance nonexistent, for he had learned, in these quiet moments, to let you care for him. It was a remarkable thing, this unspoken understanding between you—a partnership built on the most delicate threads of love, trust, and respect. You, in turn, had come to know that behind Zayne’s pragmatic exterior was a man who cherished the simplicity of your presence, a man who allowed himself to be vulnerable only when the world outside had no claim on him.

The warm cascade of water was a gentle relief, steam curling in the air as you worked the soap into your hands, your fingers gliding over his tense shoulders. The muscles beneath your touch, though firm, betrayed a quiet exhaustion, and as you began to wash him, you could feel the faint tremor of relief in his body, the tension slowly unraveling.

He closed his eyes, his lips parting in a near inaudible sigh, and for a moment, he was not the stoic officer, nor the pragmatic strategist. He was simply Zayne, a man who found comfort in your touch, in the way your hands moved with careful precision over his skin, tracing the curves and lines that you had come to know so intimately.

In another’s eyes, this scene might have seemed mundane, but there was an indescribable beauty in the familiarity of it all—a beauty that lay not in grandiose acts of affection but in the quiet devotion with which you attended to one another. It was a love that needed no embellishment, no flowery language to justify its existence, for it was rooted in something far more profound.

When your hands drifted lower, the soap lathering between your fingers, Zayne’s eyes fluttered open, and there it was again—that look of quiet reverence that always seemed to accompany his gaze when it fell upon you. It was not the gaze of a man merely admiring your physical form, but the gaze of a man rediscovering you anew each time, as though the sight of you was enough to set his soul alight in ways words could never adequately express.

He said nothing, but the faintest upward curve of his lips betrayed him. “Spoiling me again?” he murmured, his voice low, teasing in a way that would have seemed foreign to anyone but you.

“And why shouldn’t I?” you replied softly, smiling as your hands worked the soap along the lines of his body. “You work so hard... At least let me take care of you.”

There was a moment, brief yet timeless, where Zayne’s eyes softened even further, the weight of his exhaustion giving way to something deeper, something far more tender. It was in these moments that you truly understood the depth of his affections. He would never speak them outright, for it was not his nature to indulge in the overt declarations that many sought in love. Yet, in the way he stood before you, allowing you to see him in his most vulnerable state, you knew. You knew that his heart, so often guarded, was entirely yours.

When it came time to wash his hair, Zayne bent forward with practiced ease, his dark hair falling over his brow as you lathered the shampoo into his scalp. You laughed, as you always did, at the way his hair fluffed beneath the suds, your amusement drawing a faint smile from him.

“You look cute like this,” you teased, the lightness in your voice a welcome contrast to the quiet of the room.

He glanced up at you, one eyebrow raised in mock indignation. “cute?...another word for you to describe me...” he echoed, his voice dry, though the glint in his hazel eyes betrayed his amusement. “If you could see how I invision you, the roles would be reversed"

Yet he made no protest, content to let you have your moment of playful teasing. For all his stoicism, Zayne had always had a soft spot for the way your laughter lit up the room, and though he would never admit it aloud, he found your teasing far more endearing than he let on.

When the roles reversed, and it was Zayne’s hands that worked the soap into your hair, he was as gentle as ever. His fingers moved with a precision that was unmistakably him, careful to ensure no soap slipped into your eyes. “I know you say I deserved to be spoiled but allow me to give that in return, ten times fold ” he murmured, his voice a quiet caress, his touch so tender it felt as though you might melt beneath it.

You didn't argue.

Once the water had washed away the last traces of soap, he reached for a towel, and in the same unhurried manner, began to dry you off with the utmost care, as though each motion was imbued with the love he so rarely spoke of. It was in these moments, in the quiet spaces between words, that you truly understood the depth of Zayne’s love for you—a love that, like the stars themselves, was constant, enduring, and far more profound than words could ever convey.

Even after the task was complete, he lingered, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close in an embrace that spoke of more than just comfort. It was connection, the unspoken promise that even in silence, his heart was yours.

His breath, soft against your neck, mingled with the warmth of your skin, and there, in the quiet afterhours of the day, there was no need for words.

Just the two of you alone.

Gimmie a tired zayne I would take care of him

[overdressedcarp]

I've been thinking for a while about the optional Magatama dialogue in The Cosmic Turnabout where you can prompt Fulbright about what's bothering him, and for both of the wrong answers, he acts like you got it right, and actively leans into the bit. For example, if you suggest that he's exhausted by life, he agrees and claims he's thinking about quitting his job and going to space. (Honestly, mood.)

(AA 5-4 and 5-5 spoilers below the cut)

It's a good line on its own: funny, and definitely relatable. With 5-5's context, though, it brushes up against a deep-seated desire to disappear, to run away and start over, something the Phantom hasn't been at liberty to do in years. He's shackled to a seven-year-old assignment, strangled by loose ends that he can't tie off. For maybe the first time in his life, he has to wake up every day and live with the effects of his actions, made blisteringly real in the form of the people he hurt.

(Do I think he's walking around harboring deep, profound remorse for UR-1? Not really, no. But the self-protective lie of "my choices don't matter because I'm not really a person" only goes so far when you're clocking into work every day to hang out with the guy who's on death row because of you, who's grieving because of you, and suddenly you're the only person he trusts to hear about the monster that ruined his life, and you planned for this but you didn't plan for this and honestly at that point I'd want to quit my job and throw myself into the vast expanse of space, too.)

Also worth noting, during this entire scene, any time Fulbright goes to answer a question or make an assertion about himself, the tinted glasses go up like a shield. Eyes hidden, hand obscuring the lower half of his face. It's something he does pretty regularly throughout the game, but it's egregious here. My man is on the defensive and he's giving absolutely zero ground.

But the big thing for me is the other "wrong" option, where if you claim that Fulbright is troubled by love, the Phantom's knee-jerk "yes, and," response is to tell a story about a carp named Love who ate a bunch of goldfish because he put them all in the same tank.

In the moment it's supposed to be absurd and comical and one more example of how hapless this guy is, but in retrospect, it's kind of telling that when the Phantom tries to conceptualize love in relation to himself, the first piece of Fulbright-flavored bullshit that comes to mind is about a creature that brings pain and death through mere proximity, not out of malice, but out of nature. As though, subconsciously, he's fixated on the notion of a foreign element that's been dropped into an otherwise peaceful space. A fish that seems like it belongs there until it devours the others.

He really could have said anything—he could have made up a story about a bad breakup, or a really sad movie, or a family member who died. He could have jumped to talking about Blackquill, and how he's concerned for his emotional state given the nature of the current case. But instead, his mind instinctively gravitates to a Love that consumes everything around it: a Love defined by its capacity for violence. There was never a world where the carp could exist alongside the goldfish without hurting them.

And idk. I feel like if he wasn't feeling some kind of way about that, then it wouldn't be bleeding into his Olympic-level improv gymnastics routine to convince Phoenix that he doesn't have any secrets and you can put the supernatural lie detector away now, thanks.

[zeroseuniverse]

Spare The Theatrics

Word Count: 697 Summary: "Shh." Minghao raised a finger to his lips, his eyes sliding closed. "I’m taking a nap." Pairing: Minghao X fem reader

Navigation

It had been a long, exhausting day. The group had been running around town for hours, dodging crowds, and tackling every errand on their list. By the time they made it to the final stop—a crowded shopping mall—Minghao was done. He had reached his breaking point.

