#at least as much as the ulcers will allow me

[little-eye-guy]

every night when i start to feel bad and tired, after a day that was otherwise relatively good, i get so worried and start to think i’m not actually better. then i remember that it’s normal to get tired at 10pm

[amelizscribbles]

OK, EXPLAINING DABIS SCARRING because @good-lord-not-books asked

*note these are just my hcs and some medical research

I'm putting this under a cut because it's long as hell, and I apologize in advance for any typos or if it's confusing. I have no problem explaining further♡

His scars are hypertrophic. which 1) explains the discoloration. It's what happens when the smaller blood vessels become partially or fully obstructed with scar tissue. They typcially start off pinkish or light red. (like when he woke up from his coma.)

Typically the treatment for this is laser removal. But if you don't have access the color may naturally shift with age/as it natueally heals. But with continuous damage to the areas.. the scar will get darker as the veins and tissue is further injured (the deeper into the skin and possible muscle it damages)

most hyrpertophic scarring can take a year + to heal. but obviously Dabi just keeps making his worse. The scars themselves are cause by the body over producing collagen for wound healing and not actually being able to break all of it down.

Which leaves collagen fibers in the skin to harden and thicken. Hardened skin doesn't allow much give, lessening the skins elasticity over all. Which can be shown in the way his unscarred skin pulls along the edges where the dermal rings line said scars. (my thoughts on his staples acrually being dermal rings will be at the end)

That's not even going into the nerve damage systemically for him considering hes covered in that kind of scar. So when he says he can't feel a thing it's literal as the nerve endings are shot to shit. And that is only going into skin deep level.

Interal organ nerve damage is a whole other mess due to the scaringbeing from burns. As severe enough burns cause systemic damage. (will also go into atfer the scarring part)

His skin looks TIGHT on him. If he did have and semblance of sensation in his nerves it might feel like hella tight/dry skin. Also I think hypertrophic scars are an inflammation response to the body healing.

His body is literally misshapen from it. (and yes we love him the way he is) You can see in panels where the skin is probably softer where there's lack of muscle definition but can see where it's tighter or pulling over his arms/ shoulders/ribcage because the skins elasticity is non-existent. The instances where it's sifter looking is probably due to his body trying to retain as much body fat it can to keep healthy (or as healthy as it's going to get in his state.)

As far as it going right up to his lower lids and having zero tear ducts. that man has chronic dry eye like it's nobodies business. so itchy and possibly bleeding eyes isn't a shock. he probably has several counts of grand larceny in artificial tears alone.

Ok so as for his scaring being from burns, burns affect the whole body and how it works depending on the severity.

It can effect muscle tissue/muscle mass, bone structure and interior organs.

Given he seems to be perpetually giving himself 3rd degree + burns .. his respiratory system and cardiovascular system are probably shot to shit. Just from smoke inhalation and perpetual injury. (hypertrophic scars fill the veins with scar tissue remember) Assuming how deep the burn and scar tissue goes.

But we haven't seen him with much breathing issues so I'm assuming it's whatever. He has mentioned motion sickness and we've even seen him turning down food. So I can at least go into it's affects on his GI tract.

In the GI tract, burns can result in increased gastric secretions, reduced intestinal motility, decreased nutrient absorption, increased GI mucosal permeability, bacterial translocation and increased intra-abdominal pressure. If it's bad enough he may have ulcers or gi hemorrhaging. Severe burns also cause liver and intestinal damage.

The fact that he's been alive this long is wild if he's been homeless this whole time and just committing small crimes to not die. One thing that irritates me is when people think he would be incredibly unhygienic due to the scars and such.

Like do you understand how CLEAN you have to keep burn injuries to keep them from getting infected?? Even if it's layered over already damaged and scarred skin. He might smell like burnt flesh but I doubt he's letting wounds fester.

Yes he could probably just cauterize himself but that's still just burning burn wounds. Especially with 0% health insurance. I always assumed he kept breaking into the Todoroki family home when he knew no one would be there to do basic things to make sure he didn't die on the street over the years.

Quick add on to my thoughts on his staples just being dermal rings to homd his skin together/as a form of human Kinstugi.

They (the rings) are pretty rounded in the manga, surgical staples aren't nearly that large either so I always assumed human Kinstugi regardless of metal color (between manga gold or anime silver) and it was both decorative and necessary for his skin.

I just assumed wherever the rings weren't, it was just spots he couldn't reach.

it's also shown in the manga that he's adjusting/adding more along his scars.

als, in case anyone is unfamiliar with the term Kintsugi, it's this

Kintsugi (Japanese: 金継ぎ, lit. 'golden joinery'), also known as kintsukuroi (金繕い, "golden repair"), is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with urushi lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. The method is similar to the maki-e technique. Its the Japanese philosophy that the value of an object is not in its beauty, but in its imperfections, and that these imperfections are something to celebrate, not hide.

which I think suits his character very well when his piercings and dermal rings are gold looking in some of the colored manga art.

ok, I'll shut up now, ♡

[dappledpaintbrush]

dimentio gets an ulcer fanfic part two (part one)

same stuff as last time: spoilers for ajl, and don’t take my writing seriously this is more or less a shitpost LMAO.

Also this was originally going to be a lot longer. But y’all have been waiting for a long time, so I’ll make the series four parts now lol

————

“What the hell do you mean you knew?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” The plumber’s calmness was nauseating. “I meant I knew it was inevitable. King Boo always comes back. Every villain we’ve ever fought has come back. I mean, unless we straight up killed them. I mean, hell, even then they’ve returned sometimes!” The look of realization on his face was almost funny. Almost. “I was talking about Bowser, and… the lava and stuff. Dimentio, I didn’t… I wasn’t talking about…”—his mustache twitched as he squeezed his eyes shut and mumbled a few words in Italian under his breath—“you.”

Thankfully for the flustered Luigi, Dimentio had already stopped listening and was close to forgetting everything that had occured in the past half hour. “Then why were you acting like you just witnessed a beheading?” He clutched the air with tense, trembling fingers.

”Did I ever say I wasn’t nervous?” His firmness dwindled. “I was more so terrified to tell you. At least I’m somewhat used to this. You, on the other hand-”

”Why keep doing it then? Why keep fighting this tyrant when you know all of it is going to be in vain?”

Luigi blinked his eyes wide. “That’s not fair, Dimentio.”

”I know!” Dimentio snapped towards him, but he immeditately noticed Luigi’s slight, yet heavy flinch. Dimentio’s expression was swallowed whole by guilt. “I… know. I know, I know, I know.” He offered his head into uneasy hands that slipped upwards from his face to his head, clutching his hair with no intent to let go. His eyes flashed open through the cracks of his forearms. “I’ll kill him.”

”No!”

Dimentio’s arms were ripped from his head. His vision focused to see his hands tightly compacted within large, gloved fists. “Can you release me?” Despite himself, he muttered a tease, “If you wanted to hold my hands this badly, you could’ve asked. I would have taken pity on you.”

”Shut up, Dimentio, I’m being serious.” He clutched Dimentio’s hands tighter. “You will not go after him.”

“I’m being serious, too. Let go of my hands.”

”If you promise you won’t teleport.”

“What do you take me for?” Dimentio cocked his head. “A fool? Do you genuinely believe I would teleport to his whereabouts without thinking and win?”

”I know you are capable of exactly that,” he hissed with a tone that, for some reason, almost sounded threatening.

Dimentio was no longer offended, but confusion took its place. “Then why aren’t you letting me go?”

Luigi looked down at their hands and back into Dimentio’s eyes, his breaths burdensome. “As much… faith, as I have in you, I don’t know what he is capable of, either.”

Dimentio was quiet, and he, too, looked at their hands before returning to Luigi’s blue eyes. “Let me go.”

Luigi took a deep breath, held it, and at last, allowed his grip to slip away. His strict gaze tracked Dimentio’s hands for a few moments until he finally decided to trust the Ancient again. “Do you understand? Please, understand me. I know you are capable of ending his game before he even realizes you’re there. But this is something we have to scope out. Do you understand? The fact he escaped the Purity Heart is alarming enough. We need to keep our distance, especially you. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he hates you more than he hates me. Dimentio, please. I need to know you are not going to do anything rash. Please, understand where I’m coming from.”

‘Understand’ didn’t sound like a word anymore. Dimentio resumed his pacing. “I understand where you are coming from, Luigi, and if it keeps you sane, I will do as you say. That does not mean I agree. You must still underestimate me in some capacity if you are keeping me tethered here.”

“Dimentio, if there is anybody who does not underestimate you, it is me.” The tips of Luigi’s fingers rested on his chest. “Believe that.”

Dimentio paused, quiet all but for a moment. “And that is precisely why I have to go.”

“What are you talking about?”

He swiveled around and stared Luigi down. “I know why you do not underestimate me! I owe you the risk of me taking him down. The longer we wait to think about doing something, the longer he has to actually do it!”

Luigi lifted his palms as if he was surrendering. “I don’t think like that, and you know that. You don’t owe me.”

Dimentio sunk into the expression on Luigi’s face as it flickered with a wretched reminiscence. He eased himself away, almost cowering, then responded despite the abyss in his chest, “I owe you everything.”

“If you want to owe me anything, owe me your safety. All I am asking is that you stay here and wait. You could make everything worse by going out there and provoking him. For God’s sake, he’s enrolled in Mario Kart! He’s been out for a long time, and clearly, his priorities are not me, or you, or anybody else. That’s another thing. I don’t want you attending.”

Dimentio raised his head and narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?” he immediately retorted.

“I do not want you going. There are civilians out there, and I do not believe it would be in their best interests if you two were in close proximity to each other. Frankly, I don’t trust either of you to not make a big scene.”

“You’re treating me like a tantrum-throwing toddler. I won’t make a scene.”

“Wow, thank you so much. Of course you will, that’s your whole bit! Making scenes! You’d probably bring out the similes again.”

And with a sentence as simple as that, the vision of the man in green standing him began to twist and contort to one of the past: terrified, pleading. Bleeding. A distant laughter traveled from Dimentio’s memory down his spine, and he shivered at himself. He attempted to dismiss the sick feeling in his stomach as he played around with Luigi’s words, “Were they… not amusing?”

“No.”

“Pardon?”

“Pardon? Shut up.” Dimentio and Luigi’s heads turned towards the door, where, beneath its threshold, Mimi was crossing her arms. “I’m gonna need you to put your big boy pants on, okay, Dimentio? I promise, not everything is about you. He’s not after you.”

“It is not I who my concerns surround,” Dimentio growled as she made her way between the two and began adjusting her hair. “It’s you, it’s Luigi, it’s-“

“And not everything is about us either.” She then pulled her lips to the side and shrugged. “Well, except me, of course, but King Boo is probably only thinking, ‘Wow, that Mimi girl, she was so hot, especially when she kicked my ass, I should call her.’ And then I’m gonna answer and think ‘Um, ew!’ but in reality I’m gonna pretend to like him so I can scam him of all his money before blocking him and putting him on my Twitter blacklist.”

“Thanks, Mimi. I knew I could count on you.”

“My pleasure. Anyways, Dimmy, it’s gonna be fine.” Her spider fangs glistened in the light as she grinned, but her optimism did not bring the Ancient any form of peace. “Everybody here can handle themselves just like you can.”

“Think about it, Dimentio,” Luigi resumed. “He probably doesn’t even want to come after us now that you’re here. He’s also very aware of how dangerous you are, especially now that you have complete access to your magic. There’s no current reason to hunt him down.”

“No current reason? After all he’s done?” It was then that Dimentio’s face fell. A brutal silence began to suffocate them. Slowly, Dimentio raised an arm towards Luigi. With his widened eyes and slightly parted lips, Dimentio knew Luigi was aware he had been found out. “I know what you’re doing.” Dimentio’s extended arm started to tremble as he crept ever closer. “That… thing. That thing you talked to me about back when I was in the hospital. ‘I don’t harm my enemies when they don’t harm me.’ Am I recalling that correctly? That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?” That same silence gripped them both before Dimento whispered through the slivers of his teeth, “You’re trying to show him mercy.”

Luigi didn’t attempt to speak, and his silence said more than words ever could.

Mimi shoved herself between the two. “You leave him alone, Dimentio! That mercy is what gave us the opportunity to change!”

“Mimi, do you sincerely think King Boo is capable of that?”

“Well nobody thought you were! And here you are, still acting like a bitch!”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Luigi reentered the debate. He grabbed his hat and let his arm flop down at his side while he ran his spare hand thrugh his hair. “Okay, okay. We need to talk about it later when our judgement is not so disturbed. Mimi.” She gave Dimentio one last glare, then teleported without a word. Luigi sighed softly and stared at his shoes. He closed his eyes and adjusted the cap back on his head. “I’ll leave you alone for now, Dimentio.” He looked at the Ancient one more time. “Please,-“

“I won’t leave. You have my word.”

Luigi’s mouth closed, and he nodded. He slowly walked towards the door and closed it without ever looking back. Dimentio stared at the door until he felt his joints begin to sway. With a sigh of his own, he ambled towards his bed and grazed it with a gloved hand before slowly easing himself down on its edge.

How could he do it? How could he be so kind that it was a flaw? Dimentio was already dumbfounded by the grace Luigi had extended and continued to extend to him, but viewing it through this perspective left him dazed. The worst of it all was that Dimentio knew his wrath had no justification. In fact, it was a disturbing insult. Dimentio had caused so much more harm than King Boo would ever be capable of. Yet, here I am. Sulking, like a toddler with her kite entangled in the oak. Dimentio scrunched up his face at his own thoughts. So the similes are back.

But despite his self-awareness, Dimentio could not ignore the constriction in his chest and stomach. How dare he? He was already the epitome of brutality, and somehow, he had managed to drag his soul further down. And for what? His worry lied not with himself, but with Luigi and the others, yet he continued to worry, the singular thing they had requested him not to do.

Request. Luigi requested Dimentio to not attend the race.

That was something else Dimentio could not do.

——————

Dimentio hovered a few feet above the crowd, looking down upon them like a guardian angel absolutely nobody wanted. Just because he was invisible did not mean he was non-existent. As long as nobody had the sudden urge to jump twelve feet in the air, he would not be found out. And at the moment, that was the second last thing he wanted.

For the first time time in centuries, Dimentio prayed. He prayed with his entire heart that King Boo would not show up, but not in the sense that the monarch simply decided not to attend. No, Dimentio wanted him dead. He prayed for spontaneous combustion, or perhaps a freak accident involving an active jet engine. But either Grambi did not care, or he was too busy trying to make Dimentio’s wishes come true, because nothing indicated either requests were fulfilled. Yet.

