#my patron saint of migraines

[lelianaslefthand]

ive had a migraine all day and keep thinking about him

[gallusrostromegalus]

Waffles, Patron Beast of Migraines and Vertigo, Digital, 2024

I continue to set out to do a character redesign of an anime boy and end up drawing Lamb Angels instead. Not sure what's going on here but thems cute little fucks.

[alexotls]

for my fellow migraine havers

[thenonbinarysunstreaker]

Oh my patron saint of migraines suffer with me

[rrat-king]

some Bad Girls accesory headcannons:

adaine

doesn't need glasses but wears blue light ones because the light gives her migraines. the glasses are round silver wire frames that she has broken and cast mending on too many times

she loses her glasses constantly so gorgug made her a glasses chain so they can just hang when she's not wearing them. it has little star charms and blue and silver beads

it's my hc that adaine didn't actually give kristen her pinky back, keeping the philange instead so she has the bone on a little necklace she wears. its morbid but sweet.

she has a leather book holster that ayda made her after she complimented her's so that they are matching. keeps her spellbook in it

has three bracelets from kristen: a red rubber 'vote for applebees' bracelet as well as two woven friendship bracelets, a purple and blue chevron as well as a orange white and blue striped

elf ears are... so stupidly sensitive so she has a hard time wearing earings but she does steal fig's ear cuffs a lot

kristen

wears dog tags with jawbone's number as her emergency contact in case anything happens. he doesn't legally have custody but its a safe way of making sure he gets called over her parents

got her septum peirced with fig in leviathan, was originally a silver barbell but had to take it out when she realized the silver meant that tracker wouldn't kiss her, so wears a little golden hoop instead

has six trillion bracelets. most of them are friendship bracelets she's made herself, but she also has a rubber sig figs bracelet, a pony bead bracelet that says 'little shrimp' as well as a 'WWCD?' she made with her campaign rubbers

bad at wearing rings but has a number of them that she keeps on a carabiner that tracker got her (most of them found in the river while throwing rocks with riz. don't ask her why there are so many lost rings in the river she doesn't question it)

she got rid of her cross necklace after meeting helio but still has the saint necklace she got at first cornmunion. it's saint iree, patron saint of the lost harvest

fig

has one of gorthalaxes guitar picks as a necklace along with a million others

wears rings around her horns, most of which she makes herself but fabian gifted her a few of his that he doesn't wear cuz 'they interfere with my fighting, thank you' that are nice elven gold

has a matching septum with kristen as well as a million other peircings

she. loves. mixing. metals. she wears a million pieces of jewelry and they are all mishmashed but because none of it matches it works

constantly stealing her mom's earings. it drives sandra lynn crazy

hardcore believer in scrunchys over hairties. always has one either in her hair on on her wrist even they somewhat clash with her aesthetic.

wears compression gloves under her fingerless gloves to help with her joints swelling

has a million pins including: some of her mom's old band pins that she let her have, band pins of her own, kristen's campaign buttons as well as kipperlillys but she doodles over those, pins she's made herself out of bottle caps, a little tin skateboard pin gorgug made her, and a red compass pin that ayda gave her that belonged to one of the previous ayda's

(will make one for the boys eventually when i have time to come to terms with riz's new found accessory addiction this season)

[themetaphorgirl]

me: finally completes her prompt list for Whumptober 2024!

also me: decides she's also going to finish Whumptober 2023 AND 2020

okay so since I Don't Know How to Slow Down, I just sorted through my notes for 2020 and 2023- turns out I still have some prompts left open! I really want to (belatedly) complete them, so I'm opening these up for claiming too!

I will write:

-Lockwood & Co

-Umbrella Academy (mostly Five whump and also season 4 never happened)

-Patron Saint of Lost Causes (there's some GOOD prompts for them on the list already too!!)

-Six of Crows/Crooked Kingdom

-and just for funsies, I'm going to toss Artemis Fowl in there too

open requests under the cut! (but also- if you want to request something not on the list, my inbox is always open!)

No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”

No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD 

“Take Me Instead” | “Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice

No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED 

Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood

No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE 

Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? 

Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal

No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD… 

Migraine | Concussion | Blindness

No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR 

Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? 

Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE 

Experiment | Whipped | Left for Dead

Alternate Prompts

Drugging

Punctured

Falling

Stitches

Memory Loss

Nightmares

Presumed Dead

Water

Accidents

Shot

[bonnibel88]

𝓑𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓫𝓮𝓵 ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

୨୧ ꒰ she/her - cisgender hetero woman

୨୧ ꒰ aquarius - 24/01

୨୧ ꒰ catholic

୨୧ ꒰ 18 year old

୨୧ ꒰ functioning aspergers

- more info under the cut 🩰

୨୧ ꒰ birthplace; somewhere in south america hehe

୨୧ ꒰ europa ancestry; german great grandpa, Wolfgang R., french step grandma, Leda, unnamed italian ancestor

୨୧ ꒰ height: about 165 cm / 5' 5"

୨୧ ꒰ weight: 41 kg / 92 pounds (hopefully even less)

୨୧ ꒰ hair: not painted; natural hair color is a dark blonde, in sunlight might be clear, naturally straight but i curl it and my mother forced me to cut it short.

୨୧ ꒰ bra size: 38 B

୨୧ ꒰ eye color: A30

୨୧ ꒰ ill: pcos (still very fertile though), anorexia, anxiety, depression, migraines, sh addiction, autocannibalism in skin picking and lip biting

୨୧ ꒰ SHing: want to but very sensitive to pain

୨୧ ꒰ binge eating: rarely

୨୧ ꒰ acne: taking care of it ^_^

୨୧ ꒰ male friendship: none, only got my father as a friend

୨୧ ꒰ patron saint: St. Dymphna, St. Philomena, St. Rose of Lima

୨୧ ꒰ kinks (not necessarily a 18+ blog): military, humiliation, choking, age gap, boots, forced submission, cnc, erotophonophilia, autassasinophilia, blood, bruising, mask/balaclava, boots, leather, violence

[princessmadafu]

St Denis (Oct 9)

Famously the Patron Saint of Paris, he was reputedly decapitated and walked away holding his head in his hands while still preaching forgiveness. This also makes him the patron saint of headaches and 'the megrims', - the modern word migraine deriving from 'emigranea', (h)emi implying half, and granea from cranium meaning head, so basically an 'healfes heafdes ece', a half head’s ache.

Not surprisingly, a famous migraine remedy from the 13thC monk Bartholomaeus Anglicus recommended - guess what? Woman's Milk. What is it with these medieval doctors and breastmilk? They denounced women as bringers of woe and evil, and then milked them for medicinal purposes!

Understanding the location of pain in relation to the humors guided the next step. The offending humor in emigranea was “hot and choleric,” so it required the use of cold medications in order to restore balance. “We anoint the temples, nostrils, and pulsating veins with rose water, together with the milk of a woman who is nursing a male child, and we induce sleep,” Bartholomaeus explained.

Oh, so only a male child...

I found a whole article on the history of migraine here, if anyone wants a read:

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK544089/

Oh and my almanac also says it's time to turn the pigs out to forage for beechmast; in order to encourage them, empty your chamberpot into the hogwash, because it will taste so nasty the pigs will refuse it and go off and eat whatever they can find elsewhere.

There now, haven’t I always said there are loads of uses for wee-wee!

***************************

Sunday thoughts today for the people of Creeslough in Ireland, who’ve lost ten villagers in a gas explosion at a filling station. That’s a lot for a tiny village to bear. Also to the emergency services - thank you!

[clumio]

The Master for character bingo?

*I had to add asterisks to this because of the nature of the source material LOL they mean sometimes/in some instances…bbc executive if you’re out there give Sacha Dhawan more material because he could have done even more but one of his episodes was fucking Spyfall Part 2. Part 1 was great. More of that blease. I know audio dramas exist and there’s a ton of this character and different versions but. Sometimes they are just The Jonker but also they’re deeper than that. Anyway.

