#and my mental illness and having to fight it every single day and believe me when I say that it's a fight

[skinnypaleangryperson]

The combination of being used as an adult and being told that this is the rest of my life, and not being able to afford my dreams of a family and never being creatively successful even in a mediocre local way has spewed my brain out into mental disorders that I didn't even know existed and has unfortunately affected the way that I can healthily navigate social media. One of these days I'm going to get smart enough again and I'm not going to come on here and spew out every possible issue or insecurity and I'm going to obtain basic sense and a sense of individuality and confident core sentiment again, unfortunately, not anytime soon

[petit-etoile]

Astarion/Tav prompt (or Reformed Durge): "I would have you smile again. You will live to see these days renewed. No more despair." I know it's a Lord of the Rings quote but gosh if it doesn't remind me of them ;-;

this  is  the  end  of  the  world ( a  time  for  something  biblical  )

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 5,219 content warnings: canonical mentions of death, spoilers for the dark urge storyline & astarion's act iii romance, graphic mentions of injuries, references to cann.ibalism as a metaphor for love, mental health issues & physical ramifications from the tadpole + rejecting bhaal, i highly recommend listening to the exogenesis symphony by muse other tags: canon compliant,  canon-typical violence,  character study,  introspection,  hurt/comfort,  whump,  canon temporary character death,  the dark urge as player character,  codependency,  religious imagery & symbolism,  p.orn with plot archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene be added to the taglist here

summary:  ‘Stay,’ Astarion says weakly. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

‘Your life is mine,’ he says, cruel eyes gazing at you. ‘Accept your inheritance, or I will reclaim it.’

‘I would rather die,’ you say.

His hateful eyes narrow dangerously. It was never a good idea to betray a god, nonetheless one who had created you so lovingly. His voice is a low growl when he dismisses you  —  and suddenly, white-hot pain shoots through your veins and threatens to swallow you whole. Bhaal raises his hand and your blood obeys.

‘You were made to conquer,’ he snarls. ‘To devour!’

‘I don’t need any of this,’ you spit out. ‘I don’t need you. The only family  —  I know are those who fight by my side! I will not be what you made me!’

The sickness in your belly surges until you think it will overcome you. You stagger forward until your knees hit the stone floor. Bhaal is forcing you to submit, to become what he had made Orin. This thing won’t have you, Astarion whispers against the curve of your ear. It won’t win. You’ve got this, darling. And I’ve got you. You want to believe him, but your blood-kin has done damage beyond repair. What were children beyond the sins of their father?

‘You reject my blood?’ Bhaal asks.

‘Yes,’ you whisper.

‘Then I shall reclaim it,’ he says, his promise a growl in his throat.

You were your father’s seed cultivated to perfection by determination and bravery. Now, you were nothing more than a disappointment to be snuffed out root and stem. You choke on the warmth in your throat. Your veins seem to have exploded beneath your skin. You sneeze, red oozing from every orifice.

‘I will make another who is worthy,’ says Bhaal, lifting his hand.

As he raises his hand, you are forced to kneel. Every single one of your muscles contracts in agony. The others might be shouting but you can hardly hear them over the roaring in your ears. Your blood is rejecting you. Festering inside your flesh like a disease. Like the skeleton carved into the wall, you weep blood down your neck. No matter how hard you try to close your eyes to prevent it, your rich ichor abandons you.

No, you want to tell him. The rot of his blood will end with you as it had with Orin. The abomination of murder will never set forth and harm another. You reach for the dagger at your hip and raise it, but the Avatar of Bhaal dissipates before you can strike. The weight of your body collapses  forward.

Like a wounded beast, you keen loudly, shaking your head as if that will free your ears from the blood inside of them. You were born from this blood. You were created by this blood to be who you are today. Rejecting it should be like a sin  —  but if sin is a seed, you have eaten it willingly from the hand of mortality. If Bhaal is to reject you, then you will reject his godhood.

You close your eyes as blood overtakes your sight. You press your forehead into the stone to fight your fever. You shiver and gasp. You gargle on the proof of vitriol and lean into the chilled floor, resigned to your fate. At least you wouldn’t become a mindflayer…

“No!” Astarion wails. Your heart shatters. ‘No, please  —  Not you!’

I’m sorry, you say. You close your eyes and remember the color of the sun in his hair. I didn’t mean for this to happen. This isn’t what I wanted. Your fingers curl against the stone, and then  —  There’s nothing. Astarion touches the sleepless bruises beneath your eyes with such tenderness you forget his strength. You lean your cheek into his palm and sigh sleepily, but even as exhaustion overtakes your body, you shudder. You’re afraid to sleep, to dream. You don’t want to hurt anyone else ever again.

‘You have to rest, my love,’ he murmurs. He allows you to lay on his hand as though it were a pillow. ‘When was the last time you slept through the night?’

‘I’m not sure,’ you confess.

‘I might be a sleepless creature of the night,’ Astarion says, ‘but you… You needn’t fear your dreams when I am here. I’ll protect you no matter the cost.’

‘And who will protect you if I sleep?’ you ask.

You must be frowning, because Astarion uses his other hand to soothe the crease between your eyebrows. He sounds so outrageously heartbroken that you want to cry. You don’t want him to think he isn’t a comfort… You haven’t slept beside someone in so long, and the warmth of his body has always lulled you to your dreams peacefully until recently.

Astarion swallows thickly. ‘I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of this. I’m with you forever and always.’

But what if there isn’t an always?

‘There is always a future for you and I,’ Astarion vows. ‘Now sleep. He can’t control you as long as I’m around.’ When you open your eyes again, you’re greeted by the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. His eyes are a soft cerise, and his cheeks are high and sleek, his lips plump and his hair soft and curled. An angel. You’re unable to control the way you reach your hand to touch his cheek, smearing a crystalline tear across his wan skin.

‘Who are you?’ you whisper, voice caught painfully in your throat.

‘Hush now, my love,’ he whispers. He presses a sweet kiss to your mouth, and when he pulls away, his lips are ruddy and wet. ‘Thank the gods… I thought I had lost you.’

Oh, you think. You remember now. This is the man from your dream… You try to recall the details of how you know him, but it’s hard to follow a train of thought. You turn from side to side. It’s so hard to move, to focus. Your limbs feel as though they are made of lead and marble. Everything aches. The tips of your fingers and your nails down to the little bones in your toes. Your head, though, is the only part of you free from intense pain. It’s as though a weight has been lifted from the veil of your memories. You rest your arm across your waist, too tired to keep it lifted.

‘Who…’ Your brows furrow in confusion. ‘Who am I?’

‘I know you were once a child full of life and love,’ the angel says to you, gently cradling your face in his hands. ‘I know one day you were afraid and unsure and half-mad. I know you stained the streets red with cruelty and devised a plan larger than all of Faerûn. But I know you are strong and that your heart is good. You saved the tieflings, and you saved the refugees, and now you will save the world that threatens to be plunged into darkness.’

You smile. ‘That doesn’t sound like me at all,’ you confess.

The angel shakes his hand, fingers pressing hard into your skin. His voice breaks. ‘But I know it to be true, so you must believe my every word. You are brave. You are kind. You are good. You are my love, and I know that I am loved by you in return. You are a protector,’ he tells you. ‘You have protected everyone, and now it is time to protect yourself. You have survived two gods and now you must survive a third.’

The knot in your throat grows larger with every word. You think you remember now. Yes, you can remember it all very clearly. You know the weight of his hands like baptism. You turn your cheek and kiss his palm, smudging his skin pink.

‘Astarion,’ you whisper.

Your love smiles down at you, your blood dribbling down his chin.

‘What happened?’

‘Let’s not worry about that,’ he shushes you, massaging the bruises beneath your eyes. ‘Come, let us get you cleaned up.’

‘I don’t think I can walk yet,’ you say. Admitting it makes you feel weak.

‘Don’t worry,’ Astarion says softly. ‘I can carry you.’

‘I will bloody your clothes,’ you say.

‘Bloody them,’ Astarion says. ‘I don’t care.’

Astarion does carry you. He carries you all the way back to the inn, to a private room just the two of you share. He orders a tub to bathe you in and then takes an hour to scrub your skin clean, carefully cleaning your gore from your hair and scalp.

You watch as Astarion passes a bar of soap against the skin of the top of your arm over and over again until it is red then pink then flesh. Then, he gently twists your wrist. He cleans the underside of your arm next, and your palm. He washes your fingers until they do nothing but shake in the cold air. You curl your fingers around his.

‘Was it hard?’ you ask him.

‘I will never forget the smell of your scent,’ Astarion replies.

He moves to wash the hollow between your collarbones, encouraging you to recline in the water. He washes your chest and your stomach until his grief washes over him in waves. His chin shakes until a sob escapes. He presses his face into your hair and wails softly into your crown. When he’s done weeping, Astarion returns to his cleansing. He speaks not of it again. There is so little of you left.

You often wonder how much of your brain is left between the parasite and the hole your father has left you. Sometimes Jaheira still looks at you as though the rot of your father isn’t entirely gone. You don’t blame her. You’re waiting for your control to snap. You were good once. You could be good again. You want to be good again.

Shadowheart smiles at you now. Lae’zel no longer frowns. Even Wyll has taken up eating beside you again when it’s nighttime and the adventure can go no more. Gale pours you an extra serving of wine. He says you need it. Karlach lets you hold Clive at night when Astarion goes hunting, and he goes hunting often now. It makes you wonder if your blood is vile.

Part of you wants to ask him if you’ve done something wrong. You’ve committed no crime, but you feel like you have. Your memories of before are slipping away. Your memories of now seem to do the same.

You wait in your tent that night for Astarion to return, your blanket pulled around your head and shoulders. You rehearse what you’re going to say. You want to reassure him you’re not angry. You just…feel loss. Empty. The loneliness nips at your bones like crows at carrion.

When Astarion slips inside, he looks guilty. It almost makes you want to change your mind, but you have to know. You feel as though you’re going mad. A flightless bird trapped in a cage. Like Dame Aylin trapped in Shadowfell. He refuses to meet your gaze.

‘Have I done something  —  ’

‘You,’ Astarion says through gritted teeth, ‘are perfect. Every time.’

You want to cry. ‘Then why do you avoid me?’

‘Avoid you?’ Astarion repeats incredulously. He looks at you now despairingly. ‘No, that isn’t what this is at all. I would never avoid you.’

‘You’re hunting more often,’ you say in a low tone, a whisper. Accusatory.

‘Can you blame me?’ he asks plainly.

It’s your turn to look away in shame. ‘If it’s too much, you should sleep somewhere else.’

‘I don’t want to be apart from you,’ Astarion says.

‘Then how do we fix this?’

‘You cannot fix what is not broken.’

‘Astarion,’ you plead. ‘Hold me or  —  I don’t know who I am anymore.’

Astarion wraps his arms around you before you can say another word. His lips are like a halo against your head. Each kiss he presses against your scalp is a prayer from a sinner. You turn your cheek, and he kisses you so passionately it makes your empty head spin.