“Okay. I’m... done,” he muttered under his breath, his voice flat as he slumped dramatically onto the nearest bench. “Yeah. Go on without me. I live here now.”

She turned around, surprised to find Minghao completely sprawled out on the bench like he was setting up camp for the next century. His bag was half-open beside him, a few stray items scattered on the ground like he’d just thrown everything away in frustration.

“Wait, what?” she said, her hands on her hips as she stared at him. “You’re serious? We’re like five minutes from the exit!”

He shrugged, looking up at her with exaggerated indifference. “Too bad. This mall is my new home. The food court’s over there. I’ll be fine.”

She blinked, trying to process the situation. Minghao, who was typically calm and collected, now looked like an overdramatic mess. “Minghao, you’re embarrassing me,” she groaned, her cheeks burning in a mix of secondhand embarrassment and amusement.

"Shh." Minghao raised a finger to his lips, his eyes sliding closed. "I’m taking a nap."

“You can't nap in the middle of the mall!” she hissed. “People are staring!”

He cracked one eye open, blinking slowly at her. “Let them stare. This is a public space, after all.” His words slurred slightly, as if he was genuinely about to drift off right there on the bench. “I’m living my best life.”

She sighed, placing her hands on her hips in an attempt to rally him. “Seriously, Minghao. We’ve been out all day. We’re going home now.”

But Minghao only mumbled in response, “Shh… it’s so comfortable here. I’m gonna buy a pillow later.” He then shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable on the bench, fully prepared to settle in for the long haul.

“I can’t believe you…” She muttered to herself, both amused and exasperated. She glanced around the mall. There were a few people trying to pretend they hadn’t noticed Minghao’s theatrical display, but the truth was, they were all watching him.

She bent down to his level, her face just inches from his. “Minghao…” she whispered, as if she were trying to rouse him from some sort of deep slumber.

His eyes popped open immediately, looking up at her with an innocent expression. “What?”

She stared at him, realizing that it would be impossible to get him up in this state. “Are you really just going to nap here?”

Minghao blinked at her again, his eyes still half-closed, as if he was trying to keep the exhaustion at bay for just a moment longer. “Mmhmm… No one will miss me. I'll be right here. You can come visit me whenever you want.”

And just like that, Minghao closed his eyes again and snuggled further into his pretend bed. She stood there for a moment, then sighed dramatically, shaking her head.

"You're unbelievable," she muttered. She turned to walk off, but before she could take more than a few steps, Minghao’s voice called out from behind her.

“Babe.”

She turned around, crossing her arms, waiting for him to make some kind of profound statement. Minghao was still lying flat on his back, eyes wide open now, an expression of slight concern on his face.

“Did you remember to grab me a snack while you’re out?”

She stared at him blankly. “You’re joking.”

“No, I’m serious. A nap is always better with snacks,” he said, giving her a lazy smile.

“You’re hopeless,” She said, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips. Minghao just winked at her, still laying there on the bench, living his best life.

As she made her way to the exit, she couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. Only Minghao could turn a simple trip to the mall into a full-on dramatic event. But deep down, she knew he’d be waiting for her with the same goofy grin the moment she came back.

[gazeofseer]

.ೃ࿐ 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒄𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖 .ೃ࿐

'Life happens once in a momentum in the arms of love, where one expands, envelopes and endears the feel and essence of another life..more than an imagination could smolder less than a strike of a memory it is something so deep it soft yet wavering, painfully so healing'

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

.ೃ࿐ 𝑷𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒏 𝑰𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒆 .ೃ࿐

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Image.1

.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐

'Delight, Tender, Soft, Endearing, & Alluring'

.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐

There is an alluring energy which touches you before it reaches to your heart it is your heart, your sensitive yet stern energy, you feel things first and then think about it later but still it works the best for you I can see you tear up in agony with a smile you know this is life and it is not for the weak ones, it takes efforts of each day to feel it and make it happen everyday.💙🌊

Channeled message from your soulmate/lover

'You felt me last night? I tried to feel you through a hug I gave to myself to know that you may need it to..' 💖🌸

'Energy Is your Intimacy, you like being touched energetically, on a level of magnetic state of vibration and it becomes easy for you to feel the person's life that you love..'

'Words there is something special about exchange of few and suddenly finding or listening to words that feel profound you can try languages to learn..'

'Verg few of you reading this especially if you have water dominant you can have ruffled anxiety which can be calmed with comfort it acts more like a therapy to you by being in a blanket and napping around..'

I see you are not too much into sensual stuff, but you did love kissing I see you always fantasize about having a kiss that feels delightful and stays longer in your heart.

Guidance : Nourish your energy as much as you cherish it sit alone and let yourself clean up too. Through yoga, meditation or journaling..!!

Image.2

.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐

Safe, Space, Ease, Wind, Natural, Winter

.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐

You know when you know, you have a great intellect of read when you are in a room full of people, knowing who intends for what be it a touch or a say, but this leaves you in a long hour of overthinking which came be quite exhausting, even in pain you turn numb and isolate yourself, Not independent vibes but too much of expectations vibes you plan and manifest, manifesting on a intend and hitting with no aim at the end makes you feel anxious..no end makes you anxious being stuck and stuff.

Channeled message from your spouse ;

'Dear, Calm down I am whispering peace of assurance by your side, my love won't fall off nor do your life will take it down slow, it is not about race, or people's gaze it is about you love and can't see you worry in vain..' ☘️✨

Touch, And that safe touch you crave from your mother's cuddle and your sister's warmth, the ones you get from touching a baby's cheek you are ethereal and you seek that intimacy in touches of world.

Humor is a very part of your Intimacy not dark ones but ones that just makes you surprised and comes unexpectedly.

Objects, Antiques, have a special intimacy where you feel and touch and feel as if it is yours only yours and it makes you feel content.

Unlike comfort, something stable makes you feel intimately enveloping you are like that bird who loves to feel the ounce of touch of grounds one and then.

Guidance : Do not stop thinking nor do pause, just stop making it the only thing to exist, your thoughts are just impressions that can't leave but needs to be accepted and let it go like wise.

Image.3

.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐

Sensual, Involvement, Nourishing, Efforts

.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐

You have major trust issues people turned their back on you in the midway without giving you any clarity or keeping you hung in ignorance and left, they used you for their own benefit and when they had no use of your anymore they left you before you could. This left a deep mark on you get a wisdom that nobody is responsible for the way you feel. People will be happy or sad they don't care what you feel so you have to care the way you feel.

Channeled message from lover/family ;

'I know people have left a hole in you that I can't fill in, but can't I even try once to touch and see if that is empty or just covered in the shade of memories..?'

Sorry but a little pain makes you feel then happiness could, you sense the sorrow first due to which some mental pain affects you physically but you find the hauntingly intense and needful but great that you heal from it like you turn it into your power.

Reality & truth is your best radar to operate from as it keeps you awake and far from any kinds of betrayals or deprivation.

Logical and strategic execution or shall I say out loud that a little seek of perfection feels so good to you. But good control.

