#chronicles in being deeply unwell

[pallases]

AUDITIONS!!!!

[bettsfic]

Numbers : 24,39,37

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

at this point i'm just in a constant state of prep work. i can't start a story until i've read 10 books on the general topic and then sat on the idea for at least 2.5 years.

i prepare to write stories and i revise stories and i don't know when the writing even happens anymore.

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

what's that marine animal that dies if it stops swimming? sharks? i'm like a shark. if i stop writing i'll die.

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

as someone who reads a lot of biographies, i think about this a lot. i can see being remembered mostly for my craft essays and not my fiction, because i'm a better teacher than i am a writer. and i can also see my journals being noteworthy, not because they're interesting but because it's rare for anyone to chronicle their life so closely for so long. also my journals make me seem deeply unwell, and people like reading about the mental suffering and loneliness of creatives. but also this assumes i do something worthy of historical record and i don't think that will happen.

[vaultedthewall]

Chronicles of Amber Fancast

Prefacing this with what I actually want from a Chronicles of Amber series is that tweet about not actually wanting an all star cast but ten unknowns and a scriptwriter that is deeply unwell. But if I'm gonna pick and choose big name actors here is who I would like based mostly on vibes, attractiveness (to me), and the likelihood it would really upset certain subreddits. AKA everything important in life. Mainly just the children of Oberon in the first five books bc it's already long enough as is.

Corwin - Oscar Isaac

Charismatic enough to make me forget how much I fucking hate Corwin, also he can sing. Thanks to Moon Knight we know he can totally rock "Protag who is just as confused as the audience as to what is going on" which is v important for Nine Princes In Amber.

Benedict - Idris Elba

Tall, 100% Done With This Family's shit, can carry the vibes of someone who only doesn't have the throne because he doesn't want it and everyone agrees if that was different he'd just have it.

Eric - Taika Waititi

Can balance both absolute piece of trash bag of dicks while still being charismatic which is really what's important about Eric.

Deirdre - Kali Reis

You want a battle maiden you'll get a battle maiden. If anything the main problem here is there's no way on god's green earth you could convince me she'd need Corwin and/or Random to come to her rescue for anything, but hey adaptations are for changing things.

Fiona - Sophie Turner

For all the redheads I thought it'd be important to pick people who normally play affable everymen/heroes/people you're used to seeing as goodguys, even if the nature of adapting a book series that's older than most of the people you'd cast in it means the 'big twist' of who the traitors are is something everyone sees coming. So someone well practiced at ingenues would be perfect for the actual baddest bitch in charge.

Bleys - K. J. Apa

We're gonna give him a better dye job than Riverdale though okay I promise.

Brand - Jack Quaid

Absolutely 'just this guy you know' vibes. Easy to overlook. Would YOU believe he was the big bad? Come on.

Llewella - Halle Bailey

Yes I'm making a Little Mermaid joke, try and stop me. But also given how shafted she was in the books I think it's important to use someone who can do a lot with having few speaking lines (though hopefully again that would be fixed in an adaptation)

Caine - Vico Ortiz

Literally I just want to watch them doing all the scenery chewing bullshit you know Caine has to get up to while they are manipulating and spycrafting their way through shit. Can fully believe they'd pull a finding a copy of themself to kill and leave so people don't know they're still around behind the scenes. Especially in their Blackbeard fit, come on.

Julian - Conrad Ricamora

Did I just cast my absolute most favorite Mister Darcy as my number one blorbo Julian? Call the fucking cops on me idgaf. His resting bitch face and sarcasm are second to none. Also watch Fire Island (2022) on Hulu.

Gérard - Jason Momoa

Along with being the biggest canon kinda implies he's also the hottest of all of Oberon's sons so absolute massive dreamboat Jason Momoa it is. Also for the lolz of him and Vico being the navy people.

Florimel - Jamie Clayton

Did you ever see a woman so beautiful you started crying?

Random - Bex Taylor-Klaus

They can absolutely go through the journey of youngest sibling in the jester position/fuckup because who cares > most responsible one after all.

BONUS

Bill Roth - Wil Wheaton

Look I adore his narration of the last five Amber books!!! I want him somewhere so the reliable chillax lawyer from earth who somehow just rolls with becoming the family lawyer for what amounts to gods of reality. I know I said I actually want a bunch of unknowns for the actual series but I will cry at whoever I must to make this happen. Please.

[troutfur]

Do you have any favorite Warriors fanworks or rewrites? :O I know there’s a lot more cropping up recently, so I’m curious!

My good friend @bonefall does easily the best rewrite content I've ever seen. His command of the sprawling source material, his eye for weaving interesting conflicts, his meticulous worldbuilding, his admirable levels of research, all of it comes together to make him top the gold standard of the fandom.

It's a testament to his skill how much he's pulled me in considering his work leans really heavily on elements that I usually do not like very much in WC content and in storytelling generally. The way in which he anthropomorphises the cats is waaaaaaay past the point I myself usually like. And his work is extremely theme-driven and centered in arguing a specific thesis which usually makes me want to scream at the author "GO WRITE AN ESSAY!!!!!"

