#arguably the worst part of recovery I think

[xbasement-baitx]

Besties I can not wait to be able to cook again this fall😭

[the-whumpening]

Re: sickfics and recovery

Having lived with chronic pain for around a decade now, I can safely say that the worst part of being bedboud/housebound or stuck at home recovering for months isn't actually the pain itself. Like, it's bad--don't get me wrong! It makes you want to tear your hair out and punch walls and cry at the unfairness and helplessness of it all, but it's arguably not the absolute worst part.

The worst? Boredom.

You'd think that like, being at home, you can watch TV or play games or engage in your hobbies. You can nap and take life at a leisurely pace. Nah, doesn't work like that.

Humans need stimulation--even my autistic same-thing-loving ass gets tired of my Same Thing after a while. You run out of stuff to watch, games to play, books to read. That's assuming of course that your illness/disability doesn't directly prevent you from enjoying those activities.

Can't use your hands well? No crafts, no video games, no typing or scrolling. And if you're stuck in bed too, all that leaves is screen-based activities.

Need to avoid screens or eye strain bc of migraines? Too bad, that cuts out most entertainment options. Hope audio doesn't trigger your symptoms too!

It's just so, so incredibly boring and lonely. Everyone else in my house works, so I'm home alone nearly all day, every day. I can talk to my few friends online, if my hands and eyes and foggy brain can handle it, but most days it's just me and the cat (who wants to play but I just can't physically do it).

What do you do when you can't look at screens or use your hands? Sleep, if you're able. Talk to your housemates when they're around. Cuddle with the cat. Suffer through symptoms because you're so goddamm bored you'll take a headache over six more hours of nothing.

And the world keeps going. Laundry has to get done. Dishes need washing. Cat has to get fed. Throw the string toy even though it hurts your shoulder, unload three plates, put away your t-shirts. It's not leisurely, it's trading a modicum of comfort to stave off boredom for just a few minutes.

(I know there's a whole discourse about tagging whump and the disabled community in the same post, but this is about both. It's about me sharing a deeply personal experience for the benefit of both communities, of which I am a member. There's a lot of crossover between our communities, and I'm old (for tumblr). I've put in my time to learn the nuance.)

[itsclydebitches]

While it was nice to finally get some more fight scenes in a show about people training to fight things it feels like RT still has no idea how character abilities work or how to compare character strength, the final showdown with the cat is an obvious example with Ruby easily blocking an attack from the cat while Juan, a character who's whole thing is having a ridiculous amount of aura has it completely drained and break from a single hit. Honestly feels like a repeat of the Schnee manor fights.

Ruby's part of the fight was the best we've seen in a while (though frankly I don't think that's much of a contest this Volume, not when all the other fights were akin to tame skirmishes: chess piece grunts, Jabberwalker, Ruby too depressed to fight back) and I really liked the lead-in to her return while going after Crescent Rose... but yeah, the rest was pretty boring imo. And, as you say, suffers from this ongoing problem of abilities/power-scaling. It's bad enough that Jaune is taken out so quickly, but the reason for that is so he can fall from the tree and... encounter smoke? That fixes their possession problem after only being portrayed as a dangerous temptation up until now? The fact that the writers thought it was a good idea to have the Cat scream, "No! These FEELINGS!!" when, cringe aside, that doesn't even make sense - they're arguably the most emotionally complex Afteran! - tells you all you need to know about that fight.

Honestly, some nice choreography/imagery aside, I think the whole fight is fundamentally flawed. Why is the Cat our final villain when Neo herself is right there? Why doesn't the possession result in any cool abilities? (Because the Ruby puppets were just... bad). Why bother with the possession at all when it was immediately solved through a solution with no lead-up? Why, after a Volume of seeing the Cat separate their body into individual pieces - which could be used for cool battle strategy - are they suddenly transforming into this hulking beast? Why did the Volume introduce the Jabberwalker just to immediately kill it off, giving Neo the equivalent of Weiss' summoning ability when she was already CRAZY op this season? Why was our culminating team attack just a bunch of colored blurs that - and this is a nitpick - weren't even the right colors for RWBY? Then there's Ruby herself who, yeah, absolutely looks the best compared to everyone else, but considering this confident, triumphant fight comes about after, not even speed-running a recovery arc, but outright bypassing it, makes the whole thing feel totally unearned. Some cool imagery and a revised "Red Like Roses" can't get me invested if the core reason Ruby is fighting against doesn't hold together.

You can't have Ruby suffer the worst defeat she's ever faced, learn her good friend was murdered for a second time, crumble under the realization that she can't defeat an immortal witch, be ignored by her entire team for two-ish days, lash out at them, actively flinch away from her weapon, get tortured by the villain, drink the tea, learn her mom lied to everyone about her final, presumably deadly mission, and then solve ALL OF THAT by... remembering said mom saying she's perfect back when she was, like, five?

This just in, extreme depression to the point of suicidal intent is solved by recalling a single platitude from your parent, the one who you just learned is a liar who left you and your sister behind for a mission she knew was likely to kill her. Rejoice and bring on the triumphant battle, complete with confident smirk!

[system-of-a-feather]

Do you think knowing your role is really important? Like protectors are pretty clearly protectors for us but I'm just a teen alter who's sad a lot. Maybe I'm taking the labels too literally? I hold trauma memories but that's not all I do...I think maybe we were heavily misled by DID youtubers. Like our old host stressed themselves out so much when they first discovered the system because they heard that alters are trapped in trauma memories like a mind hell and also they can DIE. But I was one of the alters they were worried about and I'm not trapped.

Naaaaahhhhh. And honestly, we are very disillusioned and not a fan of DID Youtube all together really. The only one we really would recommend to any level is M&M and even then, I would say to take it with the note that they are sharing a fraction of everything and only what they are comfortable sharing publicly. Beyond that, I reallly would try to not take DID Youtube too seriously or really as anything too particularly informational.