You enjoy sensual retreat, be it getting a massage, spa or you seek long hours of release where you get involved in the moment of it's raw nature be it sex or any other retreat.

Guidance : Protection is good as long as perseverance is, anything above is a mere instinct pessimism.

Image.4

.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐

Caressing, Kisses, Whispers, Tears, Hand locks.

.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐

The masculine and feminine energy is at play, where you be either of it when needed people get confused a lot, about you being different from what they thought you to be. There is a sense of gloom to you but you have one feet at the ground held at hindrance you are a lazy being physically but your mind has many worlds that you have created since childhood, be it one with your person, the one of your career, the one with your family, and much more..oof.

Channeled message from dream person ;

'I do exist in your dream, but what makes you stand apart from your reality is the nightmares I carry as a part of me..'

Your thinking and mind is your Intimacy where you delve into the depths of possibilities in your head and it gives you more fresh perspective on life too.

You love holding hands, something about fingers especially of the back of your hands you may even tattoo on it with pen/henna.

You love quick and witty kisses that of like a one from a sudden space but more tempted and you saw it coming.

Flirting is a part of your Intimacy too because you can't do it with anyone so easily unless they are really close..quite close.

Guidance : It's okay to dream, but doesn't that hurt at times ? It's okay we shall embrace our limit to exist being a human after all.

.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐

DM FOR BOOKING PAID READINGS

.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐

[depalabrasmudas]

I want to leave my NaLu monologue here.

And seriously—please! I know it's been a while since we've had NaLu content, but I recently came across some of their cutest frames, and I couldn't help but revisit the refreshing thought of how safe Natsu feels in Lucy’s arms (and vice versa). These moments feel so profound to me, and they really deepen my understanding of the bond they share.

Most of the time, we see Natsu as the "plot" needed to resolve conflicts—the ace up the sleeve that guarantees victory. He will always win, never give up, and fight with everything he has. But… isn't that exhausting?

In those moments when Natsu is drained, low on energy, or even feeling insecure or doubtful (because yes, he can be affected by those emotions), Lucy is there. Or rather—let me rephrase that—when Lucy is there, Natsu allows himself to be tired, to be vulnerable. And I find that incredibly powerful.

In literature, we often see how traditional gender roles shape romantic dynamics—the man takes on the role of protector, the one who provides emotional and mental strength for his female counterpart. And while that’s not necessarily wrong, what about a relationship where she is his safe space? The one whose presence allows him to lower his walls, to be fragile, to be exhausted. That level of intimacy.

And that’s when, once again, we realize that—even if it’s between the lines—Lucy is "home"to Natsu.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

HIV/AIDS & COVID-19, particularly long COVID, share several significant similarities, especially in terms of viral persistence, T cell damage, immune system dysfunction, & activation of other pathogens. These parallels are important for understanding the long-term effects of both infections and their impact on the immune system.

1. Viral Persistence

Both HIV & SARS-CoV-2 can persist in the body, leading to chronic symptoms & immune system complications. In HIV, the virus establishes reservoirs in various tissues, allowing it to evade immune detection and antiretroviral therapy (ART), leading to lifelong infection. Similarly, recent studies at Brigham and Women’s Hospital suggest that a subset of people with long COVID may harbor persistent SARS-CoV-2 proteins in their blood, potentially explaining ongoing symptoms months after the acute infection has resolved[4][10]. This viral persistence is thought to drive chronic inflammation and immune dysfunction in both.

In long COVID, viral reservoirs have been identified in multiple organs, including the gut, blood, & nervous system[12]. This mirrors HIV's ability to persist in tissue reservoirs such as lymphoid tissues. For both viruses, this persistence can lead to prolonged immune activation & may contribute to ongoing symptoms like fatigue, cognitive issues, & cardiovascular problems.

2. T Cell Damage & Exhaustion

Both HIV and SARS-CoV-2 cause significant damage to T cells, particularly CD4+ T cells. In HIV infection, CD4+ T cells are directly targeted by the virus, leading to their depletion over time and resulting in severe immunodeficiency if untreated. Similarly, severe COVID-19 has been associated with a reduction in CD4+ T cells due to excessive immune activation and exhaustion[1][2]. In both, CD8+ T cells also become dysfunctional due to chronic exposure to viral antigens.

T cell exhaustion is a common feature in both infections. In HIV, chronic infection leads to high levels of inhibitory receptors like PD-1 on T cells, contributing to their reduced functionality[2]. In severe COVID-19 cases, similar markers of T cell exhaustion (e.g., PD-1 and TIM-3) are observed[1]. This exhaustion impairs the body's ability to clear the virus effectively and contributes to prolonged illness.

3. Immune System Dysfunction

Both HIV/AIDS & long COVID can lead to profound immune system dysfunction. In HIV infection, even with effective ART, individuals often experience chronic immune activation and systemic inflammation due to incomplete immune recovery[6][9]. This persistent immune activation is linked to increased susceptibility to other infections and long-term health complications.

Similarly, long COVID is believed to involve ongoing immune dysregulation even after the acute phase of SARS-CoV-2 infection has passed. Some studies suggest that persistent viral proteins may continue stimulating the immune system, leading to chronic inflammation[4][12]. This ongoing immune activation may explain why some individuals experience prolonged symptoms such as fatigue, brain fog, or cardiovascular issues even after clearing the virus from most tissues.

4. Activation of Other Pathogens

Both HIV/AIDS and long COVID are associated with the reactivation of latent pathogens due to weakened immune surveillance. In people living with HIV (PLWH), co-infections with viruses like Epstein-Barr virus (EBV) or cytomegalovirus (CMV) are common due to compromised immunity[7]. Similarly, studies have shown that reactivation of latent viruses such as EBV may contribute to long COVID symptoms[7]

In both conditions, the weakened immune system's inability to control these latent infections can exacerbate symptoms and complicate recovery. For example, EBV reactivation has been linked with neurocognitive symptoms in long COVID patients[7], while opportunistic infections such as Pneumocystis jirovecii pneumonia are common in advanced HIV/AIDS patients[3]

So, HIV/AIDS and long COVID share several key similarities regarding viral persistence, T cell damage, immune system dysfunction, and the reactivation of other pathogens. These shared features highlight the importance of understanding how chronic viral infections can lead to long-term health consequences through mechanisms like persistent viral reservoirs and ongoing immune activation. Insights from HIV research may help inform treatment strategies for long COVID, especially in targeting viral persistence with antiviral therapies or addressing chronic immune dysfunction.