Other than that, let me drop some recs of stuff

saccharine tithes of love and glory by mallowstep was a very formative influence when I was first getting into the fandom and I think you can very clearly see its influence in many of my AU concepts dealing with the rules surrounding meddies. I really like the ways in which is explores the solitude of the position and the ways in which the different characters nagivate it. I know it's a bit of an unpopular opinion in my circles these days, and it may just be the growing up Catholic religious trauma speaking, but I do really love the idea of the meddie position as a curse and I wish it was explored with the full gravity of what it entails.

you wear your heart on a ripped unraveled sleeve by space_pilot3000 is one of the most delicious pieces of character-centric writing this whole fandom has to offer. You really get to understand very deeply the bundle of issues that the whole of the Po3 apprentice generation of WindClan is. This series is what got me really turned me from being moslty apathetic towards Breezepelt into really cementing his place as one of my absolute favorite secondary characters.

(I would die for you in secret) by KatieK101 is a newer one that I only came to after having spent a good bit of time in fandom and also one that doesn't originate within my circle of friends and acquaintances. All fics in the series just exude character and really embody the characteristics I value most in my favorite fics, namely the snappiness and conciseness that still manage to say so much about the characters portrayed.

And finally Uncle Jayfeather Chronicles by Dragon_Writes is just the cutest goddamn fic series out there and it has forever made me mentally unwell about Hollytuft, Sorrelstripe, and Fernsong. I have barely made it past the half-way point of AVoS but I'm attached to them a lot. My emotional support nothing characters. I should write about them some day.

[kohakhearts]

shigegou for the ship game! convert me!

CRACKS KNUCKLES. MY TIME HAS COME

shigegou: ship it!

(side note: i still think i've gotta get serious about using splitdecisionshipping for them until it sticks, lmao)

what made you ship it?

actually this is one of those cases of i shipped them by proxy for ot3 purposes. i liked their dynamic but when i watched jn initially i hadn't yet done my os rewatch and i was actually pretty normal about gary oak (as a kid he wasn't really a big fave or anything and i hadn't actively watched anything but the pokemon movies since middle school so). they definitely gave that same vibe as os pallet though like the "i have a crush on you i can't deal with" so i think i liked that dynamic :p

what are your favourite things about the ship?

ok so now fast forward to the great anipoke rewatch/watch (since i'd never seen the later gens before) of 2023. i got really unwell about gary. DJFGHJFKDDFHJDK but i'd been unwell about goh from when i watched jn the year before so it was...not difficult to begin drawing parallels. i think a lot of people point out how similar the shigegou dynamic is to the early shigesato dynamic and like. that's true and valid! but as individual characters, gary and goh have so much in common. gary's whole schtick is that he travels alone. he doesn't wait around for ash to catch up to him, necessarily. he has his own ideas of what he should be doing and how he should be doing it and mr "i've already got ten badges" here sure as hell isn't a slacker when it comes to proving how Awesome and Capable he is. we never, not once, see gary working as a team with anyone until pokemon chronicles (power play is something else to me. to be clear). by his own admission in jn, he wasn't much of a team player and that's a big part of why he pushed goh so hard about teamwork and collaboration (ok. he doesn't say this so much as goh kinda figures it out and gary doesn't actively deny it. but we the viewers who have known gary oak since 1997 know enough to say yeah he kinda sucked and put people down for his own sake, this tracks). they're both very goal-oriented but in a different way than ash is. i think where ash sees other people are like, a source of insight and inspiration, gary and goh both tend to see them as obstacles (ironically, ash is the first person they each didn't see this way)

also, they both have an interest in like. catching and researching pokemon. gary obviously likes battling too, but in i think showdown at the poke-corral, oak says that gary has caught over 200 pokemon. but he also cares deeply about them all (in jp he often calls his mons some variation of "partner," "honey," "sweetie" and we see him rotate his pokemon a lot - he doesn't have just one team, he switches them out a lot!). goh has a bit of a different approach, yes, but fundamentally i think the interest comes from the same place. and there is no doubt that they both care about their pokemon.

so like. i think those qualities are probably things gary sees, but even more than that, i think he sees a lot of his own worst qualities in goh: arrogant, self-absorbed, putting himself in a position where he is so afraid of people letting him down (though in gary's case, i think this is actually more being of afraid of letting other people down than the reverse) that he doesn't even try to do things that would make him happy or necessarily improve his capabilities as a trainer/research/person in general. but more to the afraid of letting people down point...i think it seems likely that initially gary sees goh as overcompensating for a fear of failure, like he does. but that's not exacty the case with goh, and through more work together it would become a lot more apparent that his issue is actually that he doesn't trust anyone but himself (and ash, by the time they meet - but even then, there are a lot of moments that suggest that trust is tenuous at the best of times). and i think gary would see that as a challenge, too. so idk i'm rambling here but there are just a lot of directions i think you could take with them that are super interesting. gary's position as being, like, an aleady fully-developed character who had to have his big moments of upset, etc. by the time he meets goh make it interesting. lots of opportunity to delve into their parallels and approach them as two people who actually fundamentally make each other better - goh by encouraging gary's own self-awareness and empathy, and gary by pointing out all the flaws in goh's logic because he used to think the same way.

is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

it's like me and 4 other people brain rotting (actually went into the tag the other day out of curiosity and discovered that even though they have over 50 fics on ao3, only 4 aren't a polyamorous or side ship kind of deal so. Yeah) so i don't think there are even any unpopular opinions to be had except maybe that it's a good dynamic and they deserve more love </3

send me a ship!