Familiar voices made their way to him, and he lifted his head and ears above all the noise. He caught sight of his friends amongst the crowd, laughing and talking amongst themselves. Dimentio drifted closer, but not too close, and their chatter became clear.

“This is so-so fun!” Mimi squealed, bouncing her legs up and down after sitting down on the bleachers. “Gosh, I don’t even know who to root for! So many of my friends are out there!”

“How about… all of them?” Nastasia commented.

“Well, too late, because I spent my last five dollars on this.” Mimi raised her giant foam hand with a poorly-drawn, disintegrating image of Luigi’s face on it. “I’m gonna have to cancel my water bill until my next paycheck comes in.”

With a sigh, Nastasia handed Mimi a crisp ten dollar bill, who lit up before teleporting with a quick snap of her fingers.

It was then that, without warning, Dimentio was whacked in the face with a flailing football that had been launched to the fullest possible force. Or perhaps it was lightly tossed, and Dimentio was just puny and frail. Either way, he screamed as he crashed into the grimy metal walkway, his invisibility spell fleeing from him as he lost control.

“Good god.”

“Dimentio?!” O’Chunks shouted over Nastasia. “Ain’t yeh suppose’ teh be back at the castle?”

Somewhere in the background, a security guard was chastising two boys and confiscating their football. Dimentio scrambled to his feet, slapping himself as if that would remove the forty seven diseases that were now running rampant on his face. “Do you really-? Blaugh.” He dragged his tongue across his sleeve. “Do you really believe I would adhere to such an order?”

“No. No, we didn’t,” Nastasia said blankly. “Dimentio, you need to leave. Luigi asked you not to be here for a reason, and-“

A teleportation sound made him lift his head. “Dimentio, what the fuck?!” Mimi nearly dropped her foam hands of Mario and Peach. “Come on, dude. You cannot be serious.”

“It has come to my attention that I am the only person who is serious! Where is Luigi?” he questioned. The event had yet to begin, but a handful of racers were mingling out by their karts. Luigi was not one of them.

“Uh, no. I am not telling you that.”

“I’m not going to do anything, I simply want to know…” Dimentio’s voice trailed off as yet another group of voices caught his attention. This time, it made his eyes widen in indescribable terror. There were babies on the racetrack.

Before he could inform the others of his departure, Dimentio snapped his fingers, and now he had seven pairs of eyes staring up at him.

Their shock immediately brightened into excitement. “Dimentio!” most shouted in unison.

Junior shoved himself in front, wagging his reptile tail (He had seen a dog do it on the television and insisted that it came natural to him). ”Have you come to watch us race?”

“Have you already forgotten? The answer is no!” His evident frustration only made the Koopalings throw a fit of giggles. “All of you, off of this track- Hey, hey!” He immediately swayed to the side with the sudden weight of Lemmy on his arm. “What was that talk we had?” Dimentio raised his voice above the shrieks and glared at the beaming smile from the young Koopa clinging onto his arm. “You can’t be climbing on me like you do your dad!”

With tears in his eyes, Lemmy sputtered, “Wh-What’s the password?”

“Absolutely not.” Dimentio waved his finger, prying Lemmy off of his arm with a spell. He set the Koopaling down on the grass, then jerked his arm out of the way of Larry, who was trying to copy his brother. “I need all of you to listen to me.”

Wendy groaned loudly with annoyance. ”Lighten up, Dimentio! Didn’t our dad already tell you? We’ve done this a trillion times. We’re fine.”

“Just because you’ve done it before doesn’t make it right.”

“What were you doing at our age, huh?” Junior raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure you weren’t living life with training wheels.”

“When I was the approximate equivalent to your age, we did not have vehicles to potentially crash and get hurt in.”

“Okay Grandpa, huh-huh,” Morton chuckled.

“Yeah, go back to your retirement home before your nurse gets angry,” Iggy added with a snort.

Dimentio kept his demeanor for a few more moments, then ran his hand down his face in defeat. “At least promise me none of you will do anything stupid.”

“Stupid is my middle name!”

“Roy, that’s not how that works.”

Dimentio shifted his attention from the dialogue between Roy and Ludwig to the rest of the track, scanning for any sign of Luigi. Still, the plumber was nowhere to be found. Neither was King Boo.

“Are you gonna race?”

“No, no,” Dimentio, distracted, answered Junior through a quiet murmur under his breath. The Ancient rubbed his temple before giving the track one more glance. “I have to go now. Have… fun,” he finally said begrudgingly.

A mixture of, “We will!” and, “You too!” were shouted at the same time as Dimentio put on the cloak of invisibility once more. He teleported himself away from the Koopalings and placed himself in the sky, peering down at the world below, waiting.

And at last, Dimentio caught sight of him. With the sudden roar of cheers from the crowd and his bright green attire, his arrival would’ve been impossible to miss. Luigi walked backwards towards his kart, smiling and waving to the crowd like a true performer. Dimentio thought it couldn’t get any louder, then Mario and Princess Peach waltzed onto the track, hand in hand. The Ancient had to cover his ears.

“We have ten minutes left, everyone! Just ten more minutes until the race begins!” the announcer’s voice echoed around the stadium, and the claps, whistles, and hollers erupted once more.

“Ten minutes…” Dimentio quietly hissed. His eyes rapidly flicked across the karts. Only three were still vacant. “Where are you…”

Birdo, then a Dry Bones. One last kart. Of course he would want to be the last one out. The final reveal; the grand announcement. What else did Dimentio expect? Any moment now, he would reveal himself, the audience will cheer, and Dimentio’s ears will bleed.

He heard it. The cackle. That cackle.

King Boo teleported onto the track, sporting his rows of canines with a grin so confident. A handful of Boos in the crowd cheered him on as he bowed. He soaked in the applause and laughter from the Boos for what felt like an agonizing length of time, and, at last, he floated down to his kart and gave the crowd one last wave.

Dimentio did not have time to react or even feel, because at his kart King Boo did not stay. King Boo had begun to drift forwards, and Dimentio’s breath caught in his throat as he realized where the ghoul was heading.

“Luigi!” King Boo boomed. The plumber flinched where he stood despite his evident knowledge of the ghost’s presence based off of the poorly-hidden panic that shrouded his face. It took everything for Dimentio to not kill the monarch where he hovered.

“King Boo…” Luigi turned around and gazed upwards. “I didn’t… see you.”

“Did you not hear them?” King Boo tilted closer in Luigi’s face, who shrunk down in response. “They were going crazy over me! Albeit not as bonkers as they went for you. But that’s to be expected, of course. You are the star of the show.”

“Well, uh, I wouldn’t say that, you know,” he forced an uneasy chuckle.

“So modest, aren’t you? Goodness, you’re so sweet, it’s nauseating. When will you ever allow yourself to feel?”

“King Boo.” Dimentio hadn’t even noticed Mario, who placed himself between the two. “The race is about to start. I advise you go back to your kart.”

King Boo’s grin widened. “I wouldn’t risk this race for anything. I just want to ask your brother… a question.”

Luigi glanced at his brother, and nodded. Mario hesitated before stepping away back to his kart, scowling at King Boo the entire way and after. Luigi stood up straighter, inquiring, “What do you want, King Boo?”

“It’s not something I want, because that implies I will actually do something about it. I just want to know.” King Boo crept closer, forcing Luigi to back up into his kart. “Where is that clown?” he interrogated, oblivious to the fact that the aforementioned clown was right beside him, just begging for an excuse.

Give me a reason. Any reason.

Luigi peeked through his tightly-shut eyes. “He died.”

King Boo and Dimentio both blinked a couple of times. “What?” the monarch spat out.

“Yes, he died.” When Luigi was met with silence, he added, “He was… too old.” More silence. Luigi swallowed. “Way too old.”

King Boo gawked at him for a little bit longer, then anger began to creep onto his pale complexion. “You are lying. Where is he?!” King Boo jerked forwards and Luigi threw his hands in front of his face. Dimentio snapped his fingers.

The king and the Ancient locked eyes. Unwavering. Silent.

“Dimentio…” King Boo uttered as quietly as one could speak.

“Oh my god. It’s like he’s still here with us.” Luigi grasped Dimentio’s arm and practically dragged him off of the course. He grabbed Dimentio’s shoulder and briskly spun him around. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Dimentio did not speak. He stared at Luigi, and Luigi stared at him. Luigi’s breaths were sharp and heavy, and Dimentio was completely still. At last, Luigi sighed and looked away, wiping the sweat from his forehead and flicking it onto the grass. He opened his mouth to speak, but was instantly cut off.

“Attention, folks! The race is just about to begin! Drivers, in your seats, pronto!”

Luigi stared at the speaker just above their heads, and sighed once more. “Go home.” With a slight adjustment of his cap, Luigi began to make his way back to the course. He glanced over his shoulder once, then never again.

Dimentio casted the invisibility spell for what felt like the thousandth time as he took his place in the sky. King Boo was stationed in eighth place, hovering over his seat as he glared ahead with a snarl. Which trophy did he have his eyes on: a golden cup or Dimentio’s head?

As the announcer spewed his final words, Dimentio lowered himself back to the ground. He treaded the asphalt, silently weaving between the rumbling motors.

“Three!”

Dimentio’s boots stepped onto the hood of the kart, and the noise made King Boo tilt in bewilderment.

“Two!”

Standing before the wheel, Dimentio leaned forwards towards the unsuspecting monarch with hope that his dark, worn soles disturbed the shine.

“One!”

Admidst the echoing roar of the crowd and the exhausts that flared with heaves of smoke, Dimentio whispered, “I will kill you.”

“Start!”

Dimentio teleported as a burst of flames shot out of the exhausts and sent King Boo spiraling forwards. The Ancient allowed himself to fall a good distance before he caught himself moments before death. He set himself up straight and watched the karts fly off in the distance in the first lap of Mario Kart Stadium.

Nobody was answering Dimentio’s prayers but himself.

[mrsackermannx]

Thank you for your reply. You are really kind ily 🥹🥹

Pcos is really hard to deal with. It has fucked me up so bad. From facial hair to hyperpigmented private parts, it has given me everything. I'm so fucking insecure. It's hard not to be😭 I wanna look pretty. My doc gave me heavy meds I was nauseous the whole time I took the tablet. It was hell. Besides i had severse foodpipe ulcers. Now I'm off tablet. I'm just so much so worried about my hair only. I also had to have dandruff!!! Just my life ugh. I had hair down upto my knees. I had to cut it short as it got tangled all the time and it made extra hairloss. Im jsut 18. Haven't even joined university yet. Other girls are pretty ugh. Sorry I jsut ranted. I'm tempted to just shave my head at times. I cry every night lmao.

It is kinda good to know that I'm not alone (although I hope none of us have to grow through this) and thanks for the "don't"s 🫶🫶

Do you have any scalp washing tips btw?

If I touch my head, there's no hair..it's just touching my scalp directly lol bald me

BEAUTIFUL GIRL OF COURSE! I never want my pcos girlies to feel silenced???😚😚 first of all….Oh the facial hair has been kicking my ass since i was 15 and im 21 girl 😭😭 but i will say, at 19-20 it peaked for me, i hit rock bottom and i do think that the external stress of uni pushed it but i also thing it’s a genuine like canon event for us pcos girlies, i truly believe that until ur pcos really gets you down, you can’t rise up from it. i was the biggest id ever been, lost all my hair, facial hair was insane!!

i mean this in the best way, because I’ve been there girl, i still am there, i get laser on my face and neck, i wash my hair and like it gives me anxiety just washing my hair and seeing the loss, feeling the loss of density, like you i had hair down my back my whole life and i cut it over a year ago and now it has grown back thicker at least bc mine was all straggly at the worst point😭 i KNOW your pain.

BUT everybody always told me that the older i get it will level out and trust me it does!! and it did. im 21 and things have settled, we can only go through this process. i promise you, it gets better. my hair is still thinner but it shines and i put love into it!! i oil my scalp every time i wash it, I’ve been doing it for 8 months religiously.

and girl you are pretty!! i used to read the r/pcos thread a lot bc it made me feel less alone and like, i saw a post once venting about how hard it is having so much maintenance, to wake up and have to shave your face, to be conscious, to have to cover hair loss. that constant weight of having to get up and do all these steps that you feel other women don’t. i know the frustration, i have bumps and marks and body hair that makes me sob if I don’t shave it and then I look down in the shower and it hits me. but it’s also okay to pay for the things like laser or waxing, or learning how to wax etc, we have to manage in any way, we are allowed to prioritise and do things that make us feel beautiful bc we deserve it. we have to adapt rather than hoping it might just disappear, and we have to accept it🥺🩷

but diet is huge!! at least try and have a protein heavy breakfast!! 30g of protein is such an important aim, I promise that makes such a difference. definitely try not to have a lot of sugar in the morning. i only drink water or spearmint tea. matcha tea can be good bc it’s better then coffee, but I never drink caffeine because it’s so bad for us pcos girls especially on an empty stomach!! try and eat good fats!! and also integrating exercise!! and also MANAGE STRESS BABE I MEAN IT

but you are still beautiful, effortlessly and with your ways of coping. there is nothing wrong with us!! don’t be sorry for ranting at all, i also wanted to shave my head at the height of my weight loss i had a huge bald spot and it’s still kinda there 😭 i know this shit is REAL

but definitely check in with a doctor if you can get any advice/meds that could help, maybe a birth control pill could help you but again I don’t recommend that due to my own experiences bc it gave me severe acne, migraines and other things but tbf my hair was lucious😜, pcos is a lot of trial and error and seeing what might work for you.

as far as tips go!! look into Indian/arab/ayuverdic routines on TikTok/youtube!!! look up ways to massage your scalp!!!

here are my fave creators !!

@golabbeauty on tiktok for hair loss, hair oiling, diet, she has pcos herself!

@zoeantonia_ tiktok + instagram!! pcos positivity for facial hair, bloating, skin!! she also gives great diet and workout advice and she’s amazing!!

@mila.magnani on tiktok! pcos creator amazing!!!!!!

but i want you to know that you don’t have to start everything now, that you can eat something one creator says not to!! you will find your rhythm with this! steal, twist, tailor everything you hear and see creators doing !! whether it’s making your own mixture of oils for oiling or making some kind of nightly mock tail for your hormones you’ve found!! either way i believe in you and im always here <3333 educate yourself but don’t overwhelm yourself! time is your biggest ally, my heart goes out to you angel <3

[cophene]

022 || ☆ ⁺ « AN EXCHANGE OF FAVOURS.