Specifically also, don't fuck around with DissociaDID shit, we won't go into our detailed opinions on them, but they're arguably the worst in terms of both active message and information and the passive subcontext and lessons they share on there. I am personally of the believe that in most cases DissociaDID's video sets people up for failure if used for anything more than just a "heres the very very basics of how things kinda tend to be like sometimes" and/or an introduction to the chaotic mess. I say this as an ex-fan.

But DID Youtube aside, nah, I don't really think roles are all too important at all and honestly I heavily promote making up your own ones. The label of roles - especially the official ones - should serve more to communicate to therapists and outsiders (of the system) key dynamics and ways of existing of some parts to others. I find that using your own words and labels to describe your system helps create a more catered perspective to approaching how your system works.

The general paradigm of "protector" "trauma holder" "persecutor" "gatekeeper" stuff works very well as a template for understanding alter dynamics and so it works for a lot of people starting up good enough, but I feel as you go further into recovery, you benefit more from having custom and curated terms that apply more specifically to your system and those roles are better used for internal purposes.

And even then, its perfectly fine to not have a role cause existing (DID or not) is not about having a specific duty or role to fit into, it is and should be solely to just live and enjoy things. Getting too bogged down in what part is doing what for what reason tends to keep parts from actually just existing beyond the chaos of their disorder - which is something XIV had taught us cause we used to be pretty heavy with roles in the past. You exist and that should come first before trying to fit you into a box or into the machine because you existing is more important that what you have to offer.

Lin is in a similar situation to you from the little I know - a teen alter that is a trauma holder that does more than just hold trauma but nothing too drastically large - and thats super fine and cool. He's not doing anything, he is just living and learning to live and thats all we expect from him. We're happy when we see him happy and we don't really care what he is supposed to be doing or what role he plays cause man fuck that shit.

We are just here to live. It benefits none of us to be trying to focus on "work" within the system when we have a life to live.

I am of the opinion that roles help in relaxing and getting an understanding to the general idea of how DID works, but past that stage of confusion of early healing, its kinda just best to let that go and really just learn to live again.

Hyper focusing and trying to organize and understand everything in DID is honestly ruminating and fixating and staying in trauma - inherently - and will keep you regularly trying to pick apart trauma and ruminate in it - directly or not - if you are worrying too much about labels and roles and how everything works exactly. It's easier said than done and it took us years to get here, but imo the best way to live peacefully with DID is to really just let it be.

It's scary if you aren't there yet and its not something you can really rush or force, but that's my personal secret advice as someone at functional multiplicity. You don't need to understand you DID to have great peace with it, hell I'd even argue that its pointless to try to understand your DID (might not be true cause we're polyfragmented so maybe for non pf systems its less of a wild goose chase, but for us we just came to terms and accepted that this shit is nonsensical and trying to make sense out of it is more of a headache than its worth)

[crystalelemental]

Sync Pair Retrospective - Halloween 2022

I feel like this event was weird. I dunno, it just didn't feel that engaging to me? It's hard to explain.

Halloween Allister Allister came out second, but I'm talking about him first, because I once said he was the worst support released last year. It's been another year now, and...yeah actually, I stand by it.

Halloween Allister feels very much like SS Wally, in that sense where he was ultimately held back for having a new trait. Ghost Rebuff was supposed to be a huge deal, but Ghosts...don't really love this guy. They can get along, but the bad speed tends to hinder more than help, given how gauge limited many of them already are. His immediate +3 crit for the team is nice, but defense is only relevant sometimes, and his Ramp Up is incredibly slow acting. He's a pair that thrives more in Gauntlet, especially as a soloist given his passive recovery, but his CS performance is highly suspect. This has not significantly changed.

The completion of grid expansions did provide Allister with two F2P partners in Agatha and Shauntal. Agatha's stalling technique via Hypnosis allows Allister to take a little longer with the Ramp Up to get her where she's going, while Shauntal's speed boosting trainer move meant gauges were less of a problem. Neither was an ideal fit. They worked well, but were far from exceptional. NY Dawn was effective enough, further improving physical bulk and doubling his Ramp Up buff. But the trouble with Allister is that if he's getting Ramp Up, he's not applying the rebuff, and then what is he doing? You need approximate self-sufficiency, but the only two with that, Anni Lillie and Renegade Cynthia, are pretty slow and gauge hungry. So he often fails to give them what they need.

Allister hasn't really changed. If anything he's gotten worse, as other fast-acting crit buffers jump in. NC Calem does the same +3 crit with the right grid, and offers a huge boost to Atk with some Sp Atk in the same action, while having two types of field effect. Palentine's Mallow does the same Def/Crit with high personal healing and Ramp Up gimmick, but with special defense drops on her main damage attack instead of the type rebuff, making her more broadly applicable. Frankly, if it weren't for the rebuff, Variety Agatha would've put him out of a job permanently as far as offensive support goes. The kid started out pretty bad and arguably got worse. His only real niche at this point is a Gauntlet Solo count few care about, and the rebuff that doesn't see much use. That'll save the meta.

Halloween Iris So with that you may think hey, Iris has Poison Zone, and Poison is a rough time. I guess she's the better pick. Great news! She's the worst Zone setter! It's not even close!

Iris' Zone exists for herself. Hyper Beam spam is at least decent, despite her low special attack, and she can do okay at clearing on-type content. Though off-type reveals how bad the special attack really is. Her only other utility is Acid, which she needs 3/5 to make a 100% AoE chance to debuff special defense. That is a lot of investment for an effect Lucian wildly outperforms at 1/5, girl. Zone is carrying you, and frankly, it's not worth it given how bad Poison damage really is. It's incredibly had to justify Iris.

