#fatigued fiction

[plushipaws]

“Dragon, I am not sure that I am a prince.”

“Of course not, you are my beloved pet.” “No, I mean… gender-wise.”

“Oh. Are you a princess?”

“No, I don’t think so.” “Alright, dear. Then, what are you?” “I think- well I’m not sure I am allowed.”

“You can be anything you want to be, my darling.”

“Well- and please don’t laugh- I think I’d like to be a dragon. … Like you.”

The dragon purred and wrapped its long neck around the smaller being and nuzzled its nose on their head. “Then a dragon you are, my love.”

“But I’m worried I’m not qualified to be a dragon. I don’t have scales or wings.”

“Dragons come in all sorts of kinds. Many are scaleless or wingless.”

“And I’m rather small and weak for a dragon…” They sighed. “I mean, I am already fairly small and weak for a human.”

The dragon studied the being who was now a smaller dragon for a long time before speaking rather gently. “I am rather small and weak for a dragon too you know… It is something I never told you, and you couldn’t know because you have none other to compare me to.” “What? But you’re so big and strong! You fly ten miles a day to hunt for us and you defend me from nosey knights who try to ‘rescue’ me!”

The dragon nodded. “Yes, but other dragons can fly for a thousand miles a day and hunt for an army, and they could fight off an army too. After fighting a single knight I become quite tired… This is why I live alone in this cave, away from other dragons. They harass me for my weakness, and try to push me to do more… they say what I am is not enough.” With this, the dragon lowered it’s head, seeming to feel ashamed. 

The smaller, human shaped dragon kissed the larger one on the snout. “Well, you are certainly enough for me. You might not be able to fight or feed an army, but your hunts keep us both full and your claws keep us both safe. And I always look forward to curling up under your wings at the end of the day. You don’t have to be alone anymore.” They frowned, their brow furrowing. “It makes me angry how you were treated.”

“It makes me angry how you were treated! That is what drew me to rescue you. I could see your society was treating you the same as mine was… Pushing you to do too much when you were tired, not appreciating you for who you are… but I appreciate you. You always know how to make me laugh, and all your little faces are so cute. I always look forward to feeling you press against my sides at the end of the day.” It nuzzled them. “You are dragon enough for me, better than any other dragon I have met. You are enough.”

The smaller dragon nodded. “We are our own sort of dragons. And that is enough.”

[tumble-tv]

Writing fanfic about a very mentally unstable character because fistfighting my doctors isn't right

[blitzosicedcoffee]

Me, writing with fatigue: he stared at him, half couscous. half conscienciese. half-corn on the cob.

Me: Okay maybe I am half couscous.

[newbornwhumperfly]

what water says as it plummets...

i'll be honest, fellas? 🥺💖🥺 this one is a plot point i'd built up for a long time and it sort of poured out of me all at once in this chapter 💖 it's a little rougher than i'd like due to sleepiness but i'm so happy to bring this character to my audience in this @whumpmasinjuly prompt - day 15: a soft reprieve - cause i'm sure you'll love her. 🥰

title insp. by the poem "interview" by jordan kapono nakamura - "i have extensive experience in studying what water says as it plummets..."

~

“Okay, honey, you can hop up on the table whenever you’re ready.”

Sarai has found that Morja, as a patient, generally prefers orders. That’s to be expected, for sure. It’s usually safer to be told what to do when you’re told what to do every day of your life and Morja has often frozen, still and quiet, when offered an option right away. So, the best way to start these appointments is to sort of sound like she’s telling him what to do. 

Every patient is different and has different needs from their doctor. In this way, every patient is the same.

Sure enough, Morja’s shoulders go down a notch from their raised tension as he hoists himself to sit on the bench. He’s been…less tense with each visit, especially recently. He even took one of the candies Sarai offered without protesting. 