[yugocar]

bad mental health truly just impacts so much of your life, even small things i thought i’d always get to keep. i’m not somebody who usually makes excuses for why i can’t do something; but lately i have to keep coming up with bullshit because there is no appropriate way to say: “i havent slept or been pain free in months and it has seriously affected me memory and my ability to do even the most basic task without mistakes and/or on time.” the tax office people called me the other day to ask some questions about a document that I requested and when they introduced themselves and with ‘per your request’ my response was straight up ‘per my request???? what?’ like....

[truthseekerastrology]

Chiron Chronicles, Volume 5, October 13, 2020: Mercury in Scorpio Stations Retrograde Today, or “What Does It REALLY Mean To Be Well?”

Hey Truthseekers, and welcome to the fifth installment of the Chiron Chronicles.  

Before you dig into this piece, I encourage you to read the first, second, third, and fourth installments of this series. Also, check out a piece I wrote on Chiron back in 2018 entitled  “Chiron Meditations, Part One.”  

As always, I welcome your comments and impressions, particularly if you, like me, are in the throes of your Chiron return, or more generally, are actively pursuing your own personal journey toward wholeness, growth and evolution.

Now let’s dig into the astrology of the moment Mercury stations retrograde at 11+ Scorpio on Tuesday, October 13, 2020, at 9:05 pm EDT (set in Philadelphia, PA, where I live).  I’ve posted the chart of the moment below; take a moment to read and ponder astrologer Blaine Bovee’s interpretation of the Sabian Symbol for the ascendant degree for the chart … it’s very telling:  “A woman suffragist orating.”

 In the chart, Gemini is rising, with the first house holding the Gemini North Node (which is engaged in a tense, somewhat disorienting energetic contact with Neptune, currently retrograde in Pisces and in the 10th house).  The duality inherent in the fact that Gemini is rising can’t be ignored.  There are people who are okay with what’s going on, and people who are not.  The issue is that we can’t clearly discern one from the other, mainly because we are coming from widely different perspectives.

Mercury, the chart ruler, is in Scorpio, the sign of elimination, waste, trash, purging, detoxification and cleansing. He is holding forth in the 6th house of wellness, self-improvement and our daily routines, continuing his energetic dialogue with Uranus retrograde in Taurus in the 12th house of solitude, self-undoing and the collective unconscious. Both Mercury and Uranus will receive cues from Venus and the Moon, joined together energetically in Virgo, in the 4th house of family, roots and endings.  

While Mercury stands still in the sky, preparing to begin his retrograde journey through Scorpio and the late degrees of Libra over the next three weeks, Mars reaches the halfway point of his retrograde journey through his home sign of Aries with an opposition to the Libra Sun.  Not only does he have to contend with the partnership oriented energy of the Libra Sun, he also has to find ways to productively engage with the power-packed planetary lineup in Capricorn - Pluto, Saturn and Jupiter, all of which are in direct, forward motion and gaining speed.  In the 11th house of hopes, wishes, groups and associations, Chiron continues to journey backwards through Aries as well, making creative contacts with Saturn in Capricorn and the Libra Sun.  

In short, this is “stop being selfish and get your shit together because our overall health and well-being depends on it” energy.  The Universe is continuing to gently (but firmly) nudge us toward the historic Jupiter-Saturn conjunction in Aquarius, perfecting this December. Astrologer Liz Greene writes that Jupiter-Saturn cycles can potentially point to the “dethroning of something old and outworn, a burst of new energy and some chaos before a new, younger thing emerges.”

Any planet in Scorpio, the sign of elimination, waste, trash, purging, detoxification and cleansing will be up to the task of moving things along.  And over the next few weeks, Mercury retrograding through Scorpio gives us the chance to think deeply about our inner relationship to wellness, and more importantly, naming what might be holding us back from doing what it takes to be our best physical, spiritual and mental selves.

I think we can all agree that this year has been like no other in recent memory. The threat and reality of death and profound loss loom over us like a dark cloud, permeating every aspect of our lives.  Day in and day out, we have been bombarded by a great deal of new - and often conflicting - information from a variety of sources.  With each passing day, it has become more and more difficult (and stressful) to sort out what’s credible and what is utter foolishness. 

Over the past 7-8 months, we have asked to shelter in place, wear masks and other protective face coverings, practice physical and social distancing, wash our hands, and be careful. It’s a meditation on cooperation and what it truly means to come together for a reason bigger than ourselves; unfortunately, we’re coming to a sad realization that some people just won’t cooperate unless they are forced to.  Nothing could have prepared us for the over the top dysfunction on display that we’re being forced to witness.  

In pondering the questions, “What does it mean to be ‘well’?,” and, “What does being “unwell” look like?”, we are being called upon to use discernment to sort out the facts from the bullshit and lies, and then put that information to good use.  How each of us goes about this will have a direct impact on our relationships and the larger collective.  

Over the next three weeks, approach the process of releasing old and outworn ideas and self-defeating thoughts about your relationship to wellness through the lens of common sense and practicality.  Be prepared however, to meet some resistance from those closest to you, some of whom may be deeply misguided because they are getting their cues from those in positions of authority.

The long and short of it is this:  Our actions have to line up with our words, which means we have to do what is sound, prudent and practical.  It’s not enough to give lip service to the facts and it’s not enough to endlessly gripe about how these facts are falling on deaf ears. Pandemic or not, we are being called upon to carefully and calmly rethink the mind-body-spirit connection, why we may have lost our way and what it will take to liberate ourselves and the people around us.  