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pairing : vento aureo x gn reader summary : with virtually nothing left in their credit account, a gang of space thieves turn to the richest man in the galaxy to give them  a job worth millions. too bad those never come easy, even with stand abilities and pretty-faced crew notes : sci-fi au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 3.4k+

★˚⋆ I FEEL LIKE I’M GOING to get an ulcer,” you muttered. Someone jostled into your metal table and your heart nearly gave out then and there. Fugo was unperturbed, barely pausing as he brought a forkful of greens to his mouth and chewed deliberately. You would never know that he gripped an open flame beneath the table—had been gripping it since you’d all sat down.

“I’m getting an ulcer just watching you,” Trish said. “Relax, Captain. Fugo has everything under control. The way he always does.”

“If you’re so worried, I could always take the lighter,” Mista added. He eyed the tough piece of beef on his tray before spearing it with his fork and trying to tear a bite out of it.

“If it were up to me, none of you would be holding it,” you said. It was like trusting someone with your stuff but not being able to tear your eyes off of it—not because you didn’t trust that person, but because you cared about your stuff that much.

Thankfully, none of the patrol bots had caught onto the lighter yet. Fugo had taken the damn thing from your cells, into the canteen, down the lunch line and to this table without so much as a flicker. You had never appreciated your engineer’s willfulness until now and couldn’t help being a little bit in awe. Still, you were surrounded by dozens of inmates and it seemed like some lighter-killing event would happen at any moment.

Giving up on the beef, Mista set it back on his plate and allowed the Pistols free rein of it. “I don’t think the lighter should be our main concern right now anyhow. We need to figure out where JoJo is and how to get him back.”

“Do we?” Fugo said tonelessly. “Didn’t he tell us to go on without him?”

Trish retorted immediately, “But we can’t. We can’t just leave him behind once we get the Arrow. He’s one of us now.”

Fugo said nothing to that. He caught your eyes and you had to look away. You didn’t fault Fugo for his suspicions. You felt like JoJo had been showing signs all along that he wasn’t who he said he was. Even his name, Johnny Jones, rang false now that you thought about it.

You didn’t really have any guarantee that he wasn’t working against you. Whether it was that he was out to get the Stand Arrow himself or if he was getting it for someone else. But why would he have given you the lighter if that was the case? Why stick around for this long? Why give you that warning?

You didn’t want to admit it, but if it came down to JoJo or the Stand Arrow, you would choose the Arrow. Getting it to Zero was the main priority. No matter which one of the crew got left behind, you had to deliver it.

You paused at that, feeling like you had jumped the beat in a song. You were giving the Arrow to Zero because of your crew. If something happened to them, of course you would—

Continue without them?

“I bet Asswipe would know,” Mista said. He narrowed his eyes at the Pistols as once again, Number Five started bawling about something. “If we could get him to tell us, we could grab JoJo on our way out once Polpo coughs up the Arrow.”

“He’s suspicious of us enough as it is,” Trish said. “I doubt Cannolo has the clearance to find JoJo. We might actually be better off asking the inmates.”

Your crew cast wary glances at the inmates around you. No one was hostile, exactly, but like anything new, no one was willing to get too close just yet. Now that you were looking, you realized that, for this sector at least, most of the other inmates barely looked like ones. Aside from the odd grey coat here and there with Galactic Penitentiary IV on the back, everyone was more or less in their regular attire. If regular attire happened to be extremely questionable. 

“Mind if I take a seat?” someone asked from behind you.

You looked back and instantly felt underdressed, although it wasn’t like you were in a jail or anything. The guy behind you wore a tight-fitting lavender suit patterned with paisleys and an honest-to-Stars blue ascot. His hair was styled into short, blonde spikes, and probably the most atrocious eyebrows you’d ever seen sat above his eyes like fluffy bunny tails.

“Uh . . .” Mista made a face at the guy, unsure of how to indicate that the table was already fully occupied. Nonetheless, and without anyone’s encouragement, the blonde guy shoved his tray between you and Mista and forced a seat between the two of you, nearly knocking Mista’s ass to the ground.

“Maxx, Sports Maxx,” the guy said with a smug quirk of his lips. “Pleasure to meet you all.”

“Literally who asked?” Mista grumbled, pushing his tray and the Pistols pointedly away from the guy.

“You must be the notorious Passione I’ve been hearing so much about,” Maxx continued pleasantly. “I’m so glad I can finally talk to you all.”

Nobody said anything. It took everything in you not to duck under the table to check on the lighter again.

Maxx took a drink from his water. “There’s less of you than I remember. Are you missing a crew member?”

“What do you want?” Trish asked tartly.

“You want information, don’t you? If you’ll allow me, I’d be happy to oblige.”

The hair on the back of your neck rose. Had he managed to overhear your crew somehow? Or was he just being arrogant? It was almost as though he’d been biding his time, waiting for the exact moment to drop in on your table.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Fugo said, placing another forkful of greens into his mouth.

Your crew’s coldness didn’t ruffle Maxx in the least. He continued eating leisurely as though he had all the time in the world. For a few minutes, his gaze rested on the Pistols tearing the cut of beef apart. With a start, you wondered if he could actually see them before he perked up again. 

“There’s no need to be shy. If you want to know anything, I’d be happy to tell you. We’re all friends here.” He nodded at Fugo. “How’s Polpo’s lighter?”

For a second, you thought Fugo might chuck the lighter into Maxx’s face.

“How do you know about that?” you couldn’t help asking.

“Everyone here knows about the lighter,” Maxx said. “We’ve all tried it at one point or another. No one’s been successful, but don’t let that deter you. None of us really had the will, I don't think.”

Maybe that was why no one had given Fugo a second glance about the lighter. They were used to it as some kind of inside dare. Likely, they didn’t know what they would gain if they had been able to complete Polpo’s task.

Over Maxx’s head, you traded looks with Mista.

Should we trust him? you asked with your eyes.

Hell no. Flacker sat down like he owned the place.

How else are we going to get JoJo back?

We could ask literally anyone else besides him.

But he’s right here.

Yes, and?

“The patrol bots didn’t let one of our crew members pass,” you decided to say, ignoring Mista’s exasperated look. “He got taken away somewhere. We need to get him back.”

“Black-haired kid with the green eyes?” Maxx asked.

“Yes. Do you know where he is?”

Maxx tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I might have seen him. He’ll probably be in the warden’s office while they try to reconfirm his ident.”

“And where is that?”

Maxx shrugged. “You’ll have to pay me for that.”

“We don’t have any credits on us,” Trish said.

“Shame. Maybe you’ll have to pay me some other way.”

Trish frowned. “Like how?”

Maxx gave her a significant look. Instantly, she turned as pink as her hair and crossed her arms over her chest indignantly. Strangely, though, Maxx wasn’t looking at her anymore. He’d pinned his gaze on you instead.

“Well?” he said expectantly. “What will it be?”

You baulked. “What are you talking about?”

“My cell doesn’t have a lot of privacy but there’s a chapel that people usually steer clear of. Or we can go somewhere else if you'd rather set the mood.”

"Set the mood for what?"

Mista slapped an aggressive hand against Maxx's back. Trish was still pink and Fugo looked murderous.

"Why do you lay off with that? Trish is right there, wouldn't you rather ask her?"

"Excuse me?" Trish retorted.

"I agree. That's our Captain you're speaking to," Fugo said.

"Whatever you need to Trish can do I'm sure I could do it just as well," you said, a little bewildered.

"Oh, I'm sure of it," Maxx laughed.

“Like hell,” Mista said contemptuously.

“Why not? The Captain has agreed to it, have they not?”

Fugo scoffed. “As if we’d ever let that happen. We’d kill you first.”

“Why is that? Do either of you have some claim already?”

Your eyebrows drew together. The point of the conversation had yet to hit you and, honestly, you were afraid to ask.

Mista and Fugo both began speaking at the same time. They shut up, looked at each other, then coughed and looked away.

Maxx’s eyes gleamed. “As I was saying, there are other ways to pay me for services rendered, Captain, whether that be physically or—”

Mista and Fugo got to their feet at the same time. Fugo shoved the lighter into Trish's hand while Mista hauled Maxx bodily out of his seat. Maxx looked distantly amused as the two frogmarched him into a corner, and from there, you could only make out snatches of their heated conversation.

“Do I even want to know?” you said to Trish. For a second, she only looked at you, then she huffed out a little laugh. She surprised you by taking your hand from the table and squeezing it.

“Never change, Captain.”

“ . . . I won’t?”

Trish smiled and it made your heart stumble a little. She let go of your hand but the warmth from her hand lingered.

She glanced at Mista and Fugo still berating Maxx by the corner, then briefly at the lighter. “That didn’t go how we expected at all,” she said briskly, sweeping right back into business. You tried to finish the rest of your food but you were too pent up to eat.

“How are we supposed to get to the warden’s office?” you said. “Who else here can we ask?”

Looking around, you noticed everyone pointedly keeping their gazes away. Not that you blamed them. It was obvious your crew stirred up trouble.

“Look over there,” Trish said, shrugging her left shoulder. There was one person who didn’t avoid eye contact with you. Actually, she was staring at you without a hint of shame. She quirked her blue-tinted lips, then rose slowly from her table and made a show of leaving the canteen. An invitation to follow, if you’d ever seen one.

“Fifteen minutes before we have to go back to our cell,” Trish said before you could ask. “Think that woman can help us?”

“It’s worth a shot.” You considered getting Mista and Fugo to join in, but they were still preoccupied with Maxx. Making sure Trish had the lighter secure, the two of you waited for the patrol bots to look the other way before slipping out of the canteen.

The woman was leaning against the wall directly outside. She flicked her fingers at you in a mock-salute.

“So you wanna get to the warden’s office,” she said without preamble. You couldn’t help feeling a bit miffed. Were the acoustics in the canteen so good that everyone could hear everything your crew said now?

“I bet it’s got something to do with Polpo’s lighter, huh?” she said, smirking at it.

You quickly filled her in about JoJo getting taken away. Fugo would have been appalled at your giving information away so easily but you were starting to get impatient. Help was help and flack any strings attached.

Besides, this woman had to be more trustworthy than Maxx. Her striped pants and tank-top made you squint a little, but you liked the little crow's feet on her headband. Trish seemed to like the blue dotting beneath her eyes.

“Oh, I can get him out no problem,” the woman said.

“And that would be how?” you asked.

“Don’t worry your pretty head over the details. I can get him out but you don’t have any credits,” the woman mused regretfully. 

Trish was quick to add, “And we’re not willing to pay by any . . . unsavoury means either.”

The woman considered that. “What about an exchange of favours?” she said. “One inmate to another.”

You glanced at the lighter. You felt a twinge of unease, but if this woman kept her word, it would save your crew a great deal of trouble. You had learned a long time ago to build bridges where you could. “We’ll do what we can.”

“That’s all anyone can ask for,” the woman said. She gestured for you and Trish to come closer. “One of these inmates here keeps a little bird in their cell. I want you to get it for me. Then, I’ll get your boy out for you.”

“A little bird?” How the hell had that gotten past the patrol bots? This place was starting to seem less and less like the fearsome Galactic Penitentiary IV everyone pissed their pants over.

The woman nodded. “It should be no problem for you. I’d get it myself if it wasn’t such a hassle.”

“Is that it?” Trish asked. “That’s all you want?”

“Mhm.”

“Which cell number is it?” you said. You didn’t know what the schedule was after lunch, but hopefully you would get another chance to wander around the sector before lights-out.

“A23. He’s always sleeping, so you shouldn’t have to worry about him.”

“Will you be able to keep him for a while? We’re not leaving until we finish Polpo’s lighter test,” you said.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” The woman bared her teeth. “Just get me the little bird and it should be smooth sailing from there.”

“Can I ask why you need it?” Trish asked. She passed the lighter between her hands and you couldn’t tell she wasn’t one-hundred percent on board with the plan. Nonetheless, she was probably the most concerned about JoJo’s well-being besides you, so like you, she must have felt that you didn’t have a lot of options. This woman was better acquainted with the penitentiary than you were. If she said she could get JoJo out, you just had to trust her.

The worst she could do was not get JoJo. In that case, you would just have to bust him out yourself.

“People can have their fun, can’t they? I just want the bird. It doesn’t have to be deeper than that.”

You realized that you still didn’t know the woman’s name and sheepishly asked her for it.

“You just call me Gwess,” she said, with another blue-tinted smirk. “Bring the bird to me as soon as you can. I promise I’ll have your boy by then.”

You shook hands with Gwess and parted ways. An announcement sounded overhead, directing everyone back to their cells. Under the watchful gaze of the patrol bots, you and Trish filed back into your cells. The back of your skull prickled, even though you weren’t the one with the lighter. It was a miracle that you’d gotten so far without anyone noticing. Everyone else who had done the test must have idiots—

[PRISONER FE20026, PLEASE STOP AND FACE THE SCANNER.]

You and Trish both paused. The patrol bot repeated its message and your stomach dropped to the floor.

Trish turned slowly, holding the lighter behind her back. It was no use. The patrol bot flashed red.

[ CONTRABAND DETECTED. PRISONER FE20026, PLEASE REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE AND WAIT FOR THE NEAREST AUTHORITY. FAILURE TO FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS WILL RESULT IN PUNISHMENT. ]

“Shit,” Trish whispered. Her green eyes flashed to you. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

“It’s not your fault,”  you whispered back. If it hadn’t been Trish it would’ve been someone else. It was only a matter of time until the lighter would have been detected and you suspected that was Polpo’s intent.

“I’ll figure something out,” Trish said, and you almost couldn’t handle how guilty she sounded. Her eyes darted down the corridor behind you, never mind the fact that there was nothing down there. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, then glanced up to the ceiling.

“Give me the lighter,” you said.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Put it into Party Rock like I should’ve done from the beginning.”

“You can’t!” Trish hissed. “Polpo specifically told you not to. You’ll go against your agreement.”

“I don’t give a flack. They’re going to put the lighter out and then we won’t see Polpo at all. He was lying. How could he possibly know whether or not I use my Stand?”

“The lighter could be his Stand! We’ll figure out some way to get the lighter back. But you can’t use your Stand, Captain!”

“Trish, we don’t have time for this!” You lunged for the lighter but Trish backed out of your way. An irrational surge of anger rose in your chest. You had already wasted enough time jumping through hoops for Polpo. You should’ve just held him at elector-point and threatened to blast his brains out if he didn’t hand over the Stand Arrow. You weren’t even sure how much time you had left. A week and half? Less than that? Zero didn’t deserve to be kept waiting for that long.

“Give me the lighter,” you snapped, trying to snatch it from Trish. Again, she moved out of your way, setting her chin. 

“Listen to me. This isn’t right. If Polpo told you not to use your Stand, then don’t!” 