But today, something is…different about Morja. Or, moreso, something is the same, some pattern that has been shifting is fixed, cold and solid, in place in Morja’s countenance.. There is a way that Morja holds himself, tight, rigid, that comes and goes, but there is something even worse that she’s observed - it was the dead, resigned bracing in his face when he first got an exam. It was as if he was locked in around the certainty of a terrible thing, his body merely a vessel which would carry whatever was to come. 

He looks like that now, his hands and the mass of scar tissue they hold not clenched loosely or folded politely, but laid palm-up in his lap, still but for the twitch of a finger, and it sends the familiar pulse of knowing down Sarai’s spine. 

Knowing isn’t the only thing that is pulsing in her body - the tidal wave is cresting earlier than usual. 

The familiar ocean of pain, her vision of it, has crept up on her, busy with setting up shop, with answering messages, with putting in another order that wasn’t refilled because prescriptions are delayed and not being a civilian is not much of a fucking advantage with medication the past two months. The whirlpool centers at her spine, radiating down the leg in a strong current, and she winces as she rubs her thigh. Okay, we’re doing things a little differently today. 

“Hey, Morja? Would it be okay if we did some of our appointment stuff on the couch today?” She thinks about leaving it at that. Remembers, with a slow, purposeful inhale, how vulnerability is a gift to others, as well as yourself. You’re not exempt from being nice to yourself, girl. “I’m having some, uh, bad pain today and I think the exam would be easier in my office, if that’s alright with you?”

At that, change ripples through Morja’s body. Under the industrially bright bulbs, his strained face falters, briefly, but what comes in place of listlessness is…a sort of determined expression. Not bracing, only…something, Sarai’s thinking wavers under the fog rolling off the water. It’s something. 

“Of- Yes, Doctor.”

The crinkle of the gown, the rustle of climbing off the table, the shuffle of feet in socks across the floor as Sarai turns herself towards her office. Luckily, her warm corner is only a few feet away and the couch beckons like a haven. It’s a shitty couch, sure, but military bases can’t be choosers and it’s new, which means its firmness holds up the parts of her body that need it. She actually sighs as she sinks down into the cushions, pats the neighboring cushion in a sit gesture. 

The careful exhale of breath beside her as Morja sits, careful and precise as he always is, tells her that the softness of cushion is a relief from the hard plastic of the table as much as the relief for her being off her feet is. She smiles at him to let him know his moves were right and lays her cane to rest against the companion side-table, stretching out her limbs to make room for the little streams of voltage pinpricking her skin from the inside. She can tell, now, just by the way he didn’t try to stand at attention, hands clasped behind his back, that she did the right thing. 

In the softening shadow of her purple-shaded lamp, Morja looks so small on the couch. For all his bulk, the muscle that has been so pounded into those broad shoulders, the wide torso hard and sturdy as a sack of potatoes, he doesn’t fill up the space much at all. Tucked into the corner, folded neatly, compact, trying not to draw attention. 

Sarai lifts the stethoscope, the warmed metal a comfort in hands that move with shaky slowness, deliberate and obvious when pressing it against Morja’s back, her murmured breathe in for me, please, now out, now in, very good a rhythm she could say in her sleep, her focus on the measure of his pulse. Listening to this man’s lungs make it impossible to not listen to other parts of his body. How the texture of scar rises to meet the shirt that covers it. How even those ridges are and how they rise with his breathing into her hand. There are so many. 

“Doctor?”

Sarai is almost startled by the sound of Morja’s voice. He is so quiet, often, in the examination room. She wonders if it is the softly-lit enclave of her office nook which prompts him to speak first or the intensity of whatever state he’s in. Sarai smoothly folds her hands in her lap, visible and also at a safe distance. 

“Yeah, Morja?” Her voice is slower, the tide catching up to her a little, dragging the lilt away a bit, and she doesn’t quite swallow back a wince at the depth her pain is dragging her voice down to. Morja doesn’t seem to get snagged on the roughness though, his body leaning forward, brow wrinkling up in an intense concentration expression and Sarai tries hard to be alert. She’s so glad there is no sterile smell or bright light to distract her. “What’s up?”