The Universe is gifting us a three-week energetic reprieve to consider the way forward - it is being clearly illuminated; it’s all boiling down to a matter of personal choice coupled with a heightened awareness of how our personal choices can adversely impact or benefit the collective. A number of fundamental questions have begun to emerge, the answers to which will become clear by the time Mercury stations direct in Libra on November 3, 2020.  

[thechartreusedragon]

Good evening friends ✨ 

I’m excited to start writing on tumblr uwu I’ve been itching to have a space to chronicle cozy thoughts~

I just put up these fairy lights in my room and damn these freaking brighten up my seasonally + regularly depressed soul. (Also, these photos of my dog, sent to me courtesy of my sister, make me so happy hehe 🙃)

I took time this weekend to bring care and attention to my space. 

I washed the sheets and pillow covers (ugh the smell of freshly washed, piping hot linens, fresh out of the dryer), filed and recycled papers that didn’t have homes, nourished my thirsty plants, and washed my dishes in warm water. 

This week, I am dedicating myself to slow living. I was inspired by a video I re-watched on the YouTube channel Pick Up Limes after my cleaning sesh. Every weekend, I enter the space-time continuum that is Saturday and Sunday with high expectations - I will wake up early. I will be productive. I will do “high-density fun” activities with friends. I will clean. I will be perfect. 

And every weekend, without fail, I spiral into a tunnel of anxiety, exhaustion, and frustration. I am a failure. I hate myself. I am so lonely. I am tired, so tired.

So I’ve decided, no more! Because being busy in of itself isn’t something to be proud of. Being mentally unwell, overworked, and running around in the hamster-wheel of capitalist values isn’t something that serves me. I am rebelling against the rat race. I am choosing myself over things that are supposed to matter more than me.

I realize that having both the physical space and the temporal space to rest is a huge privilege that not everyone has. I’m deeply grateful for the ability to practice self care and to prioritize myself over the external.

Day 1 - Sunday

- I did a meditation upon waking (”Morning Ritual” on the app Insight Timer)

- I took time to apply my skincare and makeup, without worrying about rushing out to start “being productive” as soon as possible.

- I deliberately scheduled in a yoga class. (I teach yoga with a student group on campus). Knowing that other people expect me to show up and teach forces me to incorporate yoga into my routine.

- I stopped working earlier in the evening, finished hanging up my fairy lights, had a snack, watched some YouTube. 

[latristereina]

Four years later Fernando, at sixty, became gravely ill; he nonetheless insisted on continuing the custom he had shared with Isabel of retreating to a monastery at Eastertime. At Mejorada his fever soared and for a day he was delirious. He never recovered completely. Pedro Mártir explained that illness as the effect of a potion taken to enhance his sexual potency, or perhaps inclination. Mártir said that so he might make his wife pregnant, Fernando had for over a month taken a concoction of bull testicles prepared either by her French cook or by two of her ladies. In November he was still unwell, and he was deeply depressed. From 1513 on, irascible and withdrawn, he showed little interest in politics. He refused, however, to be confined to a sickbed. A holy woman had told him he would not die before conquering Jerusalem and he wanted to believe it. In late 1515, seemingly determined to outspeed his own mortality, he started for Andalusia, but having reached the hamlet of Madrigalejo, near Guadalupe, he could go no farther. There he signed a last will with the old customary flourish, an F intertwined with a Y. It instructed he lie beside Isabel in the cathedral of Granada, as they both had always desired. He died in Madrigalejo, in a house of the Hieronymites of Guadalupe, on January 23, 1516. Fernando, wise in the importance of the judgments of history, had helped on those concerning himself and Isabel. He undoubtedly commissioned the monumental tombs of Isabel and himself for the Royal Chapel in Granada, begun in 1514 by Domenico di Alessandro Fancelli in Carrera marble. He had the chronicles of the reign of her father, Juan II of Castile, and of her half-brother, Enrique IV “corrected and coordinated” by Lorenzo Galíndez de Carvajal. Peggy K. Liss, “Isabel the Queen: Life and Times”

She, besides being such a person and so very close to us, deserved so much for being in herself gifted with so many and such singular excellences, she who was in her lifetime exemplary in all acts of virtue and the fear of God; and she so loved and saw to our life, health, and honor that we were obliged to love her above all the things of this world.  — Fernando’s will; Madrigalejo, January 22, 1516 (Peggy K. Liss, “Isabel the Queen: Life and Times”)

[queernuck]

Model Patient

A Reading of Anne Boyer’s Conceptualization of Cancer in The Undying as Model for Discussing Drug Addiction & Fetishizations Thereof

Drug addiction, use, and the general cultural structuring of the conceptual space allowed drug users follows a kind of fetishism that is akin to numerous other diseases, to mental illnesses and chronic conditions alike, specifically as a means of control, an aestheticization of suffering and struggle that uses a sort of libidinal flow which passes through various desiring-machines of judgment and “acceptance” such that even the most supportive family of the addict (a role taken on as much as a role put upon oneself) has a means of creating their own suffering, the otherness of the suffering and sufferer such that it is reassuring one is not inflicted with it themselves, is able to create the Other even in the face of the dual consciousness this operation takes on in the face of a manufactured Opiate Crisis, a kind of lie perpetuated by legislature and police to renew the War on Drugs and to disguise their own nasty habits. 