The introduction of new damage dealers was also a double edged sword. Yes, Emma and Oleana could use the Zone. But they're physical, and new CS parameters with the 12.5k meta meant you didn't want to attack with both types of damage, so oopsie doodles, using Iris is not using someone who does literally nothing but Zone, or trying to let her contribute to damage by re-allocating points to more punishing conditions. Emma had an easier time with Looker than Iris. And Oleana had a rebuff that she slapped on right away to ensure Toxic, effectively replicating Iris' utility, then adding Venom Drench and Pep Rally 2 on Move Gauge Boost to the mix. Oleana wasn't so much a good partner to Iris as her replacement. It wasn't Zone, but it got the job done better. The only real partners Iris has received as Drasna, who has Poison as secondary, and Petrel, who is a 0.4% chance to happen on a limited banner he's sharing with four other targets. Good luck with that!

Iris is not in a great position. Poison is starting to seriously pick up as a damage type, but they're all physical. And while Iris doesn't contribute much, she prefers special. Which very, very few competent Poison-types are. Iris is still waiting for the special Poison type of her dreams, that has competent DPS and is easier to access and everything. Personally, I'm hoping it's Halloween Lusamine and Nihilego this year. But given how the year has gone for me personally, I'm not confident.

[stingslikeabee]

For precious few seconds, it was somewhat possible to convince herself that the last couple of days had been nothing but a nightmare conjured by a creative mind. All because Daryl's arms felt familiar enough - comforting, safe and like nothing could go wrong. For the moments where she cried and found solace not only in his presence but also the physical support for a battered body, the nurse inhaled his scent to the best of her abilities and clung to his clothes with the determination of someone that would drown otherwise.

But eventually, came the separation - even if it was mitigated by the kiss and the adored timbre of his deep voice and the disguised thunder in his throat, like an ancient god ready to unleash punishment over those who deserved it. Trying to steady herself in addition to the rhythm of her lungs, Melissa's own pain was suddenly dulled when the survivalist mentioned his brother - wait. Wasn't Merle with him?

"We will come back for him," the nurse said with resolution tinging the words, feeling somewhat responsible, too. Melissa had been there for the man when he recovered (and when arguably many wouldn't have done the same). Despite Merle's personality and behavior towards Daryl, the woman had grown somewhat attached to his growth and recovery. Her boyfriend once said it was the best his brother had ever been - and the caretaker had sensed the warm flames of pride in her chest with that.

(Surely Melissa had helped with that, right? Just a bit?)

But regardless of Daryl's opinion on the matter - family was family; she had thought of her sisters frequently, so the least she could do was to find his sibling if they could. Nodding at the next question that came, Melissa gleefully linked fingers and limped a bit against him, even thought the worst was not on her legs but the crudely bandaged arm - thankfully, the one she didn't need for support given the side Daryl had chosen to help with.

"It looks worse than it feels," the woman said, but a sudden patch of uneven ground had her tumbling and staggering, but Daryl's reflexes kicked in before anything major could happen. His own sturdy frame blocked a fall and kept her standing, making his girlfriend smile through winces born out of pain and wiping tears away to the best of her abilities with one dirty hand, smearing some blood and god knew what else over skin, "Okay, maybe it's as bad as it looks. Some guy gave me a good beating - but the other arm hurts the most. I think I need stitches for that later."

Now, suddenly aware that they would survive - that with Daryl Dixon at her side, anything was possible - a part of Melissa's rational mind was attempting to win back the ground lost to fear and desperation. While her eyes looked around for clues about what could have possibly triggered it all, she also started to think of how to clean, disinfect and properly treat herself and anything else that the survivalist had on his body. First aid kits were not hard to find; perhaps they could get supplies at a place that was less crowded with whatever these creatures were, and with one looking out for the other.

Eventually, they got it to the car - even if Melissa was limping a bit; the bruises on the leg made it uncomfortable to walk, but not enough to hinder movement. Getting inside with Daryl's help and then fastening the seatbelt (a ridiculous measure under such circumstances for many, but what if they needed to brake suddenly?), the nurse reached for his closest hand, squeezing it before adding a small smile to try and temper the severity of the words and the choice that Daryl had elected to make.

"We'll come back for him, sweetheart. I'll help you - I promise."

Against all odds, by some fucking miracle Melissa looks good. Terrified and hurt, and sad in a way that Daryl's never seen her, but there's colour in her skin and in her eyes, and to him that's as good as it's going to get for some time to come. He'd feared the worst: seeing her pale and milky eyed, hearing her roar and groan and having to be eaten alive because he couldn't muster up the strength to kill her.

But Melissa is alive, and Melissa cries, and without even bothering to stop himself, Daryl is right there with her. As tears left unshed finally well and drip down his cheeks, the phantom voices of his father and brother persist as they always do. Something about the warmth of her tears on his chest and the way Melissa trembles makes all of it mean nothing, though-- in the moment, there's nothing he can do but feel, and at least with Melissa he's found she's never wanted him to stop feeling, anyway.

Daryl hadn't realised how keyed up he was until this moment-- how tired he's been feeling, how his legs and feet ache, how the only thing that kept him going was finding her-- and now that he does, it takes everything not to just fall to his knees. His grip tightens a little, his breaths come deeper as he tries to centre himself, and when finally Melissa looks at him, he allows the tears still left in his eyes to fall even as he laughs and presses their foreheads together.

"We ain't out of the woods yet," he murmurs. As good as it feels to be connected and close like this, complacency gets you killed. He'd seen as much in everything that led up to this moment: the wounds, the deaths, the mercy kills.

Even as his arms withdraw some, and his hands slide up Melissa's back to cup either side of her jaw, Daryl looks into those honey coloured eyes and regrets he can't take his time. In what few seconds he has, though, he kisses her, firm and confident and comforting all at once, and with the living warmth of her lips Daryl tells himself that the worst is over. Despite the hell that surrounds them, Melissa is alive, and that was all he needed.

