#It's okay just to say I'm not okay

[evillittlebirdie]

Salvation (Kar'niss/Tav)

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine

"Astarion deserves all the credit for this idea," Tav complimented with a smile. She stopped near the tree where, at the base, sat a bucket and a small bag.

"Where would you be if it wasn't for this creative brain?" Astarion delightedly responded. The two laughed, and Kar'niss pursed his lips.

Before Kar'niss could ruminate on the apparent insolence Astarion showed, his attention was taken away by Tav climbing the tree. He watched in interest as she swiftly moved through the limbs before settling on one near Kar'niss's height. "Kar'niss! Walk over here. I want to see if I'm high enough."

Kar'niss obeyed as though her command was as second nature as breathing. He walked over to her. His head reached the height of the branch she was perched on. "Perfect! I guessed correctly," Tav beamed. She straddled the limb and raised her hand against Kar'niss's hair.  

Ilhar grabbed Kar'niss's hair and pulled him from the vanity. Her manicured nails clawed into his scalp. There was no use protesting, but Kar'niss still squirmed against his mother's grip. She dragged him out of his bed-chamber and down the hallway. Servants and slaves scattered out of the way. Only one, a female duergar slave whose mind was far gone, lingered. They dutifully picked up the pieces of ribbon that fell from Kar'niss' hair. 

Kar'niss is slapped and berated for an infraction he doesn't remember committing. Ilhar says he disrespected his tutor. Kar'niss doesn't remember, but obviously, he must have. 

Kar'niss didn't move as Tav touched his hair. He kept his breath, ready to be hit for his committed transgressions. Instead, Tav explained, "If it's alright with you, I would really like to wash your hair. I didn't want to offer until I could figure out the logistics. I can't exactly ask you to lean into a basin." She gestured towards his body. 

The drider never had the misfortune of being thrown through the air. Still, Kar'niss imagined the sensation was similar to how he was feeling now. What she proposed served no purpose. His extra eyes could see the thin layer of grime that now appeared on Tav's fingers. 

Filthy creature. Putrid, rotting from the inside out. Fit only for caves and dirt. Blood, bile, mud, viscera, oil, matted, wiry-

 But suddenly, Tav's soft voice entered his mind. "Kar'niss."

The other voices scattered away once Tav's light entered his mind. Soothing and sweetly, she told him, "Please do this. Trust me."

His Majesty's Chosen commanded him. Alight with renewed purpose, Kar'niss ignored his mind's insults. He nodded in agreement and was rewarded with Tav's pearly smile.

Astarion grabbed the bucket and the bag. He held both items up high for Tav to grab. 

"It may be cold," She warned him as she waved her hand. The bucket suddenly filled with water. She sat on the side saddle on the limb and placed the bucket between her legs.  

"Ah yes, she warns the drider the water is cold. Not me." Astarion lamented. 

Kar'niss wished he could use one of his legs to kick the elf away. But he stopped himself. Astarion was obviously a pet favorite of Her Majesty's Chosen. Kar'niss would only need time to prove the vain elf's heresy. He could smell the elf's faithlessness. He believed in nothing. 

"For the hundredth time, I apologize," Tav sighed, rolling her eyes. "I'll remember that the next time your arms are so sore you can't lift them up."

Astarion huffed disrespectfully, his arms crossing his chest. "Hmph, well, I will leave you to your beauty parlor." Tav chuckled in response, waving to Astarion with her free hand.

Kar'niss was relieved to watch Astarion stroll off. "Can you tilt your head back for me?" Tav asked him. He forgot about Astarion and obeyed Tav. He tilted his head back, and the back of his neck hit the bucket's rim. 

The water that cascaded from Tav's hand was cool, but it wasn't the temperature that made Kar'niss flinch. How long had it been since he felt the water on his hair? He remembered his first few days on the surface. It rained one day, which was a very jarring event for him. And before that, it was when he fell into the water the first day he saw his reflection.

Kar'niss' heart twisted in mortification. It had been years then. So many years. His hygiene never bothered him before. He had grown used to the layers of dirt and dried blood. Before he was introduced to the Absolute, he was content. He had hoped that one day when she made him whole, he could be clean and pure. 

***

Tav didn't care to admit she had a secret motivation for washing Kar'niss's hair. She needed information. And she knew she could ply it out of him. 

Tav ran her fingers through Kar'niss's hair, pulling at the knots. Underneath the oil, Tav could tell his hair was strong and thick. It just needed some tender care. And she was happy to provide. She made sure to pull her fingers carefully through the tangles. She didn't want to hurt his scalp or accidentally pull more hair than necessary. She began to speak as she rinsed his hair, "I used to wash the hair of all my brothers and sisters. I came from a pretty big family. I was the oldest of twelve. What about you?"

"Only son. Disgrace," Kar'niss mumbled quietly, "Five sisters. Proud, proud daughters. All yathrin, priestesses of the spider bitch." 

Tav frowned at his self-depreciation. But didn't know if she should address it or not. She hesitated as she looked at the water. It was already brown, almost black from all the grime she cleaned. She placed her hand under his neck and eased him up. She could feel the hard shell of his exoskeleton rising up to his hairline, where there was a thin line of skin. She pretended not to hear the Kar'niss's breath catch in his throat. She pretended not to feel his pulse quicken. She ran her fingers through his hair, squeezing the excess water into the bucket. 

"You grew up very differently than me. I had six brothers and five sisters..." Tav disclosed as she tossed the bucket of dirty water on the ground below. She filled the pail again with clean water and returned his head to the bucket. 

"Six brothers..." Kar'niss echoed in amazement. Tav couldn't fault him for finding the situation strange. She heard that most noble Drow families allowed for two sons before they began to sacrifice the males. 

Tav reached her wet hand into the bag and pulled out the small bottle of rosemary oil. She poured half of the bottle's contents onto Kar'niss's hair and began to lather.

Kar'niss inhaled deeply, obviously picking up on the aroma of the oil. "Courtesy of Astarion," Tav explained, "No disrespect to my fellow companions, but he's the only one whose hair doesn't smell like lye." 

"Mistress likes this smell?"Kar'niss clarified. 

"Rosemary? Oh, I love it. I can do without that pomade he douses his hair in. But I love the scent," Tav imparted. 

Kar'niss hummed in response, a chirp vibrating in his throat.

Despite herself, Tav giggled softly and told him, "I like that sound you make. That little chirrup. It's cute." 

Kar'niss's extra eyes began to blink rapidly. "Mistress?" He called in confusion. Tav might as well be speaking Draconic rather than Common. 

Tav avoided his call and continued to later his hair in the water. His hair was as white as fallen snow now that it was clean. She moved her fingers to his scalp and began to massage the skin. She was concerned when Kar'niss started to tense. But slowly, he relaxed under her ministrations. 

"Moonrise Towers. That is where you were taking those pilgrims, correct?" Tav inquired. 

