#i’ve been thinking a lot about generational burning out and the exhaustion a lot of us feel

[drferox]

The ✨Joys✨ of Kesimpta

(With a medium amount of sarcasm).

Kesimpta is a monoclonal antibody named Ofatumumab which targets the B cells of my immune system to discourage them from demyelinating my spine and brain. It’s a very targeted therapy, these artificial antibodies only target one protein, and yet the side effect profile continues to be an interesting and unpredictable experience.

But firstly: does it work? Yeah, pretty well so far. Minimal progression, actually some improvement across most symptoms, and I will willingly trade the one day a month or so of side effects I have to endure for the medication that will hopefully keep me functional as long as possible. I will probably never go back to performing surgery, and there are bad days here and there, but the burning arm pain doesn’t happen anymore and the numbness is generally restricted to just hands, not the whole limb.

The side effects though, they have been… interesting. They’ve certainly lessened over time as I adjust to the medication, but it’s such a random grab bag of effects.

You get warned when you start this medication that it will cause a bit of a headache, so to take some Panadol. But what happened for me:

First two hours after the injection - nothing happened at all

Then the migraine came, plus heavy fatigue.

Then the shivering started, I had chills so bad that I was filling hot water bottles with boiling water to hug in my bed, because it was the only way I wouldn’t tremble constantly.

Then came the gastro signs, while I still had the chills.

Unrelenting insomnia approximately 12 hours after the dose.

The chills dissipated overnight but the nausea continued the next day, plus dizziness and exhaustion.

And I got to do that once a week for the first few doses, so I was pretty much non functional other than keeping myself alive at that point.

Over time, the side effects have been steadily less and less though. If I’m a little bit unwell in some way before a dose, the Kesimpta will exaggerate the symptoms, and I try and time the dose so I can sleep through most of the nausea and headache. I’m usually a bit off balance for most of the day, not enough to be a fall risk but aware enough that I am not right enough to drive and definitely shouldn’t climb a ladder.

But I still get these completely bizarre mood swings. I can go from being okay to crying over a sad thought in about 20 minutes, over no meaningful stimulus. I’m watching myself react this way and just have to ride it out, but there’s no way I could go to work on a medication day. People will think I’m insane or on a recreational drug.

So I have to take the day as a scheduled maintenance day.

Being on this medication has made me very glad for the Medicare system we have in Australia, and the pharmaceutical benefits scheme which subsidises the cost of a lot of medications through the government.

Without these systems, Kesimpta would be costing me about $2.5k per month. As it is now, it costs me about $60 a month, delivered, and I get a handy little ap that reminds me when my dose is due, and will send me an email or text message if it thinks I’ve missed a dose, steadily getting more frequent so that I will get a text message every hour as a reminder if it thinks I’ve forgotten.

#multiple sclerosis #MS #chronic illness #Medicare #monoclonal antibody

[skyward-floored]

Febuwhump collab day 18 - too weak to move

Hi yep I’m still working on febuwhump XD I’ve got two more fics after this in fact! Expect the next one up either later today or tomorrow >:)

This was suggested by an anon, thank you! They wanted Warriors or Sky, so I kinda did both. It ended up taking a turn I didn’t expect, but I hope you like it.

Warnings: Heat exhaustion, a brief discussion about infertility

Today’s lovely art

Ao3 link

————————————————————

“Aunt Sun! Aunt Sun Aunt Sun where’d you go we need you!”

Sun looked up from the lemonade she was mixing, and saw Wind run into the kitchen, almost tripping on his flip-flops but catching himself.

“Aunt Sun!” he gasped, and Sun looked at him in surprise.

“What’s the matter Wind? Did Sky and Warriors finally get tired of hucking snowballs at each other?” she asked, leaning on the counter. “I’m all for a snow day, but it’s just too hot to be out there, even with snow.”

“No, no they didn’t, b-but Warriors was making a really big snowball and then he fell over and now he won’t get up, and Uncle Sky told me to get you,” Wind stuttered, and Sun froze, then immediately dropped what she was doing.

“Lead the way,” she said quickly, and followed Wind outside, the heat hitting her like a physical weight.

The area was suffering through a horrible heat wave, and everyone was desperate to cool down, in any way they could manage. Warriors had brought Wind over to hang out with Aryll for a while, and offered to generate some snow for a snowball fight. It had helped a lot with staying cool, but Sun had gotten to the point where she hadn’t been able to handle the heat any longer, even with snow, and she’d gone in to mix up a more reliable way of cooling down.

She was wondering now if she should’ve stayed out, though.

Wind led her to the backyard, where several rapidly melting piles of slush lay, Sky kneeling among them and apparently uncaring of how wet he was getting. Aryll sat next to him, her eyes wide, and Warriors lay collapsed beside them both, parts of him pale while others were flushed with heat.

A sharp spark of fear hit Sun’s chest.

“What happened?” she asked quickly as she kneeled down beside the two, Sky frantically shading Warriors with one wing while the other fanned air towards him.

“I don’t know, he was just making some more snow, and then all of a sudden he just...” Sky gestured helplessly, and Sun leaned over Warriors, unsure of where to start.

“He sleeping?” Aryll asked in confusion, and Wind picked her up, looking shaken.

“I don’t think so Aryll,” he said quietly.

Warriors’ eyes flickered open then, and they all leaned forward to look at him, his expression confused as he blinked up at them all.

“Wh’ happened?” he mumbled, and twitched a little like he was trying to sit up. He didn’t make it more then maybe an inch though, and Sky and Sun both pushed him back down, Wind and Aryll looking on with wide eyes.

“You just collapsed Wars, take it easy,” Sky said worriedly, still fanning him. “How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?”

It took Warriors a moment to respond, all of them watching him carefully. And when he did finally speak, his voice was unusually quiet and raspy.

“...dunno,” he murmured, blinking dizzily at them all. “Sort of... s-sick, I-I guess...”

Sky leaned over and put a hand on Warriors’ forehead, and the worry on his face sharpened.

“...you feel warm. Warriors, you’re never warm,” he said in a voice that was on the verge of panicking.

“‘parently I am today,” Warriors slurred, looking dizzy as he closed his eyes again.

Sun tugged Sky’s hand out of the way so she could feel Warriors’ forehead as well, and she frowned at the heat that met her fingers. Warriors wasn’t burning up or anything, but for someone who always ran cold, the fact that he was warm to the touch at all was worrying in more ways than one.

Sun made quick eye contact with Sky, and the look on his face confirmed her own thoughts.

He pushed himself too far.

“Wind, would you take Aryll inside and get a wet washcloth? There’s some clean ones next to the sink,” Sun said, and Wind nodded and went back into the house, Aryll still looking back with a curious look. “We should get him inside, it’ll be cooler in there.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s a good idea,” Sky said with worry thick in his voice, and Sun gave his hand a quick squeeze.

Sun then helped him sit Warriors up, his head lolling a bit. They each pulled one of his arms over their shoulders, Sky pulling his wings in, and lifted him up, slowly carrying him inside. Warriors didn’t move much during all this, looking blearily around as they moved him, and the lack of anything else only worried Sun more.

Normally Warriors would’ve cracked a stupid joke by now, or at least reassured them he was okay, especially earlier with Wind and Aryll watching. Instead all he did was remain slumped in their arms, and Sun and Sky wasted no time in bringing him into the house.

They laid Warriors on their couch, Aryll watching curiously from the floor, and Wind returned after a minute with a wet cloth like Sun had asked. She quickly wiped it over Warriors’ face, dripping it in his hair and dampening his skin, then placed it on his forehead.

“Is he okay?” Wind asked once she’d finished, and Sky ruffled his hair.

“We think he just overheated a bit buddy. He should just need to take it easy,” Sky reassured, though Sun could still see the worry plastered all over his face.

“Can I help at all?” Wind asked, anxiously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Sun looked at her nephew, and nodded, seeing the worry bright in his eyes.

“Yes, I think you’re exactly who we need,” she said kindly, and gestured him over. “Would you blow a bit of air on Warriors? It doesn’t have to be a lot, but it’ll help him cool down faster.”

“Yeah, I can do that!” Wind said eagerly, then sat down in the chair beside Warriors, blowing a gentle breeze through the air.

Warriors shifted as the air brushed him, and he let out a quiet sigh, turning his head towards the breeze. Sun and Sky watched him in silence for a moment, and Aryll wobbled over and poked her head up by Warriors’, smiling when the air blew past her own face as well.

“Sleep?” she said, poking him with a chubby hand, and Sky tugged her away.

“...yes, he’s resting right now pumpkin, so let’s leave him alone, okay?” he said, and Aryll blinked, Sky gently pulling her back from her uncle’s side.

He picked Aryll up and set her over by some of her toys, trying to get her distracted, and Sun busied herself with wiping the cloth over Warriors’ face again, feeling his skin. Still too warm.

She held back a sigh, watching Warriors’ hair be tousled by the breeze Wind was making. Warriors and Sky had both been the ones to push themselves the most back during their hero days, often further then they should... but while just playing with his family, Warriors never gone so far as to pass out.

Something must be up.

Sky came back after a little while, Aryll happily stacking some blocks, and he looked down at his brother, still motionless and pale.

“Should we call a doctor?” he asked quietly, and Sun hesitated.

“...I don’t know. It seems like he’s just too hot, and I don’t think they’d be able to do anything for him that we can’t,” Sun said finally, wiping the cloth over Warriors’ forehead again. “Let’s give him a little while.“

“Alright. We should probably call Artemis though,” Sky mused, and Warriors cracked his eyes open.

“Don’ need to,” he murmured. “She doesn’t... need more problems. Leave ‘er be.”

Sun and Sky both raised their eyebrows at that, and Wind paused in his blowing, giving Warriors an odd look.

“Warriors... you’re not a problem. Especially not to Artemis,” Sun said, and Warriors closed his eyes, not replying.

Sky frowned.

“...Have you had any water to drink today Wars?” he asked suddenly, voice suspicious.

“I guess..? ‘lil...” Warriors mumbled after a moment of silence, and Wind looked down at him worriedly. “Don’... really remember...”

“So you spent the hottest day of the year making snowballs in our backyard, and you haven’t had any water all day. Is that what I’m hearing?” Sky asked with a bit of a bite to his voice. “Did you just forget you get dehydrated when you use your powers too much?!”

“I don’t know,” Warriors murmured. “...sorry.”

The fight went out of Sky all at once, and he sighed, wiping some sweat off his brow. He lightly nudged Warriors with a wing, and didn’t say anything for a moment, obviously thinking.

Sun decided to cut in. “Well you should drink something now, you need to get all that water you used up back in you, and it’ll help cool you down,” she pointed out, and Warriors gave a small nod.

“I can get him some!” Wind offered, and hopped off his chair, running into the kitchen before anyone else could offer to go.

Sun and Sky watched him scamper off, then turned back to Warriors, who was trying to sit himself up again. His arms shook, and Sky quickly grabbed him before he could fall, helping him up without a word.

Warriors leaned his head back once he was sitting upright, and closed his eyes, his face worn. Sun studied him for a moment, fixing the cloth when it tried to slide off. Warriors looked tired, but in more ways then one, a weariness apart from dehydration and overheating evident on his face.

Adding that to how he’d overused his powers, forgotten to drink anything during the worst heatwave they’d had in years, and his reaction at the mention of his wife...

“Warriors... is everything alright with you and Arty?” she asked finally, looking at her brother in-law.

Warriors remained silent, his face creasing a bit further, and Sky and Sun gave each other looks.

Hit the nail on the head it seems.

“Alright Wars. Something’s eating at you. You never push yourself like this unless you’re really out of it, or something’s wrong,” Sky said as he sat down beside him, and Warriors softly huffed.

“Do not.”

“Do too. And I can think of at least three times off the top of my head,” Sky said pointedly. “Come on. What’s going on with you and Artemis?”

Warriors stilled, and the quiet buzz of the ceiling fan was the only noise in the room for a few moments. It was occasionally punctuated by Aryll’s giggling and the sound of Wind clattering around in the kitchen looking for a cup, and Sun was about to threaten to call Artemis and ask her for answers when Warriors let out a sigh.

“Things’ve just... been hard,” he said, voice still faint. “We’re okay, we haven’t... fought ‘r anything, but...”

He hesitated, then exhaled again.

“...We’ve been trying so hard,” Warriors murmured, eyes still closed. “For kids. But we...”

Sky put his hand on his shoulder, and Warriors swallowed.

“...I don’t know. Maybe it’s a sign we’re just not meant to be parents,” he whispered.

“Warriors, don’t talk like that,” Sun said softly, her heart falling at the grief in his voice. “You and Arty will be wonderful parents.”

Warriors didn’t reply, and Sun put her hand on his other shoulder, wishing she knew what else to say.

“Overextending yourself isn’t going to fix anything Wars,” Sky said softly, drawing his wings in. “This... this isn’t your fault. You can’t punish yourself for things outside your control.”

Warriors seemed to droop further where he sat, and his eyes remained stubbornly closed.

“I want... to fix it,” he said in a voice so quiet Sun could barely hear it. “But I can’t. It’s a problem I can’t... solve, and Arty’s suffering for it.”

“And it isn’t your fault,” Sun reminded him. “You can’t control this Warriors, and you’re suffering just as much as Arty is. Don’t minimize that.”

Warriors stilled, and Sun fixed the wet cloth on his forehead where it had fallen slightly.

“I’m sorry Link,” Sky said quietly. “I knew you two were struggling with it, but I didn’t realize...”

“It’s all right,” Warriors murmured, and Sky squeezed his shoulder.

“Still. If there’s anything you two need... just ask, okay? We’re here to help Wars, but we can’t if you don’t let us.”

“Or if you make bad decisions such as creating too much snow in the worst heatwave I can remember,” Sun added, and Warriors’ mouth twitched into a faint smile.

“I’m already... regretting that, trust me.”

Sun smiled back, and Warriors finally opened his eyes, looking between the two of them. He still looked unusually subdued, but he seemed a little better then before, and Sun counted it as a win.

“We should let Artemis know you collapsed though,” Sun said, brushing some hair out of her face with a sigh. “And somebody is going to have to drive you home... then maybe we can discuss this a little more. But right now you need to rest, and focus on cooling down.”

Warriors sighed. “Yeah. I know.”

Sun gave his shoulder a squeeze, then withdrew it, resolving to bring things up with Artemis next time they had some time to talk. If Warriors was feeling this badly, she could only imagine how Artemis was doing.

“I got your water!”

All three adults looked up as Wind finally walked back into the room, carefully holding a mug in his hands and looking a little frazzled.

“I couldn’t reach your water cups and I didn’t want to break them by blowing them so I just got a mug cause it’s basically a cup, and I know this one is kind of weird but I it was the first one I found,” Wind rambled, and looked at Warriors anxiously. “Are... are you feeling better, Warriors?”

Warriors took the garishly colored mug with a trembling hand, then took a long sip of water. Some color seemed to come back to his face as he drank, and when he lowered the mug, he gave Wind a small smile.

“Yeah bud, I am,” he said quietly as he looked at his hands. “Sorry for scaring you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Wind said quickly, then climbed up on Sky so he could be next to Warriors. “Just... don’t do that again.”

Warriors let out a soft chuckle. “No promises. But I’ll do my best.”

Wind flicked a puff of air at Warriors’ face with a grumpy huff, but after a moment he went back to blowing a soft breeze at him like he had earlier, looking relieved.

Warriors relaxed as it hit him, and closed his eyes, looking much better then he had before.

Sky gave Warriors’ shoulder one more gentle nudge, but didn’t say anything further, and Sun got up to go phone Artemis. Wind started in on some kind of story about what one of his brothers had done recently, Aryll toddling back over to sit beside them and listen, and Sun looked back and watched them for a moment, a somewhat sad smile on her face.

Then she headed for the phone, Aryll’s giggles following her.

#Incredibles au #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu wind #lu sun #lu warriors #lu Sky #lu aryll #Sky/sun #warriors/Artemis #febuwhump #day 18 #too weak to move #incredibles au fic #writing from the floor #if you’re worried about warriors and arty #go to the ao3 link and go to chapter 40 #also random but Sky carved the blocks aryll is playing with #he’s made a few things for his nephews too

[mightymizora]

Respite

A simple bath will likely do very little in the face of the arcane hunger that is starting to consume him from the inside out. Yet again, it won’t hurt.

Glim has a gift for Gale on their first night in the Underdark. (AKA I had a lot of feelings about Gale and chronic pain)

Read it on Ao3

“Oh, but you are clever.”

“I like it when you say that.”

She has uncovered an old tin tub under a sheet in Lenore’s quarters, with a stack of scrolls of create water carefully placed to one side. It’s full of lightly-steaming water, a scent of salt in the air. Gale breathes it in, the heaviness in his chest burning with each breath.

“I’ve been heating the metal for… well, a while now,” Glim tells him, smiling up at him with pride. “It should be a nice warmth and not a boilpot. Hopefully.”

“Have you tested it?”

“Well, I don’t know how hot you can take it.”

She walks over to the bath and looks back at him, peering over the edge. It’s almost as tall as she is, and the ripple of the candlelight hits the water and reflects a gentle glimmer across the scar on her face, lighting up her eyes as they sparkle with that kind, warm look of hers. He almost doesn’t take in what she just said.

“Me?”

“Don’t tell the others. I think Astarion would literally murder for it. But I thought it might help with everything.”

Everything, indeed. The orb cannot be sated, and there is little he can think of to do. Some magic can take the worst edge off the pain but he is exhausted, too slow to be useful in battle and a hindrance as they traverse this dangerous terrain. All of his energy is expended on magic to ensure he can even see in this damnable darkness, a problem that nobody else shares, leaving him drained to the point of feeling like his chest is caving in on itself. A simple bath will likely do very little in the face of the arcane hunger that is starting to consume him from the inside out.