You ignored her and tried to catch her arm. With surprising speed, Trish brought that very arm up and under your chin, forcing you back until she had you pinned to the wall. The patrol bot looked on impassively as you and Trish stared at each other, the lighter flame tickling the skin of your neck.

“Don’t do this,” Trish said slowly. Her face was very close. “Can’t you trust me on this? I know something bad is going to happen to you if you do.”

You realized that there was no use arguing. Trish was dead-set on this. Maybe it was her Upper Space morals, but for some reason she thought your agreement with that human-bed Polpo was supposed to mean something. Wasn’t she a space thief? She should know by now that you did what you did to stay ahead and nothing else.

You forced your body to relax. “You’re right,” you said, your voice low. “I was just worried about you. I don’t know where they’re going to take you. I thought I could hide the lighter so at least they wouldn’t take you away.”

Trish’s arm didn’t relax. “I’ll be fine.”

You smiled. “I know.”

Blood rushed to Trish’s face. You leaned forward, closing the small space between the two of you. Even now, Trish smelled slightly floral, a relic of her Upper Space days.

Trish hadn’t trapped your arms behind you—you always reprimanded her for that because it was the one thing she never learned from the restraining holds you taught her. Without hesitating, you swiped the lighter from Trish’s fingers and between one blink and the next, the lighter was in a Stand card and then out of sight.

Trish’s eyes were closed. Maybe she’d thought you were going to kiss her. When she opened her eyes again, bewilderment and then betrayal filled her eyes. The expression knifed your heart but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel sorry. You had to get that arrow to Zero. No matter what.

A guard came by to check Trish over, annoyed when he found nothing amiss. He reset the patrol bot, then snapped at you and Trish to get to your cells. This wouldn’t be the first time you were at odds with Trish you thought, trying and failing to catch her eye. She was still too soft. Things would work out fine. You had no other choice.

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[hoperays-song]

Things Gooseless Did During Their Finals Weeks

(Because my school is bloody insane and my finals are over like two weeks instead of one. It’s like they want us to get ulcers.)

-----------------------------------

1. Spammed their english professor with literary memes.

2. Wrote frog comics on the bottom of the paragraph response forms in environmental science.

3. Somehow slept for 17 hours straight immediately after my first Friday exam... I typically have insomnia, I pretty sure my family thought I was going into a coma.

4. Got compared to Hunter from The Owl House because of my eye bags twice in one day.

5. Pulled a few all nighters to turn in late assignments that even my professors forgot I had. I still barely passed but hey, I passed.

6. Had a sensory overload and a migraine attack because I wasn’t allowed headphones in the silent testing lab. And no I wasn’t allowed to wear them after either. Yay.

7. Had to write the sentence, “Asian carp have invaded Lake Eerie”, on previously mentioned environmental science final and immediately thought about that one news dude who made everyone believe aliens were invading.

8. Wrote three essays about warrior cats books. :)

9. Put fun facts in my answer book when I got bored and didn’t know how to respond to the prompt... So for every prompt. 

10. Bashed my art history professor on those essay response forms by listing everything I argued with him about all year. If you can’t tell, I’m petty apparently.

11. Drew a truly awful self portrait. Like next level horrible. :)

12. Wrote commentary on every question on my English (second) exam. Like actual running commentary on the questions. My teacher just sighed when she saw it (she laughed though, glared at me, but laughed while grading it).

13. Cried four times in one day. That was fun.

14. Found out that banana pudding has layers?!?!?! And is actually vanilla pudding with bananas?!?!?

15. Binged the whole of Netflix’s Queen Charlotte solely for the annoyed gay butlers trying to parent trap their bosses. 

16. Found three of said professors emails and now have a way to get in touch with them after graduation (NEXT WEEK!!!!), because they honestly know waaaayyyyy too much about my life for me not to at this point.

17. Correctly guessed how many questions I would get right on my mathematics final (80% baby).

18. Baked four whole trays of cookies to give to my professors as an end of year gift. I was a horrible student. They deserve at least cookies.

19. Started planning out a tattoo for me to get. :)

20. Wrote two thousand more words of the continuation fic as well as started on a few short ones for a different fandom and the warriors au.

21. Took a very unplanned hiatus (still not back, sorry y’all).

22. Watched a total of twenty hours of movie and tv show analysis videos within three days. 

23. Reached one year in one of my recovery programs and three months in another!!!!!!!!

24. Had to say goodbye to my friends and my daughter since now I won’t be in school with them next year (still in contact with several of them, daughter including, just can’t see her in person due to me moving). It sucked.

25. Worked on more character backstories that will be coming soon. Hopefully. As in once I get off hiatus, expect like four angsty backstories.

[purplesurveys]

1574

What was the best job you’ve ever had? I don’t think I’ve had that yet.

Would you rather open a used clothing store or an antique store? Used clothing. I’ve actually just started following like ten stores on Instagram that sell pre-loved vintage-y clothes so this question has pretty good timing! I'm not too big a fan of antiques so I don’t imagine growing passionate with such a business.

Do you think you would want to own a gift shop? Eh, I don’t think so either. Have you ever wondered if your friend was an alien? Uhhhhhhh no.

Do you have a troublesome medical condition? Scoliosis, I guess. I’m sure it also gets worse every year since I rarely put in the effort to improve my posture.

What’s your most annoying neighbor’s name? I know none of my neighbors’ names lol but none of them are annoying.

Would you have started a business in high school if your parents had let you? I’m sure they would have allowed me, but I don’t think they would’ve been the type to like chip in at the start the way other kids’ parents probably would have. They’re very supportive, but they are also very “That’s your decision, so don’t drag us into it or expect anything from us.”

What sport would you have joined if your parents had let you? They really liked that I was into table tennis and they still make it a point to brag about it to family and friends lol; it’s just that my barrier from the very beginning was that there was never a lot of opportunity to train. My school didn’t even have a table tennis varsity.

Do you have any tough life decisions to make soon? Yeah, a little bit! I’m starting to make baby steps towards Legitimately Resigning and as a person who really hates change, everything about this is a big deal for me at the moment.

At what time of the day do you usually have the most energy? Usually at like 6 PM once I’m able to clock out of work. I’ve said it before, but these days I’m a completely different person in and out of work in that I’m a lot happier when I’m not absorbed in it.

Do you consider yourself gifted and talented? I mean I wouldn’t call myself an utter bore hahaha. But I’m nothing spectacular either. I can’t play instruments, I can’t dance, draw, cook, ride a bike...there are a lot of things I can’t do that frustrate me everyday lol.

Do you love your enemies? I don’t have any.

Magenta, aqua, or coral? Coral.

Do you like the color orchid? Idek what that looks like.

Would you rather be a wedding photographer or a nature photographer? Wedding! So many stories you can learn from so many people by attending even just one.

Have you ever had an ulcer? No, but my parents scold me on this all the time since I skip meals as a habit.

Do you have a canker sore right now? Fortunately not. I fucking hate those.

Are you interested in health and wellness? I’m the least interested person about these things, lol.

Would you ever be a fitness coach? Nope, I’m not qualified and even knowledgeable at all.

Do you ever question whether something that makes you uncomfortable is a good thing or not? What an interesting question. I guess I do sometimes! Like if I’m uncomfortable in a social situation or dabbling in a new activity I’ve never done before, I do have moments where I take a step back and remind myself that doing This New Thing may actually be helpful for me or something that I might actually enjoy.

When was the last time you spent time with God in nature? Uh, never.

What color is your bike? I don’t know how to ride a bike :( We do have one though, it’s silver and blue; it’s just my parents who take it for rides.

Are you due for a hike? Yes. Not my go-to hobby but I do want to do one sometime.

Do you have too many hangers? We have enough.

Have you ever created a themed scrapbook? Tried, but I’m hopeless with creative endeavors like that.

Pilates or yoga? Don’t care much for either.

How often do you eat dessert? Like 1-2 times a week. We don’t always have sweet options at home.

Do you own a pair of cute workout pants? I don’t.

What’s the trendiest item you own? F&F adidas shoes, I guess. Only 300 pairs.

Have you ever had someone tell you NOT to trust your gut? I don’t think so.

Do you get irritated by people who lack common sense? Yes. Especially if it happens at work.

What’s the best drink you’ve ever had at Starbucks? I’m not very flexible when it comes to Starbucks drinks tbh, I just stick to what I’ve been ordering for the past...6, 7 years lol - caramel macchiato. Every now and then I’ll try the seasonal drinks, but so far nothing has dethroned my fave.

Did you pull an all-nighter last night? Oh no, last night was a depression sleep. Out like a light by 9 PM.

When was the last time you wrote an essay? Around September when we had an internal writing crash course at work and we were given this really fun prompt to work with.

Do you enjoy writing essays? Love essays, love writing them.

Do you enjoy learning? Sure, as long as it’s about a topic I’m interested in or could potentially be interested in.

Do you get irritated by know-it-alls? Who doesn’t?

What is the most dominant color in your closet? Black. I also have lots of pastel hues but they’re all in different colors, haha.

Do you own anything periwinkle? I don’t think so, actually.

Do you know anyone who is colorblind? Nope.

What is your favorite fairytale? I don’t have one.

Do you have any Irish in you? Not at all.

What is your favorite name that starts with a Z? Zoe/Zoey is pretty cute.

Have you ever felt like you were going to throw up while you were at school? At school and work, yeah.

Do you know anyone who thinks they’re good at something but really is not? Yep.

What color are your running shoes? I don’t run.

Do you wear hoodies? Sometimes, when I’m too lazy to dress up but have to head out.

How many pull-over hoodies do you own? Three.

Do you own a princess crown? Don’t think so.

Do you love anyone? Apart from family and friends, no.

What’s your birthstone? Diamond.

Do you have a class ring? Not a thing here.

Were you ever on a dance team? No.

Do you love your hometown? In a way that it will always feel warm and cozy, like home, yeah. But I don’t particularly hold a really strong sense of pride towards it lol.

Where are you itching to travel to? 서울ㄹㄹㄹㄹㄹㄹㄹㄹㄹㄹㄹㄹㄹㄹㄹㄹ

Do you believe that God’s plans for you are better than you could ask, think, or imagine? Nobody makes my plans for me.

Giraffes or squirrels? Giraffes. I imagine I’d be freaked by squirrels if I see them in real life hahaha. I don’t do well with tiny animals that move fast.

Aardvarks or elephants? Elephants, I guess.

Do you own an epi pen? No.

How old were you when you got rid of all your Barbies? I never played with them in the first place.

Would you want your first child to be a girl or a boy? Girl.

Do you think you would have fun being a fitness coach? No, I wouldn’t have a clue what I’m doing.

What sounds like the most fun job to you? A writer.

List five people who are good role models career-wise. Personally not really a big fan of the concept of role models, so I’ve never had any. Very few people actively make it a point to be one, and people who are typically labeled as such usually back off from the title and give disclaimers that they don’t actually try to be role models for others, so I don’t really see the point hahaha.

Have you ever had an art class that you hated? All of them. Love looking at art, hate trying to make artworks.

Were you always one of the smartest kids in your class? I was above average and would sometimes place the highest in exams, but I was nowhere near a constant topnotcher. I excelled in some classes but did absolutely horrible in others.

Do you read for pleasure? Not since I was in high school.

When was the last time you drank hot chocolate? Two Sundays ago.

Are you unique? We all are.

Do you have a headache right now? Nope.

What decade were you born in? 90s. 

[ahopkins1965]

I want to start things off by saying that I have full blown Diabetes.  I know that Jesus Christ will help me to cope with the disease.  I have to really watch what I eat and drink on a daily basis.  It really hurts me so much �. I also know that I have Peripheral Artery Disease.  I  suffer from Grandmal Seizures, Gastric Ulcers, and Schizoid Affective Disorder.  I suffer from other physical problems that I am taking medication at the moment.

I know that I have to change everything in my life right now.  I have to allow God to help me out.  I have to go to the hospital on a regular basis.  I have to check my blood sugar levels on a daily basis.  I have to watch my stress levels on a daily basis.  I have to take my Medfordman on a daily basis before eating breakfast. I have to attend church on a regular basis.  I have to keep my emotions in check for the rest of my life.  As long as I am living with a terminal disease, I have to become humble and meek because I am not trying to leave here foolishly.  I also have to change my environment.  My family members use vulgarity towards me because I am only telling them that marijuana and other drugs are inside of my building.  Lord Jesus, I am asking you to please lead me and guide me along in this process.

Next, I have to consult with an endocrinologist and a podiatrist on a regular basis.  I have to maintain a personal relationship with God.  I have to lose weight really bad.  I also have to take my other medications on a daily basis as well.  I have to get a grip of this problem in order for me to maintain my sanity.  This is not a very easy topic to talk about because I tend to blame my own self for this problem.  I know that I have placed this problem inside of God's Hands right now.  I have been overweight for a very long time right now.  I want to inform all of you that I am going to continue to share my personal feelings about Diabetes.  Perhaps, I can become an ambassador for this disease.

Finally, I have to go to the library on a regular basis in order to get out of my apartment building each day.  I also have to stop using vulgarity and have a positive attitude about life in general.  I have to see my therapist and psychiatrist on a regular basis.  have never been through anything like this before.  This is the first time for everything.  I realize that I have been anemic for at  25 years now.  I have noticed when it gets cold outside, I tend to shiver really bad.  Therefore, cool weather and environments are not my best friend.  I tend to get cold while I am at home with the A/C is on.  I do not have enough red blood inside of my body.  I will admit that I have been taking over 25 medications per day for at least 27 years now.  Sometimes taking too much medication can take a complete toll on your body.  I have to question all of my current physicians right now because I really need to know how I ended up with Diabetes at an early age.  I know that I had taken Depakote for a mood stabilizer and seizure medication in the past.  I know that I had gained 85 pounds in one year in the year 1998.  There are times when doctors prescribe too much medication.  Especially when you are a Psychiatric Patient just to stabilize you within a short period of time.

[gardengremlin]

I need to do a long-ass vent about a dumb stupid thing annoying me here where I live. Just to get it out of my system (vacuuming my flat wasn't enough apparently)

We have a shared washing room with set rules hanging on the wall where I live. It's simply written and easy to understand. Every person has one-half day a week. It's divided into the morning (7am to 1pm) and afternoon (3pm to 10pm). So, the washing machines (we have 3), are supposed to be clean & free for the afternoon group at 3pm. I do my laundry in the afternoon because I work in the mornings. So of course I'm aggravated to go down at 3pm and see all 3 machines being taken already because at least two dimwits decided to put up laundry at 2pm. Like, why is it so fucking hard? This is at least the 4th time I walk down on full machines on the afternoon I signed up for. Even if at least 1 or 2 other persons signed up as well, it's 1 person = 1 machine at a time. And I genuinely doubt 3 different ppl went to put up laundry at this dumbass time (too early to do afternoon laundry, too late to do morning laundry, there's this dead hour where ppl can get their morning laundry out and clean the machines.). Idk. That just annoys me to no end. It's giving me a stomach ulcer one day. It would work well if people would just read and pay attention to this damn washing plan. You don't go down at a time you're not allowed to, to take TWO machines, when there's ppl signed up for laundry in the afternoon. Anyway, I waited for one machine to finish, took their clothes out and put mine in. Idgaf. The next problem tho, all drying rooms are still taken too. I probably just get my wet laundry into my bathroom for drying, it's thankfully not very much. But that's not how this is supposed to work and I am annoyed by it lol

[londongastrocare]

Which hospital is the best doctor for gastroenterology in Kukatpally?