MY FAVORITE PRINCESS….TORTURE KING 9000 IN SABRINAS WORDS…they suck so bad your honor they enchant me. Me when im in a tragic codependent cunt-serving lowkey-fumbling gothic antagonist-occasional-sidekick competition and my competition is the master 😰 for real though. I have a lot of thoughts about them which is maybe a tenth emo projection and a lot just the text itself being batshit insane. Identity issues [VINE BOOM] abandonment issues [VINE BOOM] validation issues [VINE BOOM] all tied to a certain level on their identity as and relation to their opposing narrative foil [VINE BOOM] [CAR CRASH SFX]. Patron saint of migraines. Bets on losing dogs. Is a dog? Metaphorically? Actually was a cat one time. Non-metaphorically. Also was a goo snake. Was Evil Shadow Skull multiple times. Cannot die. I have like four different playlists about them. Love you The Master get well soon x

[stylishanachronism]

Things I did this week instead of working on my shawl (which for the record is 60 rows in so I’m making good time don’t judge me):

-Got into two separate new podcasts, one of which I dropped for being not spooky and then sort of dumb, and the other of which is excellent (and ominous) but comes in very very short bites

-Wrote a lot about Eder knitting a shawl (and separately and not as much, a sock), because that’s a whole thing, and I’d say I’m going to convert the fandom but tbh I’d have to... interact with more of y’all and I’m shy as shit so tough luck me I guess

-Refrained from leaping over the counter and murdering any of my customers, which I feel was very magnanimous of me, and also something of a miracle, please do not lie about my service to my face, I am in fact the same person who’s been here all morning.

-Played Return of the Obra Dinn, which is in a word perfect, and if you haven’t played it yet you should drop everything and do so, holy shit

-Worked so much overtime, my manager is going to be so pissed, but he can’t do shit because he was the one who scheduled me this way

[minotaur-in-my-labyrinth]

God I want an ugly house so bad. By ugly I mean, completely detrimental to property values. When I'm through with decorating, painting, and carpeting my house, furnishing and planting, I want my house to give realtors a migraine just thinking about looking at a house anywhere within 6 miles of my house.

Purple walls, red carpet, so much fucking stuff, cultivated and managed collection of things, weird furniture, a room that's just walls covered in horrendous variations and recreations of Goya's Saturn Devouring his Son.

Statues adorn my yard, of dragons and old dead gods, tombstones all with Saint George's name on them, all describing him variously as "Shit-bag" "Cringe Patron Saint of England" "How's it feel to be the murderer of magic and majesty?" "I hope you bite the tines of your fork every time you eat"

I want the presence and visage of my house to destroy HOAs everywhere. I want a beholder to be peeking up from behind my roof and staring at anyone passing by. I want my doorbell to start playing We Like to Party. I want my doorknocker to be a gagged bald eagle.

[paper-stars-and-fireflies]

Tell me, should I let you go?

Tags: RadioDust, Trans!Angel Warnings: Drug Use, Addiction Fic was inspired by the song Sober by Bad Wolves. Listen while you read!      Angel Dust woke up in his bathtub, again. His neck hurt from being bent forward overnight, and his back and joints all ached from the cramped spaces and unnatural angles. At least the cool tile felt nice. Dizziness washed over him as he tipped his head back, trying to right his world, and soon after he was scrambling for the toilet, dry heaves wracking his frame. He spit, if just to relieve the nausea, and settled back against the wall, one arm feebly reaching for the vanity. There was a snuffling and scraping sound and all of a sudden Angel’s lap was full of pig, his pet bounding back and forth across him, desperate for attention.