Yet again, it won’t hurt.

“This is most generous. Most kind.”

“Let’s hope it does something. Clothes off then, while it’s still hot.”

He freezes. She cannot possibly think that he could do that around her? They were close, yes, but if anything that made it worse. Until he had told her the truth about his condition there had been a soft sweetness that they had shared, and he thought - well, perhaps presumed was a more apt word, given the evidence in front of him - that despite the icy shard that had driven into the warmth of their burgeoning affections for each other, that she still. Well. That perhaps, as he did, she-

“Ah,” she says with a grimace. “I forget you humans have such hang-ups around privacy. There’s not much place for it when you’re ten to a room.” She taps out a rhythm on the side of the bath as she thinks. “Well,” she says brightly after a moment, “how about I leave for a few minutes, get the last things I need, and when I return you can already be in the water? The salts have left the water quite cloudy, I’m sure it will hide whatever you feel you need to.”

“And what are your plans when you return?”

“I have an idea. To help. Indulge me?”

Her eyes are shining in that way she does when she’s been plotting. She is always so full of plans, of schemes and ideas and theories. It is what he has always adored the most in her.

“Always.”

He watches as she disappears behind the screen that divides this small corner of the room from the rest of this ruined floor. She has pulled up a small chair, he assumes for him to leave his belongings on, and has a row of neat bottles, potions and delicious smelling herbal soaps lined up on a nearby bookshelf within arms reach. There is some kind of robe, perhaps pulled from the ruined wardrobes in the other floors, and even the concession of a single candle to break through the darkness, set on the floor so as not to draw attention to the horrors lurking outside. Back in Waterdeep, before his confinement, he was a rather frequent visitor to the Temple of Beauty and took great joy in an afternoon of pleasures. Had he told her about those days? He can’t think that he has, and yet there are so many small details in how she has tried to set this up that takes him back to those easier times, despite the desolation they find themselves in.

He runs his hand through the water, testing how deeply he would need to be submerged to maintain some level of dignity. The water is a milky white, and his hand disappears into clouds before his elbow is even grazing it. Satisfied, he slips off his shoes and then his clothes, folding them on the chair before climbing in.

The water makes him gasp as he lowers himself to the bottom, and it is hotter still there. He almost has tears in his eyes as the water settles on his chest, lapping at the edges of the tub. It is a little small for him, but he is still largely covered, his knees bent to allow him to ease his shoulders down and rest the back of his head against the edge. It is lovely. It is.

The pain remains, however. It is both a pressure and a spark, at the same time a deep sore ache in his muscles and the weaving of electricity from his shoulder up his neck and into his eyes. It makes his fingers move slower, causing him to stumble over spellcasting that should be second-nature. It makes his feet sluggish as he walks and his words escape him as he talks. As he sinks into the water, he can feel the warmth trying to feed into him, release his tired muscles and unknot the tensions, and the orb is almost pushing back against it in defiance.

“Can I come through?”

She was so light on her feet, he could almost never track her by her footsteps. “Yes, by all means.”

She comes around the screen with a small pouch, her eyes set on it and not him, which is a slight relief. She is always so consumed by her ideas when she is excited by them.

“I noticed that when we were affected by the Sussar flowers, you were standing taller. I thought perhaps it might have had some additional benefits.” She holds up a sealed bottle with a suspension in it. “I don’t know if it holds its power this way, or how long, but I thought it might be more stable like this. It would mean we lose our magic for a short time, which I know is not comfortable… but if you’re willing?”

“You noticed such a little thing?”

“Well,” she says with a shy smile. “I make it my business to notice such things. Astarion’s hunger. Karlach’s fire. Your…”

“Condition.”

“Your pain, Gale. It’s okay to name it.”

He takes a deep breath, feeling the pressure of the orb pulling against the lateral muscles across his shoulders, making his breath hitch at the end. He tries to not think about it at all, yet alone speak about it. There is a faint sharp feeling of embarrassment about it, he realises. Perhaps he had been too forthcoming with her in the moment. She should not have to carry his burdens as well as her own.

“Well?” Glim asks. Her eyes are on him now. “What do you think? I believe after a few hours it won’t be potent anymore, so the effect should wear off in good time for when you next need to cast.”

“Go on then. You know I can never resist practical application of a sound theory.”

“Well, I’m not sure it’s sound. But it shouldn’t do any harm.”

She empties the whole bottle without ceremony, shaking it like a salt well to get every last drop in the water. There is a bloom of softly glowing blue as it works its way through the waters. Then, with a grin, she gently sprinkles a fistful of dried flowers across the surface, dropping the last with purpose by his chest.

“Do the petals do anything?”

“Oh, not at all. But they look pretty, don’t they?”

He watches her as she picks up two of the bottles of oil from the shelves and holds them up. “Sussar doesn’t have much of a scent to it, unfortunately. So. One, or two?”

She puts them in front of his nose one and then the other. The first is a bloom of lavender and some kind of sweetness he doesn’t recognise - perhaps something extracted from a deep mushroom? - and the second is a salty explosion of balsam. They lack complexity compared to his recollection of what was used in the temple, but they were surprisingly pleasant.

“The first, perhaps. It’s rather unusual. Did you blend it yourself?”

“From notes in the laboratory. Our departed wizard was a talented botanist. This seems to have been her signature.”

She holds it to her own nose and closes her eyes as she inhales deeply, letting out a hum of approval before she drops just a few drops into the water. Placing it down, she starts to roll up the sleeves of her shirt, and he finds his face flushing with heat at the sight of it. Her revealing just the slightest amount of flesh, her elbows bent as she carefully rolls her cuffs, suddenly makes him painfully aware that he is naked. And that may be nothing to her, but it is certainly something to him.

“Lay back,” she instructs him gently as she walks up to the top of the tub. “And close your eyes, please.”

She dips a small silver dish into the waters and raises it, tilting his head further back as she pours it gently over the front of his hairline. The warmth trickles over him as soft as a caress as she wets his hair, taking her time as she tilts his head to the side. She is so close to him like this, and he opens his eyes despite instruction and watches as her own eyes narrow in concentration, looking past his own eyes and to her ministrations. She is at her most beautiful like this. The thought passes over him like the sweep of water. There is a finery to her brow in concentration, her jaw flexes and it draws his eye to her strong cheekbones, to her soft, slightly open pink lips, the colour more vivid towards the pull of her mouth. The scar on her face, a sweeping web of purples and soft silver against the bluish-grey of her skin. The tiny mole on the side of her neck that he has often thought to lean over and kiss. It is but a turn of his head away from being able to do just that.

“You’re good at this, you know,” he murmurs, closing his eyes again for his own sake.

“I know. Though I wish it were for a glamorous reason.”

She runs her fingers across his temples to ensure the water has penetrated, and he cannot stop a soft moan escaping him. She laughs softly as she repeats the motion, hand over hand as she gently pulls the hair behind his ears.

“There is one thing I can do, which is a little more special. A trick from an old paramour.”

“Glim-”

“Trust me. She was excellent with her hands.”

He can smell the oil on her fingers as she places her fingers on his head, thumbs joined and fingers pressing gently into his temples. Slowly, with the strength of her practised bardic hands, she presses small circles into his skull. It is blissful… and it is familiar.

“A Sunite?”

“Indeed.” She shifts closer as she turns her hands in his hair, the movement sweeping back across his scalp in the formation of the swan, one of his very favourites. “Her name was Almeida. She was back in Neverwinter, in the temple. I taught her the lyre. She taught me some other things.”

Her fingers push down again and he doesn’t stifle his moan this time, he couldn’t if he tried. It is blissful. It is perfect.

It is very dangerous, to be this relaxed.

“What happened?” he asks her in an attempt to pull himself back. “Is she… do you still share-”

“Gods, no,” she laughs as her fingers find the back of his head and push into the top of his neck. “We had a lovely few summers. But Sune demands a certain beauty I do not possess. Or at least, that’s what I saw. It flickered out like the end of a candle. But it was something lovely, I think.”

“Well, she was a terrible fool, if that is so.”

Does she not know, he wonders, how beautiful she is? How she is different from and prettier than any other person he has seen? If things were different, if he were home and there were ways in which to show her…

“That silver tongue of yours. You can’t help but play the charmer.”

“I speak the truth. She was a fool, if she could not see your splendor.”

“You are very kind.”

They slip into silence for a little as she repeats her ministrations, the pressure in her fingers growing as she sweeps through again, and once more. He lets his eyes drift shut as he concentrates on breathing deeply, letting himself be caught up in the sensation of her work and not, for once, in his chest. She starts to hum absently; music thrums through her always, and he tries and fails to identify the song.

“I don’t think I know that one.”

“Hm?”

“The tune. I don’t know it.”

“Oh. Well, it’s new.”

“You’re composing?”

“All the time. There’s so much inspiration. So much I want to capture.”

She sweeps her fingers down one last time as her touch becomes more gentle and her hands drift away and he settles into his body again.

“Has it helped?” She asks him, coming to the side of the bath and leaning her elbow against it. “Has it helped at all?”

“Your fine company is always a balm.”

“Gale. Be serious.”

“Well.”

There is no point, he thinks, in trying to hide the truth from her. It would be a poor thing to do in the face of such generosity. “It has been lovely, and there has been some slight relief in the worst of it, to be sure. However…”

“It’s beyond the point where it can be helped at all, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid I think it might be.”

She taps on the edge of the bath, a sharp rhythm that puts him on edge. She’s trying to think, he has seen this before. She is trying, her brow furrowed, biting her lip as her eyes fall to the floor. Slowly, the rhythm fades to nothing, and in the silence, she slowly, carefully, lays her grey hand on his.

He does not dare move.

“If you truly think it is near the end,” she says, her hand on his, “If you think it is time we… we could stay here. In this tower. The others could go on ahead. There’s plenty to read, enough food to sustain us, there’s precious little nearby that would amount to civilisation. We could stay here, and see what takes us first.”

“Glim-”

“I said I would stay with you, didn’t I? I can take care of you. I’m good at it.”

She looks at him, and he knows she is serious. “I would never ask you to.”

“I know. But how could I live with myself, knowing I’d left you to die alone?”

Her words drop down upon them and he does not know what to say. It is strange to admit, but in his thoughts of what would come should the orb take over him, his thoughts had not been of what would be left behind. He imagines himself climbing through wilderness and finding a cove, and praying one final time to his Lady as he commits himself to her care. Then, bright light, and maybe the sight of her again. That was what he had dreamed of, wasn’t it? That perhaps if he could be brave enough, humble enough, that in death he would find her forgiveness again?

Now he thinks of his mother. He has behaved wretchedly to her, carving her out of his life under the pretense of keeping her safe, which he now realises was a coward’s way out of having to explain himself and see the look on her face when she realised her son was… well. That he was a fool, and would pay the price of it. He thinks of Tara, dear Tara, who has kept him alive all of this time and who is probably frantic with worry in the tower. He thinks of his new friends, because he feels he can call them that now, Karlach at the front of his mind. He can see her face so clearly, lit up with fury at the injustice of it all.

And he sees Glim. He sees her as he sees her now, tears pricking the corner of her blue eyes, wide as the lakes of Elysium.

She looks away from him and runs her other hand through her hair. “Listen, I should let you-”

He takes her hand before she can move it away from his, pressing her fingers to her lips. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows it won’t help things, doesn’t change anything, but he does it anyway. He runs his thumbs over the callouses on her fingertips, inhales the scent of all of the herbs and flowers she has crushed to do this for him. She leans in, kisses him at the temple quickly before taking her hand away.

“The water must be getting colder without the magic. I didn’t think… I’ll leave you to enjoy it.” There is something at the corner of her voice he cannot quite place as she gathers some of the bottles and readies to leave. “There’s soaps just by you on that shelf, and be careful getting out with the oils. And don't stay too long. It’s hard to keep your sleep patterns without the sun, so you should get rest soon. When we wake…”

“When we wake, we shall carry on,” he says. “We find our way towards Moonrise, as planned.”

“Right. There’s hope, until there isn’t.”

He has heard her roll that saying around in her mouth so many times now. A Svirfneblin saying, so stark to the point of almost seeming glib. But it was true, though simple, and poetic in its honesty and clarity. He forgets sometimes about the great gulf of differences between them, of their lives and circumstances, when he sees so much of the familiar in her.

She smiles back at him one last time before departing, and he can just about hear her descending back to the basement.

He leans back and lets the water hold him for just a little while longer.

#bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #glimmergris #chronic pain gale means a lot to me #let’s all have a pining moment

[adiduck]

WIP Wednesday

Semi-spicy scene for Operation Groundhog AU today ;) Enjoy!

-

Ice hears about the training for the next couple of days via dry, written reports from Cyclone, from Warlock, from Mav himself. Mav puts the twelve aviators from 2019 on hops running the first half of the course--goes easy on them with the distance from the ground and the time they have to reach the target.

Lieutenants Kazansky and Mitchell, however, he’s got running drills in their jets--basic maneuvers, dogfights, canyon runs well over the heads of the other aviators. They’re good, is the general consensus--Ice knows that already--but they’ve never been in an F-18E before. It’s smaller than they’re used to. Not faster, but more maneuverable. It has different tics, different eccentricities, and it doesn’t do that semi-disturbing shimmy that the Tomcats, beautiful beasts that they were, tended to do when you held the rudder too long on the bank. They’re making progress--fast progress--but they’re not really running the course.

Mav’s getting anxious.

At home, Mav whispers more details into Ice’s neck and shoulder at night, collapsing exhausted into a chair in Ice’s office or into Ice’s side on the couch or into bed beside Ice when he finally gets home--too late, exhausted, and starving. Lieutenant Mitchell is restless. Lieutenant Bradshaw hesitates to reach the speeds he will need, and won’t listen to Mav when he tells him to stop thinking so hard. Lieutenant Seresin won’t stay with his wingman.

He’s worried about Lieutenant Kazansky, too, but he seems less inclined to complain to Ice about it. Which, honestly, is hilarious.

Instead, he gets a lot of whining. “He calls me ‘sir’, and it’s so unimaginably weird,” Mav complains. “It throws me every time--not a good look. I’ve been a Captain for six years, Ice!”

“That does sound like a problem for you,” Ice croaks out. It’s been a good day--thanks to more ibuprofen and tylenol than he should probably take, but still. It’s rare that he has a voice this late at night, usually. He’s enjoying it, and very thoroughly ignoring Mav’s pointed looks to rest it. As though Ice’s voice can be stored up for special occasions or something.

Mav kicks him, and then settles back into Ice’s side to continue complaining. “It’s definitely not helping,” he grumbles. “I’m having a hard enough time getting these kids to respect me. And mini-me is not fucking helping with his bullshit.”

Ice smiles and doesn’t say anything. Mav, probably sensing that Ice is mentally making fun of him uproariously, kicks him again.

“It’s not my fault,” he grumbles. “I usually just get everyone to call me by my call-sign, but I can’t this time because there’s fucking two Mavericks running around, and really it’s more important they bond with him. And--well, you’ve never called me ‘sir’ in your life, and it’s bizarre.”

…Huh. Ice thinks about that a minute. “You know,” he says, and lets the hand that’s been tracing Mav’s shoulders--careful of the harness bruises--press down with slightly more intent. “If the issue is you’re not used to it, we could practice.”

Mav stills. “Practice.”

“Mhm,” Ice says, and shifts just a little, so that their legs slot together just slightly more securely, so that he can turn his head, draw his lips down Mav’s temple towards his ear, draw his fingers further down the lines of Mav’s back, pressed against his spine. “Reporting for duty, sir,” he whispers into Mav’s ear, and grins as he feels it go hot, as Mav’s face goes bright red and the position of their hips betrays a sudden, burning interest.

“Jesus,” Mav chokes. “You are going to kill me.”

“That’s not a no,” Ice says. “Sir.”

Mav lunges up and forward all at once, body dragging up Ice’s and mouth crashing into Ice’s mouth with an intent that burns straight down to Ice’s toes. Ice gasps, tilts his head back to give Mav a better angle, lets Mav slide his tongue past Ice’s teeth, deliberate and claiming.

“And what do I call you, in this scenario,” Mav near-growls, running his hands down Ice’s sides like Ice is his to touch, to hold--possessive and claiming and all the things Ice would never have admitted to wanting, thirty-some-odd years ago.

“Whatever you want,” Ice suggests, “Sir,” and gets kissed absolutely breathless again for his efforts.

“Well then, Kazansky,” Mav offers, Ice’s last name on his tongue like a caress. “Put your hands above your head for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Ice says, and follows orders, watches Mav’s pupils expand with a satisfaction that burns in his gut and extends up and out.

“Fucking Christ,” Mav says.

“Still weird, then? I’ll have to try harder.”

Mav leans forward and bites at Ice’s lips.

“You’ll have to try harder--” he prompts, into Ice’s mouth.

“Sir,” Ice snaps out.

And then things get a little less defined, for a little while.

-

Mav: I think we miscalculated

Ice: ?

Mav: I walked in, mini-you called me 'sir', and it was, ah, uncomfortable for VERY DIFFERENT reasons this time

Ice: Oh my god

Mav: I also refer to him pretty exclusively by his last name Ice what do I do

Ice: 🤣

Mav: THIS IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE TIME FOR EMOJIS

#adi is a writer #wip wednesday #wip snippet #operation groundhog au #spicy #icemav #will I keep this? probably #it'll get cleaned up a bit for the final obviously LOL

[grippingbeskar]

chapter twenty three - selfish

frank castle x fem! reader

warnings: canon typical violence, graphic description of injuries and general gross stuff, needles?, bobby bein a bit of. a creep again ugh.

a/n: there is so much happening in this chapter. please god make it make sense.