"We gotta go, darlin'," he whispers once the kiss breaks. "The city's gone to shit, far as I can tell. I don't know where Merle is, but he..." Once upon a time, Merle would have been the priority, but his brother's the toughest son of a bitch Daryl knows. Or at least that's what he attempts to comfort himself with. A part of him can't quite reconcile himself with the reality of not putting his kin first for once, but the other part looks at the state of the woman he loves and knows she needs him more.

"...he'll be okay."

Daryl nods, more for himself, but he digresses.

"Can you walk?" He's stepping back now, looking Melissa over once more. In his refusal to stop touching her, though, his hands only trail along her biceps, slipping over her forearms until their fingers can twine. Daryl had been so relieved earlier he's sure he might have missed something; she looks terrible, but just how bad is it? "I got a car waiting out on the street. Won't be far at all."

[chained-to-the-mirror]

Some introspective rambling about eating and weight under the cut!

I’m going to go ahead and ramble publicly about some personal things. Maybe it will help someone - maybe me, I don’t know.

If you have followed my blog for a long while, you may have come across my post with a self portrait (not the recent one, the one longer ago) that also had a ramble about my history with eating disorders. I think it was in 2019, and I was genuinely in recovery back then. Food was not really an issue for me, though I still was binging sometimes. It just didn’t come with guilt.

If you haven’t seen that post, to recap: I have a history of various eating disorders, and a few hospitalizations, all in some part related to those eating disorders. That history begins arguably when I was about 7-8 years old, and has continued for most of my life. In 2019 it had been quite a few years of relatively smooth sailing when it came to food - it had been about 6 years since I was last inpatient, and I was feeling confident that I was moving away from those things with every passing day. There was a short relapse in 2020 (I think) but it passed rather quickly. 

Recently, about two months ago, I started intermittent fasting. It has been a great decision for me in general - the 15:9 rhythm suits me perfectly, and I have only had one minor binge since I started. For the longest time I was high on routine and balance and feeling good and light. 

Then I had some blood tests done, and my usually super high HB was down by a lot. It’s still in the normal range, but I can definitely feel the difference. I’m having a follow up doctor’s appointment next week, having taken an iron supplement for a bit first. This was just inconvenient, but not really that big a deal. But anyway, I had the bright idea to track my eating for a week - to see if I really am not getting enough iron. So, I used a calorie tracking site.

A bit of history about me and calorie counting. At my very worst (2005-2007) I was literally weighing the spices I used in my food. I tracked EVERY calorie, meticulously. It was like a religion for me. I also tracked the carbs/protein/fat in everything I ate - even while in the end I was taking in 500 or less calories per day. It was a full on obsession that came with a bunch of other obsessions, and for years and years after I stopped tracking them I had the automatic calorie counter in my head. I thought I would never get rid of it, but somewhere around 2020-2021 I finally did.

But now? I tracked my eating for a week, as planned. Turned out I was not getting nearly enough iron - or protein. Or vitamin B12. No wonder I have been sort of tired all the time. So, in that sense it was good that I did the tracking. It was useful information. I have started taking a B12 supplement since then.

The bad news is that the calories were tracked too. That’s what the site is really for, let’s be honest. And I noticed I was not eating as much as I had thought. The first day of my tracking, I had 1600 calories. The next day, 1400. Then it was around 1500 on all other days of that week. I was surprised, genuinely. I was not hungry, I was not suffering from cravings. I thought all was fine. But apparently I am eating about 500-1000 cals less than I need every day. And I guess I had been eating that way since the fasting began.

Now, it must be pointed out that I am quite overweight, so it’s a good thing that I’m eating less than I burn. All this would be great, if it didn’t come with the baggage of my brain and the thoughts that spring up. Like: I must continue tracking the calories, to make sure I stay below 1500 calories per day. But not too MUCH below that. I managed to resist for like three days, and then I was back on that site. It’s a reputable site, and for a regular person it would be fine. I should not have gone there. I have managed to not weigh my foods to get the exact calories, but I’ve estimated with a LOT more thought than is necessary. I can admit that now, because I feel like I have to step in for myself. 

Today I have not counted a single calorie. I had a home cooked meal, no idea about the calories. I have had chocolate. I didn’t hold myself back from eating. I think I ate about the same as the other days, but it’s been different. More like when I started the fasting and everything just fell into place. I hope I can continue to just be intuitive with all this.

The real reason I was supposed to write this was the issue of weight. I have not stepped on a scale since 2012 I think, and even then my back was turned because I didn’t want to be told the number. I was lighter then, in my estimation, but I was very much troubled with all things eating. And I have not owned a scale in years and years, because that was another of my obsessions when I was worse. I weighed myself multiple times each day, and my mood was completely tied to the number. (Except at my rock bottom when it just didn’t matter anymore - I just had to continue my routines no matter what.) I don’t ever want to go back to that. But recently I’ve become curious. At the calorie counting site I had to enter my current weight, and goal weight. I have no frame of reference for what my current weight is, so I estimated. But what is the truth? I’ve been thinking about it for about two weeks now, and last time I saw my nurse, I brought it up. I told her that I had no idea what I would do if I actually got the real number. It could go any which way. It could be way higher than my estimate - in which case I would have a panic/self loathing attack of epic proportions. It could be right, which would make me disappointed. Or it could be lower, which would… and that’s what I don’t know. It might trigger me to cutting the calories further. This is the reason I have not attempted to diet, despite being hugely overweight for years now. Because what if.

The nurse told me that I have to make my own decision, of course - but there is always an option of getting weighed when I go to see her. And this has kept my mind running in circles since my last visit. I have been going from ”yes” to ”no” on a loop. I have asked for advice from friends. And they have all been wise and told me that I have to really consider WHY I need to know the weight now, and what are the pros and cons of knowing. Well, friends, if you are reading… I have not been able to come up with a single reason why I need to know my weight. There just isn’t one. The only reasons I can think of are unhealthy, and lead to worse outcomes and quite possibly a lot of unnecessary suffering. So, I guess I have decided that I don’t want to OR need to know. I will try to go on as I have before, because for a good while it was working for me. Why try to fix something that already works?