“...Your cane is…pretty. Why, Doctor?”

Damn. So it’s that kind of mood. Huh. 

Fuck, she’s watery, the pulsing little hammers at her temples, her knees, her back, are trying to pull her away from the conversation. But she breathes in, out, in a hum that lets him know she heard, she’s thinking. 

“Great question, Morja.” Sarai says softly, at last, making a rainwater of her voice, flowing with the pain and the rolling mists. Working with her body, not against it. The bright hues of the cane pull her focus and she lets that be her guide. She was feeling…blueish, today, and her blueberry earrings, her sea-deep dress, mirror the cobalt-on-white, delicate patterns on mimicking porcelain teacups, spiral up to the sturdy handle, its blue velvet cushion, anything but fragile as a dish. “Pretty things make me feel better. And…since my cane is me, ya know, it makes sense that it makes me feel better. I hurt a lot some days and, uh, I figure I deserve all the help I can get, so, gotta give it to myself.” 

Her gaze drifts back to Morja’s face and his eyes are deep wells that meet her own. A groove of emotion carved deep into the valleys and ridges, scar after scar, rough terrain hiding buried treasure. So dark in their brown they approach black and the color is what guides her brain again, guides her to recognize the furrow between those eyes, the shadows beneath. The spasm of pain in her chest is not from any illness, only an emotion. The weight of pretty as it fell out of his mouth is the weight of his body on this couch. A luxury Morja  (believes, so strongly believes he) can’t have. 

It only lasts a moment, less than a heartbeat, before Morja looks away and Sarai is unable to swim after it. She’s quite sure he never meant to look her in the eye. She’s quite sure that he wanted to. Morja’s mouth is no longer slack and a frown is an expression, better than nothing. 

The fog thickens around the corners of her eyes, head going all syrup again, thick sugar, bitter as burning caramel, and she breathes out, out, out through a cluster of needles up and down her neck. Fuuuuuuuck. The back of her head thumps against the wall, the darkness of her lids pressing back the dizziness. 

“Hey, Morja? I’m a little out of it- I’m okay, it’ll pass, but do you want to sit in here with me or sit in the exam room? No wrong answers, honey.” 

Her voice is a rumble in her chest and she breathes out the wince, the tremors rocking the tilt behind her lids precariously. 

“Can I…change back into my clothes?”

Oh, honey. 

Her lid cracks, as does the corner of her mouth, and though he’s blurry, she wants the sunlight of how pleased she is of him asking for a thing to break through her cloud of exhaustion. 

Fuck, her head hurts so much, but she’s proud and glad, ouch ouch ouch. 

“‘Course, Morja, gra’ me a can’y when y’get yourself on, pl’se...” 

The rustle of Morja leaving and returning is close together, time doing its foamy thing while she counts her breaths, but the press of a wrapped peppermint, round and crinkly, in her palm is so gentle. 

The couch sinks and settles into the shape of another body, doing the thing she is doing, leaning back into the firm crevices that hold you up. The soft-crunch sounds of the wrapper as she squeezes her fist around it, as Morja unwraps his own candy, as she tries to just kind of be as Morja is on the spot beside her. 

The office is dark and cool and quiet and they’re both in good company right now. 

“...It’s nice. The candy.” 

A flat whisper, halting and small and brave, fumbling across the inches in the dark. 

A flat answer fumbles back, warm and limping and still good enough to greet him.

“I'm glad, Morja. It's really nice.”