[series masterlist] [previous chapter]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Wake up.” A hand slaps you across the face, and you squint as your eyes manage to open. “There you go.”

You were still here. It had to of been… hours now. That’s what it feels like. Really, it feels like you’d never left. Everything’s the same, and you feel just as small. Just as alone as you always did. Except for him, leaning over you, observing your every movement. You tried to open your mouth, but your jaw was so stiff it felt wired shut.

“I’ve got a lot more work to get done before you leave me again. You with me now?” He says, grimy hands dragging along the inside of your wrist. It’s only as you look down, feeling the urge to tear that hand from his arm, that you see the IV stuck in your vein. Blood. He was taking your blood. He turns his attention back to a small screen. “Such a beautiful signal you get here. See this? Your father would love to see these numbers.”

“Shut your… fucking…” Exhaustion burns through you, eating at every nerve and cell, screaming at you to drift off into that dark bliss. If you closed your eyes, you could see him. Maybe he’d show up on the water bed again. You don’t know why that memory, of all the ones you had, came to you, but you’d cling to it anyways.

“Shh. Save your energy. Can’t have you dying on me.” He pours something down your throat, and you cough and splutter for a few minutes before anything goes down. You hate that it helps. It’s water. You want to throw it up out of spite, but your body hauls it in before you get the chance.

He’s no longer wearing the gas mask, and the air tastes clean apart from the metallic tang of blood still settled in your mouth. Your feet were bare, and the floor underneath was ice cold. You tried to lift them up, but the metal cuffs around your ankles didn’t let you.

“Never worked for three years, yet you still try it every time. You think I would ever let you go now? Over something as silly as reinforced cuffs?” Bobby hums, pressing his hand into the needle under your skin as his touch grazes over it. You wince, yanking away as much as you can. “I’ve had a lot of time to practise. To perfect keeping someone like you in containment. Keep you hidden.”

“What are you…talking about?” You manage with the water now settling in your stomach. Keep you hidden. How could you ever be more isolated than you were here?

“You may have been my first— and a special one at that, but you were not the first.” He takes the needle out of your skin with faux sensitivity. Like he almost cares if it cuts you now. “It’s a changing world out there. Super Soldiers, Gods raining from the sky… money can buy most things, but it hasn’t been able to buy me enough strength. Until now.”

He stands, walking around and grabbing the back of your chair. He drags you to the left, where you can see down the hallway. The door to the stairs you climbed down was wide open now, and a man was standing at the end of the hall.

“You see, I was investing in the wrong things. Training, guns… you name it. Until your father showed me the error of my ways. Science is where the real strength is.” Bobby crouches behind you, his hands holding your shoulders too tightly. “Of course, it’s been harder to master since your father passed. I haven’t been able to make the change permanent as he did— but I believe Ive found a way to increase its potency. Did you study much science with your father?”

The memory of him makes you want to cry. You wish you just had more time with him— you were going to fade away here and all his memory would go with you. You never even got the chance to tell Sam about him—

“Answer me.” He shoves your head forward, pain shooting up the back of your neck. You grit out a ‘no’ and he sighs. “No matter. Your father perfected the formula for your cell chemicals to shift and heal over. Only, the replenishment of those chemicals in other bodies is a little harder to grasp. Making it specifically for your DNA, and as much as I would love to have a million versions of you to play with, I need it to work for everyone.”

He brings over a bag of your blood, and clicks his fingers. The man at the end of the hallway moves toward you, standing at the entrance of the cell.

“Now, if my theory is correct…” He hooks up the IV again, but instead of attaching a new bag to your arm, he leaves it attached to your blood bag, and then stabs the man in front of you right in the divot of his elbow with the needle. “Even though we want to heal bones and organs, the most important part is the platelets and plasma. Tell me, sunshine, where is it that you find those?”

“Blood.” You spit, feeling some of your own drip down your chin.

“Good. Very good.” You both watch as the blood starts to disappear from the bag, going straight into the man’s veins. “This isn’t so bad, is it? Almost easy, I would say. You just have to listen, and do as your told.”

You recognise him— one of the men who used to stand outside your cell on days you needed to be guarded. Never speaking to you. Kicking your food through the gap in the wall. He looks almost asleep, and you think he might be under the effect of that gas from before— eyes half lidded and his knees weak.

“So, giving someone the proteins from your enhanced blood, theoretically, of course, should aid in the enhanced healing. Mix that with the incredible red and white blood cell counts you show, and you can create a virtually unstoppable force. For however long the shot of blood stays in his system. I had some stored from our previous years, but I have a feeling it’s effects will be more… productive, with a fresh supply.” The bag is half empty when he rips the IV out. The man doesn’t flinch, but now his eyes are wide and his knuckles white with how hard he’s fisting them at his sides. It’s almost like he’s hyped up on adrenaline, pupils dilated and staring at you. He takes a step forward, and you think Bobby is going to let him beat you to death. Instead, he pulls out a gun and shoves it into the man’s direction.

“Take this.” He says, and he does it immediately. “You see, the fresher the protein, the faster the recovery time. The guys downstairs, they have your blood in their system, and boy— does it make them pack a punch. But, their system doesn’t regenerate as easily. Some of that blood is months old—years. They die easier. Today, we’re going to see if your dear old dad was onto something. Getting blood straight from the source. It’s why I need you around. Might even let you test one out yourself like old times… but enough talk; back to our test.”

Bobby stands, walking around from behind you and controls the man’s movements, positioning him however he pleases. The man is obedient, moving without resistance, his eyes stilling on yours.

“Shoot yourself in the head.” He commands, and then the man clicks the safety off the gun and pulls the trigger.

You don’t make a sound, but you feel the hot splash of his blood across your face and arms, and then the dead weight of his body as he falls forward into your lap. A tear falls down your cheek, not in sympathy, but just pure shock.

You do scream now, because the man who’s brains paint the wall behind you stands up, pushing himself off you with ease. He sways slightly, like he’s drunk, and then blinks a couple times before returning to normal. He’s not hazed anymore— and even though his blood was still dripping down your face, still hot… he turns his head to Bobby, and the bullet wound is completely healed. Gasping for air, your head spins to Bobby, who was grinning.

“What the fuck have you done?!”

“I made him perfect! Like you!” He takes the gun from the man’s hands, who was still staring at you. “It worked even faster than I thought. Fresh is better, as they say.”

He hooks you up to another IV before you’ve come back to yourself, not even feeling the prick of the needle as the clear tube near your head turns a dark red. He was taking more…

“You—“ He snaps to the swaying man, who breaks his gaze from you. “Load these syringes and take them down. I want as many of them filled in the next twenty minutes. Don’t worry if she passes out… she’s a resilient one.”

The man moves quickly, opening a briefcase filled with long silver tubes, all ending in sharp points. He empties the rest of the first bag into three of the needles, then waits for the next to be filled. Everything gets fuzzy as he takes the next bag down and attaches another, and your hands go numb. You stare at them, making sure they’re still there. Bobby grabs your jaw, pulling you to face him.

“It’s good to have you back. I have to admit I had missed your… presence. My offer still stands, you know. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can work together. Build our own—“ All you can conjure up is the energy to spit in his face. He growls, grabbing you harder. “Fine. Have it your way. Once I’ve taken care of your little toy downstairs, I’ll be back. And I won’t be so withholding this time.”

More blood leaves your body, and you watch him walk away. You were losing so much so fast, you know you were about to pass out again, and you should be worried about that, but all you can manage to hold on to is the fact that Frank was somewhere here, and you couldn’t get to him.

It has to have been hours. Maybe even days. You have no idea. You hate it. You always lost time down here.

Your heart was as icy as the ground under your toes, and about as cracked and stained as the patch you were sitting over. The man next to you continued to sort through vials and tubes, and you drifted back to that sweet darkness, Franks voice nearly calling you if you dove in to it hard enough.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“That all you got?! Fucking puss—“ He’s cut off by another groan. His own, but he hardly recognises it by how high pitched it is. Another fist flies at his face, and he can feel the bone crack. He tenses, preparing for the next hit.

He needs to stay awake. He needs to stay awake enough to get to you. He saw everything— that whole fucking display, and even if he didn’t get any sound or words, the minute that piece of shit laid a hand on you, Frank snapped out of his haze. Doesn’t matter how much of his blood and guts covered the floor, he would drag his shattered leg behind him if he had to. He’d get to you.

Antagonising these guys in here had been easier than he thought. At first they were in some kind of trance, but when the loud bang of Bobby’s shotgun went off, the bullet just missing him— taunting him, they snapped. Now, it’s been…he’s got no idea how long, but they have to get tired soon. Get a little slower, get distracted, and then Frank will make his move. Maybe he’ll just get numb. He knows he’s cracked ribs, every time he breathes in something sharp stabs his side. He has to keep going.

Breathing in, the men surround him— and even Frank turns his head when there’s a knock at the door.

The guy who walks in is covered in blood, and he’s holding a briefcase. It’s the same one he thinks he saw when he was watching you, but his eyes are so blown up that he could be seeing things.

“Boss wants these distributed.” He says, and the three men hover around him as he unlocks it. They’re whispering something, and seemingly forget about Frank for a second.

Their mistake.

He’s slowly but surely working himself free, knowing he’s going to have to dislocate his thumbs to get out. He’s fought with worse injuries, but with how much blood he’s lost, he needs something. An edge. Something that will just get him out of this room. He knows there’s guns outside, and the slick of his blood makes it easier to slide out. He just needs one damn thing to go his way today…

“Is that really it?” One of the men hold up a needle. It’s bright red, with the biggest point Franks ever seen on the end.

“What’d you expect?”

“Hulk had green blood. Something like that, I guess.” Another man says off handedly, never looking back at him, and fuck— they were asking for it now. Franks right hand tugs at the cuff, and he squeezes his eyes shut, biting down on his lip so hard it bleeds. Not that he’ll be able to tell what’s bleeding anymore. Bone pops as he tugs the rest of the way, in one sharp movement he’s got a free hand.

He doesn’t wait.

Whatever’s in that syringe is important. Important enough that the guy who shot himself in the head got back up and walked down four flights of stairs. It does… well, Frank doesn’t know what the fuck if does, but if it heals a bullet to the head, Franks betting on the fact it’ll be enough to get him out of this room.

He lunges, throwing his body toward the syringe dangling in the man’s hand. The briefcase splatters on the ground and a multitude of curses ring through the room. One breaks, another falls right next to Franks head. He turns, only to see it kicked away. He pops his left hand out of the cuff in the shuffle, hoping they don’t notice it’s free.

“I thought he’d be better. Look at him.” They peer down at him on the floor, still cuffed by his feet, and from their view, still one hand, too. It’s why they don’t realise him reaching behind, grabbing two sharp points and dragging them over.

“Guess he’s past his prime. Clean this up, and don’t finish him off just yet. Boss wants round two.” The men laugh, turning their backs for a final time.

Frank stabs himself in the back with two needles. He feels it instantly— like the time he got shot up with adrenaline. Everything is turned to ten, and he groans and thrashes on the floor. The men turn around to look at him just in time to see his two free hands, but by then it’s too late.

Frank’s broken the chain on his legs, one giant whack of it against the concrete sending the links off in shattered pieces. He rolls, not feeling any pain on his sides. He stands, easily. Way too easily. He should be hunched over, fighting for consciousness.

He’s never felt fucking better.

He lands a punch on the advancing man, the one who broke his ribs. He grabs him by the head, feeling his skull bone crack under his grip.

He doesn’t have time to think about it, because the next ones already coming. He throws himself at him, tackling him to the floor. He beats him— over and over, so hard his hands meet concrete after three blows. He went through him.

One man’s on his back, arm around his throat, and he easily rips him over his head. These guys were fucking nothing now. He felt like he’d been shocked by some kind of electricity, except this was the kind that felt fucking amazing. He belted the man in front of him, then slammed his head into the wall. Blood and brain covered the only clean part of the room, and one man was left.

The man who shot himself.

“Stop! Wait!” The man says, holding the briefcase up. “I can tell you what he’s doing. Where she is!” Frank takes a few breaths, not even feeling winded.

“You work for him?” The man nods. “Where?”

“S-security.” Frank towers over him, and he goes for the handle of the door, but Franks too fast. So fucking fast he doesn’t register that he’s got the guys hand tight in a fist until he hears him scream.

“You know she was down there? All that time, huh?” The man looks up, wide eyed. Frank cracks the bones in his hands.

“Fuck! Yes— yes, we knew but I swear—“ Frank doesn’t care what the rest of the sentence is, because he picks up the briefcase, and uses the end of it to cave his head in.

He keeps hold of the case as he kicks the door down, swiping the shot gun Bobby abandoned. Then he takes a chance, testing his durability, and jumps over the railing of the two story platform.

After the beating he received, he should be struggling to even walk— but he lands it easily. He doesn’t even have that kink in his neck from this morning. Spent so much time staring down at you sleeping next to him. Not even that. No blood coming from anywhere, and he could see for fucking miles in front of him. No swollen eyes.

He was healed. Completely. Strong, too. Stronger than he fucking should be. He doesn’t know how long he’s got, but he knows he’s not wasting another second of not having you safe. He takes the stairs up four at a time, never needing to catch his breath.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank’s arm was around you, holding you tighter than you could ever remember. You weren’t shivering anymore, the effects of the ice cold water long forgotten the minute he pulled you to him under the covers.

It was nearly morning, and you were still hazed with sleep. The embarrassment and pain can’t reach you here, not when you are so close to drifting off. Another few hours of sleep would do you good. Just letting your eyes flutter closed. You blame it on this nearly-asleep-half-conscious state that you turn over, seeking more of the warmth his skin offers. He tenses next to you, feeling you shift, before accepting the new position and letting your limbs tangle with his own. 

It’s about as safe as you have ever felt. Frank on all sides, something that should make you feel boxed in. He’d let you go with one word, but you can trust him not to. You don’t want him to. Frank’s arms tighten around you as you settle your head just below his, nose brushing against his collarbone.

“You okay?” His voice rumbled through your head, all the way down to your toes. You didn’t answer, wanting to linger in this state a little longer. Your breathing was even, and you all but melted into him with one last, long sigh. “What the hell are you doin’ to me, huh?”

His lips touched your forehead before one hand tangled in your hair. He doesn't brush past this time. This time, it’s purposeful and practically permanent. He scorches your skin, kissing you softly, right on the little scar above your eyebrow.

You feel him tug you closer, your leg nearly on top of him now. You can hear his heartbeat in your ear, racing when your hand slowly brushes up his side, stopping under your head. Then it slows, and he kisses you one last time before you’re asleep again…

You can hear something. Maybe. Theres a beeping sound coming from the monitor, but that’s not what it is. This place echos everything. The walls nearly savour the sounds, sending them back to you so loud, that if you close your eyes you could swear it was happening right next to you. This is different, though. 

It’s screaming. Someone screaming.

You force your head up, slowly blinking your eyes. There’s spots in your vision, but you can see people. People, flying around the tight space of the corridor. Flying… you swear they were moving through the air, limbs whacking around in un-natural directions. Something loud cracked, and then a loud, male groan. Almost a scream, but this wasn’t in fear, or pain. Someone was coming, and they weren’t stopping until they got through.

You only knew one person who would fight for you like that, but as much as you tried to fight against it, sleep dragged you down into the dark. This time, Frank was getting further away, and you weren’t so sure you could pull yourself back up.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was pitch black, but all Frank could see was red. Dark, thick red, blood that can only be from deep, hidden parts of the body. Blood gets thicker the further in you go, and Frank was tearing right to the centre.

He found more men on the stairs, using the shotgun and the pulsing strength scorching through his body to take them out. He admitted it felt good— fucking easy, tearing through these guys. They had the higher ground but he had every advantage. He couldn’t help but feel like something was off about it, though. He has no idea what he gave himself, it just had to be enough to get to you.

When he finally makes it up to the door, he’s sprinting. More faces blur past his hands and bullets, but he can only focus on one. You, your head down, eyes closed. He throws someone with one arm as far as he can manage, and he doesn’t see the guy get back up. He’s still looking for Bobby, but all that was on the back burner now. Now, all he could focus on was you.

The bodies stop dropping, and he realises there’s no more coming. No more footsteps as he reaches the door to your cell, no more gun shots. Not even a breath that wasn’t his own.

You weren’t breathing.

He drops the case he’s still managed to hold, ignoring the slow beeping of the monitor. He rips at the handcuffs, but even with all this stuff in his body he can’t manage it.

“Come on. Hey! Come on, wake up…baby, fucking wake up.” He could hear the horse crack of his voice and he was pulling so fucking hard and it wasn’t enough. He’s shaking you by the shoulders, then he looks down, seeing the snapped locks of the briefcase.

There’s still four or five syringes in there. He doesn’t know what it does— he can hardly tell if he’s gonna live when this feeling dies down. He’s still staring at them, though. Reaching for one.

He could do it. It brought him back, healed whatever those assholes did… and your a hell of a lot stronger than he is. He needs it to work. He needs you to open your fucking eyes, but is it worth the risk? Was it worth it if it backfired? Was he that selfish, that he’d take the risk— the risk of you dying because of what he did, just so he wouldn’t have to live without you? He’d take you down with him if he did this— fuck knows what Bobby put in these things. It could be anything. But he couldn’t let you die in this room. Couldn’t let you go.