The conclusion of this ramble? I have been humbled to admit that I may not be as recovered as I previously thought. I’m not in any acute danger of a bad relapse, but I do feel like I just closed a door to a dark downward staircase, at the last moment. I can lean on the door, but I won’t enter. It’s not worth it, it never is.

Thank you to anyone who read this. I feel calmer after writing it. I will tag this with some basic tags, if there is another tag you want me to add, let me know. I hope this only brings light and not darkness.

[peninkwrites]

tumblr user penink thoughts on new cwilbur lore??

Wilbur is not going to get better this way. He is treating recovery and forgiveness like a finish line he can reach, and when his last efforts failed, he decided to re-strategize, get advice from Phil, instead of realizing relationships are not something you can win or lose at.

And until he actually talks to Tommy, he's not going to be able to truly move forward in his life. We can so clearly see him dancing around that reconciliation (why? I've heard some folks pointing to– 'if he apologizes to Tommy he thinks that'll give Tommy an excuse to leave' which I much prefer to the idea that he's just fine stringing Tommy along and acting like he never hurt him, but I genuinely don't know what the reason might be!) I don't think cc!Wilbur is going to give us that crime boys catharsis easily, he's going to draw it out throughout this arc. Like, Tommy had no reason to be in this stream, arguably, except for that conversation at the very end, except he definitely did have good reason to be, because his shadow, his mere presence, is so fundamental to Wilbur's story. He wasn't there to give plot, he was there for Wilbur to open the door and walk right past him.

As for where Wilbur's plans will lead, I've seen a lot of posts about saying this is a manifestation of Wilbur's suicidal tendencies, he's trying to reconnect with death, and while that's valid, it's quite the change from a Wilbur who was almost hysterical he was so relieved to be out of Limbo. But his plans for Ghostbur do intrigue me, part of me wonders if this plot thread will lead to Wilbur and Ghostbur reuniting? Who knows!

I trust cc!Wilbur to give his character a satisfying ending. I don't think it's going to end in another suicide. That would feel cheap at best and like a betrayal to the audience at worst. I do think it's curious that so far, it's felt like c!Wilbur has only slid backwards, so I keep on wondering: when is he going to grow? I do think he genuinely wants to be better, he's just absolutely SHIT at doing it. I'd like to see some tangible progress for him soon, even if it's just in small ways.

[weelittleweasley]

Amnesia (p2) | Draco x Reader

If you have not read part one, you can find it here!!

Prompt: After proper diagnosis and treatment, your Healer informs you that your amnesia has effected your most recent memories. These memories include your life as a upperclassman at Hogwarts, your knowledge and skills, and arguable the most important thing to you: your relationship with Draco. When Draco hears of your condition, he is overwhelmed and scared to say the least. You two are now strangers. What happens in Part Two of this multipart series?

Warnings: memory loss, nightmares, PTSD, anxiety, mentions of death

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: This part is a slow burn, but just trust me. Shit will hit the fan soon.

This story is not about romanticizing mental health issues. These are serious conditions and this story is not meant to romanticize or fantasize these topics. It’s used as a vessel to convey a different story. That being said, please take care of yourself and sending everyone lots of love. Thank you for coming back for part two :) 

Flashbacks told in italics!

Draco watched you from the window that saw into your hospital room, his nerves and terror eating away inside of him. How was he supposed to keep calm when the love of his life almost died days ago and now does not remember a single detail of their relationship? He ran his hands through his matted platinum blonde hair before covering his face and letting out a sigh that was full of mixed emotions. He was going to fall apart in seconds if it were for your Healer passing by, so he could ask him questions about your recovery.

“So her memory is gone?” he frantically asks, pleading that the answer is no. That would just mean so much time and love and energy that you both had put into this relationship was being washed down the drain. 

The Healer places a firm, yet reassuring hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Not gone,” he speaks as Draco lets out a breath he was holding. “Temporarily lost you can say. Her memories can come back to her in random spurts or all at once. The brain is very complicated and everyone reacts differently. It could take anywhere from two days to two weeks for her to remember. There are rare cases, but it is possible, that it could be a few months for her to recover,” the Healer tells Draco as Draco swallows hard.

If it was going to take you months to remember your relationship with Draco, the boy would go mad. He needed you to remember who he was and what your relationship was like so you could both move on and live the life you had planned when you were students at Hogwarts weeks before. Draco dreamt of what it would be like when you two finally got away from the chaos. He pictured you two settling down somewhere remote, in a cottage somewhere in the countryside, maybe out of England. He pictured you having a lot of land, somewhere you could both enjoy nature and its scenic views. He imagined you with your beaming smile in one of your favorite sundresses, laying in the grass, reading a book whilst you laid your head in his lap. He would stroke your hair and watching you crinkle your nose as you laughed at something he said, him relishing in the regality of your beauty. He felt unworthy to look at something so rare and so beautifully genuine. 

Draco snaps back into reality from his daydream and speaks, “Are you sure there isn’t a charm or spell of some sort that you could use to jog her memory? Do muggles have something that you could possibly use?” Draco was desperate for an answer, a sign, a solution, something.

The Healer just smiles lightly and shakes his head. “If there was, my boy, we would have used it,” he tells him. “I’m sorry you two are going through this. I can imagine it is hard for you, but just imagine how difficult it is for her. The best thing you can do for her right now is be there for her. When she remembers, I have no doubt that your relationship will be stronger than ever.”

-------

And so Draco was there for you. Even though visitor’s hours were over, Draco stayed in the waiting room in case anything happened. Not even your parents did this. Your parents went home and told you they would be back in the morning, confident that you were in good hands with the Healers. Draco could never be too sure. You could remember him overnight and desperately need him. You could remember something about Hogwarts and need answers, to which he would be right at your side. So in the waiting room he stayed, waiting in case you needed anything. 