Sources

[1] SARS-CoV-2 and HIV-1: So Different yet so Alike. Immune ... pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC9608044/

[2] Sharing CD4+ T Cell Loss: When COVID-19 and HIV Collide on ... www.frontiersin.org/journals/immunology/articles/10.3389/fimmu.2020.596631/full

[3] Overview of SARS-CoV-2 infection in adults living with HIV www.thelancet.com/journals/lanhiv/article/PIIS2352-3018(21)00070-9/fulltext

[4] Study Finds Persistent Infection Could Explain Long COVID in Some ... www.massgeneralbrigham.org/en/about/newsroom/press-releases/study-finds-persistent-infection-could-explain-long-covid-in-some-people

[5] New COVID studies show varied viral clearance time in patients with ... www.cidrap.umn.edu/covid-19/new-covid-studies-show-varied-viral-clearance-time-patients-lower-immunity

[6] Immunologic Interplay Between HIV/AIDS and COVID-19 link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s11904-023-00647-z

[7] Long COVID in people living with HIV - PMC - PubMed Central pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC10167544/

[8] Persistence and Evolution of SARS-CoV-2 in an ... - NCBI www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7673303/

[9] The immune response to SARS-CoV-2 in people with HIV - Nature www.nature.com/articles/s41423-023-01087-w

[10] Persistent infection could explain long COVID in some people, study ... www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2024/10/241009122346.htm

[11] Plasma-based antigen persistence in the post-acute phase of ... www.thelancet.com/journals/laninf/article/PIIS1473-3099(24)00211-1/fulltext

[12] Long Covid trials aim to clear lingering virus—and help patients in ... www.science.org/content/article/long-covid-trials-aim-clear-lingering-virus-help-patients-need

[xo-myloves]

@nenynra -Duff being so lovey dovey with the reader, it sounds embarassing, but he does it 'cause reader was having a bad day:)

𝕊𝕌𝕄𝕄𝔸ℝ𝕐: 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢—𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠. 𝙳𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚜 𝚒𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔—𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎, 𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙶𝚞𝚗𝚜 𝙽’ 𝚁𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜’ 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜, 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚊𝚢.

༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚙 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚗༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞

You weren’t having a bad day.

You were having a fucking awful day.

The kind of day where everything went wrong in ways you didn’t even think were possible. Spilled coffee, missed calls, that weird tension in your chest that wouldn’t go away no matter how many deep breaths you took. The kind of day where, by the time you made it home, you weren’t even sure if you were angry or just tired of being a person.

You were still sitting on the couch, curled up in your hoodie, staring at the wall when Duff walked in.

He took one look at you and sighed. “Shit, babe. That bad?”

You didn’t even answer—just let out a low, tired groan and let your head drop back against the cushions.

Duff smirked. “That bad, huh?”

You shot him a half-hearted glare. “Don’t mock me. I’ll cry.”

His smirk softened into something else. Something quieter. “Yeah?”

You nodded miserably. “Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything after that—just kicked off his boots and plopped down on the couch beside you. And, because Duff wasn’t the type to let you sit in your misery alone, he immediately stretched his arm over the back of the couch and tugged you into his side.

“C’mere.”

You let yourself fall against him, head resting on his shoulder, his warmth seeping into your skin. He smelled like leather and the faintest trace of cigarette smoke—comforting in a way you didn’t have words for.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t heavy, wasn’t awkward—it was just there, settling between you like an old song you both knew the words to.

After a while, Duff exhaled, rubbing slow circles into your back. “Wanna tell me what’s up?”

You shrugged against him. “Not really.”

“That bad?”

You nodded.

He was quiet for a second, then: “Wanna hear a story?”

You huffed out a small, tired laugh. “Is this gonna be some deep, profound Duff-ism?”

“Nah,” he murmured, grinning. “Just a stupid story.”

You sighed, closing your eyes. “Go for it.”

Duff adjusted slightly, getting comfortable, his fingers still tracing absentminded patterns against your arm. “Alright. So, 1987. We’re on tour, right? And everything’s fucking chaos. Like, pure shitshow levels of chaos. Izzy’s missing, Slash is already drunk, Axl’s threatening to kill someone—I don’t even remember who, just someone.”

You snorted. “So, a normal day?”

“Basically.” Duff chuckled, shaking his head. “Anyway, I’m having the worst fucking day. Just—hungover, exhausted, done with everyone’s bullshit. And then, right before we go on stage, I trip over my own fucking bass cable and wipe out in front of like, ten people.”

“Oh my God.”

“No, wait, it gets worse,” he groaned, clearly enjoying your reaction. “So, I hit the ground hard. Like, fully ate shit. And I swear to God, right as I’m lying there, questioning all my life choices, fucking Axl leans over me and goes, ‘Wow. That’s embarrassing.’”

You were full-on laughing now, covering your face with your hands. “No way.”

“I wish I was making that up.” Duff grinned, pulling your hands away so he could see your face. “Anyway, my point is—some days just fucking suck. And sometimes, all you can do is eat shit and get back up.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were still smiling. “So, the lesson here is…?”

“The lesson,” Duff murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed your forehead, “is that even on the worst days, you’re still my girl. And that means I’m not going anywhere.”

Your chest tightened. Not in the heavy, miserable way it had all day—but in the warm, stupid, I love this man so much it’s annoying kind of way.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered.

Duff grinned. “I know.”

And for the first time all day, you felt okay.

[tabarkraed]

Giving birth is a profound and transformative experience for any mother, but the stark contrast between bringing a child into the world during a war and in a peaceful environment is heart-wrenching. Imagine the emotional turmoil and physical hardship faced by mothers who deliver their babies in the midst of conflict, within the confines of a makeshift tent, surrounded by the constant threat of danger.

For my friend’s @bilalhammadsblog sister and sister-in-law, the journey to motherhood was fraught with fear and uncertainty. Instead of the calm and controlled environment of a hospital, they endured labor amidst the chaos of war, with explosions and gunfire as their background noise. The tent that served as their delivery room was a far cry from the sterile, well-equipped birthing suites that most mothers have. There was no access to pain relief, professional medical care, or the comforting presence of loved ones.

The conditions were harsh and unsanitary, increasing the risk of infections and complications. The lack of clean water, proper nutrition, and essential medical supplies made every moment perilous. These mothers had to summon unimaginable strength and resilience, not only to give birth but also to protect and care for their newborns in such dire circumstances.

In contrast, mothers in peaceful settings prepare for childbirth with a sense of excitement and anticipation. They attend prenatal classes, have regular check-ups, and often create a birth plan with their doctors. Their biggest concerns might be about the birth itself or the baby's health, but they are surrounded by support and resources. Hospitals are equipped with advanced technology, skilled professionals, and all the necessary amenities to ensure a safe and comfortable delivery.

For these war-affected mothers, there is no such assurance. Their overwhelming joy at meeting their babies is tinged with the constant worry of how to keep them safe and healthy in an environment that is anything but. The basic comforts and reassurances that should accompany childbirth are replaced by the harsh realities of survival.

Every cry of their babies is a reminder of the fragility of life in a war zone. The emotional toll is immense, as they grapple with the fear of losing their children to preventable illnesses or injuries caused by the surrounding conflict. The physical exhaustion from childbirth is compounded by the stress of providing for their newborns in such conditions, often without adequate rest, food, or medical care.

Despite these overwhelming challenges, these mothers display an extraordinary level of courage and love. They hold on to hope and fight every day to give their children a chance at life, even in the face of such adversity. Their strength is a testament to the incredible resilience of the human spirit, even in the darkest of times.