Frank Castle knows he’s selfish, but it’s like his body has already made up its mind. His hand is fisting on of the vials, hovering over your thigh. The beeping’s getting slower, and you twitch in his hold, the last signs of life fading from you. For a second, he thinks he shouldn’t do it. That he shouldn’t take you down with him any further than he’s already done. But he can’t see you die. He couldn’t.

“Please. Just— need this to work. Please.” He drops his head and plunges the needle into your thigh without another thought. Almost instantly, your eyes crack open and your heaving air back into your deprived lungs. Frank holds you upright, trying to make sure you don’t fall backwards, but he can’t see past the tears forming in his eyes.

He doesn’t remember the last time he cried like this— like a knife was tearing it’s way through his chest, nearing his throat and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. He didn’t want to stop it because you were fucking here— covered in blood and dirt but breathing. He chose right. Did right by you, for fucking once. Looking around the room terrified, you say a word, and he feels like the luckiest guy in the world because the first thing you think to say is his name.

“Frank!” You scratch out, shoulders still heaving with the effort of taking in air. “Frank— we have… you have to get me… please I can’t be in here anymore—“

“Shh. Shh— you’re okay. I’m gonna get you out, just like I promised, yeah?” You stop spinning your head around and stop your thrashing when your eyes meet his. He feels your hand go to lift up and touch him but you can’t move. “Fucking hell. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“You’re crying.” You say softly, and Frank shakes his head, laughing out of pure exhaustion.

“Yeah, I am.” Your head tilts, and fuck— he can’t help it. He shuffles closer, holding your head in his hands. You look wrong in his hold, like something precious and way too expensive, something he’d never earn the value of in his lifetime. You press into his touch, and he just can’t let you go.

“You came.” Wet tears stream down your face, and he wipes them away with his thumbs. “I thought you were— I thought you might not make it here.”

“I promised.” It’s all he has time for right now. He has a hostage he needs to fuck up. “Where’d he go.”

You flick your head down in the direction of where he came.

“He has the keys. You gotta— once I’m out I can help you.” You blink a few times, and it looks like your seeing his face for the first time. “You… how did you get out?”

“He’s got these guys— strong, like you, nearly beat the shit out of me. Injected myself with that.” He looks over at the briefcase. “Never felt better.”

“You aren’t hurt.” You say, and it should be a good thing, but Frank starts to worry because you look uneasy.

“Not anymore. You know what it is?”

“Yeah.” That fact that you don’t say it right away makes Frank think he doesn’t want to know.

“I gave it to you, too.” You shake your head, and his worries evaporate. A simple move from you, and he’s easy. Fuck— he was glad you were here.

“It’s fine. It won’t kill us. You need to go. Get the keys, get me out. Bring him with you.” Frank nods, taking another second to look at you. Just making sure— your eyes were wide, a little fearful but alive and bright. Open. Skin was warm. You were okay. “I don’t want to be here anymore. Please.”

Something crashes behind Frank, and he turns and leaves before saying another word. He was going to drag that cunt back here kicking and screaming. He had to be alive— but Frank has learned a thousand ways to make a man wish he wasn’t.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Six minutes.

You counted it.

It took Frank six minutes to track down the country’s biggest gang leader, the man who has evaded the FBI and CIA for years, the man who had built an entire, intricate network of tunnels and bunkers to avoid being caught. Without his men, that Frank also took down, it took him six minutes to beat him bloody and drag him back to you.

You used to be so afraid of him. He was the man who haunted your nightmares, a face you’d see every time you closed you eyes. Almost a bogeyman. Seeing him here, on his knees, eyes swollen shut while Frank rips the keys out of his back pocket… it’s surreal almost.

“You w—“ Frank kicks him in the stomach, whatever words he was going to say lost in the burst pain. While he falls to the ground, breathing slow, Frank unlocks the handcuffs and you stand way too fast. Your first steps are the three that gets you out of this fucking room.

Frank sees you bolt outside, back pressed against the opposite wall. Then he turns, punching Bobby in the face before grabbing him by the leg and dragging him out and down the hallway. He’s groaning in pain, trying to say something but Frank just keeps dragging him. You walk behind, a sick enjoyment bubbling through you at the sight of him so… weak.

“How are we getting him up the stairs like this?” You ask once you’ve stopped at the base of the giant staircase. It must of taken you an hour to come down here, and your head was still a little fuzzy from the blood loss. Your own blood doesn’t heal you as well— fucking figures.

Frank doesn’t say anything, just starts dragging him up the stairs like a sack of flour. His head bangs against the first step, and Bobby shouts and wails like a kid. Similar to how you would of screamed for him to stop when he cut you open—

“Frank.” You say, and he stops. You look down at the man, wondering what Frank did to him in those six minutes in the dark that made him look so deformed. His arm was broken, the strange angle it was at made it obvious. One of his eyes was less bruised than the other, and he used it to lookright at you.

Maybe he thought you’d tell Frank to stop. That you’d taken pity on him. That you’d feel sorry for the way he looks. He’s still staring at you when you see a small flash of his teeth, something that could be a smile if he wasn’t missing so many teeth. You let him hold the hope for just a second.

“Make sure he’s still alive when we get to the top.” Frank huffs, like it’s an imposition, and you walk ahead, letting the pained cries of the man behind you bounce off the echoed walls. He deserved to feel what it was like to have hope it would stop, only for it to never end.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you finally reach the outside of the building, Bobby has passed out from the pain four times. You counted. It won’t be enough. You had twelve years of that shit. This was mild— you had a thousand days like this. It should be therapeutic to see him miserable and begging but all it does is make you angry.

Frank throws him in the back seat of the car, using rope and the seatbelts to tie him down so he can’t move. Then he ties something around his mouth, saying something to him you can’t hear. When you get back in the car, Franks hands are stained with blood.

“I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asks loudly after a moment of silence, his hands so tight on the steering wheel you can see his forearms start to shake. “Fuck. I could sprint a mile right now.”

“You feel okay? Good?” You weren’t a hundred percent sure about the effects your blood could have on him— or, the concentrated version of your blood.

“Fuckin’ fantastic. Don’t know what was in that stuff, but I haven’t run it out yet.” You can tell he feels uneasy about it, but the rush is almost overwhelming, even if he has burnt through some of it.

“It’ll be a while before it’s out of your blood system.”

“Yeah? How you know that?” His head moves a little too fast, and you wonder weather that’s how fast you move. If you look this… creepy, really. It’s fucking creepy.

“Because it’s my blood. It’ll pass through in a while, you just have to wait. He— Bobby said it wasn’t permanent.” At the mention of his name he stirs in the back and Frank reaches around, punching him in the gut while keeping his eyes on the road. “Maybe I should drive.”

“I’m good. Tell me about it— the blood shit. Help me focus.” Hoping to calm him down, you spill every little remnant of information you can remember. It’s technical, trying to explain how the plasma in your blood can be modified to heal bones and gunshot wounds, but he listens. “So why’d it work on you? If it’s your own?”

“It’s more concentrated. Based around the healing parts of my blood. He must of found a way to extract only the parts that make me strong. I lost a shit tonne of blood back there, so maybe the shot kicked my own healing back into gear.” You flick your eyes back to where Bobby is passed out again, his blood staining the seat. “I doubt I’d get it even if he explained it himself, but it’s a version of what they did to me. Only lasts a little while, but it makes you stronger. Faster. Heals you more easily. And apparently makes you jumpy as fuck.”

“I ain’t jumpy.” He grumbles, the sound sounding so much like Frank that you settle back a little, relaxing at it. “When you were in there… I uh— saw what that guy did in front of you. That kind of thing would be… if Madani found out about that, or any of those guys at the CIA. What your blood can do…”

“I know.” They’d want it. It was the edge they have been looking for. Like Bobby said, America had been fighting Gods and Super-humans for years, and they wanted something of their own. You, or your blood, would be it.

“Don’t say anything about it. Far as they know, we were in and out.” Frank looks in the review mirror, gaze hard as he checks Bobby’s positioning.

“He might say something. What if they ask him about it?”

“Can’t talk without a tongue.” You look at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking or not. He looks serious. Very, very serious. “What?”

“You— nothing. I just want to go home.” You breathe heavily, your eyes shutting for a second. Everything hurts, and your body isn’t healing as fast as Franks did with the lack of blood in your system. Now you know why you didn’t heal fast after you were shot. You must of lost too much in the water.

“You mean back to New York, yeah?” When he says it, the words confuse you. Of course you’d be going back to New York. You don’t have anywhere… well, you don’t have anywhere. You don’t have a place, now you think about it. The only house you ever lived in is owned by someone else, but that hasn’t been home for a while.

When you said you wanted to go home, what you really meant was you wanted out of this car. You wanted to go back to somewhere warm, and safe, and somewhere you didn’t have to think about any of this. The only place you’ve ever really been able to do that, have any of that is when you were with Frank.

“Sure.” Is all you managed.

“Sure? What’s that mean?” He turns the car a little too hard, and Bobby whacks against something in the back.

“It means that— well, I don’t exactly have a place there, do I? I mean, I know Matt said we could stay until—“

“We’re not doin’ that again.”

“I didn’t think it was all bad.” You say absently, but Franks eyes catch yours in the mirror and his hands grip the wheel even tighter. “But I don’t have a house.”

“Stay with me.” Even after everything you’d done with him, been through with him, he still managed to catch you by surprise.

“Really? You’d want me to live with you?”

“Why? You got a bunch of cats you need to move in or something? You snore?” You don’t want to smile, not with who’s behind you, but he’s impossible not to smile around. “Course I do.”

“Gotta dump the baggage first.” Frank grumbles something under his breath at your words, then turns the car again, too hard. Even you struggle to stay upright. He’s still fighting off the rush of energy he’s feeling running through his veins. “Maybe we should call someone. Go to a doctor, or call Curtis. You’re still jumpy.”

One of his hand’s dropped from the wheel, and after he checked the rear view mirror one more time, confirming Bobby was passed out, his hand landed on your thigh. He did this a lot while he drove, his hand nearly covering the entirety of your thigh. Fingers absently wandering, like he had all the time in the world to tease you, even if he didn’t mean it. This time, he definitely did. His thumb was drawing circles on your skin, his palm slowly dragging the rest of his fingers up.

“Just got to work it out of my system, yeah?” You swallowed, the simmer of heat in your stomach bursting into flames at the horse growl of his voice. He dipped his hand over further, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh twitching in anticipation. You weren’t sure if it was because he was half high on…you, or what he exactly was planning to do, but as his hand gripped you tighter making you jolt in your seat, you sat a little wider. Giving him access. He swore under his breath.

“Yeah. Maybe you should g-go on that run. Work out or something.” He smirked, and held his hand there while you held your breath. He was toying with you, fucking with you, for sure… was he really going to…here? The tip of his fingers were so close, and you were practically sweating now, heart thumping in your ears.

“I think I got a better idea.” He looked at you quickly, his eyes nearly completely black, pupils blown out. Your eyes squeezed shut, at his mercy completely.

Then, his hand slid down slowly, resting where it usually did when he drove. Much lower, and much further away from where you fucking need him right now. When you open your eyes again he’s still smirking, a smart ass look on his face like he knows how worked up he just got you, even when he’s the one with all the extra energy.

All of a sudden, like Frank often encouraged in you, you forgot about everything else except how long this car ride was. You said you wanted to get home, but the more you thought about it, it was less about a destination and more about him. Home.

[next chapter]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x you #marvel tv #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #marvel #the punisher x y/n

[thehackneypony]

How's Leaky Cup doing?

i know i kind of fell off the planet haha… the horses are all doing fine!

quick answer:

- leaky cup has not grown an inch, but he is developing into a hunky little man

- yoyo is happily snoozing with her friends in a stress-free field

- chalk is being boarded for training/ leased to my mother. she was out of work for a very hot minute due to bleeding ulcers— but the horse coming out of that recovery had a brand new, relaxed mental state! super proud of her

- bugsy is mostly retired due to arthritis, but enjoys trail rides and lots of carrots— fun fact: two separate dentists have looked at bugsy’s teeth and thought him to be in his mid to late twenties instead of like 18-19yo. not a huge jump and just conjecture, sometimes previous dental care or lack thereof can affect how a horse’s teeth look.

longer answer:

something medically happened to me almost a year ago and caused me a lot of trauma lol, i was emotionally uninvolved with my own life— got a promotion and threw myself into work and away from horses or my friends. yoyo & leaky are boarded with a very nice lady— i get updates and texts on them and their needs so i can still schedule the vet and farrier. chalky and bugsy are being doted on by my mom everyday.

my life is constantly being sorted and re-organized, and in this journey i realized i’d always put everything into caring for animals as an excuse to not take care of myself. thankfully, i have someone in my life that cares and helps me to see where i’m not taking myself into account. it’s really a struggle with my heavy work-load and life responsibilities-in-general to balance all that i want to accomplish for both my career and my own personal interests; to be terribly honest, with both the guilt and exhaustion from falling out of habits and healing, i’m having a really hard time finding motivation to go to the barn. i teach my mom lessons, so i get to see chalky and bugsy every week— but yo-yo and leaky have fallen to the wayside unintentionally, and i’m having a really hard time finding my way back to them.

i’m still a bit lost in the sauce of balancing my own life after everything haha and because of that i’ve been toying with the idea of downsizing just a bit.

yoyo is my forever baby, her and bugsy will happily live out the rest of their years with me. chalky is the horse i usually consider my heart horse— she’s so mare-ish and high maintenance i love her— but she also requires a lot of constant work to burn off her anxious energy and tire out her brain. i wouldn’t trust her sensitive emotions with just anyone, but i also know i can’t commit to working her 6 days a week anymore. if i can find a good lease for her, that would be ideal tbh— she can be veeeery fancy with the right rider, and a really fun trail partner. the hardest one is leaky, who i’m very genuinely considering finding another home for. it was such a great learning experience meeting and working with him— but we never really clicked, and i feel like i’m not the best opportunity for him. through professional training we’ve gauged he’d be a rockstar at cross-country— just an absolute tank on the course. he’s outpaced a selle francis/irish sport-horse cross and proven to be the bravest horse you’ve ever met.

the problem is that he has yet to be started under-saddle, and besides the regular handling of a boarding facility, has mostly been left to his own devices with his boy-band herd out in the field. i’ve never sold a horse before, have no idea where to start— and am unsure if i could even find someone interested in him as he is now. tbh, i think a bigger part of why i haven’t really done much more than just think about this is that i’m also just hesitant to let go. even if we don’t click, i’ve cared for him and watched him grow. he’s still one of my babies, and while it would be a suuuuper helpful financial decision to sell— if feels like closing a big chapter on my life that i thought would never end. it is a constant dilemma that keeps be up at night haha

i really appreciate the Ask <3 i keep forgetting i have tumblr— and by extension this huge community of horse people i’ve come to consider friends— to help me. it’s hard, and i’m still learning to ask for help. i hope everyone has been surviving, thriving— and enjoying their new year!!!

#i apologize for the long response #i appreciate your care #and look forward to hearing back from you guys!

[raevil]

IF  THE  WALKS  COULD  TALK  ⸻ 

CHARACTERS  ˳  christine  marie  padillo,  unnamed  therapist  &  hospital  staff  members,  there’s  mentions  of  an  unnamed  girl  at  the  end  of  this

WORD COUNT  ˳  1.3k  /  1,377  words 

WARNINGS  ˳  panic  attack,  self-mutilation  (  hair  pulling  ),  mentions  suicide  attempt  (  trying  to  burn  the  room  with  her  inside  ),  mentions  stabbing  a  person,  blood.  if  we  missed  anything,  let  us  know! 

NOTE  ˳  give  it  up  for  the  new  raevil  piece!!  took  ages  but  it’s  here  lmao 

The metronome timer’s ticking seemed to get louder and out of sync as Marie lay on one of the sofas in the room. It must’ve been broken because every time the ticking would skip a beat, her eye would start twitching, and her hand would tighten, knuckles becoming white. The person across her sat on the chair, her black high heels pointed in her direction, and Marie occasionally heard the sound of pen on the paper as she scratched whatever she was writing. 

Marie noticed how the lady’s glasses kept sliding down her small nose, yet the one in question would ignore it as the writing became faster. Feeling stiffness in her back, Marie tried to move her body in a better position, yet only managed to make more noise due to her skin rubbing against the leather couch. As soon as she stopped moving, the other person in the room immediately moved her hand from the clipboard and looked up as if remembering she was not the only one there.

“How have you been this month, Christine?” her question is short and curt, with almost unnoticeable tension in her voice. 

Marie tried not to roll her eyes at hearing that godawful name, suppressing the chills that were about to go through her body. She had a lot to say to the older woman, ranging from various swear words to generic ones. 

“It’s Marie. I told you this before.” 

The grey-haired lady sighed in exasperation, knowing they were back to square one, all because of the simple mistake about her current name. She quickly apologised and went back to writing on her clipboard. 

Marie always wondered why she wrote paragraphs when she’d say only one or two words but didn’t think of it much. It’s not like she cared enough for someone she would see only once a month.

‘I swear, ask me that question again, and I’m going to slam that pen into your eyes and–’ 

“I’ve been okay,” she blinked fast to eliminate the black spots gathering at the corner of her eyes, answering as generic as she could. It’s not her fault the therapist must ask a simple question to establish what to do next.

The therapist, whose name Marie forgot, clicked her tongue, taking the glasses off, “We’ve been over this, Marie–” god, hearing her name from her mouth made her cringe, “– if you want my help, you have to cooperate with me. How else am I going to help you get through what happened to you–” she is quickly cut off by a tense Marie, who only mutters “Okay,” before turning her head and making eye-contact with the exhausted person in front of her.