    “Be easy on daddy, now,” Angel moaned, scooping up the pig and cradling him. The nausea was ebbing slightly, but not enough. He turned his head, coughing and hacking into the toilet again. Just holding Fat Nuggets felt like too much, but Angel managed to claw and stumble his way to his feet. His reflection looked worse than he felt, mascara and eyeliner dripping down his cheeks and his eyes red around the edges. His throat felt scratchy and a fresh wave of dizziness had him stumbling forward into the sink.     “Saint’s sake, am I still drunk?” he mumbled, fumbling for his toothbrush. His mouth tasted like sugar and stomach acid, and it took him twice as long to get himself looking presentable, crumbled clothes aside. The dizziness and nausea had more or less left him to fester, but the lights felt too bright and a migraine had settled behind his left eye. He matched his steps to the slow pulse of his head, wobbling around his room as he unceremoniously stripped out of yesterday’s clothes and pulled on a fresh shirt and shorts. He had no plans to go out, so he didn’t bother getting too dolled up. He checked his phone, but there were no messages, not from work, not from his family, not even from Alastor. Probably for the best, even though he was craving a few sweet words this morning. Better to lay low and not let anyone realize how he was. There were empty bottles and plastic cups, and evidence of the fun that was wreaking so much havoc on him this morning scattered around the room. He cleaned it all up, burying it in his trash so no one would find it later. He should feel ashamed, maybe, drinking, smoking, maybe even popping a pill or two, but it wasn’t such a big deal. Just a couple drinks, a smoke, a couple pills. No one had to know, and he’d been so good. They had to give him that.     This was just one of those, whaddaya call’em? Cheat days. It was just a lil treat. One time thing. He placated himself, shoving off the bits of shame and regret crawling under his skin. Angel settled into his bed, Fat Nuggets happily curled up against him, grumbling as he thumbed through the TV channels. It made his head hurt that much more, but frankly he’d take that over the silence, in the room or in his head. He scratched idly at the inside of his arm, only glancing down when he realized he’d picked at a scab. A very new one.     He swore, tearing tissues out of their box, knocking over everything else on the nightstand. Angel dabbed at the tiny wound, peering closer. It was definitely a needle mark, and not the only one. He yanked down on the sleeve of his shirt, casting furtive glances around his room. It was fine, it was okay. It would be gone in a couple hours, a day top. It was tiny. No one had to know he hadn’t just fallen off the wagon, that he’d jumped headfirst. It was fine. He just had to stay home, lay low one day, be extra careful from here on. He crouched by the bed, picking up the things he’d knocked over. A couple framed pictures of his friends, another of him and Alastor dressed up in silly Valentine’s themed costumes. They’d thrown a party back in February for his six months sober celebration. There was a lopsided stuffed deer, a prize Al had won for him at Hell’s carnival, back on one of their early dates. When Fat Nuggets had torn it up one night, Al had hushed him, stitching it up and adding a few personal touches, showing him anything could be repaired. He set everything back up neatly. No biggie. This was something else that could be fixed. No big deal. Definitely not, until there was a knock at his door.     “Angel? You okay?” Charlie’s innocent voice was the last thing he wanted to hear, but he heaved himself onto his feet and stumbled to the door as fast as he could manage, leaning against it to hold it shut.     “Just peachy, dollface. Ya need something?” he called through the door, making sure all the locks were on. He pushed the chain lock all the way across, quieting the metal with his fingertips.     “You’re late for your check-in session, I was making sure you were up.”     “Check-in?”     “Did you forget? Today’s the 5th, you were supposed to meet me downstairs an hour ago.” Charlie’s voice was picking up a suspicious edge he didn’t like. Of course today would be a check in. How had he forgotten that? He was so careful, making sure he’d clear his appointments so he could live pretty freely under the radar.     “Sorry doll, I, uh, just over-slept. Stayed up too late….watching too many movies!” He bit at his lip, not buying his own excuses. Clearly, she wasn’t either.     “Angel, let me in. I want to make sure you’re okay.” She insisted. Angel huffed, putting on his usual demeanor. It wasn’t like he didn’t have practice faking it.     The door swung open abruptly, revealing Angel in his t-shirt and sports shorts, a button down shirt only partially blocking out the pride pun printed on his shirt in pastel colors. The sleeves hung down to half-way down his forearms, carefully folded. Charlie studied him, suspicion and confusion warring across her face.     “Something wrong, doll? I was in the middle a somethin.” He tried to hurry her along, one arm braced against the door frame. The injured arm was tucked against his back, the elbow carefully hidden with the cuff.     “I’ve just never seen you dressed like that.” Charlie finally admitted, staring at his chest. He shifted uncomfortably, wondering if the shirt looked wrong on him. Finally, she smiled, pointing at it. “I like your shirt. It’s good to cope through positive humor.” Angel glanced down. ‘The first gender’s free,’ the pink text read. ‘Too bad I needed a refund’, the white and blue text finished. He laughed with her, but it felt stuck in his throat. He could feel sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.     “So look, can we reschedule the uh, check-in, doll?” He tried to keep his voice steady, his smile wide. Charlie waved one hand, still giggling.     “Sure, sure,” she called, turning away. “I’ll see you after lunch then, my office. Bye Angel!”     Oh sugar honey. Angel bit his lip, keeping his internal screams to himself, willing himself to shut the door calmly and muffle his impending break-down in a pillow.     By two in the afternoon, Angel had scrubbed himself head to toe, made sure his makeup was flawless, perfumed, eaten, drank, anything and everything to beat back last night’s demons and act the part of the perfectly adapted, normal, and completely clean Angel Dust he’d been becoming the last eight or so months. ‘Just one quick meeting, no big deal,’ he kept reminding himself. He sauntered into Charlie’s office, plopping down into the chair opposite her desk, checking his nails to keep up his bored act. The marks on his arm were all but gone now, but there were still a few nagging symptoms of a come down he hadn’t quite chased off yet. Charlie shut the door behind him, part of her pledge to privacy, and sat across from him, separated by a massive wood desk that was definitely made for one of her parents. She just looked tiny, sitting behind it.     “Okay! So, we are… just shy of one year! How are you feeling today?” Charlie consulted her paperwork, searching around for her pen as she spoke. It was the one she’d taken from Katie Killjoy, way back at the hotel’s launch.     “Same ol’, bored as hell, but doin’ my best. Clean, nice, and well-adjusted.” Angel ticked off on his fingers, reciting the three goals Charlie pushed all of her patrons towards. She hummed, clicking the pen a few times before she began to take notes. She probed at him with the usual list of questions, asking about his recent activities, work, friends, mood, and how he was coping and feeling about each of the problems he’d mentioned in previous meetings. He could see she’d drawn his shirt in the margins. ‘Piece. Of. Cake.’ he congratulated himself, standing up and starting to excuse himself. He’d made it through the full hour without a single slip up.     “Sit back down, Angel.” Charlie scolded, setting her page down flat. She dropped the pen, eyeing the chair when he didn’t. He sighed, plunking back down.     “What’s up, boss?” He asked, arms crossed. Charlie reached over the desk, yanking his sleeve up before he could stop her.     “I knew it.” she hissed, sitting back in her chair, hands wrapped around her elbows, arms pressing flat against her ribs. “Angel, you’re not even close to clean.”     “What! That’s playing dirty! I am! Well, I was. Definitely was! I was being a super good boy, but then, I dunno, something happened, and then I guess I made a mistake last night, and then I guess, I dunno. A lot happened last night, an’ I don’t remember none of it, but I swear! I was clean until yesterday! I’ll get it back!” He wasn’t being completely truthful, he’d been sneaking drinks and hits of whatever coworkers had on hand while he was at work, but he definitely couldn’t tell her that, and he really had been cutting back… Why couldn’t he remember last night?     “Angel, you’ve come to check-ins still stoned before, just… stop.” Charlie pinched the bridge of her nose, blowing out a breath. “Last night, Alastor brought you home from Val’s. You were a huge wreck. He took you upstairs, but you started screaming at us and locked yourself in your room.” She paused, looking up at him, willing him to say something, but Angel, for once, had nothing.     “Have you ever told me the truth?” Charlie sighed, pushing herself to her feet. She circled the desk, opening the door with a resigned, defeated look. Angel frowned, knowing he was the cause, but not how to fix it. Getting high at work wasn’t surprising, but to get totally wrecked wasn’t right. Angel shuffled, thinking he was being dismissed, but what happened next was so much worse.     Alastor walked in, face blank and perfectly schooled into place. Charlie retook her seat, gesturing to the open chair beside Angel. Al took it, not looking at him. He just stared straight ahead, completely zoned out.     “Angel, you were already on your last warning before this. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Charlie tried again. Angel opened his mouth, starting over with what he’d already tried, but it fell on deaf ears. Neither Charlie or Alastor so much as twitched as he tried spinning line after line, trying for pity, sympathy, humor, anything. When she couldn’t take anymore, Charlie shook her head, scribbling away on a sheet of paper. Angel couldn’t make out the words, no matter how desperately he wanted to. It felt like his whole head was throbbing and the room was spinning. How hot was it in here anyway? He shoved his sleeves up, already caught out. It was hard to catch his breath, he slumped forward, tempted to put his head between his knees. Were his ears ringing, or was that Al’s static?     “Angel,” Charlie said, clearly not for the first time. Concern was leaking into her voice, and he fished himself back out, sitting up, head lolling to one side. Al stayed silent, not offering a hand, a word, even a tune. He had never felt so alone in a room full of people who were supposed to care about him. So much for that.     “Angel, I have to evict you.” She said finally, sliding the page over to him. “You have to sign this.”     It wasn’t possible to hold back the tears dripping down his face, and just as impossible to figure out why he couldn’t stop. Who cared about the dumb hotel. He had any number of places he could go. Molly had a spare room, if he wanted to go back to the mob. Cherri had a couch, and he’d already thrown his lot in with hers for turf wars. Hell, even Val would take him back and let him live in a studio if he did more videos. Screw the Hotel! Angel growled, throwing his things into duffel bags, ripping his posters off the wall, slamming the drawers closed after emptying them. Fat Nuggets hid under his bed, snuffling sadly, but he didn’t have it in him to apologize yet, even if the pig was innocent. Sometimes he just had to stay angry.     “I would think you wouldn’t want to destroy your own possessions, darling.” Alastor spoke softly from the open doorway, looking around slowly. Angel pouted, looking more pathetic than mad, but he didn’t care. He didn’t notice when Al had gotten there, but it didn’t matter.     “I don’t possess anything. Anything that’s mine gets broke or taken away.” He said pointedly, snatching the pictures off his nightstand. He inspected them, finally dumping them in the wastebasket by the vanity. Alastor blinked, his radio noise some garbled music that was probably supposed to calm his nerves, but they just grated on them more. Angel did his best to ignore him, storming around the room, packing away every possible hint he’d spent a moment in the room. Finally his last nerve snapped, worn thin by his unhelpful, intrusive, cold boyfriend. He snatched the deer plush off his nightstand, the last thing left unpacked, and hurled it at the Radio Demon’s chest. There was sharp feedback as it struck him, like a microphone dropping or a headset being plugged in.     “Would you just get out of here!” He screamed, voice shattering. Alastor looked passively at him, picking up the doll slowly, smoothing its short fur.     “Very well. I will wait for you in the foyer, if you prefer.” Alastor turned, still cradling the deer. “Would you prefer I take Fat Nuggets, or can you manage, love?” His trademark smile drooped, dipping into something smaller, sadder, but sincere, broken-hearted love in an instant. Angel sniffled, dragging his arm across his face. Saints’ sake, his makeup was wrecked all over again.     “Whaddaya talkin’ about?” Angel choked out, grabbing for more tissues. Alastor set the doll down on the bed, coming closer. Angel let him into arm’s reach, but he wasn’t ready to be touched just yet.     “I’m waiting on you, my dear.” Alastor repeated, gesturing to Angel’s bags.     “What for? Ain’t ya done with me for bein’a a dirty wh-” Angel was cut off with a harsh look from Alastor, contempt and scorn he rarely wore. “You’re nothing of the sort. I discussed this very carefully with Charlie last night, I’m very sorry we did not make ourselves clearer.” Alastor fetched the pictures from the wastebasket and looked at them, keeping his hands busy.     “You ain’t breakin’ up wit me?” Angel asked again, eyes wide. But he was sure that Al had been so cold because…     “Never, my love. I would never abandon you over something so trivial.” Alastor set the pictures aside, finally lifted his hands, cupping the spider’s face gently. His gloved thumbs cleared away the last of his love’s tears.     “But you were so….dead?” Angel tried, sniffling again.     “I was so worried about you, darling, I was beside myself. I stayed with you all night, and spoke with Charlie once I was sure you were quite alright by yourself.”     “So Charlie is kicking me out -”     “You’ll be moving in with me, my love.” Alastor spoke softly, eyes downcast. He drew Angel in closer, pulling him to his chest. “Charlie agreed it would be better for you, but to keep it quiet. If that’s not what you want, then-”     “No! No, no no, I, Al, I want that, I just. I don’t get it.” Angel sighed, resting his weary head on Al’s shoulder, four arms wrapped loosely around him. He knew not to hold too tight, or else Al got squirrely. Al drew back, but only slightly. He pressed his forehead to Angel’s, his ears and horns tangling gently with Angel’s hair.     “Addiction is difficult, and it can only be fought with attention and support, not alone, isolated in a hotel room. I’d like to give you that, if you’ll have me.” There was hope, love, faith, and trust in Alastor’s voice, everything Angel had ever wanted, truly wanted, the things he’d tried so long to replace with the high, trying to stuff his feelings with drugs.     “I’m never going to let you go.” Angel answered, new tears prickling at his eyes.     “Let’s go home, my darling.”  