Anne Boyer’s The Undying is a postmodern, rhizomal work of investigating, critiquing, and living through diagnostic apparatuses of capture, specifically the highly feminized and violent experience of breast cancer, a sort of particularly rosy ideation which is itself full of various fetishisms so vast and so enormous that she can hardly name them all at once, that to name them is to name so many more names that must be named that she simply cannot create these assemblages without them collapsing under their own weight. Her use of prose-poetry in order to discuss cancer reflects her own experience, but moreover the ways in which her experience is atypical, both because of its intensity and the way in which she recognizes around her the Foucauldian structuring of the Medical Pavilion, the gendered expectations of caretaking and caretaker repeated in so many depictions of cancer in film, TV, literature, the ways in which her own patronizing surroundings give such ready images of women who are suffering deeply, visibly, loudly but moreover are in a kind of dance with such suffering, are performing it properly: she discusses how one must wear shirts that proclaim cancer messed with “the wrong bitch” while reflecting on how, for her, cancer messed with the right bitch, how the ability of her diagnosis to be recognized and treated with two different approaches (one standard and prescribed/proscribed by a doctor with a baby’s face too overwhelmed to wear shoes nicer than Crocs and who goes from warm and kind to distant and petty when she rejects his course of “care”, the latter being a sought-after regime of war, of violence to the body, far more aggressive and targeted toward her specific kind of cancer by a specialist, all of these distinctions creating a figure of authority, “specialist” itself even being a low-ranking military term) which both turn her body into a kind of bioweapon, how she is able to recognize that chemotherapy involves drugs not only ruinous to the body, but to the biome, such that the question of subject-privileging is raised more than once, the way in which justifying one’s survival (against endangered trees, oceans polluted by accumulations without known definite effects, a literal turn toward the body as poisoned) becomes more and more difficult in capitalist decadence, the realization that thousands to millions of dollars flow through her veins and that for many victims of cancer, they never even realize their own condition, are not given the proper diagnostic criteria, are never able to even hear from a doctor that there is something wrong with them.

A kind of reflection on money flowing through veins is not uncommon: stories of recovery, or of decadence, often posit the use of drugs in terms that can be quantified, and due to the capitalist judgments they are often pointing toward, money is the most readily spoken and converted language. So many days sober means so much money not spent on drugs, which means this or that affect adopted or new cars or child/animal/self-care, the way in which the monetization of sobriety says “see? is it not worth it? it is not worth it? why not be sober?” as if no addict were achievers, as if this same presence were not used to enhance the tragedy of eventually succumbing to addiction, be it through selling one’s possessions for drugs, or dying with them unsold, or in the way that Boyer describes Cleopatra’s mythical asp, dying with them curled around one’s arm in sharp contrast to the needle sticking out of it.

Boyer talks of one page of breast cancer fetish material, where erotic stories about various Hollywood stars and other celebrities finding out they have breast cancer, at various simulacra-stages of treatment, in various states of well or unwellness are posted, with an explicitly erotic almost artist’s statement on behalf of the page’s moderator, drawing out exactly how these bodies are imagined and put on display, exactly which libidinal flows these desiring-machines stimulate, the same way that one finds collections of cast and brace and mobility aid pictures fetishized and imagined as bondage gear, and indeed the same way in which the needle becomes a fetish, how the needle plays into the boundary between lighter PnP or just drug-fueled sex and more intense scenes of Chemsex, the kind of fetishism seen in Reddit users talking about being “hooked on the needle” use for one another when posting picture of themselves doing shots of vein vodka, a very close cousin of the notion of the crack pipe as the “glass dick” and the phallic signification present in all these different acts of drug consumption. When at their worst, when most intense, these are the times at which the thrill of watching the addict is most pronounced, is when the Intervention cameras are at their most excitable: injecting into the neck is a kind of ritual that most do not reach until far into their drug using career, but it is one of the most common signifiers of addiction used in the narration or fictionalization of the addiction process.

To suffer correctly, to suffer rightfully, one must have a process of shame, of bettering oneself eventually, of either being discarded or subject to hagiography based on exactly what one did not write, did not sing, did not do and so on. Amy Winehouse’s stints with drug use are most readily chronicled despite how it was drinking that eventually killed her, and it is rarely in the alcoholic specifically that the ills of addiction are located. Instead, when looking at overdoses and how ketamine or narcan are administered in order to calm or counteract drugs, the vividness with which the administration of narcan is a kind of undoing of the initial fetish-act of injection, is so often the kind of turn which brings one back into an acceptably differentiated body from the undifferentiated bliss of a Body Without Organs With Opiates, the is notable specifically because of how it is realized as a public embarrassment, how many pictures of narcanned-or-dead users have become part of a public lexicon of addiction, how Boyer’s description of cancer as noncommunicable, as a disease of probability means the cancer victim is suffering so the viewer, the actual subject, does not need to is similar to the means by which addiction, psychosis or schizophrenia as fetishized and neglected means of systematizing derealization and delusion (away from the self-assured simulacra, the hyperreal masquerading well as the Real) such that systems of diagnosis create Others who can firmly be chastised for not fitting into certain performances, or supported with empty missives.