A common concern is selecting the best healthcare facility or best gastro clinic in kukatpally, Hyderabad, for medical treatment. Patients frequently complain when the services provided do not match the price paid. The worst-case scenario is that the illness is not cured and worsens.

Learning some characteristics of a good Gastroenterologist in Hyderabad is preferable to choose the best hospital and health care starting now. Let me walk you through choosing the best gastroenterologist in Hyderabad, the benefits of doing so, and which is the best gastroenterology clinic in Kukatpally.

Who is a gastroenterologist?

A gastroenterologist is a doctor who specializes in the diagnosis and treatment of gastrointestinal (GI) diseases in both men and women. In addition, he or she performs endoscopic procedures with instruments that allow for better viewing of the GI Tract and accurate diagnosis.

Gastroenterologists specialize in the entire digestive system.

A gastroenterologist is a specialized doctor who diagnoses and treats GI diseases in both men and women. He or she may also perform endoscopic procedures with instruments that allow for better viewing of the GI Tract and accurate diagnosis.

They focus on treating those who have long-term issues.

While gastroenterologists are always ready to help people with acute problems, many patients have long-term issues such as constant diarrhoea, consistent heartburn, and chronic conditions such as Crohn's disease, IBS, and ulcerative colitis.

Different Types of Cancer Can Be Detected or Prevented by Gastroenterologists

While most people associate gastroenterology and cancer detection with colon cancer screenings, there is much more to the profession.

Benefits of Gastroenterologist

The vast amount of specialized knowledge your gastroenterologist possesses is a significant benefit of having a gastroenterologist in Hyderabad as part of your healthcare team. Your gastroenterologist can treat and diagnose stomach, upper and lower intestines, and colon conditions. Conditions and diseases include:

GERD (acid reflux disease)

oesophagal irritation

Ulcers of the stomach

Gastritis

Polyps of the intestine

Crohn's disease

Cancer of the stomach, intestines, and colon

Another significant advantage of consulting a Gastroenterologist in Hyderabad is the variety of testing available. Your gastroenterologist may suggest the following:

A colonoscopy is a procedure that examines your colon and rectal lining for polyps or signs of colon cancer.

A sigmoidoscopy is a procedure that examines your lower colon and rectal lining to look for polyps or signs of colon cancer.

CT Colonography is a type of bowel scan used to look for bowel obstructions and other problems.

Stool tests detect blood in your stool, abnormal DNA from intestinal bleeding, and signs of intestinal cancer.

Your gastroenterologist should perform a colon cancer screening at least once a year. If you have any of the following symptoms, you should see a gastroenterologist in Hyderabad right away:

Excessive and unexpected weight loss

Cramping and persistent pain in the abdomen

Prolonged diarrhoea or constipation

Your stool's consistency or colour has changed.

Chronic nausea and vomiting that persists

Choosing a gastroenterologist is one of the most important healthcare decisions. Your digestive system is complicated, and you need a specialist who understands it. Call a gastroenterologist right away.

Choosing the best gastroenterologist

Due to differences in experience and training, not all gastrointestinal doctors (Gastroenterologists) are the same. The specialist you select will significantly impact your gastrointestinal condition's treatment and make all the difference, especially if you are undergoing a complex gastroenterology procedure.

Some gastroenterologists specialize in motility disorders, which affect the passage of food, liquid, and waste through your digestive system. Many of these doctors are also neurogastroenterologists studying how the brain and gut interact.

Why LGC is the best for gastroenterology?

Gastro Clinic In Hyderabad  provide good quality care when they provide you with treatments that produce the best results for your disease. Receiving quality hospital care can help you heal faster and avoid complications. Because not all hospitals provide the same level of care, you should look for the Best gastro clinic in kukkatpally, Hyderabad. Most hospitals have quality assurance and improvement programs in place. They may collect and analyze data from patient charts to determine where they can improve patient care.

LGC Hospitals offer fixed-price packages for various treatments, with no hidden costs and tax included; patients can also pay via an EMI scheme. They offer the highest quality care in the country.

LGC has fixed prices with no hidden costs and a 0% EMI option for our comprehensive treatment plans. Make an appointment with LGC today. They will be delighted to serve and deliver the best for you and your family.

Conclusion

See one of our outstanding gastroenterologists in Hyderabad at London Gastro Care if you want high-quality, patient-centred GI care. We have locations throughout India, and our doctors are highly skilled and ready to diagnose and treat your GI issue quickly and effectively.

If you have any questions or would like to schedule an appointment, please use our online office locator tool to locate the most convenient location and schedule an appointment with one of our Gastroenterologists in Hyderabad. We are thrilled to be of service to you!

[write-ur-wrongs]

The Death of Me

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Word count: almost 4K - big whoops!

A/N: This was totally meant to be a drabble / blurb, but the story got away from me! A huge thanks to the sweet anon who submitted this prompt - I was beyond inspired and chuckled warmly throughout the entire writing process. This baby isn’t proofread so thread lightly!! I sincerely hope y’all enjoy this one :’) 

Prompt:  Heya! I saw your post about wanting to practice writing short stories so I have a small prompt for Geralt! What about: the reader and Geralt have always had a difficult relationship, always running into each other at the most inconvenient moments and hence disliking each other. However, while Geralt is passing through a village the reader comes barging into his room bloody and near death, only getting a chance to say “I didn’t know where else to go” before collapsing. I would be honoured if the idea inspired you :3

____________________________________________________

You’d never considered yourself unlucky but lately life had a funny way of throwing you for a loop, or rather, throwing you to the wolves. One wolf, actually. A damn, irritating, and arrogant white wolf.

At first, it was all business. You’d arrive in a village itching for a contract, only to find that a “legendary witcher” had already come through and taken care of every monster within a two-days ride. Furious, hungry, and broke, you set out determined to get as far as you could and as quickly as possible. Your determination got you far enough that you’d managed a full three months of contract work, but not far enough it seemed.

You’d been on your way to collect payment from your latest contractor when you’d heard the buzz on the street; a witcher had come through asking about work, and had been told to wait and see as someone else (a woman! A human woman!) had already committed to the case. Apparently, he was either incensed or bemused at the idea – the brute was very hard to read, so say the town gossips – but it didn’t matter to you. You beat him to it and now you get to eat. When you finally met with the contractor to collect your coin, you couldn’t help but swell with pride as they thanked you, eyes wide, for taking care of a monster no human ought to be able to handle. You could have sworn your pride had given you wings as you floated out of the inn.

That is, until you heard them mumble under their breath, “Thank Gods that lass was able to handle it! Had it been the witcher, I would have had to pay triple!”

“Thank heavens for cheap labour!” whispered their partner, raising their glass to cheers their big victory.

Suddenly whatever weightlessness you felt transferred onto your coin purse. Biting hard on your cheek you pushed up your chin, determined to remain dignified. But then you saw him.

Impossibly broad chested, rippling muscles evident beneath his leather armour, with golden eyes that reflected back to you with a cruel playful nature that made bile rise in the back of your throat. He held your gaze and raised his own tankard to you as you walked past him. His deep voice rumbled through you as you pushed the door open.

“Cheers to cheap labour,” you heard him say, and swore you could hear the smirk on his full lips.

Groaning furiously, you pushed the door so hard it swung back and slammed shut behind you with such force a flock of birds took off somewhere in town. Undeterred, you stomped off towards your horse and set off at a gallop.

I’m going to make sure I never cross his fucking path ever again, you thought searingly.

You were wrong it turned out, but how were you supposed to know that?

You’d gone years without actually seeing him again, but that didn’t mean you were free of him. You’d alternated winning and losing contracts to each other, and the pressure of beating him to the next one stressed you so fiercely you developed ulcers. That alone would have been enough to push you to murder had you not heard from another witcher that their brother, the great white wolf, was losing sleep trying to keep up with you. Knowledge of this fact spurred you on; after all, if you couldn’t beat him, it’s best to be even, no?

The next time fate brought you two together, though, you could not have been farther from on top. What made matters worse, is that you weren’t even in battle when your paths crossed. Your literal paths just simply… crossed.

You’d been riding east for many days and just as many nights. You were tired, sore, and somehow still soaked to the bone despite the fact that the rain had stopped at least a day ago. You were so tired, your muscles seemed heavy in your limbs, and you had to keep blinking hard to bring the spinning world around you back to its axis. As you rode through an intersection on the trail, the sun peaked out from behind the thick curtain of clouds just long enough to pull you fully into sleep, and right off your still-moving-horse’s saddle.  

You honestly didn’t remember falling asleep, or off the saddle. You also had no memory of the moment another traveler, who was riding towards the intersection on the other trail, leapt off his mare just as you started your descent and caught you before you could split your skull open on one of the many rocks sprinkled throughout the street. You had no memory of the way he’d pulled you off the path, leading both horses behind him as he’d carried you over his shoulder. Zero recollection of him laying you down on a bed grass, tying your horse to a nearby tree, lighting you a campfire, or filling your pack with some bread and meat.

What you did remember, was the arrogant look on his face when you finally woke up. The condescending tone he took as he reminded you that you were ‘only human’ and had to take care of yourself accordingly was also seared into the annals of your memory.

You hated that he’d saved you almost as much as you hated the fact that you’d been asleep around him. Completely vulnerable for God knows how long and he’d been there to witness it all. Whenever the memory of the look on his face or the way he’d crossed his arms and tilted his stupid head as he condescended your humanity came to you, you couldn’t help but cringe even months after the fact.

***

Your saving grace came a full six months after your damned damsel in distress moment on the trail.

Well fed, well worked, and well travelled, you were taking your time enjoying the market in your town of the week. The work you did wasn’t glamourous, but it did allow you the means to afford a few luxuries every now and then. This time, it just so happened that your coin could buy you the sweetest gift of all: revenge.

The market was busy as ever, you could barely hear yourself think over the cacophony of voices and animal bleats bouncing around the square. Had it been anyone else, the conversation would have been lost among the noise around you, but when that voice came rumbling through the mess of shrieks and shouts, you couldn’t help but seek out the source. You didn’t know why you cared or why you were so surprised to find that the voice’s owner was none other than the White Wolf himself.

“You good?” you asked, making sure to tilt your head, hands on your hips, the same way he’d done the last time you’d met.

“Fine.” He practically barked, not even turning his head fully to address you directly.

The merchant, none-too-concerned with your arrival on the scene, continued as if uninterrupted. “I’m sorry Mr. Witcher, sir, but I can’t go any lower. This is the best I can offer.”

“I can’t pay that much,” he grumbled, hands closed into tight fists.

“I’m sorry-”

“Is this enough?” you interjected, knowingly offering forward far too many ducats.

“Y-yes!” breathed the merchant, looking quizzically at Geralt before picking three coins from your open palm, “thank you, madam...”

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself with a warm smile and a nod.

“Y/N!” Geralt hissed, at the same time, reaching out to push away your hand a fraction too late; the vendor was paid, and you’d won this round.

“What is it, Witcher?” you teased, as the vendor took his sword back for repairs, “been on vacation? Why so skint?”

“Been low on work lately,” he replied coolly, cat-like eyes boring into yours, “not as many contracts as there use to be.”

“Well, I’ll be,” you said, cocking your head to the side and pursing your lips in mock contemplation, “I can’t imagine why that’d be the case! Seems I keep running into monsters to kill.”

“Mmhm.” He hummed, narrowing his eyes at you.

Refusing to let him have the last word, you quickly turned on your heels and high-tailed it out of the market, shouting over your shoulder to the blacksmith to give any change back to Geralt before disappearing back into the crowd.

***

Being even should have brought peace between the two of you but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Your last interaction only fanned the flames of your rivalry. As the months turned to years without coming upon each other again, you still found yourself filled with unreasonable anger whenever you saw a mop of white hair cross you on your travels.

And not that you’d know it, but it turned out that Geralt wasn’t faring any better; finding himself frustrated and acting recklessly whenever he’d come upon anything that reminded him of you.

You were both completely obsessed with one another. Thoughts of the other constantly on the mind. Whether in waking or in dreams, you were both equally afflicted by an intense need to outperform, out run, and also, inexplicably, to impress the other.  

*

It was that need to impress each other that led you to accept a contract you should have never even considered taking. You honestly wouldn’t have even considered it had the circumstances been any different but you’d been hearing about this monster for weeks on your travels. Tales of the mighty griffin tearing people to shreds had been circulating far and wide on this side of the Yaruga, and honestly, with every retelling you’d expected to hear that a witcher had handled it, but that never happened. You’d somehow managed to arrive at the village at the source of these stories before him and had an opportunity to literally rob him of this victory.

Granted, you were the only one who’d been attributing him with this win, but that didn’t matter, not to you. The only thing you cared about when accepting this particular contract was the knowledge that by taking it, you were preventing him from having it, and that was more than enough.

The shock on the villagers faces when they saw you accept the contract only added to your already inflated confidence. The sheer size of the griffin’s wingspan humbled you a little, though, and whatever grand illusions of an easy victory you’d carried into the forest were squashed along with a couple rib bones only moments after engaging the beast. In short, you were fucked.

Some might say that coming out of it alive was enough of a win. Those people would be morons, you thought as you stumbled clumsily back towards the lights of the village, clutching your split abdomen with both hands and blinking back blood dripping from your forehead. Every step you took came with the stabbing pain of additional tearing around your wound. You could barely think, your ears were blocked and caked with dried blood and dirt, your tears stung as they fell across the gashes on your cheeks, and every breath in felt like it could be your last. You’d never admit this out loud, but a part of you wished the creature had finished the job.

Perhaps the only saving grace here was that in your condition, you couldn’t hear the villagers as they pointed and gossiped. You didn’t hear the “told you so’s” or the lewd shouts coming from the drunk men as you stumbled into the tavern. You could barely hear the disappointment in the inn owner’s voice as they reprimanded you for accepting a contract, they knew you couldn’t complete. Rolling your eyes, you pushed your way towards the stairs as quickly as possible – which, as it turned out, was not so quick, praying that someone would call you a healer.