[lesbiansforboromir]

Ι hope you are feeling better! :)) Migraines suck :( I have two questions from the ask thingy: 2 and 6... But also, I have another question: if you could get Tolkien to develop/explain more a facet of Middle Earth, what would it be??

Lord of the Rings Ask meme!

My migraine is a LEETLE better than you very much for asking, should be settled by tomorrow!

2: Which character do you connect too the most?

LADS................... IT’S BOROMIR! There’s a lot about him that I REALLY identify with, as odd as that may sound coming from a fairly immobile 5′3 non-binary lesbian but there’s a lot of Boromir’s themes that I like DEEPLY feel, as well as his manner of like... not to show my whole ass but you know, emotionally repressed ect ect Having a family of people who take up a lot of emotional space and kinda navigating that- YOU GET IT YOU GET IT

6: Which race would you be?

I always used to say I was a dwarf and man I still really love dwarves but... dwarves don’t do the sea and honestly like... human.. Still my place. The only folk for me. 

If you could get Tolkien to develop/explain more a facet of Middle Earth, what would it be?

WRITE WESTRON, CREATE WESTRON YOU ABSOLUTE BASTARD, YOU CAD OF THE HIGHEST ORDER, HOW DARE YOU TELL ME ALL THE HOBBIT NAMES ARE��‘ANGLISISED’ AND THAT THEY’RE ALL SPEAKING A WHOLE OTHER LANGUAGE AND NOT TELL ME WHAT IT IS. MOST GONDORIANS MUST HAVE WESTRON NAMES, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO MAKE WORKING CLASS GONDORIAN OC’s NOW HUH??? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CREATE WORDS THAT DON’T HAVE GOOD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS FROM WESTRON FOR VARIOUS CULTURE SPECIFIC CONCEPTS??? BUT YOU NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT DID YOU JIRT, YOU PATRON SAINT OF ELF FETISHISM, YOU FATPHOBIC BASTARD, YOU RACIST ARSE, TAKE RESPONSIBILITY!!! FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO ME!!!!!

[saint-batrick]

a little while back when i had an impressively awful hangover, a friend of mine invented a patron saint to petition for my hangover to end. and...it did? like. abruptly. like a light switch turning off. it wasn't immediate but it was only an hour or so later, and i've never had a hangover clear out like that before.

so instead of being a silly one off, we both believe in him unconditionally. i love him and i want to share him.

saint alfonso, patron saint of hangovers, migraines, and digestive distress. he's a good guy. i love him dearly.

[darkstar6782]

Fade to Black - 2.12: Nightshifter

“And then, they took me out of the vault and dragged me upstairs to one of the offices. I thought they were going to kill me. But there was this girl up there, lying on the floor with her… with her throat, just, you know… and, and she looked exactly like me! How is that even possible? I don’t really remember what happened. I was just so scared, my heart was racing so fast. I screamed, and then everything went black. And when I came to, the other girl was fighting with Dean. That’s what he said his name was, anyway. I thought he was so brave at first, trying to protect us from that psycho. I don’t know what that freak said to Dean to get him to start helping, but he really was just one of the hostages at first, I’m sure of it. Oh, sorry, yeah. So, the girl was fighting with him, and screaming, but there was no way she could have been doing that. I mean, her throat was… and there was so much blood! But she was alive, somehow, and Dean held her off and shouted at his brother—Sam, I think he called him—to get me out of there. Sam helped me up, and we both ran into the hallway, and then he told me to get everyone out of the vault and to get out of the bank as fast as I could. That’s where I was going when the cops found me. Did you find them yet? Do you know why they did it?”

Henriksen stopped the tape, pondering Sherry’s final question for the hundredth time in the last week, at least. He’d be lying if he said that the story that was taking shape around the bank heist made any sense at all. For starters, there was the fact that nothing had been stolen. All the witnesses said that the man who had initially come into the bank with the gun had said it wasn’t a robbery, that he’d been extremely surprised to see the Winchesters—though they’d seemed to have a passing familiarity with one another—and that he’d been going on about government conspiracies and ‘mandriods’. That first suspect—Ronald Resnick, a former security guard for a different bank that had been held up as well a little over a month ago—was obviously a round-the-bend PTSD case. It was almost a shame that the cops had taken him out, because his story likely could have cleared a few things up, but it was also possible that he had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time. It was what the Winchesters were doing there that mattered, and that was where things started to get really confusing.

The security guard that they released said that he had let them in earlier that day, that they were posing as technicians doing a routine check of the bank’s security camera system. They’d seemed like nice young men, he said. Others had echoed the sentiment, saying that, even after Resnick had been killed and the Winchesters had taken over the situation, they’d seemed very concerned about the hostages’ safety, that they seemed to think they were doing what they were doing for the hostages’ protection.