Boyer railing against the nebulous and useless concept of “FUCK CANCER” as a fundraising and “awareness” slogan points toward exactly what the problem of “cancer” and a “cure” becomes in a single instance: there is, at a certain level, no such thing. It is a hyperobject, there are numerous sorts of cancers that can be obtained in numerous ways. Boyer tries to comfort her daughter by reminding her that the genetics passed down to her are ones with no predisposition toward this particular cancer, that their kinship holds no danger in this sense, but her daughter (rightfully, as Boyer admits) points to the way that this implies instead that the carcinogenic world she will grow up in can instead be to blame, is instead surrounding her. The neat, tidy sloganeering of “FUCK CANCER” “FUCK HEROIN” “KILL YOUR LOCAL HEROIN DEALER” “BUY ART NOT COCAINE” “CRACK IS WACK” often so deeply neglects who gets cancer and why, who begins doing or selling heroin, who sells crack and who smokes it, who pulls triggers over these things and who ends up on the other end of the gun. Communities may tear themselves up over drugs and the money they bring, but police are able to break down doors and spread rhizomally, in the means theorized by the IDF, as a kind of overarching presence which interrupts and cuts off life like no other, giving lighter sentences to lighter skins in the right state (of mind?) and creating a rabattement of reoffending for dealers and users that are more conveniently criminalized.

The notion that there is no great history of the ill, only of illnesses, is one Boyer rejects as true in an ontological sense but recognizes as present in most great works on historicizing the ill, that these acts of genealogy and literary sympathy are ones which see a kind of uniqueness in the act of writing such a story, of creating such a perspective. Similarly, there is the individual scandal and uniqueness of talking about drug use, the way in which The Dirt or Heroin Diaries or “Under the Bridge” or “Pawn Shop” or numerous other discussions of addiction specifically draw out lurid details and depictions of fast living young dying behaviors to create the environment within which the subject now resides, the way in which a creation of that Other is vital in order to retain the narrative thread. Crank provides the relapsed, teen-targeted version of Beautiful Boy’s familial suffering, the way in which the two provide a kind of story that reaches a culmination before the author ends up as an anonymous, absent Alice. Jodie Sweetin’s memoir and story of sobriety even discusses on the back how it involved a relapse during its writing, as if the stories inside were not enough. But with few exceptions, Thompson and Burroughs being two of the major ones, there is no room to use drugs and create for long, the eventual creation of an addicted persona must then be rectified by rehab, the penance of laboring to make oneself a recovered but always marked addict, how one must then create a kind of new status from this process of marking.

The assemblages and experiences of victimhood and suffering are never quieted enough, are never good enough unless performed fetishistically, are not enough unless one has found a means of performing enough-ness, that kind of balancing between abjection and hopefulness which allows the Othering of oneself but the comfortable Othering, not the sort which problematizes the relationships that one exists within. Boyer points out how visible cancer can be, so long as the question of how capitalism causes cancer on a massive scale, the way in which relationships between objects itself induces the carcinogenic language of capitalist development is never questioned, the depletion and deleterious response necessary to preserving life upheld. Similarly, one can from there project a language of drug addiction: so long as one never wonders why capitalist ennui is the basis for the desolation and desperation of drug use, so long as one never wonders why diagnoses and more and more restrictive prescribing laws lead to more and more illegal drug use and more and more overdoses as a result, so long as one can induce and perpetuate chronic pain in the name of stopping opioid prescriptions (rather than allowing for a far safer proliferation of drugs with known strength, consistency, and so on, the providing of these drugs as if they were any other, without the same moralization or the creation of narcoterrorism as a category of opposition) is interrelated through the medical apparatus.

[wittyvitale]

A Sick Special Inquisitor (A Fluffy Xenoblade Chronicles 2 Fanfic)

Description: Mòrag has the flu and Brighid takes care of her. A fluffy Mòrag/Brighid fic.

Author’s Note: Thanks so much to those of you who read and/or reviewed The Prince of Mor Ardain! I’m so happy you liked it. I wrote this one bc I honestly love the whole “taking care of you when you’re sick” trope and I thought it would make a cute Mòraghid fic. It’s so fun to write about these two, I just love them so much.

 Ideally I want to post this story and my previous one on AO3, but my request hasn’t been approved yet. It’s estimated that I’ll get an invitation this weekend, so hopefully I’ll get my account soon. But for now, Tumblr and FF.net will have to suffice. Enjoy!

  Mòrag finished putting on her uniform and looked in the mirror to ensure that nothing was out of place. Emperor Niall had requested her presence in the throne room, so she needed to look flawless. As she placed her hat on top of her head to complete the outfit, she heard a knock at the door.

“Lady Mòrag, may I come in?” the familiar voice of her Blade asked.

“Ah, there you are, Brighid. Yes, you may enter.” Mòrag responded, coughing lightly into her gloved hand after answering.

“Good Morning, Lady Mòrag,” Brighid greeted as she entered her Driver’s bedroom. “Preparing for your audience with His Majesty?”

 “Indeed. I believe he wants to discuss Mor Ardain’s prospective trade deals with Tantal.” Mòrag began to cough again at the end of her sentence. Brighid’s eyebrows furrowed in concern.

 “Lady Mòrag, are you feeling all right?” Brighid asked. Mòrag cleared her throat and nodded.

 “I’m fine, thank you. Merely a tickle in my throat. Shall we depart for the throne room?”

 Brighid answered by placing the back of her hand against Mòrag’s cheek.

“B-Brighid, what are you-“

 “Go back to bed. You’re sick,” Brighid said firmly. “You’re burning up, I’m almost certain you have a fever.”