Please open your hearts 🤍

and donate to support these courageous mothers and their precious newborns. Your generosity can provide the essential care and comfort they desperately need during this harrowing time. Every donation is a lifeline of hope and love for these innocent lives. 🙏🏻🙏🏻

[magicwingslisten]

Owing to the flood of shallow books which really are exhausted in one reading, the modern mind tends to think every book is the same, finished in one reading. But it is not so. And gradually the modern mind will realise it again. The real joy of a book lies in reading it over and over again, and always, finding it different, coming upon another meaning, another level of meaning. It is, as usual, a question of values: we are so overwhelmed with quantities of books, that we hardly realise any more that a book can be valuable, valuable like a jewel, or a lovely picture, into which you can look deeper and deeper and get a more profound experience every time. It is far, far better to read one book six times, at intervals, than to read six several books. Because if a certain book can call you to read it six times, it will be a deeper and deeper experience each time, and will enrich the whole soul, emotional and mental. Whereas six books read once only are merely an accumulation of superficial interest, the burdensome accumulation of modern days, quantity without real value.

D. H. LAWRENCE

[microcosmicheart]

Where does your power lie? + What benefits you reap

You. *everybody claps*

1 2 3 4

Pile 1

10 of Cups, Page of Cups, Temperance.

Your power lies in your emotional control. Where some people freak out, you can remain calm.

I’m seeing people may look to you for solutions or leadership despite you not actively stepping into that role.

You have the maturity and balance of an elder, opening your heart readily and easily, but just as easily keeping it close to you.

You can be professional with those you don’t like.

Your benefit:

You’re a master of either your mind or your words.

You may be able to think rationally during stressful times, or be able to defend yourself verbally against others no matter how pissed you are.

Pile 2

2 of cups, 9 of cups, Queen of Pentacles

Your power lies in your depth and ability to give love from an endless source.

You’ve met yourselves on a deep level, or spend a lot of time nurturing yourself. Your heart is BIG

You don’t need anyone to cosign or affirm you because you’ve already had any necessary conversations with yourself. Because of this, you're capable of tremendous love. You can give and give and give without exhaustion because there's enough room for everyone!

You're the epitome of nurture not only for yourself but for anyone you love on as well.

Your benefit:

Your loving nature can take you anywhere you please!

I don't mean this in a kiss ass or manipulative way, but in the sense that your heart makes people want to give back to you without you even having to ask.

You definitely leave a profound impact on people you encounter.

Pile 3

Fool, King of Pentacles, Strength

This is a very powerful group. Your power is you.

Your interests, endeavors and desires all have a magical quality to them. This is my star pile.

This energy actually reminds me so much of the inspo for this reading, Wang Yibo.

You'll always reap the rewards of your hard work and labor, and you have endless, boundless potential.

You're resilient and you're ready to do what has to be done in order to achieve your goals, dreams and desires.

Your benefit:

Your outcome is harmony

This is not to say you won't deal with the bullshit of life along the way, but as long as you're working toward something, you'll achieve it no matter how long it takes.

Pile 4

Queen of Wands, 9 of pentacles, Queen of Swords

You’re IT simply put.

You may be in a very competitive environment where people are waiting for others around them to slip up but it’ll never be you. You stay on top of everything you own and are in charge of; and whatever it is that you do, you do it well.

You are consistent, fair, and in charge in a way that sets you apart. You also hold an air of regality that's easy to spot and for some, feel before you arrive somewhere.

Your benefit:

You literally have no need to defend yourself despite being in such a competitive environment.

For most, with such immense pressure they’d be looking over their shoulders trying to prevent others from interfering while also doing their work, but not you!

Your results speak for themselves and to be honest not many people want to see you fall! Some see you as an inspiration or view your work as spectacular.

Specifically hearing “pride of our division/department”.

[salesmancarddd]

HEADCANNONS: Salesman as a gaurd SFW

Salesman is in his 20s here, 013 gaurd (goes with different name)

– He's the type of guy who will never admit when he's wrong, no matter how obvious it is. It's like pride stands in the way of reason.

– He's the type of guy who would lose his temper on everything, whether it's a minor inconvenience like a slow driver or a misplaced item at home. It’s exhausting to be around his constant frustration.

– He's the type of guy who wouldn't understand emotions, often dismissing them as signs of weakness. It makes it hard for those around him to connect on a deeper level. (it would take ages to connect with him)

– He's the type of guy who would listen to higher-ups and do whatever they tell him, even if he personally disagrees with some their decisions, but he never questioned it.

– He's the type of guy who has a soft spot for womens, a truth he'd never confess. To him, showing empathy feels like a vulnerability, so he avoids situations eliminating women players. The memory of the one woman he killed weighs on him heavily, it brought back the image of his mother. (he tries more focuse on killing men players)

He's the type of guy who loses himself in the thrill of eliminating players, finding a disturbing joy in the act. When he first took a life, he was met with an eerie sense of indifference, but that quickly morphed into an obsession. The madness consumes him, making it harder for him to control his instincts.

– He's the type of guy having gained remarkable expertise with firearms at a young age, he was well prepared when he assumed the role of a guard. The moment he stepped into the position, excitement swept over him, and for the first time, he felt a profound sense of joy.

– He's the type of guy having gained remarkable expertise with firearms at a young age, he was well prepared when he assumed the role of a guard. The moment he stepped into the position, excitement swept over him, and for the first time, he felt a profound sense of joy.

"Please, don’t kill me… it was an accident! I promise it will never happen again. Please…” the old man pleaded, desperation lacing his voice

Oh, how badly he wanted to take off the mask, to reveal his true identity and pull the trigger, but he couldn't do that.

"Congratulations, Player 420, you’re eliminated. You had quite the run. It's unfortunate you won't get a chance to see your affair partner" he remarked, his tone filled with mockery

“W- what?” The realization dawned on him, pieces falling into place. “No— it can’t b—” Before he could utter the full name, the shot rang out, a swift blast to the head. In that instant, a surge of triumph washed over him he felt utterly satisfied

[women-of-malevolent]

Meta: The Worst Moment In Malevolent (So Far)

POV: You, a fan of a fictional horror podcast, have been really curious about the fictional character of Bella Lester and how her arc would explore themes of institutional misogyny. You find out that she died a horrifying death alone and betrayed by the main character, who doesn't care that he left her to die alone from horrifying medical complications from a medical condition that he spooted into her.

The other characters in the scene also don't care about that. After Arthur insists that being with Bella ~felt wrong~, they give in. Fair enough, they seem to say. If it felt wrong to be there with her, then it was okay to betray your literal wife when she needed you most, and it's okay to not even regret it, or care about the profound suffering you caused her. It's fine. It ~felt wrong~. Other people exist to make you feel good, so if they don't, fuck 'em, the exact moment they start to exhaust or annoy you. No one owes anyone anything in this life.

POV: You, a longtime fan of the Malevolent podcast, don't understand why the story wants to move on from this. Bella has been described thinly up until now. Arthur was clearly torn about her but he's firmly said he loved her, that she was kind, and they cared about each other. Now he's showing us that on a very deep level, he doesn't care that he left her to die after ruining her socially, financially, medically, and emotionally. He only cares that he left his infant daughter alone for 1 hour.