And Henriksen would have been inclined to believe them, but for the fact that there were three bodies tied to this case: two of them at the bank itself. One of the patrons had been found in an upstairs office, stripped of all his clothes, his throat slit, and it looked like someone had tried and failed to hide the body in the ceiling. The second body had been the twin of the young woman whose statement he had listened to a dozen times over in the last few days: Sherry, the bank teller, who swore up and down that she didn’t have a twin and had never seen her doppelgänger before that night. That woman—as of yet unidentified—had also been missing most of her clothes, and, in addition to sustaining both a gaping neck wound and a letter-opener to the heart—the latter being the wound that had killed her, though Henriksen was at a loss to explain how the former hadn’t done the job—had also had most of the skin ripped from one of her arms in a surprisingly gruesome manner. Add that to the two unexplained piles of liquifying skin, clothing and hair that had been found in an upstairs office and in one of the stairwells, and the body of the bank manager that had been found a few hours later at his home—cause of death was apparently suicide a few hours before the hostage situation took place, though several other bank employees swore that he was at the bank at the time of the robbery—and it was enough to give anyone a migraine.

But Henriksen had spent enough time tracking down the Winchesters to know that all of this was nothing but smoke and mirrors. Never mind that there were elements of it that rang remarkably similar to the Saint Louis case, or that the true criminal in the Baltimore case had been the now-deceased Detective Sheridan. The truth of the matter was that strange, unnatural death followed these two young men wherever they went, and, if his research was correct, had followed their father as well. From coast to coast, whenever the Winchesters showed up in a town, something horrific was bound to happen, and if they weren’t stopped, the killings would never end. The rest of it didn’t have to make sense, as long as Henriksen remembered what truly mattered: seeing the Winchesters brought to justice. He would see this case through, no matter the consequences, and if it was only because some part of his mind really wanted the answer to that question too—why did they do it?—well, no one but him needed to be any the wiser.

[themetaphorgirl]

caitlin’s whumptober 2020

hey y’all!! so I’ve decided I want to try whumptober for the first time, and I want to fill your prompts!!

here’s the official post for whumptober for this year. I’m only accepting Criminal Minds prompts, but I’m excited for y’all to suggest things for me!

so! if you’d like to prompt something, just let me know:

-the number of the prompt you’d like me to fill (including the alts!)

-canon, the Patron Saint of Lost Causes universe, or the Spencer Blake universe (or if you have another AU you’d like to suggest!)

-any details you have in mind (scenario, focal characters, anything specific you can think of!)

Once I’ve picked a suggested prompt for one of the whumptober dates, I’ll mark it with a strikethrough and start working on it ASAP for I’m ready for October! Once I start posting, I’ll replace the strikethrough with a link to the prompt fill.

If you’ve prompted something for me before and I haven’t filled it, feel free to send it again! And I’ll reblog this periodically until October. I’m excited to see what y’all want me to write!!

No 1. LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIME Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY “Pick Who Dies” | Collars | Kidnapped

No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

No 6. PLEASE…. “Get it Out” | No More | “Stop, please”

No 7. I’VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? “Don’t Say Goodbye” | Abandoned | Isolation

No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD “Take Me Instead” | “Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice

No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood

No 11. PSYCH 101 Defiance | Struggling | Crying

No 12. I THINK I’VE BROKEN SOMETHING Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused

No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia

No 19. BROKEN HEARTS Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor’s Guilt

No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

No 21. I DON’T FEEL SO WELL Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal

No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation

No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD… Migraine | Concussion | Blindness

No 27. OK, WHO HAD NATURAL DISASTERS ON THEIR 2020 BINGO CARD? Earthquake | Extreme Weather | Power Outage

No 28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. Accidents | Hunting Season | Mugged

No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE Experiment | Whipped | Left for Dead

Alternate Prompt List

Alt 1. Punctured Alt 2. Falling Alt 3. Comfort Alt 4. Stitches Alt 5. Stoic Whumpees Alt 6. Altered States Alt 7. Found Family Alt 8. Adverse Reactions Alt 9. Memory Loss Alt 10. Nightmares Alt 11. Presumed Dead Alt. 12. Water Alt. 13 Accidents Alt. 14 Shot Alt. 15 Carry/Support