Her eyes went in and out of focus, and instead of one face, Marie swore she saw multiple ones shift on her therapist’s face. Her breath quickened, and the stuffy room closed in on her. Her right hand seemed to come closer to her lengthy hair, slightly pulling at the ends, and the tears collected in her eyes. 

She can’t do this. Not this month, and especially not today. 

The sound of the metronome timer started again, yet it didn’t help her focus as it continued skipping beats. For a second, Marie heard a beep of a car coming right next to her, and the light on the ceiling seemed to glow brighter. 

One minute she was lying on a couch; the next, she was in the back of the car that drove seemingly nowhere. She could feel the rotten material of leather underneath her fingers and the smell of burning rubber coming from the open window next to her. 

She didn’t dare to lift her head and see the face of the driver, fearing that it would be exactly who she thought of. Her ears caught the song from the radio, and she felt her body freeze at the familiar tunes she recognised. 

“No,” she muttered, lifting her hand to pull on her hair, “please, not now. I don’t want to– It’s not real, please, it’s not real,” her mouth moved faster than the words, and the hand only seemed to pull on the hair strands more tightly. Ultimately, she was left wheezing as her lungs worked twice as hard to get the air in. 

Marie could hear whispers of her name around her as if the wind from the outside followed the car. The gentle voice made her whip her head to the back, watching as the trees moved further and further away, and only the dust from the gravel floor remained. 

One more call of her name, and Marie opened her eyes. She was back with the therapist, looking at her in worry. She doesn’t remember closing her eyes, nor when the timer stopped working, now sitting on the desk almost pitifully. It’s an inanimate object, yet Marie could feel the pity coming from it. 

“I think today has been a lot for you,” the therapist click off her pen, placing it back in her breast pocket, “How about I let you go and get some rest? Would you like that?” She talked like a child was in front of her, and in a way, there was. 

In her vulnerable moment, Marie could only nod her head, her hand still softly pulling at her hand as the grey-haired lady pressed a button on the table. Both of them waited for a while, and as soon as Marie sat up, two people opened the doors, walking in and helping her get up from the couch. Her legs felt like electricity went through them, so she stepped out slowly with the others following next to her. 

Just before the doors closed behind her, she could hear the therapist softly bid her goodbye, “Until next time, Christine.” This time, she didn’t try to stop the chills on her back. She didn’t have the strength to do so.

The two people with her walked in unison. When she stopped for a breather, they stopped as well and looked at her, yet it didn’t feel like they were genuine about it. After all, she’s there as a mere patient, and they’re only security guards doing their job. 

Her doors are identical to those in the hall, yet even blind Marie could recognise her own. There’s still a tiny dent in the corner from when she tried to fight off the staff members who only pushed her into the room. The door's texture never seemed to change, no matter how much she scratched and kicked on it. The interior of the room is no better. She can still see the ripped magazine papers in the left corner of the room, right next to the burnt patch of the carpet from months ago when she tried to burn the room and eventually herself. Unfortunately, just like every other time, it failed when five doctors entered the room, dousing everything with the fire extinguisher and getting her out before the fire even touched her.

‘At least the bed is soft,’ Marie thinks as the guards close the doors, leaving her with her thoughts and nothing to entertain herself with. She could draw things in her book, but she broke her last pen when trying to stab an innocent nurse that only wanted to give her lunch. They didn’t bother giving her a new one, letting the paper in her book stay blank, just like her own heart. 

Looking across the hall through the small window of her doors, she could see another girl fighting the doctors, getting close enough to bite one of them hard to rip his skin off. For a split second, the two girls made eye contact, and Marie tried to compose herself as the wild girl smiled, her teeth full of blood. The last thing she heard was her maniacal laugh as the guards accompanying her ran to help the bleeding staff. As the random passing nurse closed the window, Marie could only mutter as she sat on her bed with her back towards the doors, staring at her bedframe.

“Bunch of crazy people here.” 

The next couple of nights passed with her staring at her bed frame, rolling a ball of her ripped hair strands between her fingers.

#ficnetfairy #⸻ ˚₊ ❝ chapter 𝖨 it's 𝗈𝗎𝗋 perfect sacrifice ❞ #kpop oc #fictional oc community #fake kpop group #oc girl group #kpopfanfic #idol oc #fictional idol group #idolverse #kpop au

[lawlznet]

State of the Meme 2023

Content Warnings: Depression, Death, SH, Hatred, a lot of self deprecation What follows is an explanation and also rant about why I haven’t been online for this entire month. If you’d just like to skip down to what I’m planning to do in 2024, scroll all the way down to where the line break is.

---

Hey everyone, Lawler here. This is the “State of the Meme” for 2023 and for the purposes of this post, I will be speaking out of character; as myself, not the vtuber.

This has not been a good year for me and it is with bated breath that I look forward to the next one. As some of you may be aware, my father fell ill in late September, suffering cardiac arrest and other diagnoses besides. His chances of survival, much less recovery, were slim given his age and the extent of his complications, but in a series of miracles that I hope to not take for granted for the remainder of his, and my, natural life, he recovered enough to be transferred to a nursing home, and then back to our home. Few of his complications remain and we optimistically foresee him returning to his “pre-accident” state sometime halfway next year. In the days since he returned, around the week of my birthday in early December, he has already recovered enough to move around the house on his own- to feed himself (via a tube connected to his stomach), to prepare his own medications, and to slowly retake ownership of household duties that had fallen to me in the months passed- paperwork and such. Prior to this blog post, it was nearly impossible for me to find time away from assisting him; even our previously late evening streams or early morning and afternoon were not a sure bet, and in fact I had to cancel my participation in a stream on my birthday for this reason.

It is with cautious optimism that things may stabilize enough in my household, to where I could possibly return to vtubing with the regularity I afforded before.

But before that can happen, I have a number of things to talk about first.

I feel like I’ve walked with death all the course of my life, and that does not just include attending one too many funerals for family members, both young and old, or that of friends and acquaintances whom either had theirs taken, or had taken their own. I generally treat the concept as the great unifier of all people, regardless of race, creed, sexuality, or any other descriptor we may use to divide ourselves from one another. It is the one great certainty and on some level, I like to think that I give the concept more weight than most.

Then I find myself spending hours doomscrolling, consuming thread after thread of outrage over strangers I had never met, and only learned hours before. A-drop-in-a-bucket hot celebrity name does something immensely stupid, either intentionally or unintentionally, and I join the lamentation that someone with so much apparent wealth and status can afford to be so flippant. Sometimes I’ll even repost OP or bits and pieces of the thread, telling myself that these individual statements, crammed into 280 or 300 characters, are somehow so poignant so as to redeem the discussion; and that by not mentioning their names, I am somehow not adding to the problem.

The problem of using my platform to further magnify people who we spend a whole lot of words discussing as “evil...” and for what?

Is it fun? Do I feel better about myself? Does anyone, besides the subject, benefit from my “contribution?”

No.

I was depressed before I burned those hours away. My employment is shaky and in a side universe I might have been laid off. I rarely have time for myself anymore that isn’t in the wee hours before getting out of bed or the minutes before falling asleep from exhaustion. And I chose to spend it on reading about how someone I claim I don’t care about did something “horrible,” or at least mildly uncomfortable- about how a country somewhere is doing bad things to people they claim are bad, or “as bad,” or, nowadays, without any sort of justification- and when I’m not doom-consuming, I complain to myself that I don’t have enough time for anything.

That I hate everything.

And well,

I’m not wrong.

But I’ve had this conversation before. I’ve complained about it before, online and on social media and in private discords, and I’ve even, in my continuing hypocrisy, chided others about it. I might try to make myself feel better by telling myself, “oh, well you see...”

“Social media is a ‘necessary part of my job.’”

“You *must* expose yourself to constant, attention grabbing toxicity, and participate in its accumulation- its dissemination, its detached, virtue signaling, people pleasing, mock-outrage generating content creation.”

As opposed... to someone who just, reads reddit, screengrabs accounts with sub two digit readership with obnoxiously bad takes, watches political discourse tiktoks and uncited youtube video essays; yes, you see, surely these people and their misery are entirely *self* inflicted, as opposed to myself, who is “mandatorily” victimized, right?

It’s bullshit.

I hate it.

And so it follows that I must *also* hate myself.

Because I participated in it.

So,

I’m going to try to stop.

Prior to this I never publicized, but internally created some rules for how I interact with this “content” and the people who produce it. Most, I believe, are not intentionally malicious. We are just the successful products of an inherently evil industry; living proof that everything is working exactly as intended.

The only way out is to break the cycle, and in order to do so... I almost always avoid, and if necessary mute, or block, anyone who:

1) Makes generalizing, sweeping statements of an entire group of people,

2) Issues ultimatums on their public facing social media accounts,

3) Anyone who regularly disparages any group of people, especially people whom they are supposed to be a part of- e.g. anyone who regularly harps about “how terrible the vtuber community is,” without the slightest bit of introspection.

For the sake of my own mental stability and to gradually wind down my own involvement in making the internet a worse place, I have decided that beginning in 2024, I will:

1) Reduce or completely eliminate reposting, replying to, or commenting on, any political or negative thread of which I am not directly or indirectly involved, or are not a subject matter expert or hobbyist.

2) Remove all feeds, block or ignore all search terms, and avoid discussing or entertaining any of the above subjects in any capacity outside of private conversations.

3) If necessary, mute, unfollow, or block accounts which only seem to exist to further spread the above content.

As some of you know, I am a cyberpunk influencer and consider myself a “cyberpunk” outside of my online personas. I’ve also recently dipped my toes into the world of Linux and am eager to dive into the worlds of cybsec and opsec beyond browser addons and lists of FOSS programs. I’ve been into this subculture for the majority of my life and I don’t see that changing anytime soon; nor will I censor content that I deem directly or inherently related.

There’s a sheer cliff of difference between merely complaining about celebrities and a toxic online culture and explaining not just how, but *why* it is in your best interest to avoid or defeat these things. Within weeks of a certain major social media website’s fall from grace, a number of user created addons were developed to make said website’s use tolerable (OldTwitter by Dimden as an example); Youtube’s attempts at forcing adblock users to turn off their extensions ironically vastly improved these extensions (uBlockOrigin), and both of these addons, in addition to their “obvious” case use, have further ramifications for the end user than simply complaining about Former Billionaire 9000 and The Evil Company.

For one thing, it’ll save you money in the form of not clicking on malicious advertisements or shelling out a monthly subscription for something you could have gotten for free. But I digress.

These changes are a long time coming, and I apologize to the people whom I long promised I would “avoid” these things... only to return to them when it was convenient, or when I told myself that “this is a special exception,” or when I didn’t care, when I should have. You know who you are.

I’ll most likely fuck up again and find myself having this conversation with myself or in the illusory safety of a chatroom.

But you see... I’m in my mid thirties. And while its true that I have these conversations with myself and others, all the time, and I regularly beat myself up and hate myself for my participating in the “culture,” the truth is... every day, I am more and more grimly reminded, of what little time I have to do things I actually want with my life.

Of how my perception of time seems to be speeding up. Of how little potential time I fear I might have. I don’t just mean the possibility of the Four Horsemen riding and causing such an orgy of misery that will make the last ten years look like Christian cis heteronormative missionary with clothes on and the lights off. I mean the fact that it is atypical for my household to travel to family gatherings in individual vehicles, and that on that evening in September, it was only through sheer chance that we decided to attend my niece’s birthday party individually- that my mother had to be hospitalized for an illness herself, and that I, for reasons I don’t even remember, chose to drive on my own. If this had been any other evening, my father may have had a heart attack while we were all together in the family SUV. On a highway.

And as spooky as that scenario is, every time I get on the road, or even walk down my own street, I think about the possibility of dying. Maybe someone’s in a hurry and wasn’t paying attention while merging onto my lane. Maybe someone’s drunk. Maybe someone needed a twenty and thought they’d rob this weirdo walking around the streets at night and weren’t expecting a fight. Even when you set aside all the political, worldly garbage that trad-media constantly shits down the throat of an unwilling (and sometimes masochistic) boomer populace, you aren’t guaranteed whatever illusion of stability and peace you have right here and now. It could change as easily as the wind blows. And I think I am so tired... of burning so much of my life on shit that has done little for me except to make me upset, when I could have so much, much more to be upset about in the next few minutes.

I walk with death every minute of my life.

If possible, I’d like my last memory to be doing something I actually give a crap about. Or talking with, or about someone that I admire or care about. I don’t think I ever thought those experiences were a waste of time.

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

Thank you for reading this far. And now, for changes that actually apply to my “real” content moving forward... (as in, actually applies to you because last I checked, I’m a vtuber, not a vtweeter or a vskeeter or whatever the shit they call it these days...) I’ve worked in corporate for too long. Even if it’s a long shot or doesn’t make that much money, I really feel like a career in the entertainment and art-space is a better occupation to strive for than pushing paper in the universally and permanently depressing healthcare industry.

I’ll keep streaming video games and fighting games will always be part of that routine, but for reasons I don’t understand, I’ve neglected first person shooters. That changes now. (I hope the kind of Doom y’all like are the video game kinds.)

I am in the process of dipping my toes into youtube short form videos and will be uploading some cringey garbage to just about everywhere except Twitter, because of changes to their terms of service which potentially gives total ownership of my IP to the website. Fuck that.

I miss virtual reality.

Those vroid comics take a ridiculously long time to make but god do I enjoy doing it.

I am greatly reducing my usage of Twitter, Bluesky, and Mastodon, aside from announcement posts. Twitter is nearly unusable even with a subscription and unlike Bluesky and Mastodon (which... are basically the same thing) are bereft of the tools necessary for curating my experience and Making Me Less Wanting To Kill My Self. So yeah, Fuck Twitter. But what else is new.

I don’t know what I was thinking when I designed this blog the way I did and by the time you read this, I’ve probably reset it to be a lot easier to read on the eyes, at the cost of not looking as “cool.” I’m going to be making fiction writing a priority again. I have some vtuber tabletop campaigns to write up and then to run.

If I don’t successfully finish in time for Christmas and New Year’s, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

I don’t have a timeline of when I’ll be able to stream consistently again. Thank you for your patience with me.

Love,

Lawler Hix

#lawler hix #state of the meme #update #announcement #vent #rant #vtuber #envtuber

[archandshri]

12 April ‘24 - [arch] Making a Comic in a Week, Disability and Burnout (all unrelated, of course!)

Hey Shri and folks!! LOVED seeing part three of the Lionheart Brothers cover. Stunning!! And awesome to see your process. Also cool to see what you’ve been looking at lately - I’ve just finished a rewatch of Firefly and the characters are still living in my brain a bit. 

Life is a bit relentless, huh. I’ve spent a lot of time and energy working on disability stuff - meal prepping, sorting silly government forms, all that sort of thing. Exhausting and super easy to burn out on - but also sets me up for the future in my personal life and for illustration! I want to discuss the balance of pushing and burnout this week with an excellent example - I tried foreshadowing to make a comic in a week. 

When I was in uni, it was easy to create cool stuff regularly - you’re constantly receiving prompts, doing activities, getting feedback etc. I still have access to these things, especially through my shared studio community, but it’s not as easy as it used to be. I miss creating finished books, in particular, so frequently. So! I challenged myself to make a comic in time for Something’s Fishy Zine Fair in Plymouth tomorrow, which was just over a week from when I started.

I had come up with the concept for the comic while travelling, written the script and done a couple of sketches. I often come up with concepts while travelling - I just don’t often follow through :P Here’s a couple of sketches I did on the journey.

I’ve been chatting to lots of people about what they enjoy about art - I’ve noticed that I tend to crave the end of the project and having the physical thing with high expectations of myself, which doesn’t lead to a very enjoyable process. Many people I’ve spoken to enjoy the ‘zone’, the focus of the project where you’re just figuring stuff out and not thinking about anything else. Bearing this in mind, I wanted to make the process as fun as possible - this comic is for fun and not for the purpose of having the thing at the end. 

I started with a few development sketches of the characters and the vibe. I used ink and my funky kakimori dip pen, plus some brushes. These mediums are hard to control, which makes them good for development for me - they don’t have to be good, this time is for gestural drawings and ideas generation. Some continued doodles in my sketchbook from some downtime :) Fish wouldn't leave my brain.

After a bit of character development, I began by adapting my script into pages - I read the script and try to feel the vibes on how I want to pace the comic, considering:

How much dialogue and plot do I want to put on one page?

Do I want it to be more text or image-heavy?

Do I want it to feel fast and snappy, or slow and dreamy?

Which parts of dialogue feel like a page-turner?

Are there any twists that should be separated from the rest of the scene by a page-turn?

Are there any moments that should sit next to each other on spreads?

You can see me changing some dialogue around, writing as I draw a bit. Also playing around with some weird looking fish?? With noses???

I got a bit stuck at this stage. I was scared my script wasn’t good enough. And worried about if I could even draw fish. After a couple of chats with art friends, and some rambling in my slides, I reminded myself that the lesson this time is fun!! Have fun goddamn it!! No point doing it if you’re not having fun. (it’s not like we make any money from riso printed zines anyway)

Screenshots from my slides - these things are wonderful for gathering inspiration and venting when you run into a problem with the project.

So I decided to just go for it. Not even thumbnail, but just take a scene and draw it. I asked a studio friend to choose a number, and I drew that scene.

Because of the chatty style of the comic, and how much dialogue there was gonna be, I knew there would have to be a LOT of panels. I decided to make it A4, and use a 8x6 grid. I’ll draw the images at A3, and than scale them down to A4 when it comes to printing.

left: A3 grid on the lightbox, for tracing over || Right: A4 grid with boxes of different sizes for me to reference while choosing the layout - this way I can see the final print size

First drafts of a couple of random pages from Moon Noodles.