“… and to think a witcher arrived only hours after she went off to kill herself! Tsk-tsk!”

You stopped dead in your tracks, drops of blood falling across your brow as you interrupted the momentum you’d been building. “W-what?” you croaked, turning towards them as much as possible to make sure you’d hear them correctly.

“Yeah! And not just any witcher, lass, the Butcher of Blaviken no less! Checked in with us just as you head out. Had you waited half a day you could have saved yourself a world of – ‘ey! Now where’s she off to?”

As you registered this news, something inside you snapped. Before you knew what was happening, you’d made your way upstairs and started pushing your full weight onto every door you passed. The great White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, was certainly arrogant enough to leave his door unlocked. You might have been wrong about the griffin, but you’d be damned if you were wrong about this.

Fortunate or not, you weren’t wrong about this. As you pushed your shoulder against the last door with whatever strength you had left, the door swung open with very little resistance. The heavy wooden door slammed loudly against the wall at the exact moment that your limp body crashed onto the floor.

“WHAT the fuck!” Geralt howled, leaping off the bed and onto his feet. His wild eyes assessed the situation in an instant, and he bound to you in barely two strides. “What the fuck did you do? What happened?” he asked as he flipped you over, so gently you were sure you’d already passed out and were now dreaming. Or maybe the blood loss was finally catching up to you and you were full-on hallucinating.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you breathed, barely above a whisper, before losing consciousness in his arms.

*

Regaining consciousness was a slow, painful process. You’d come in and out of it a handful of times throughout the night, and flashes of what you’d seen before you lost it were coming to you in an almost dreamlike haze; terrifying images of the furious griffin, its blood-soaked talon shining in the setting sun as it reared back to strike you again, and warmer visions of Geralt, shirtless, running towards you with – could it be? – genuine concern in his eyes.

Now as the rising sun cast its glow across the room, you squinted painfully against the light. Your head felt as though it was full of cotton; heavy, and scratchy, and unnatural on top of your shoulders. Hesitantly, you ran your tongue over your teeth and were equal parts relieved to find them all there and disgusted at the acrid, mineral taste the blood left behind. Blinking slowly, you tried to bring up your hand to rub at your eyes, but stopped short as you felt the large bandage draped across your forehead.

Slowly, you started to register the other bandages, on your arms, your cheek, across your abdomen. Your eyes grew wide as you finally registered the man facing away from you in the far corner of the room. Geralt’s broad strong back was hunched away from you as he rifled through herbs and small glass vials looking for something. Inexplicably, you found yourself disappointed to see he’d put his thick black tunic back on. Horrified by that realization, you literally gagged, startling Geralt and pulling his attention squarely onto you.

His big dumb beautiful face was all hard lines as he looked you over, stern eyes flashing to meet yours before dropping back down to the vial in his hands. You couldn’t help be notice the way the muscles in in jaw rippled and tensed as he sighed. He was oozing disappointment and anger, and that infuriated you.

“Am I dead?” you ask, squinting at him a little theatrically as you squirmed and winced in your bed.

“No.” he practically growled, his body tense as he made his way towards you slowly.

“Oh,” you breathed, bringing your eyes up to his before adding, “this isn’t hell?”

To your immense satisfaction, his stern eyes widened into shock, but then something unrecognizable flashed across his features – wait, was he hurt?

“Why, because I’m here?” he shouted, as if in confirmation of your hunch, and slammed the damp cloth he’d been holding back into the basin.

“No, jackass,” you retorted, pleased that despite the position you were in, you still had some semblance of an upper-hand, “because a griffin fucking fileted me like a fish and some poor drunk is probably downstairs slipping in a pool of my blood right now.”

You’d kind of hoped that he’d laugh, or at least have a comeback geared up for you, but Geralt just stood there staring at you, his mouth in a tight line, nostrils flaring.

Uncomfortable by the intensity of his stare and the silence accompanying it, you decide to continue to poke the bear.

“Come on, what’s with the face, Geralt? Pissed I’m still alive? You know you could have just closed the door over my body, let nature finish the bloody job.”

“Fuck, no! Y/n!” he screamed, startling you out of the attitude you’d put on, “I’m pissed because you’re an impossibly difficult woman hellbent on killing herself! I’m pissed because you don’t seem to fucking care about what happens to you! You can’t keep doing this Y/N! Because one of these days you’re going to get hurt and you’ll be too far away from me and I won’t be able to fucking save you, again! I am pissed because I am losing my mind spending every god-awful day wondering if you’ve gone and gotten yourself killed! Fucking hell, woman! If you didn’t find me – I-if I wasn’t here, with these herbs – Damnit Y/N!”

You just sat there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t know what to say. This man, your nemesis, was in front of you pacing back and forth, breathing heavily, looking like a maniac. His nostrils were flaring more than the monster that almost killed you just yesterday. Part of you wanted to correct him and demand he never address you as ‘woman’ again, but his wild earnest eyes kept you quiet. My god… was he crying?

Before you could say anything, Geralt sighed gruffly, ran his large hand over his face and stormed out, mumbling something about needing to get you more water.

Left alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t stop yourself from spiralling. You’d expected him to be angry – hell, you wanted him to be angry! You’d humiliated yourself twice over, enraging him would ease the blow – but this was… different. He seemed genuinely concerned about you. And what was with his whole speech? He spent every day thinking about you? Worrying about you? There’s no way.

Sure, you thought about him daily, but that was out of spite! You hated the man! Why else would your heart race whenever you thought you spotted him in a crowd? Why else would you actively seek out the most dangerous contracts? What, like you were hoping these contracts would draw him out, and therefore, closer to you? As if!

Your ridiculous inner monologue was interrupted by Geralt’s return. The horrible brute knocked gently on the door before stepping inside, and your heart had the audacity to skip a beat.

Oh, you thought, fuck.

“I need to change the dressing on your wounds,” he grumbled, not meeting your eyes. You nodded wordlessly as he settled onto the chair next to you. You watched him work in silence, praying he would attribute your insane heartrate and flushed skin to a pain response from his work.

“Geralt?” you tried, chewing nervously on your cheek, as was just finished up with the last of your dressing.

“Hm?” he hummed, keeping his eyes cast down as he fussed with the bandage on the gash across your abdomen.

“Thank you… for saving me.”

He finally brought his gaze up to meet yours, but said nothing in return. He merely grunted in acknowledgment. You didn’t know why, but his silence in combination with his inscrutable gaze encouraged you to keep talking.

“I honestly only took this contract because I didn’t want you to have it,” you admitted bashfully.

“What the fuck? No one was taking it because they weren’t paying nearly enough! Hell, and you’re just a human,” he fumed, throwing up air-quotes as he said it, “so what – they offered you a third of nothing?”

Laughing lightly, you shoved him with your elbow, “they offered me three whole ducats!”

“Oh, wow,” he laughed, low and rumbling, “so a big pay day for you, eh?”

“Shut up,” you gasped as pain rippled through you with each peal of laughter, “knowing I could screw you over was payment enough!”

“Well congratulations are in order, you did manage to screw someone over,” he chided.

“Me,” you stated dryly, gesturing widely at your busted up body.

“You,” he echoed with a sigh that seemed to deflate him.

He suddenly looked so small, sitting there next to you. You watched him as clenched and unclenched his jaw, rubbing his large hands up and down his thighs – was he anxious? You mind raced as you felt his eyes travel slowly up your body. You held your breath as he worked up the nerve to finally bring his eyes up to yours.

The moment his eyes landed on yours, something shifted. Whatever had been lodged uncomfortably between the two of you all these years had finally clicked into place. This change, albeit small, was palpable. His eyes dropped to your lips and lingered there. He was looking at you like he’d never seen you before. Like he was afraid he might never see you again.

Without speaking, Geralt inched himself closer to you and reached a tender hand to tuck your hair behind your ears before cradling your face.

“You’re not allowed to die, do you hear me?” he whispered, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You gave him a quick nod and brought your hand up to his, nuzzling into the warmth of his palm before giving his hand a quick kiss.

“I need to hear you say it,” he begged, bringing himself even closer to you.

“I do,” you breathed, trying to sit up to bring your face closer to his. “I’m not going to die, not on your watch, but I’m also not quitting.”

“Y/N –”

“No! If I quit, you’d get lazy. Who’d push you? What would be your driving force?”

“Wow,” he scoffed, looking at you incredulously but fondly, “you’re so fucking arrogant.”

“And yet…” you said, quirking a brow flirtatiously as you pulled him closer by the collar.

“… and yet?” he murmured, letting himself be pulled closer to you. His eyes half-closed and his lips slightly parted.

“You love me.”

“I love you.”

And then he kissed you. His mouth claimed yours urgently but his hands were ever gentle, ghosting over your bandages and caressing your skin with a feather-light tenderness that would have brought you to your knees had you not already been bedridden. Any hesitation or doubt melted away under the heat of his touch as all those years of tension sprung apart catastrophically. The knot you had carried in your stomach unfurled into flittering fireflies, their heat traveling up your stomach to your chest as his hands worked their way into your hair.

You didn’t know when they’d fallen, but you let out a shaky laugh as Geralt kissed away the tears on your cheeks, his thumb swiping at the tears his soft lips failed to catch. Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against yours; his hands cupping your face as yours captured his.

Gods – this man was going to be the death of you.  

[yuichi-ro]

cw: fem!Reader, sfw, unedited word count: 1.8k

“You look like a mutt.”

batting damp lashes your way Dazai leaned into the frame of your apartment’s door and produced the most horrific pout you’d ever seen, “Am I at least a cute mutt?”

you were not entertained as you stood there with your hand resting firmly on your door knob, “What do you think?”

“Why are you asking me?” Dazai pushed his hair a little out of his face. He’d have to be wrung like a t-shirt after walking through this downpour. And without an umbrella or a coat even. Still the beat of the rain behind the two of your continued and you knew here was where he was meant to end up. Dazai wiped some of the rain off his face and flicked his wrist like an unconscious fool, “I don’t even like dogs.”

with a sigh you stepped aside allowing the wet string bean of a man enter. One last glance out at the showers bouncing off the lower level of roofs in your apartment complex and you shut the door. Just to turn and see Dazai awkwardly struggling to get his soaked trench coat off him. Sighing you grabbed a fistful of the collar and yanked it down. Peeling him like a fresh kill. But Dazai bounced up with relief and laughed it off as he proceeded to shake his head and spray extra water over your entry way.

“Just like a mutt...” You muttered under your breath as you passed him. Trench coat in hand you would have all night to dry it. So for now you just tossed it on the inside of your dryer well and looked at Dazai not fighting as viscously with getting the rest of his soaked work attire off, “It’s like you ran over here as soon as I told Fukazawa yes.”

“That’s because I did.” Dazai looked up at you the second his head popped out from his shirt collar.

“You ran, all the way over here?” Already you could feel the ulcer forming, “Why? Scratch that, I know why. This was a mistake to let you stay here I’m phoning Fukazawa to let him know-”

“I’m soaked to the bone! You can’t throw me out now! I don’t even have dry clothes on my back?! Would you really throw me out as harshly as Kunikida would?! Well- Would you?!” Dazai’s fake dramatics well known to you. His pleas were half assed but you kind of figured his cold wet clothes might actually be making him rethink such a dumb choice.

“You came over here without an umbrella just so I’d have to wash your clothes.” You saw right through him.

“Aww, you wouldn’t throw out an indecent man would you? In a residential area of all places?” Dazai’s dramatics had cut off as quickly as they started. Now his long bowed legs as he reefed on his trousers trying to get out of them as the wet fabric clung to his stick legs, “Dry these too?”

“You know where the dryer is.” You trailed off into your kitchen waving at him as you left, “Do it yourself I’m gonna go make some tea.”

“That’s certainly no way to treat a guest!” Dazai proclaimed indignantly but he was still gathering all of his things and heading in the direction of your dryer.

“You’re not a guest.” You spoke up from the other room, “You’re hardly a coworker.”

“Awfully mean spirited for a woman who let me come stay at her place as mine’s been compromised.” Dazai sounded off before sticking his stuff into your dryer. He’d used it a million times sure but maybe it was the thought that counted. 

That cry for hospitality lasted about as long as him not rifling through your cupboards did. Dazai snooping around looking for something. Pushing aside the laundry soap and other cleaning items. Then dropping his search down lower and rifling through the sheets and other linens. Until finally yanking out what he was looking for. An old pair of out of season pants and the baggy over shirt he’d stored here ages ago. Much dryer than his work clothes. Dazai complained they smelled like closet but that fell on deaf ears. He mumbled something to himself as he got dressed. Only to be buttoning his pants as he rounded the corner into your kitchen.

“Don’t you ever wash these?” Dazai pulled at the neck of his sweatshirt.

Looking up from your cup to see one of the oldest things you knew that man to own. You were aware it was in your home. It just hadn’t dawned on you to check in your linen closet of all things, “I’m not washing things you hide in my place.” 

“They weren’t hidden.” Dazai cleared his throat and walked into your kitchen like he owned the place even as you walked out and towards your couch, “Simply tucked out of the way. Besides, I have things of yours at my place too.”

“That’s creepy and I’m filing a harassment report with Kunikida tomorrow,” You didn’t even bat an eye when you sat down with your cup. Tv still flickering on the show you’d left it on when the door bell rang. 

“Aww you’d wait an entire night to report me?” Dazai swooned obnoxiously even as he caught a glimpse of the empty cup you left ready for him. Even with two sugars in it like he’d always taken his tea.

“Need Fukazawa to owe me one first,” You said, lips on your mug as you tried to cool down the piping liquid.

“And here I thought you offered me a place to stay because I meant something to you.” Dazai batted his lashes in your direction. Only to have the most unenthused look sent back his way. Didn’t deter him though. Not as he poured himself a cup as you so graciously meant him to. And he came to sit next to you on the couch.

Instead of just sitting on the couch though. Dazai knocked down a handful of pillows and plopped down on them. Backing his torso into your knees. He had set his cup carefully next to yours and then tipped his head back to look upside down at you.

“I’ll make sure to use that favor so we never go on missions together ever again.” You reached out to plum him in the forehead with your finger but Dazai evaded you with ease. Not like you were really going to hit him anyways.

“We’ve been going on missions since before either of us were born.”

“That doesn’t make any sense Dazai.” 

“Must be all that rain.” Dazai tapped the side of his head into his wrist like the rain was sloshing around in his head, “You should have come and picked me up.”

“Dazai.” You sighed, “I’m going to kill you.”