The ex-Slytherin prince was exhausted to say the least. He hadn’t slept since the battle, too afraid to close his eyes and see what his mind conjured. He feared he would see the eyes of his father, burning into him full of anger and disgust; his only child, his only son, betraying the family to run off with some girl. Draco feared he would see the eyes of the Dark Lord although he was dead, he feared he would find his way into Draco’s mind and into his dreams. Draco didn’t even want to think about if he saw his mother in his dreams. How he abandoned her, leaving her alone to her own devices. Worst of all, Draco knew that in his nightmares he would see you, getting hurt, pulled away from him as he clawed at his father to let him go. Draco knew he would see your limp body, bloody and frail as they carried you away to a medic. He couldn’t face his dreams; they were far too scarier than his reality.

Exhaustion pulsated throughout your body before your heavy eyelids fell, you immediately falling asleep with the help of the pain potion given to you. Today was overwhelming for you; too much has happened for your brain to process adequately. You were relieved to see your parents and Ron and Hermione, but now your diagnosis and this whole Draco situation just made things worse than you had expected. How could you just forget a whole relationship with someone that had lasted almost two years? It just didn’t seem or feel real.

You were peacefully asleep, but that’s when your dreams started for the night. Although your body was at peace, your mind raced. In your dreams, you saw flashes of fire, the screams of people echoing in the halls. Stones and rubble were all around you, bodies, dead and alive, all around. Panic entered your veins as you felt your heart sink. You’re running as fast as your legs can allow you. The taste of iron is in your mouth as you scream, your lungs burning and hot tears running down your face. You’re screaming for someone, but the words don’t come out. It’s just a scream. Chaos is growing around you as see people who you once knew die before you in the matter of seconds. Somehow you cannot control yourself in your dream as you try to run over to your friends in need, but your legs are planted. You have become stone. You see Ron from across the hall and you want to run to him, knowing that he’ll keep you safe. He’ll protect you from whatever was happening. 

But before you can run to Ron, your body pulls you in the opposite direction. You want to call out for Ron, but his name doesn’t come out. Instead, your screaming something else, but you can’t make out what. Before you can even register where you are going, you look above you and see a large boulder, making its way down to crash down on you. 

And that’s when you scream. The sound is rippling through your body as you sit up straight in your bed, eyes darting open. You stop screaming when you realize it was all a dream, a nightmare rather. Why did it all feel real? The pain in your head is creeping back up as your brain throbs as you catch your breath. Your heart is beating through your chest as sweat slowly drips down your temples. Hot and cold flashes ripple through your body as you clinch onto the white hospital sheets for dear life. Frantically, you look around the room to see if anyone was around you to come to your rescue. Were your parents still here? Ron? Anyone?

In that instant, the door flings open and there was the boy you were supposed to be in love with, his blonde hair pushed in front of his face, a panicked look in his eyes.

When Draco heard the scream, he knew it was you in an instant. He could recognize your voice easily, whether it was in joy or in pain. Draco knew you better than he knew himself. His heart sunk to his stomach at your cry and he leaped to his feet. The worst thoughts came to his mind, thinking that something awful had happened to you. Did someone come into your room and try to attack you? Was he not dead? Was it his father? 

Before he could answer any of these questions, he had practically knocked the door down just to see you sitting up straight in bed, your face covered in panic, horror, and sadness. The sight was gut wrenching. Draco wanted to run to your side, pepper your face in kisses, stroke your hair with his fingers, and tell you that he was right beside you and going nowhere; he would be there to protect you. But instead of doing so, in fear of frightening you more in your vulnerable moment, he just makes his presence known.

“Are you alright?” he asks, gently and slowly, still half standing in the doorway, half in the room in case you asked him to leave.

You take a look at the boy in front of you and wondered why he was still here in the first place. It was the middle of the night; not even your parents were here. Why did a boy you barely knew decide to stay here overnight? You don’t entertain the thought any further. “Bad dream,” you simply tell him, rubbing your eyes. 

Draco understood, there was no need to ask you any further questions. He knew that you needed time and space. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm you further.

Out of curiosity, you ask him, “What are you still doing here? It’s late.”

Draco sighs, “Uh, I just wanted to make sure that you were alright. That if you needed anything someone would be here for you. Besides, I don’t have anywhere to go...” he trails off the last sentence sadly. He ran away from his mother, there was no home for Draco right now. He was alone. And without you? He was more alone than ever before.

You both look at each other for a few moments, breathing the moment in through your nose and out of your mouths. You took the time to really take a good look at Draco. He looked exhausted; heavy bags under his eyes that pulled all the way down to the tops of his cheekbones. His hair flopped lazily in front of his face. As sad as he looked, there was something almost angelic about him in this moment. The medic lights that flickered over his head dully almost made a halo above his head as he stared upon you with the most loving, sad expression you have ever seen. You could see how a previous version of yourself fell in love. He was undeniably handsome and there was something that was absolutely magnetic about him. You wanted to be around him for some reason. 

Draco interrupts your thoughts, “I’ll be just outside if you need me.” 

He tries to slither out of the door before you stop him, not even register what you are saying until the words fall out of your mouth.

“Stay with me,” you call to him, rather than asking him like you would have preferred. 

He stops dead in his tracks and turns to you, a confused expression on his face. Did you remember him? Was this your way of telling him? 

You inhale, “I just don’t want to be alone.” It was true, you didn’t want to be alone again with you and your nightmares in fear it would attack again when you closed your eyes. “My dreams are scary,” you confess. “They seem real.”

In that moment Draco knew that the dreams you were having weren’t really dreams; they were flashbacks. He had them too when he closed his eyes. Draco knew exactly what you saw and there was no need to explain. He was just happy that you asked him to stay with you. “Of course,” he gives you a small smile, preventing a larger one from appearing on his tired face.