What is a fan to make of this? What could possibly be the intent of the story? What themes are being developed? All I'm learning is that every character and the entire world of this story are scumbag misogynists, in a story that feels like it can't be bothered to flesh out the main character's wife who he repeatedly said he loved lmfao. not to mention his mother-in-law or child lmao. here's their personalities + the impression they left on Arthur Lester: they're dead. they used to be alive but then they died. Bella gets a personality and Arthur inflicted her with a horrible death and then pisses on her memory on screen with her captor and Hattie couldn't possibly have a journal because she's old. Great show great themes great characters

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

📜 Newly Discovered Academy Archive: The Doctor's Treatise on Romantic Love

During a routine Matrix archive review, an early academic work attributed to the Doctor was discovered. This document, written during their Academy years, was submitted as part of an advanced philosophical analysis—and graded poorly for reasons that will soon become apparent.

What follows is an excerpt from the Doctor's now-infamous treatise on romantic love, along with annotated feedback from their Academy instructor.

"Romantic Love: A Biochemical Delusion"

By Theta Sigma (The Doctor) of Prydon

Romantic attachment, often described as a profound emotional experience, is, in reality, a chemical process entirely explainable by neurotransmitters, genetic programming, and evolutionary necessity. While lesser species insist on assigning poetic significance to these interactions, a closer examination reveals that romantic love is little more than a predictable hormonal response with a limited functional purpose.

The three primary phases of this so-called phenomenon are as follows:

1. Lust – The Initial Biological Drive

Driven primarily by testosterone and oestrogen (or species-equivalent hormonal triggers), this phase ensures reproductive viability and promotes genetic variation within a given population. While lesser species wax poetic about "attraction", this can be accurately modelled through genetic compatibility analysis and pheromone response curves.

📍 Instructor's Note: "This is a compelling argument for a mating algorithm, not a philosophy paper."

2. Attraction – The Temporary Neurological Malfunction

Attraction correlates with increased levels of dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin, producing an effect not dissimilar to a controlled psychosis. Subjects display hyperfixation, impaired reasoning, and an inability to assess risk accurately. This irrationality is likely an adaptive feature to promote pair bonding, though it is demonstrably counterproductive in higher-functioning species.

📍 Instructor's Note: "Calling love 'controlled psychosis' is, at best, provocative."

3. Attachment – The Long-Term Stability Mechanism

Successful bonding triggers sustained oxytocin and vasopressin release, fostering long-term partnerships to ensure offspring survival (in species that require such support) or mutual security benefits (in societies where resource-sharing is advantageous). This process is entirely functional, with no inherent need for emotional framing.

📍 Instructor's Note: "This section is both well-researched and entirely joyless."

Conclusion: A Highly Overrated Experience

Ultimately, romantic love is a series of chemically induced inefficiencies that can be fully predicted, controlled, or avoided with the appropriate neurochemical regulation. It is an active impediment to logical function.

📍 Instructor's Final Comment: "Theta Sigma, while your analysis is thorough, it fundamentally misunderstands the subject. Love is not a mere biological equation; it is an experience, an act of choice, a force that defies purely chemical explanation. To study it purely in terms of neurotransmitters is akin to defining a supernova by its temperature alone—factually accurate, but wholly inadequate. C-."

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[eatmangoesnekkid]

My attention is almost always focused on and directed towards what I desire to bring into the 3D reality, whatever brings incredible levels of lubrication, expansion, liberation, discomfort, purpose, or fun, and rarely, if ever, am I focused on what I don't. I live cognitively and somatically in abundance in my thinking and feeling, and generally believe that whatever I desire is possible, no template or carved out path needed. There is not one person on Earth who I have spent significant time around that hasn't heard me moan, sing, yell, and scream. I command life through my Sounds . I decree through my voice. I energize through my deep throat (chakra). A vagus-nerve-tending life, as I call it, is a life of relaxation, deliberate creation, and play, that requires us to normalize using our sounds, to tend to our throats, to ‘will’ life in the direction we really desire through our vocals, and to deeply listen for next step instructions. I was told to connect to the water element to access sacred flow states, surrendering to the current and affirming out loud that the universe had a plan, and all I needed to do was relax at the water, pray and wave at the boats passing by. In other words, I became obedient to the universe, therefore I did not have to become exhausted and worn down because I was trying to force something to happen as learned. Instead, I allowed myself to feel safe being helped and supported by something (mostly) invisible and eternal.

My consciousness has drastically increased since publishing my first book "You Look Like Something Blooming" to crafting a new series of books, "The Melody of Love." Speaking with an upgraded consciousness required me to open up my crown through a purification process of slow deep circular breathing, eating real food mostly prepared by me, and channeling my "life energy" or sexual vitality with my heart in order to be able to receive higher messages and downloads. Through some combination of meditation, breathwork, chanting, sacred bathing, kundalini yoga, female sexual alchemy exercises, eating mostly organic, wild, or fermented foods, and/or spending quiet time alone or in nature, especially in warm sunny regions, permitted my 3rd eye to open therefore I could process the higher intelligence I was receiving without having an inflammatory response. And my throat chakra had to evolve to allow me to communicate the advanced messages I was receiving and processing in the simplest, down-to-earth fashion as possible to readers. But none of that would have been possible if feminine expression had not been grounded into my body over the years through root posterior chain work, calve work, and feet work that gave me strength and softness to be able to hold a greater capacity of energy and allow it to pulse through my body and psyche, you see. When your soul lives in a human body, this is the only true way "ascension" happens, from the bottom up. But I am also very grown AF. Not a day that goes by that I don't connect to my throat (pussy, or breasts) and feel the profound peace of the present moment. Like open my mouth and massage my back teeth and throat with coconut oil which also massages my pelvic floor and reproductive organs because the throat, pussy, and pelvis are all energetically and physically connected. What you do to one is done to all parts. Because one thing I know about women is that we live too closed. Our legs need to be open. Our breasts/hearts need to be open. Our spines need to be open. Our minds need to be open. Our hips need to be open. Our toes need to be open. Our buttocks need to be open. And of course our throats need to be open. It’s like women learn to be talk and talk all the time but we do not learn to open up our throats so that energy can properly flow into our eyes, inner eye, and brain, which means that we can finally ‘see,’ ‘feel’, ‘hear’ and interpret at the subtlest layers of reality again. The lack of real circulation is harming our bodies of their greater capacities. That's why the average woman has not touched the tip of what's possible in her body, life, and intimacies. The chronic negative thoughts have carved calcification imprints in her creative portals, made them hard and full of scar tissue. "The Melody of Love" books and school share how to dearmour the female body and unleash the raw multidimensional creative potential for every female body, the hidden, the regenerative, and the uncommon. I created my soft life (the real kind) because I learned how to live tuned in and tapped on in my body and mind, and I want to teach more women and other female-bodied people everything I know. Because when I do look out into world I see that this world needs us. More embodied women. High Priestesses. -India Ame'ye, Author

Only posted for 48 hours.....

[headachecat]

Fellow Rookanis here, and Chaosfay on AO3. Here's a fee writing prompts to play with or combine:

"I've never kissed someone with a beard before."

"How did you keep the beard so neat in the Ossuary? Did you bathe and shave before taking on the Ventori?"

The first time Lucanis reaches out and comforts Rook.

The first time Lucanis reaches out and comforts Rook.