"Yes. They sought to pray in my Queen's glory. Our Queen," Kar'niss replied. "Her Majesty's Chosen, General Thorm, is preparing an army."

Fuck.

"An army, you say..." Tav continued on, moving her fingers along scarred skin. How long had it been since Kar'niss had been touched by anyone? How long had it been since a kind, delicate hand gave him mercy? She should be ashamed of herself for taking advantage of him. 

"They shall follow, or they shall submit," Kar'niss answered reverently. A soft moan vibrated in his throat. He bit his lips to quiet it. "But General Thorm cannot move yet."

"Oh?" Tav tried to choose her words carefully. As far as Kar'niss knew, she was one of the Aboslute's Chosen. She rinsed Kar'niss's hair again and allowed the bucket to drop. She reached into the bag to pull out a comb. She brushed through Kar'niss's hair. "He is searching for the weapon." She thought about the Astral Prism safely tucked away at camp. 

"Not much longer," Kar'niss hummed. A purr vibrated in his tone. "He'll find it soon. That and the Nightsong. Balthazar is close to finding it."

The Nightsong. So, this mysterious artifact was connected to the cult as well. Just as Tav suspected. Well, Tav had to find the Nightsong before this Balthazar did.

Tav didn't press her luck. She finished brushing Kar'niss's hair and began to braid it. The movement was as second nature to her as any other caretaking activity. 

"Mistress?" Kar'niss spoke, his voice tentative and still vibrating. 

"Yes, Kar'niss?" Tav acknowledged, taking care of her styling.

***

Kar'niss allowed his mind to wander to a place he had no right to be in. He thought about turning his body to face her. He would reach to pick up Tav in his arms. He would cradle her against his chest. His abominable body would ache, searching for a release he could never have. He cursed the Spider Queen. But he would do what he could to please His Majesty's Chosen. Kar'niss had served well and was granted a tender touch. And he would spend the rest of his life cherishing Her if only Tav would touch him one more time. 

"Never mind," Kar'niss answered. He was a coward. And he deserved to rot in the shadows rather than have any grace. "Forgive me for distracting you."

"No forgiveness necessary," Tav commented in her affectionate tone. She gave his hair a final pull before taking a long ribbon from the bag. She used the ribbon to tie his hair back.

Pretty things long ago. Far and long ago. Ilhar wants me to marry. I do not want to marry. I want to be a cleric like my sisters. Ilhar will be proud of me. Lolth will shine upon me. 

"You look absolutely stunning. Your hair is beautiful," Tav remarked. 

Kar'niss hesitantly brought his hand to his hair. It was still damp, but he could already feel the difference. He ran his fingers down the braid to the silk ribbon that tied it together. 

"Thank you, thank you, Mistress..." Kar'niss gratefully murmured, feeling tears form in his eyes. He blinked his eyes close, averting his gaze from Tav. "I feel my strength returning with each day. Maybe soon I can join you on your travels," Kar'niss offered, desperation tinging his voice. He could feel his abdomen tremble in anticipation. 

He would draw blood for her. 

[ohanahoku-ao3]

Whumptober 2023 Day 30

So close to finishing these prompts, just one left after this one! Hope you guys enjoy it, this one is one of my favorites! <3

Teen & Up - Gen - Merlin (TV)

Their Strength, Their Shelter

     Gwaine watched Arthur limp along the deer path they were following through the forest, frowning as Arthur again ignored Leon’s offer to help him. They had been attacked by bandits, and while their prince was the only one who sustained an injury, their horses had spooked, leaving them stranded and forced to walk back to the capital. They wouldn’t make it by nightfall, and Gwaine was relieved when Arthur called them all to make camp. His friend had been limping for hours on a bad leg, and while he’d let Merlin tend to it, he was refusing any offer of support for his injured leg.

     Gwaine watched as Merlin forced Arthur to sit down and fussed over his injury momentarily, looking frustrated when the prince sent him away to collect firewood. He shook his head, heading over to sit down next to Arthur. “He’s just worried. We all are.” He told him, taking a sip from his flask before offering it to Arthur.

     “There’s no need, I’m fine,” Arthur said, taking the flask and tipping it back for a swallow.

     Gwaine chuckled, shaking his head. “You nobles are all alike. Too proud to admit you’re not okay.” He took his flask back for a few long sips. “I’m sure I’ll have to say it more than once for it to penetrate that thick skull of yours, but it’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay.’ We won’t think any less of you for it.” He glanced at Arthur and sighed as he saw his friend’s face close off. He passed the flask back to him rather than comment on it. “Drink the rest. It’ll ease the pain.”

     Arthur looked like he might refuse but then relented, taking the flask and bringing it to his lips once more. “Thanks.”

     Gwaine nodded, patting Arthur’s shoulder before taking his leave and heading to the forest to help Merlin collect the firewood.

     It was late at night when Gwaine found Arthur in the training yard, yelling in rage as he destroyed a fighting dummy. He watched in the pale moonlight for a minute as Arthur utterly demolished the sturdy wood figurine, anger and grief making every movement sloppy but powerful until he stood there, chest heaving as he stared at the fallen target. Gwaine stepped forward then, calling out to his friend. “Destroying our practice dummies won’t help.”

     Arthur whirled to face him, eyes sparking with grief, but his face set in a furious sneer.

     Gwaine spoke again before Arthur could retort. “What you need is a real challenge.” He drew his sword, lifting his chin in a clear dare for Arthur to come at him.

     And Arthur did, lunging at Gwaine and holding nothing back as they parried, dodged, and exchanged blow for blow. Gwaine goaded him on, provoking Arthur at every missed strike and letting him work out his anger. He took every hit Arthur delivered, his muscles straining as he fought to keep up with Arthur’s erratic pace. He kept up until Arthur’s attacks started growing weaker, until Arthur’s tears blinded him to the point of missing every strike, until Arthur’s hands shook so hard they couldn’t hold his sword anymore, and it fell onto the grass.

     Gwaine threw his own sword aside as Arthur fell to his knees; the prince-turned-king wracked with sobs as he doubled over and screamed hoarsely into the dirt. Gwaine knelt next to him, one hand around Arthur’s lower back and the other at his shoulder as he held him close. “That’s it, Arthur. You don’t have to be okay. Not now.”

     The knight looked up and saw Merlin standing several yards away at the edge of the yard. It was nearly impossible to see Merlin’s eyes in the low light, but Gwaine couldn’t help noticing how his best friend was drowning in guilt. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sooner than he had, Merlin turned and ran, as silent as if he’d never been there.

     Ringing in his ears brought Gwaine to, and he reached up to hold his head on as he sat up. “Merlin?” He called, looking around and wincing when his voice felt like a hammer against his head. “Arthur? Anyone?” He stumbled to his feet, looking around for his compatriots. There were a couple of men face down in the dirt, wearing the sigils of the clan that had attacked them, but his friends were nowhere to be seen.

     “Gwaine.”