 “You’re a fire Blade, Brighid. Anything you touch will feel exceptionally warm.”

 “Do you honestly think I don’t know the difference between my own warmth and another heat source, Lady Mòrag?”

“Please, Brighid, it’s just a small cold. I’ve worked while sick before. I truly appreciate your concern, but I think you’re worrying too much.”

“But Lady Mòrag-“

“I propose a compromise: I have mountains of paperwork that require my attention. After our audience with His Majesty, I will return to my bedroom and complete said paperwork. I’ll be off my feet and in my bedroom while still completing my duties as Special Inquisitor. Does this sound fair to you Brighid?”

Brighid sighed. Whenever Mòrag became ill, the two of them would always have the same conversation; Brighid would tell her to rest, Mòrag would become stubborn and claim that she was perfectly capable of working, they’d go back and forth for a while, and then they would agree on a compromise that never satisfied either one of them. Brighid wasn’t sure why she expected this exchange to go any differently.

“Very well, Lady Mòrag. But I’ll accompany you back and forth myself to ensure that you’ll stay true to your word.” Brighid answered seriously.

“Do you really trust me so little, Brighid?”

“Under these circumstances, yes. But only because previous experience has proven that you place your own well-being aside for the sake of His Majesty and the Empire. Somebody has to take care of you, and seeing as I’m your Blade, that responsibility falls to me.”

Mòrag couldn’t help but smile after hearing that. “Fair enough. I consider myself lucky to have a Blade who cares for me so deeply. Come. The sooner we arrive at the meeting, the sooner we can return.”

 Brighid smiled back at her Driver, happy that she was being more agreeable. “Roger that, Lady Mòrag.”

 ***

 Emperor Niall, Mòrag, and Brighid sat around the table and were on the verge of wrapping up the meeting. The discussion was very productive and went without a hitch, save for Mòrag coughing a few times.

“And Special Inquisitor, I have one more request of you.” Niall said as Mòrag and Brighid stood up from their seats.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Mòrag asked respectfully.

“Before heading off to your next duty, I want you to go to the infirmary and have one of our doctors examine you.”

“Majesty?”

“You have been coughing intermittently throughout our meeting and your face is flush. I can tell you’re unwell. Please get checked by one of our doctors.”

“But Majesty-“

“That’s an order, Special Inquisitor.” Niall interrupted, using a more authoritative tone with Mòrag. She looked at the floor defeated.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Mòrag relented, nodding her head towards Niall. The Emperor softened his facial expression and tone.

“I know how hard you push yourself. That’s why I want you to get medical attention. Please, dear sister, I want you to take care of yourself.”

 Brighid put her hand on Mòrag’s shoulder and gave Niall a reassuring smile. “Not to worry, Your Majesty. I will ensure that Lady Mòrag is seen by a doctor and gets proper rest the second we leave the throne room.”

 Niall returned Brighid’s smile. “Thank you, Brighid. I trust that my sister will be safe and cared for under your watchful eye. You may take your leave now.”

 Brighid simply nodded, a silent promise to the Emperor that she would take good care of Mòrag while she was sick. Both Mòrag and Brighid turned around and headed for the infirmary.

 ***

 According to the palace doctor, Mòrag had the flu. She was instructed to take a week off of work in order to regain her strength and fully recover. Mòrag felt that the doctor’s order was akin to a death sentence; she wasn’t the type of person who enjoyed lying around and doing nothing. She was absolutely miserable, both physically and mentally.

Mòrag found herself sitting up in her bed, waiting for Brighid to return from the palace kitchens. In the privacy of her bedroom, Mòrag was dressed more comfortably; her long black hair was untied from its usual bun and she wore a form-fitting white tank top with a pair of black shorts.

The bedroom door opened, catching Mòrag’s attention. She saw Brighid carrying a tray with a steaming bowl on top of it.

“A 104 degree fever,” Brighid said disbelievingly as she used her foot to kick the door closed. “The average human wouldn’t even have the strength to stand with that kind of fever, let alone conduct official business with the Emperor of Mor Ardain.”

“Might I remind you, Brighid, that you may be part of the reason why I can tolerate a high fever so well?” Mòrag asked, slightly shifting to the side in order to give Brighid room to sit. “You and I have engaged in numerous battles in which you’ve channeled the full power of your flames into me. I’ve grown quite accustomed to heat.”

Brighid sighed as she sat down and placed the tray over Mòrag. “Don’t try to blame me for this. You and I both know that you’ve been feeling the full effects of your illness today. You just refused to address them because you’re so stubborn.”

 Mòrag was about to object when Brighid took a napkin off of the tray and tucked it into the top of Mòrag’s tank top, fingers coming dangerously close to Mòrag’s breasts. Mòrag’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Brighid, what do you think you’re-“

“Hush. Try to save your voice now. The doctor told you that your throat is inflamed, remember? I got the palace chefs to make you some Argentum Noodle Soup. It’s supposed to help with sore throats, and you need something in your stomach anyway. Now open up.”

Brighid stirred the soup a few times before holding a spoonful towards Mòrag. The Special Inquisitor stared at her Blade incredulously.

“Surely you don’t intend to feed me? The doctor did instruct me to reduce physical exertion, but this is far too extreme.”

“Do you remember our conversation from this morning? As your Blade, it is my job to ensure your health and safety. And I don’t believe that only applies to battle. I also promised His Majesty that I’d take care of you.”