~

sincerely hoped you all enjoyed this venture into my story 🥺💖🥺 sarai baptiste is the team's medic who is stationed at base forthill and she's disabled and kind and badass as hell and deserves the world 😢💖✨😍

taglist: @much-ado-about-whumping @haro-whumps @whump-tr0pes @i-eat-worlds @wolfeyedwitch

@straight-to-the-pain @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whatgoeswhumpinthenight

@tears-and-lilies @whumping-every-day @whumpthisway @stoic-whumpee @liliability

@whumpster-draganies @whumpzone @suspicious-whumping-egg @lave-whump @kixngiggles

have a very merry @whumpmasinjuly everyone! 💖💖💖

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[defectivehero]

people with chronic fatigue 🤝 exhaustion whump

[cloudcountry]

me thinking i've caught the flu or a cold or something:

google: you could be feeling this way because you're stressed

me: a.

[alexis-royce]

Reading The Infinite and the Divine has been the polar opposite experience from what I’m used to when recommended media with a good duo in it. Instead of being promised a bunch of scenes that turn out to absolutely not be canon, I’m learning that every single meme about these two is actually a canon thing Orikan and Trazyn argue their way into.

The Statler and Waldorf jokes are not just a goof, they actually disguise themselves as humans and go get coffee and go to the opera together and send passive aggressive letters and drag each other to court twice and try to kill each other at least once a chapter and chuckle at the meteor storm murder attempts and choke each other out while smirking and send the weird fuckmonster to attack while the other one is fifteen years deep in meditation-

[twigsandhearts]

DISABILITY PRIDE MONTH

Currently, we have 7 canon disabled characters with a range of disabilities, voiced and written by disabled people! Yen (she/her) & Zenith (he/him): Autism Teddy (he/him): Deaf, Chronic Pain, Chronic Fatigue Angel (she/her): Blind Jolly (it/its): ADHD, Chronic Pain, CPTSD Iris (she/her): ADHD Moth (it/he): CPTSD, Anxiety

There is nothing unrealistic about having several disabled characters, no matter how visible their disabilities. Let them exist. Let them be friends. Let them be a part of other minority groups. Give them depth. CREATE MORE!

[brumeraven]

??: The Weight of a Crown || dolls, witches, chronic illness, helplessness, fatigue, gross, cute?, too sick to know who was driving

pat pat pat pat pat...FLUMPF

Weight on my chest, somehow managing to constrict it yet further, beyond the crushing grip of phlegm and mucus. Please let it just be the demon...

No such luck; I could wiggle my fingers. Which left only...

I cracked an eye open and was greeted instead by a concerned expression, vapid and vacant. Not my work, that; girl had always been that way, despite my efforts to the contrary. Judge me if you will, but some dolls were just too doll for me.

"Do you feel better, Miss?"

Had I wished to answer, it would have been impossible with the doll perched on my chest, but at that moment, something in the back of my throat squirmed and a fit of hacking seized me, threatening to crack ribs and dislocate vertebrae.

My eyes blinked open again, bones still intact, if not where they were meant to be, mouthing a silent "no."

Mere centimeters away, the mask of concern remained unfazed, now covered in flecks and chunks of inky black sputum.

"Oh no! It hopes you feel better soon, Miss!"

The flecks had already begun to move, stretching out filopodia and creeping across its face to begin to coalesce into a dark-winged thing atop the bone-white porcelain.

"Me too." I managed to croak a response. "Wipe your face before that flies away."

It complied blandly, a handkerchief wiping the corruption, if not the expression, from its face. I suppose it had been too much to hope for the latter...

"Has Miss tried honey? That can soothe a sore throat."

I groaned. "That won't help, but thank you." I'd explained it before, but that hadn't stuck. One of the least understood properties of this ailment was that dolls simply couldn't comprehend it.

"This one will cook and clean and Miss can stay in bed and work on feeling better!"

"I...thank you, dear doll."

Flux sickness, brumerot, void consumption...we had countless names for the same thing, but any of them would just have gone in one ear and out the other.

"Maybe some medicine? It can go get you some!"

"Again, that won't help, but thank you."

"Miss...?"

"...Yes?"

"There is something leaking from your nose."

I grabbed its hand and used it as a rough approximation of a tissue, wiping away the dripping ooze on the smooth, chill surface. One pathetic breath of clean air, then I was back to blowing bubbles in oily snot.