He tipped his head back again. Leaning into your knee as he rested the weight of his damp head on your lap, “Double suicide sounds better but by your hands...I might make an exception.” 

One more sigh. You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to let your coworker stay with you. Not like he didn’t have other options. Actually he had many. Even within the Agency itself. But after reading the report on the attack something sat too wrong with you to just let Dazai go sleep in a stiff hotel room bed. He was after all, your oldest friend.

Reaching out you gently comb your fingers through his hair. Dazai’s eyes closing almost immediately when your fingertips raked across his scalp. One big bodily sigh and the weight of him was all against your knees now.

“...how are you, after the incident?” You muttered softly as though not to disturb a sleeping baby.

Still he wasn’t asleep. But he was a baby. Dazai didn’t open his eyes but instead rolled over a little to his side. Just so his cheek for rest gingerly against the top of your knee, “What is there to say? It’s all in the report.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“So you invited me over because you were worried about me?” Dazai cooed with a grin and his eyes still shut.

“I had you come over because you’re my friend.” You tucked his hair behind his ear and traced down his jawline, “And the perk of Fukazawa owing me one.”

“You always did like to keep your ducks in a row,” Dazai muttered sounding half asleep.

“Mori. Fukazawa.” You traced down his jawline along his neck as Dazai’s breathing became even more shallow each passing second. Dawning on you that he might not have slept at all since he was attacked in the middle of the night by unknown assailants. Not that he slept a lot as it was. Still he looked tired now strewn like this semi across your lap, “Chuuya....you. I just like to keep myself ahead is all.” 

Small smile creeping up on your companions lips. Dazai lulled his head over to the side very clearly inviting you to touch down further on his neck as he was enjoying this like one large needy cat, “To answer your question, I’m fine. But you could turn off that light.”

“God your needy.” You complained but didn’t persist. Flicking off the lamp and leaving the room to only be illuminated by the tv in front of the both of you. 

“Now the tv.” Dazai mumbled.

“If you just want to sleep go lay down.” You remarked about his nasty habit of requiring everything dark just to snooze.

“Can’t.” Dazai shook his head but remained motionless, “Tea is right there. And I can’t get the most beautiful woman I know to share a bed with me.”

Rolling your eyes as far back into your head as possible. His request was still answered. Just as you had turned off the light. Last was the tv. Leaving the both of you to sit with the heavy patter of rain against your window along with the hum of your dryer towards the back of your apartment. Dazai’s shallow breathing and the weight of his torso against your legs.

Still carding your fingers through his hair. Having grown fuzzy with the way it dried and your touching. It didn’t matter though as you simply let it be. His annoying comments. The drenching rain he’d dragged into your apartment. The spike in electricity sure to heighten your bill making you dry all his things. All of it came with Dazai’s stay at your home. But that seemed like a drop in the bucket compared to the worry you’d have if he was somewhere else. So you swallowed it. Just like you swallowed the worry growing in your guts. For now, he was safe if he just kept his mouth shut and slept at your feet. It wasn’t a lot. But it meant you could sleep better in the long run. Loosing your closest friend wasn’t something you wanted to experience ever again. 

[nancypullen]

Deeeeeep Breath

Has your heart been as heavy as mine?  The world is on fire, Putin is a mad man and there are elected officials in AMERICA cheering him on. Covid is still killing thousands but we’re supposed to act like it’s over. Inflation is hurting everyone, not just in the U.S. but around the world.  It’s a lot. I‘m reading too much news, following too many journalists on social media, and I feel like I have a lump in my throat all the time because I’m so sad for so many. There’s a healthy dose of anger mixed in for the obstructionists and those intent on performing political theater for their deplorable base.  What happened to common decency?  So, having said all of that - I have to add that I’m incredibly inspired by the people of Ukraine, especially the badass women.  There are grannies in trenches with weapons, there are mothers walking up to fully armed Russian soldiers and telling them, “Put these seeds in your pocket so at least sunflowers will grow when you die here.”  Villagers are gathering en masse to block roads and stop convoys of tanks.  Very young Russian soldiers are being captured, admitting they don’t know what they’re doing or why they’re in Ukraine, and they’re being allowed to call their mothers.  As always, power hungry old men with fragile egos are sending young men to their deaths.  I find it interesting that  the gun-loving, cosplaying “warriors” who have filled my social media feed in the past, the same sort that attacked our own capitol claiming that they were defending democracy, have sided with Putin.  I fight for democracy harder than they do. Russian news has been airing encouraging remarks from the likes of Tucker Carlson and Trump. The same people who crumple and scream “communism” when asked to wear a mask are cheering for an actual communist invasion of a democratic country. Turns out they’re not good people. Who knew? <eyeroll> BUT... That’s not what anyone visits this ol’ blog to read.  Just wanted you to know why I’ve been missing in action lately. I’ve been wrapped up in world events, prepping this house for sale, giving myself an ulcer about the move, and trying to shed the winter weight that slowly crept up.  I’m trying to get from fat to chubby.  My sweet Matthew turned 37 on the 22nd and I have to admit...I don’t think I’m going to lose the baby weight.  I’ve had a lot on my plate, figuratively and literally.  So yesterday I escaped to my desk and, you guessed it, made some earrings.  Kneading and mixing that clay is so therapeutic for me.  I made this batch yesterday and they’re shipping to my sister today. A little something for spring...

A little something for St. Patty’s day...

And some random stuff...something feminine and something bold, because aren’t we all a bit of both?

Pardon my horrible presentation, but you should know that this is what it looks like when I’m trying to snap a picture.

This ain’t a studio, folks. Doing something with my hands (besides eating) centers me and I needed that.   Let me tell you about something else that has helped settle my anxious heart - a wish journal.  A dear, dear friend told me about hers, explaining that you simply write down what you want from the universe with a please and a thank you, and basically set your intentions.  She said that she delighted in going back through hers and seeing how many of her wishes were fulfilled. Think about it, when you actually write down what it is you want, you can think of it as a wish, a prayer, a goal, a fantasy, whatever - and the odds are that it will stay in your mind and subconsciously you’ll make decisions that bring it closer. Those of you who know me know that I am not a religious person, but I do believe that there is more to this universe than any of us understand. How often do we actually ask for what we want?  Maybe it’s just me that hesitates to do that. I was taught to always put others before yourself, that it’s selfish to ask for what you want, etc. In fact, I have a very hard time actually voicing what I want, especially if I think it will put anyone out the least little bit.  But I no longer think it’s selfish to make a request for what you want from life.  I don’t think it’s selfish to say, “Hey Universe, I’ve put a ton of love and kindness and laughter into the world, perhaps we could balance the cosmic scales with this or that.”  I know that it has lifted my heart to write down what I want - everything from specifics for our move to Maryland to peace and safety in Ukraine. I have wished for the broken hearts of friends to heal, I’ve wished for good health for loved ones, and I’ve even wished for a surge of creative juices which I seem to have lost during the pandammit.  Sure, people will scoff (ask me if I care) but there’s something about the writing of the request that relieves the stress associated with the subject.  I’m not a person who often says I WANT anything, but there’s a lot of freedom in it.  It’s a shame that I turned 58 before learning that. Let me drive it home for you - there is nothing wrong with asking for what you want. There’s also nothing wrong with working hard to get what you want. Some things are beyond our control though, and we might just have to release that into the ether with a pretty please. When my friend told me about hers I immediately ordered a plain, sky blue (because the sky’s the limit, right?)  journal from Amazon.  When it arrived I painted the cover.  I’d recently sorted and tossed a number of my paintbrushes and didn’t have the fine tipped brush I needed for the job.  It’s a little clumsy, but you can tell it’s a dandelion.  Make a wish!

Because I am who I am , I even added some glitter to it.  Wish requests should sparkle, right?   Right now I need all of the sparkle I can get. Anyone else feeling drab?  Because I’m still avoiding pretty much every place but the grocery store I’m in need of a hair cut.  My hair has gotten way too long for a woman my age.  It’s got a very 70′s Farrah vibe without the Farrah face or figure.  Not a good look.  So I made an appointment for one o’clock on Tuesday.  I’ll mask up and hope I don’t exit looking worse than when I entered.  Hmmm, maybe I’ll jot a little something in the ol’ wish journal.  Dear Universe, please have mercy on the brave stylist who has agreed to wade into battle and conquer my hair. May my tresses be subdued and project a joyful countenance, one that will minimize my deepening forehead wrinkles and the intense “What the hell is wrong with you people” lines that have developed between my eyebrows over the last two years. Thank you. Okay, that wish turned a little bitter toward the end.  I’ll need to rephrase.  Maybe just, I wish for a flattering haircut that is easy to maintain.   That’s probably enough nonsense from me today. I’ve got to run over to Sally Beauty for a curbside pickup.  My life is so glamorous that I received a “BoughtMilk” price gouging settlement of $18.90 and spent it on hair color for my roots.   It’s the circle of life.   I hope that you’re smack dab in the middle of a good day. In fact, that’s my heartfelt wish for you. I’ll write it down. Dear Universe, please shower the readers of my babble with love, security, joy, and plenty. They’re good people who deserve sweet lives. Thank you. Stay safe, stay well, make a wish! XOXO- Nancy

[hieromonkcharbel]

We must trust in Providence

When I see a Christian grief-stricken at the trials God sends him I say to myself: Here is a man who is grieved at his own happiness. He is asking God to be delivered from something he ought to be thanking Him for. I am quite sure that nothing more advantageous could happen to him than what causes him so much grief. I have a hundred unanswerable reasons for saying so. But if I could read into the future and see the happy outcome of his present misfortune, how greatly strengthened I would be in my judgment! If we could discover the designs of Providence it is certain we would ardently long for the evils we are now so unwilling to suffer. We would rush forward to accept them with the utmost gratitude if we had a little faith and realized how much God loves us and has our interests at heart.

What profit can come to me from this illness which ties me down and obliges me to give up all the good I was doing, you may ask. What advantage can I expect from this ruin of my life which leaves me desperate and hopeless? It is true that sudden great misfortune at the moment it comes may appear to overwhelm you and not allow you the opportunity there and then of profiting by it. But wait a while and you will see that by it God is preparing you to receive the greatest marks of His favor. But for this accident you would not have perhaps become less good than you are, but you would not have become holy. Isn't it true that since you have been trying to lead a good Christian life there has been something you have been unwilling to surrender to God? Some worldly ambition, some pride in your attainments, some indulgence of the body, some blameworthy habit, some company that is the occasion of sin for you? It was only this final step that prevented you from attaining the perfect freedom of the love of God. It wasn't really very much, but you could not bring yourself to make this last sacrifice. It wasn't very much, but there is nothing harder for a Christian than to break the last tie that binds him to the world or to his own self. He knows he ought to do it, and until he does it there is something wrong with his life. But the very thought of the remedy terrifies him, for the malady has taken such a hold on him that it cannot be cured without the help of a serious and painful operation. So it was necessary to take you unawares, to cut deep into the flesh with skilful hand when you were least expecting it and remove the ulcer concealed within, or otherwise you would never be well. The misfortune which has befallen you will soon do what all your exercises of piety would never have been able to do.

by St. Claude de la Columbière

[theseshipsshallsail]

There’s a new club in the Village - Infinity emblazoned in bright, neon letters - and naturally, the building is jam-packed with society’s outcasts on its opening weekend. Oliver grimaces, pressing his third beer to the side of his face, yet the condensation does nothing to soothe his overheated skin. It’s like a furnace of writhing bodies, and with every bead of sweat that bisects his neck to soak into his collar, he can’t help but wonder why he ever agreed to come in the first place.  

“Drink up,” Vanessa says, brandishing a bright amber concoction as she slides into the booth opposite him. “You look like you need something a little stronger.”  

Oliver raises an eyebrow as he returns the bottle to the table, then plucks the wedge of orange peel from the rim of the proffered glass. It’s been three years since he tasted a negroni, and the potent combination of gin, Campari, and vermouth sends his mind reeling in directions he usually fights tooth and nail to avoid. 

“Remind me again why you brought me here?” he asks, trying not to wince at the bitter aftertaste. “This isn’t exactly my scene.”

Vanessa scoffs. “Well, if you ever left your study...”

“I’m up for promotion!”

“You’ll be up for an ulcer if you don’t slow down. Besides, you deserve to let loose after... you know.”

You know, meaning his divorce, and the eighteen month shit-storm that preceded it.

Vanessa has the office next to his, and in between general grousing about University politics they’ve become close friends. It helps, of course, that she understands his situation all too well, and even though her parents never tried to strong-arm her to the altar, she and her girlfriend still have to hide their relationship from the rest of their colleagues.

Oliver sighs as he takes a second sip of his drink. “It’ll take more than a one night stand to loosen me up,” he tells her, and the filthy smirk that curls Vanessa’s lips has him tempted to bang his forehead against the table.

“Whatever tickles your pickle, Professor.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Hell if I know.” Slurring somewhat, she taps their cocktails together, and Oliver laughs as she leans forward, poking him in the chest. “Listen, Ollie, you and Micol did a spectacular job of making yourselves miserable, but at least you stayed faithful ‘til the end. Why not enjoy yourself, yeah?” 

“Why not indeed?” 

He’s aiming for sarcastic, yet his tone falls somewhere short of exhausted. She’s right, he realises, but Oliver hasn’t had much interest in men or women for a while. He’s not so deep in denial to admit his heart still belongs to another, and being hopelessly in love with someone he can’t have has done a real number on his libido.

“Damn! This place is heaving!” Simone says, slumping in her seat when she returns from the bathroom. Slinging an arm around Vanessa’s shoulder she drops a quick kiss to her cheek, and Oliver averts his eyes, the casual intimacy leaving him yearning for the impossible. “A few too many student-types for my liking, though. Makes me feel like I’m back in the theatre department.”

“Makes me feel like I’m pushing thirty,” Oliver mutters, painfully aware of the significantly younger crowd as he tugs at the cheap material of his shirt. Too many curries and not enough exercise has made him self-conscious of the few extra pounds at his waistline, and depressingly, twenty-eight feels ancient in comparison. 

“You wanna call it a night?” Vanessa asks, and Oliver nods absently as his gaze catches on a couple in the middle of the dancefloor. 

Caught in a world of their own, they make a striking picture. The taller of the pair is bleached-blond and athletic, his arms wrapped tightly around the slim waist of the man in front of him in a surprisingly protective gesture. Oliver can’t see his partner clearly from this angle, but his skin is pale and shimmering as they move to the beat, dark curls falling in a tousled mess. Whether it’s by artful design or sweat-damp from dancing, he can’t quite tell, yet Oliver is hypnotized by the way they bounce as he loses himself to the music, obscuring his vision until the other man reaches forward, gently brushing them away.  