As a principle, Rook did not get upset.  It was one of those things Harding shared with Lucanis when he first joined the team. It was just the five of them at the time, and the Scout felt like it was her duty to fill him in. Bellara’s mind was in the clouds, but, by the Maker, was she brilliant in her expertise. Neve was always on the case, chasing another lead with a snarky comment locked and loaded. And Rook? There was not a moment a smile went absent from her lips. Not a second of doubt they couldn’t do it. There was simply nothing that could make her waver, make her break. And definitely nothing that could make her cry.

They had just saved Treviso from Ghilan’nain’s dragon, and Lucanis could have sworn he had never felt such a profound sense of gratefulness, a warmth that filled his heart and refused to fade for the first time in a very long time. That morning, he lingered in the pantry, scribbling away notes of thanks. The thoughts spilled from his mind and onto the parchment, words cascading like an untamed river, each stroke of his pen a desperate attempt to capture what words could barely hold. The scratching of the pen sent a delicate vibration up his fingers, as he crossed out yet another sentence, unsatisfied. The ink bled through the paper, leaving faint shadows on the pages beneath, echoes of thoughts too vast to remain contained. It seeped onto his skin, black stains blooming across his fingertips, as if to tattoo his feelings for the world to see. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Rook’s face –not her smile, bright and reassuring as always, but her eyes. They held everything: a will that could not be bent, compassion that refused to falter, care that brought his mind to her more and more recently nowadays.

’We will go to Treviso. We will defend it, whatever it takes. I promise.’

He felt a deep, aching pain in his chest with every beat of his heart. He owed her so much – more than he could ever hope to repay in a lifetime. His family, his home, the very fabric of his existence, all tethered to a singular choice. Words danced on the edge of his mind, but none ever felt worthy, none ever seemed to measure up.

How could he possibly tell her that she had saved his life? Not just the moments he cherished, the memories he had yet to create, but quite possibly his literal life as well. The enormity of it threatened to swallow him whole. How do you tell someone that they are the reason your world still turns? No words felt right. No words ever could.

It was just Lucanis in the Lighthouse, its ancient walls accompanying his quiet solitude as he awaited everyone’s return. That is, if you ignored the persisting presence of the demon lodged in his head. To keep his hands and mind from wandering too far into uneasy thoughts, he busied himself in the kitchen, the simple rhythms of preparation soothing him. When the time for the meeting finally drew near, and Rook was due to arrive back from Minrathous, Lucanis prepared something small for her. A cup of tea, her favourite, and a plate of Nevarran plums. Travel was exhausting, after all. She would be hungry, surely.

He placed them on the coffee table in her room, before retreating to the library’s upper level to await the others. Barely a minute went by when the sounds of boots on stone echoed up the tower’s cold, stone walls. The team had arrived, and Lucanis moved to meet them at the centre. But as their figures emerged into view, his heart sank, the stillness in the air pressing down on him. The clinking of metal weapons accompanied his companions’ slow steps, the silence so heavy it seemed to absorb every sound.

When his gaze fell on Rook, the ache in his chest deepened. She stood by the seating area, her usual energy absent, her presence subdued in a way that felt foreign. Her staff slipped from her fingers, dropping against the chair with a hollow clink that echoed in the quiet. There was no trace of her laughter, no sign of the effortless confidence that usually radiated from her when she stood with her hands on her hips, her head held high, a spark of hope lighting her every movement.

Instead, she turned with heaviness, nodding briefly to Harding and Bellara as they passed her, their quiet words barely breaking the stillness. Davrin appeared next, emerging from the staircase leading to the Eluvian room, his form tense, his sword clutched tightly in his hand as though it grounded him. And then Rook’s eyes finally met Lucanis.

The Crow lifted his hand in a gentle greeting. Rook cleared her throat, her voice breaking through the thickness of the air. ‘Right. I suppose we should talk about it.’ She was being careful, navigating a fragile thread that could snap at any moment. 

By the entrance, Bellara stood with her hand resting against her lips, her composure strained and delicate. Lucanis wasn’t certain, but it seemed as though she was fighting back tears. Her shoulders trembled faintly, and Harding, standing close beside her, reached out to pet her arm in a quiet gesture of comfort. The Scout let out a sigh, heavy with shared grief, as if trying to soothe both Bellara and herself at once. ‘Neve is staying in Minrathous for now,’ Rook continued, her tone steadier for a moment, ’The Shadow Dragons… could not defend the city as well as I had hoped.’

Lucanis turned his attention back to Rook, studying her carefully. She placed her hands on her hips, a familiar pose that should have felt reassuring, but this time it didn’t. Her fingers curled around her armour just a little too tightly, the slight tremor in her hands betraying the tension she was trying to mask. It was as though she were forcing herself to embody the unshakable presence they all relied on, struggling to be who they needed her to be. Who they expected her to be.

For a fleeting second, Lucanis’s thoughts drifted back to Harding’s words, her voice ringing in his memory. Rook doesn’t break. But now, standing before her, he couldn’t shake the gnawing doubt creeping into his mind, the uneasy certainty that for the first time in a very long time, Rook had reached her limit.

‘Please, rest well. We will discuss next steps once everyone’s ready,’ Rook said, her voice soft, her smile tender but weary. She followed Bellara and Harding with her gaze as they made their way out of the room, the quiet shuffle of their departure accompanied by murmured words Lucanis couldn’t catch. Davrin lingered, giving Rook a short, shallow bow, a gesture of respect. As he passed her, he slowed, ‘In war, victory, Rook. Whatever it takes.’

Rook nodded in response, a flicker of acknowledgment passing between them, and the Warden turned, his footsteps echoing faintly as he trailed out of the library. The door creaked shut behind him, the sound sharp against the quiet. A draft followed in his wake, a whisper of cold air slipping into the room.

Rook closed her eyes as if bracing for something more – perhaps the whistle of the wind, the mournful howl that might signal an ending to this meeting. But no sound came. The Lighthouse stood resolute, unmoving, the last steady thing around them. Perhaps, in the face of so much loss and uncertainty, the Lighthouse was all they had.

‘Rook,’ Lucanis stepped forward quietly, all his carefully thought-out words evaporating the moment he opened his mouth. ‘I wish to say…’ Rook opened her eyes, studying him silently. Her smile lingered on her lips, but Lucanis could see now what he hadn’t before – it no longer reached her eyes. It was faint, her usual warmth dulled into something distant. It struck him like a brushstroke gone astray on a painting, a flaw only noticeable when you looked closely. Perfectly devastating.

‘I wish to thank you,’ Lucanis exhaled at last. The words felt small in the grandness of the space. ‘Thank you for saving my home. It is… perhaps the only piece of me I know anymore, after the Ossuary. And I am eternally grateful for that. I am at your service, whatever you wish of me.’

Rook’s smile widened slightly, a practiced kindness softening her expression as she stepped forward. She reached out, her fingers wrapping gently around his arm in a reassuring squeeze. ‘Of course.’ she said, her tone light, almost effortless. But Lucanis’s brow furrowed as he caught it – a faint tremble in her hand, a subtle shiver in her fingertips she tried to hide.