"Miss should get some sleep!"

What exactly did it think I was trying to do, before the interruption? "There's a doll on my chest."

"That's me!"

"I...yes, yes that's you."

"It can sing you a lullaby!"

"I need silence. Peace"

"..."

"..."

"It can make you some soup! That will help!"

It wouldn't, but maybe it would keep the thing occupied for a bit. "That sounds great. You should go do that."

"Oh, but then Miss would be all alone, and it wouldn't know if you feel better..."

"I won't."

"..."

"..."

"Perhaps this one could wear the big hat, Miss? So it doesn't weigh you down so much?"

"For the seventh time, it can't be taken off."

"Oh..."

"So stop asking."

"Okay!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Do you feel better, Miss? It hopes you feel better soon!"

[tired-fandom-ndn]

Yes, yes, I know, I'm a bitter cripple who shouldn't be vaguing about random people in my notes, whatever. Just stop being fucking ableist.

Anyway, I'm an adult and a proshipper and the way those two things intersect is that I realized that I'm too fucking tired to spend my time arguing over fictional characters so I've just stopped participating in actual discourse.

Sometimes growing up means realizing how absolutely fucked the world is and how little time we all have and that we all have better and more enjoyable things to be doing than butting our noses into other people's kinks and ships. We can die at literally any moment so we might as well just have fun and be kind to each other.

Celebrate life by being freaky little weirdos 🎉

[rabbithaver]

Help what do I do part of my brain kinda wants to ship mephilver but also wtf no?!??? I'm an espilver shipper aswell hellp,I think it's my brain defaulting to ship because there's no actual content on mephiles and silver help me

oh boy okay so like. mephilver as a ship kind of wigs me out real bad unfortunately. i have it blacklisted so i dont see it. it's one of those ships that i personally cannot stomach, i don't see it being healthy in any capacity and while that's definitely not a requirement for me in ships in general (hello i ship surge and scourge because it'd be nuclear wasteland levels of toxic and i think that'd be interesting as hell), for ships including Silver, it is very much a requirement for me. because i love Silver as my son and have intense instincts to protect him, i need his relationships to be positive and healthy or else i'll die and also explode LMAO

however THIS IS JUST HOW I FEEL!!! this is just me!!! i have absolutely no beef with folks who do ship mephilver and i don't think there is anything morally wrong with hypotheticals and exploring relationships in fiction. i know a couple people semi-personally who ship it as a toxic dynamic and i don't get it, but i just ignore it. i do not care what other people do with their lives and i think spending time being upset about how other people play with their touys is just an exhausting way to live.

at the end of the day, i think you should do whatever you want forever! i am not the boss of you! my feelings on the ship should not affect what you choose to do! ship whatever you like!! just do me a favor and tag your ships, ok? no matter what they are. it's just common courtesy :)

[bearwuvimagines]

(Requested through dms) imagines for ppl with chronic fatigue

good request op! i have chronic exhaustion (unsure if it it’s the same thing exactly? have not gotten much info from psychs) so im surprised I haven’t written this before tbh

-ur f/o will always check in with you, and with your energy levels, and make sure you’re ok

-if you’re not, they’ll make sure to help and take care of you however they can- cuddles, hot drinks, reading to you, anything

-if you worry about being a burden, they will 100% put your mind at rest and assure you that they love you far too much to ever think of you that way

-imagine, one day you wake up and you can just tell it’s going to be a bad day. Ur f/o sits next to you on the bed and gives you the most gentlest loving smile and gently strokes ur hair for a minute while they talk to you before getting up and making you a hot drink. Then they wrap you both up in a blanket and wrap their arms around you and you guys just have a cozy day in bed :)

[sickpunk-selfshipper]

You’re laying on the couch/ bed, just focussing on breathing

Your F/O notices you looking uncomfortable, they ask you what’s wrong

Breathing kind of heavily, you explain it’s your chronic fatigue

When they frown, you chuckle and say it’s just palpitations

Your F/O sits down next to you and gently takes your wrist to check your pulse

You try brushing them off, it’s something you are used to and it’ll go away soon enough

You know you just need to lie still until the palpitations go down

Instead of leaving you be, your F/O lies down behind you, wrapping their arms around your chest

You are still hyperaware of your heartbeat but also of them holding you

Closing your eyes again, you settle against your F/O, pretending your heartbeat feels so intense because of them

Yes I’m having palpitations right now as I’m typing this, why do you ask?!

antis DNI! This post is not for anti-shippers!