The bass pounds in his rib cage, and Oliver’s throat feels constricted as he watches the brunette link his hands behind his lover's neck. Profile half in shadows, he raises up on tiptoes to whisper in the shell of his ear, and Oliver experiences a crisis of tenderness when he butts their temples together. Something squirms in his stomach. Something raw and envious. Memories flare, unfair and brutal, and he immediately blames the burning of his retinas on the relentless assault of the strobe lights surrounding them. 

“Oliver? You okay?”

No. 

Definitely not.

The jostling crowd causes the blond to alter their position, and Oliver’s head spins from more than just the alcohol as his blood runs cold in his veins. 

“Elio…” he murmurs, vaguely aware of Vanessa’s stifled gasp when she tries to get a better look.

“Your Elio?”

He wants it not to be - wants his eyes to be deceiving him - yet there’s no denying the truth. All that he’s forgotten - all that he’s clung to - coalesces in a rush of unslaked longing, and between one blink and the next, Oliver remembers everything. 

“Not anymore,” he whispers, but then, why would he be? 

Elio was seventeen when they first met, and Oliver isn’t naive enough to think he hasn’t fallen in and out of love many times since then. He’s beautiful, intelligent, talented beyond measure. Was he really so arrogant to imagine he would still be single? Pining for him, maybe? Saving himself? And for what? A six week romance one too-hot Italian summer? Something his cowardice cut short with a long-distance phone call?

He was, wasn’t he?

Arrogant. 

And so very stupid.

“Of all the gay bars in all the world…” Vanessa takes a swig of her piña colada as he continues to spiral. “I thought you said he lived in Italy?” 

“He did,” Oliver replies, picking at his thumbnail. “He moved here for school.”

“And you didn't contact him?”

“To say what?” His ears ring from the shrillness of her tone. “Hey, Elio. Remember that time I broke both our hearts ‘cause I’m a gutless schmuck? How about I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

“It would’ve been a start.”

“It would’ve been selfish,” he says, tearing his eyes away. “He has enough on his plate with Juilliard. I’d only get in the  -”

“Juilliard?” Simone’s low whistle interrupts his self-reproach. “Impressive.”

“Son of a professor,” Oliver explains. “I always knew he was a genius.” He gathers himself with a quiet huff. “Though he’ll probably say he knows nothing.” The spark of nostalgia is crippling, and it takes everything he has not to break down on the spot. “I should go,” he says, draining the remains of his drink as he rises to his feet. 

“Oliver -”

“Why don’t you come back to ours?” Vanessa offers, making to follow, but whatever expression is on his face causes Simone to catch her by the wrist.

“We’re here if you need us, alright?”

“I know,” he says, eternally grateful for their support as he pushes some cab money into her hand. “Get home safe. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“You’d better,” Vanessa tells him, obstinate in her concern, yet all he can focus on right now is leaving.

The swirling thoughts inside his head are all-consuming, but Oliver is determined to reign in his emotions for a little while longer. Ignoring the way his shoes stick to the tacky vinyl flooring, he grits his teeth as he snakes his way through the crush of humanity. He needs space. Fresh air. Hell, a damn time machine wouldn’t go amiss. He has nobody to blame but himself, and he’s halfway to the exit sign when his pace grinds to a halt, his masochistic streak unable to resist one last glimpse. 

A flash of irrational panic makes him breathe in deep - hold it for a count of three - and when he turns to scan the roiling bodies that fill up the dance floor, he finds them immediately. The shock doesn’t lessen, and if Oliver thought his heart had broken when they’d clung to one another on a train station platform, it’s naught compared to when Elio tips the other man’s chin up with the same fingers that used to play his body like a finely tuned instrument. White noise fills his ears as he ghosts a kiss to his lips - two chaste pecks at first - and then harder. Hungry. Mouths open. Tongues swirling. Deep and dirty. 

Just the way he likes it.

Fool that he is, Oliver doesn’t turn away. But he’s not the only one. Their bawdy display has garnered a small audience of the jealous and horny, and when the cat-calls eventually die down he notices a clearly disappointed red-head stalk past them on route to her table of friends. 

Time has not domesticated him, it seems, and Oliver feels like crying as the world returns frame by frame - the oscillating pulse of the dance track. The lightning burst of colour from the laser system above. An innate sense of powerlessness floods through him - the depths of which he hasn’t experienced since Elio sobbed against his chest in an attic bedroom - and a heavy weight settles in his belly as he recognises the cues and rituals that were once directed at him alone. 

Elio has obviously flourished in his absence. His body language is looser, more relaxed, assured in a way his younger self could only dream of, and Oliver allows an almost-smile as the couple laugh for a moment before turning to walk away. 

His fingers itch for a cigarette - a habit he’s struggling to waive - and the next thing he knows he’s taking a seat at the bar, a double shot of bourbon in his hand he doesn’t remember ordering, and a screaming admonishment from his better judgement to not do anything stupid. 

All I had to do was find the courage to reach out and touch, Elio said once, rife with self-mockery, and Oliver’s advice was to try again later. Was this it? Their later? And if not now, when? Because whatever his feelings of bitterness - whatever his misguided envy - if he lets this opportunity pass him by, he will always wonder. Always look. 

In truth, he already does. 

Ever since Samuel mentioned Elio was moving to the States, he’s carried the idle fantasy of crossing paths in some random book store, eyes locking across a busy street, a name - his, theirs, both - shouted across a bustling coffee shop. Of all eventualities, though, he hasn’t prepared for an Elio who might not be happy to see him. Who might dismiss him. Cast him aside like some ill-fitting chapter in the editing process. The context is all wrong, and for it to happen like this is akin to being plunged into the icy waters of the berm.

“Accidenti!” an achingly familiar voice says from somewhere behind him. “Are all Americans incapable of taking a hint? Or is it just an East Coast thing?”

“It’s the accent, mio amico. Fries their brains.”

“Never mind their brains,” Elio replies in the same lazy drawl. “I think you’ve sprained my tonsils.”

There’s a snicker to his left, and like a moth to a flame, Oliver peers up into the mirror behind the bar, only to find his living nightmare mere meters away, sharing a cigarette. Elio’s still wearing the same bracelets he did that summer, and three years of sleepwalking collapses around him as Oliver hunches over, palms sweating. 

“Seriously though,” the blond continues. “Look at this place! Wall-to-wall entreés, and you won’t so much as skim the menu. You’re spoiled for choice, compagno.”

Elio scoffs as he brings the filter to his lips. “Didn’t I tell you choice is an illusion?”

“As is time, according to Adams.” The man slings an arm over his shoulders. “And here you are, free as a bird, wasting the perfect opportunity.” 

Elio flips him the middle finger. “Stronzo,” he says, leaving Oliver more confused than ever as he studies him over the rim of his glass. “It’s a curse.”

“Self-inflicted, maybe.”

“So what’s the answer? And don’t say forty-two.”

The guy chuckles. “Variety,” he says, signalling the harried bartender. “Things didn’t work out with the violinist - I get it. È la vita! You’re not in the mood for pushy red-heads? Fine. But don’t sell yourself short. Trust Fund Tina’s not the only one checking you out.”

“Perhaps.”

“What perhaps?” A knowing smirk shoots in Oliver’s direction. “See for yourself.”

It’s like experiencing the first tremor of an earthquake. Elio was always a force of nature, and bracing for disaster, Oliver feels the fault lines buckle beneath him. He thought he was done letting fear and shame dictate his life, yet even now, at peace with his true self, he can’t bear to witness the seismic shift between past and present. Instead, he falls back on avoidance, tearing strips off a frayed beer mat until the hair prickles at his nape.

He can feel it - the instant his fate is sealed - and taking a deep breath Oliver returns his eyes to the mirror, meeting Elio’s stunned features. Dark brows climb towards his hairline as the happiness on his face shifts into something else. Something measured. Unrecognisable. A blank slate, almost. For a moment, Oliver fears he’s going to ignore him completely, but then Elio straightens his spine, offers the half-smoked cigarette to his friend, and with a few whispered words strides forward with purpose.

His daring is a law unto himself, but the look he’s giving him now exudes superiority - omniscience, almost - as if he can read every thought that’s going on inside Oliver’s mind, and has already deemed them wanting. It shouldn’t be such a turn on, yet his heart skips a beat regardless. Then another. Every instinct in his body tells him to reach out, to hold Elio’s hand, tuck those wild curls behind his ear, but it’s no longer his place - if it ever really was to begin with - so Oliver takes a deliberate sip of his whiskey, scared and aroused simultaneously, before swivelling towards him.

“Oliver.” His name on Elio’s lips - three smooth syllables - and he feels reborn. “Long time no see.” Hesitating, he offers up a pack of Luckies. “Fumo?”

“I shouldn’t,” he says, dragging trembling fingers through his hair. “I told myself I’d quit. God knows it won't take much to -” 

“Tempt you?” 

Heat rises to Oliver’s cheeks. “Yes,” he admits, and Elio’s smile is a shallow, brittle thing. 

“Well, you know yourself,” he says, returning the cigarette carton to his pocket. “Don’t let me ruin your good intentions.”

His flippancy is like a red rag to a bull, and Oliver’s hackles rise as he sets his drink on the counter, irritated enough by Elio’s calm exterior to try and provoke a reaction. “Is your boyfriend not the jealous type?” 

All he receives is an eye roll. “Bruno’s not my boyfriend.”

“Could’ve fooled me. From what I saw earlier.”

“You saw nothing,” Elio replies, defensive. “We’re friends. Roommates.”

“Roommates?” Rising from his stool, Oliver takes a step towards him. “That kiss -” 

“Is none of your business. Not anymore.” 

It hits him like a punch to the gut. Oliver’s lips part, but no sound passes between them. He’s being irrational, he’ll accept, but old habits die hard, and through sheer force of will he quashes down his guilt, knowing better than to use it as a weapon. 

“Of course,” he says, chastened. “You’re right.” 

“I usually am.” 

“Elio…” This isn’t how he wants the conversation to go. “I know it’s too much to expect your forgiveness, but please don’t be angry with me. We were friends, once. Before anything else.”

“I’m not angry.” A beat. “Not anymore.” Tipping his chin, Elio folds his arms in front of him. One more barrier despite the brush-off. “I’m processing.“

“Processing?”

“Yes, processing. Originates from the Old French proces. Related to the Latin processus, and from the verb procedere in Middle English.”

“Wise ass.”

“Sempre.” Elio shrugs, watching him openly. “What are you doing here, Oliver?”

“My friends saw the flyers,” he says, bypassing the here, specifically, when Elio’s attention drops a few inches lower, and he realises he’s staring at his ring finger.

At the white line that’s all but vanished since he signed his way to freedom.

“You’re…”

Oliver clears his throat. “Divorced,” he manages, shuffling his feet. “Almost three months now.”

“Divorced?” Elio’s mask slams back into place, the distress in his voice palpable. “Why?”

And there are so many things he could say to that - the stress of his job, money, differing expectations - but this is Elio. His first love. His forever love. He, above anyone, deserves the truth. 

“I think you know why.”

“Do I?” That same phony indifference. “What the eyes see, and the ears hear, the mind believes.” 

“The truth is never that simple.”

“Not for us, it seems. Not in this world.” Elio gives his head a small but firm shake, blowing out a frustrated breath. “You know, tonight was supposed to lower my stress levels, not raise them,” he says, granting them a temporary reprieve. “But then, you always were hazardous to my blood pressure.”

“Trust me. The feeling’s mutual,” Oliver tells him wryly. “Might I recommend some deep breaths?”

“Deep breaths?” Elio rocks back on his heels. “If I had any peaches I’d be using my right hand.”

It catches him unawares, and Oliver can't help it. He snorts. Overcome by relief. Then he laughs - a weak sound, and damn near helpless - but a laugh, nonetheless. Cupping a palm to his mouth. Moving it to his eyes. Feeling the tears he’s been fighting since this whole debacle began.

“My God you’re incorrigible,” he mutters, the sharp stab of regret cutting him to the core as he glances over his shoulder, and the blond - Bruno - shoots him a wink. “When you said I saw nothing...”

The hesitant curve of Elio’s smile lights a fire in his chest. “There was a girl on the dance floor who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Lucky for me, Bruno’s never been shy about putting on a convincing performance.” 

Oliver winces. “Well, I bought it.”

“Mission accomplished, then.” Elio edges closer. “I could’ve said the same for you, once upon a time.” The air between them grows charged. “Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “Italy, I mean?”

“Every single day.” Oliver finds himself captivated by the smattering of stubble along Elio’s jawline. The touch of smudged kohl beneath his lashes that turns his gaze smouldering. “Do you?”

“In a way.”

“Just a way?” He’s not entirely certain they’re talking about the same thing, and Vanessa’s advice seems all the more pertinent. “Let me buy you a coffee?” Oliver asks, and Elio frowns.

“What? Now?”

“If you like.” 

“It’s gone midnight!” 

“Tomorrow, then. Whenever you’re available.” Suddenly desperate, he closes the gap between them. “I can’t excuse my actions, Elio - I know I can’t - but at the very least I owe you an explanation.”

“Oliver...” This time it’s Elio who reaches out, his usually steady hands uncertain as they entwine with his. “I was young, not stupid. What’s there to forgive? You left because you had to. You married because -”

“I was weak.”

“Cazatte!” The tension in Elio’s body snaps back like a coil. “My father would have carted me off to a correctional facility,” he murmurs, squeezing his fingers tightly. “I’ll never forget those words.” 

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be!” Elio sounds furious on his behalf. “Weak, you say? No. Control over others is the true weakness. Coercion. Conformity. All it does is breed hatred. And that’s not you. Not my Oliver.” 

“Am I still?” he asks, laying his cards out on the table. “Your Oliver?”

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” 

Oliver swallows thickly. “I guess we will,” he says, dropping his forehead to Elio’s crown.

He’s braver at twenty-one than Oliver could have dared imagine, and for the first time in years the dull ache beneath his ribs is replaced by a different sort of craving. The way they fit together so easily, like no time has passed, fans the banked passions within him - the desire to press his lips against Elio’s neck, to nip his way along countless freckles until he can fist those unruly curls and guide his mouth back to where it belongs. 

Flush against his. 

Devouring.

But not yet.

This isn’t leading to sex. Not tonight. This is about reconciliation. Reassurance. Redemption.

“There’s a late-night diner on the corner…”

It’s a whisper against his cheek - so quiet he barely hears it - and Oliver leans down, pressing his face to Elio’s collarbone, breathing him in. He knows this won’t be easy - knows there will be dark clouds before the dawn - yet here they are, older and wiser, and three years might as well be yesterday as the parting crowds provide a temporary island in which to weather the storm.