‘Perhaps a dinner?’ she added, her voice suggesting joke, joined by a soft laugh that seemed uncertain, rough around the edges. It was her usual lighthearted way, a balm she offered to ease tension, but it felt different now. There was something about her in that moment, something distant and foreign. The jest hung in the air, but it didn’t settle, like a fine layer of sand swept up by the sea breeze, abrasive and unsettling. Rook shifted, her eyes flickering for a moment. They both felt it. The air grew thick, charged with an electric hum. Lucanis felt it like a shiver running down his spine, a familiar sensation that tugged at his instincts, pulling at his focus. Spite emerged from the dimness, his translucent form barely visible in the faint glow of the crystal light. With a long, deliberate breath, Spite let out a soft hiss of disgust, his face contorting in a sneer. ‘Regret,’ he spat, the word hanging in the air like a foul stench. He threw himself into the nearby chair with an exaggerated motion, ‘Terrible smell.’ Lucanis felt the coldness spread in his chest, a creeping chill that began as a subtle tightness and quickly grew into something more suffocating. It trailed down through his waist, his legs, his feet, burning with an icy dread that wrapped itself around him like chains. Regret. Fear. Doubt. A prison of its own. It was a familiar weight, one that clawed its way through his thoughts, dredging up the dark memories he had fought so hard to bury. The sleepless nights in the Ossuary, when exhaustion blurred the edges of his mind and the wet rags he wrapped around himself did little to ease the cold. He had tried to shield his ears from the screams of the prisoners, but they haunted him, unrelenting. Why them and not you? Why do you deserve to live? The questions crashed through his mind like thunder, each one louder than the last. You should have seen it coming. You should have killed yourself before they took you, like a real Crow would.

Lucanis reached out instinctively, his hand settling gently on Rook’s wrist, meant to offer reassurance, but as soon as his fingers brushed against her skin, he felt the tension ripple through her arm. Her lips parted as though she meant to speak. But the words never came. Instead, her breath hitched, and she held it, looking down at her feet. 

’Forgive me,’ she breathed out shortly, And then, in one swift motion, she pulled away from him, stepping past him with a sudden urgency that left him standing, still and unsure. Her staff clattered to the floor with a sharp, jarring sound, the clang ringing in Lucanis’ ears like a discordant note. Rook didn’t look back at it.

For a split second, Lucanis stood frozen, his heart beating in the rhythm of the weapon swaying on the stone. And then, with a sudden clarity, a single thought tumbled through his mind. She did not deserve to go through it alone. He stepped aside, his movement a blur – faster, swifter, determined He blocked Rook’s path, arms wide as if to contain her. She gasped, her body crashing against his, and in that instant, his embrace closed around her, tight and sure. They swayed for a heartbeat, finding balance, and Lucanis felt her legs tremble beneath her, threatening to give way.

A cry tore through the vast expanse of the library, its sound so raw and piercing, it seemed to shake the very air – a wail so haunting it could have been mistaken for the roar of a beast. They fell to their knees, drawn together, clinging to each other in desperate need of support. Rook’s body quivered, tensing as the waves of torment crashed through her, relentless and suffocating. Lucanis felt her scream vibrate against his shoulder, her fingers digging into the back of his vest, sharp as claws, desperate and frantic. Her pain consumed him, a fire that threatened to burn away all else. For a moment, he feared her. No, that wasn’t quite right. He feared for her. 

His hand drifted gently to the back of Rook’s neck, her curls winding around his fingers, as if they sought to hold him back, to keep him away from her. He wouldn’t let them. The warmth of her skin radiated beneath his touch, a subtle heat that made his fingertips dance over the smoothness of it, feeling the soft rise of goosebumps in their path. He began to caress her, slow and tender, as though time itself had stilled around them. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against the side of her temple, grounding himself in the sensation of her presence. Guiding her breath. Reassuring her racing mind. He allowed her the space to cry her pain away, to take her time, to steady herself – there was nothing of greater urgency. They didn’t talk, for there was nothing to be said. Everything he wished to ask, to explore, to understand, it was all in her voice. In the shudder of her body, the pain of her emotion.

He couldn’t say how long it had been before Rook’s sobs began to soften, the raggedness of her breath gradually easing into quiet sniffles. Her hands had found their place around his waist, gripping him with vulnerability he hasn’t seen from her before, while her fingers traced the edge of his vest in a slow, absent rhythm, as if the motion itself were a grounding force, bringing her slowly back to herself. Caught in the moment, he found his own fingers weaving through the strands of her hair, his touch gentle, natural and tender. His index finger brushed the delicate curve of her ear, the softest contact, yet it made her ear twitch in response. The sensation surprised him, and he pulled his hand away just a bit too fast. He opened his eyes.

Rook lifted her head, her tear-streaked face flushed and red, her eyes still glistening. Lucanis could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek, unsteady and shaky. Yet he refused to pull away. He would stay until she was ready, until she found her footing again. Until she decided it was enough. She reached up, her fingers trembling as they brushed against her ear, a quiet, broken chuckle escaping her lips. It was a sound that was more of a sigh than anything else, exhausted, vulnerable  humour. ‘It does that sometimes... like a cat’s ear.’ Her gaze wandered over his face, lingering on the way their bodies were entwined, the intimate closeness that neither had expected. ‘Forgive me. Again. I’m uncertain what happened–‘

‘Rook,' Lucanis interrupted her softly, his hand moving to cup the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. For a moment, he paused, lost in the simplicity of the gesture, marvelling at how effortless it felt to hold her so close, how completely natural it came to him, like with no-one ever before. It was as if the world had folded around them, and only in that stillness did his thoughts finally catch up to him. Yet even then, he refused to let them overtake him – not when Rook still needed him. She shifted slightly in his arms, and he drew his gaze up to meet hers. ‘You have made an impossible choice,’ he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil swirling within. ‘I meant what I said. Whatever you wish of me. Whenever you need... my help. I will be there.’ Her eyes shimmered with the soft light of the crystal hanging above them, the glow reflected in the deep haze of her pained eyes. ‘I cannot ask that of you,’ she chuckled weakly, as her usual demeanour fought to come back to light.

‘I insist. Anything.’

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze falling away, as though weighing her next request. When she finally spoke again, her voice was different. Her Trade Tongue’s accent dropped ever so slightly, and her Nevarran lilt curled around the edges of her words, as if it was only now she allowed him to see her truly for the first time. ‘Can you call me by my name? Tell me everything will be all right? I wish to believe it... if only for a moment.’ 

Her request felt like the softest blanket, wrapping around Lucanis’ shoulders and across his heart. And in that moment, all he could feel was the quiet ache of wanting to protect her, to fight for her, to care for her. To give himself away to her will. He closed his eyes again, swaying gently with her in his arms, as though the rhythm of his movements could bring the lost memory back to him. And then, like a flash of clarity through the haze, it came to him. A name, soft and foreign, whispered in the heat of battle as they fought their way toward freedom. It was a name that had lingered in his mind, unspoken until now. Pleasant to the ear, yet strong in its means. A strength that mirrored her own. It was fitting, somehow – perfect in its simplicity and its power. He tasted it on his tongue, letting the sound roll gently over his lips, savouring the moment. It was sweet and proper, a name that could become a part of him, if only for a lifetime. He breathed in, steadying himself before speaking it aloud, the words falling from his lips like a promise, like a tender reassurance.

‘Everything will be all right, Hissera.’

––– More of Lucanis taking care of Rook: