#and also i am writing through massive brain fog

[tennessoui]

writing warm up that got away from me

It takes thirty-two more hours for the realization to come to Sidious, and he blames Skywalker wholly for the delay. The boy's own stupidity and black-and-white view of the galaxy must be rubbing off on him, that's the only reason Sidious can think of for not having thinking of this sooner.

Kenobi. 

And Skywalker.

The answer has been sitting right before him this entire time, but he had been too blinded by his own hatred of Kenobi to see it. And Skywalker's hero worship of the man hadn't helped, of course. The way Skywalker talked of his old Jedi master evoked images of untouchable saints, glowing angels, benevolent deities...the same way he talked of those sentients he fancied himself in love with at the height of his relationships with them. Gilded and perfect and infallible. It was the way Skywalker loved, to paint his paramours as idols placed upon a pedestal.

How had Sidious missed that Skywalker had already done the same thing with Kenobi? Years ago! For years, he has endured Skywalker's fanatical praise of his Jedi master. He has listened to him complain about the man, his fastidiousness, his devotion to the Jedi Order--but oh, those moments that Sidious had made the mistake of agreeing with Skywalker's own words! He has never felt closer to losing Skywalker's trust than those times he let a bad word about Kenobi slip past his lips, even though Skywalker himself had already said much more damning things.

And yet no matter the argument, no matter the disagreement between Kenobi and Skywalker, Skywalker's faith in his master did not waver. He never took his master down from that pedestal, no matter how many times Kenobi revealed himself to be just a man.

Sidious has spent years resenting that, resenting Skywalker's unshakeable devotion to his master. He has spent years trying to ingratiate himself to the boy, trying to replace Kenobi as the boy's mentor, his father. And every time he has failed because it seems that no matter how often Kenobi manages to break Skywalker's heart, Skywalker gives it to him again without hesitation.

But...but if Skywalker were to see Kenobi through the lens of a man in love, if they were to fall into bed together and strike up a romance, then surely...surely Kenobi would flinch at the force of Skywalker's naked devotion.

[meabh-mcinness]

In Sickness

Humans do not have 'Evil Cycles' it's true. However, they can bend under stress in other ways. Some lose their minds and others present more physical symptoms. With all the stress of parenting, working as a teacher, and doing your best to make sure no one figures out either your or Iruma's rather human status, it's no wonder you fall victim to a stress fever. Luckily for you, the resident gargoyle demon is more than happy to help nurse you back to health once he discovers your ill state.

This was originally created/inspired for @snippychicke because I love their Balam x reader story "For Sake of a Smile". While not finished yet it's incredibly well written and I would highly recommend it, also for Sleepylilacfox who writes "New Start: The Beginning of a Beautiful Life" on AO3 and wattpad which is a well-written FemIruma x Everyone story I highly recommend!

No TriggerWarnings! I think.

Main Masterlist

You quietly groaned at the massive headache that had made itself known to you the moment you had woken from your alarm. Head pounding, all you could do was curl into yourself just that much tighter. Pulling your blankets up further to block the almost nonexistent light from daybreak, you did your best to give the impression that you did not exist. If you did it well enough, perhaps you wouldn't, and then all your pain, physical or mental, would be gone as well.

Of course, you knew you couldn't. There were people who depended on you, Iruma depended on you. Never mind the entire school body of both students and teachers who needed you to do your job. And yet you just couldn't make yourself move, your brain just felt so slow and your body so heavy. Perhaps one day off wouldn't be so bad.

Right?

No, you needed to get up. There was paperwork to be done, you were supposed to supervise that new library project for Professor Farbas, and Professor Stolas was expecting your help with the greenhouse as they deconstructed the Harvest Festival. Slowly you started to undo your burrito wrap, mind racing with both nothing and everything you needed to do; like your classes needed teaching (who would have thought you'd be such a natural at your field) and you needed to –

"Fall back asleep, my lady." An even voice broke through the fog, and a cool hand placed itself gently onto your forehead, startling you. Red and yellow eyes stared unwaveringly into your hazy ones, slowly getting further away as you were gently pressed back down. When did they get here? There couldn't have been that much time spent after your alarm, and you hadn't even heard your door open, much less seen them come in.

"But Opera, I need to-" You started to get out and tried to push back up but were quickly silenced when they easily overpowered you despite still feeling like they were only barely touching you. Seriously, were you just that weak, or was the Cat demon just the embodiment of excessive strength?

"While I am not often in the business of disobeying my masters," that was a straight-up lie, they disobeyed Sullivan all the time, "it is my belief that what you need is a couple of days rest. You have been overworking yourself, the same as Master Iruma does. Had you been a demon, you would have already entered an Evil cycle, even now I worry you still will." Opera stated while fixing your blankets to lay over you properly again.

"Humans don' evil cycle," you tried to protest, slurring the sentence out. They only had mental breakdowns, and you did far more things at once in a shorter amount of time in the human world than here while staying completely sane. Honestly, you felt as if you had barely any work here and were taking advantage of Sullivan's kindness. For the most part you just spent your days reading, keeping an eye on the school library, and teaching classes. And when you weren't working you were hanging out with your family or the other teachers. You did occasionally (often) help others out as well, but not enough that you felt you had taken on to much.

"Royal one." They rebutted easily, cutting through your thoughts, causing you to flinch.

Iruma's overnight personality change had thrown you all for a loop. Though you had come out of your shock far quicker than anyone else seemed to; you were certain Sullivan was still traumatized. After all, Iruma was a teenager and more than deserved a rebellion or two after the life he had!

You also may or may not have let slip to the janitors that you were worried Iruma wouldn't know Kalego meant all the faculty employed at the school and not just the teachers.  Your own personal rebellion against Kalego when he tried to bully you into not helping the misfit class, but that was another story, and therefore another thought that needed burying at the moment.

After all, you had a feline to bargain with right now. Or make that felines, when you barely made out the faint pitter-patters of small feet coming into your room. The resident hellcats making their way in to back up their leader.

Before you could even open your mouth and try, though, Opera successfully managed to wrap you up in a sheet under the comforter so that you couldn't even try to get up. And on top of that, the two resident hellcats have decided to jump up and lay on top of you. You blinked in confusion, you hadn't been that deep in thought, had you? Still, you were determined to try, even if the blankets were so warm and heavy with the hellcats' weight, and you could just make out a light circling pressure on the edges of both sides of your temporal.

You tried to struggle but you barely even wiggled and succeeded only in making one of the hellcats readjust itself with a yawn and close its eyes again.  You were close to joining it, but still, you tried to hang on.

"O-per-a," you slurred out slowly before your traitorous body gave in to the persistent demon. Your eyes closed and you knew no more.

**********

You were quite rudely awoken by a quiet knocking sound later.

At first, you weren't even sure you had heard knocking or if it was the hellcats moving on. Still feeling the warmth but lacking a good amount of pressure made you decide it was simply them leaving and curled back up under the blanket. Until the sound returned, rousing you slightly more.

Groggily, you poked your head out of your blanket-made cocoon. You fully expected to have to shield away from the daylight, only to find the room pleasantly dark, curtains drawn shut.

You vaguely remembered Opera coming in and putting you back to sleep; one turn of the head confirmed that it wasn't a dream. A small tray with a kettle, two different-sized glasses, and what appeared to be a note sat on the bedside table. You would bet your life that the kettle and smaller cup were filled with steaming hot 

Hell-gray tea (Opera's specialty, for they never seemed to make anything else, though to be fair you wouldn't know what to ask for), and the taller of the two glasses with cold water. They must have closed the curtains as well on their way out. You would have to thank them later for their thoughtfulness, though you still felt this was all quite unnecessary.

You were drawn out of your thoughts once again by a third knocking. Still faint and barely there, though more easily heard now that you were more awake. You were tempted to drink some tea and bury your head, never to be seen again, but the knocker seemed quite persistent. Steadily getting louder and faster with each repetition. So, with a tired sigh and great effort, you heaved yourself out of your comfy bed, only to flinch at the cold floorboards.

'Whoever was at the door better have a good reason for being here,' you thought as you made your way out of your room towards the front door with heavy steps.  It surprised you, how slow you were moving. It was as if every muscle in your body had been replaced with lead and were still expected to move.

'Was the front door always this far away?' Perhaps it was a good idea you stayed home. If you were this slow and a student got into some kind of trouble, you would never be fast enough to help them in this condition. And after all, Opera hadn't said you couldn't do paperwork from home.

But first to deal with this intruder.

You swore, as you opened the massive front doors, that if this was some delivery Sullivan ordered for the nth time since you and Iruma came, you were going to tear him-

"Balam-sensei!" you choked out, surprised at the massive demon standing on the other side. This was most definitely not who you were expecting as your bleary eyes did their best to make out his pale skin and white hair from the blinding noon sun. If it wasn't for his recognizable dark clothes and eyes, your blurred vision might not have noticed him at all.

Squinting, you tried to look him in the eyes as best as you could, but the shine of his metal mask reflecting the already bright sun made it hard to look even close to his face, much less that high up it. You ended up settling on staring at his fur collar, watching it sway in the slight breeze. Just high enough to see his face in your preferential vision but low enough for his own body to block a majority of the rays.

To be honest, you did expect a delivery demon or even Kalego to drag you to work as one of the few people the misfit class voluntarily listened to. Not the resident biologist, whose happiness for the two humans' existence in the Netherworld could probably rival Sullivan's. Considering his rather high paranoia of discovery where you and Iruma were concerned, though, maybe this shouldn't have been such a shock.

And, oh, his eyes were crinkling with furrowed brows. At least you thought they were, it was hard to see the white eyebrows against his skin on your best days. Oh no, had he been talking this whole time?

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" you croaked out, wincing at the way your voice cracked. You had to focus! What if he was here to report a serious issue, and you were just standing there zoning out?

"Ah, I was just saying hello and how I noticed you weren't here today. Opera told the staff you were on the verge of an evil cycle," he started to fidget here, one hand raising to rub at his no longer shaved neck. You blinked, was it just you, or was his hair several inches longer than when you last saw him a few days ago?

"But when Iruma stopped by during lunch, he mentioned that humans just didn't have those." He eyed you questionably as if asking if his information was correct as he continued. You nodded in confirmation; it was true after all.

"We don't," you added verbally to his unasked question, "even if Opera is entirely convinced otherwise." You tilted your head to the side in confusion. You may have been a bit slow today, but "that doesn't explain why you're here, though?" The words slipped out before you could stop them. Never mind, you were slow today.

A matching set of flushed skin appeared on both of your faces, though for different reasons. Yours was for embarrassment for not being able to keep control of your own mouth, his for being called out. It was true, when you later thought about it, he could have simply phoned or even just asked Opera or Sullivan privately.  The hand rubbing his neck pulled away before awkwardly pushing his two index fingers together, eyes staring down at them as they pushed against each other repeatedly.

"I... may have gotten a bit anxious that it was something more serious and decidedly human, so others couldn't know. With my classes done for the day, I rushed over after Iruma left, to make sure you were okay."

You felt your heart clench a bit at his words. Seriously, how did this being exist? He was the literal embodiment of a giant teddy bear, and quite honestly, you wanted to give in and squeeze him in a hug. Thankfully, though, your brain hadn't left you behind that much, not yet at least. The longer you stood here though the more certain you were that it would.

"Thank you for rushing over to see me, but I can assure you I'm fine. I'm sorry for worrying you. The only reason I skipped today is that Opera trapped me in bed and lulled me back to sleep." You spoke nonchalantly, despite being slightly irritated at the whole thing. You were determined to get on Opera about this. Even if they were slowly being proven right, it didn't mean you were happy to admit it.

Some clouds flew overhead blocking the sun, leaving you in the blissful shade, almost as if the Netherworld itself could feel your frustration at the feline demon. Sighing in relief for your poor eyes you looked up at Balam properly and froze. Or, perhaps, the clouds had been a warning.

His entire body was tensed up and his eyes were zeroed in on you with such focus you honestly felt a bit like prey, much like the first time you encountered him. It took everything in you to not slam the door and hide in the deepest darkest corner you could find until safety arrived, or the threat left. You mentally shook yourself; this was Balam, he would never hurt you. Even if he could be intense at times, he never meant harm from it, often seeking the opposite result even.

"Ba-"

"You lied." He stated bluntly. Huh?

"I-Wha?" You were so startled by what he said you couldn't even form a sentence. Lied? When? Everything you stated was the truth as far as you knew. Opera had essentially trapped you; they had made it quite clear that you would not be leaving that bed even if they had to tie you down. While they hadn't physically said it, you could just tell that they would.

"You lied," Balam repeated, "Just now."

You shoved yourself off the door-frame you were leaning on (when had you leaned on it in the first place?) and stared indignantly at him. "What part of what I just said was a lie? I would expect you of all demons to understand Opera's strength especially compared to a normal demon much less-"

"Not that part." Balam interrupted, short-circuiting your brain. Not that part? But what other part was there? "When you said you were fine, you were lying," He took a step closer to you, hands reaching out to grasp your shoulders so lightly that if you didn't see them, you wouldn't have known they were there. "Where are you hurt? Was Opera too rough? Do you need medical attention?"

"I'm not injured though?" You blinked incredulously at him. You were certain you were not lying about that. Sure, you may still have a crazy strong headache and you felt dizzy just standing here, and your muscles did still feel like lead. Or maybe concrete the longer you stood here, or was it the other way around? It had been so long since your physic class days and your head was getting fuzzier by the minute. Regardless you were fine. You've experienced far worse things and still worked; this was nothing new.

His head tilted slightly and moved closer to your own. So close, in fact, that you could see that what you once thought were tiny irises were actually pupils, surrounded by incredibly light grey rings that made up his actual irises. To be honest you thought it was very pretty and slightly memorizing, especially in your current non-focusable state. So memorizing in fact that even though you watched them move back and forth across your face as if searching for something, you barely processed it.

"That's good, I believe you" You let out a sigh of relief at that, "however."

However?

Eh?

"Ehhh!? Balam-sensei!" you couldn't help but shout in surprise at suddenly being lifted into his arms. Your legs were thrown over one of his arms and his other arm supported your back easily, even lightly pressing you to lean against his chest. You gripped his tank top right under the fur collar tightly and closed your eyes in both shock and to protect yourself against sudden vertigo that plagued you from the unexpected fast movement. A furious blush spread across your face as you tried to comprehend what exactly was happening.

"Sorry, but you're swaying as if you're about to fall over. Even if you're not physically injured, you're clearly not fine." He apologized while walking into the mansion and shutting the door behind him with one of his feet. "Not to mention your eyes are glazed over and your face has been getting paler and paler since we've started talking. Where's your bedroom? I can't believe Opera left you alone in this state, I can feel the heat radiating from you more than normal and it's upstairs, is it?" Balam continued without stopping for breath even once, barely even acknowledging when you weakly pointed towards the large staircase in the center of the room, still dazed and flustered from your sudden position in his arms. If he was worried about you being pale, that problem had been fixed with the searing hot blush that covered your entire face to your ears and refused to leave.

Ah, you suddenly realized. This must be one of those famous Balam scoldings Iruma warned you about. You buried your face in his chest, silky fur collar tickling the top of your head like the feathers you saw in those ear-cleaning videos back in the human world. Briefly, you wondered if they had the same practices here. (Later you would find out that they did in fact do them and that Opera was trained in it. You obviously did not put this knowledge to use later on. Not at all.)

Pressed against Balam like this you could feel, more than hear him lecture. A low rumble in his body worked in tandem with the strong beat of his heart and gentle steps. Despite his grumblings, he was extremely delicate with you, with barely enough pressure from his arms to keep you in place and slow methodical movements as he made his way upstairs without jostling you. You could feel yourself starting to relax and zone out again as he continued to berate both you and the absent Opera. Who knew being chastised could be so relaxing?

He found your room rather easily, despite your lack of help after your initial point. While it wasn't the only, nor the first, room open on the second floor, it was the only one with both a strong smell of fresh tea and something undeniably you. Entering it almost cautiously, Balam gave it a cursory once over, unable to deny this small piece of instinct in unfamiliar territory while holding precious cargo. Deeming it safe he quickly laid you back in your bed and moved to pull your blankets back over you, fussing to get them just right. Once he deemed it good enough, he kneeled by your side and brushed some loose hair from your face, before settling his hand on your forehead.

Despite the mask covering half his face, you could tell there was a huge frown marring it. You wanted desperately to wipe it away. He had become too precious to you to have anything other than a smile.

"You're so warm," he mumbled, seeming to have stopped his tirade for now. That was nothing new. As a human, you had discovered that both your and Iruma's bodies ran hotter than the average demon's. To the point that you had even been mistaken as a fire-based demon by multiple others, which you had found quite funny considering your affinity for water and ice runes. You even laughingly reminded him of such before dissolving into a fit of coughs, body curling in on its side.

Oh. Oh no. No, you refused to believe it. You weren't sick, you simply must have choked on some air when laughing.

.....

That sounded weak even to your addled brain. Especially since the longer you laid here the more you could feel just how off you were. Seriously how did you not notice? Was the Netherworld so much better that you had forgotten what it felt like to be sick? The resounding yes in your mind was very loud and you chose to ignore it.

Well, you counseled yourself, at least you could tell Opera that they were wrong about the possible evil cycle. It was simply your body betraying you to whatever was infecting it. And oh, you were not looking forward to the simply insane fest that was going to occur when Sullivan found out you were sick. You mournfully resigned yourself to his hysterics already.

When the last cough rattled out of your chest you breathed harshly while unfurling your body again. Bleary eyes focused on the sudden appearance of a glass in front of your face as you recognized a sensation fluttering in circles on your back. You gave the panicked-looking gargoyle in front of you a grateful smile as you carefully leaned up, grasped the drink, and took a sip.

Cold water traveled pleasantly down your throat, spreading its soothingly frosty touch throughout your chest. Once you had your fill you handed back the glass and flumped fully down again. The pressure on your back never lets up once and you take a minute to fully savor the feeling. How long had it been since you enjoyed the touch of another like this?

The longer you laid here, focusing on feeling the ministrations on your back and just trying to breathe, the hazier you could feel your mind becoming again. Almost as if a fog was just rolling through your mind, blowing away any conscious thoughts and leaving only a mess behind. While you heavily disliked not being all there, never truly feeling safe enough to zone out, you much preferred it to the pain of the migraine you had woken up with.

Sullivan's desire for you to have the best of the best meant the fluffy bed you were laying on took away the weighted feeling of your lead filled limbs. Combined with your increasingly hazy mind meant you felt something similar as to floating in space kept grounded only by the feeling of the gargoyle's hand and the itchiness slowly growing in your throat. 

You could feel sleep trying to claim you again and you were honestly more than willing to answer its call. Now that you acknowledged you were sick it was easy to want to stay in bed and just sleep through it all. You were well acquainted with what would happen next and had no desire to actually be awake for it. As much as a tiny voice in the back of your head yelled that you should push through it, it was just as it easy to squish it when your brain went all fuzzy.

Until it abruptly stopped as Shichirou pulled away and said something. You didn't even bother trying to understand him and simply whined at the loss of contact, reaching out blindly towards where you thought he was. Briefly you wondered when you closed your eyes but just as quickly threw the thought out. It wasn't needed. What was needed you had decided, making grabby motions at him, was for the contact to continue.

One eye squinting open you found, quite frustratingly, he wasn't even looking at you. Instead he was moving things about on the tray as a sudden vine reached across the wall from your bedroom holding a small container. You watched him screw up the container and shake a small amount into the tea cup. Swirling the cup to mix the powdery mess with the tea Opera had left behind, he eyed it critically before nodding to himself and turning back to you.

Finally you had his attention, making another whining sound and reaching out for him again you ignored the cup and grabbed the outer part of his hand instead. A low chuckling sound hit your ears as his other arm wrapped under your side and gently hauled you up. With the cup now close to your face you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose at the off putting scent rising from it.

"Just drink this darling and I promise you can go back to sleep." You threw him your best (most pitiful) dubious glare before relenting and opening your lips just a bit. The slightly thick liquid that poured into your mouth reminded you of pepto bismal, if pepto tasted like oranges that was. When the cup was drained, he carefully laid you back down again, smoothing your hair out of your face.

"As promised I'll leave you be to sleep," he pushed b back one last stand and started to rise to leave. Leave? Well that certainly wouldn't do. You hand lashed out faster than it had any right to and gripped his again. Eyes widened in surprise as he looked at your combined hands before locking with yours with a question already on his lips.

"Stay?" You asked, a pout already forming on your lips at his possible refusal. "Please? Just till I fall asleep at least." His face softened immediately and nodded his consent.

Tugging his hand closer to you, so that his knuckles were tucked directly under your chin and the length of his arm ran down your body. Legs pulling up so his elbow was just barely locked in between your knees. You never fully realized how tiny you were in comparison before. The length of his forearm alone was the same as your torso's. Logically, in a different situation such a size difference would frighten you. But here and now, curled around something that could easily harm you brought only the feeling of safety.

It was rather easy to drift off to sleep in that position as his other hand came up and started petting your head, rubbing away any potential headaches before they could even start. When you were better again you might regret this (highly unlikely, you were going to treasure this feeling forever) but for now you would fully relax and just drift off.

**********

A shuffling followed by a quiet chuckling-like noise drew you out of your sleep. Groaning you opened your eyes to try to find the source of the disturbance in your sleep yet again. You were facing the wall with your vanity against it and able to, rather blearily, see your room door through it. 

Through the mirror, you could see a pair of bright red ear-like horns poking through a crack in your vine-covered door along with a blue scythe-like antenna just underneath it. Opera and Iruma your mind supplied and judging by the pale clawed hand far higher up the door, Sullivan was there too. But that wasn't what caught your mind addled attention.

Just behind you was an incredibly large moving lump sharing your blankets. It was only then that you realized that you were not only laying on something long and hard but that something of the same shape and size was carelessly tossed over your middle as well. Arms. You were being held by someone. That woke you up quite a bit. As your mind frantically raced to remember what happened before you fell back asleep again you felt said arms tighten around you fractionally as a muffled groan came from behind you. A groan that you were quite familiar with, even in its sleepy form.  

Balam Shichirou.

Was in your bed.

You were almost positive your head was going to explode from how hard you were blushing. Your hands drew up and covered your face as you fought the squeal demanding to escape your throat. As your memories came back, you vaguely recalled grabbing him and asking him to stay, but you didn't think he would join you in bed too! 

As if sensing your plight in his sleep, his large arms drew you further into his embrace, nose nuzzling into your hair in an attempt to soothe you. You didn't want to admit how much it made your body relax to feel it but as the tension left, you could feel sleep calling you again. Resolving not to deal with this when you were still in the throes of whatever sickness had claimed you, you resolutely turned away from the mirror and into the safety of the wall of flesh and feathers behind you.

"愛してる Shichirou...." You whispered as you fell back asleep, nuzzling back up against his warm chest as his arms unconsciously wrapped around you even tighter.

*At a later date *

"Thanks for the book, Balam-sensei!" Iruma said, antenna wagging happily as he held the new book to his chest. Unlike the heavy textbooks the human boy usually got with his classes, he quite enjoyed the picture books he got from the gargoyle teacher.

Said teacher leaned forward and patted Iruma's head, ruffling the blue hair about as he smiled at him.

"It's my pleasure, really. I'm just glad that you enjoy them and that they're so helpful to you." Balam said as he drew his arm back. "How are your studies coming along by the way?"

Iruma's eyes sparkled in pride, "I've gotten far better! I'm getting an average of seventies thanks to everyone's help! You, Kalego-sensei, Mom, Azz-kun, Clara, and everyone else. You've all helped me come so far, and I can't wait to go further!" Iruma clenched one of his fists in determination.

Shichirou looked at the small human boy and felt something akin to parental pride. To a demon ambition was everything, and to see this child who had such a big disadvantage in the Netherworld giving his absolute all to see his goals through, and manage it. It was amazing and reminded him all the time why he found living things so beautiful.

Among other beings. Which reminded him...

"Hey Iruma-kun," Shichirou started, as he unconsciously drew the boy into his lap to pet him some more, "I have another human question if you don't mind?"

Iruma tilted his head in confusion, giving a rather devipup image in his mind, before nodding his head in consent.

"What does 愛してる mean in the human language?"

"....Eh? EHH!?!"

___________

*Fun fact; 愛してる (or ai shiteru in romaji) translates roughly to I love you and is only used when the person is absolutely certain in their romantic feelings for their partner. The meaning is so strong that it's actually very rarely used in real life, even between married partners!

Or at least that's what my studies say ^u^'/ If you're native Japanese please correct me if I'm wrong!

This turned out way longer than I expected it to, which is part of the reason it so long to get out(it was supposed to be out in Nov ಥ ͜ʖಥ). The other is that I actually fell into a stress cold, because of course I did, while in the middle of writing e.e and then life struck. But hey, it's out now!

Also I may or may not make Kalego and Opera versions of this

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Hey I hope you're having a great day!! I'm also chronically ill and a fanfic writer, and I wanted to ask how you deal with brain fog when you're trying to write fics?? Cause I always know exactly what I want to have happen but I cannot for the life of me put it in words and then I start forgetting words all the time and it's just a massive mess 🥲

Do you have any tips??

Thank you for asking!!!

I have thought a bit about this to try and gather some of my tips.

The first thing that comes to mind is that often I just don't deal with brain fog - like if I am having a certain level of brainfog, I find it too difficult to fight through it, and I do have to admit surrender and just take the time to rest.

But in terms of getting shit done and working on fanfics as often as I do, here is what I usually do in order to set myself up for success:

Writing when you are chronically ill is not about making brain fog or pain go away 100%, it is about reducing it and increasing the amount of time that you have before the brain fog makes writing absolutely impossible. And combining these techniques helps with that.

Sugar and Caffeine

I often sight a 2pm coffee as the secret to my success in editing, and that is true. It's just the facts of life - caffeine keeps your brain alert. And if you already drink caffeine on a regular basis, drink more than you normally would or drink something stronger than you normally would to get a boost for writing.

Also - sugary drinks. I often drink Mountain Dew while I am writing and call it 'writing juice'. And it usually helps me a lot.

Maximum Comfort

I have seen multiple posts that are like 'don't write in bed' and I kind of get how that could be good advice for abled people? Because you sleep in bed and if you are trying to get work done in bed, you might start falling asleep/feeling sleepy. But things are very different when you have chronic illness. For me personally, I cannot get anything done unless I am 100% comfortable. And for me, that means being in bed, and it also means having the perfect pillow arrangement.

I have to take the time to make sure that every single pressure point on my body - especially ones on my back, which is one of my worst pro - are alleviated. Because when these pressure points are lessened, I have less pain (and it takes more time for the pain to build up there) so I have more time to work before the pain makes me brain dead/very foggy.

Beverage Queen/Do A Lap/Eat Small Snacks

I always have some kind of caffeinated drink when I write (coffee or Mountain Dew or both) - but I always have water as well, because drinking lots of water is always important whenever you have chronic illness. I always have multiple bevvies on my side table because I am a bevvy queen. So when you drink a lot, you have to go pee multiple times. Embrace it. Embrace the pee break.

Because when you have to get up for a pee break every hour or so, it means that you have to get up and stretch, and imo, this helps with brain fog a lot. Sitting still in the same position for hours and just staring at a screen can cause body cramps and more pain and getting up to do a little stretch can help. So don't ignore your bladder when it comes calling.

(Also, if you have trouble noticing your natural bladder queues when concentrating on writing, set a timer for every hour or 90 minutes, and then concentrate on writing for that mount of time and then take a break when the timer goes off.)

Also, sometimes when I have to go for a pee break, I will 'do a lap' - which is when I go pee, get a water refill, do a little stretch, and get a snack. (And usually while I am eating my snack, I watch something from the fanfiction source material to get a boost of inspiration to keep my mind focused.) Eating small snacks is a great way to prevent brain fog. For me personally, because I have POTS, I usually choose salty snacks. But snacks that have small boosts in nutrition like nuts, or you can choose sugary snacks for a quick boost.

Writing An Outline

This is one of my biggest tips for writers in general, and I suggest this for abled people as well.

Idk when the art of writing was lost, or if they don't teach creative writing in schools anymore, but when I was in school, they taught us creative writing drafting. The fact that your first draft will always be rough ideas that are just word vomit from your brain. The first draft is a skeleton, the second draft is adding in meat and muscles, and the final draft is making things pretty - adding in cosmetics and skin. (And this is even something that they teach you when it comes to non-creative writing, like essays.) And maybe I should start posting my outlines so that people can get a better idea of what I mean, idk.

If you know what you want to happen in a fic, write an outline. An outline is a list of bullet points that summarize what is going to happen in the fic - it can be extremely vague (like "the characters go to England") or extremely specific ("the characters kiss and then look into each other's eyes, feeling a realization of their feelings in this moment") and one of the best parts of an outline is that some of the bullet points can be super specific, if some of your ideas are very clear, and other points can be more vague, if you need to come in and fill in more plot points later.

(Also, another general writing tip - don't be afraid to do time skips. Not everything needs to be described in great detail. If you have two really good ideas for plot points and you don't know how to connect them, do a brief time skip. Only tell the points of the story that are interesting to you. If you are boring yourself, you are boring the audience.)

Writing down your ideas as quickly as possible in bullet point form while it's still fresh in your mind and allows you to come back in later when you are at a better point on a better health day and get more work done on those ideas. You don't have to start at the beginning and write out everything perfectly in narrative form and forget what an earlier version of you wanted for the middle or the ending of the story. Write it down in bullet point form as soon as it pops into your mind and flesh it out later.

I have plenty of docs that only have four or five sentences in them that are just a random idea I had at the time and I thought were worthy of writing down.

Know When To Quit/Pace Yourself (And Don't Be Discouraged)

And just in general - know when to quit. Know when to take a break. A lot of people view quitting as a negative thing, but for chronically ill people - quitting is an art. Quitting is a saviour. You have to quit at the right time during one writing session and rest up before the next one, otherwise you will be out of commission for multiple days or weeks. Knowing when to get more rest in order to be well rested for next time is something that is going to help you a lot in the long run.

Usually, when I write daily (when I am feeling well enough to) - I only write for two or three hours in a day. Sometimes I only write for one hour a day or less. And that is with taking breaks in between. So I will write for fifteen or twenty minutes, take a short break, and then write more - and I might only write for two hours in total for the whole day, but the entire 'session' took me 3 or 4 hours and I got like 2k done or 3k done and it doesn't feel like I got that much done - but when you write 2k a day for 2 weeks in a row, you have written 14k in total.

How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

Which basically means that taking on big tasks are a lot easier if you think of them as just doing small tasks bit by bit. If you sit down with the intention to write 5k or 10k in one sitting (especially with the intention to do it perfectly) - you will be discouraged. Assign yourself a small amount of words to write in a day that you know you can accomplish - which could only be 100 words or 200 words, or you can tell yourself that today will be the day that you're going to write and finish the outline for a fic. And eventually, writing a certain amount of words in a day, you will finish a fic or finish a chapter.

It is very important not to be discouraged if you can't write a lot in one sitting.

Also - don't worry about your writing being perfect on the first try. Because I rely so so so heavily on:

EDITING

I have said this before, and I'll say it again - I will never release any of my fics into the wild unless they are edited. Because of my chronic illness and my brain fog, even when I do all these things, a lot of my paragraphs and sentences turn into word vomit, and when I come back and read through them while editing, I am like "this is so jumbled and incoherent". So while I am writing the first draft, I focus a lot more on getting my ideas down rather than making it perfect or polished at all. I focus way more on getting it done. And communicating the emotions, rather than communicating technical things - like varying dialogue tags or using a certain word too much or using the correct definition of a word or even using correct lore. I just go with the flow and write what feels good in order to get the fic done.

And then I concentrate way more heavily on editing, and I try not to care if I edit way more slowly because of this. Often, editing takes me way longer than the initial writing because I am cleaning up a lot of mistakes I have made. But worrying about those mistakes during the writing process would slow me down. Edit slowly, edit with care, and give every single paragraph unique individual attention. Read the words as if you are just learning to read for the first time.

When I do this, sometimes it takes me an hour to get through ten pages, but it works. It is painstaking and slow. (And sometimes I get annoyed and dread editing because of it lmao.) But my work comes out amazingly when I do this.

And your work will come out beautifully if you use extra care when editing.

[happiestplacehq]

Hey everyone !!

I hope we're all doing okay. I know life is kicking everyone's butt right now. I'm putting out the good vibes!

So, I'm finally on summer holiday and other than having studying to do for my ballet qualification, I actually genuinely have some free time on my hands at the moment. As you can probably all tell, the last few months have not been great for me keeping the main up to date and pushing things out, and keeping on top of everyone else's activity has been hard when I haven't been as active myself. Long story short, my mental health has absolutely tanked the last few months (understandable, given how many things have been thrown at me in a year and a half on top of work stress and studying) and I couldn't in good conscience hound anyone to be active when I was hiding myself.

For now, I feel rested and I'm pushing through the brain fog. I'm committing to being a better mod!

ANYWAY, all this is to say is that I'm planning a small revamp/ reboot of the RP, with the hopes that this motivates all of our players to make a slow and steady return to the dash.

This revamp will include some plot updates, a massive push for the plot moving forward, and an event to welcome the new "era" of the RP. (Trust me besties, I'm excited for the idea I have and I'm already writing things inside my mind!!)

I might change up the graphics and change some bios around here and there too if my mum's laptop agrees with photoshop. I'm not promising new bios just yet (as that is a hurdle unto itself).

The main thing to note going into this revamp is this:

There will be updates to the activity rules. Sadly, being as lenient as I have been has meant that activity has fizzled, which is understandable but not great if we're wanting to keep the RP moving forward, keep everyone feeling included and welcome new writers. (I know the dash has been moving better lately, but sometimes there are points where nothing is posted for a long time.)

I haven't decided on what the new rules will be yet, so am open to feedback and suggestions, but there will be changes to both activity and interaction rules. I will also be messaging each individual character account to ask your plans for the character going forward, or if you would like to drop the character at some point too. (If you're stuck with a character, this is a great time to reboot them.) These rules will not come into effect until the revamp is complete so there's still some time to message me or have a think about what you would like to do going forward.

As always, please send in a hiatus request if you think you will be away for over 2 weeks just so I can keep things as updated as possible.

To help me in this revamp, the RP/ Main will technically be on a semi-hiatus - RP and in character interactions will continue as normal, the main will just be quieter to help me make changes and keep track of everything. As such, I won't be promoting the RP until I'm happy with the revamp, and applications for new characters will be closed for a short while. You can still message me to change character FCs, request hiatuses and all the other usual stuff.

I'm giving myself until mid-August to get as much of this done as I can. I will be away in London for training from the 15th to the 23rd August, so if I put my mind to it we'll have something by then, OR the week I come back. I'll put a poll out nearer the time when we would like the grand-reopening to be!

Like I said, interactions are still to go ahead as normal! The game itself isn't on hiatus, just the main while I change things around and give everything a fresh coat of paint. Thank you to everyone who has stuck around thus far! I can't wait to see what this revamp sparks in everyone ✨

Please give this post a like once you have read it!

[crowwolf]

Blarg

I've not been functional since last week. Stupid fever. It's not even a high fever, just a lingering make-all-your-joints-hurt-like-fucking-hell fever. I'm so tired.

I want to knit and write. I have no bbrrraaaiiiinnnnssss

I need this guy to stop the evil dead eating the last cells in my skull (gods, Ash, I haven't watches that movie in decades (literally and without hyperbole 😳).

Here lieth my brain. Covered in a fog of fever, ne'er to be seen again.

Ok, I'm being hyperbolic now.

I go through phases in my life where I figuratively ingest every piece of literature I can put my hands on. I'll be that way for months at a time. Then, without any rhyme or reason, my brain goes - ya know, we like this stuff, but we're going to stop. Now. For months, eh, maybe years. It's been probably 4 or 5 years or more since I've been able to sustainably read and entire book without external stimuli (I.e. reading to my son out loud).

I hate it. HATE it. I love to read. I love all the fan-fiction I've been reading, but this stupid fever has my brain stuttering.

Speaking of brains. Autistic ADHDers - I was diagnosed ADHD in my mid-30s AFTER my son was. That's pretty normal for women my age, unfortunately, we were the chatter box in class, the you-could-do-so-much-better-if-yiu-tried ones, the lazy, messy, disorganized ones (I always knew where my stuff was!). Now, here's where I'm feeling like more knowledge is wigging me out. There's a website that is designed for people to seek as a resource for autism. I've had some close to me suggest I could be on the spectrum, but I scoffed cause wouldn't someone had noticed? Except, no one would have cause I've always worn a mask - different masks for different situations. The older I get, the harder it is to hold it in place. I used to hug everyone cause people expected me to, now I barely want to touch unless it's family or someone I've known a long time.

So, that website. I went on and did every tests, long or short. I scored high, like very high, on all of them. I can't afford to get tested. And I don't know why I'm sharing this here (Tumblr feels safe, which is nice, I haven't openly talked about this to anyone except hubs and spawn #1).

So, I've basically lived my life jerry-rigging every aspect. Now, loud noises set me off. Hearing someone chew has always bothered me, but it's rage inducing now to the point I have to put on music or leave or cover my ears. It's so bad that I have started isolating myself from extremes of noise (other than music! Music is life!). My in-laws visit and I'm almost in tears the whole time - they're in my space, moving my things, and so so loud.

Are those autistic things? Or ADHD or both? There's more - I used to be very smooth with dealing with the public. Now, I feel like a nervous teen on the verge of a first date any time I have to. I was a a bartender, a food counter person, a 911 dispatcher. I was public admin and technically still am (though I rarely deal with them anymore). I will physically vibrate from the anxiety and get a massive adrenaline rush that keeps me wired all day. Oh, I also can't take ADHD meds as they interact with my depression/anxiety meds and make me super manic and depressive.

There's more, but I'm freaking out cause I don't want my break to stop again and I can feel it starting and I hate it.

I think I just want to know if anyone can relate.

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

my brain-fog has been particularly bad recently, which is why i haven't been participating in the ask games going around & been quieter in general. its nothing personal just my brain not performing well & thus increasing my anxiety

my brainfog really messes with my ability to say/write the right words, and especially think through what im saying, as well as messing with my memory.

normally i just need to jog my memory to make sure i am asking/saying something relevant to the character, and not something ive hallucinated [normally just to double check and soothe my anxiety about getting it wrong], but brainfog really drains my ability to do that, and massively increases my anxiety,

so its a double issue of i dont feel confident in what i remember/am saying, and my anxiety is very high, and they feed into each other until i cant do anything.

or even by the time i have formulated/types a reply its already been to long and the conversation has moved on.

also it thickens and thins very quickly, so i can go from chatting to unable to say anything really quickly, as well as some forms of communication being harder than others at different times, so its really not personal if i say, am making tumblr posts but only reacting w emojis on discord

[sunlightxing]

Show Me Some Respect

After working for years as a secretary to General Hux aboard the ship, the Finalizer, life could not have been better for you.

That was until Hux informed you that Commander Kylo Ren would be joining you on that ship. Almost immediately, you both resent each other, but after being forced to spend more alone time with him, you begin to wonder, what's so bad about him after all?

Tags on A03 Include:

-Force Choking (Star Wars)

-Fluff and Smut

-Face-Fucking

-Not How the Force is Used

-Armitage Hux Needs a Hug

-Kylo Ren is an asshole

-Y/N Makes Poor Choices

-Praise Kink

-Choking

-Cum-Eating

-Orgasm Delay/Denial

-Sexual Tension

-Sexual Abuse

-Y/N Goes Through A Lot

-Murder

-Possessive Kylo Ren

-Protective Armitage Hux

-Kylo and Hux Get Along Maybe Twice

Chapter 1: Do As He Says

A dread filled morning takes you by suspense when your boss, General Hux, riddles you with nothing but fear for your first encounter with the menacing, Commander Kylo Ren.

A/N: Hello to readers here on tumblr. I’m a little new to posting original work (especially writing) on here so bear with me as I figure it all out! I hope you enjoy my first ever Kylo Ren X Reader story (I dont use y/n cause I don’t like it, my deepest apologies)

Why’d you leave us?

A faint voice called out to you in the distance, so soft and silky, daintily whispering to you. Despite the initial faintness, it slowly began to get closer and closer, its volume ever increasing.

Your eyes fluttered open, but the bright sun blinded them, causing you to seal them shut once more. Eventually, they adjusted to the light, and you opened them to see so many large, and bare trees stretching towards the sky above you. White speckles, snow, were falling all around you, some flakes even landing on your nose.

It felt oddly peaceful, the soft moss around you feeling more comfortable than your own bed. It encased around you, smothering you with warmth and comfort. You kept your eyes shut, and felt yourself seconds from falling asleep on the slightly snow-covered ground. For just a moment, your reopened your eyes, getting one more view of your surrounding before drifting off. But then, to your horror, you saw that the ground next to you was completely covered in blood.

Your eyes widened in fear as you jolted away from your spot on the ground, and pushed yourself up against a nearby tree. The voice in the distance was coming closer towards you, and kept roaring louder and louder. The blood on the ground began to expand, seeping through the moss at an alarming rate. It surrounded the entire area around you, except directly where you were sitting.

As you glanced back up at the sky, the snow, which had now transformed into an icy hail, had begun to take on an even stranger form. In its image, flashes of their faces blew past you, and with it, followed the sound of their screams and cries. Pleading for help, for you to save them. The smell of burning wood wafted into your nostrils, and that voice in the distance was still growing louder. You knew that soon, it would be upon you.

"Wake up, wake up. Please fucking wake up!"

In a jolt of cold sweats, you gasped back to reality, frantically scanning the area around you to make sure it was safe.

"Just a dream, it was just a dream."

Your breath was sporadic, leaving you a panting and anxious mess as you pulled yourself out of bed. Even the smallest movement caused a massive amount of pain surge to through your head.

"I can't take another one of those nightmares." You thought, grabbing the glass of water from your nightstand. You looked over at your clock groggily, and your heart sank upon seeing that you had overslept, giving you little to no time to prepare for the day.

The shower water was freezing when you initially turned it on, per usual. It always felt embarrassing to have to stand outside the door, completely nude, occasionally dangling your finger under the water to see if it had heated up yet.

Over 3 years ago you began working as a secretary to General Hux, and though there was a monstrous amount of glitz and glam thought to come with such a job, it couldn't have been more painfully annoying.

Sure, Hux was somewhat kind and caring towards you, but every other person you pitifully encountered treated you like shit. They'd throw their fits when you wouldn't deliver their papers, shine their boots, tasks they very easily could've done themselves, but simply refused. It wasn't the most difficult job in the world, despite the constant hazing. However, their was a shocking increase in secretaries amongst the First Order. It was most definitely due to the jobs incredible bore-ability, and the fact whoever was placed in such a position would be treated like garbage by everyone they encountered.

You rushed through your shower, only using the time to wash your hair and then yourself. The steam from the hot water had fogged your mirror, which made it hard for you to see your hair when putting it up into two long french braids. You pulled a few strands out in the front, trying to look somewhat nice since your uniform sure didn't help. It was a shapeless, olive green suit, with baggy pants, and thick, heavy boots. The hat that came along with it also wasn't very flattering, but it wasn't like anyone saw you other than your crewmates, and General Hux.

You took another swig from your cup of water as you stared out your glass window and into the infinite galaxy. Your brain decided to alert you of how Hux would be ridiculously pissed off if you were late, as today was one of the days you dreaded most of all since you began working on the Finalizer. The ship would be making its way back to Starkiller base, and you were anything but excited for that.

Several technicians raced by you, heading off to fix some malfunction in the interior of the ship. You always looked at them and wondered if they enjoyed their jobs here, or if, just like you, it was a love-hate relationship.

You entered the control room, staring the other programmers and pilots plugging away at their stations. Though they didn't technically fly the Finalizer, their work was incredibly important. You liked to think yours was important as well, but in reality, it was pointless. Technically, you were Huxs' right hand. As a result, he told you practically anything and everything. So it was more like you were a glorified therapist that followed him around like a lost pet.

"Cadet," a voice said behind you. General Hux was standing at the entrance to the control room, looking a lot more frazzled than usual. "Will you walk with me for a moment?"

You nodded, following closely behind him. Unlike usual, you decided to keep your mouth shut, hoping he would start to explain why he looked so disheveled and unnerved, but he didn't say a word. It was becoming harder to not acknowledge how his body trembled intensely with ever step he took.

"General, if I may ask, is everything alright?" You questioned sweetly, trying not to sound disrespectfully intrusive.

Hux let out a heavy sigh, stopping for a moment to rest against a nearby wall. "I am, not alright," he panted, his voice shaking more than his body was. "When we arrive at Starkiller base, you're going to have to meet The Commander, and I already know you two will not get along."

Your face recoiled as you began to dig into the back of your mind. "Did he mean Commander Ren? That stubborn brute?" You laughed to yourself, while Hux was seconds from engaging in a panic attack.

"This is no laughing matter cadet!" He hollered, his voice nearly cracking at every syllable.

You let out a long sigh. "Hux, I can deal with Kylo Ren. He doesn't scare me at all."

"He should scare you," Hux stated plainly. "My last secretary, before you. He made one simple mistake, and Ren saw to it that the poor boy was eradicated."

Your eyes grew wide with fear, darting away from his gaze so he couldn't see the horror on your face. Hux said it plain as day, if you made so much as one, small mistake, Commander Ren would personally see to it that you were eradicated as well.

Hux groaned. "We both work for the same Supreme Leader, which means I have to work with him." His breathing patterns began to grow more heavy and frantic, and his face flushed with a vibrant red.

You tried to calm him down, as you knew the ship couldn't make the entire flight back without his orders. The two of you had gotten rather close, and you had a lot of respect for him. He'd come in some days looking like he'd seen a ghost, and you wouldn't have been shocked if he had. If the Commander managed to make Hux, your boss, that anxious, you knew this couldn't be good.

After what seemed like seconds, you had arrived at your destination. Just the sight of Starkiller base sent shivers down your spine.

Sure, you'd been their plenty of times, but you never had to willingly interact with the Commander before. In fact, you'd never so much as seen the smallest fragment of his figure. Which would make his reveal all the more terrifying.

As you approached the landing bay, the large metal doors began to open to allow your entrance in. Hux came up behind you, his posture had been perfected, and all expression on his face had been wiped. He looked like a whole new man, and you weren't sure that if you wanted to get on the Commander's good side, you'd have to become a whole new woman.

"The Commander would like us both to meet with him in his quarters before he joins us onboard." Hux said, his voice shaking. You nodded as you took one more look at the hull of the control room, not sure if it was your last.

The pair of you made your way from the control room, to the landing bay. A small craft would take you from the Finalizer to the bay on Starkiller, but you wanted nothing more than just to stay put. There were ways where you could completely avoid the Commander for the entire duration he was here, you hoped. You would just have to hide in a waste bucket every time he came near Hux, and that didn't seem so bad. You groaned, glancing over at Hux as the cruiser landed rather dramatically at the center of the bay.

“Hux, he’s going to hate me, isn’t he?”

He sighed, placing an awkward arm on your shoulder, his attempt at comfort. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

As the pair of you walked down the long hallways of the Starkiller base, it felt as if you were walking to your doom. Which, in reality you probably were. Two stormtroopers had been sent to escort you from the ship to Commander Rens' quarters. They didn't say a word the entire trip to said quarters, despite Hux's several attempts.

Eventually, the four of you arrived at what you presumed to be the Commander's meeting room. The two troopers walked up to the door, placing a loud knock on it to signal their arrival, and then stationed themselves on either side of it. Hux took in a deep breath as he began typing into a small keypad attached to the entrance, and then, the door was open.

"Commander, my apologies on us being later than normal." Hux said, walking through the doorway to the meeting room.

"Oh Gods."

Commander Ren looked like nothing you had expected, though you couldn't really see all of him. He was tall, absolutely massive, his muscles practicality protruding from his sleeves. But his face, you couldn't see so much as an outline of that. Covering it was a thick, solid metal mask, breathing canal and all. He was a true Vader knock off.

He slowly turned around, a feeling of pure rage wafting off of him. For a brief moment, you were certain he was seconds from smashing Huxs' head in, but then he stopped dead in his tracks. His head titled from Huxs' body to your own. Though you couldn't see his facial expression underneath that mask, you new it was one of disgust.

"Who are you?" He asked, gesturing in your direction. You arched your eyebrows in confusion, could he not tell just by simply looking at your uniform?

"No answer?" Commander Ren scoffed.

"I'm his secretary, Commander," you stated, gesturing in Huxs' direction, "didn't you request my presence here? "

He shook his head, placing a hand on the front of that intimidating facial shield. The movement made it look as if he was gaining a headache from your small amount of talking. "This is who you had replace the old one?" Commander Ren hissed, "have you no shame, Hux?"

"Ren, she is very talented in her work and a fantastic secretary," Hux responded, glancing over in your direction. "She has made a fantastic replacement." You smiled, happy to know Hux would still show you some form of kindness around the Commander.

"Hux," Commander Ren stated, "I'll trust your judgment here." He approached Hux slowly, giving him ample time to make your poor General tremble in fear. The Commander stopped inches from his face, his mask nearly touching the tip of Huxs' nose.

"If she makes so much as one mistake, she's gone."

Your face recoiled in disgust. "Well, what the fuck?" You thought to yourself. Did he actually doubt your abilities that much? Or was this all some sort of twisted test of your competence?

The Commander darted his head around, glaring at you in rage. Your body went completely stiff as his masked gaze penetrated your mind. A trill of pain surged through your temples, like something was digging around in your brain for any scrap of information. "That language of hers will not be tolerated either." He spat, looking back at Hux.

"My what? The hell is he talking about? I have yet to swear!" Your brain was spiraling out of control, and that trill of energy still surged throughout your brain.

His ego was disgustingly immense, not to mention he was a delusional idiot. The fool was making up down right lies about you, and to wait gain? He was already addressing Hux in such a disrespectful manner, he didn't need to take it out on you as well. But what even gave him the right to talk down to Hux in such a manner? He wasn't in any better of a position to lead than the General was, not to mention the fact that Hux was a lot easier to deal with, and a lot less moronic.

Commander Ren stood in place, his body shaking violently with rage. Huxs' body was also shaking, but his was out of fear. This was the first time you'd ever seen Hux so threatened by anyone. Usually, he presented such a mass amount of authority and dictation. But here, he was nothing more than a coward.

The Commander gave you an over-the-shoulder glance, and in that moment, you felt time stop. The world around you faded into black. Now, only you and him were in that room, and fear and panic began to rapidly set in. Your body had turned chillingly cold, and air escaped you.

A flash of light hit your eyes, his leather glove reflecting off the overhead chandelier. Before you could get a warning out, he slammed his fist into the wall next to Huxs' head. His curled hand punctured the metal frame, sending hundreds of small electrical sparks flying, leaving bare and broken wires in its wake.

"You teach her to show me some respect, or I will" Commander Ren hissed, his clenched fist now inches from Huxs' face.

Hux folded onto the metal floor, panting uncontrollably as the Commander hovered menacingly above him. You stood gazing at the pair of them, completely motionless, gulping down the fear that was now lodged in your throat. Your pupils shook in horror at what you had just seen, how absolutely horrid your new ship companion was.

Commander Ren glared at you, watching as every inch of your body trembled at his presence. He scoffed, storming out of the room with a prompt slam of the door, the sheer force alone causing you to jump. You looked back at Hux, whose forehead was drenched in sweat, and a slight tremor was visible on his hands. Carefully, as not to frighten him more, you reached down for his hand, an effort to help guide him up off of the floor.

"General..." You pleaded, wrapping your hand around his own as you began to lift. Hux shook you away, pulling himself off of the ground, trying not to show weakness. It was obvious that he was embarrassed of your viewing of his encounter with Commander Ren, but he shouldn't have been. All that quarrel showed was the fact Commander Ren was a prissy little bitch, and tyrant.

Hux dusted off his long coat, and smoothed back his red hair to its original, kept manner. He bit his lip, holding himself back from lashing out against anything the Commander had just done. You hoped he would do it anyway, give you some sort of hint that he too hated Commander Rens guts. But instead, he stared intensely at the door, his eyes becoming bloodshot with rage.

"If you want to make it out of here alive," Hux gulped, "you must to do as he says."

You scoffed in disbelief. "Hux you cannot possibly believe that," you cried. "He isn't as high and mighty as he claims to b-"

Hux slammed his hand over your mouth, his bare fingers tracing over the lining of your lips. His eyes stared painfully into your own, showing so much fear and uncertainty. "I told you to do as he says!" He hollered, the veins in his neck protruding from his already rose colored flesh. Hux removed his hand from over your mouth, and with another brush of his cape, he was gone out the doorway too, much less dramatically than the Commander.

You turned around, looking at the meeting room remorsefully. Your life had just flipped completely upside down, and you know now that you had no say in anything that would happen to it. Hux obviously wasn't going to be any help in standing up against Commander Rens' tyranny, so it looked like you were on your own.

And you hated being on your own.

You walked back to the ship with shane covering your entire body. Every person who passed by you, whether it was a technician or a stormtrooper, seemed to be mocking you. While that wasn't at all the case, Commander Rens' doubt of your capabilities made it seem like everyone else doubted them as well.

As you turned a corner, so flustered and furious you didn't even know what planet you were on, another secretary slammed into you, spilling an incredibly hot and sticky liquid all over your uniform. "Oh my Gods, I am so sorry!" The girl whimpered, reaching for a cloth towel at her side to try and help dry you off.

You clenched your jaw tightly, worried all your rage might come flying out at her. She looked to be so incredibly overworked and stressed, just like you were about to be. You wondered if she had ever dealt with Commander Ren, or maybe her own General was just as terrible as he was, though you doubted that was humanly possible. You hated to admit it as much as the next person, but the treatment of secretaries, especially those that were female, could not have been more horrendous. Every one you had encountered had a horror story, or was currently living through one. Thankfully, your first job was with someone like Hux, a lot more patient and caring than any other. Thoughts crossed your mind of how awful your life would've been if your first job was to Commander Ren. Just the idea alone sent shivers down your spine.

The girl finally finished drying off the excess with a little help from you, but your clothes were soaked with whatever fluid she dumped onto you. Her eyes slowly began to swell up with tears as she stared at your ruined uniform.

"Hey," you said, taking her hand in your own. “There’s no need to cry. I'll go clean it myself, and it'll be good as new, don't worry."

She sniffled, reaching her other hand up to wipe the tears off of her face. Never could you have managed to snap at that girl, because you knew exactly what kind of suffering she was going through, as you had just dealt with the worst of it all. The girl hugged you in gratitude before scurrying back to wherever she came from, getting a replacement for the drink she had dropped. You took in a deep breath as you dreadfully looked down at your tarnished gown. Starkiller base was not somewhere you were familiar with, so finding a washroom was going to be far greater task than it should have been.

For what seemed like hours, you scanned each and every room across the vastness of the ship, hoping to finally find an area for you to clean off your soiled uniform. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched a stormtrooper exit a room with a fully washed, black undergarment, and you knew you had finally found your sought for destination. Rushing into the room, you hoped no one else would be inside, so you could quickly rip off your uniform and wash it without anyone seeing you in nothing but a bra and underwear.

Thankfully, no one was inside the washroom, giving you ample time to strip practically nude, and lock the door behind you as to not allow anyone to barge in.

Staring blankly at the machine that scrubbed and cleansed your attire, the chill of the empty room you sat in was beginning to sting your bare skin, your hair sticking up and goosebumps forming across every inch of it.

The process could not have taken any longer, but finally, it was washed, and ready to be moved to the next machine for drying. Minutes passed by as you sat in the cold and ever darkening room, rubbing up against the warm drying machine periodically as to not die of hypothermia.

"For God's sake, can you just hurry up!" You cried, slamming your foot against the machine, hoping that would throw it into a faster gear.

It did no good, the machine kept carrying on at its slow pace, causing nothing but agony and frustration on your part. You groaned, flopping back into the chair you had been sitting in, only for it to crumble into a hundred tiny pieces as you flopped yourself onto it.

"Mother fucker!" You groaned, lifting yourself off of the cold, metal floor. A bruise was clearly about to form upon your ass after that downfall.

"Language, cadet. That mouth will get you nowhere."

You spun around quickly, leaving your bra-covered breasts completely exposed to the eyes of Commander Ren, who now stood perfectly centered at the entrance of the washroom, the door closed behind him. Your eyes jolted to the lock that was now unfastened on the doorway, yet upon making eye contact, it clicked back into a locked position. Looking down, you noticed Commander Rens' finger was out of place from the rest of his clenched fist, and though at first you had no idea how he managed to weasel his way in here, now you did.

"The force?" You questioned in the back of your mind, watching the pointer finger retreat back to its clenched position.

His head tilted down, obviously showing his gaze had shifted from your eyes, to your almost fully naked body. You covered as much of yourself as you could, feeling completely flustered that so much of you was exposed to his eyes.

"What?" You asked. "Planning on insulting me again? Just get out."

"You're hung up on that?" He questioned, letting a small chuckle escape his throat. "I could have said so much worse."

You rolled your eyes at him, now hoping to make him so angry he would storm out like he did before. "Good for you, Commander. I'm sure you could've."

Silence reigned in the room longer than you would've preferred it to. You had hoped he would make some ridiculous, insulting statement so you could fire back at it, but he was silent.

"Do you mind?" You questioned, tilting your head towards the doorway so he could take the hint to leave.

"The ship was supposed to depart exactly 17 seconds ago," he remarked, keeping his gaze on your chest area, "Hux was going to be sent after you, if I didn't choose to."

You curled your lip sarcastically, letting out a small laugh along with it. "Well thank you so much for that, sir," you said sarcastically, again, gesturing towards the door in hopes that he would leave.

There was a long pause, giving you time to reflect on what he had just said. He would've had no knowledge your uniform had been soiled, tarnished by that poor girls dropped beverage.

So how the fuck did he know you were here?

He stood motionless. The only noise he exuded was the almost asthmatic breathing sounds from his mask. "Finish whatever task this is." Commander Ren instructed, finally moving his gaze away from your body.

He turned to the doorway, giving you a final glance before opening the door, and exiting the room. You stared at the metal frame in disbelief, the fact the Commander had just seen you in arguably your most venerable state was horrifying and embarrassing.

A slight movement on the door caught your attention, as the knob shifted back to its locked position. "Jeez, how kind of him," you scolded, turning back to the dryer that had finally finished its job, of course, right after the Commander had left.

After unlocking the door to the washroom, adorning your freshly cleaned uniform, you sprinted down the halls towards the bay. Thankfully, there wasn't a line of people standing outside the washroom waiting to use it themselves. For if they had seen the Commander in there with you, things would have just gotten so much more complicated.

You marched down the halls, now thinking about how ridiculously awkward your next several months of encounters with the Commander would be, now that your second meeting with him was when you were practically naked.

“Gods. This day cannot get any worse."

[deepperplexity]

Titel: Help Your Hatred

A/N: So I felt like writing something a bit more "simple" and ended up with this. Not sure of the title but I kinda like it and hope you will enjoy the story! :D

Summary: You had been with Severus, secretly, for nearly a year when his darkness scared you away; as he played his part as a Death Eater with such intensity you caved to the fear that he felt for you what he stated during a secret meeting you overheard between him and the Malfoy's. That he loathed muggleborns with such fervour he wished to abolish their magical rights and to top it off he said, in that sombre voice of his, that they meant less than nothing to him personally. The ringing honesty, you could not even consider being false, was the sound that broke your heart.

Pairing: Snape x Muggleborn!Female!Reader

Setting: Diagon Alley, Rosa Lee Teabag shop -> Spinner's End

ABBR.: │ (y/n) - Your Name  │ (y/n/n) - Your Nick Name │(h/c) - hair color │ (e/c) - eye color│

Word Count: 5086

Warnings: Harsh language, alcohol, kissing, rage

Masterlist page // Masterlist post 

The scent of heaven wafted around you. All fragrances you could possibly imagine and then some. The shop you worked at, Rosa Lee Teabag, had been your workplace for no more than a few weeks. The worst few weeks of your life. The work was pleasant, your life was not. Your face smiled, your heart was shattered. As if the tea had spilt out of its containing bag and slowly spread away from where it belonged. Impossible to recover.

Your head pounded; a harsh and thundering reminder of the too many drinks you had consumed the evening before. But what else were you going to do? Sob and cry all night? No, no that was simply not happening. Some heavy drinking and then you were out cold with not so much as a little snivel.

You shook your head to clear the sticky fog. Your hands deftly tied ribbon after ribbon to tighten teabag after teabag of individual orders sent by owls.  Vanilla, jasmine, cinnamon, green, red, black - tea after tea. How can people drink this stuff? You thought as you sneered at the hoard of bags on the little worktable. You were a coffee person;  a coffee addict. Three cups were required to even get you to grumble 'good morning'.

No, don't think about coffee! Too late, your mind already raced to Severus and the lovely mornings you had spent together sipping pitch-black coffee in complete silence until you both had made it past the first three cups each.

His onyx eyes penetrated your mind, that wicked smile, the black hair and the godlike hands that knew exactly where to - no, no, stop, stop, stop! You sighed deeply as your hands fisted and your shoulders tensed.

No matter what you did, where you were, who you were with - he was always there. You could never escape him. Not in your waking hours nor your dreaming ones. The only time you found reprieve where when you reached the bottom of the bottle. When your mouth was numb, your fingers slippery and your brain in a complete daze of silence and darkness. There he was not. For alcohol had never been part of your relationship. You had never witnessed him touch the stuff nor had you drank anything in his presence. You had actually loved that about him.

"I loved many things about him," you muttered as you snatched up a new little bag of silk to stuff with some green tea reeking of citrus so strong it stung in your nose.  You tied the little purple sash and plopped the bag in its designated box. "Too many things," you mumbled as you grabbed a new bag to repeat the process. The box would require twelve reeking bags and Merlin knew how you'd have to damn near scrub off your skin to get rid of the horrid smell.

"No dawdling," Mrs Grant chipped as she poked her head through the thick curtains that shielded your little workstation from the rest of the store. You schooled your face into a pleasantly smiling one as you looked towards the head of Mrs Grant. Her grey hair tightly curled and the glasses on the tip of her nose. "No Mrs Grant, no dawdling," you smiled as you cinched yet another sash and she gave you an approving nod as you placed the bag in its box that now was full.

After 28 boxes, 12 bags in each, you staked the orders to be sent out for delivery in the early morning hours of the coming day. You reeked, absolutely stank, with varying smells of citrus fruits and flowers. The combination was awful, to say the least. You couldn't wait to get home and soak in a hot bath for hours with no other company than a bottle or two of wine.

Your hair was wrapped in a towel as you strutted through the tiny attic apartment in slippers and a thick robe. The bath had eradicated the smell of tea and you felt more like yourself again. Had it not been for you being in hiding, yes you were hiding from the love of your life, you might have risked heading off to get a drink out with other people. But the wine bottle in your hand would have to do.

It had been a snap decision to go away when you had heard your beloved Severus utter such clear words of hatred towards people like yourself. Muggleborns. How he had slandered your rights to use magic; despite the fact he knew you had been a street kid until an owl with a Hogwarts letter had found you. That had changed your life, saved your life most likely. Yet he had crushed, shattered and broken you; your heart left in ruins.

You slumped in the little armchair covered in worn fabric. As you glanced around the little attic space - just one room with a kitchenette and a tiny little bathroom - you felt more lonely than ever. The space was cold and worn, it looked tired and unloved despite your best efforts to make it more than a miserable attic.

The landlord, who was also your boss, had been kind enough to let you stay for nearly no rent provided you worked the hours she didn't want to shoulder. That meant split shifts. Early mornings and late afternoons. It wasn't ideal. But it was work and a roof over your head. You had nothing else as you had lived with Severus the past five months; in secret, of course, as none could know of your relationship. It was too dangerous as Severus had pointed out time and time again.

You drank directly from the bottle as the conversation you had had with Mrs Grant several weeks ago replayed in your mind. How you had begged her for work, begged her to not tell anyone of you and lastly begged her to help you find somewhere to live. You had stooped so low that you played the puppy eyes and turned on the tears as you told her about an abusive partner that you were hiding from. It had been a lie, of course. Severus had done nothing but love you tenderly. Until that day you overheard him that is.

You shuddered, what else have you said about people like me? What else do you truly feel for magicians such as myself? Were you just playing me? Stringing me along? The thoughts were dark and harsh. You didn't want to believe it but you had heard it with your own ears. And the pain, the pain was just too much. The doubt heavy and the fear of having been duped once more by someone you thought loved you was just too much to handle.

You tipped the bottle and drank. Tried to shut out the thoughts and memories. Did your best to persuade the tears not to fall. But this evening, it seemed impossible. The alcohol helped but did not numb you enough. In the tiny fireplace, a small fire crackled and the wind seemed to penetrate all walls as it chilled you to the bone. Or perhaps, that was just sorrow. You couldn't quite tell at that point.

You cinched another sash. Outside the morning had barely begun and light had just started touching the rooftops of Diagon Alley. But you had been working for two hours already. Running on just 4 hours of sleep and no food. Food made your stomach turn and you couldn't handle eating until the morning had passed.

Severus had always cooked such wonderful meals, even breakfast was a delight every morning. Pancakes, waffles, massive sandwiches, fruits and all kinds of goodies. You missed waking up to that smell, the smell of his love as he made you food each and every morning. Before him, your breakfast had been coffee and nothing else. Now, it was just that again.

Box after box you filled with teabags to be sent out for lunch deliveries. Mrs Grant opened the shop at 09.45 am sharp, and people filed in with requests of specific teas or personalized blends. You could hear them in your little backroom where your workstation was situated. Merely hid by a thick drape covering the entrance.

The bell dinged as the door opened and closed. over and over again it dinged as people came and went. You just packed teabag after teabag, box after box. It was nearly automatic now. The work wasn't hard, but so damn repetitive that it barely kept your mind from wandering.

You sighed as you wrote the address of the recipient of the box you just finished. as the bell dinged yet again and Mrs Grant greeted the customer with her usual question of how she could help the person. But the voice that rang out after hers went quiet made you stiffen. Your heart pounded and your hands instantly shook as Severus drawled out a request for a simple tea with a subtle flavour.

You stood frozen in place as you listened to the conversation on the other side of the drape. "Certainly, Mr-?" "Snape," his voice murmured. He sounded, different. Colder, harsher. "Certainly, Mr Snape. May I suggest a simple yet impactful Earl Grey?" Mrs Grant crooned with that shop-owner-voice. No sound came from Severus so he most likely just nodded. You were still frozen in place, the only thing that seemed to move was your pounding heart and vibrating hands.

Mrs Grant talked about varying teas, nearly lectured Severus on how to dip it properly and how to make the specific tea she offered him reach its full potential. But you barely heard any of it as you tried your best to not break down and cry. He was so close yet so far away. You wanted to run to him, run from him. War broke out within you as you wobbled on your feet. Swaying from side to side as both love and fear battled to win your favour.

"Will that be all?" Mrs Grant asked. "That is all," Severus said quietly. Mrs Grant most likely nodded as she began tapping the old registry. The clicking sound hit you like harsh blows, over and over. As if a countdown was ticking. Mrs Grant asked for the money, clinking noises came after, a rustle of a paper bag and then she thanked him and wished him a good day. Harsh steps echoed away.

"Actually, I do have a question, if you do not mind?" Severus's voice rang out, more clear this time than before. "By all means, Mrs Snape, go ahead." "Have you perhaps seen a woman, (h/c) hair, (e/c) eyes, soft-looking yet fierce in her presence?" Your heart pounded as Severus described you to Mrs Grant. You sent out a silent prayer that she would not reveal you to him. At the same time, tears lined your cheeks in the hopes to be enveloped in his arms yet again.

"Hmm," a moment passed as Mrs Grant seemed to ponder his question, "no, I do not believe I have. We have so many customers it's a little hard to keep track of them all though," she said and you could hear that fake smile in her voice that she gave most customers. "Pity," Severus murmured and his voice vibrated through you despite the distant, the drape, the low tone of it. It reached you like the light of the moon harshly penetrated the darkest of nights with its white light.  

Your knees buckled as the doorbell clinked harshly. You sank to the floor, a whimpering heap. Sobs escaped your mouth as your heart tried frantically to leap out of your chest and your lungs desperately fought to fill with air that didn't quite give enough oxygen. The world spun around you while all the memories that you had battled away came rushing in like a tidal wave set on destruction.

"Oh dear, whatever is the matter?" Mrs Grant hurled away the drape as she most likely could not avoid hearing your crying. "I'm- I'm so sorry Mrs Grant, no d-dawdling," you cried as you tried to find the strength to stand. "Oh hush, what is the matter? You're a sorry mess," she said with that cold yet sweet voice of hers as she stepped closer. You merely shook your head, unsure of how to word it. If she found out it was Severus she had been running from she would think he was abusive to her when that had been a lie to get a chance at true hiding.

"Just, give me, a moment," you sobbed as you tried to take deep breaths, "I'll be all right," you continued but Mrs Grant would hear it. "Oh no, you go on home and sort yourself out Ms Collin," she said as that was the fake name you had given the woman, "and then you come work when you are not such a mess. We can't have you here like this. The customers might hear," she continued and those words were so harsh.

She did not in fact care about you. No, she cared about the shop and her reputation and a crying worker was not to be had within its walls. It sent the wrong signals and you understood that, still, the words felt coldly harsh and without sympathy for you as a person. But you nodded as you stood on shaky legs.

With your cloak tightly wrapped around you and the hod pulled up to hide your face you hurried out the store. The house was only two buildings over. You climbed that rickety staircase and unlocked your door as swiftly as your unsteady hands allowed. Tears streamed down your face and you could barely catch your breath. The only thing on our mind was Severus.

The door finally creaked open and you pushed it as rushed steps could be heard beneath. "(Y/N)!" Severus's voice rang out and your body froze mid-step. "(Y/N)! Wait!" He called yet again as you heard him run, the stairs swayed as he ran up them. Just as he was about to reach you your body jerked to life and you flung yourself inside while slamming the door shut so harshly the walls rattled.

His fists pounded the door as you had barely had time to lock it. "(Y/N), please, open," he called as his fist banged once, twice.  You cried where you had fallen to the floor. "Go away!" you managed to choke out. "Open this door!" he growled and the handle rattled. "Go away!" you shouted once more, stronger this time, despite the tears and sobs. The involuntary shaking of your entire being.

"Damn it all," he growled and in the next moment, your door was shattered in splinters. The cold wind swarmed in as you crawled backwards. Away from the door and the imposing man that towered over you fully clad in black from head to toe. His face looked strained, his eyes hollowed out and he seemed thinner. He seemed broken.

"Go away," you whimpered as the mere sight of him - broken or not - made your body ache for his embrace and touch. Your heart strained with the hurt he had inflicted as the love he had given reminded you of just how deeply you loved the grim man squeezing through the entrance of your little attic home.

"Never," he growled as he stepped towards you, "never, (y/n)," he said again and to hear your name in that tone of voice, his voice, made you shiver. His hauntingly dark vocalization brimming with depth like the deepest of seas and your words were the curse of darkness that rested in its most remote pits. It hurt, so fiercely. That our name no longer teemed with softness and light in his voice. No longer was your name the reprieve of glowing heat and stardust it had once been when he spoke it so softly.

He stepped towards you, "You left me." His voice was no more than a growl. You blinked in an effort to get rid of the tears. "You left, without a word. Nothing," he hissed and took the last step that placed him right by your bent legs as you shrunk beneath his deadly glare. His eyes endlessly dark galaxies of starless holes. Such pain, such sorrow and horror, rested in that darkness. You looked away, could not bear to watch the man who seemed nothing like the man you loved.

You said nothing. You had no words for him at that moment. Too afraid of what might have slipped out should you have tried to voice anything at all. He tsked as he looked down on you. You could feel the anger that radiated off him in pulsing waves that pressed you further to the floor. Never had you been afraid of him before. Never had you felt crushed or dominated by him in such a way. Something about him was different and you hated it.

Your body locked up, you were unable to control your limbs as fear pulsed through you. Your head bent backwards so that your eyes met his. Severus held his wand pointed at you and panic crept through your body as he had control of it. As he had robbed you of your own physical being. Imprisoned you with no way to run.

"You have no idea what I have been through," his voice thundered out. Your eyes were locked in his as you fought the control he had over you. "No idea what I have felt or thought," he continued as he elevated you up off the cold floor, "you left me without a word. Left without an explanation." Thos endlessly dark galaxies shined with tears that he would not allow to slither free.

He stood you up with the will of his wand, "stand," he said as he broke the spell. You wobbled and grabbed the armchair's back to steady yourself as freedom came back to you. You breathed heavily now that your chest could expand more freely. You scowled at him as the tears finally stopped, anger taking the sorrows place. You straightened and forced your body to stop shaking.

"I loved you," you said as steadily as you could. His eyes widened as he seemed to stiffen. "But it was all a lie. You, you left me long before I left you," you continued as you seemed to find your courage. You released the chair as something cold slithered into your heart and made a nest of ice. "You, Severus," you continued as your stiff legs carried you towards him, "are filled with hatred and I have no intention to be with a man like you." Your mouth thinned as he took a step back while you stepped towards him.

He seemed to be speechless as your eyes slowly glazed over with a thin veil; it kept him away from your mind and kept your love well-hidden as the slithering cold stretched its claws out lazily to grab a hold of the entirety of your heart.   "I can't help your hatred, but I can choose not to be a part of it." The words were free of emotions as you seemed to leave in some way. As if the very essence that was you, your warm and happy self, were encased by that clawed ice. Because of him. Because of how badly he had broken you with mere words he most likely never thought you would hear.

"(Y/N)," he breathed out, "what are you-" "I loathe muggleborns," you said, "I want to abolish their magical rights as they are not pure," you continued. He seemed to stiffen as his words were repeated by your cold voice. "They mean less than nothing to me personally..." His words, harshly uttered by you, rendered him pale and stiff.

Something snapped in you as his silence stretched on. That's what I thought, Severus. That's what I thought, your mind whispered in despair as he made no effort to explain or sway you with new words. You both stared at each other. Your eyes glazed and hidden as ice expanded in your heart, his eyes darkly empty as if death had stolen the very life that was his essence.

Time stretched on. Steadily ticking away as you grew ever colder both inside and outside as the wind caressed your skin coldly. The cloak laid in a heap on the floor as it had fallen off when Severus had blasted through the door earlier. You shivered and shook but you did not break the eye contact you had with him.

Something shifted in him. His shoulders dropped a bit and he exhaled what seemed to be an extremely deep breath. "You mean to tell me," he murmured in a drawl, "that I have died over and over in fear of who might have held you captive, who might have kidnapped you, what horrors you were being subjugated to in order to get at me. You mean to tell me, I have been going out of my mind these past weeks only for you to have left me for words I have given no truth?" His voice was darkly humoristic. As if he was indeed going mad.

"I heard you, everything Severus," you said flatly. "I know you did, do you not think I knew you always listened to my meetings? Did you not stop for a miserable second to consider what I am? What role I play?" His voice rose steadily as something seemed to come back to life in him. Your heart throbbed a bit harder. For yes, you had considered it all but the truth that had rung so clearly in his voice as he had uttered those words were unbearable for you.  

Severus moved so fast you had no time to react. You were in his embrace for you could take half a breath as he snared you with his arms and held you tightly. Your head pressed against his chest, his pounding heart loudly hammering right below your ear. "You idiot," he murmured and then you heard it. His sobs. He was crying, for the first time ever you heard him cry.

You screamed at yourself to push him away but your arms merely clawed at the clothes covering his back as you tried to get as close as you possibly could. Tears streamed down your face as you sobbed with him. You both were a complete mess in each other's arms as you sunk to the floor. You only then realised how stupid you had been and nothing could stop the harsh words you screamed at yourself.

"(y/n/n), come home with me," he whispered with a gravelly voice nearly choked with tears. You simply nodded as you were unable to speak through your crying. He kissed the top of your head and held you even tighter. "Never leave me again," he growled on a dark sob, "never do this again. I have died every day that I could not find you," he said with the pain he was obviously trying to hide from you. True pain, actual truth was the thing he, your beloved Severus, always seemed desperate to hide. How could I be so stupid? Truth is the one thing he always tries to hide from the world, you thought as your fingers began to cramp from their firm grasp of his clothes.  

You stood frozen in place as you both entered Severus's house at Spinner's End. The house was destroyed. "What happened? Who did this?" you asked with a slight gasp as your eyes roamed the house. Severus said nothing as you ran through the hallway and scanned the living room. Everything was trashed, broken, shredded or tipped. books, broken glass, ripped wallpaper and smashed furniture. It was complete chaos.

You hurriedly ran to the kitchen only to find it in an even worse state. Everything was destroyed. The one things, the single thing that was whole and still in its place was your coffee cup, your favourite coffee cup that you always enjoyed your morning coffee from. You reached out for it and cradled it softly in your hands. You understood at that moment that Severus himself had done this. Had wrecked the home you two had shared for five months.

"I will restore it," he said sheepishly as he leaned against the door jamb three steps away from you. You turned to him with tears in your eyes. "Oh, Sev," you whispered before you walked right into his embrace. "I lost control," he said as his chest vibrated with his words, "I was afraid and hurt, angry even," he said as you hugged him tighter. You had felt it all too, in a different way.

"Please, (y/n/n), please do not put me through that ever again." You nodded your confirmation and he seemed to exhale another one of those deep breaths. "If you promise me something," you whispered as you looked up at him. He arched a brow but nodded. "I understand what you are and who you are, what you need to do and say to keep playing your role. But," you swallowed as the words got stuck in your throat.

He tilted your head ever so slightly with his hand under your chin. Coaxed you to go on. "I need you to be honest with me. Just me, I don't care what you tell others, but I need truth from you." "I am honest with you," he said in a soft drawl. "In some ways yes, in others no. I believed those words of hatred since you gave me no reason to not believe them. You have never said anything about my blood or-" He hushed you with a deep kiss that heated you to your very core.

It melted away the icy claws and banished the slithering cold from the nest it had earlier created in your heart. You deepened the kiss as he hummed against your lips. A moment later he straightened and the contact was broken. "I was of the impression that you knew, despite my lack of words." You gave a tight smile at the man you loved more than anything in the world as he spoke. "Words, are needed sometimes, Severus," you whispered as a life of insecurities bubbled just below the surface.

His eyes searched yours, softly caressing away that veil with mere looks as the stars once more shone in his eyes. "A truth," he whispered, "is that I love you. Ardently, earnestly, fervently, deeply." He weighed each word to emphasise them as your knees buckled and he held you up with those strong arms. "And I love you, with every part of my very soul," you breathed as a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips. He gave you another kiss and this time he did not end it until you both were desperate for air.  

Extra scene; Severus POV

I had looked everywhere. She was gone. No note. Nothing missing of her belongings. She was just gone. As if she had vanished. Fear crawled through me as I could barely utter her name anymore from how hoarse I was after having screamed her name the past hour. The house was I disarray as I had moved things, searched through things - for her or a note or anything at all that would tell me of her whereabouts. Yet, it yielded no information or inclination as to where she was. My beloved, my (y/n).

Days passed, turned into weeks. Every spare moment I had I searched for her. Between work, the Order and DE meetings paired with spying and information gathering there was little time to eat or sleep. I ended up forsaking my basic needs just to search for her. Any rumour, any clue, anything at all. But there had been nothing. No sound of her whereabouts or state.

My patience finally snapped as I trashed the entire house in fury. The anger radiated through me as if I were little more than just that. Anger. No matter the reason for her disappearance I could not bear it any longer. I was going insane, mad, had lost my mind.

The danger of it did not escape me. My role in the world, my duties and the importance of my capacity to play the part on both sides; in the dark and in the light. I barely could and people were starting to notice. The wrong people. I was breaking. Never had I imagined that one little person such as her could cause such pain and agony, pose such a risk to not only my life but to the outcome of the upcoming war.

I had been a fool for allowing love in my life. A fool for such a natural need. Life had never given me any reason to believe I could hold such things as love, joy or hope. She had come with it all and now she had taken it with her and left me more hollow than ever before. I can not go on for much longer without her by my side, I know that...

Hatred had filled me up. Hatred for life, for all things in it. Hatred for the hope, the love, the joy and the sweet scent of her skin. Hatred, pure and white. It filled me, consumed me and begged me for release. As I had granted that day I trashed my entire home, everything I had and owned was destroyed. Everything I was; destroyed. Broken.

As I entered the kitchen to find something to soothe my aching body with I just stared at the complete mess. Broken glass and porcelain, smashed kitchen chairs and unhooked cabinets. Spices and broken shelves littered the floor. The only thing my rage had not consumed was her cup. The one cup she always took her morning coffee in.

"Coffee," I mumbled, "no, bad idea. Too much caffeine. Tea, some simple and mild tea," I muttered as I stepped around the mess only to find I had no tea left. We, (y/n) and I, had only drunk coffee lately and I had not bothered to restock on tea. Stupid, foolish, no tea in the house. Disgrace, I thought to myself with a sneer and a sigh as I headed towards the hallway to grab my cloak.

Hi dearies! :D I hope you enjoyed this rather simple fic, I had fun writing it ^^ The first time adding Severus POV as an extra scene; what do you think of that? ^^

Taglist: @lizlil​ 

Masterlist page // Masterlist post

[cybernaght]

Lost Tomb Reboot aka Reunion: The Sound of Providence Season 2

I swear I wasn’t actually planning to write this thing, instead just opting for random picture spams of the season, starting with every time this show got Zhu Yilong’s Wu Xie wet, because that was a trend I had not expected and kind of lived for.

All that will still happen eventually, but here’s also my five cents on the season, because it is very very important for you to know just how worthy of love it is. 

You see, Season 1 was silly and fun, and definitely, undeniably, enjoyable. 

Then Season 2 swooped in, and completely won my heart. I cannot even express how much I adored it. Everything about this show is extremely extra in the best possible way; it is likely to have been the most charmingly over the top thing I have ever seen.

(Vague spoilers for : specific monsters, narratively significant moments, fate of the certain characters, including the protagonist.)

Some of it comes from the pace, which speeds up dramatically early in the season, and only slows down marginally to allow characters some breathing room. It’s not just gripping because it makes you want to hit play on the next episode, it also keeps you engaged because you can’t wait to see how the next wild set of events may be resolved and then topped. At about episode ten I was questioning how they could possibly produce a sense of further escalation. At episode twenty, I was wondering if anything can top dramatic impact of whatever was occurring only two thirds of the way through the season. 

I need not have worried: every single incredible character moment, every mind-boggling turn of the plot, every single bizarre threat would be blown out of water by the next one. 

Partly, this seemingly has to do with the writers attempts to ground the material. I am not sure what the novel contained, but I can discern that it was something along the lines of ghosts, ghouls and various supernatural circumstance. But when you are told  “this is a curse”, your reaction is naturally to go, “ah okay, so curses are a thing, and this is one of them, gotcha”. When you are told, “this is a heavy metal poisoning combined with a neurotoxin affecting the victim’s central nervous system and making them violently hallucinate”, your reaction is to question whether this is how metals, toxins, poisons, or, indeed, central nervous systems work in any version of reality. 

The show does this a lot. From human shaped swarms of killer moths, to flying brain-penetrating eels, to probably my favourite monster of the moment: the murder clams.

Seriously, I cannot stress enough that this show has murder clams. They move with their clam mussels. They jump with their clam shells. They will murder you in cold blood. 

There are ancient “laser corridor” style set-ups, there are shapes made out of fog recording its memory, there are group hallucinations generated by the sound of thunder, there are Mission Impossible style full face masks. There is a character who walked off a gun wound and sarin gas poisoning in order to die in the arms of his lover who looks like his dead sister. And by “looks like” I mean, “played by the same actress”. 

There is a whole character of Doctor Churros, who saves our hero from imminent death by washing his lungs with oil. 

This, I suppose, ultimately, is how The Lost Tomb Reboot (Season 2 in particular) lures you in. It turns what I saw as the show’s fault in season 1 into its biggest strength by establishing the world in which nothing is too outlandish and everything is possible. It so thoroughly breaks your expectations barometer, you grow to willingly accept whatever is thrown at you. 

The most beautiful thing about all of it, is that the fun and games and moments of barely controlled hysteria do not lower the stakes whatsoever. Moreover, somehow this show makes me believe that it could just about do something as irrevocable as, perhaps, killing off the protagonist 

You know how you can watch, say, a super hero film, and then the “all is lost” moment happens, and you kind of have to struggle to care because you know that they will pull through. It’s curious to see how that happens, but you don’t doubt for even second that it will. Well, when that moment arrived here, I found myself between ugly sobbing, and going into speculation overdrive to try and figure out how the Reboot would deal with that. By then I have seen that show be an high octave action movie, a supernatural mystery, a horror thriller, a buddy comedy and a spy flick: it was not a massive stretch to imagine it turning into a revenge tragedy.

Wu Xie dying had been building up since episode one, so you had hours and hours and oh-so-many hours to brace for it, and when the tragedy does not strike, the relief is visceral. 

Despite all the moments of hilarity (whether intended or otherwise), despite the chaotic turns of the plot, despite how utterly off the charts this show is tonally, when it matters, the narrative is pulled together in a way which not only makes complete sense within the world of the series, but is meticulously set-up, satisfying resolved, and delivers lovely emotional impact. Considering that the moral of the story is a very common “live in the moment”, paired up with “greed is bad”, it was surprising how much resonance its delivery actually created. 

Ultimately, however, this show is about found family, and, more specifically, about Wu Xie’s ability to create this family for himself and for every single member of it. He starts as one of the trio, and ends as one of a large group of old allies, new friends, and people he has graced with so much kindness that they follow him until the bitter end. 

Lost Tomb Reboot ensures that you get to know them all, and it’s pretty damn hard to not love this misfit group of adventurers in its entirety. 

(The only thing I could say is that I wish the series spent more time making sure the viewer knows and likes Zhang Qiling, but it seemingly had little purpose for him apart form sweeping in as an avenging angel every now and then. I get that he is a well established character in the series, and that his whole thing is being deadly and enigmatic, but considering that you got to know the other two legs of the famous Triangle so well, it’s a shame that this one was reserved to mostly being Xiao Ge Ex Machina. It would have been nice to know what he was about apart from “really damn cool”.)

Bai Haotian remained my favourite character. She is cute, sweet, romantic, and, for the lack of a better word, “girly”. She is not shy about her crush on Wu Xie, and is prepared to do a lot of reckless, dangerous things for him. None of the above undermine her intelligence, cunningness and authority. Xiao Bai is a young woman in a position of power, and she absolutely knows how to handle herself; for every time she is a damsel in distress, she gets to be the rescuer. For every time she puts herself in needless danger, she learns to collect herself and plan ahead. For every time she is bossed around, she turns and takes charge. Her journey is not the centred around getting the guy, but around discovering her self-assertion; she finds her place within his team not by being a romantic interest, but through her personal strengths. 

My absolutely favourite moment for her came when an antagonist used her affection for Wu Xie to get an upper hand on her, and she gets restrained, knife to her throat. Xiao Bai swivels away, knocks the attacker out and goes to town kicking him, to a great astonishment of this team, as she states that liking someone does not make her weak. 

And it doesn’t. Being in love has nothing to do with weakness or strength. Being a young, and excitable, and a woman does not equate to weakness either.

I’m not saying that this show is a feminist manifesto, because it is definitely not that. Every other prominent female character suffers a pitiful fate in service of creating motivation for the men of the story. But it does spend a lot of time making sure you, the viewer, know its heroes well enough to mentally befriend them. And if this means giving the female lead complexity, I cannot possibly be mad at that. 

So, this was it. This was the Lost Tomb Reboot. It brought me a ridiculous amount of joy and I will miss it a lot. 

And yes, the picture spams will be 100% an excuse to rewatch at least some of it. 

PS. Said spams miiiiight be gif based if I figure out a way to colour correct the damn things. 

[chelsfic]

Leftovers - Nandor the Relentless x Reader - WWDITS fanfic

Summary: Nandor saves you for later.

A/N: I just had a lot of feelings about this burly Ottoman warrior that needed an outlet. This is goofy as hell. The reader’s birthday is given as well as the background detail that she does roller derby. Also...I don’t want to commit to more parts, but as you can see it’s not complete soooo. There will be more.

Warnings: Female reader, Uh---vampiric blood drinking!, keeping humans as pets/snack food

---

“N-A-N-D-O-R...what is the date, today?” 

The vampire has long dark hair, equally dark soulful eyes and a rich, full beard. He’s peering down at you expectantly and it takes you a while to realize he’s waiting for an answer.

You clear your throat and swim through the fog in your brain to reply, “It’s...March 11th. ‘S my birthday…”

“Oh, really?” he grimaces uncomfortably and you idly observe that his fangs are still stained red with your blood. “That’s…unfortunate. Happy Birthday!”

He leans in and raises the Sharpie to your forehead. Is he writing his name and the date on you like you’re a take out container?

“Thanks…,” you murmur and then you’re floating beneath the surface again.

---

“Master, leftovers!” 

Someone is leading you by the hand into a candlelit room dominated by a large wooden coffin. You shake your head and look around you with bleary, confused eyes. How long have you slept? Or...is this a dream? The lid of the coffin opens suddenly and you squeak as a man sits up from inside.

“Leftovers?” Nandor whines and throws his Familiar a petulant scowl.

Guillermo holds up a hand and says with uncharacteristic confidence, “It’s my day off, remember? You can survive on leftovers and whatever you can scrounge up yourself tonight.”

“Fucking guy...forcing me to eat stale food,” Nandor curses under his breath as Guillermo flounces out of the room. 

You’re alone with...a vampire. The one who abducted you from roller derby practice and drank your blood last night. It’s coming back to you now. You watch him with wide, frightened eyes as he finally turns his focus on you. The intensity of his liquid gaze roots you to the spot even as your mind is pleading with you to flee.

“Alright, then. Put your neck in my mouth, little human,” he commands breezily, as if this is just one last formality for you and not the end of your mortal life.

“What?! N-no…,” you stammer. 

He clambers out of the coffin, coming to stand before you in all his glory. He’s massive. He towers over your short frame and his already broad shoulders are made more impressive by the long, ostentatious cape that flows down from them. Your eyes rake down his form of their own accord. He’d be handsome and totally your type if he weren’t currently trying to eat you. 

He sniffs the air with a look of distaste.

“Ugh, this is why I hate leftovers,” he whines and turns to address the far corner of the room, “They go stale. It’s the fear.”

You turn your attention to the corner and you’re startled to see an actual film crew just standing there. What the…

“Help me!” you implore, stepping in their direction. The vampire moves faster than your eyes can track. He’s just suddenly standing in your way.

“No, my little human. They are a documentary film crew. Just here to observe. I’m afraid they can’t intervene,” he explains, finally wrapping his arms around you and drawing you in closer. “But don’t worry, this will hardly hurt at all.”

And then he’s brushing your hair aside with an almost gentle stroke of his fingers and he’s lowering his mouth to your throat. There’s the briefest brush of soft lips over your skin and the sharp pain of his teeth sinking into your neck.

“Ow!” you complain, squirming in his grip. “You said it wouldn’t hurt!”

Nandor pulls back with a sheepish grin. His mouth is already painted red.

“I said ‘hardly’,” he corrects before plunging back into his feast.

You’re just starting to drift off into that foggy, wobbly, dreamy state when he releases his hold on your neck with one final lick of the wound. He rears back and looks at you with a ponderous expression on his bloodstained face.

“Even with the fear you are quite yummy... I think I’ll save you a bit longer after all…,” his voice is rich and hypnotic and--wait, he might actually be hypnotizing you, come to think of it.

Your brain is once again lagging and all you can utter is a soft, “Please…”

“That’s right, mortal,” he says in a saccharine tone, “I, Nandor the Relentless, have decided to show you mercy...for now.”

Your legs are like jelly. The only thing keeping you upright is Nandor’s arms. He hoists you up, cradling you to his chest and walking out the door.

My hero, you muse hysterically, half awake and half dreaming.

“Now, back to the cell, little mortal--”

NO!

“What!?” you screech wiggling in his arms until he drops you and you land in an ungraceful heap with a distinct pain in your backside. You look up at the ancient, powerful vampire standing over you and decide to beg, “Please don’t put me back in that cell. It’s horrible and cold and dank and--”

“Alright!” Nandor puts a stop to your rambling with a roll of his eyes. “Creepy jeepers! More trouble than you’re worth...”

He bends down and effortlessly lifts you back up into arms. He takes you into his room and settles you--of all places--inside the fur-lined coffin. A shiver runs down your spine but--you have to admit--it’s kind of cozy.

“Now, I am going hunting,” Nandor says. He leans down to catch your gaze, his eyes widening and his voice lowering an octave, coming out in a hypnotic drawl, “You will not attempt to escape from this house or from me. Sleep, mortal.”

You sleep.

---

“What the blazes! Nadja, darling, come here!” Laszlo calls from the doorway to Nandor’s crypt.

“Is it witches again?,” Nadja asks, following Laszlo into the room with a look of trepidation. “Laszlo I told you to get rid of that--Oh! A little mortal has snuck into Nandor’s crypt!”

The vampire couple stand over the open coffin, peering down at your prone form with twin looks of disgust.

“That’s what I thought, but look!” Laszlo reaches down and brushes your hair off your forehead to reveal the letters written in black permanent marker, Nandor - 11/3/20.

“Ew,” Nadja frowns, “he’s keeping food in his coffin?”

Laszlo nods with a look of outraged vindication, “And he calls me unhygienic!”

---

A/N: Good grief...please let me know if this is...anything. LOL.

[moved-to-darkplanets]

13, 14, 15, 17?

13. What makes you feel most “at home”? What types of sights, sounds, smells, etc. remind you of your kintype and put you at ease?

During even weak shifts the dark soothes rather than unnerves me. I am part of it, an extension of it contemplating itself. Standing in a darkened gym with no lights but the faint glow of security cameras is an incredibly zen feeling.

And I've said this before, it's a bit silly, but haunted houses are MASSIVE shift triggers. Dark, prowling halls where I am but one creature of the night among others are bliss, one of the easiest ways to feel like "myself" again. I go to as many as I can afford during spooky season.

I've also always had a strong connection to the waters that isn't always in the foreground depending on what form I've taken, but when it is, being near bodies of water, especially the ocean. The creature wants nothing more than to slither into the depths and to the ruins beneath, never to return.

14. On the flipside, what environments would make your kintype on edge? Do any of your fears now connect to things experienced/feared by your kintypes?

Loud, bright crowded places full of humans I can't get away from, such as shopping malls, are no good at all. I'm well aware that this is a kintype 🤝 ADHD thing, but still, the lens I filter it through is very much that of a creature outside of an environment where it's safe and comfortable rather than as an overstimulated human.

Another thing is as a creature of the dark in every sense of the word, a specific aesthetic of bright, "holy" things and Christian angel imagery makes my skin crawl for reasons I cannot find the words to articulate. Seeing as this kintype is psychological and has a definite component of religious trauma in its formation, this is also really not a surprise to me.

15. What was your first reaction to/opinion of your kintype? How has your opinion changed upon realizing that they, or at least a version of them, are you?

I read a lot of Cthulhu Mythos as a kid, and I always felt a strong sense empathy and fascination for the creatures within rather than fear. Particularly in the writings of Lovecraft himself and those with similar worldviews, where the horror is supposed to come in thier being repulsive and strange to human sensibilities rather than the danger they pose. My reaction was very much always "but why though?"

To be honest, when I discovered my kintype I was mostly relieved to have a label that clicked and the knowledge that there's no need to narrow it down to one specific form identifiable as "me" to still be otherkin. But with that settled it just made so much glorious sense. As someone rejected and othered by human society for not being wired like them and always drawn to things that were too, monsters feared more for disrupting people's delicate view of "normalcy" than anything, of course I had factored this into my self-image in a non-trivial way, to the degree that to be rid of it (if it would be even possible) would leave me a completely different, emptier being.

17. If you could, would you want to be your kintype? What would be some pros and cons of that if that were possible?

Yes, but only if I was not living on Earth. For one, I'm pretty sure I'm not made of regular matter and who knows what effects that would have on the planet. And the more pressing issue is that my kintype is solitary and aggressive as fuck. The bite-tear-kill thoughts in response to annoyance/feeling cornered/etc are very real and would lead to a body count if the creature was out mingling with the public on a daily basis.

The pros if Im in a different dimension are very real though. My species dysphoria would be gone is a pretty fucking big one. No more chronic pain and brain fog either. I would also be in more of a position to understand the true nature of my shapeshifting, no longer the incomprehensible trying to understand itself through a meaty human substrate. I would also a hell of a lot more intimidating so that would also be nice, heh...

[unsteadygalaxy]

all is soft inside chapter 13

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on Ao3, my username is the same there!

previous | next 

13. my heart still beats, and my skin still feels

And we're back! Thank you so, so much for your patience on this fic. I never intended for there to be a month in between chapters, but my life took a very sudden and very painful turn a few weeks ago that prevented me from writing for some time. I am unfortunately going through a divorce- something I never expected in a million years to happen. It's been very difficult to write about two characters falling in love while going through something like this. But I feel like I'm doing relatively well, and this chapter helped me to process some of my feelings about everything. Thank you again for your patience, and here we go! This chapter is a little shorter than the last few have been; sorry about that!

Brief reminder that I started writing and planning this fic before Pathfinder's Quest came out, so it does not align with canon. :)

Bloodhound settles the goggles in their lap, their hands eerily still, but Elliott only has eyes for their face. His mouth opens slightly, and he sucks in a light gasp. He never would have thought it possible, but they are so much more beautiful than he remembers. And he’s so close to them, too. Elliott is able to notice the details he had missed before now, like the fact that their gorgeous green eyes have the lightest rim of gold around the pupil. And Bloodhound has freckles! They dust their face lightly, none too prominent, but Elliott’s eyes roam over the constellation of dots, his heart dizzyingly happy. The slopes of their cheekbones are defined and proud, and their jawline is firm. Their pink lips are full and soft, parted slightly as they draw in shaking breaths. Bloodhound’s fire-red hair falls down past their shoulders in damp waves, and Elliott badly wants to run his hands through it. He pushes that desire way, way down to the bottom of his stomach.

The very last thing notices are the scars. All this time, all the moments he’s spent trying to remember them, he had had no recollection of them having scars. The quick glimpse he had got of them hadn’t left time for him to notice any. The presence of them doesn’t bother him at all- in fact, he only thinks they make them look more distinguished and beautiful. The same type of silvery spider web lines that are on their hands stretch across their face, only they’re a little darker. Each scar starts at the edges of their face and stretches inwards towards their nose. The middle of their face is the most unscathed, leaving a spotlight of unmarred ivory skin. Elliott’s eyes roam over their face, and if he wasn’t so enchanted, he might have been embarrassed at his open staring. A faded gash interrupts the softness of their mouth, and another scar slashes vertically through their right eye.

A soft smile crosses his face when he realizes the two of them have a matching scar.

His hand rises unconsciously, without his permission, and he reaches out. To his utter horror, they flinch, and their vulnerable eyes fill with fear. They capture his wrist in a flash, just before his fingers can caress their cheek.

“Nei. Vins- please do not do that ,” they mutter, and their voice is so broken, so afraid, so very unlike them that Elliott’s stomach feels as though it’s been crushed. Their eyes are clouded with such a deep anguish- pain so visceral and real that Elliott cannot hope to understand the depths of it. In this instant, he knows Bloodhound has endured much more than he could ever hope to know or discover, and he feels very, very small.

He’s harshly brought back to reality.

Their grip is tight around his arm, and it startles him. Bloodhound’s eyes flick down to where they’re holding him, and their face falls. They release his arm, and Elliott withdraws, refusing to rub away the light stinging.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Bloodhound, I-”

“Do not pity me. Please.” Their voice sounds so different without the mask- smoother and a little higher, but still so rich and full. Elliott is lost in it, drowning in the tendrils of smoke their voice emanates so effortlessly. His cheeks blaze and his entire body burns, sinking into the warmth and the fog.

“I-I wasn’t going to. I’m not. Or, I… don’t, I guess.” His hand seeks theirs again, and they flinch again when his bare skin makes contact with theirs. Who hurt them so badly that they’re afraid of holding hands? Elliott mourns, pins and needles piercing his heart into dust at the thought. He can’t take his eyes off theirs, and he drinks in their face like he’s dying of thirst. Sweat gathers between the lines of his palms, and he winces as he feels his palm soften in theirs.

“You’re beautiful.”

He blurts this without thinking, but Elliott believes it with his whole heart. He doesn’t care that they have scars- hell, he’s got some of his own. Dumb ones, cool ones, ones he’s not proud of…. All of them make him who he is, and he wouldn’t change any of them. Bloodhound’s scars look like silver threads stitching their skin together. If they allowed him, he would trace each scar with his fingers, and caress their face until he memorized every curve, every divot, every pathway.

“Ekki grí- Do not joke, Elliott,” they murmur, looking down. Their grip goes limp, and Elliott is too afraid to chase their hand as it retracts. “You are a master of wit, but I do not wish to be the subject of it. Do not lie to me.”

Ouch.

“Bloodhound, I’m not- I don’t-” He groans shortly, distressed with himself for not being able to articulate his feelings. “I’m not joking. I wouldn’t do that. I mean, yeah, I guess you’re right, I would. But not about this.” Their knees are still touching, and Elliott savors the small amount of contact. “Not about you.”

The tiniest bit of happiness breaks through the clouds of grief on their face, and a spike of joy pierces his heart. Bloodhound reaches for his hand and takes it, their grip hesitant at first, then sure. “Thank you, kæri vinur,” they murmur, their voice tight and obscured. “ Your kind heart is a true gipt.”  

Unshed tears arise and linger in their eyes, and Elliott’s body freezes up a little. Should I say something? What do I even say? ‘Sorry for calling you beautiful’? ‘Sorry for making you cry’? Inadequacy begins to surge through his brain, and his shoulders tense up in embarrassment. He’s not the best at this. Comforting his mom is one thing, but comforting someone he’s interested in is a whole different ball game.

Bloodhound’s expression is drawn and tight, and there is no subtlety in what they’re feeling. It strikes him that they’ve never been expressionless like he had assumed; their mask has to be practical for more reasons than one. He wonders what they truly look like when they smile, and his heart leaps a little when he realizes that he’s probably made them smile tons of times- he’s just never had the privilege of seeing the effects of his jokes.

“D...Does it hurt?” he asks, and he immediately feels stupid. The question surprises him on the way out of his mouth- he definitely hadn’t been thinking of asking before.

“What?”

“Your scars. D…Do they hurt?’

They blink in surprise, and their eyes are guarded, but wide. “...Only when it storms.”

As if to articulate their words, a massive bolt of lightning strikes somewhere outside, and thunder follows it immediately. Elliott flinches, and the comforting feeling around them threatens to break, but the warmth of the fire reaches around the two of them, reminding him that this space is safe and uninterrupted by rainfall.

Bloodhound winces ever so slightly, and Elliott realizes with a jolt that their face must be aching. Maybe the mask has some type of pressure system to help? He hopes so, because he can’t imagine being in pain every time it rains. Thinking about Bloodhound hurting makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He wishes he could hold them in his arms, and the desire to do so is so powerful that before he knows it, he has placed his hand on their cheek ever so softly.

His own cheeks burn, and he stutters, “I- uh-”

“V-Vertu kyrr, kæri vinur,” they whisper, placing a hand over his, and the way they stutter makes his stomach turn curiously. “Be still. Please… please stay there. Your touch is… comforting.”

Elliott freezes, now even more insecure at his sudden breach of their space. But he keeps his hand there, and he stares into their eyes. The longer he looks, the more at ease he feels- all wrapped up in the eager space of their pale green irises, completely lost in the gorgeous expanse of their face. Elliott watches them, feels the way they incline their head ever so gently into their touching hands. He can feel the slight roughness of their scars in his palm, but the feeling does not disgust him. They could never disgust him.

Elliott shifts closer to them, and their breath hitches in their throat. He’s hardly able to believe how nervous and bold he is all at once. With others it’s simple- a bit of flirting, a wink, and a strategic fleeting touch can definitely get him places- but with Bloodhound, it feels like he’s a fawn on new legs, wobbling and struggling to find his balance. All impulses and instincts are out the window, and hell, he’s not even sure if they feel the same way about him. There’s a lot of things he doesn’t know, he realizes, and he inhales sharply when he remembers that one of those things is their name.

“Can I ask what your name is?” he stutters, and he longs to stroke their cheek with the back of his fingers. He settles for brushing his thumb across their face, just under their eye.

Bloodhound inhales sharply, and flinches away from his hand. “No,” they answer quickly, their shoulders tensing and their eyes darting away. A stinging sensation zings through Elliott’s gut, and Bloodhound seems to notice his discomfort as he retracts his hand. “Fyrirgefðu mér,” they murmur, but their voice is much softer, much kinder. “In my culture we believe true names have power, and as such, we leave them behind when we are given a title. Only our family and those we love intimately are given the honor of knowing our true names.” Their cheeks turn a curious pink color, and Elliott’s stomach flips inside him.

“O-Oh.” Disappointment wells in him, and he feels foolish. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything.” His face burns in embarrassment once more, and they take his hand again.

“Do not worry, Elliott. It was an innocent question.” They pause for a moment, brows furrowing as they think. “I have not spoken that name aloud in… twenty-four years. It is quite foreign to me.” They look up and meet Elliott’s eyes. “I… often wonder if I will ever have the occasion to say it aloud again.”

He inhales softly, his lips parting, and a fuzzy sort of shock fills his limbs. Was that… Did they mean…? His mind races and goes blank all at once, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. Surely they didn’t mean him , did they? Is there any chance what they said was an invitation? Even with their full face in view, he can’t tell what they’re thinking. They stare at him, their eyes wide and shining, and he desperately wonders what’s in that beautiful head of theirs.

“I… I think you will,” he murmurs, sliding in closer to them. “There’s not a doubt in my mind. Someone amazing is gonna fall in love with you and… be worthy of hearing that name.” He looks down at the lining of his pants, inspecting it closely and refusing to meet Bloodhound’s gaze. Surely they would just… tell him if they had feelings for him, right? They’ve been direct enough with him this whole time- wouldn’t they just be up front with him?

It strikes him then that they’re sitting right in front of him, face completely bare, presumably in some degree of agony because of the storm, and they’re remaining in agony because of him. They consciously chose to remove their mask in front of him. Bloodhound made the concrete decision to show him their face, and he’s sitting here wondering if they trust him and care for him?

Elliott, you IDIOT.

His head tilts up until his eyes are level with theirs again. Bloodhound stares at him, and their beautiful lips part slightly, their green eyes guarded but yearning all at once. Elliott knows he’s leaping over the edge of something huge here, but still, he leans in slowly, so slowly. He swears his chest is vibrating from how hard his heart is beating, and his hands tremble. His lips are so, so close to theirs, and their breath washes over his chin, cold and… minty? Elliott’s forehead bumps against theirs, and he inhales sharply, wanting so bad to close those last few millimeters of space between him and them. His eyes fall closed, and he leans in…

“Elliott…”

Their voice is barely above a whisper, slipping from their lips in a soft sigh that holds so much meaning and none at all. His eyes fly open and he watches their face carefully, scouring their hills and valleys for any sign of protest or discomfort. He’s frozen in place, his skin sparking where it makes contact with theirs. Can he… should he...

And then they pull away.

Bloodhound does not meet Elliott’s eyes. “Ég get það ekki, ” they whisper, and while Elliott doesn’t understand, the meaning is clear. I can’t.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the cavern of his stomach dissolving into shame. Rejection rises in his throat, coating his airway and tightening it. Slowly, he pulls away, but he keeps their hand in his. “I’m so sorry.”

Bloodhound pulls away from him, stands swiftly, and strides toward the kitchen. Their sudden absence from his side sends a chill down his spine, and disappointment shreds his heart into pieces. He was wrong. How could he have been so wrong? How could he have been so stupid? Bloodhound doesn’t think of him that way- of course they don’t. Why did Elliott even assume they did? What makes him special to them in the slightest? Stupid, stupid Elliott, being nice to someone doesn’t mean they want to jump into your arms, he thinks. They’re probably better off without me, anyway. They don’t need a distraction for the Games. God, I’m stupid. They’re probably not even interested, or maybe-

“It’s that doctor, isn’t it?” he questions, his throat beginning to close up without his permission. He clears it and brushes a nervous hand through his hair. “Boone, or something, right? I mean, he’s really attractive and he speaks your language, so I get it. You said you grew up together, and I just assumed that maybe you guys were just friends, but I guess I just totally misread the situation and you guys are- t-together together, or whatever, I don’t know. That’s fine, that’s totally fine, you know- I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Elliott, please ,” they implore, and their voice comes out stressed and pained. Their face is in their hands, and the firelight flickers across their being, making the drying ends of their hair glow. “It is not Boone. We are not together. We once were, but… that was many years ago.”

Elliott stares, utterly confused and frustrated. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, but still… why? Did I mess up or say something wrong?”

Bloodhound growls a sigh, a short sound that stings Elliott as it comes. “No,” they answer, their hands going to rub the back of their neck as their body tenses up. “No, you did nothing wrong. I just… I am not worthy of you, kæri vinur. I never will be.”

His jaw drops open and all he can do is stare at them, dumbfounded. Bloodhound? Not worthy of ME? Their back is to him, and he wishes he had the guts to go to them and take them in his arms. “W-What do you mean? You’re not worthy of me? I, uh, I was gonna say it’s the other way around.” Saying it out loud makes a funny feeling leap in his stomach, a feeling that he very much does not like.

A short, sharp sob hisses between their lips, and he’s not even really sure it is a sob. It sounds like a strangled laugh, but he can’t be sure. They turn to face him and he’s alarmed to find tears in their eyes. “I assure you, Elliott. The forréttindi- privilege- of being loved fully and completely was made unavailable to me long ago. There is no denying it, and no retrieving it. I have done too much, hurt too many, k-killed-” Their eyes go impossibly wide, and they slap a hand over their mouth.

Killed?

“...I’ve killed people, too, Bloodhound,” he murmurs, but the admission feels hollow. He hasn’t really killed anyone, not fully and completely. But the memories of broken bodies and spilled blood floats in the forefront of his mind- memories and images that often keep him up at night from how horrifying they are. Being in the Games had given him ample opportunities to be around death, though he had to admit, none of it was permanent. Bloodhound’s slip of the tongue feels… much more damning.

“You do not understand,” they hiss, and even though he knew it was coming, the pitch and force of their words slips a knife between his ribs and twists. “You could never understand.”

“Let me at least try,” he begs, standing from the couch. “Bloodhound, how can I understand if you won’t let me?”

“You do not need to understand, Elliott!” Their voice is desperate, raw, and the timbre of it makes Elliott’s heart ache inside him. Anguish etches into every line and scar of their face, obscuring the kindness and fear he had once seen there. “I will never be worthy of you, and it is directly because of my own aðgerðir og val- actions, choices. I came to terms with that long ago, and I suggest you do the same.” They lock eyes with him finally, their green irises swimming in tears, and their jaw is trembling as they try to keep it in place. “You deserve someone whole, untainted, hreinn og laus við þessar syndir sem ég hef framið-” They slip into their native tongue as sobs begin to press at their frame, and they make no attempt to correct themself.

He takes a few steps forward, holding out a hand to try and take one of theirs. “Bloodhound, I-”

“Don’t .” They push his hand away and step backwards, their heel hitting the corner of the couch. They wince, and Elliott has never wanted anything more than to gather them in his arms and hold them there until their grief was spent. He stares at them, his own lips beginning to tremble, and he swallows back the lump in his throat. He knows there is no changing their mind, no convincing them otherwise, and the lost opportunity hangs between them like a feather caught on an updraft, unlikely to touch down again.

“I think it is best that you leave.” Their voice is tight and low, almost as low as it would be with the mask on. They do not meet his eyes, and instead walk to the door.

Elliott’s body nearly crumbles under the waves of shame and pain crashing over him, but some unseen force keeps him standing. The warmth that had once surrounded them has been replaced by a stark cold, even though the fire still blazes in the hearth. The comfort he had felt was gone, replaced by a grating pain that rubs against him over and over again. “If that’s what you really want,” he replies.

They nod.

He bites his lip as he gathers his shoes and socks and pulls them on. They’re still the slightest bit damp, but he’s numb to the texture of them, too focused on the anguish starting to stir inside his chest. He moves as though he’s in a trance, and his feet carry him to the door. He wants so badly to reach out and touch them again, but there’s an unmistakable wall between them now, and to breach it would be unforgivable.

It’s entirely up to them to scale it now.

Bloodhound opens the door and makes sure to stay behind it. “I am sorry,” they murmur, their jaw still trembling.

“Me too.” He can’t meet their eyes.

Elliott steps out of the apartment and into the hallway, and the door shuts behind him with a soft click.

[sloppy-butcher]

i,,i would like to request a rarepair ship i came up with. Caleb/Kazan. Something *exceptionally* soft maybe..? if you do requests like this, ofc. ty!!

sweetie... baby... you aren’t the only one! sooooo many people ship Caleb and Kazan! Welcome to the club!!!! we have jackets. i pushed this request forward because i really like this ship and i don't see enough of it

thank you for requesting it!!! i hope it's good enough! i actually really enjoy writing these types of things so please if anyone has any more hmu!!!

very bad nsfw below the cut

HeadCanons for The Deathslinger (Caleb Quinn) with The Oni (Kazan Yamaoka)

Caleb has been with many lovers both male and female. It was the Wild West, after all, people lived fast and died young and were always itching to get down and dirty with absolutely anyone. Caleb was no exception but even with his multiple partners, he had never seen anyone the size of Kazan. Cowboys were small by nature, having to live off the back of a horse in a hostile desert meant that men were always thin and lanky. Kazan was a complete 180 on everything Caleb has ever known. The robust, behemoth of a man rivaled Caleb’s own height and was about three times his width. He often caught himself wondering about the samurai, daydreaming if one could be so bold - thinking about how anyone could be so big and have hands so large. How does one even maintain or feed a weapon like that? “He’s built like a demon,” Caleb commented to an otherwise oblivious Evan. “He’s called the Oni for a reason. It means ‘ogre’ or ‘demon’ or something in Japanese.” Evan snorted before leaving the dusty cowboy alone with his thoughts.

Kazan would also be very intrigued by the cowboy's appearance. All the samurai has known is war therefore he judges all people by their presumed performance in battle. At first glance, Kazan files Caleb under the category of ‘dying in the first fight’. The man was skinny with little to no visible muscle on his frame and had an awful limp limiting his movement and ability to attack or defend. But as Kazan inspected the cowboy more he realized that he had more to him than just his appearance. Caleb was smart, the smartest man Kazan had ever met. Kazan believed Caleb could build anything in the world; give the man the right materials and tools and he could build a weapon to kill God. He felt great respect for the cowboy, for his brains and his mastership of all things mechanical and gunpowder.

Caleb let Kazan hold his gun once, which is a feat in of itself as he was very protective of his weapon. He showed Kazan how to position the gun on his shoulder, how to look through the aiming rig, and shot down its sights. Kazan was eager to feel the boom of the gun but his finger couldn’t touch the trigger. His hands were too big.  “Would ya look at that?” Caleb said taking the gun from the samurai and inspecting the trigger. He chuckled then looked at the other, “You’re too big. Here,” Caleb raised his hand for Kazan to see, “Lemme get a good look at ‘em.” Kazan obliged and placed his own to the cowboys. Caleb had to hold back a gasp, they were huge! Massive digits with long claws at the fingertips. After a moment of gawking Caleb dropped his hand and let out a laugh. “Damn.” He tipped his hat and walked away, Kazan following behind wondering why he was laughing. He thought Caleb's hands were cute.

They would be the old grandpa squad of the Fog. Expect them to be seen walking around together, gossiping about all sorts of things. They would comment on new outfits and weapons that other killers would receive from the Entity; "Have you seen that Legion gangs' new rabbit-looking skin?" Caleb leaned over to Kazan who shook his head no, eager for the cowboy to continue. "Bunch of pansies is what I call 'em. Running 'round in bright-colored masks. Ain't looking scary or nothing." Kazan sighed disappointed, "No honor." Julie overhears them and rolls her eyes, "It's not meant for YOU old-timers!"

Forgive me if I am wrong, but in Japanese culture, people refer to others by their last name. Thus when Caleb meets the Spirit he is told that it is polite to call her Yamaoka. He does so gladly. But when he for the Oni’s name, the samurai insists that he calls him Kazan. When asked about this from Rin, Kazan shrugs. “I don’t think he would understand.” He replied. Of course, that wasn’t necessarily true. Maybe it was because Kazan secretly liked being called by his first name. Maybe he liked the idea of having a personal link with the cowboy?

Side note; Kazan immediately regrets telling Caleb to use his first name because, after being called ‘Darlin’, Kazan only ever wanted to be called that. The word was so smooth sounding coming from the cowboy’s mouth and the way it was directed at him made him feel fluttery inside.

They would take alternating turns as to where they would spend each night. Some nights, Kazan would show Caleb around the sanctum and its many smaller shrines and temples. Caleb would ask many questions about his culture, intrigued by its deep heritage and his passion in history. Although Kazan struggles to speak English for the cowboy, he becomes elated whenever he gets to speak about his people, his chest would puff out with pride and he would start lecturing Caleb. Once he became so involved in his storytelling that Kazan unconsciously switched to Japanese. Caleb hadn’t the heart to tell Kazan that he couldn’t understand him and just allowed him to continue, nodding his head and wowing every time Kazan looked to him for reassurance. Afterwords Kazan would realize his mistake. “I was... speaking Japanese the whole time. Wasn’t I?” Caleb would laugh at the sight of Kazan’s personal disappointment. “No worries my friend.” Caleb patted the larger man's shoulder, “It’s all in good fun.”

“Why do you like my stories so much?” Kazan asked Caleb as they stood before his broken and decaying statue. Caleb, with a curious hand under his chin, tilted his head at the artwork marveling in its details. “I don’t have ya kind of history. My culture is just horses, whiskey, and gun powder. I respect ya, I suppose.” Kazan was surprised by Caleb's answer; it was the first time that the cowboy had outwardly expressed his affection for the other man. “Besides,” Caleb continued turning to give Kazan a cheeky wink, “Ya look like ya really enjoy telling the stories.”

NSFW!! The nights that they spend at Caleb's place were ones that almost always ended in sex. It was the alcohol, at least that’s what Caleb blames it on. He always makes a point to get plastered when Kazan watches; Caleb brings out bottles of faded yellow liquid, “I can down 2 gallons of this here whiskey in 10 minutes flat.” He then produces another smaller bottle, one christened with the label of a skull and cross-bones, “And this baby,” He shakes it threateningly, “Is the cherry on top.”  9 minutes later Caleb is swaying and hiccuping, his words slurred and face flushed. Kazan has only partaken in the excessive drinking once; he lasted 6 minutes before blacking out. When Caleb drinks he gets frisky. The alcohol helps him forget about the persistent pain in his leg making him feel young and adventurous and horny.

Caleb leaned into Kazan, slowly tracing a finger over the faces of the samurai’s armor. “Ya come here often, darlin’~?” Kazan lowered his comically small glass of whiskey to take Caleb in his arms. He knew where this was going. To the bedroom.

The first time they had done it, Kazan was pissed out of his mind. Combine Caleb's drunken confidence with Kazan’s inability to restrain himself and you have the recipe of one dangerous night. When Kazan thinks back he is amazed by how Caleb actually managed to handle himself in bed. From that night onwards, Kazan made it a point to never drink beyond his limit for fear of hurting the frail man in an uncontrollable frenzy. Caleb would scoff and punch Kazan in the shoulder. “Oh don’t be such a long skirt wench. Live a little.”

Kazan loved waking up in bed with Caleb. The man’s alcohol-filled morning breath was something the Oni had to get used to and Caleb had top learn to share the bad but after a while it becomes custom. Kazan would rake his long-nailed hands through Caleb's tangled hair trying his best to brush it. “You have to look after yourself, Caleb.” Kazan would reprimand only receiving a groan from the Deathslinger as he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

[justacomedy-archived]

I’ve decided to go ahead and throw up another OOC update on my health and activity here just to keep my mutuals in the loop as my activity has been severely slow over the last few weeks. The update on my health is under the cut. Here’s a quick summary for anyone who doesn’t feel like reading about my health problems lmao: I’m really hoping that over the course of the week, I can try to get on and start scheduling threads- even if it means I only reply to one or two a day. But I will not push past my health to do so. So please don’t expect some massive influx of replies coming from me any time soon as I’m trying my best with what I can do. I’m just dying to write because I really miss it and Arthur is heavily on my mind because my muse is SO high to write, I just haven’t had the physical strength or energy to actually do so. Your patience is always greatly appreciated. My writing here will be very slow- but I’m here lurking on mobile and available to talk and plot things out. I also have discord which is available upon request to mutuals only. 

I’ve finally seen a pain management specialist, who hasn’t been able to give me the answers that I need quite yet because my healthcare is god awful and my regular doctors have yet to do their part. But that’s besides the point. I’m getting the help I need with this specialist and I even cried at my appointment because I was SO fucking thankful that someone finally can actually help me after being in such excruciating pain every single day for weeks on end being physically crippled.  I am finally scheduled in to get an MRI done. My specialist suspects that I either have a bulging or a herniated disk in my back. He pointed out that at my age, I should have easily recovered from that sort of injury within the matter of weeks, but here I am nearly three months later still heavily relying on a cane and often times a walker to get around because the pain is still extremely severe. I can barely get around my house and I’ve been living in a haze of prescription medications that barely seem to actually help me rather than putting my ass to sleep for half of the day and leaving me forgetting what the fuck I’m doing while I’m doing things. It’s been horrible to say the least. Until he can confirm his suspicions with the MRI I’m waiting for, he’s putting me on a very strong medication that I will start tonight and will have to start on a low dose and increase every few days as my body adjusts to the medicine as I reach the dosage he wants me to be on. With this being said, he already warned me of the side affects and it sounds like I’ll be going through even more brain fog, nausea and fatigue than I have been in the days coming. I’m assuming it might take me up to a week or two to fully adjust to this medication and hopefully by then, I’ll not only be able to function better, but maybe I wont be in as much pain because someone finally gave me something that will target the specific type of pain that I’m feeling. I’m also keeping my fingers crossed as I will be applying for a handicapped parking decal because I desperately need it as I can barely get across the parking lot every time I have to go anywhere and I’m really hoping that he will sign off on my paper work so I can get that situated.  ANYWHO. I’m not posting these sorts of updates for pity. I guess I just don’t really have anywhere else to vent about my shit show of a life and it’s kind of nice getting it off my chest and I know some of you have been keeping up with my health as I post to keep my writing partners aware of why I’m so slow on here all of a sudden. Hopefully this is the start of some sort of recovery and I won’t be walking around feeling like a 90 year old for much longer, but until then- that’s life I suppose. 

[mental-mona]

On Chronic Illness Part 1

You ask me how I'm doing. I plaster a smile on my face, say "Ok, how are you?" and we make small talk. But what I really want to say is, "I feel like crap. My head is killing me and I'm coming off a bipolar episode. Every day is pain. It's making me irritable, and what I really want to do right now is go home and collapse. Now, unless you want to help me in some way, would you please leave me alone so I can do that?" Except that you would be completely taken aback by that and not know how to respond. Unexpectedly telling someone that life isn't so great is not a socially acceptable thing to do; unless the person is a really close friend I'm supposed to just pretend everything's fine as we exchange the usual pleasantries. Besides, opening up and admitting that I'm having issues leaves me far too vulnerable, and who wants to be vulnerable?

If you are more than a nodding acquaintance, at this point you probably stop me and say, "But I do care! I do really want to hear about what's happening with you!" To which my response is, no, you probably don't. If I were to complain to you about how much pain I'm in as often as I want to, i.e. as much as it hurts, you would soon think that I'm horribly whiny and try to distance yourself. If I were to complain about how much this is killing my life and my ability to do anything, you would think that I'm being lazy and self-centered. Maybe I am being a bit self-centered, but let's see how well you function in this position and then we'll talk.

Let me try to help you understand. Have you ever read about spoon theory? If not, read it here. I'll wait. Do you have a little more perspective now? Good. Would you believe that Christine left out a crucial aspect of how spoons work? She touched on it, but didn't go into it. See, I can start off the day with 20 spoons, and then in the middle of the day when I've already used 8 spoons get a wave of pain or a massive mood swing that knocks off 10. Basically what happens then is that either I "borrow against tomorrow's spoons," as she put it, and guarantee that I'll be nonfunctional the next day, or more likely I ask my husband to help me out because there is no way I'm up to making dinner. Also, in addition to every little item on the day's agenda being broken down into multiple spoon-stealing pieces, some tasks may cost more than one spoon. For example, driving to class or work might be one spoon, but spending a day actually in class or at work is more like 5 spoons.

Christine talks about starting off with 12 spoons and making them last through the day, using a somewhat simplified explanation of how every tiny aspect of every task costs a spoon. Personally, due to the need to break everything down and the reasons I described above, I'd be happy if I could manage self-care on a day when I woke up with just 12 spoons, never mind do anything that you'd consider an accomplishment or even just a routine part of normal life. Imagine a day like that, where you wake up with so few spoons that the most you can expect of yourself is to put food in your stomach a few times and maybe change PJs, and that's assuming that the pain doesn't knock you out even worse than it already has. Now imagine an even worse day, one where you're so depressed that all you can do is curl up in bed and cry, or you're paralyzed by anxiety, or you're in such physical agony that you can barely move. What would you do on a day like that? Ask a loved one to come take care of you? Suffer through it with nothing but a water bottle and the tortilla chips you found in that brief moment when you managed to pull it together enough to go foraging? Now imagine having days like that on a regular basis for weeks, months, or even years. Getting the picture?

It's not just the pain itself; it's the emotions that accompany it. If you're male, you've probably been socialized to be a provider for your family and to be stoic about your physical and emotional pain, correct? If you're female, you've probably been socialized that you're supposed to take care of everyone around you, and though you're allowed to be emotional, you're also supposed to be able to move on after a good cry, right? Well, now you can't fulfill either of those gender roles. You're knocked flat, and until your doctors figure out how to cure you or at least get your symptoms under control, you will continue to be out of commission for the foreseeable future. Good luck being stoic about your pain or quickly moving on from it. If you weren't already depressed, you probably will become so now. Think about it: unrelenting pain and debilitation, inability to function as a normal member of society, needing someone or a rotating group of someones to take care of you...for your average fiercely independent adult, this is an incredibly painful prospect in and of itself.

You'll notice that in addition to pointing out how pain can depress you on its own, I've been treating physical and emotional pain as equal in terms of the definition of chronic pain. That's because to the sufferer, they are equally debilitating and feel equally horrible, even if they affect functioning in different ways. If I'm in constant physical pain then my body's run off with my mind, and no matter what my brain wants to take on, if my body isn't up for it then it's not going to happen. If my mood's gone haywire then my mind has basically run off with my body, and I won't have either the energy or the emotional wherewithal to face my life. Please don't brush off my depression or whatever debilitating thing is going on with my mind as me just being melodramatic and/or lazy. The thought of trying to face life is genuinely exhausting and overwhelming; I just can't do it. The thoughts in my head and my screwed up mental biochemistry won't let me.

Similarly, don't write off my complaints of constant physical pain as malingering or melodramatic. It really does hurt too much for me to function, and it really is a constant thing. If I say I can't do something one day, I mean it. I may have a migraine so bad that my head is throbbing in time with my heartbeat and I can't see straight, or abdominal pain so bad that all I can do is double over with a hot pack and wait for it to disappear, or all-over muscle pain so bad that I can't find any comfortable position whatsoever, or all-over joint pain that makes something protest every time I move...the list goes on. Depending on my condition, I may also be completely exhausted and fog-brained.

Remember, these are things that I feel to some extent even on good days when I can more or less function. On bad days I'm completely incapacitated. I've tried to help you understand what I'm going through, but if you've never been mentally ill or in chronic physical pain, you will never quite be able to fully get where I'm coming from. So, now do you see why you really don't want to listen to me complain about the pain as much as it actually hurts?