The first day I drew several pages that I was really happy with! It gave me a lot more confidence in my script - seeing it come to life with the characters on the page - some pages even got some laughs which was nice. I would look at the page plan, script, and spend a few minutes thinking about the pacing and how I wanted the dialogue on the page, and the go straight in with the dip pen - with the awareness that it might be wrong. This process taught me an important lesson - you have to just do it. The thing is, if you do it and it’s bad, you just do it again but different. Repeat. Staring at that script thinking it wasn’t good enough wasn’t actually going to get anything done, be fun OR make nice stuff. You have to do the thing. Then you make it better.

The other thing I learnt from this process was to give it space. There was a day where I did one page, hated it and thought the pacing was off, and spent the next day trying to translate it into two pages. It didn’t work. I came back the next day and realised the first page I’d done was fine and just needed a couple of tweaks. Do the thing. Let it be.

Here’s a little picture of my setup.

(Sorry all of Printhaus for hoarding the light box and getting ink all over it :( love u)

Useful stuff!!!!

Finished pages to refer to, plus more A3 paper underneath for future pages

Laptop with script

Dip pen, ink and water for keeping that little guy clean!

development sketches for relevant scenes

Page plan (you can see I have shortened it considerably since last time - now it's 20-24 pages and noted on scraps of paper so I can move them around if there's any changes of plan)

A4 sheet with boxes to show the sizes of the final print

also scissors??? i don't remember why they're here

But then monday morning came. I realised that if I wanted to get it all printed by friday, I needed to:

Plan and 12 pages on Monday, and 12 on tuesday

Get the final files for every one of the 24 pages by Thursday 

Print friday morning

Travel down to devon Friday afternoon

Fair Saturday

Not only is that basically impossible, but it would be very bad for my health, make for a rushed comic, and most importantly, not be fun. The thing is, I’ve made whole comics in a couple days before. I figured I could still do it. But that’s not actually a good thing - my skills and taste have increased, I'm aiming for bigger, more ambitious projects and yet I expect the timelines to stay the same? It doesn’t exactly work like that now, does it?

But I kept going anyway. 

Tuesday morning, I decide to get the cover put together so I can get the preorder post-out. I get pulled into an unexpected meeting, and then spend the rest of the day inking this thing and getting the files sorted. At this point, I know for sure It’s not possible to get this done. Thankfully my two Printhaus besties were in. They helped me drop it. I love this comic, it feels fun and joyous and I’ve enjoyed working on it - lets not rush it and end up with a bad product that will bother me. Let’s take time, explore it and really enjoy the process!!!

All is not lost for Something’s Fishy Zine Fair, though! Originally, I had planned to do a print of the Moon Noodles Cover for preorders only, but why not print that for Something’s Fishy?? Anyone who buys the print will also get a discount code for the pre-order :D (also here’s the pre-order link)

So here’s a few images of the Moon Noodles cover print and the process!! I hope to see some of you at Something’s Fishy. It’s a joy to visit Plym again :D

Sketch printed out at A3, and 2 of the layers. I scanned these in and edited them on photoshop to get the files ready to print.

Coming to terms with the fact that 1) I don’t have illustration superpowers even if my expectations are that high and 2) I’m disabled (yes it’s been years and it’s still hard to face) is really hard!! I need to spend most of my time when I’m well preparing for when I’m not AND fight the urge to work until I burn out, which I always lean towards because it’s nice escapism. 

The thing is that living, and not being too exhausted to move is much more important than a comic. And if I am gonna spend my functioning time making comics, they’re gonna have to be enjoyable to make. Otherwise your life slips away from you and you haven’t been really living it.

Hope that hasn’t got too deep for you. I think that stuff is important to face, especially since the creative life is so incredibly busy.

Thank you for reading this goddamn essay, I hope that it helped in some way! As usual, feel free to drop an ask if you have any questions. 

Chat soon :D Archie <3

#archillustrates #arch is learning #project development #art #art process #art resource #process #artists on tumblr #illustration #comic #picture book #small art blog #art blog #illustration blog #queer artists on tumblr #illustrator #book illustrator #queer illustrator #comic artist #comic art #artists on instagram #procreate #digital artwork #digital artist #riso #risograph #artist blog #artist on tumblr #web comics #tumblr art

[neshtasplace]

Cities of Steel and Blood chapter 3

is available to read for free, so I'm posting it right here.

Enjoy!

Light flashed in my vision, the dim shade broken by it. Only for a second though, and then the two of them are back in darkness. Mia leaned against the railing at some secreted corner of the Rumbler’s deck. Her gaze felt heavy, but her hands no longer ached. She was tired; but it was the normal, never-ending exhaustion she felt since leaving home. Luckily, she wasn’t subjected to the toil and labor since her and the captain worked out a deal.

Dr. Farrow took a long drag from her cigarette, freshly lit, and exhaled. The smoke mingled in the air and greeted Mia’s lungs. She breathed deep the lingering smells of home. Herbs grown in Farrow’s own garden or some hidden alcove. Grown in the soil of Forthiron city. Despite everything Mia felt about their old home, a pang of longing ran through her.

“It’s been a long time,” The doctor said finally, her eyes locked on the horizon.

Mia’s hand went for her flask before she even knew it. She took a drink and hissed from the burn. “Yeah it’s been a long, shitty trip. Hasn’t it?” She asked as she took another sip. The good doctor just tilted her head. Mia offered the flask.

“Eh, it could have gone worse. You’re partially to thank for that. The others did their jobs, but you jumped in and finished it. That’s sort of what you’re best at Mia; cutting the crap and getting things done, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m a fucking miracle worker.” She snorted and handed the flask over to Dr. Farrow. In exchange, a slender, well-rolled cigarette was given to Mia. “Still, glad it’s coming to an end. I overheard the crew talking about things; we’re arriving in a few hours.” She lit the cigarette and took a drag, welcoming the feel of smoke in her lungs. Invited it inside her. Mia only ever let things into her, not people, not now. People have roots and pasts, sticky complications just like she did.

Still, Mia did have her crew. Her people that she trusted. But that had to be held at arm’s length. She couldn't have another Adriana. She wouldn’t allow it. A puff of breath was brought from her, like a phantom hand was pressed against her stomach. Hands that were slightly cold, soft. Long fingers that wrapped around her intestines; rested in her guts. Founders, she wanted to feel them again. To take in Adriana’s scent and be lost in her presence. Mia wanted to be burned up by her fires. She wanted to have a chance to be lost to Adriana again. To mean nothing stood next to her radiance.

Mia did what she always did to banish the thoughts from her mind; she took in the closest toxic substance to distract herself. In this case, another drag from her cigarette did the trick. Not perfect, but beggars can’t be choosers. Her gaze returned to the distance, to the way back home. “Fuck you, Forthiron. I’m fucking glad I’m leaving you in the dust.” She raised her hand and flipped off in the general direction of her former home.

“Mia, you are the weirdest elf I’ve ever met.” Dr. Farrow said as she leaned against the railing. Her tail swished about lazily. “I didn’t ask you to meet me here to discuss your weirdness. I want to discuss what you’re going to do when we get to Terostav. What the hell is your plan?”

“What's yours?” Mia shot back.

“Nuh-uh, that’s not how it works, kid.” She countered, flicking off some ash. “I know you’ve had a lot of time to think, and yeah you spent a lot of it drinking, but you always have a plan Mia. So…” She took another drag “Out with it.”

Mia leaned harder against the railing and reached into her jacket pocket. She took out the journal that she’d stolen all those (weeks? What is months or days? Time just didn’t seem to matter anymore) ago. “I got a lead. On my family. Elf clan shit, the whole nine yards. They did transport routes between here and Forthiron; I figure I mean…we’re coming this way, fate fucked me over and put me on this path…might as well give it a shot, right? And besides, what’s your plan!?”

“Eh, not much. I’m no longer ‘beholden’ to the Family, and I never really had much of a life when I was scooped up.” Mia watched Dr. Farrow look down at her hands. “Being Fallen…I ain’t got anything to go back to; no one was exactly crying back home for me, you know?” She chuckled; rough tones mixed with another song that had long faded. One that used to be vibrant and sweet. Part of Mia felt a pang of something. A feeling she rarely investigated within herself. It could only be contextualized as: Anger. Fuck the world for fucking over the doctor like that. Fuck everything. She swallowed down such thoughts with smoke and a cough and motioned for Dr. Farrow to continue.

“Anyway, my plan is to just stick with who I know and settle into the new city. Everyone could use a sawbones, you know? Eislia’s god protection, she wants to have a calm life. I figure sticking near her and you is the best choice.” She looked over to Mia, her smile genuine. “Besides, I've been stitching you up since you were a kid, and I have a strong feeling I’ll be doing that alot when we get to the city.”

Mia laughed and shook her head. “You know.” She flexed her free hand, the other one still held the dangling cigarette. “I know I’m always going to be a killer. It’s what I was made to be. It’s what I shaped myself to be. I know that I was forced into this, but I made it mine, you know?” Dr. Farrow nodded, simply letting her talk. “So, I don’t really mind; it’s my life and it’s what I’m best at, you know? I think my problem isn’t really what I do: it’s who I do it to. I just gotta pick better targets.”

“Right, and who are these better targets, Mia?”

“Fuckers up top.” She said as she flicked off some ash. “They gotta pay, and we got the way to make ‘em pay.” She sucked in a breath, the ashes in her gut erupted into flame. She turned to lock eyes with Dr. Farrow. “So, after I settle my little personal mission, I’m gonna take that dagger that Adri left us and jam it into the fucking Founders’ hearts. I, me, some shitty street kid, is gonna light heaven on fire.”

As was planned and promised the Rumbler came to dock a few hours later. Dr. Farrow headed out to wrangle whatever little gear she had, leaving Mia to make sure everyone else was ready to go. She stood at the side of the deck, waiting for the gang plank to be affixed.

The dock was a series of raised platforms, each one for receiving a vehicle of the same height as the Rumbler. The platforms led by walkway into the city proper. Mia couldn’t remember how the docks looked back in Forthiron, she was too out of it to take anything in. Her mind back then was a haze; reason had left her. She was a vessel for sorrow. Not now, she had to be more like her old self. The handler, the one with the plans, the one who had her shit together.

“Mmm, odd to be leaving this machine in a way.” Eislia said as she walked up, carrying a trunk over her shoulder. Vikaros stood beside her, and with the lack of luggage on their arm, Mia could guess the chest was theirs. Cute.

“Yeah I mean, I’ll miss the stale air, the creaky under decks, the constant thudding noises…love it.” Mia fake pouted and shrugged. “I’ll miss it so much.” Eislia chuckled.

“Well, I still like to say goodbye to times that have passed; to the moments in our life that change.”

“Ugh. Anyway; you all ready to go? Doc said she’ll be a bit longer ‘cause her stuff is delicate. I’ll wait here for her, you two go ahead. ” Vikaros nodded.

“The city is unknown to this one, even if it may have been home.” They looked over the spires that rose over the near horizon. The city that awaited all of them. Mia couldn’t help but wonder what it held for them. Hopefully less bullshit than Forthiron provided; although she really wasn’t hopeful on this point. Vikaros started to walk down the walkway and towards the docks proper. This receiving area was just for unloading, but the docks further in were probably where all the various waiting areas lay.

With those two on the move, Mia turned her attention back to the deck of the Rumbler. She still didn’t trust these people and absolutely would not leave until Dr. Farrow was by her side. Mia didn’t have any luggage of her own; her jacket’s inter-dimensional pockets held all the gear she needed. Yet again it was a gift of worth she wouldn’t begin to calculate. Her heart ached for Adriana again, so much so that she pulled the collar up around her neck more.

“Alright kid, let’s go.” Mia turned to face the voice of Dr. Farrow. She stood behind three large trunks, a side bag hung on her shoulder. Again, Mia’s recollection of their departure was too fuzzy to recall any details. She had to assume this was as much stuff as she left with.

“You got enough crap, doc?”

“Hey, this crap’ll save your life. Most of it is equipment that we’re going to need in this next leg of our little shit-journey. Just make sure to be careful with them.” A scoff of protest erupted from Mia’s throat.

“What!? I’m not carrying your shit, Doc! Besides, I don’t really have the muscle for that.” She looked around. There didn’t seem to be anyone keen on helping with this dilemma. “Alright, Alright, I mean….I can carry one of these things, I guess.” She snorted, this was not what she wanted to do. “You can drag the other and uh…we’ll figure out the rest from there.”

“Eh, just get the big gal to take it from here, and we’ll get a carriage or something.”

“Oh, what are we, a bunch of royals!?” Mia scoffed.

Just as they argued over who was carrying what, Eislia and Vikaros returned unburdened by luggage. “This one sang an agreeable song; mechanized assistance will be theirs.”

“We have a car.” Eislia clarified, she walked up to grab each trunk, hauling them over a shoulder and holding another in her free hand. Mia gripped the last trunk’s handles and shrugged.

“How did you fix that? I only got mine back home from connections…well and I bit of bribery too.” Mia paused. “Alot of bribery.”

“Well, from what I can see, things are different in Terostav.” Eislia rolled her shoulders. The group walked out from the receiving area of the docks to the promenade; a massive bend along the city's walls that fed into it properly. Already, from here Mia could see what Eislia meant. Everything was more refined, shining steel and glass made up the view that stretched before them. She stopped as she took in the sight.

“Heh, now I can see why you knew you were in Forthiron; guess we got the shittier city didn’t we?” Mia had no magical talent or even a drop of it in her, but even she could feel it all throughout the city. In the air she breathed, she tasted a perfume. An arcane tinge that she’d not really experienced before. She looked up and could see the air was alive with it. “Shit.” She managed to utter.

“From what my Intel informed me; yes. I mean…” Eislia set down the trunks into the car. It was a stylish model, the chassis looked a bit more modern than Mia was used to. All curved lines and arched frame, the car looked like it was far newer than any Mia had used before. She slid into the back seat, crossed her legs and neatened her pants. The hemline was annoyingly crooked, her attention demanded to fix it. The rest of her entourage piled into the car and it set off. Mia glanced out the window and caught her reflection in the glass. She was filthy, her hair looked like shit and she had a laundry list of things to do in this city. The start of everything felt too monumental, it was like she faced an avalanche.

Vikaros shifted in their seat, Mia glanced over to them. They were the main source of information now, a reliance she did not relish. Yet again, she took in the beautiful features of the magi. They were fetching in their own way, especially how their skirts showed off their slender legs with a parting of the fabric. Smooth and soft; less to her tastes, but still aesthetically pleasing. She looked past them, where Eislia had stuffed her way into the back seat. It made for a cramped space, but Mia didn’t mind. Now this was a woman much more to her tastes: Tall, handsome, with that damned dark hair and cloak that held a dash of romance to them.

Mia shook her head and turned her gaze away from her companions and over to the cityscape again. There wasn’t much to see as they headed out of the docks and onto some elevated road. They were on the same level as some of the building’s third or fourth floors, lined with glass. A blurred reflection of Mia’s bored face stared back at her; sad frames from a sadder film. Replicated ghost images; illusions of light danced in front of her. If she bothered to observe, it would be dizzying, but it just played in front of her dead eyes. The dread, the sorrow, the anger still roiled deep inside her.

She wanted to see Adriana again.

Mia’s hands balled into fists and she fought back the tears. She’d cried so much over the course of this journey that she foolishly assumed she had no more tears left. Tears not worth shedding for a moron of a magi, a vexing handsome woman of endless miracles.

“Do you think it would be ok?” Eislia’s voice tore aside the mucous membrane of thoughts that clouded Mia’s mind. She blinked and looked at the two of her companions again. Dr. Farrow was sitting across from her, she looked about as thoughtful as Mia felt.

“A single path is spoken: This one was taken from home at a young time, but this one is still bound to the Fugue. This one should still belong there, a note in the song.” Mia noted a touch of concern on their brow. Now that her consciousness was brought back to focus, she could take in such details. Mia had gotten so sloppy with that. Her mind has been so clumsy lately.

“Hmm…so we contact them? Will they help us? Or simply take you in again?” Eislia punctuated her point with a tap of her finger. (She did make a good argument. The plan was to talk to these magi people and what? Get a free place to live?) Unlikely. Vikaros shook her head.

“The song’s rhythm is unknown to this one, the chords…alien.”

“Hmph, then we shall have to improvise, play along and see what happens.” Eislia’s smile was a sunrise after a storm. Mia hated it.

Mia leaned forward “I vote we get settled in before we hit up this conservatory, I want a hole to hide in, in case we need it.” Mia looked at the Good Doctor and gestured to her. “She needs a corner to set up shop as well. I want to see what kind of underworld we’re dealing with. We get things started, then see about your people.” It was familiar ground, it was what Mia needed; establish a base of operations and start working from that point. “I mean, we don’t really want to go back to another Nummari situation, do we?”

“Way I see it.” Dr. Farrow said, looking out the window. “We’re Probably going to be trading in one master for the next. That’s how it is. The only difference is that these new people might leave us alone long enough to do the research we need to.” She looked over to Mia at that comment, nodded to her, and then looked at the rest of them. “That’s what Adriana died for; these data rods. The best we can do to honor that is carry this through to end. We good with that?” Her tone was gruff as always, Mia barely noticed it. Hearing the name was a wound ripped open.

With everything decided on, the car took them away from the docks and into the heart of the city. Vikaros wasn’t the expert guide they could be, but they recalled enough to give the group an idea of where to start. Steel and glass, shimmering in the sunlight, gave way to dark stone. Concrete sprawling structures that felt like they were shat out by a bureaucratic ant colony.