[givemethaturl]

I took today and tomorrow off simply because I've been putting too many hours into work and wanted some time to rest...

And I'm fucking bored to shit. It's really great that my work is my passion, but I absolutely need to find other hobbies outside of reading and working out. I am seriously questioning taking my PTO day back tomorrow and just heading into the office.

That or prepping my class content for next semester (adjunct). I mean, I worked on two more LinkedIn learning courses today just to keep my mind going.

A complete juxtaposition, really, from my younger days where I couldn't fathom being a quarter as productive on a regular basis. The pendulum has totally over corrected. My coping mechanism to deal with the ADHD and Anxiety became to just never stop being productive, and it is sending me to an early death.

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

Oh man I really agree with your tags on that one post. The whole king of delusion thing is terrible to me bc like. Delusions aren’t some gotcha you can use against him? It’s a serious mental health issue? But I’d also like to add I hate when people mock him for smelling bad or having poor hygiene or w/e… :/ It’s not funny when people with mental illness can’t properly take care of their hygiene lol I thought we were all understanding of this?

EXACTLY. It's not like "wow look how wrong you are and how terrible you are for being delusional".

Also the hygiene thing pisses me off too. I know lots of his fans use it as a joke, even affectionately, but like... he was homeless. He was living in the slums. Most people around him probably smelled bad. I'm sure they and he cleaned up whenever they could, but buddy, the slums isn't a public showering area. They'd be lucky if they were able to bathe. It's not something they take for granted. Even the "smelly cape" jokes bother me.

I've met homeless people. I've lived in a shelter where I met people who prior to that shelter lived in tents. Showering and bathing isn't something they could just get up and do before being in the shelter. Those people are lucky if they can even go to the bathroom in a proper bathroom, let alone being able to bathe.

Then like you said, on top of that, he's mentally ill. He's not thinking about his next bath. He's talking to people who are dead, believing they are answering him back and responding to their answers to him. There's also the general idea that Lambert's last words were not actually what were told to us via Dimitri's flashback, but the words he remembers because of his illness. He is very likely remembering wrong, because that version of Lambert matches the version of him that Dimtiri talks to, but does not match the version of him in Rodrigue's flashback.

Even depression can cause a lack of proper hygiene, and that's also a mental illness. In his case he has full on episodes of either psychotic breaks or having conversations with people who aren't there, and when he's out of those states he's desperately trying to do what he's been told to do by those voices. He's trying to do it both for those people and because, as he expresses later into AM, he wants them to stop. Those voices harass him day in and out and ridicule him and it hurts him, so he becomes desperate to do what they tell him so they stop tormenting him (which is part why he's so hellbent on hurrying to finish his tasks in the first half of AM).

It's an absolute spiral of a situation, where he already has these delusions but now on top of them feels absolutely terrible and like someone who has been emotionally abused by loved ones for years and years. He loves them but is terrified of them because they always say awful things to him or try to say things about him that aren't true. The worst part is that these are delusions of people who loved him and were nothing like this, so it causes even more suffering for him.

I don't really understand why it's so funny to people to poke fun at characters with or for bad hygiene. Like, firstly it's... just not a funny thing/topic? And secondly I'm sure there are people uncomfortable with it because they have bad hygiene or lower than "socially acceptable" hygiene due to mental illness and feel they're being laughed at as well for their hygiene. That's definitely a stereotypical mindset and something society does to make fun of people less fortunate than them, be it physically, mentally or both (like not having access to bathing.