You relearn who are you in his arms that night. And as he regales you with tales of your history, you think you can imagine them in your mind’s eye. He kisses your wrist. He tells you a happy memory when he kisses the curve of your belly, and when he kisses your ankle, he promises you that everything will be worth it.

It wasn’t you that was the problem. There wasn’t a problem, not really. Only an impiety he wanted to atone for. He struggles with telling you, but when he whispers it against your thigh, you understand.

‘Your blood,’ he says, voice strained. ‘I cannot escape the smell.’

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, but he shakes his head and his hair tickles your sensitive skin.

‘No, I  —  It is my shame,’ he confesses. ‘I’ll admit I’m a lech.’

Astarion struggles to put his words in a coherent structure. When you died, he was horrified and distraught. Only the gods know how hard he wept seeing you lifeless. Yet it was his vampiric nature that had betrayed him almost as much as your life’s blood had betrayed you. He felt hunger.

How could he be sad when he was so ravenous? Was he not an evil man, or is this what made him evil? That, in all of his beautiful tears and lamentation, the urge to devour you, bones and all, nearly consumed him? Your death was horrible, ugly, wretched. Your death was beautiful and coveted.

Astarion devours you again that night, mouthing and licking and sucking at your swollen core. He makes you a martyr in his grief. His tongue teases you over and over again. When you’ve climaxed once, Astarion seeks out to make you do it again until your legs are shaking violently and your voice has gone hoarse. He doesn’t take you that night, not in the traditional way, but he swallows you up regardless.

It isn’t until afterwards when he’s laying with his head on your chest that you understand his tragedy. It’s a misfortunate impossibility trying to grieve when you can’t stop salivating. Astarion thinks you’re horrified by the admission, but after knowing your past, it was hard to feel scandalized by anything.

You pet his curls away from his face, watching as he listens to the hum of your heartbeat. He might have it memorized by now, but each time it beats, Astarion’s eyelashes flutter with admiration. It is a hymn, a doxology, a liturgy that only he knows the words to. After all, he wrote them on your skin and immortalized them forevermore. He is so beautiful, you think, when there is no trouble to be seen.

You were once both trapped by your dark god’s design. You had set yourself free. You had sprouted the wings of a swan guided by the empathy you had planted in a garden as a child. It would be Astarion’s soon, and you would carry him in compassion until the thorn crown was placed upon his brow.

Astarion’s eyes are closed. In your perpetually confused state, you mistake him for having fallen asleep and resort to doing the same. The city becomes chilly at night and your skin is decorated with gooseflesh. He rises almost immediately and you try to chase after him, fingers piercing through a ghost.

‘I wasn’t going anywhere,’ Astarion says immediately. He drags his cape from the corner of the tent and lays it across your shins. ‘You were shivering.’

‘I’m not used to this  —  ’ Will my mind ever be the same? ‘  —  chill.’

‘I will be here,’ he promises. ‘Here, let me hold you for the night.’

You clumsily trade places with him, and he tucks your blanket and his cape around your body as tightly as he can. He kisses you passionately and you taste your familiarity in his mouth. It’s so sweet that you sigh. ‘I know what you did,’ Orin says hatefully, spitefully, cruelly. Her voice is like honey.

‘What have I done?’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t know?’ she asks. ‘Filthy rotten blood-kin undeserving of our father’s gift!’

You repeat yourself. ‘What have I done?’

‘You,’ Orin spits, ‘think your grey matter deserves to be loved! I should carve it out! I should make it disgusting and sticky again! Split it’s skull open! You foul traitor!’

Slowly, you pull Orin into your chest. You hug her and smooth her hair down her back. Her arms wrap around you begrudgingly until the lovingkindness causes her to rupture. She sobs into your neck hideously, clinging to you. She wails and she wails until you are both children again staring up at your grandsire for approval.

‘It isn’t fair,’ Orin tells you, hiccuping. She wipes her nose with her fingers. ‘It isn’t fair.’

‘I love you, blood-kin,’ you say. You kiss the top of her head.

‘Slaughter kin,’ she says sadly. She holds your hand with her snotty palm.

‘Sister,’ you say. In the coming weeks, your mind hardly gets better. Memories are still missing. You catch yourself gazing at the mirror longer than you expect to. You used to be so beautiful. It’s hard to recognize the face staring back at you. You touch one cheek and then the other. You turn your head and watch your jawline.

No, it still isn’t you.

You take the knife in your belt to your hair and begin cutting away pieces you don’t remember. You lean forward and smudge your eyes before sitting up straight and trying again. You recognize a part of yourself. You chase that feeling. You press your hand against your heart. You smile faintly. Astarion sobs so hard you think you might lose yourself. You’re at a loss of what to do. He’s alive but he keens like a dying deer. It’s supposed to be healing, you think. Cazador is dead. His reign of terror should end. Astarion is saved and he saved himself. You couldn’t be prouder of him.

Slowly, you step forward one foot after another. You collapse to your knees at his side. It’s easy to pull Rhapsody from his fingers. You drop it by his side. Slowly, as if in a dream, you hold him like you held Orin. Astarion sobs harshly into your collarbone and clings to you so tightly you might break.

‘I thought  —  I thought  —  ’ he cries brokenly.

I thought it would make me feel better, he says without saying. You shush him and pet his hair. Cazador’s blood smears against your cheek when Astarion burrows his face into your neck. You let him linger. You aren’t sure how long you sit on the hard marbled floors, but when you stand up, your knees creak so loud you’re almost insecure about it.

This time, it’s your turn to carry Astarion. He won’t let you pick him up, but you hold him by his waist. You carry him past your allies, past the onlookers who once saw you in opposition. You order the maids to bring you a bath, and as Astarion hiccups in the water, you bathe him.

You wash the taint of Cazador from his body. The soap cleans the dirt and the blood and the memory. You wash his chest and his belly and Astarion thanks you hoarsely. He looks at you, and his eyes are so wide and beautiful that you cry too.

Dying isn’t easy. It isn’t beautiful or romantic or a sweeping gesture. Dying is painful and hideous and ugly, and you have saved Astarion from a lifetime of torment. Rather, he did it by himself with your help. You swipe the soap against his cheeks and use a rag to clear it away. Astarion’s hair is somehow curlier when it’s wet, and you part the curls so they’ll dry without tangling.

Astarion watches you miserably as you towel his hair. You wipe droplets of water off his skin and slowly slide him into his smallclothes. He accepts your blanket and wraps it around his shoulders, staring at the wooden floor, at his feet.

‘Stay,’ Astarion says weakly. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

‘I would never let you be alone,’ you say.

It isn’t what you bought the room for. Really, you only wanted to wipe the blood from his face but now, you climb into the sheets next to Astarion and hold him tightly. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about the future. He doesn’t want to talk about his siblings either or the thousands of spawn waiting to hang on his every word.

And you can’t even blame him. The gods know how long it took for your tongue to become free from the weight that held it still after you betrayed your father. Karlach said you talked a lot before, but now it’s hard to say anything without wondering if your words are in the right order. Astarion cries softly as if to not awaken you from your slumber, but you can’t fall asleep. You can’t toss or turn either, but dreams evade you.

Dawn peeks through the window. Dawn-bringer, Jergal had called you. You slide out of bed carefully then and cross the room. You draw the curtains shut. Astarion watches you curiously from where he burrows in the sheets. His brow furrows adorably when you climb back into bed and plaster yourself to his spine.

‘Ah,’ you say monotonously. ‘The sun is gone. I suppose we'll stay in until it returns.’

After a day of lounging, Astarion still isn’t ready to talk about what’s on his mind but he watches you do your favorite mundane mortal things with explicit interest. He has you read the book you’re reading aloud, and if it takes you a few hours to struggle through one chapter, he says nothing about it.

Every once in a while, another one of your companions comes to sit in.

Lae’zel tries to commend Astarion for his warrior’s heart without sounding stilted, but eventually she gives up on complimenting him to sympathetically let him know she understands. They had all seen Vlaakith. Karlach brings Clive by and carefully arranges him in the bed next to Astarion. She tells him that he’s fucking awesome and asks permission to hug him.

The touch nearly sends him spiraling.

Gale approaches in his usual manner. He brings Astarion a bottle of wine spiked with blood and lets him know he’s available to chat whenever Astarion feels up to it. Wyll spends thirty minutes apologizing for the bad blood between them, which is funny considering their bickering was hardly vitriolic. Shadowheart visits and gifts him a perfume that makes his lip wobble dangerously.

Jaheira, Minsc, Boo and Halsin come together solemnly. They might be the least offensive of the bunch. Boo gives Astarion a thousand kisses on his cheeks, and Jaheira finally tells them a story of her youth. Halsin has Astarion drink a potion, not because he’s injured physically, but because it should help with his pain. Minsc tries teaching you a Rashemen dance, but Astarion laughs for the first time that day and you do too.

‘It is good,’ Jaheira says, ‘to see you both smile again.’

You touch your mouth shyly. Your cheeks are sore. Astarion’s smile fades slightly but returns in full, timid confidence lighting his features once more. Halsin crosses the room and opens the curtains you’ve closed. The light douses the room in holiness, and you turn your face to watch the sunset, unafraid of what the future will bring.

‘That which troubles you will soon be over,’ she promises. She pats Astarion’s hand, and although she doesn’t say it, you know he’s her son. ‘You will live to see these days renewed. There will be no more despair.’

You’re both left alone again together. Astarion beckons you to the bed instead of your chair and you join him, carefully sitting atop the covers, a respectable distance between your thighs. You inhale carefully.

‘You did the right thing,’ you say. ‘Not completing the Black Mass.’

‘Perhaps I had inspiration,’ Astarion replies. ‘You had a chance to become the Slayer, a being more powerful than you could have known. But you didn’t.’

‘I betrayed my father,’ you whisper, staring at your hands. ‘And he killed me for it.’

‘And if I had completed Cazador’s ritual,’ Astarion says, ‘I would have become Mephistopheles’s whore. I refuse to bow to the whims of others. Being an Ascendent…was blinding me to the truth.’

You look at him curiously then. He confesses to you his sins. He has thought of ascending, and thought of it often but it was never to protect himself. After a certain point, he wanted to protect you too. Your Urges had been mistaken for something else then. A possession, an invasion. Astarion sought to exorcise you of your demons.

But when you had died and the diseased lifeblood fled from your veins, Astarion realized the truth. The ascension would not have helped him protect you. It would have tainted him. It would have contorted him. Rising above all other vampires, Astarion would have become cruel like those before him. He does not want to be cruel to you. He wants to learn kindness as you have. He reaches for it like he chases the sun.

Astarion takes you by the hand, smoothing your skin with his thumb over and over. His skin is cold beneath yours. You curl your fingers into his. He did not want to make you a slave, not again. Not to him.

‘You are the dawn-bringer,’ Astarion says. ‘Even if I never see the sun again, I am free.’

‘I love you,’ you say, voice shaking. ‘I’ll be with you. In the darkness.’

‘You fool,’ Astarion laughs affectionately. He leans across the distance and kisses your temple. ‘There is no darkness. You are daylight incarnate.’

You look at him sharply.

‘I’ve been thinking about something,’ he says. ‘It’s…been on my mind all day, but I think it’s time. Say you’ll come away with me.’

You and Astarion dress slowly. You would follow him almost anywhere, but this is different. There’s something to be done. You don’t dress in armor, and for that you’re almost grateful. You’re tired of fighting. You’re tired of seeing blood.

But it isn’t blood or anything blood related that Astarion takes you to see. One minute, you are wandering Baldur’s Gate at night, and the next, you’ve come to the hollow of a tree where a gravestone is coated in vines.

‘This…is where my old life began,’ Astarion tells you softly. ‘Beneath there, I was turned into a monster. But Cazador is dead now and I get to decide my own fate.’

Astarion tells you in painful detail about his transformation. How his wounds fused themselves shut but the pain never went away. He tells you about breaking through the wood of his demise and the fear that flooded his veins and how, just when he thought he had found his savior, Cazador had laughed wickedly with his cruel glowing eyes.

‘I was his,’ Astarion murmurs, ‘but not anymore.’

He kneels before you on the dirt before his tombstone and bows his head. The prodigal son returned home. The sight of it causes your heart to squeeze. You want to step away but you can’t. You’re afraid.

‘There is nothing left of the person I was before,’ he tells you. ‘I am free to become who I want to be, free to start a new journey. I have all the time in the world to figure out who I am and what I want, but I think I know.’

‘I love you,’ you say again. ‘You’re what I want.’

‘You were by my side through all of this,’ Astarion says, eyes glimmering in the moonlight. ‘And now I want you to christen me. Inaugurate me here on the site of my rebirth.’

This is another dream. You hold your hands over Astarion’s head and sprinkle imaginary water over his head. His eyes close instinctively. Love washes over him, something golden. You kneel down and pluck a flower from the earth and it does not bleed. Relief floods your veins. For once, you touch something and it does not rot. Carefully, like a ghost, you slide the flower into Astarion’s hair and watch as his crimson eyes spill open with tears and devotion.

Astarion kisses you, and for the first time in a long time, he presses his body against yours. He takes you that night in the dirt. His leg is tucked under yours, his cock against your core, his lips never leaving yours. Astarion recites verses in your ears until you burst with ecstasy, tightening around him so much that he can hardly move. He cradles the back of your head to comfort you as he drinks your blood. He cradles your head tonight because he loves you.

‘I am yours,’ he whispers against your skin, ‘and you are mine.’ You aren’t sure when or how Astarion has the time, but he presents you with a gift the night before the world ends. He wears a matching flower from his grave pinned to his armor at all times now. And on his hand, a ring with a silver band. He slides one over your finger as well and kisses your palm as you slowly realize what it means.

The family you’ve chosen throws you a celebration. The next day, Dammon arrives and shows you your repaired armor now dyed white.

You cry for hours out of happiness. ‘This could be the last chance we have for this,’ you whisper to Astarion.

Everyone keeps telling you that a light has returned to your eye, but you don’t see it. It isn’t until you’re laying naked with Astarion again, his skin pressed against yours, that you think you can see it too.

Astarion fucks you tenderly until you’re sore, and you cry and plead sweet things against his shoulder while he holds you safe in his arms. When the pleasure becomes too much and your spine arches from the mattress, he pulls you into his lap and holds you safe against his chest. You kiss him until your lips are sore.

 ‘Your life is mine,’ Astarion murmurs. ‘You belong with me, my love.’

‘I’ve never been happier,’ you moan weakly.

He has taken you again and again this evening. He doesn’t say it, but Astarion is afraid of what tomorrow might bring. You have outsmarted gods and men. You have found goodness where there was nothing but darkness. You refuse to be afraid now.

‘We were made to conquer,’ Astarion says. His mouth is like a fire across your cheekbone. You shudder around his cock.

‘Take my love,’ Astarion commands you, so you do.

You kiss a ruby bruise into his neck, and Astarion fills you with a grunt. He doesn’t part from you. He guides you back down into the sheets and burrows against your body as if determined to climb between your ribs. You smile. Astarion has already made a home in your bones and flesh. He has eaten the rot from your core and recreated you anew. You were not his sin but his salvation. Perhaps he was yours too.

[growing-home]

i spent nearly two decades of my life severely depressed and suicidal and for so long i believed wholeheartedly that it was my fault. i believed that the reason no medication or therapy had ever worked for my depression was because i wasn’t ACTUALLY depressed— i believed i was just lazy, bad, manipulative, and just using depression as an excuse for the inherent badness i thought was inside me. this was a story that was told to me and reinforced over and over again by treatment providers.

this past summer, i tried my 30th+ psychiatric medication, not expecting to see any results. the day i realized it was working was the day i realized that i was…planning my future???suddenly i no longer wanted to stay in bed all day and never go outside. i no longer wanted to isolate. i wanted to see people, talk to people! i started spending more time with friends and facetiming people and talking on the phone, things that i rarely did in the past. when i had been depressed, the only movies/tv shows i could focus on were super intense, fast paced, and scary or disturbing because that was the only way to hold my attention. after starting this medication, i started enjoying SITCOMS! i no longer felt like i was fighting to just get through every single day of my life.

there was such a clear and measurable difference in the quality of my life that i started to question why i believed that my depression had been my fault. it became very clear to me that a large part of my depression had been biological. i had not been lazy or bad. i had been sick. my brain was sick the same way other organs get sick sometimes. this brought up a lot of grief for me— grief for all the lost time that i’d spent trying to find something that worked, grief for how much pain i had been in for so long. but it also brought up sheer FURY at all of the therapists and psychiatrists who had treated me like i just wasn’t trying hard enough to get better.

i had been labeled treatment resistant, of course, and the only recommendations i had received after being given that label were TMS, Ketamine, and ECT. once i had tried all three with no success, i believed i was just a lost cause. i thought i was out of options. i was made to feel that way by so many treatment professionals. i was told that nothing was working because of my complex trauma and that once i healed from that then i would stop being depressed (as if it’s that easy to just fully recover from CPTSD!) i was told that i just needed to do more DBT, i just needed to live and breathe DBT skills and then i would get better, even though i’d done intensive DBT programs for years with no improvement to my depression. (yes, it helped me to change my behavior and quit self harm, but behavior change isn’t necessarily indicative of a change in mood. i could do all the right things all the time and still be in excruciating mental pain.)

i was told that i just wasn’t trying hard enough, or that i must have a personality disorder, or that i just needed to exercise more, or eat less, or eat MORE, or eat differently, or get a job, or get a dog, or do yoga, or acupuncture, or biofeedback, or find purpose in my life— psychiatrist after psychiatrist looked for something to blame everywhere but in the mirror. instead of admitting that they weren’t equipped to help me, they made me believe that it was MY fault i wasn’t getting better. and i believed them. for SO long, i believed them.

and now after finding a medication that works for me, i see everything so much more clearly. psychiatrists need to put their enormous egos aside and actually treat patients with treatment resistant depression instead of blaming us for suffering from a (partially at least) biological illness. if you’re a doctor and you know that a patients illness is outside of the scope of your abilities, either do more research and get more training to help them or refer them to someone who specializes in what they need. don’t keep them around letting them pay you thousands of dollars while you make them try the same thing over and over and over again and expect to get a different result. people act like things like ECT are a last resort option, and in doing so make people believe that if it doesn’t help then you’re out of options. but nobody ever tried me on tricyclics. nobody tried me on MAOIs. nobody told me about how some dopamine agonists like Pramipexole have had some success in treating treatment resident depression. instead i was made to feel like asking to not be suicidal daily was asking for too much. if you’re a clinician who thinks that’s asking for too much, you’re in the wrong profession. we can do better than that. we NEED to do better than that.

in my experience, out of every profession, doctors have some of the biggest egos i’ve ever seen. i say this as someone who is both mentally ill as well as physically disabled. many doctors HATE it when you do your own research. they HATE it when you have suggestions, or when you ask for what you need. it’s almost as if they feel threatened by it, like they need to believe that they are superior to their patients because of how much time and money and energy they put into going to med school— they need to believe they hate their hard work was worth it so they have a tendency to dismiss any ideas their patients might have. i don’t care how many years you’ve been in school. you do not get to tell your sick patients that it’s their fault they’re sick to justify your laziness and refusal to learn new things. put away your god complex and actually listen to your patients.

and the strangest part to me is that the longer you have been suicidal for, the less seriously they take it. the same way that the more chronically ill you are the less people believe you. it’s bizarre— when people see pain that is beyond what they can fathom, instead of feeling empathy, they tell you you must be faking it or that you must be looking for attention. i’ll never understand this. it’s as if they think that suicidality doesn’t need to be taken seriously unless the patient has successfully completed suicide. and i think it’s very clear how that logic is flawed. i was treated like i just wanted attention whenever i asked for help with my chronic suicidality and it made me terrified to ask for help with ANYTHING. i still constantly am afraid that if i’m too honest with clinicians then they’ll think i just want attention. attention isn’t a bad thing to want, all human beings need some degree of attention, but regardless that doesn’t negate the severity of a person’s suicidality. i wasn’t attention seeking by asking for help. i was STRONG. i was really fucking strong, far stronger than i should’ve had to be. i fought for my life every single day and i am lucky to still be here but it’s not luck that got me here. it’s ME that got me here.

i don’t want to make it sound like i speak for everyone who has suffered from TRD, because i don’t think that would be fair. i can’t tell you if there’s a med out there that’ll work for you. all i can tell you is that most psychiatrists prematurely tell chronically suicidal patients that there is nothing they can do to help them or that they’re out of medication options. if you’re a psychiatrist or doctor and you feel yourself getting defensive while reading this, i invite you to get curious about where that activation is coming from.

and if you are someone with treatment resident depression or chronic suicidality reading this, i am telling you now: your illness is not your fault. i don’t know if it’s going to get better or not, but i can promise you— it is not your fault and it never has been.

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Endure

This is just deeply self indulgent, inspired by @mumms-the-word's fic featuring chronically ill Tav (forgive me please; I want to read it but I have to be mentally strong to do so I think.) So this is just... a little bit of truth from my own life. The diseases are from the setting, but that's it. So this is a little bit of me, fictionalised. Be kind, please.

'I must become a lionhearted girl, ready for a fight.' - Rabbit Heart, Florence & the Machine

Taglist:

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana

@auroraesmeraldarose @aryancunin @miradelletarot @marlowethebard @silent-words

@netherese0rb @sorceresssundries

Tav stared into the campfire, walking cane across her lap. I’ll be alright, she thought. A tadpole is nothing compared to what I’ve been through. I’ve got this. Still, she felt the familiar sneak of anxiety in her gut. Now they were in the shadow cursed lands, and death loomed over their shoulders. Astarion was pretending to read a book, but she could feel his feline gaze on the back of her head. Gale was really reading, but she noticed he would glance up at her every few pages, as though checking she was alright.  Shadowheart was eavesdropping on Wyll and Karlach’s conversation, Lae’zel apparently uninterested in socialising, engrossed as she was in a githyanki slate. So Tav sat alone, thinking.

Why did you bring me back? She closed her eyes, furrowing her brow. I never asked for any of this. I’ve been so strong for you my entire life and you let this happen to me. Why? Without warning, tears slid silently down her cheeks. She heard the soft thud of books closing and felt Gale and Astarion settle on either side of her. Astarion’s cool fingers stroked her back soothingly as Gale reached for her hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles, both of them comforting in the ways they could. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, not even opening her eyes to look at them.

‘Pish posh,’ said Gale softly, nudging her shoulder. ‘You don’t need to lie.’

‘Just having a crisis of faith, I suppose,’ she said, sniffing and opening her eyes. She wiped fiercely at them with her free hand. ‘Hating my lot in life a little bit tonight.’ She sighed, deep and tired. ‘I thought you could choose your deity. Not me. I was plucked from the brink of death, and I’ve been fucked ever since.’

‘The gods are bastards and wretches,’ said Astarion bitterly.

Tav shrugged. ‘Without him I’d be dead. Still, it’s not like he’s offered me a bounty of beauty or particular skill or-’ she gestured vaguely, ‘-magic. It’s just been a litany of hurts. I’m tired.’

‘I never asked,’ said Gale. ‘About…’ He gestured to the cane.

‘Don’t you dare pity me,’ she said through her teeth. ‘I hate it.’

‘I wasn’t. I just want to know what you’ve been through. And not from some kind of morbid curiosity either. You’ll forgive my bleeding heart if I hate seeing my friends in pain.’

‘It’s not good form to ask these things,’ said Astarion tersely. ‘But then you always were incredibly intelligent and breathtakingly stupid, Gale.’

Tav almost laughed, a single huff of air from her mouth. ‘Sure, I’ll tell you. But remember you asked.’ Dimly aware the camp had quieted, and her audience was beyond the wizard and the elf, she spoke to the flames. ‘I was born too early for anyone to expect me to survive. My lungs didn’t function, there was a stutter in my heartbeat, internal bleeding on the brain, all that. I had some necrosis and blacklung and even spotted plague, all at once could you believe it? I should’ve been dead five times over. I was put through my paces. I don’t know how or why I made it and sometimes I wish I hadn’t. But I did. And I got to grow up.’ A bitter edge crept into her voice. ‘And then something happened to me later, some people happened to me, and now I’m in pain all the time. It never goes away. I can manage it, on a good day, with rest and the odd spell. Potions don't work for me at all. I can’t do too much though, you see.’ Her face hardened. ‘Because the god who refused to let me die was Ilmater. My suffering is divine. I can’t even walk away because I owe him my very existence. How does a baby bargain with a god like that? So I push on. I endure, because I must.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Gale. ‘I empathise, believe me.’

‘Right,’ Tav said, voice softening a little bit. ‘The orb.’

He nodded. ‘Still. Self inflicted. It’s different.’

‘Yeah.’

‘If I’d known…’ he continued.

‘You wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it and you can’t now,’ she snapped. ‘I appreciate it Gale, I really do, but this is just my life. And now we have these things.’ Jabbing her finger at her forehead she set her jaw in determination. ‘I’ve been through worse. Doubtless we all have. We’re going to win this fight. We don’t have a choice.’

‘Hear hear,’ said Karlach softly.

‘You deserve more credit,’ said Astarion. ‘You’re strong.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I don’t want to be though. I want to be soft. I want to rest.’

‘You don’t have to do this alone,’ said Wyll, sitting across the fire from her. ‘You have us now.’ His smile was so gentle it broke her heart.

‘Your endurance is admirable,’ said Lae’zel, sitting on Astarion’s other side.

‘For once I agree with you, Lae’zel.’ Shadowheart stayed back from the fire until Karlach grabbed her wrist and plonked her down next to her.

‘Any spells or potions you need, I’ve got you,’ said Gale. ‘It’s the least I can do given you helped me with my condition.’

‘Sweet as that is Gale, perhaps you could start with dinner? Karlach’s stomach is snarling like an angry bugbear,’ said Astarion lightly.

‘I saw that archdruid whittling in the grove earlier,’ said Shadowheart. ‘Maybe he could make you a new cane.’

Tav looked down at the cane in her lap. It was crudely hewn and splintered; she’d done it herself. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Yeah, maybe I should ask him.’

[miffy-junot]

I really wanted to be kind, I really try to stay away from discourse, but my friend sent me a post containing opinions so rancid that I had to say something. I'm turning off reblogs and I will not name the user who made the post because I do not want any discourse, please be respectful of this.

Time to respond to the words of "Tumblr user X":

Firstly - I know not everybody here is Christian but to make a post being rude to dead people on All Soul's Day is immensely disrespectful, to say the least. Don't you have any graves to put flowers on, any people to remember?

1:

The majority of people interested in the Napoleonic Wars think Junot is a blundering buffoon. You really have to dig deep to find nuanced sources on him beyond the usual "mad general" stuff. There is a niche community of Gen Z Tumblr bloggers who like Junot, by no means the majority of the Napoleonic community - and since Tumblr is very easy to curate, it's on you if you are stuck in this niche bubble.

Let me tell you, Junot does not have a good reputation at all. You can let the topic go, you are fighting against an enemy that you believe numbers in the hundreds when in fact it is a small group of mentally ill teenagers (many of whom are lgbtq+, which is something interesting in itself).

2.

You are an adult, but how did you graduate high school with no skills of reading comprehension? Nobody has ever said that Junot's actions with Laure were "normal and okay". Once again, you are fighting an imaginary enemy.

Napoblr is essentially a war criminal fandom. That does not make it any more or less valid than other history communities, but it means that we have to take a slightly different approach to moralising historical figures. Almost every single person involved in the Napoleonic Wars would be a bad person if you took their actions out of the historical context. Most people relevant to the Napoleonic Wars were sexist, racist, imperialist pieces of shit who turned a blind eye to war crimes.

Because that makes up such a large percentage of these people, being overly judicious about their morality will leave you with the following group of "unproblematic people": a large gathering of peasants and children, none of whom we know the names of.

"Evil" is a very strong word to use, one which denies nuance, but let me speak in your language: all Napoleonic figures were somewhat "evil", if you are unwilling to deal with "evil" people then study art history, or any other subject that doesn't deal so much with moral complexity.

3.

In my opinion war crimes committed as part of your job are still war crimes????????? "Indirectly" or not, there is little difference between ordering an execution and murdering someone with your own bare hands, in both situation you take away a life from the world and there is blood on your hands. Some might even argue that having a callous approach to life and death is even worse!

And like I have said above: endless moralising is counter-productive. There are better ways to use your time, such as researching things that actually fulfil you.

4.

(just a tiny nitpick but please do not use that certain misogynistic term)

"Could have" and "should have" are words that cannot be used in the study of history. Speculation over endless possibilities of alternative realities is meaningless.

I thought we as a society had moved beyond calling addicts "evil", but apparently not! (and again, "evil" is a very charged term that leaves no room for nuance)

For the record, I support abstinence of all the things you mention. Irl I have a bit of a reputation for being a puritan. But even I will not blame somebody's entire morality on that, and call a man "evil" for being an addict?! Where is your sympathy?!

Self-destructive behaviour is a major symptom of both head injuries and personality disorders, but I doubt "Tumblr user X" has the thinking skills required to understand that properly.

And either way, even if it was all "his responsibility", so what? That's his personal life, why do you care? If you don't like it, go away.

5.

Again, I genuinely thought people knew how to be sympathetic towards addicts but apparently not.

The emphasis on "self-restraint" is insane, if you had any restraint you wouldn't be bitching on Tumblr. You are sounding more like a 17th century Puritan than me, the person who gets accused irl of acting like one.

People on Tumblr find Junot relatable. That is why he is cute, because he is relatable. Additionally, it is big part of Gen Z humour to call bad men "babygirl" and to combine cutesy aesthetics with dark stuff, hence the whole coquette/girlblogger aesthetic.

Like I said at the beginning of this post - most people do not like Junot. The people who do are mostly mentally ill young people who naturally gravitate towards this "crazy but make it cute" aesthetic tendency, and the "I can make him worse" sort of mentality.

"Violent tendencies" is a lot to extrapolate from a single incident, but that seems to be something you're fond of doing.

6.

You deliberately phrase this to imply sexual harassment. Here is what happened: he flirted with her and invited her to dinner, she had heard the rumours of his mad behaviour and ghosted him, he got very upset. Nothing physical ever happened.

Additionally, none of his mistresses ever mentioned any violent behaviour by him. In fact, in one anecdote related by Laure herself, Junot's Abyssinian mistress Xraxarane encouraged him to shoot an orange off the top of her head because she was so confident in his abilities with a pistol, and even though he knew he could do it, Junot didn't even try because he was too afraid of hurting her.

7.

Do your research before making snarky comments, I am begging you.

While it is true that men wrote more passionately to each other in those days, "I who love you with the affection of a savage for the sun, I who am entirely yours" is not something you would say in passing. I'm not going to argue that Junot and Napoleon did anything romantic together, but it's undeniable that Junot's feelings towards Napoleon surpass those of a completely platonic friendship.

There are many sources that attest to Junot's fanatical devotion being unusual, not just Laure. And it was not a single remark in Laure's memoirs, but many anecdotes. Junot had many close male friendships, but they all took on a very different character to his friendship with Napoleon - his letters to other friends have a casual, jovial tone; the intense and poetic language used in his letters to Napoleon instead mirror his letters to women.

Is it really so unfeasible to you that, out of the thousands of men in the Napoleonic army, one of them might have developed feelings for Napoleon beyond those of conventional masculine friendships? Statistically, it is impossible that every Napoleonic man was straight.

8.

Okay, I am going to be directly bitchy here.

Tumblr user X, YOU DIDN"T EVEN BOTHER TO READ THE JOURNAL INTIME BEFORE PUBLISHING A POST ABOUT THE INCIDENT.

When, in a discord server, I shared a small piece of the journal intime I had translated that was referring to Junot's affair with Caroline, YOU DOUBTED IT"S CREDIBILITY.

You claim to trust what women have to say, BUT YOU DON"T BELEIVE HORTENSE DE BEAUHARNAIS' CLAIMS THAT HER HUSBAND ABUSED HER. BE CONSISTENT.

And finally: THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO MENTION OF JUNOT TRYING TO RAPE LAURE AS YOU CLAIMED. NOWHERE IN HER ACCOUNT OF EVENTS DOES SHE ALLEGE RAPE. STOP MAKING THINGS UP, IT IS DISRESPECTFUL TO REAL RAPE VICTIMS.

You pretend to be diligent with your sources, but you are not, you only read things that support your pre-conceived opinion, you make posts based on false evidence. Shut the fuck up about topics you know nothing about.

9.

Gurl we are not bureaucrats, we do not care about military efficiency.

"glorified cavalry skirmish" - is a group of 500 men defeating a force of 3000 men not glorious to you? Those are odds of five to one.

If you don't care about military history, don't talk about military history and get out of the military history fandom.

10.

(fyi it's spelt crucify)

You are fighting imaginary enemies. Bessieres is adored, he is babygirled. Junot is loathed.

Nobody ever said Junot trying to kill Laure was cute. (I would also provide evidence that Junot never intended to kill her, but then I'll get accused of defending domestic violence)

Junot being babygirlified is not a recent thing. What about:

Rapp, who didn't think Junot was a great soldier but still defended him

Foy, who hated Junot but still wrote positive comments about him in his memoirs

Arthur Wellesley, who respected Junot as an enemy

James Forbes (and many others), who hated Napoleon but praised Junot for being kind to Englishmen in Paris

Antoine-Romain Hamelin, who didn't like most people he met but adored Junot for defending and rescuing him

André Delagrave, who wrote very sympathetically about Junot after serving him in the peninsular wars

Laure's letters

Junot's letters to Laure

Junot's letters to his daughters

+many, many more sources but those were the only ones I remembered off the top of my head.

And please don't disrespect Laure's own wishes and opinions. What about the highly affectionate language used to refer to Junot in her letters about her grief over his death? What about her letter to Berthier complaining about Junot being defamed?

Please be respectful here, I don't want any discourse. I shouldn't have to say this but please do not share this with "Tumblr user X", I don't want to have anything to do with that person ever again.

a little side tangent on the infamous incident between Junot and Laure:

When Junot went to break off his affair with Caroline Murat, he took two duelling pistols and khanjar (a Middle Eastern style of dagger) with him in case he was confronted by Murat and things got messy. This is very important - Junot had lethal weapons easily accessible to him and was willing to use them to kill his rival. So if he genuinely had every intention of murdering Laure, why didn't he shoot her? Why didn't he stab her with the fatal khanjar rather than a pair of scissors? Speculation on this point is useless, but it's vital to know that he could have easily killed her, but he didn't. I'm not defending his actions in any way, Junot certainly did something awful, but he did not intentionally plot to murder her.

[dishushu]

“you’re alive in my head..”

pavitr prabhakar x reader.

genre: pure angst (a little fluff if you squint) | warnings: blood, death, sad pav☹️, super sad

summary: the canon event altered his life forever. | inspo: marjorie by taylor swift.

words: 1k.

a/n: @smokeywhalee came up with this trope and we both cried mentally adding up ideas to eachother (i love her and her ideas yall FOLLOW HER or elmo will end up next to you at 3am)

and marjorie by ts changed my life forever it’s so good i’m not okay 😊💔

p.s: please have tissues next to you 🤧 (and "they" is ur variant btw!)

so sorry in advance pookies

pavitr had been your bestfriend for so long— you were by his side ever since he became spiderman, his partner in crime, and he always liked you. —

everything about you just made him fall head over heels for you, but he never had the heart to confess owing to the fact that he doesn’t want to lose you yet.

he wished he did sooner..

ever since pavitr’s dimension was falling apart, he couldn’t help but feel devastated, afraid it would happen the same to you, and he was right.

the very moment that was happening, you so happened to be running away from the commotion— your bestfriend pavitr and the other spider people fighting for their life and his dimension, you were about to escape, but unfortunately, a big chunk of debris hits you— slamming you to the ground as you groaned in pain.

you heard the screams of pavitr from afar, as he slung over to you— his friends shouting for him to come back but he couldn't care less about them now that you were hurt badly.

he lifted the debris off of you and carried you bridal style, his words muffled as you couldn't see anything— your vision blurred.

"jaanu please hang on okay? i promise ill get you the hospital as soon as i can please don't close your eyes on me." he panicked as he removed his mask to reveal his teary-eyed face as he held you close, webbing away from the commotion as he wanted to bring you to the nearest hospital.

"pav, i..." you took all your strength to get his attention as he stopped webbing and went through the empty street, your heartbeat slowly slowing down as it became harder to breathe.

he noticed immediately and laid you on the ground, his hand cupping your cheek as he kept whispering a "no no no please no." trying to stop the blood from your chest.

"pav, i.. love you." you mumbled your last words to him as you closed your eyes— your last breath, last tear and last smile to him all leaving your body as you lay lifeless on the ground, his screams were all that was audible, becoming increasingly faint until they were completely gone.

pavitr's tears were now hitting the ground as he clutched your lifeless body, holding on it for dear life as he sobbed— his heart breaking now that he lost you, his canon event.

his tears never came to an end as he couldn't believe he was processing everything, he lost his thithli.

gwen, hobie, and miles run over to him as they saw pavitr and you, your dead body but they couldn't do anything but feel heartbroken with paviitr as it was his canon event even though you were dead now, you're alive in his head.

he wished he could spend one last prominence with you, but now that you were gone, he wished you were still around.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

pavitr never moved on, never recovered from your death; if he didn't know better, he'd wish you were still alive; he wanted he could say i love you— and that remorse has filled him with guilt every single day.

hobie would always try to cheer him up and it would never work, he would still feel devastated and blame himself for your death— that he couldn't save you in time. it was never his fault.

all of this happening with his dimension falling apart and losing you hit him like a truck, he lost his spark and he'd do anything to get you back, anything — and he wished he could find one way to say i love you to you one last time.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

he’d never been to hq ever since your death, he was merely drained to continue as spiderman anymore— the fear and guilt overcoming him; scared the same would happen to other people like it happened to you.

hobie got to cheer him up somewhat and convinced him to finally go to hq but when he walked in, he bumped into a familiar face he knew oh too well.

“im so sorry i—“ pavitr turned around to apologize to who he bumped when his blood ran cold, his whole body frozen as he couldn’t believe who it was, you; but not entirely.

“it’s okay! i’m fine— and are you okay?” they said, scanning pavitr’s body for any injuries and so.

“yeah— i’m, im fine— can i talk to you for a second?” pavitr said, breaking out of his trance as he grabbed their hand and walked to an empty corner.

“woah okay—“ they followed pavitr, standing in a small corner waiting for him to talk.

“are you… [name]?” he asked, your name coming out of his mouth breaking his heart. their eyes went wide— the shock of their name coming out of his mouth indirectly.

“y-yeah i’m from earth 5100..” those words broke pavitr’s heart, a lump going down his throat as he smiled— knowing that they weren’t his.

they could see the obvious heartbreak in pavitr's eyes and its like they could feel his pain too; "i suppose you lost a variant of me in your world..?" they muttered as pavitr nodded— his tears planting his brown skin as their heart broke.

"can i..?" pavitr whispered, gesturing for a hug as they agreed with open arms— he rushed to their arms, breaking down in more tears as he felt your touch again— but not entirely yours.

"i'm so sorry.. im sure they're so proud of you for getting through this, i know you want them back but im not them."

"i know.. i just wished i could say i love you to them one last time." he muttered, his face buried in their neck as he cried harder— clutching their shirt.

he has no choice but to owe the fact that he lost you, and the person in front of him is oh so heartwarming to him, its not you and he has to accept that, but you're alive in his head.

© hearts4hobie-conitagray, all rights reserved. do not steal, translate, and rewrite without permission. love y’all mwah♥️ 💋

[thestuffieguardian]

Dude. Depression sucks. But no one actually speaks about how hearing a certain sound or seeing a certain thing takes you right back to a moment of pain. You smell something specific, and it takes you back to a beautiful time in your past. I smell something & it's like I'm being shot.

No one will truly understand this...illness. This...gnawing. So much intrinsic mental anguish with no cure. No therapy can help relieve this. No medicine cures this. I fight a war inside my head every single day. I pray no soul on this Earth goes through this as much as I do. I think I do pretty well considering the stakes. I eat. I sleep (eventually) I clean myself, I do tasks, I workout

There are people who feel the same way I do, but they don't fight it. They just let it consume them, and I get it. It's easier to let it take you, but the consequences in doing so are far greater down the line.

I think back to my eating disorder. I think how I felt. I think about how I was treated. I think most importantly about how weak & frail I was. That's enough to get me up & to make some food.

When I can't brush my teeth because I can't get out of bed, I leave a cup of a lil bit of water, my toothpaste, and toothbrush next to my bed so I can brush my teeth in bed when I can't get up

When I can't find the energy to wash, so I feel around myself (yep. Fully) and feel & smell how unclean I am at this time. I think back to when I almost drowned, so through my childhood I was terrified of water, wouldn't go near it. I think about how I conquered that fear by facing it. If I can conquer that, I can face anything

You are going to experience hardships. Pain. Anguish. But it is what you do to fight it that matters. Do you give in, and let the pain and fear take you, consume you...forever, honestly, I wouldn't put any blame on you if you did.

Or do you pick up a sword & a shield and fight back. You live and love another day. You conquer things. You complete tasks that seemed impossible, you climb mountains that felt as though they surpassed the very sky itself. Everything seems a lot smaller now that you're standing up & looking that fear right in its eyes and not staring away

You get to make the choice, there are no wrong choices. They both have consequences. They both have something we want. But only one will set you free in time.

You fight

Or

You let it kill you, and I don't mean physically, physically dying would be far better to what this does to you

I believe you'll make the right decision. I won't ever stop believing in your ability to fight

[bartychaser]

Hey, ehm so, what I’m about to share is really personal and might trigger people who have to fight bullying and mental and/or physical illnesses bc mention of suicidal tendencies.

Idk what exactly it was but (on Pinterest I believe) someone was like “Yeah but why are there people hating on James? He’s so funny and cool with his pranks and Snivellus, just get your shit together” no he is not and I won’t get my “shit” together.

For me personally he triggers self destructive feelings and behaviours that kept building up since SECOND grade (until 10th I believe it was… could also be beginning of 11th) because there where so many ✨funny and cool✨ people who picked their “Snivellus” and spoiler alert it was always me. They pulled so many funny comments and pranks one me that almost cost me my life in the end and they were not done until 10th grade ended. They bullied me with the knowledge that I was ill in some way bc I told them I was seriously and most probably dangerously ill but at that time we didn’t exactly know what it was.

They bullied me for my illness and that illness wasn’t just “being weird randomly” that illness was a fucking brain tumor (luckily not cancer, I’m fine since I had surgery) that caused an epilepsy which is one of a kind.

The most common form of epilepsy is cramps, lying on the floor, looking funny with the drool dribbling down the chin and almost biting off their tongues (yes that can happen… my cousin is badly disabled bc a seizure damaged his brain at 3 months old).

I had a form of epilepsy which my doctors said they’ve never seen before though they were working in that business for over 40 years and they did their research when they heard about me. I was kind of the only person ever known in german medical studies in the last at least 40 years with those form of seizures. And because they were so unique they fucking sent me to a psychiatry because the doctor I’ve been to MULTIPLE TIMES before always said “Nah you’re just mental”. That also was funny enough to pick on me, rubbing in my face that I was a freak and ill and couldn’t do anything about it and I cannot count how many times I’ve prayed to not wake up. Because of people that acted just like James.

I have the right to hate him because in reality I fear him. I fear people like him because getting to have them in my life almost cost me my life and I’m so damn sure they would’ve laughed it off if I one day stopped showing up and my teacher would have stand in front of them crying because he lost the student that reminds him “so much of his sister” (that’s a quote btw) and had to tell them. I’m so afraid of James-like people and therefore I hate him. Not because he is James, James as a character has nothing to do with my past but he was the reason for another’s miserable past if you know what I mean. And every time he is mentioned making fun of Snape or pulling pranks that harm others (mentally or physically) and not only to annoy them bc that actually is funny, I feel those feelings crawling up again and I know it’s not healthy in any way bc he is just a fictional character and that is enough to get me flashbacks but it is what it is so don’t fucking ever try to tell James-dislikers who’ve openly been through similar things that ✨it’s just fun✨. For people in their past it, too, was just fun, for you it might just be fun, but for people who suffered under that fun it’s not. And not a single soul deserves that. There is not one human being who deserves to be picked on/bullied because others want to have some fun.

And no, I don’t mean to hate on James-likers bc yes, in some storys he really is cool and nice and funny and I can understand what you like about him but looking at what is shown to us in books and films he was a fucking prick who loved bullying Severus and making his time at school a part of his life he probably wishes never happened and that triggers my hate-fear if you know what I mean. I’m not trying to say your just like him, making others wanna end them or something, I’m just saying that there often is a sirius reason to dislike a character other than wanting to be different and cool or whatsoever. Sometimes you try to make someone like James with saying things that actually are triggering like “Hahaha it’s fun” Doesn’t mean you can’t try but be careful and always be respectful with trauma which really can be triggered by just one sentence or character.

I know it’s difficult and I do know there are almost no people who communicate/share their trauma just like I did but sometimes people dare doing this bc on social media they can be anonymous just like me. If my former class mates would read this they had no clue it was me. If my brother read this he had no clue it was me, you get my point? But others don’t have that anonymity bc they already published their name/face whatsoever and if anyone they know would see this they would really be fucked. At some point you probably will trigger someone but that inevitably and that’s okay because you can’t see what they’ve been through and you didn’t do it in purpose. But if someone tells you to just leave that topic no matter which topic, there. Is. A. Reason. (Probably) Respect their “no”

P.S. okay that sounds a little aggressive and guilt tripping, I’m sorry but I don’t know how to say that otherwise that was not my intention😭

[lime1991]

My dsmp Tubbo and Tommy canons (I can do whatever I want and these are canon facts to me)

Tubbo:

-smoked cigarettes a lot during the Schlatt administration to get away from all of the… everything. Fundy was the one who started this for him.

-hates alcohol because of Schlatt and Wilbur. Before being part of Schlatt’s cabinet he had to deal with Wilbur being drunk and mentally ill too.

-is Wilbur’s adopted brother, calls Phil by his name instead of “dad” even though he was literally raised by him. Also doesn’t call Wilbur his brother unless it’s brought up in some way.

-Tommy is his best friend. He is Tommy’s favorite person. Their conversations are very monotone.

-has breathing problems due to smoking. Has tried to quit, but can’t. Instead smokes weed every so often because it’s better than nicotine.

-has bipolar disorder, when he’s manic he wakes up at 5 am and does yard work. When he’s depressed, he can’t get out of bed for days. He knows he’s bipolar, many people do, but it still was a reason his marriage fell apart (not his fault)

-he did not get custody of Michael when he and Ranboo divorced, because he didn’t fight for it because doesn’t think he can really raise a child with all his personal issues (in a “I would never have kids because I’m too mentally ill and traumatized” way)

-bonded with Quackity during the Schlatt administration, is maybe the only one who knows to what extent Quackity was fucked up by Schlatt. They have a weird relationship that’s similar to a mother and son. Don’t question it.

-I’m a fan of dadschlatt so in my brain Tubbo is Schlatt’s biological son, and they only find this out when they’re working together and Schlatt grills him on his family history and it strangely matches up with that one time Schlatt decided to leave the girl he accidentally impregnated and fully skip town. So when Schlatt and Quackity get married Quackity is basically Tubbo’s stepmom.

-he and Wilbur are like 12 years apart, when Fundy is born, Wilbur is 20. When Fundy and Tubbo meet for the first time, Fundy is 8 and Tubbo is 16. And, yes, Tubbo went to live with Wilbur when he turned 16 for reasons and was like “Wil who the fuck is this child” and Wilbur is like “oh that’s my daughter” ???

Tommy:

-trans girl.

-met Wilbur before she met Tubbo. They lived in the same place. When Tubbo went to live with Wilbur he was immediately bombarded by a strange hyperactive fifteen year old.

-Tommy’s parents left her. She didn’t believe that they did at first, but they did. (By the way I’ve decided L’Manburg was a commune) Because her parents have left her alone on the commune, she’s sort of raised by all of the adults and herself. This is how she knows Wilbur.

-has bpd and severe abandonment issues. Originally attached herself to Wilbur before meeting Tubbo and becoming close with him. During the Pogtopia era, Tommy goes insane and completely attaches herself to Wilbur again.

-When Wilbur dies during war, Tommy’s whole personality switches and instead of being majorly depressed she pretends that it didn’t happen and stays completely delusional for like a month.

-during Exile, she had time to think about herself and her identity and it’s when she comes out to herself as trans. Dream is also the first person she actually comes out to. And I can’t decide if Ghostbur is a hallucination or not, but Tommy doesn’t know either it’s ok.

-very delusional. Like, schizophrenic. Genuinely believed during Exile that Dream was her best friend and wasn’t like beating her and destroying her stuff every single day. Dream doesn’t understand if she’s being serious when she’s like “hi bestie” so he keeps doing worse and worse wondering how much it’ll take to break her.

-gets therapy and takes antipsychotics now. Always brings up the stories of the wildest delusional episodes she’s ever experienced. During exile she was certain she had like 5 girlfriends at once.

-when she ends up trapped in jail with Dream she almost kills herself before Dream does it for her. The pain of being trapped with him again was worse than emotional. Worse than ptsd.

-has complicated feelings towards Quackity, will never forget the time she watched him and Schlatt argue. She’d never heard a “loving couple” sound that angry before. Though she doesn’t know every little detail about the relationship.

[tellywoodtrash]

Hello TT! Hope you are doing well, I lurked in after a really long time so thought would say hello and let you know how much your blog has impacted my life. I started following your blog religiously when I discovered Ishqbaaz, it was almost an obsession how zealously I followed your blog and the show. I was on the cusp of Adulthood, just two years short. All pieces of fiction were merely me trying to escape my horrible home life. I have always indulged in fiction, it has mostly been books tbh but there were times after I had access to a phone when tellywood lured me in. After IB, I just followed you for your wit and boldness. I imagined this is how my elder sister would be if I had one (since I am the elder sibling in the house). You actually hooked me to AryLie as well, and for that I am most grateful since I somehow found a supportive community through AryLie fandom (long story). I know you don't follow tellywood anymore, I too switched to Kdramas and Cdramas over the years. Oh, I also gave Suno Chanda a try; thanks to you and Mais. Absolutely delightful. The thing is I felt my appreciation towards your constant support (even if you weren't aware) should be at least known. You speak for so many girls in this blog of yours, always giving everyone a warm hug to those who need it and a virtual asskicking to who are being jerks. People you follow truly shape you, it's the way I have felt validated by when you spoke what I believed it; it's the way you introduced me to life changing fiction just when I needed it; it's the way you have been present for the last nine years in my life. I have always struggled with suicide ideation but if it has taught me anything; it's to always express the gratitude you are feeling. Life is so unpredictable anyway. I want to be appreciated and appreciate others as well. That's humanity to me. This connection where we truly value each other. Anyway, so sorry for the long ramble. I hope wherever you are, you always stay well, physically healthy and mentally sane. Adieu, my internet sister. I will keep checking in 💌

Oh my heart, I am actually here like........

Just the other day, I'd been thinking wistfully of all the community I felt through this blog, wondering if any of y'all are still even around. This message honestly feels like the universe's answer to that. 🥰🥰🥰

This blog started out as just me shouting into the void about nonsense ITV, but it grew into so much more thanks to you all. I am an only child (and wouldn't have it any other way!) and know nothing of being a sibling, but somehow I felt so fiercely protective of every single person I've talked to through this blog, that idk how, I just became an honorary big sister. It's a badge I wear with utmost honour, even though we don't even know each others' names!

Just know, even if I am not watching Tellywood anymore/super active on this blog, I'm still here on tumblr everyday (it's my safe corner on the internet) and you guys can reach out whenever! Life goes on, interests change, and we grow as people. But this blog and I don't plan on going anywhere, and it'll always be a home for y'all to drop in when you need it. 🏠🏠🏠💖💖💖

PS - I'm proud of you for finding a community of your own, and kicking mental illness's ass on the regular. I'm right there with you (on the suicide ideation) and we're not going down without fighting tooth and nail, sis. There are people out there who we care about, and who care about us, and that's literally alllllll that life is all about, baby!!!!!!!! Go on and live your best life to the fullest, and always remember that this internet big sister of yours is always proud of you. *forehead smoochies*

[bobtheacorn]

tagged by @plothooksinc and @sroloc--elbisivni ! Finally have a chance to sit down at my desk - only to procrastinate! lmao TY for the opportunity!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

75! I have probably ten or so more that i never crossposted from ffdotnet, but they're all Old! Given that FF took a huge L and was apparently down for several days, I might find incentive to move them. but! unlikely 🤣

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

815,373!

Nicole Shut the Fuck Up Challenge: FAILED lmao

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Actively: I'm trying to write various stuff for risetmnt, usagi yojimbo, and digimon adventure/02.

Not actively, published:

Voltron: Legendary Defender (24) One Piece (Anime & Manga) (13) Luca (2021) (5) 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) (3) Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02 (3) Digimon Adventure (2) Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater (2) 鬼滅の刃 | Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba (Anime) (2) 幽☆遊☆白書 | YuYu Hakusho: Ghost Files (Anime & Manga) (2) The Hobbit - All Media Types (2) Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime) (1) Saiyuki (Anime & Manga) (1) Avatar: The Last Airbender (Cartoon 2005) (1) The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien (1) The Adventure Zone (Podcast) (1) The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom (1) Animaniacs (1) Zootopia (2016) (1) Gravity Falls (1)

Basically if I watch or read something and the brainworms get me for even a moment i will write at least one (1) fic for it! Even though I may not finish or even post it! 😆 Occasionally it becomes a whole mental illness (STILL cannot believe i pumped out 24 goddamn fics for voltron. What a time to be alive LMAO)

4. Top five fics by kudos?

the hard beat of her heart - 1,982!

WOW i didn't realize its had almost 2k now thats crazy af. My Bakugo and his Mom fic is THE banger!

so low you can hear - 1,866!

another holy fuck moment, this one is pretty surprising bc its a much older lunami fic but i saw a huge influx after OPLA so 🤣

tired and emotional - 1,466

my drunk teenagers vld fic had big hits, such as Pidge 'scrambling like a racoon' and two idiots (klance) eating eachothers faces under a public table and then fist-fighting their feelings! Not shocked that its up there bc it was super fun to write

i go there with you - 1,351

this started as mindlessly filling Wumptober prompts and escalated almost immediately into Whatever The Hell It Is Now and i love it dearly! hope i can finished it sometime...! 💀

maybe if it left a mark -1,295

ppl ate this one UP when i posted it and i still get pretty regular feedback for it so i'm not especially surprised that it's still hanging onto top 5 after all this time! its one of my favs too!

5. Do you respond to comments?

Not often 😭 Listen it takes all of my energy just to get the darn thing Written. I have a lot going on IRL, and i'm also horrible anxious about being Annoying 🧍‍♀️ so I just yeet things into the void 😅 told to be quiet to many times as I child w adhd and now I'm a traumatized adult who simultaneously doesn't know how to shut up but also catastrophises basic interactions. Rip

Anyway i DO read and cherish every single review/comment and they never fail to perk up my days!! obviously i reread them pretty regularly, and I love and appreciate yall!! 💜 sorry im awkward!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i'm more of a hurt/COMFORT girlie, so idk if any of my endings are SAD persay? Maybe a lil melancholy. maybe soul deep???

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

THIS is my cup of tea so it's: most of them 🤣 But significantly its my ooey gooey wedding finale for ANAFW

8. Do you get hate on fics?

got hate for a digimon fic i wrote abt Tai and Kari where someone was like 'this has so many red flags' and I was like Bro you don't show your siblings physical affection? Skill issue.

9. Do you write smut?

writing (and reading) smut is pretty new for me bc i'm on the sex-repulsed side of aro/ace but SOMETIMES !!!fictional!!! romance ETC compels me enough that i'm like Hm Lemme try that. I like to expand out of my comfort zones every now and then, so it's usually a turbulent but interesting exercise 🤣

MOST of the "spicy" stuff I write, I would consider pretty tame tbh? (or not very good 💀) I'm sorta vague on purpose, so if you come in expecting some delicious smut or something I am so sorry that that is not the part that interests me 💀💀

Someone who worked on Steven Universe said that Peridot's fixation on romance/shipping was "archeological" because she's aspec af and d'you know what I'm feelin it!

I love a dig site!

Makes no goddamn sense! Compells me tho.

10. Craziest crossover?

don't think i have a single one in my repertoire YET AS I TYPE THAT OUT i realize usagi yojimbo/tmnt is technically a cross-over! Even if it is a sort of canon one? not sure it counts asfkjhlklf I was gonna say that they don't usually interest me. Clown face emoji

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

if i have, no one has pointed it out!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! I get requests pretty often to translate my fics and i'm fine with that as long as they link back to the original! i'm also fine if they don't i guess lmao what am i, the police?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I write The Most self-indulgent crap 24/7 3/65 and i will not hand any of the reigns to someone else rip. Love to brainstorm with others tho That's what makes the brain go brrrrrrrrr

14. All time favourite ship?

ugh its KLANCE, tormented me for like 5+ years and changed my brain chemistry for the better. I'm cringe but im free!

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

*stares in 300+ WIPS* maybe that super long bagginshield fic

OH and that anafw timetravel sequel where Lance got pulled into the past/an adjacent timeline and nearly died about it. literally. THAT baby was angsty! rip

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue! And characterization!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Chain of Events....! I don't know her 😭😭😭😭 Someone please introduce us. Also having too many ideas for the way a scene could play out and being paralyzed by Which is the Best One.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Sparingly and with Purpose!

19. First fandom you wrote in?

I know in my heart it was self-insert Dragon Ball Z when I was in like, middle school

20. Favourite fic you've written?

gonna list a top 5 bc I can't pick ONE salfjasdlkf

coyote - idk i fuckin LOVE how this one came together, i go back and read it sometimes and im like damn.

small impressions on his heart - this one makes me SO SOFT @ alberto Get Cherished, Idiot

steam: - THE underrated op fic of mine, its my FAV and no one else agrees! Tragedy!

as tenacious as dandelion weeds - i loved writing feral inosuke and his dumb backwards attitude. idk i love a soft one!

salvagable - truly my comedic prowess peeked with EGG SAUCE AND BREADED nothing else will ever compare

.

Imma tag: @big-meows @goodlucktai and anybody else no pressure who also needs ten minutes of procrastination to yell abt their stuff 💜

[kiwidotcom]

Why so glum. Chum?

short answer mental illness ☹️

long answer, mental illness, brain damage, addiction, and being let down by a lot of people in my life. oh and of course. capitalism.

I appreciate you reaching out 💘 and if any of this sounds rude or mean I genuinely don't mean it!!! I'm just too poor for therapy and am ✨not ok✨ right now.

I just .. am not meant to be alive lol. I'm so depressed. I have no energy. I'm failing so hard at life (and yes I know, there's no rules in life, everyones on their own path but I'm failing at my path!!!!!) believe it or not, at nearly 28, I did not want to be getting dumped by everyone I like, working a job I have 0 passion for, sleeping during all my spare time because work is killing me, doing nothing for MY benefit. barely doing art, barely going on adventures.

I have so fucking much anxiety. I can't be social without alcohol. I feel like I can't enjoy anything without alcohol. I've been told the same things for years, that it's a muscle I can strengthen, that I just need to be social while sober and I'll realize nothing bad happens. and to those people, quite frankly, be quiet. I'm SO HAPPY no one understands my anxiety because no one should feel this way, but "nothing bad happens" is not true. being social (without alcohol) is terrifying. I feel like my mind and body are on fire the entire time, I don't feel like myself, I feel like my thoughts aren't working. I leave feeling emotionally exhausted and I didn't even get positives out of it because I was in flight or fight the entire time.

I'm killing myself with alcohol, I'm not improving, I'm wasting my life.

and now I'm on vacation. I should be happy right? but I'm just anxious and mad at myself. and I'm already so anxious about going to work Monday, I feel like I can't relax at all. the first day was fun because I was drunk the whole time.

I hate myself so much and every single day I'm disappointed I woke up

[zeldabecameaqueen]

CONTENT WARNING :

🌼 QSMP current events (3rd-4th March)

🌸 it's all my opinion and pov

🏵️ talking about violence, genocide, politics, triggers for depression and bad mental health

🍀 optimistic (even if it doesn't look like it)

🫧 non-native english speaker speaking heavy stuff in english while being sleep-deprived → incorrect, awkward, clumsy way of speaking

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

QSMP has been a light throughout the last year, when so much shit stuff is happening. I did realize before that I needed the qsmp and that it made me feel good, but I didn't realize why, and that's only now that i'm scared of losing the server that I understand. Every single day of qsmp was a day of joy for me, I loved seeing content of different nationalities, I loved so much seeing people interact and create stuff together in the most chaotic way, I loved slowly getting into the different ccs communities and I loved to recognize ids, recognize tumblers and artists. And even when in the lore it was getting dark, it was still fictional and we knew it would get better. And even in real life when some ccs were not being safe, and that communities could get violent and full of hatred, I also knew the server would survive it since there is a vast majority of priceless people who would fight for this safe, international space. And what I just realized, is that when everything is going down in the world in real life, when every day you're flooded with infos about how much humans are bullshit and destroying selfish beings with absolutely no empathy or respect for others, even with every day evidence that there is no hope of it getting better, qsmp was there to give me hope.

I believe that QSMP is a place of creation, international unity and hope. It is a safe place for people who are socially different, for people who have in.visible illnesses, for people who are discriminated against. It is a safe place for people who are incredibly creative, for people who care about life.ves, for people who spread kindness and respect. I don't care if you don't agree, this is how I feel considering who I am.

QSMP is a place of creation and bonding and building. It is a place of light and hope and art and beauty. It is a place for the best of humankind.

My english has gone very bad because I just spent the night with nightmares about the qsmp and anxiety about work and reminders of what is happening in the world and how what I make to help is never enough and how hopeless we all are. Because people who have power, right now, just don't care! I'm not sorry, when you have that much power, and are witnessing such atrocities /a fucking genocide for instance/ given that we have no excuses of resources and wealthiness (i'm speaking from an european pov), when you let this kind of shit happening, as a high-rank politic or head of business company, it's because you don't care, I don't see any kind of reason for letting this kind of things happening

I didn't plan on getting into politics so I'll stop here but the point is, QSMP cannot close down because they exploited their employees/volunteers who put that much work and because of bad administration. The issues have been addressed, and I believe will be resolved. People who don't feel safe anymore on the qsmp will leave for their wellbeing, others will stay to maintain it as the best place it can be. But in the end, I believe in the project, I support it, and I'll fight for it to keep on going under the condition of these matters to be resolved.

It is my opinion and I know a lot of people want to boycott qsmp and unfollow it, especially french people, but i personally disagree with that doing. I feel like we have the power to do something, to make it better and I'm sorry for what the qsmp team has been put through but also grateful towards Léa for her bravery and the other admins who spoke out. Because now we can do something about it, for it to be a safe place for the communities and the admins and actors.

I'm feeling less hopeless now, but please I hope some of us will stay on following and believing in the qsmp, and that we'll find a way to get through, because I don't see how it wouldn't be possible. I mean, just pay your creators/workers, communities will be glad to participate in any way possible, it is an amazing project that won't end on such a crap note.

As I was saying previously, QSMP is a place of creation, of hope for humankind and unity, and respect, and caring. Prove that we are able to overcome this by fighting together

Take care of your health, step away if needed, drink water, sleep, eat and don't blame yourself. No hatred 🌸

[lizsurvived]

I have to admit, no one knows about my secret lil tumbler about what happened to me. The people in my life know it happened but no one else; but they have no clue I'm doing this. Ig its because I know it's intense. But honestly, idk if anything will come of this tumbler. But either way, I think it's important that I keep writing.

My current partner (not my monster of an ex) is the kindest, gentlest and most caring and affectionate man. I love him so much. I hope it lasts forever lol, we are so alike and we have so much fun together. We respect each other and are very communicative. He's aware of everything that happened with my ex.

I still can't really believe it happened.

What's worse is that I had gone back to see him yet again, a week after it happened. I know. What the fucking fuck was wrong with me, you're asking yourself. I'm asking myself the same thing. I must have had insane Stockholm syndrome... He was very manipulative. I was manic and completely alone in the world with no friends or family who I could see in person to talk to. Don't worry, I made it out without a scratch that time, and will never go back.

My current partner and I met about 7 months ago about 2 months after I moved closer to my sister. We were off and on for a while because he and I both have mental illness and couldn't seem to communicate well enough. He broke up with me kind of, he claims I was forcing him into doing it. Who knows who was right about that, we we're both so out of it mentally, both of us were all over the place. Now, we are both medicated and it's night and day.

I don't think I've ever known true love until I met my current partner. He is everything a man ought to be. I love him for all of him. The good and the bad (although with him, the good outweighs the bad every single fucking time). I also feel that he and I love each other equally. One doesn't love one more than the other. We love each other completely. He's a nerd which I resonate with lol. And he's extremely talented! I fell in love with him almost instantly. Our bond was strong and our chemistry was everything.

Then he broke up with me one night out of the blue after a month of dating. My sister wrote me off for about 5 months for a while... You have to understand, she and I were best friends my entire life... I had no one to talk to. No one to go to. I was so depressed and so sad... I admit that's when I drove to see my ex. Unfortunately for me, I didn't know that my current partner would later contact me again to reconnect... I definitely wouldn't have done what I did. I was so love sick... Its hard to explain and it's just... A lot. I know.

My current partner spoke of how he feels guilty.. my sister and I recently reconnected and I felt that I had to tell her what happened while we werent talking. I had to tell her that my first thought when I was about to pass out from being strangled was that I was never going to see my sister again or my family again.

The relief I feel now that my sister and I are talking again... Is so immense. It feels as if I was in an ice bath whereas now my body feels more at ease and my mind feels less burdened.

It's hard not to feel responsible for what he did to me. I knew he was dangerous. I guess I just truly didn't expect anything like that to happen to me. Didn't think he could go that far. People should know about what he did. I'm just too afraid to tell anyone who he is for fear of his reaction if or when he finds out. I'm terrified of him and so should anyone be.

He has put multiple men in hospitals. When he fights he wins. He is scary. He has violent priors. Very manipulative. I'm extremely concerned for his next girlfriend. I'm worried he could definitely kill someone... I have basically no legal leg to stand on except for a t shirt with blood and DNA all over it from that night.

Please. If you know anyone who does pro bono law or knows someone who does, if they think I have a leg to stand on, please drop me a line.

[cynicalgood]

what if i asked you EVERY SINGLE NUMBER ON THE WEIRD ASK GAME...HAHA...

unless?

bet.

who is/are your comfort character(s)?

*** **********, Will Graham, ***** ***** (you don't need to know), Dale Cooper from Twin Peaks, Akira Kurusu from Persona 5 (i’m brave. Brave), *** ****** AND i’m gonna list off my blorbos (yes there’s a difference): Jonathon Sims from The Magnus Archives, John Reese, Harold Finch, Matt Murdock, Roman Roy from Succession, The Narrator from Fight Club (tbh), David Ward from I Am in Eskew (have you caught on with my horror podcasts illness), Cloud from Final Fantasy VII, and many more but these are the ones I feel brave enough to say 😵‍💫

lighter or matches?

lighter. my brother told me i was a pussy for not using a lighter. this cannot stand.

do you leave the window open at night?

when the room is stuffy or the hot is intolerable just a Tiny BIt, then yes, yes i do. the only bitch of it is that the only window in my room is kind of creepy at night 0(-( i can't live.

which cryptid being do you believe in?

answered

what color are your eyes?

brown eyes solidarity

why did you do that?

WHY did i do that

hair-ties or scrunchies?

hair-ties

how many water bottles are in your room right now?

none

which do you prefer, hot coffee or cold coffee?

iced coffee yesss <3 but if that's not that type of cold coffee this question is referring to then hot coffee obv

would you slaughter the rich?

yes

favorite extracurricular activity?

answered

what kind of day is it?

uneventful. veered to teeth-grinding, back to uneventful. Sigh

when was the last time you ate?

noon yesterday ^_^

do you love the smell of earth after it rains?

answered

are you a parent? (all answers qualify)

yes omgomgomg our SON. our beautiful little boy who's so pure and sweet…JONATHON.

can you drive?

i'm taking lessons! i'll be da king of da highway in seconds. watch

are you farsighted or nearsighted?

answered

what hair products do you use?

L’Oréal. sorry but these questions are my weak points and i’m a basic bitch!!!

imagine we’re at a sleepover, would you paint my nails?

YESSSSS i don't like painting my own nails because ugh. who cares. but i would gladly paint for anyone. i can be bad at it but you will Not complain ok rn we're giggling

do you say soda or pop?

soda. what's a pop. i'll slaughter.

something you’ve kept since childhood?

barnie. that scary-looking barnie plushie across the living room. one of the saving graces of moving houses is that i'm now rid of these barbie dolls. good god man. sorry ik this was meant to be sentimental but that's. all i have. i Hated them

what type of person are you?

god knows. but what i do is that i’m the type of person who would take a personality quiz just for this question (i kid you not. and all of them sucked!!!) hmmmm i AM a sham and pretty mellow tbh idk don’t ask me that question again

how do you feel about chilly weather?

answered

if we were together on a rooftop, what would we be doing?

omg rooftops!! i think we'd look at blocky cloud shapes and figure out with of them look more alike to Jonathon. or we can sit in contended silence ^_^

perfume/body spray or lotion?

men's deodorant. i don’t go out outside of academic duties alright i just hope for the better

a scenario that you’ve replayed multiple times?

nah i'm not saying one scenario. there are Multiple. it mostly has me being in a very terrible situation. a car crash, assault, getting canceled, etc. it's weird. i also imagine scenarios where i just. scroll thru tumblr. literally. it happens when i’m in the process of still fully waking up so my mind just conjures up posts and I’d be scrollin mentally (potential case of the chronic online?). also scenarios where i wonder how a chat would play out had i said something differently. stuff from yeaaaars ago. and obv fictional scenarios for the blorbos they’re My Barbie dolls

about how many hours of sleep did you get?

i didn't have to bring a grocery bag to store today

do you wear a mask?

until now, Yes. sometimes. even when i'm not sick or the cases decreased. why have i never considered wearing them before the pandemic…i can sit there and nobody would know what face i'm making or that i made that weird remark. god bless masks.

how do you like your shower water?

i need to feel it Scalding Hot, you feel me. i need to feel my back getting flayed.

is there dishes in your room?

my dad calls kept going on that if i were biologically male i’d grow an uncared-for beard with doodles & paint everywhere on my jeans. my man, those were just TWO DISHES. alas, he’s honestly not even the least bit far off. :pensive:

what type of music keeps you grounded?

psychedelic & shoe-gaze!!! and probably other genres that i don’t remember. these genres can have sounds that can be so big and almost overwhelming………i’m in the process of making a shoe-gaze-only playlist because!!!!!

do you have a favorite towel?

no. they all feel bad on my skin

the last adventure you’ve been on?

i trekked the desert. climbed a mountain. went sand-boarding. y’all don’t have it in you

is there a song you know every word to by heart?

nah :(

what’s your timezone?

Eastern European Time

how many times have you changed your url?

6 times for my main blog alone! if you count all of my previous sideblogs, then that'd be 13 times.

someone in your life, other than a relative, you’ve known for 10+ years?

this is sad. because. well. i Do know people from my high school days since a decade, but i wouldn't call them friends. </3

a soap bar that smells good?

probably Lux

do you use lip balm?

my lips are drier than the Sahara desert but i'm up

did you have any snacks today?

no

how do you take your coffee?

anything as long as it keeps me caffeinated. for function. BUT i'd kill for a coffee with milk and sugar.

an app you frequently use besides this godforsaken site?

notes app. for taking notes during lectures.

what’s your take on spicy foods?

i rlly like spicy food.

you get a free pass to kill anyone, who is it?

to match Ana’s answer, PUTIN.

can you remember what happened yesterday?

i don't know really since every day is a blur of a blur of a blur of the previous days hmmm sorrie

favorite holiday film?

holiday films are not my thing 😭

what was the last message you sent?

“you’re gonna love season 1 vit i just Know This” (hannibal disease hannibal disease)

when did you first try an alcohol beverage?

NONE

can you skip rocks?

i’ve never tried it

can i tag you in random stuff?

ABSOLUTELY. i'm bad at responding yk this BUT YES ALWAYS

let me tell you, i’ve never in my whole life overshared this much

[autoimmunechronicles]

Recently, I find myself having to 'prove' my disease, symptoms, and pain to others as though to make them and myself believe that it's INDEED real. (to my fellow warriors, your disease and pain is enough-- you're enough)

I feel in my bones the doubts and judgements (even myself) that sows the seeds of negative emotions affecting my mental health.

Why does my disability have to be recognized and supported in the first place?

Here are my thoughts:

I DO NOT have to prove my pain and disease to anyone -

My "invisible" but very real, unimaginary illness exists. I feel pain 24/7. Some people do not (even try to) understand and have a distorted and disproportionate expectations.

2) We just want the support of the people dear to us.

People surviving with chronic illness face challenges that are inconceivable to normal and/or healthy people.

Often times, family and friends tend to make insensitive or thoughtless remarks or even requests that exhaustively impact our well-being.

3) We are dis-ABLE-d

Inspite of the awful unpredictable nature of autoimmune diseases, there are moments, hours, or even days of "low pain". Sometimes it lasts for a short period of time, sometimes not.

Personally, whenever I do not feel crackling pains, (chronic & extreme) fatigue, weakness and have all the limited energy (SPOONS) to move around and carry out chores, I DO THEM. I AM ABLE TO DO THEM.

To put it briefly, even through pain, I can carry out chores that I DEEM AM ABLE TO ACCOMPLISH. Otherwise, I will NOT carry through or postpone the tasks / activities.

In my experience, I do feel that I am a burden when it comes to contributing to house works and chores nowadays. I am not WHO and WHAT I used to be -- as much as I want to move I feel extremely guilty for not being able to do so. But I do remind myself that autoimmune in general cannot be prevented and there's only so much that I can do.

THAT IS WHY when I CAN, I DO.

4) Stop putting labels and words in our mouths:

When we are trying to help out and contribute, please do not be so insensitive as to say what we CAN and CANNOT do.

Believe us when we say we wen and DO NOT ASSUME THAT WE CANNOT.

Example: You see us washing the dishes then suddenly you would remark "You are not able to do that." YES WE CAN, WHEN WE CAN.

Yes we are disabled and each and every one of us have different diagnoses, symptoms, limitations -- but we continue to fight and make things work everyday. Chronically ill people are creative, smart, innovative, and are masters of life!

We are only disabled because of our illness and its complications which might prevent us to perform, live, and interact with the rest of the world in what's perceived to be in a normal way.

But please, we will appreciate it if we you can also give us the space to fully appreciate being ABLED.

Caveat: Please do not gaslight or get AGGRESSIVE and make degratory remarks or make your loved one feel guilty for not being able to perform normal tasks that may seem easy, fast, or normal to you.

In my case, I am able to cook, clean, and do chores but in a very, very slow and painful phase requiring rest every 5 minutes as I tend to be fantastically exhausted.

(Yes, 10 steps is exhausting enough for me. Legs crack up, lungs requiring deep breathes. But I STILL DO, I endure when I can.)

5) We appreciate all the emotional, physical, and financial support extended to us

Every single effort to help, support, and understand our condition is wholeheartedly appreciated!

Most importantly, especially to the family members, it would mean a lot if we can make an effort to really learn and work on knowing the specific autoimmune disease your loved ones have.

We are also trying to learn more about our disease everyday. Autoimmune is still a big mystery even to the medical community.

6) We DO NOT NEED unsolicited advise or opinions you heard online from herbal doctors or those who are "HEALED" or "CURED" of the disease

We do understand that a healthy and balanced diet is important but you also have to remember that:

+ Autoimmune diseases are incurable. It can only be managed.

+ Each patient / fighter are experiencing different symptoms. No TWO LUPUS patients' experiences and symptoms and treatments are the same.

+ There is no "GETTING BETTER." We do not enjoy the pain, but realistically, this only upsets us.

+ If there was one single herb and diet restrictions that works, all of us would have been cured, healed.

Nonetheless, we know your intentions mean well! :)