The roads curved downwards, taking them into a partially-underground district of the city. It was grimy, stank heavily of prefabricated auto buildings and was perfect in Mia’s eyes. Down here in the shadows, she could operate best. She’d worry about securing some of the finer things in life once she knew she had some security for her and her allies.

Several dozen sets of eyes were on them as the car came to a stop. The speed at which the driver peeled off as soon as their luggage was unpacked told Mia this was the perfect kind of seedy place. Vikaros looked the most nervous in this element. Likely, the magi was raised in more luxury, with more hands attending them than picking their pockets. Still, they’d adjust. They had to. At least for now.

Eislia and Dr. Farrow probably looked similar to how Mia did; unamused and casual. Vikaros shuffled closer to Eislia, Mia couldn’t blame them, really. “Alright, who’s the talker here?” A pause. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Just get us a place.” Dr. Farrow had found a decently out-of-the-way place to stand with the luggage just to the side of the walkway. She guided Eislia over to also take up a guarded stance and keep watch. “Doesn’t have to be fancy or anything.” ‘No shit, doc.’ Mia thought to herself. She snorted and turned to find whoever the landlord was.

The gang stood in a courtyard of sorts; ringed with tall buildings with storefronts and stalls set up all around the perimeter. As she scanned around, Mia spotted a sectioned-off area on one building’s entrance with a sign that read ‘Management’. She shrugged and paced over to it. Mia’s movements were precise and confident, her edge felt returned to her. Her determination, even for a casual task, was Mia’s armor. Her means of protection against a random and cruel world.

She stepped into the small room that served as an office; yet she saw no desk or anywhere someone could sit. Instead, on the other side of the room stood a massive, metallic…thing. Mia wasn’t sure what it was; some kind of closet or door. As she glanced around in confusion, Mia walked up to the metallic construct. She wondered if this room was a sort of antechamber; but as she approached her question was answered. The ‘door’ opened, unfolded, sheets of precisely-smithed steel slid aside to reveal a torso of artificial design. Its head was elongated, insectoid, the limbs dangled over a device that Mia assumed was a console.

“Citizen; present Identification.” The voice was like listening to two metal discs being scrapped against each other. Mia tilted her head at the construct, she’d never seen anything as sophisticated as that back home. There were some very minor structures, some automatons that served as guards, but that was just on the upper levels of Forthiron. Not exactly commonplace. This place was the lowest of the low and here stood something that outshone everything she saw before. She shifted her stance, folded her arms across her chest, and tilted her head again at it.

“Yeah sure. I need a place. At least two rooms and three beds.” She handed over an engraved slip of metal. Fake credentials that were provided for her by the captain; another term of their agreement. The machine took this slip–grasped in a small claw–and inserted it in a slot. A few clicks and whirrs sounded and the thing cocked its head.

“Admission granted. Your room will be completed in exactly one hour. Return then. Here is your key, and terms of stay, do not lose them.” Mia barely had time to take both items before she was gestured out of the room. She was perfectly fine with that. It’s not like this cold-sterile room was her kind of hangout anyway.

She stepped back into the streets where the rest of her entourage waited. Eislia craned her neck as she looked up, a grinding sound caught Mia’s ears and she followed her gaze. At the top of the building several stories up Mia spied a most unusual vision: Pillars of steel sprung up from the building itself, growing from it, along the edges crawled a stone-like substance, the shape hard to make out at this distance. It took her a moment, but she realized she was watching their room being…grown almost. Like a cyst bursting from the flesh, so did this artifice grow from the building.

The mechanical thing asked them to wait an hour. Mia had assumed that it was just red tape, or to get the proper room requisitioned or something. She now realized that it meant their room was being built for them, actually constructed. “This place is fucking weird.” She sighed.

“So. Who wants to get drunk?” Dr. Farrow suggested, the silence broken by her well-honed verbal strike.

“I think I would actually enjoy that.” Eislia agreed. Mia looked up at her with a cock-eyed glare. She snorted out a laugh and shook her head.

“You guys go, find a place and we’ll meet back here in a little bit. I’ll make sure that I’m back in time ok?” Before Farrow could offer a witty bon mot or protest, Mia raised a hand. “I just need some air. Gotta stretch my legs.”

“Of course, kid.” She paused, then raised a brow. Dr. Farrow had known Mia for ages. They both, long ago, came to a sort of understanding: They never got in each other's way outside of their duties. Dr. Farrow’s drive was to patch Mia up and make sure she kept living. Mia’s was to serve the family. Right now, they had a slight alteration of said duties, but they remained largely similar. It seemed that the older woman had picked up on Mia’s need to process. She nodded and held out her hand. “Why don’t you hand me the key and papers; I’ll make sure all these idiots get settled in so you don’t have to worry about us for a bit, ok?”

Mia let out a soft breath, the consideration was gratefully accepted. “Sure.” She handed both objects over, then turned to leave. Mia had no idea where to go, or how to get there. She needed that though, she needed to be lost for a little while.

The foreign city stretched out before her; a threat, a challenge, a new home.

The rooftop of a nearby building provided a good place to hide. As soon as she had broken off from the group, she’d swung up and climbed the first one she could find. Standing on the roof, with cold air hitting her cheeks, Mia felt like she could finally breathe. She walked up to the edge of the building and put her hands on the roof’s side. The cold stone grounded her, bringing her senses back to the forefront. She could deal with this. She could deal with this kind of reality; problems she could grasp, hold, and solve.

Mia had never been outside of Forthiron her entire life, yet here she was in an entirely different city. Leagues away from her old life. It was a tapestry of colours foreign to her: Less dull greys and more cold azures, plum and amber mixed with ethereal lights. The buildings all seemed to catch the fading sunlight differently too. As if their very material was something alien. Terostav’s buildings were curved blades cutting into the sky, there was verticality, stacked layers of arced shapes mingled with each other. Now that Mia had a better view, she could see a few large domes that stood out from the rest of it, space cut around them that brought a sense of importance to their being.

But the main thing that caught her eyes were the manaforges. Massive structures that resembled the ribs of a great beast, a pale white that shimmered in the lights. A light-blue coloured steam flowed out from holes along the sides of the forges. Mia knew these, she recognized them from home. Although manaforges in Forthiron were few and far between. The largest one she’d ever seen was only a dozen meters tall. Still massive and cumbersome to say the least; but nothing like the ones that towered before her right now. These forges dominated the skyline, defined it, they were the pillars of the sky. Maybe that explained why this place was so weirdly soaked in magic? If their forges were this massive, that was certainly a contributing factor.

She gasped softly as she took it all in, and smiled. “I’m gonna fuck this city so hard.” Her blood sang to her, excitement buzzed through her veins. She wanted to run, leap, scream. With a step on the edge, Mia leapt off.

The wind rushed past her, she didn’t have much time, maybe a second, but she drank it in. The sensation of falling tugged at her guts, Mia loved it. The inevitable reminder of gravity’s constant. She waited for a beat. A sacred second. At the last possible moment, Mia pulled the pistol from her jacket, aimed at a rooftop and fired. She felt the exhilarating vibration in her hand, the exchange of compressed air into inertia. She braced herself for the jolt in her arm as the line went taut. The apex of the swing, the stomach-wrenching feeling, the thrill of taunting death.

Mia was in heaven.

Action and movement were her domain. The realm where death is dealt. Even if she always had to do the thinking and planning, fuck if she didn’t hate that part of things. Mia hit the ground at just the right angle, she tucked and rolled and came to a perfect stop. Flipping her hair back, Mia pocketed her grapple gun (Founders, what a fun little toy) and looked around. The rush of blood in her ears lingered for a moment, and Mia adjusted her clothes as she calmed.

In all the excitement, Mia had let her senses dull. She should have heard the footsteps approaching, yet she did not. The rhythm of the steps was not the ‘I want to talk’ kind. Mia barely had time to get her dagger out before a flicker of steel came her way. She followed through with the motion, parried the blade aside and came face to face with her attacker.

Taller than her (typical, when is she gonna find some women shorter than her, dammit) dark features: dark brown eyes that held a fire Mia recognized. Her attacker’s hair was curly, brown and lucious. It was tied back into a ponytail. It caught the light just right. Damn she has a good hair care routine. Those dark eyes stared into Mia’s. “Cease and relent, neerdowell!” She cocked her head back and looked down at Mia. Both of them saw it. A resemblance that was impossible to ignore, a pull, a familiarity: Home.

Family.

They both uttered the words, the chant pulled from their lips as if by invisible thread.

“What the fuck?”

#cities of steel and blood #creative writing #writing #writers of tumblr

[corrodedcoughin]

hi anna i hope you're doing well <3 i wanted to share a bit about my experience with burn out from your recent post. last year I was attending school and a lot of big moments were happening in my personal life. all of that plus the workload, commute, etc. left me feeling burnt out to the point of severe depression :/ your body is constantly tired and you just feel empty regardless of how your try to surround yourself with good things. could be people or food or music or a show but once you feel utterly wrung out, it's hard to feel much of anything else. i know for me it kind of manifested in unhealthy habits to just kind of quickly get through the day, a shot sleep schedule, and for me to start obsessing over little crap that really wasn't all that important. all my time was being used to work or overthink myself into a panic and it just made me feel completely isolated from family, friends, peers, and i left that term feeling stupid and useless.

the best way i try to go around my burnout is for one, to not push myself through it. yeah it all seems hopeless now but is my problem today gonna be the same in a month? a year? i try to think outside the present moment because sometims you might not even realize you have tunnel vision until you actually get out of the tunnel.

my hobbies are still gonna be there when i want to enjoy them but my body and health are what need to be my first priority. a lot of my hobbies were related to tumblr/ao3 or just being online in general so I decided to quit. for around three months I stayed off my socials and deleted apps like tiktok and instagram and decided to stick to the least attention grabbing apps i like. even then i made an effort to stay off my phone as long as i could. it may sound kinda dumb but lowering screentime actually really does help reduce anxiety and i find i don't miss those apps at all.

and for me my burnout was largely being caused from school and I realized that this wasn't the right path for me at all. so i quit because nothing, no matter how seemingly important, should make me feel so horrible. I mean it's not even sadness or exhaustion it's emptiness. you feel nothing and everything and it aches and you just end up ruining all the good things you have by trying to ignore it and push through.

another thing that helped was finding stuff for me to do in my personal life whether that was getting a new job, cleaning the house, cooking a meal, or finding a new love for movies. I prioritized myself and i feel good. It took me about 6 months but I got there and it's worth it. I don't feel isolated or as exhuasted as before and life feels good again, my hobbies feel good again.

I hope you know you're not alone when it comes to feeling this way and i hope you take care 💌 happy easter or just have a happy april

Hello! I’m going to put a bunch of stuff under a read more but before I do that I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for taking the time to even notice/read the things i posted and then writing this. I’m so, so glad that you are feeling better now and that you were able to do that for yourself. It sounds like you really figured out what you needed and it worked and knowing that it does work is so reassuring. So just thank you. For being kind to me and to yourself and sharing. I’m so glad you are here and if you ever want to talk be it silly or serious, my dms are always open.

You are so completely right about social media. I’ve had Facebook, Instagram and Snapchat deleted for a couple of years now. Covid pushed me over the edge with them and the relief of not having them there anymore is incredible. I have tiktok but go on it maybe for a week straight then don’t touch it for a few months. Idk it’s not great at holding my interest.

But yeah tumblr has been a bit of a difficulty for me, hence the dropping out for days at a time. Keeping up with things/engaging and needing to do it ‘right’ is so much more mentally straining than you realise until it’s just one more thing to push you over the edge. Even when I wasn’t replying to messages/asks I would be online trying to keep at track of things so I could ‘do my reblogging duty right’ when I eventually did feel good enough mentally to come back and it’s so STUPID. like!!! Nobody cares if I interact with their posts!! Nobody!!! I just internalised and spiralled a bunch of things from other parts of my life into here too!

Work has been really bad for at least six months now and it’s so hard. Then self doubt over looking into Autism and other mental health stuff as well as gender and trying to keep up with the gym and step targets and feeling bad for not being social every single hour of my day like my very extroverted brother has just really pushed me down into a hole. You don’t realise how many things are going on until they smack you over like a wave and then it’s like ‘oh boy, I can’t get up. And I don’t want to because I’ll just be pushed down again’

Eventually I started just taking my car down to the sea and reading a physical book instead of being online. It’s helped. It’s not sorted things but it’s helped.

My hobbies are primarily online too so I have an idea of where you are coming from, won’t say I understand because everyone is different but I get it. The temptation really IS to push through. I actually said to my only coworker ‘I just need to make it to the end of April. Then I can think about getting signed off if I /really/ need to but I won’t. It’ll be fine’ I don’t know why!! The job doesn’t care back!

I won’t bore you with all the details but it’s been Wild and knowing that you got through the other side is genuinely a light at the end of the tunnel. So thank you for sharing your experience. School is so hard, the first time I went I had to leave for mental health reasons or face hospital admission. I mean it when I say I’m so proud of you for making that decision. Truly. I wish you nothing but ease for the next section of your life, you deserve it. I hope you’ve found a new favourite movie or genre or just general joy in the new hobby! Would love to hear more about that or absolutely anything you have to say, your words are very easy to read and hold a lot of happiness in them. Thank you again and good luck with your new job if you have one or the search if you are looking!

#anon #keep #do not lose #💌 #sorry anon this is going in my special message tag never to be forgotten becuase I Need It #if you d rather I didn’t post just let me know and I’ll delete it after pasting it into my notes app #I came back online yesterday and read your ask and it just calmed me down so much I don’t think I can thank you enough

[comical-icicle]

Okay, I’m gonna talk about my oc Pandora for a minute.

I talked about her waaaaay before, but I never spoken much about her after the fact or used her much at all, and the information I did give was pretty bare bones. SO I’m gonna change that, flesh her out a little bit, etc.

Under a read more because I want to ramble.

Okay, so… this isn’t in any order, these are just some general stuff that I’ve been thinking about with her. If I jump around a bit, I’m sorry I’m trying to keep this cohesive so people can understand the ideas I’m having.

What better way than to jump on in?

-Pandora Fallon is the police captain in Fair City. She’s rarely seen off duty and has constant bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, hence her love of coffee to keep her awake and on the job. She is very much a workaholic. Basically early on she keeps going until she burns out... which is bad when she’s too exhausted to do much.

-With the show giving us villains walking around in public and no one batting an eye, I think Pandora would be the same in that she won’t bother them if they aren’t doing anything. She has other villains to worry about.

-When she’s not on duty, she finally gets sleep, though it’s more out of necessity so she can go back and do her job more efficiently. Again, as long as a villain isn’t committing a crime, she won’t say anything about them. Maybe even talk if both parties are willing at the time. It depends on the day how well that goes.

-Pandora is always accidentally scaring people because she’s light on her feet and quiet. Sometimes they don’t realize she’s right there. This mostly counts towards her coworkers, but not limited to them. Sometimes it gives her a good laugh to see people jump, but it’s usually either a smile or a greeting afterwards.

-While I haven’t thought much about her relationships between a lot of characters yet, I do have a general idea with Wordgirl.

-So, I think that she’d have a respect for the young hero and be caring towards her. I’m not sure exactly how it would work, but that’s the current idea.

ANYWAYS, that’s what I have so far for her that I can think of. It makes sense in my head. As you can see, some things about her aren’t set in stone as I’m still thinking about what I want for her, but for what I do have, I think it’ll work well.

I’m glad to finally be able to discuss her, even if it took forever to get to her and I’m happy to talk more about her.

#my stuff #wordgirl oc #wordgirl #idea ramblings #rambles #oc stuff #finally talking about her and it’s all over the place #oh well #if someone can understand my thoughts then it’s good enough

[artinclined-jointheartside]

After reading the second chapter of the Bloopers fic, I must say I'm starting to see the appeal of Faust and Terra because they were adorable. I also suspected that Hettie was the halfblood Dratanae after some time; that being said, do you have any headcanons of her in regards to her heritage (or just in general)?

OH BOI, DO I!!?

Okay, firstly, I’ve been meaning to draw Hettie for a while, so I just used this as an excuse, lol Also to test out in an art program I don’t use often.

Here’s Hettie without her headdress, and she is just SO GORGEOUS!! I swear the real reason she wears the visor should be to keep her patients from falling in love with her. XD

On to headcanons, though!

So being a Dratani-Witch halfblood, she has the Dratani horns and tail. ALL Dratani halfbloods WILL have the horns and tail, without doubt or question - any child born without them will not live very long, unfortunately. The reason why is the Dratanic fire. Any halfblood will absolutely be born with the Dratanic fire organs in their chest and as a result they need the horns and tail for the balance those appendages give to the body for the sake of fire creation. The horns act as heat regulators for the head as they are actually hollow in a way similar to how bird’s bones are. They have minuscule channels that trail the length of the horn and create exit points as “invisible” pores on its surface - which allows for excess heat to flow out of these surface pores and away from the brain. When you see a Dratani at full throttle going nuclear then drop into cool down, you’ll see their horns steaming a lot, and that’s why. The tail acts more or less as an overflow valve. Because the fire organs, or Core (as a friend of mine has dubbed them) are constantly producing for the life of the Dratani, there has to be some sort of exhaust so that the fire and heat don’t build up inside and cause internal damage, hence, the tail that is always aflame. Now, a Dratani can mitigate how hot that flame is, though usually it rides at a comfortable warmth on the norm when they’re coasting at standard production (hence the fire won’t consume/burn things), but once they ramp up and start forcing more fire out - toasty time. Suffice it to say, if you had a halfbood born who didn’t have those extras, they’d soon expire because their body would basically... cook itself.

So I said all that to say this: Hettie does indeed have all of these - horns, tail, AND a Core.