Rich people can bathe whenever they want and often in media look down on "stinky people" who are always the poor, generally living in the slums). It's a very unfortunate dominant mindset and almost always comes from people who are more well off and haven't experienced it for themselves to realize how awful it can be (and there are of course people who don't need to experience something to know how bad it is, and I wish there were just more people like that).

I just don't understand what's so funny about hygiene. If anything it just feels like people laughing at the concept of someone not being up to society's standards about health, and it's what literal kids do to make fun of each other. Like, if someone smells bad, I feel like we should be more concerned about the person and why that is... and that would be the case if society raised its people to think that way, but since society raised people to be the opposite (to make fun of smelly people), most people who haven't experienced it for themselves make fun of it.

Like... idk am I missing something lol, I just don't see the humor in someone smelling bad. Even without considering any implications behind it I still don't see the humor in it. Considering Dimitri's circumstances though it just feels very wrong to see people make fun of him for that. I know fans of his that do it are doing it harmlessly and most likely wouldn't make fun of real people for similar things, but it just doesn't sit right with me. There's just nothing amusing about poor hygiene.

Using it as fuel to hate on him though is just is a show of someone's true character and who they really are. :/ Anyone who makes fun of him for his hygiene and mental illness are the kind of people who look down on people with those problems and deserve to experience it for themselves to see just how awful that shit can be. It being fictional doesn't change the fact that it's a show on someone's true character to be able to make fun of someone suffering, and especially to the extent Dimitri does.

Like yes, Edelgard suffered, but she has her own way of moving past it. She's not suffering in the same way as Dimitri or handling it the same way and comes across as "strong" for that - another societal mindset from people who think it's "strong" to not show that you're suffering or have suffered. It's how she handles it, sure, and that's fine... but it's people's reactions to how differently they handle their trauma that's so obnoxious.

People can only be pushed so far, and people hate on Dimtiri for his violence despite that being part of his illness and trauma. Hating on people for being violent as a result of their feelings or past is an awful thing and I really think anyone who can hate on a good and well meaning/intentioned person (real or fictional) simply because they're violent toward bad things needs some serious introspection (like Dimitri having violent reactions to seeing innocents being slaughtered in front of him at Remire. It was an impulsive reaction that he would've hid if he could have, but he wasn't able to).

Like oh no, how dare someone be violent and aggressive toward murderers! How dare someone say off with their head when they've done terrible things! Not everyone is perfectly peaceful and puritan. Hell, Edelgard isn't either and chooses violence as her first and foremost answer to everything, and only considers "negotiations" (i.e. anything that will benefit her/the Empire and only her) if she's losing and only stands to gain from them.

Her first solution to everything is violence, and yet Dimitri is the one who gets shat on for... being violent. Because of his trauma and illness specifically, both in game and out. But since Edelgard has been able to moved past her trauma for the most part and has a different way of handling it that "looks better", he looks "bad" for not having gotten past his trauma yet. Good for her to be able to handle it the way she does, but why is it "bad for him" that he can't handle it "better"?

[xmcu-fietro]

So lately I’ve been struggling with some physical health issues and Peter Maximoff lives in my head 24/7 so naturally that got me thinking and tbh, Peter would be such a great friend to have if you aren’t feeling well. Too tired or depressed to get up and get something? He’s got superspeed and can get it in half a second. Feeling achy or lonely? Hugs! He runs warm because of his mutation so hugging him is kind of like having a weighted + heated blanket. Forgot to eat? He’s got a whole stash of snacks in his basement. Heck, he could potentially use his superspeed to do what a TENS unit does (vibration to help muscle tension/pain—although maybe not since TENS uses electrical currents, but still, possibly?). At the very least he’d be happy to be a distraction by discussing whatever show or band he’s hyperfixated on at the moment, and if you want to stay inside all day that’s cool too because he can play video games