“Regardless, I’m more than capable of feeding myse-“ Mòrag was interrupted by Brighid sticking the spoon in her mouth. Mòrag widened her eyes in shock before swallowing the soup on the spoon. When Brighid removed the spoon, a flash of anger appeared in Mòrag’s eyes.

“Brighid!” Mòrag exclaimed, continuing to glare at her Blade. “Why must you insist on accosting me?!”

Brighid just laughed. “Accosting you? Now I know you’re sick. The Lady Mòrag I know would never be so over-dramatic.”

Mòrag huffed in annoyance, lay back against the headboard, and folded her arms across her chest. She hated losing and she now had to come to grips with the fact that she had just lost this “battle” to Brighid. “Very well. I get the feeling you won’t relent and I honestly do not have the strength to argue. If you insist on spoon-feeding me like an bairn, I’ll allow it this once.”

Brighid beamed at her Driver and got another spoonful of soup ready. “That’s all I ask, Lady Mòrag. You put the burden of the entire Empire on your shoulders and rarely give a thought to yourself. For once, you need to let somebody take care of you. Now open your mouth.”

Mòrag, eyes not meeting Brighid’s gaze, complied with the request. Brighid gently put another spoonful of soup in Mòrag’s mouth. When Brighid removed the spoon, Mòrag had a small pout on her face. Brighid had to hold back a laugh at her Driver’s facial expression; she looked more like a petulant child than Mor Ardain’s Special Inquisitor.

Brighid continued to spoon feed Mòrag, using her natural heat source to ensure that the soup stayed nice and warm. Mòrag continued to eat, pout on her face throughout the duration. In Brighid’s eyes, Mòrag looked adorable. She was half tempted to poke Mòrag’s puffed out cheek with her finger, but she decided against it. She knew her Driver was agitated enough and didn’t want to push her luck; just getting Mòrag to agree to being spoon fed was a big deal. When the soup was half eaten, Mòrag’s eyes moved toward Brighid’s face.

“I must admit, this soup tastes rather good,” Mòrag started, the frown starting to dissipate from her face. “It’s having a soothing effect on my throat as well.”

“I told you.” Brighid replied. “You’ll feel even better once you finish it.”

Brighid continued to spoon feed Mòrag until the soup was gone. The soup had definitely made Mòrag feel better; it reduced the pain in her throat and satisfied her hunger. And although she didn’t want to admit it, she kind of liked having somebody feed her. Especially since that somebody was Brighid.

Mòrag was broken out of her thoughts by Brighid removing the napkin from her tank top and quickly wiping Mòrag’s mouth with it. Mòrag was slightly irritated by the infantilized motion, but she got over it quickly and gave Brighid a small smile.

“Thank you, Brighid,” Mòrag said genuinely. “I didn’t want to admit it, but… it feels kind of nice to be taken care of. I’ve already said it once today, but I’m very lucky to have you as my Blade.”

“It’s my pleasure, Lady Mòrag,” Brighid replied with a small bow. She then gave her Driver a sly smile. “And I’m glad to hear you confess that you like being taken care of. We don’t only have to do this when you’re sick, you know. When you’re feeling better, I can pamper you in many different ways.”

“Baby steps, Brighid.” Mòrag replied, ending her sentence with a yawn.

“Yes, of course. Anyway, I think you should try to get some sleep now. You’ll probably feel even better after a nap.”

“A nap. I can’t remember the last time I took one of those. But yes, sleep will probably do me good.” Before she was able to lay down under the covers, Mòrag made a sound of discomfort.

“Lady Mòrag, are you all right?” Brighid asked, concern in her voice.

“It’s the strangest thing. I feel very cold all of a sudden. Could this be another symptom of my illness?” Mòrag asked, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as an attempt to warm herself. Brighid immediately put the back of her hand on Mòrag’s forehead and felt the strong heat of Morag’s 104 degree fever.

“Yes.” Brighid answered, standing up to get another blanket from Mòrag’s dresser.

“I almost forgot what being cold feels like. The combination of our intense training sessions and Mor Ardain’s high temperatures have spoiled me, I suppose.”

“’Spoiled’ is an interesting word for it. Lay down.”

Mòrag lay underneath the covers while Brighid draped another blanket over her. Brighid could still see Morag shivering through the blankets.

“Forgive me, Lady Mòrag. I know you wanted to take baby steps, but there’s something I must do.”

Brighid lifted the covers and lay in bed next to Mòrag. She wrapped her arms around her Driver and hugged her against her body. Mòrag gasped at the intimate contact and sudden warmth.

“Brighid?”

“Shhh, just relax. Do you feel any warmer?”

Mòrag started to feel Brighid’s warmth permeate through her skin, fighting the chills from her sickness.

“Y-yes. That feels much…better.” Mòrag yawned again. Brighid’s warmth had now become stronger, making Mòrag drowsy.

“Good. Try to sleep now.” Brighid said soothingly, lightly stroking Mòrag’s hair.

“Thank you, Brighid. For everything today. I… truly do…love…” before Mòrag could finish her sentence, she fell fast asleep.

Brighid smiled fondly at her Driver. Her Lady Mòrag, the woman she loved. Brighid felt Mòrag’s soft breathing against her chest and even heard a few soft snores. Brighid hugged Mòrag tighter and placed a gentle kiss against her cheek.

“I love you too, Lady Mòrag.”