Now, the real sad part about this is Hettie didn’t really get a chance to understand herself. She was unfortunately an accident. Her witch mother had her via a Dratani fling and didn’t ever TELL said Dratani that he’d sired a child (I enunciate that because her life would have been SO VERY DIFFERENT had her mother done this.) However, her mother had no idea how to raise Hettie because she didn’t know how to handle a fire demon and didn’t want to learn. So, she abandoned her. In like the worst possible way. Hettie thinks she was eight when her mom dumped her in the streets of Bonesborough, but reality is she was closer to five. (AKA, Hettie doesn’t realize she’s 3 years younger than she thinks) The literal streets aren’t a great place for anyone to live, let alone a child, but at the very least Hettie had her fire to protect her. Unfortunately, she didn’t know how to control it or use it properly, so she ended up hurting more people by accident than really benefiting herself or others for it. This propensity to hurt others not only forced her to suppress her fire as constantly as she could manage - once she figured out how - but also fostered her desire to heal. Her magic is naturally boosted because Dratanae are one of the most powerful demonic races, so she more-or-less became a healing prodigy. Fairly quickly in her early teens she was taken under the wing of a healing ward head and apprenticed, only furthering her ability. However, this intense dedication to learning the craft of healing came at the expense of understanding herself. She’d already moved passed trying to rid herself of her demon aspects, as when she was ten she’d tried to file her horns down, but made herself extremely sick doing so and had spent several months in a feverish daze while they grew back to length. She realized those were not something she could be rid of. After that, the urge she’d had to cut her tail off all but vanished because she didn’t want to think about what would happen if she did that. But while she’d closed the door on the ridding attempts, she did actively hide them. Such as keeping her tail tucked under her clothes and wearing scarves then custom hats over her horns. She even took to covering her eyes, because she found out the intense yellow and highly reflective, almost glowing, pupils are a result of her demon blood. She was even insecure about her hair, as it grows in a somewhat teardrop shape on her head to flow around her horns and she correctly deduced that was because of her demon blood as well. Because she hid her demon aspects so constantly, and generally refused to have any other healer give her a basic checkup for so long, she didn’t find out until her late teens what her demon side even was. Not to mention, Dratanic-Witch halfbloods are actually QUITE rare, so only someone who is exceedingly familiar with Dratanae would have realized what she was based on observation alone. But, either way, when she finally ended up with a full healer’s examination, she was on the verge of entering the coven officially and taking the sigil. And at that point, as far as she could tell, her demon side hadn’t ever done her any good - aside from causing her to want to be a healer. So. She chose not to look into it. Then, the sigiling ceremony comes along, and she steps up, gets her sigil... And realizes something’s happened. Later on at home, the first thing she does is pull her tail out from her skirt and - it’s not on fire. She rips her bodice off and the subtle glow that she used to see between her ribs is gone. She raises her hand and tries to summon heat into her palm. Nothing. Looking at her arm, she realizes the sigil has sealed away her fire. She doesn’t know what this means, but... she feels fine. Perhaps a little cold, ironically, but otherwise, she doesn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects. in FACT, she realizes she doesn’t have to put any concentration towards keeping the fire suppressed! So this means... And she outright SOBS in relief because she realizes she won’t accidentally hurt anyone with fire ever again.

Years go by and she rises through the ranks to become a Coven Hand and eventually Second Head. Occasionally, in the rare instances she has downtime she thinks about the Dratani side of her. Once or twice she picked up a book and read a bit about the Dratanae people and culture, but she’s always maintained a distance from it, as if it isn’t really a part of her and never was. Then, she becomes Coven Head. And officially meets Terra Snapdragon. Unbeknownst to Hettie, Terra is intimately familiar with Dratanae. And Terra surmised very quickly that Hettie was a halfblood. So imagine her surprise when Terra asks one day why she hides her tail, because it can’t be comfortable keeping it under her clothes all the time. She decides to answer honestly, and she admits it was a discomfort she got used to when younger, but now that it no longer burns it isn’t much of a problem. Another surprise comes when Terra is concerned about this because a Dratani’s tail is ALWAYS aflame, it can’t just... NOT be burning. This naturally opens a discussion about how Terra would know this and Hettie gets an unexpected amount of new information about the longstanding Plant Coven Head. At the end of this, however, when Terra says she can look into Hettie’s situation further and even introduce her to some Dratanae who would be gladly assist her... She declines. She admits it’s tempting, but she’s closed the door on that part of her life and she’s fine, has been since the day she got her sigil. So it’s not of any concern and she’d rather not bother with it as she has enough to do anyway. This interaction breeds a closeness between the two, though, and throughout the not-quite-so-formal relationship Hettie has always had it in the back of her mind that she could ask Terra at any time... and she could meet the other half of herself.

She still hasn’t done it, but the day she’ll learn more about herself might be coming up on her sooner rather than later~

I hope you’ve enjoyed what turned into a REALLY LONG POST and if you have any other questions -

Send them over!

Oh, and in case you were wondering, yes - the name “Cutburn” came to be her street name because she wasn’t afraid to cut a bish if she had to and, well... we know how the burn part went.

(Thank you, as always, for reading my randomness! XD)

#TOH #the owl house #owl house #hettie cutburn #healing coven head #terra snapdragon #plant coven head #coven heads #headcanons #fanart #digital art #fanfic #AO3 fanfic #writings #after the end #ask #ask response #sheyconyamo

[goodautisticdick]

Unmasking autistic sexuality

I think one universal experience of being autistic is having your autism stigmatized. Cringe, being the most common expression. Having special interests, stimming, being socially awkward around neurotypicals, and talking nonstop about things can make you a target, so it’s very easy to internalize that you are a burden unless you learn how to mask.

Masking burns you out, though. There’s countless autistics who have masked through their teenage years and 20s only to hit a serious burnout or mental health crisis in their late 20s, having fully exhausted themselves masking constantly. So, the idea of Unmasking came about, largely popularized by the book Unmasking Autism by Devon Price. But this book doesn’t talk about unmasking sexually, which is part of the inspiration for this blog.

So, what does unmasking sexually mean? At it’s core, it means the same thing that unmasking in general means, acknowledging that there’s a lot of norms you’ve been following for no good reason that don’t work for you. It’s realizing what parts of your life are authentically autistic and work well for you, and leaning into that. It means just exploring what feels good and works for you, hopefully with the help and guidance of other autistics, or a supportive partner who is willing to help you during this journey.

This can mean realizing that you haven’t been able to have sex sober for a long time, because it was so overwhelming, and you want to work on slower sex. This might be acknowledging that you don’t like oral, and verbalizing it. It might be increasing the amount you masturbate to 3 times a day, but acknowledging you might not come and that’s ok. It might be really diving into some weird porn. It might be realizing that you like the taste of your own fluids and cleaning your hands with your mouth after masturbating. It might be asking that your partner brush their teeth and wash their hands before touching you. It might mean looking at getting other partners or friends with benefits who can help you with your needs. It might mean having more sex, more scheduled sex, less sex, weirder sex, or more exactly the same sex. It might mean you masturbate idly all the time while at home, and letting your partner know it’s just how you stim. It might be diving into sexual special interests and communities and creating content for them. There’s all kinds of amazing things to do as you sexually unmask, while also being wary of safety- there’s a lot of people in certain communities who will target autistics.

I know that unmasking for me has been amazing. I’ve found other autistics online who are very open about their sexuality, and have been really helpful in helping me normalize my own autistic traits socially. And there’s been so much joy in realizing I’m not alone, and being able to just... Share things. Share what makes us happy. Acknowledge that ambient masturbation is totally a thing. Being open to infodumping about fetishes. Being absolutely understanding of boundaries and hard nos. It’s helped me feel more comfortable with my own body, my own genitals, my own sexual habits, and the way I have sex, than ever before. Being able to unmask sexually has been a critical component to my personal unmasking, and I think it’s essential for any autistic who is in the process of unmasking, to commit to. Because you can’t become a fully actualized person if you’re neglecting your sexual self.

#autism #autisexuality

[justaredheadf1fan]

Barcelona GP, better known as one of the best weekends I remember, ever

Masterlist

Well, I can finally write about this!

I would’ve written yesterday after finishing up at the circuit if I hadn’t been so freaking beat! Jesus, it was exhausting as well as exciting as hell. We nearly didn’t make it, that heat wave was horrific! Now, back to business 🤪

So, we missed Friday, of course. No biggie. Saturday came and started as the disaster we truly are. We miscalculated big time and we arrived later than we expected. Missed exits on the road because of the shitty GPS plus me being the worst and poor signaling on the organization’s part, which I expected to not happen after so many years of organizing this event but whatever. We arrived and went looking for our gate only to find not only that it was all the way up the hill, but also that there was a line of people so long we passed the following gate until we finally arrived at the end of it. Yes, I’m telling it like I’d tell the rest of my friends at any point, don’t mind me. 28ºC already at 11 or so, we were DYING. Sun blazing like there was no tomorrow, and it was almost true. Add to it that we both look like a piece of paper and burn too easily, the party had already began for us.

The line was done fairly quick, at least comparing to what we expected to be the longest wait ever. We did miss most of FP3 though, we caught the last 15 minutes or so at most. A shame really, but the sudden wave of happiness when we finally got to the track and started seeing the cars flying around was the best. I can’t really describe the feeling, honestly. I don’t think I’ve ever been that happy about anything, truth be told. My smile was huge, I almost started crying, actually 😂

Once FP3 was done, we looked for our seats, started slowly dying in the sun and we went for something refreshing while W Series came on (sorry we missed it, ladies), otherwise it would’ve been a very, very long afternoon melting onto our seats. I wasn’t planning on it but while waiting in line for some Coca Cola (we needed some sugar to endure that hell) I was getting drowsy from the sun burning through my skull, which I knew was a very bad sign that early on, so I succumbed and bought a Merc cap, otherwise it probably would’ve ended badly at that point. Not that the *Mercedes* part of the cap was the saving factor. But, when choosing among all the options, it had to be Mercedes. Duh. It could’ve also been an old Renault cap with Daniel’s number on it, I really thought about it, buuuuut my heart beat me to it, even though the Mercedes cap was expensive as hell for my taste. It is what it is. I’m happy with it anyway. Quite the savior and the mood booster, if I think about it. I got quite a few interesting looks while wearing it, specially from RedBull/Inbred Frog fans. Very nice, indeed.

Quali was surreal. It was so exciting, so many people there, and the results were pretty amazing for our boys too. We had some Leclerc/Ferrari fans behind us, which for me was purely fantastic. And a couple Merc fans on Marina’s side. So, very nice. The ambiance was incredible, in general, people were super nice. When we were leaving some British girls started talking to us and it was quite fun. Ultimately, we took a good 2 hours waiting in the car before we even started moving out of the parking lot because it was impossible, as much as arriving was. But we made it back and that was an amazing Day 1 at Montmeló.

Then Sunday (yesterday) came, and it was still so unbelievable. Many more people comparing to Saturday, and seeing what happened on Saturday, we decided to get there pretty damn early, and it worked. We got a little lost again with the fantastic signals around the parking lots, but much less than the day before, so that was something and we parked pretty close to the entrance and pretty quickly too so yeah, we learnt our lesson 😁

We walked around a little, saw the Main Stands and the Fan Zone behind it. We saw the start of Formula 3, which was amazing. The sound of those cars up close was insane, so I can’t even imagine how F1 cars will sound like right there directly in front of them. It must be pretty special. We even saw the start of Formula 2 from our stand this time, but went for something to eat prior to the F1 race taking advantage that there weren’t so many people yet, so we missed the rest of that race. The ambiance was much more amazing even than Saturday’s, as it was so packed. Over 121,000 people came as it turns out. I still don’t have good enough words to describe it.

Then, it was time for Formula 1. Whoa. I mean. Whoa. Driver’s Parade came right after F2 finished, and there was an hour and a half break more or less so we escaped to find a little shade, otherwise I don’t think we would’ve lasted the whole race in the sun. 36ºC already at that point, so I guessed that’s why they only made a single lap around the track? No idea, but it was super short.

Finally, the race came and that was impressive. To watch it live, to hear the sound of the car engines, the speed. A dream come true would be an understatement. Kevin’s crash onto Lewis, Carlos and then Verstappen going off the track (we were the only ones cheering in our stand while watching that), Lewis gaining position after position after dropping to P19 at the very beginning, Charles losing power right after he passed through the turn we were watching from, George keeping Verstappen at bail… I can’t describe all of this. It’s been over 24h now and I just can’t say a word that would match what we’ve lived this past weekend. Even the Aston Martin Safety Car was sexy this past weekend, for fuck’s sake.

Some pictures I’m particularly happy about:

I obviously have more, but apparently I’ve reached the limit. Anyway, I need to go back 😭

Finally, I wanna say thank you. Thank you to my friend Marina, because for 7 and a half years I missed out on so many incredible races and content about my most favorite (kind of) idiots due to an absurd reasoning on my part and then she came along and opened my eyes back to one of the things I used to love the most when I was just a kid who liked sports more than most girls did back then. I would’ve never gone to Barcelona in the first place if not for her. I’m so grateful you can’t imagine what this has given me on such a deep level. It’s been so long since I last cried because I didn’t wanna let go of such an incredible thing that I just lived. A thing so magnificent regardless of what some people are turning it into, that I wanted time to stop altogether and stay in that moment. It’s been such a pleasure, that next year we’re going back whatever it takes.

To whoever’s reading, I don’t care how many people you are, where you are and that you don’t even know me, thank you. I’m never letting go of this ever again.

Next up is Monaco, I’m moving on Friday and I’m not supposed to start working until Monday, so I really hope I can watch more or less everything during the weekend without issue. At least until I can figure out how will work interfere with the following races and I can organize myself to watch everything in a timely fashion anyway.

Peace out!

#f1 #formula 1 #mercedes amg f1 #scuderia ferrari #aston martin racing #haas f1 team #mclaren f1 racing #alfa romeo racing #alpine f1 team #scuderia alpha tauri #williams racing #sir lewis hamilton #George Russell #Charles Leclerc #Carlos saint jr #sebastian vettel #lance stroll #mick schumacher #kevin Magnussen #daniel ricciardo #lando norris #zhou guanyu #valtteri bottas #esteban ocon #fernando Alonso #pierre gasly #yuki tsunoda #alex albon #nicholas latifi #barcelona gp 2022

[survey--s]

533.

What can you smell right now?    My scented candle, which apparently smells like “smoked roses”.

What was the last thing you bought online?   A cooling blanket and some air freshener for my car.

If you drink coffee, when was the last time you went a day without having one?   Whenever I had that horrendous flu/bug thing - it must have been back in February, I think?

Do you have any appointments coming up?   I have two jobs to do in a couple of hours. I have to go and feed Monty and then pop in on Charley the cat.

Do you put appointments in your phone’s calendar app to remember them?   Yeah.

Will you be visiting anyone’s house in the next week or so?   Yeah, my job involves going in/out of people’s houses lol. I also see my in-laws most days as they look after the dog for us while we work.

Have you ever been to a petting zoo? What animals did you pet?   Yeah, loads of times - goats, lambs, pigs, calves, hamsters, rabbits, guinea pigs, chicks, ducklings - all sorts.

What was the last movie you saw in theatres?   I haven’t been to the movies since before COVID lol.

Do you know anyone who has done a PhD?   Yeah, quite a few people.

How many unread emails are in your inbox right now?   Zero, I check/delete my e-mails as they come in.

What four apps do you keep on the home bar on your iPhone? (Sorry, I’m not sure if Android has an equivalent!) Phone, Spotify, Safari, Messages.

Have you ever used Tumblr? Do you still use it today?   No, this is all a figment of your imagination.

Are you tired right now?   A little bit, but not full-on exhausted or anything like that.

What’s your favourite day of the week and why?   It depends on the week and what I have planned, but generally weekends are the best for obvious reasons lol.

How far away is the nearest major city?   About two hours away.

Do you own an electric kettle?   Sure.

Are your eyebrows wispy or bushy?   Both lol.

Have you ever lost your wallet or purse? Did you have to replace a bunch of things?   I’ve lost my bank card a few times but I just froze it via the app and ordered a new one.

Where are you right now? Describe the room or place to me.   I’m in the living room as it’s bloody roasting outside. There are windows at each end - the front door is at one end, the kitchen door at the other and the upstairs door on far left as you come in. The walls are painted a mix of red and grey, the carpets are grey and so is the sofa, with red blankets/cushions to match the walls. All the furniture is white. There are fairylights all around the room and a scented candle burning above the fireplace.

Do you prefer big dogs or small dogs?   Medium sized dogs - around 15-25kg is perfect for me. Anything bigger and they’re generally too strong for me to handle safely, and any smaller and they’re just not really my thing, I guess.

Are you good at understanding heavy accents? Which accents would you say you’re the best at understanding?   For the most part I manage fine. I guess British accents.

Have you ever played on a real life pinball machine, or just on the computer?   Both.

Do you have a lot of word documents or notes on your computer?   No, I don’t think there any saved on here actually.

What’s your favourite Ben & Jerry’s flavour?   I’m not a fan of Ben & Jerry’s anymore. I loved it as a teenager but now it all tastes really sweet and artificial,.

Have you ever been to a school reunion? How was it?   No, and I have no interest in going to one.

How many nights a week do you generally cook at home?   I eat at home pretty much every night but I don’t always cook.

What colour are the street signs in your neighbourhood? Are they the same all over town or do they vary?   Like, the signs with street names on them? White with black lettering. That’s the same everywhere in the UK.

Do you have good grammar and punctuation skills?   Yes.

Have you ever tried vegan chicken? Did you like it? Yeah, I used to love Quorn stuff but now it makes me sick lol.

#survey #surveys