Draco slowly closes the door behind him before making his way to the chair near your bedside. He sits in the chair slowly and offers you a small smile. You return one to him with a small sigh. You wanted to go to sleep, but also were afraid of what you would see again. Would you dream of the same thing again? Or something worse? Would this happen all the time? 

You watch the ceiling for a few moments before speaking to Draco, “I’m afraid of closing my eyes.” You turn to him to watch his reaction and he gives you a sympathetic look.

“I am, too,” he confesses. “I see old memories that replay in my head. Horrible things. Things I did, things I bore witness to, things I tried to stop...” he looks at you sadly. It was like you both understood where the other came from. There was an unspeakable understanding that just reassured the other that they were not alone. Although you don’t remember much of Malfoy besides the limited encounters with him, you can’t help but feel bad for him. He had obviously been fighting something and you wished that it would leave him alone. “Did you want to talk about what you saw?” he asked you. You shook your head and he gave you a smile. “That’s alright. You should try and fall asleep at least. You are in recovery from a nasty injury, let’s not forget that,” he teases as you smile. He loved your smile. 

You lay back a little further in your bed relaxing. “Malfoy?” you ask as Draco’s ears perk up to his name being dropped from your lips. “Were we in love?” you ask, surprising him and yourself. But if you were going to remember the boy, you had to know if you loved him. 

Draco thought to himself, Were we in love? As much as I breathe. But he doesn’t say that. “We were,” he smiles lightly at the memory when you would look at him with love glistening in your eyes, brushing his hair with your fingers as he would pull you in close by your hips, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. The boy loved you with every fiber in his being. “Madly,” he adds with a laugh. 

As he says that, your curiosity peaks. You two must have had a beautiful relationship if he claimed you were madly in love. That was not a light statement. Without further consideration, you ask him, “Can you tell me the story? Of how we fell in love?” Draco’s eyes widen when he looks at you. “It’ll help jog my memory...I also just want to know,” you tease, making him laugh. His laugh made goosebumps appear on your forearms.

Where to start, Draco thinks. He could tell you about the story of the moment he knew that he wanted to make you his, your first date, when he asked you to be his girlfriend, the moment he told you that he loved you for the first time. There were so many good memories that he had of the two of you, it was hard to choose just one. “How about this,” he proposes, “I’ll start wherever you don’t remember. With each day, I’ll tell you a new story.”

His proposition made you smile. It seemed promising. “How do I know I’ll see you every day for a new story?” you ask, raising your brows.

Your expression made Draco smile. That teasing little smile that played on your lips was one he was so fond of. “I’ll make sure of it. That’s a promise,” he tells you. “Pinky promise.” He sticks out his left pinky finger as you loop yours with his, squeezing it. Instinctively, you kiss your thumb and Draco does the same. Your eyes widen, shocked that he did the same thing as you. You would kiss your thumb after a pinky promise ever since you were a child with your mum. As if he read your thoughts, Draco said, “I remember a lot of things, (Y/N). We also used to do that a lot.”

His words bring a smile to your face as you let go and giggle at the boy in the chair. “Alright, let me think,” you state. You scan your memory for what you remember of Draco. You remember meeting him that first night you arrived to Hogwarts when he made fun of you of being friends with Ron, you remember him teasing you in your charms class because you came to class with bedhead, running late, you remember sitting next to him at the Triwizard Tournament and stomping on his foot when he said he wished the dragon got Harry, you remember when Umbridge busted you and your friends for learning defensive magic and Draco being the first person you saw when you exited the room of requirement. “The last thing I remember was when Umbridge busted Harry and all of us for learning defensive magic behind her back. You were there and you made a comment at me. I remember being mad about it and you stood a smirked at me,” you push his arm.

Draco laughs, “Sounds about right.” You roll your eyes, turning your body gently to face Draco before he began the story. Draco had to stop himself from getting distracted at the way you looked at him, excitement in your eyes as he started his story. Your wispy pieces of hair floated over your head like a fuzzy halo, his heart fluttered at the sight. Merlin, I love you, he thought to himself. “Alright, let’s see,” he starts.

After being busted by Umbridge, you were under high surveillance. Not much to do for fun around Hogwarts anymore. No more gatherings after a certain time, no common room study sessions, the library closed after a particular hour, and not to mention boys and girls had to be separated by 8 feet. How was anyone supposed to have fun outside of academia anymore? Even Hermione belly ached about how bored she was. 

You should have expected your secret meetings to have been busted. When you heard that Umbridge had rodeoed a select few students to be on a watch patrol, you knew that their leader, Draco Malfoy, would go to the ends of the Earth if it meant busting Harry Potter. You wondered if the boy really found joy in being a dickhead to people. Although the conversations you had with Draco were limited, you could tell that some of it was a show that he put on for his other Slytherin friends. It’s like they expected him to be an arse before they even met him. Regardless, the point was that Draco was always blunt and rude around you and his company was not your preferred company.

In the library, there you were, sat at a small table during your off period, scribbling some answers down to some last minute Potions homework that you knew if you didn’t get done, Snape would have your head on a silver plate. As you scribble down your answers in a frantic fury, you don’t even notice Malfoy enter the library, his sightline going straight to you. He smiled when he saw you sitting at the table, immersed in your work, hands pulling at your own hair gently. You were a sight for sore eyes. Draco always took notice of you at Hogwarts, he just never made a move because you never left the damned Gryffindor common room. 

You didn’t even notice Draco in front of you until he hovered above you, startling you. “Merlin, Malfoy,” you jump. “What do you want? And stay eight feet away, you git. I don’t need to get into more trouble with Umbridge. You have already done enough damage,” you sneer at him.

Draco thought it was adorable when you were cross. “I came to ask you out,” he simply states. He doesn’t explain himself further. He just sits beside you at the table in the library, a smug grin on his face like you said yes to his proposition.