     A weak call of his name had Gwaine whirling around as he hurried towards the voice, the ache in his head fading slightly from adrenaline. “Arthur! Are you okay?” He called, stumbling over the uneven ground of the forest.

     A shaky breath preceded the soft answer. “No.”

     The answer chilled Gwaine to the bone as he came upon his king. “Arthur.” He breathed upon finding the young man sitting against a rotting log with blood staining his clothes. “What happened?” He asked, kneeling beside him as he lifted Arthur’s shirt to examine the wound.

     “Got… stabbed,” Arthur said, his eyes closing for a minute before they struggled to open again. “Merlin. They took Merlin.”

     “We’ll get him back,” Gwaine promised, fastening a makeshift bandage around Arthur’s torso. “But you need medical attention first. Do you think you can stand?”

     Arthur shook his head, grimacing as he admitted, “I’m not okay.”

     “That’s alright. I’ve got you.” Gwaine promised, swallowing thickly. It was the first time Arthur had admitted such a thing to him, and while the circumstances were what brought it about, it was obvious those words cost Arthur his pride. He placed a hand under Arthur’s shoulders and another under his knees. “Alright, up we go.”

     He stood with Arthur in his arms, the king gasping in pain from the minimal movement and a little more red seeping into the bandage around him. “Stop, stop,” Arthur begged, and Gwaine stilled for a moment as Arthur got used to the new position, his face growing paler by the second until he nodded silently.

     “Let’s get you home, Princess,” Gwaine said as he walked forward, grinning when Arthur still managed to glare at him for the nickname. They walked for hours, occasionally taking short breaks for Arthur to drink some of the water from Gwaine’s half-empty canteen. As they went, Arthur got paler and paler, slipping in and out of consciousness as he started to whimper in pain.

     “It hurts,” Arthur admitted at length, voice smaller than Gwaine had ever heard from the young king. “It hurts.” He repeated, and Gwaine glanced down at him just as Arthur passed out.

     The knight cursed and walked faster, frantically searching for any sign that they were getting close. A half-hour passed before Gwaine recognized a small stream, his eyes lighting up. “We’re almost there, Arthur. Not much longer.” He informed his unconscious friend as he picked up his pace.

     When they finally reached the capital, Percival met them at the gate, carrying Arthur to Gaius as Elyan went to fetch Leon. As soon as they learned that Arthur would be okay, they wasted no time saddling their horses to ride out in search of Merlin and his captors. But as they were about to mount their horses, a commotion at the gate drew their attention. There, at the entrance, stood Merlin. Gwaine’s friend was shirtless, with some sort of symbol half-drawn, half-smeared in blood across his chest. His arms were littered with bruises, and more blood smudged his face and hands. The sight was so startling that no one moved nor said a word until Merlin spoke, his voice shaking as he asked about Arthur.

     At Gwen’s stuttered assurance that the king was okay, Merlin sobbed in relief before crumpling in on himself. His knees hit the stone floor of the courtyard hard, spurring them all into action as they rushed to the servant’s side.

     Sometime later, after Merlin had been cleaned up, Gwaine stood with him by Arthur’s bedside. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, watching Merlin closely.

     “I’m fine,” Merlin said, echoing the same phrase he had said earlier, even after being forced to explain the horrible things the cult had tried to do to him.

     Gwaine sighed, placing a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay.’” He told him, watching as Merlin’s eyes flicked to his, his blue eyes haunted and wary. Gwaine shook his head fondly, ruffling Merlin’s hair. “It’s okay, Merls. You don’t have to say it now. But I’ll be here to listen when you’re ready to say it.”

     Merlin stared at him for a moment longer before nodding once, curt and stoic, before looking back at Arthur like the king would disappear if he took his eyes off him for too long.

     Gwaine stayed with them both through the night. After all, he was their Strength, and he’d be there to support them regardless of whether they were ready to admit they needed the help or not.

[kayamark]

Whumptober: No. 30 - "It's okay just to say I'm not okay"

It's okay to not be okay (2020)

Ep 14

[crematosis]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov Characters: Maria Hill, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Tony Stark Additional Tags: Drowning, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Protective Maria Hill Series: Part 11 of whumptober 2023 Summary:

When Natasha is pulled out of the river after a mission, Maria is the only one who sees how much Natasha is really struggling.

[veryrealimagination]

“It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”

Day No: 30

Prompt: Bridal Carry, "It's okay, just to say, 'I'm not okay.'"

Fandom: Murdoch Mysteries

Medium: fic

Trigger Warnings: none

SFW

James saw Watts’s leg give out on him when attending to the animals. The old wounds along his legs had been aggravated with the experiments Gillies performed to get more information on his mutated Jump Dancers and what they did. He insisted that he didn’t need the cane, having been limping around instead of asking for help.

When he fell, he carefully walked over. James had a small feeling that the young man might not take help the way he had in the past. The kidnapping and aftermath had caused several of the people in his life, himself included, to coddle him. Margaret brought over treats almost every day. Brackenreid escorted him to get projects and commissions. He helped him out during chores of the day. Murdoch and Julia were the only two to barely up their coddling. The man just quietly kept by him while he worked on commissions. Julia came out to the house to do her examinations instead of him going up to the clinic.

“Llewellyn,” he said.

“I’ll get myself up in a minute,” he protested.

He sighed, “Llewellyn, what are you trying to prove to everyone?”

His arms went around his chest and he knew he was touching on subjects that the young man didn’t want to talk about. “I’m not trying to prove anything. I can work. I’m fine.” Persephone managed to still sneak her way from the shed to force her way into his arms. A small bite to his finger and he started petting her into submission to stop more bites.

*Then you wouldn't be falling from merely walking.* He didn’t say that to his face. No, he would have gotten yelled at by an angry teen who would have then been a regretful teen who would have then been a mopey teen that would try harder to do things by himself without backup. Who then would have hurt himself more afterwards.

“Right, sun couch time,” he decided. The sun couch was Murdoch’s way of ‘testing’ dyes that he found or came up with before making some to sell to the clothing makers. It had come out of Abandoned Ruins One as a pink monstrosity before he managed to strip the original color and turned it the brightest of yellows. Then, there ended up being some red and orange, green, blue, some sort of brown, tested on the poor thing. It sat around the back, pointed toward the sea.

It was also good, because James could only get so far.

Before he knew it, James had an arm under his knees and around his back. “James,” Llewellyn yelped, holding the lamb with one hand and getting a grip with the other. He held himself extremely still before being sat on the couch. Then the man was sitting next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

He liked the warmth. Liked the presence of someone next to him. Llewellyn did want someone nearby. His aunt and uncle were almost cloying, and he usually never felt that way at all around his family, but after the events with James Gillies, he just couldn’t stand most of the people in his life. It wasn’t the same thing as being brought back from Duvos.

“I’m fine,” he whispered. Persephone had fallen asleep, letting him hold her head. “I’m fine.”

“You wouldn’t need to say it if it were true,” he said. The sigh that came out of him was slightly wet. “James Gillies is known for what he’s pulled off in the past. He’s known for what’s he’s done to Murdoch, to Julia, to even me and a couple of Civil Corps members. Knowing that he had you for days, testing things, playing with you. Everyone is concerned about how much is affecting you.”

He sniffled. “It’s not that bad.”

“Llewellyn.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” The little lamb sitting in his hand bleated softly. “I’m not…” It was a ragged gasp that he heard that made James want to wrap him in blankets and not let him out for a month.

“It’s okay.” He wrapped his arm around him when a couple of tears managed to get out. “It’s okay to not actually be fine. It’s okay to not be okay.”

“This isn’t even as bad as Duvos,” he complained.

“Duvos was impersonal. James Gillies has always been personal, and a tad creepy about it.” There was a snort, but he felt more tears when his face turned into his shoulder. “You’re not okay now. It’s fine, you’ll be okay later.”

There was a snort. “That sounds corny.”

“I was told it by a friendly ear.” The next sound was a groan. “I’m full of these. I’ll pop them off all night.”

“Cruel and unusual.” He didn’t move, thought, and James continued looking at the water while Llewellyn calmed down.

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 30 - The Shadow and The Brute

This bit of the hero/villain verse takes place in between the other two I've written this month - after Leave Me Alone and before Interrogation (both of which you can find on the masterlist!)

Bruno aka The Brute belongs to Izzy, who wrote most of his dialogue for this piece and helped come up with the idea for it.

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @sssunshinebreeze

Shadow of Death Masterlist

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.” | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

Contains: lady whump, supervillain whump, beating, broken ribs, mild blood, corporal punishment, talk of death, referenced parental abuse, brief self-deprecating thoughts, touch aversion, passing out

.

.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Kamaria whirls around, heart lodging itself in her throat as soon as she hears Roderick’s voice. Swallowing past it, she gestures lamely toward the end of the alley where she’d been heading. “Going back to headquarters?”

He takes a couple of slow steps forward, eyes narrowed behind his mask. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe you finished your mission.” 

She grits her teeth. This was bound to happen, she just thought she’d have until she got back to prepare herself for it. He’s never met her outside of headquarters like this before. “I couldn’t. Got stopped by The Brute.”

“He stopped you.” His voice is a dangerous growl now, and he storms forward until he’s looming over her. Kamaria refuses to back up. “Show me. Show me right this instant how, exactly, it is that he stopped you. Because it looks to me like you are standing upright, walking, even. I see no blood. I see no broken bones. And even if I did see those things, I know that I have trained you to take a lot more pain than that and keep going. So explain to me again why you’re on your way back without completing your mission, because I am sick and tired of hearing that The Brute stopped you while you are still alive and on your feet.”

This is going to end very badly. “Look, he’s…relentless.” Relentless in showing up, at least, making her life so much more difficult but somehow better at the same time. “I can tell when a fight isn’t going anywhere.” Mostly because neither of them want it to go anywhere. “I could show you the bruises he left on me, but I don’t really want to strip down in this alley and you probably wouldn’t be able to tell them from yours, anyway…”

The punch across her face is predictable. It was either that, or he grabbed her by her hair or throat, and she honestly prefers the punch. It whips her head to the side, but she stands firm. 

“You don’t get to decide that ‘a fight isn’t going anywhere’. Your job is to make the fight go somewhere. All these times you’ve clashed with The Brute…he should be dead by now.”

He really should be. She’s had hundreds of opportunities to kill him, especially now when he’s decided it’s all just a game between the two of them. 

But she can’t. He may be a hero, but he’s the only person in the whole world who treats her like a human being. She doesn’t want him dead. 

“If I could, I would have! He’s too strong.”

“Then maybe we should just make you stronger, hm?”

That’s all the warning she gets. Roderick lays into her, slamming his fist into her face. She stumbles backwards a couple of steps, blood immediately pouring from her nose and reflexive tears stinging her eyes. He punches her again, and the taste of blood fills her mouth from a cut in her cheek. 

Still, she keeps her arms down by her sides. She’s not allowed to fight back.

He switches to her stomach, instead, doubling her over after two hits, at which point he grabs her by the shoulders and throws her into the brick wall. It would be easy to just crumple to the ground. She’ll end up there eventually, anyway. But if she falls too early it makes him mad, he wants her to withstand it for as long as possible. 

So she trips, and wavers, but straightens herself back up to face him. And the hits keep coming. By the time she does actually fall to her knees, she can’t take a breath, the alley is spinning in vicious circles around her, and her head feels like it’s being repeatedly stabbed. She does attempt to get back up, but he kicks her in the chest, knocking all the remaining oxygen from her lungs and bruising her spine against the wall.

Kamaria catches herself on her hands as she retches. Another kick sends her toppling over onto her side. Instinctively she wants to curl up, to protect her head and organs, but she has to stay limp and vulnerable, to let him do what he wants. He won’t kill her, anyway. He’ll drag her back after this, make her use her power to keep herself alive if he goes too far. It won’t change how much she hurts, though.

He targets one spot on her side, slamming his heel into it over and over until the ribs give way. Then he turns his attention to her legs, leaving bruises all up and down them, with a few more shots to the stomach in between. 

Suddenly he pauses. Kamaria’s vision is too blurred to see what he’s doing, she can only hope that he’s done. Every breath rattles in her chest and sends pain shooting through her center. This is definitely one of the worst punishments she’s had in a while. The next few days are going to be horrible to deal with, especially if her father still insists on sending her out on assignments.

Seconds pass, then Roderick delivers one more swift kick to her knee before his footsteps hurry away. He…didn’t take her with him. She lifts her head, just barely, trying to blink away the fog and see where he went without success. Is he just…leaving her here? Does he want her dead, after all? Or is this some kind of test, to see if she can make it back on her own?

She allows herself a quiet groan as she drops her head back to the ground, but cuts it off and tenses up as more footsteps approach. A figure hovers over her for a moment before crouching down. She tries and fails not to flinch as their hands reach toward her.

“Shadow. Oh, no…”

Wait, she recognizes that voice. 

“It’s okay, it’s me, Brute.” A string of curses spills from his lips. “Okay okay, we need to get you help.”

No. No, that’s the last thing she needs, all of this happened to start with because she and Brute are too attached, because she can’t just kill him and he refuses to hurt her. If she doesn’t get back to headquarters right now, she’s going to be in even worse trouble. 

She shifts, trying to get her arms underneath her so she can sit up. Everything in her body throbs with the movement. “‘m fine. Don’…don’ need help. Gotta…get back.”

“Don’t try to get up!” His hands grip her shoulders, and she jerks backwards away from him. She lands on her back, vision going black as pain erupts in her skull. 

Brute’s voice is muffled, barely filtering past her own harsh breathing. “Shadow…keep your eyes on me.” He swears again. “This isn’t good. Okay, I don’t care about the code right now.”

He’s touching her again, but she can’t pull away this time. He moves too quickly and decisively, sliding one arm beneath her knees and the other under her shoulders and lifting her off the ground far too easily. Kamaria bites back a gasp. Her head is swimming with both panic and pain. Her cheek is resting against his shoulder and the proximity makes her skin crawl, but she can’t seem to lift it up. All she manages is slapping at him weakly with one hand.

“No, no, don’...don’ touch me…gotta…go back…” 

“Your ribs are broken…at the very least! You can’t make it back on your own.” He’s running with her in his arms, and every step jostles her injuries. “Look, you got to trust me for once. I…I won’t lose you.”

It isn’t that she doesn’t trust him. She shouldn’t trust him, he’s a hero, but that’s not something she can even fully grasp right now, much less worry about. She knows he’s trying to help, but he doesn’t understand that she’s suffocating from being held, and that every second she spends away from headquarters is more pain she’ll experience later. And how can she explain that to him? She can’t even tell him that there’s a villain’s guild without signing her own death warrant, much less that she’s said guild’s favorite punching bag. 

She wouldn’t, even if she could. She’d rather he never know how pathetic she actually is.

“Fought you with…broken ribs…before.” Also with fresh whip lashes, and with a broken arm. It’s the only argument she can think of at the moment, but she knows it won’t do any good, not now that Brute has his mind set on something.

“I know you have.” He pulls her even closer to himself. “I won’t remove the mask. I swear on it. I got a healer that can patch you up in no time. Then you can go back.”

No, that won’t work. If she comes back miraculously healed…besides the fact that he doesn’t need to be bringing other heroes into this. “...get in trouble.”

“Me or you?”

Her breath catches as he stops suddenly to look around a corner. It feels like there’s a knife stuck between her ribs. 

“Both.” Wait, no, she can’t tell him that she’ll get in trouble. “You’re a hero. Can’t…help me.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice her slip up. “I don’t care what I am and what you are. You’re a person that’s hurt. I’m not letting you die. Over my dead body.”

Before she can argue that she’s not about to die, they’re at his car. Or at least she assumes, since he’s bending down and opening a car door to put her inside.

“‘m gonna get blood on your seats.”

“So what? They don’t matter to me.” He maneuvers her through the door and into the passenger seat, and Kamaria somehow manages to keep from making any pained noises while he does so. Opening the back door, he rummages around for a moment, returning with a towel that he throws over her lap like a blanket. Then he runs around to the other side of the car and dives into the driver’s seat.

“Shouldn’t…be doing this.” She shouldn’t be letting him. She should be opening the door, throwing herself out of the car if that’s what it takes. If the villains find out that a hero helped her, she’ll be in so much trouble. If the hero guild finds out he helped her, she can’t imagine they’ll be happy with him. And if the villains decide to go after the man who did it, she’ll never forgive herself.

“Stop worrying. I’m gonna get you help.” 

The car is moving, every jolt and curve resounding through her body. She clutches the edge of the cloth seat until her knuckles ache. Brute punches buttons on his console, and a phone begins ringing, echoing loudly through the car.

“They’re gonna…hate you. Not supposed to help me. What if…what if the guild finds out…or…or the media?” It’s getting harder to talk, her face starting to swell up more in various places.

“No one is going to find out about this.” A woman’s voice comes through the speakers, and Brute rushes to reply. “Patches. I need you. I need you so bad.”

Kamaria lets her eyes drift shut, too dizzy to keep watching the scenery speed past. “They’ll find out,” she mumbles to herself. “Always find out…”

Brute and the woman are arguing, voices raised, but they’re drifting in and out of Kamaria’s focus. A hand rests on her leg, and she tenses all over. It just lays there, though. It doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t hit, doesn’t hurt her in any way. Oddly, it’s…slightly comforting, despite the way her skin seems to shrivel underneath it at first. 

“Hang in there, Shadow.” His voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away. “Not much longer now.”

Kamaria stops fighting the darkness that’s been trying to claim her, allowing herself to sink deeply into it.

[adzeisval]

It's okay just to say I'm not okay

Izzy has a rough morning. Also on AO3.

Izzy woke up later than he’d intended to and groaned. It had been a rough night. The sea had been tossing the ship about and the wind was howling and screaming. Izzy looked across his room to see his prosthetic had rolled all the way over to the other side of the room. He sighed. 

Izzy eased himself down onto the floor and crawled on his hands and one knee over to the prosthetic. He managed to get it on and get himself off the floor and standing. He was a little unsteady at first. It still happened every once in a while. It probably always would. 

He went about his morning duties and got the crew up and going and looked around for any damage that might have been caused by the storm. Izzy tried to ignore the rubbing of the prosthetic against his skin, he must have put it on a little off.

Izzy gave orders to the crew, he pointed out things that needed to be fixed. He fixed a few things that he could reach but he wasn’t able to get up into the rigging as easily as he could before and it was safer to stay on the deck. 

“Spriggs, there’s a loose rope to your left!” 

“Fuck Izzy, why don’t you come up here and help.” 

“Little difficult to do that Spriggs,” Izzy called back. Izzy supposed he could try to climb up, he could in a pinch but…chances were that he would fall. Sometimes it didn’t bother him what he couldn’t do or couldn’t do as easily anymore but other times…it got to him. He knew that he was lucky to have lived through the infection and amputation. He was lucky to have a place where he belonged and where they cared enough about him to help him.

Izzy saw Edward and Stede making their way around the ship, Izzy needed to tell them a few things and started down the stairs. One of the straps holding his prosthetic snapped and the leg came off. Izzy tried to hop down the stairs and managed one but then went sprawling down the rest, landing hard on the deck. 

Fuck. 

“Izzy?” 

“Is he alright?” 

Ed and Stede were at his side helping him sit up. 

“Are you alright Iz?” Ed asked. Izzy wanted to say that he was alright, he should be alright, it was just a stupid tumble. But the stupid leg strap had snapped, and his ribs hurt, and he was bleeding from a cut on his arm and…and…

Izzy started to cry. 

“Oh shit,” Ed said, “Stede, can you get Roach and the leg and meet me in the cabin?” 

“Yes,” Stede said, “Hold on Izzy.” 

“I’m going to pick you up and get you to the cabin alright?” Ed said and Izzy managed to nod. Ed picked him up, carrying him bridal style all the way to the cabin. 

“Sorry,” Izzy mumbled when they got to the cabin. 

“It’s alright Izzy. Having a bad morning mate?” 

He nodded. It was so difficult sometimes to talk to Edward about things involving the leg. He didn’t like to make Edward feel bad about it. 

“I’m sorry Izzy, wanna bitch about it mate?” 

Izzy snorted, “Stupid leg rolled across the room in the storm, put the straps on a bit off and it was chafing and hurting, Spriggs didn’t mean to but he made me feel a bit useless because I can’t go up into the rigging then the fucking strap broke and I fell and…and I just get sick of it sometimes. Not being able to just get up and walk!” 

“I’m sorry Iz, so sorry for my part in this. But I’m so glad you’re here mate, I’m so thankful I still get to talk to you every day, see you every day. Everyone here wants you to be here because we love you. You are an important part of our family just as you are.” 

Izzy sniffled, “Thanks Ed.” 

“Roach is here, ready to see if that cut needs stitching?” 

Izzy nodded.

“I’ll see what we can do about getting that strap fixed and maybe get some more padding so it doesn’t chafe.” 

“Thank you.” 

Roach came in and checked the cut which didn’t need stitches and gave Izzy some salve for the chafing. His ribs were bruised a bit but no breaks. 

“Any other concerns Izzy?” 

“No. Thank you Roach.” 

Stede was the next to come in, with a tea tray filled with goodies, “Got you something to cheer you up a bit.” 

“I’m not going to break you know.” 

“I know. I just want to cheer you up. I don’t know what Edward said but you know how much we all care about you I hope?” 

“I do. I’ll be alright, just needed to vent. I’m not that easy to get rid of.” 

“And we don’t want to do that anyway.” 

“I know,” Izzy said. 

“When you first got here, when we realized how sick you were I really was afraid it was too late. Even with the animosity between us at that point I was really afraid you’d die. But you’re much tougher than that. But when you don’t feel tough it’s okay to have a down day and let others know what you need.” 

“Thank you Stede,” Izzy said. He tucked in to the treats that Stede brought and Edward came back in and they spent the afternoon bullshitting in the Captain’s Cabin. Some of the other crew had worked on the prosthetic and by the end of the night it was fixed and the fit was even a little better. Roach had put a couple of more straps to help keep the leg in place and there was a little more padding to help with chafing. 

Izzy walked around the room a bit, trying the fit out. It was indeed a little better. He still wished that he didn’t have to deal with the damn thing but…he was alive and had his family and maybe everything wasn’t perfect but it was enough.

[ionomycin]

temple at the end of the road

[basshole-astard]

PSA: i keep seeing posts about staying cool in extreme heat that include advice like "gatorade is bad actually!" and "don't drink fruit juice it'll just dehydrate you!" and neither of these are true!

regarding fruit juice: there's apparently a misconception that Any Sugar At All will dehydrate you, and that's simply not true. yes, sugar will make you pee more when consumed in large amounts, but 1) the natural sugar in fruits won't do this to you 2) great news! a lot of fruit juices exist without any added sugar in them! 3) honestly even having a glass of the fruit juice with added sugar won't completely dehydrate you as long as you're also drinking water throughout the day. if its hot you deserve a cold treat of a drink!!! can't go wrong with fruit juice!!!

regarding gatorade: maybe this isn't an every day drink, but guess what: if it's 110F/40C or hotter outside, and you don't have AC, or you're moving around a lot outside of the AC, and you're sweating buckets: that's when you drink a gatorade.

gatorade exists to replenish all the electrolytes (salt) and glucose (sugar) that you sweat out. YES it is meant for athletes to drink during intensive work outs and not necessarily for people who aren't doing that kind of exercise. BUT GUESS WHAT! when you're sweating buckets because you had to walk to the bus in extreme heat, that's intensive exercise. please feel free to drink a gatorade after that! that's its intended use case!!!!

no: neither of these drinks should be a total replacement for water. but drinking a lot of water and then treating yourself to a fruit juice with lunch is a good idea!!! drinking a gatorade becuase you just had to walk for 20 minutes in the heat is a good idea!!!

Please Stop Spreading Misinformation About Drinks!!! It's fine if you drink things that aren't water!!!! Yes you should probably always be drinking water but drinking something else As Well isn't going to hurt you!!!! okay!!!! its fine!!!!!!

honestly so long as you are consistently getting Any (non-alcoholic) fluids in you, you're doing great!!!!!! okay!!!! i love you stay safe <3

[lilimonarch]

Doctor Hanahaki - The Memories that Never Return [29+30+31]

Doctor Hanahaki Prequel: Whumptober Spinoff!

Whumptober day 29: "What happened to me?" Whumptober day 30: Lyric prompt. Whumptober day 31: Emptiness, setbacks, "take it easy," and lyric prompt.

~

It happens, It's okay to say 'I'm not okay,' even if you thought you were getting better

"Akaashi! I'm here! Hey! What's..." Bokuto pauses as he enters Akaashi's hospital room, seeing the hospital bed empty and Akaashi holding onto the IV pole for dear life, shaking in the body that was half the size it was a few months ago, standing near the side of the bed. It didn't make sense, the oxygen tubes were going to be holding him back anyways, getting up was-

Bokuto realized the words before they came out of his mouth. Getting up was pointless, but admitting that meant admitting Akaashi was never going to recover. "Woah, Akaashi? Come on, back to bed." Bokuto rushes over to Akaashi, removing his grip on the pole and carrying him back to bed like carrying a small child. It pained him deep in his chest, how Akaashi weighed like a small child, how easy he was to carry now. "Why'd you get up, 'Kaashi? You know you can't-"

"I thought I was getting better..." Akaashi mumbled, laying in the bed as petals fell from his mouth, closing his eyes. "I..." he paused before staring Bokuto down. "I got an email yesterday."

Bokuto shook his head. "Akaashi, why are you checking your email? Take it easy, you should be resting-"

"My scholarship was revoked," he whispered, and with those words, the room ended in silence. Akaashi couldn't help the coughs filled with bloody cherry blossoms, he couldn't help that he was sick, and he couldn't help the fact that stray tears poured down his face. "I'm not okay anymore... and they know that too."

"That's bullshit," Bokuto got up, pacing back and forth. "They can't just take it like that, you had no control over it! That's your school, Akaashi. That's yours, you worked your butt off for that and so just because you need some time off, they get rid of you?" He was outraged, internally and externally. He swore, the next time he saw the admissions officer, he was going to punch him in the-

"Some time?" Akaashi chuckled, the laughs turning into a coughing fit which calmed Bokuto down completely. Akaashi was sad... depressed. Bokuto hated that. Akaashi deserved happiness, and here they were, his life falling apart out of his control. "It's been months, Kou. They said I could reapply if I got better but-"

"If?"

"If."

What happened to the great Akaashi Keiji? Star volleyball setter for Fukurodani Academy, stellar in academic, an amazing second-year, smart and attractive, now a frail, shivering, ill, child. He's a child, they are children. Children don't deserve this!

"It's not fair."

They both said the words at the same time.

"And you are just going to let it happen anyways?" Bokuto sat on the edge of Akaashi's bed, holding his hands. "Hey, screw the scholarship. I saw you pull so many all-nighters so you could keep it. When I'm a rich volleyball player, I'll pay for your schools, easy."

Akaashi smiled. Bokuto loved that smile.

[kyanako5972]

Whumptober Day 30

“It’s okay just to say ‘I’m not okay’”

I was going to add "borrowed clothing", but then I ended up putting her in her own clothes.

[splendidissimus]

January 2020 - The Beginning of the End

((Content warning: dying / terminal illness / acceptance, physical weakness))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober-archive 2023: day 30: It's okay, just to say, I'm not okay. / Bridal carry / "Not much longer..." ))

Genre: angst

Romance level: major

Angst level: 5/5

Draco's headspace: tragic

((words: ~2100))

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

Supervising the packing of his office was a heavy weight, but it was time. Draco hadn't been out of the house in nearly a month; he couldn't take the floo alone anymore, nor could he make it past the anti-Disapparition wards, or reliably Apparate even if he could. It had been at least six months since he spent a full day here, or anywhere that wasn't nearby his bed.

He was running out of time. If he didn't close up his office now, it would be left for his parents, and he didn't want to do that to them.

Theo had offered to handle it for him, but he didn't want that; he had a feeling like it was his responsibility to bear witness. He had been there when it was decorated and opened for business, and he should be there now, when it was closed and packed away. He should be the bookends on his own life. 

He sat behind the desk, covered now with a cloth, holding his tea in front of him where the medicinal steam could help him breathe, watching the pair of movers pack away the final odds and ends from his shelves. The room was bare. Almost twenty years of accumulated trophies and detritus of living, packed now neatly into a few boxes stacked beside the door. The portrait frame connected to his father's study was propped beside them, empty for the moment, to be taken in the last trip. 

Theo was directing the transfer of the boxes back to the manor through the floo, prowling the office's rooms to check every nook and cranny for a dropped paper or forgotten trinket. Behind him and the packers, an animated broom was sweeping up a pile of broken quills, paper scraps, and dust dragged out of every crevice and corner. A bent chocolate frog card topped the pile of refuse like a sad crown. 

Draco watched another box being sealed and carried from the room, and turned his attention out the window behind his desk, looking through the sheer curtains out onto his terrace. He could only see the impression of Diagon Alley, not the details. 

He wanted to see it. It had been so long.

He took a deep drink of the tea and set it far back on the covered desk, then, after a moment of bracing himself, pushed himself up from the chair. He had to hold himself up on the desk with his eyes closed for a long moment, breathing slowly as his head swam, and his arms trembled by the time he was able to lift his head without fear of losing his balance or his tenuous grip on consciousness. It took him another moment on his unsteady legs before he was able to draw his wand and cast the spell to float above the ground. 

Moving himself slowly from the desk to the doorway and letting his hand brush over the wall to keep himself steady, he moved out to the reception room. The movers shifted aside to make space for him as they shuffled back to grab more boxes and bring them to the floo.

Theo looked over as he came out, instantly attentive, and moved to take his arm and help him. "Something wrong?" 

"No." He squeezed his arm gently. "I'll just be a moment." He nodded to the front door. 

"All right." Theo escorted him until they reached the portal, and then went back to his supervising, giving him privacy.

It was dreary outside, pearly white overcast spitting occasional snowflakes with a stiff breeze. The moment the door was open, he was greeted by the sudden noise of the street like a balm to his soul. It wasn't a busy day, a weekday in the middle of of January, but there were people moving, maybe a dozen in pairs and small clusters talking amongst themselves, a solitary wizard in a purple cloak and hat hurrying furtively toward Knockturn Alley, a pregnant witch wrangling a small child away from the bakery on her errands. He could hear silverware and discussion wafting over the road from Mastry's restaurant, and when the doors opened briefly there was a burst of spirited uproar — there was Quidditch on the wireless, he surmised. 

"Draco, you're back!" Madam Ophelia from the stationery shop two doors down over the road came out, waving, and crossed the street to him. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, love, it's been an age."

"A month, anyway," he agreed with the softness of his weak breath, and a smile. "How are you?" 

"Oh, it's fine, nothing ever changes here, does it?"

"Some things," he denied mildly. He looked up at the small sign jutting out from his building front, bearing only a stylised white outline of a peacock that he liked to think stood out from the riot of signage on the Alley by virtue of its elegant simplicity, and levitated it down to his hands. 

"No," she gasped in that gossipy way he so enjoyed, "you're closing?"

"It's time."

"It can't be. Here now." She waved down the street. It was a slow time on a slow day; fully half of the shopkeeps were probably waiting more for something gossipworthy to happen than for customers right now, peering out their front windows over tea, and Ophelia was such a good niffler for anything of interest. Merlin knew he had spent enough of his own afternoons on his terrace doing the same, and he would be right there to hear what she had found under normal circumstances. The utter banality of it gave him a nostalgic smile. She was waving now to Alexandros the barber who had poked his head out of his shop. "Draco's closing up," she called.

"Is he." Alexandros hurried down to join them.

A couple minutes saw a half dozen of his fellows congregated around the front of his shop, and Draco basked, letting it wash around him — not so much the attention, although the attention certainly never hurt, but in the chatter, the flow of conversation that it was so easy to fall into. He was tired from standing long before he was tired of talking, and he ignored it to indulge himself in the social interaction.

They politely talked around his illness, and an eavesdropper might have got the impression he was going away on a long holiday. The conversation was well padded with gossip from the rest of the Alley, just the perfect amount of conversation that could include him instead of focusing on him, like this was just another scrap of mildly interesting life, and he appreciated it. 

"What are you going to do with your office?" was asked, just after a bit of talk about Alexandros' daughter's latest romantic catastrophe. 

"Draco Malfoy Memorial Museum," he quipped without a thought, to general laughter. "Actually, there's been no decision yet. It may stand empty for some time." In reality, that would be up to his parents, and he wouldn't be surprised if neither of them wanted to deal with it, but there was no reason not to convert something as valuable as Diagon Alley property to the family fortune. They may appreciate it someday. 

"That's for the best," Ophelia said, and a couple others nodded. 

"This is your space. It wouldn't be right for someone else to try to take it over." 

"I appreciate that, all of you," he said, with genuine feeling, and looked down at the sign in his hands. He ran his fingers lightly over the lines of the peacock carved into the smooth wood. Then with his wand he wrote above it "Closed for Good", the words carved into the wood and standing out in white to match the bird, and a performative impulse made him write "It's been an honour" beneath it as well. He looked at it a moment more, then he focused on levitating it back through the nearly-closed door and through the waiting room to prop it against the inside of the window. 

Someone patted the back of his shoulder firmly.

—

Draco came back inside; the bell jingled over his head, and Theo looked up from the inventory list he was signing off on. "Okay?"

Draco nodded and reached for Theo's hand, and found it there waiting for him. "I'm ready to go." 

"All right." Theo handed off the parchment and helped him to the fireplace, and held him tight against his side with Draco's face buried in his neck, making sure Draco's eyes were closed, to minimise the effect of the spinning and tumultuous visions of the floo on his vertigo. On the other side, he had to basically carry him out of the fire and helped him sit so he could catch his breath and fight down the nausea. 

"Is this good?" He ran his hand over Draco's hair. "There's just a little left to do at the office." 

Draco nodded. "Go ahead." A glass of water had appeared by the magic of house elf, and he picked it up to sip and settle his stomach. "I'm going to go upstairs."

"Wait a moment and I'll be back to help you." 

"It's all right, I can make it." He squeezed Theo's hand on his shoulder. 

"All right." He gave him a light kiss. "I'll be right back." He tossed floo powder into the fire, called out for Draco's office, and vanished.

Draco gave himself another couple minutes to rest, then took out his wand and floated his chair out of the drawing room, conserving his energy. His thoughts were distant as his eyes passed over the boxes stacked in the hall, his things that would need to be moved upstairs or packed up, sold or stored, given away or destroyed. It would be a kindness for him to handle that. But not today; he was worn out from the trip to Diagon Alley.

He left the chair at the bottom of the stairs and tested out standing. Moving with a measured slowness, he could hold the lightheadedness at bay, although he could feel how just the strain of being upright made his heart struggle. The act of climbing stairs was torturously deliberate; push himself up the step physically, float the length of it with his hand on the bannister to keep him steady or help pull him along, stand on his feet on the other end, repeat the entire process, a little bit slower this time…

He stopped to catch his breath halfway up, and in looking up the staircase it seemed to stretch away to infinity; he realised he didn't have the energy to lift his feet again once he stopped moving. It was all he could do to hold himself up, but even that was ultimately asking too much of his body. His wasted hand didn't have the strength to grip the bannister. He sank to his knees on the stair with a shaky breath.

—

Theo found Draco kneeling halfway up the stairs, looking at the carpet in front of him, breaths slow and even, but shallow and tremulous. He immediately came up and crouched beside him, running his hand over the back of Draco's hair, as much for his own benefit as to comfort him, and twitched up Draco's sleeve to check the cuff that measured his heartbeat. It wasn't especially bad; this wasn't a spell that made him collapse, he just needed to rest. He rubbed his back and gently lifted his strengthless hand off the railing to help him up.

Draco's hand gripped his weakly. "I can't." Draco's voice was a broken near-whisper, and the words stabbed him in the heart.

He wrapped his arms around Draco and held him as tightly as he dared. He was so frail against his chest he felt like he would break him if he wasn't careful for even a moment. "I know," he murmured into his hair, voice thick. He had tried so hard, fought for so long, and now he had nothing left, and couldn't deny it any longer. Willpower wasn't enough anymore.

Draco turned his face into his shoulder, weakly holding onto the front of his robes, and he made the impulsive decision to lift him in his arms. He should have levitated him if Draco couldn't find the strength to move himself, but he didn't weigh enough to be a burden. He held Draco's hand with the same arm supporting his shoulders, and carried him the rest of the way up the stairs they both knew he wouldn't descend again under his own power.

[redheadlesbianfreak]

Yes, people do need to take accountability for the partners they choose to date, at least to some extent. And no, this doesn't apply to abusive relationships, that situation is entirely different.

I'm talking about white people who date other white people who are openly racist. I'm talking about "allies" who date other people who are openly homophobic and transphobic. I'm talking about liberal women who date very conservative men. And seeing bigotry as nothing more than a "political issue."

Of course, it's different if your partner lies and actively hides their political views from you. But if your partner is openly voting for people like Trump, openly supporting conservative politicians, openly hating/harming minority groups, then you should leave them. And you should be held accountable if you to choose to stay with someone like that.

[anneapocalypse]

So, just curious how many writers and creators will have to be forcibly outed by relentless harassment before we acknowledge that "This queer characters was written by a cishet person and that's why they're bad" is not good criticism.

[technically-human]

Hey, don't cry. Ghost yuri, okay?

(Now that you know the girls, they need to meet the boys!)

[inkskinned]

before you know about women, you hear that you do not need to love the man, just that you need to love him through his manhood. which is to say you have seen the future painted in lamb's blood over your eyes - how your mother shoots you a look about your father's inability to cook right. how your aunt holds her wineglass and says i'm gonna kill em. men, right! how your best friend bickers with her boyfriend, how she says i can't help it. i come back to him.

you learn: men are gonna cheat. men aren't going to listen when you're talking, because you're nagging. men think emotions are stupid. they think your life is vapid and your hobbies are embarrassing. men will slam things, but that's because men are allowed to be angry. if you get loud, you're hysterical. if a man gets loud - well, men are animals, men are dogs, men can't control their hands or their eyes or their bodies. they're going to make a snide comment about you in the locker room, about your body, about how you're so fucking annoying. you're going to give him kids, and he will give you the money for the kids, and you're going to be running the house 24/7 - but he gets to relax after a long day, because his job is stressful. the man is on stage, and is a comedian, and says "women!"

and you are supposed to love that. you are supposed to love men through how horrible they are to you - because that's what women do. that's what good women do. wife material. your father even told you once - it'll make sense when you're older. it was like staring down a very lonely tunnel.

it feels like something's caught in your throat, but it's all you know, so. it's okay that you see sex as a necessary tool, a sort of okay-enough ritual to keep him happy, even though he doesn't seem to care about happiness as-applied-to you. it is relationship upkeep. it is kissing him and smiling even though he didn't brush his teeth. it is getting on your knees and looking up and holding back a sigh because he barely holds you as you panic through the night. it's not like the sex is bad and you do like feeling wanted. and besides! he's a man! like... they're another species. you'll never be able to actually communicate, right. he isn't listening.

you just don't get it. you don't feel that sense of i'm gonna climb him like a tree. mostly it just feels fucking exhausting. you play the part perfectly. you smile and nod and are "effortlessly" charming. and it's fine! it's alright! you even love him, if you're looking. you could have good life, and a good family, and perfectly happy.

in the late night you google: am i broken. you google i'm not attracted to my husband. you google i get turned on by books but not by him. you google how to get better in bed.

the first time he yells at you, it almost feels like blankness. like - of course this is happening. this is always how it was going to end up. men get angry, and they yell, and you sit there in silence.

you mention it to your friend - just the once - while you're drunk. she shrugs and says it's like that with me too, i just try to forget and move on. men are always gonna hear what they want to. pick your battles and say sorry even though he's in the wrong. you play solitaire online for a month. you go to your therapist appointment and preach about how you're both so in love.

after all, you have a future to want. nobody lied about it - how many instagram posts say marriage is hard. say real love takes work. say we fight like cats and dogs but the best part is that we always make up. how many of your friends say happy anniversary to the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. if you really loved him - loved yourself too - you'd accept that men are just different from you.

the first time she kisses you, it's on a dare at a party. something large and terrifying whips through your body. you wake up sweating from dreams where her mouth is encrusted with pearls and you pick them off one by one with your teeth. fuck. you sit at the computer and your almost-finished game of sim city. you think about your potential perfect life and your potential future family. you google am i gay quiz with your little hands shaking.

you delete each letter slowly. you don't need to love him. you just need to keep going.