“What makes you think that I would want to go out with someone like you,” venom drips from your cherry flavored lips as Draco smirks. Your words did nothing to him. Oh, how that would change very quickly. “You’ve been nothing but cruel to me and my friends and now, all of a sudden you want to ask me on a date? You’re out of your bloody mind.” You continue to finish your Potions homework before Draco plucks the textbook from underneath you.

Before you can protest to his actions, he speaks, “Someone like me? And what would that be? Handsome, charming, intelligent, and funny? Sounds like a real bore,” he jokes. Merlin, he had a big head. “Not to mention, this hasn’t come all of a sudden. I’ve had my eyes on you for a while, (Y/L/N). I just haven’t mustered up the courage to ask you out properly. So here I am,” he leans on his elbow on the table, a shit eating grin on his face that you would love to smack off. “I need an answer, darling. Or else Professor Snape’s homework will just have to wait...”

You roll your eyes, “The answer you’re looking for is not the one you desire. Besides, even if I said yes, what would we even do? It’s not like we have any freedom here. We’re under constant watch.”

Draco laughs at your naiveté. “I thought you were brighter than this, (Y/L/N). I have my tricks. You can get away with a lot when you’re a Malfoy,” he pushes a strand of hair out of your face as he said this, you slapping it away as he does so. “Play nice,” he teases. “Your homework is on the line.”

Anger bubbled in your stomach, but for some reason his argument seemed to be compelling. What did he have planned? “What exactly are you thinking of doing, Malfoy?” you lean in, teasing him further as he smiles, thinking he’s won. Instead, you just pluck your textbook back from his hands, smiling as you do so. You beat him at his own game. This just made the boy more enthralled with you. 

“Ah, that’s for me to know and you to find out, darling,” he speaks. “So, I take it you’re interested?” he asks, wiggling his brows.

You really hated to admit that you were interested in his offer, curiosity getting the best of you, as it usually did. You huff, brush your hair to one side. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” you admit, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. This was so unlike you.

Draco let a chuckle escape from his lips. “Brilliant. 7pm. Stay in the Gryffindor common room. I’ll come to you. I’ll see you then, kitten,” he purrs, leaving just as quickly as he came.

As Draco wraps up the story, you stare in disbelief. “There was no way I fell for that line,” you tell him, sitting up from your position in your hospital bed. “I really said yes to that cheese ball line?”

“How could you not?” he retorts. “I’m suave,” he jokes, making you laugh as you threw your head back. The sight of you laughing was enough to melt every single one of Draco’s fears. The way your nose crinkled as you laugh, your eyes squeezed shut, melodious laughter falling from your parted lips. “You’re beautiful when you laugh,” he tells you, unable to hold back his thoughts. That was Draco’s weakness. He could never lie to you. He always told you what he was thinking. It was his best quality and yet his downfall. 

His compliment makes you blush and look away from him. You weren’t uncomfortable from the comment, but you were just taken aback. Draco was someone who you barely remembered, yet you had such visceral reactions when you were with him. He brought you confusion and comfort that was oddly satisfying. You decide to change the subject. “So tell me about our first date. What did you end up doing that was so spectacular that make me stay?” you ask through a large yawn.

Draco smiles as you cover your mouth, you were obviously exhausted. “I said one story a day, you sneak,” he smiles at you. “Besides, I don’t think you would be awake for the most of it. You look exhausted. I think you should get some rest,” he rises from the chair. He was right. You were even more exhausted than you were before. You pull the covers back over your body, cuddling into the thin sheets. Draco watches as you get settled in your bed, gently smiling at how you pulled the sheet all the way up to your chin like you always did before bed. He remembers how you would always sneak into his bed at Hogwarts; you always preferred his silk sheets to your cotton ones. “Sweet dreams, (Y/N).”

The platinum blonde boy walks to the door before a thought intrudes your mind. What was the harm in speaking it? “Draco?” you call his name cautiously. He turns around to face you, eyebrows raised. You slowly pull the sheets open. “Do you wanna sleep next to me?” you ask slowly, treading lightly. You gave him the offer mostly because you felt bad about him having to sleep in a hospital waiting room until morning. Those chairs were wildly uncomfortable and no one should be forced to sleep there by themselves. But there was part of you that wanted Draco with you. There was an aura about him that reminded you of home. The way he could make you smile with just a dumb sentence was comforting. He felt familiar; like you could remember some pieces of him. Maybe if he stayed with you tonight, all the memories would come back. Maybe his touch would awaken something in you.

At the offer, Draco wanted to scream yes and climb into bed with you, snuggled next to your side, breathing in your all too familiar scent. But he didn’t want to overwhelm you. He had to tread lightly, make sure that you were comfortable. “Are you sure?” he asks, genuinely wanting to know if that was alright. “I can just stay in the waiting room, it really is no problem.”

You shake your head. “I’m positive...I want you to stay with me,” you tell him. “I could be rushing it or I could be crazy, but I think that maybe you staying with me might be helpful...for my memory.”

How could Draco argue with that logic? He smiled and closed the door, trying to hide his excitement. He took off his patent leather shoes and peeling off his blazer, getting himself comfortable before climbing next to you in bed. The hospital bed was arguable just as uncomfortable as the waiting room chairs in Draco’s opinion, but you in bed with him made it all better. Draco slid one arm carefully around your shoulder as to not disturb any painful areas. Although the gesture should have been romantic or comforting, it just felt awkward. 

You both just laid there for a moment, awkwardly laying before you give in to his touch, resting your head on his chest. Within an instant, the two of you let out a breath that you were holding in, melting into each other’s touch. This position of you resting on his chest, hearing his heartbeat made something inside you click. It did feel familiar. Something about it was familiar. 

The two of you don’t speak any words to each other. You both lay there, waiting for the other to say something. But no one says anything. What is there to be said? You allow yourself to slowly fall asleep to the slow drum of Draco’s heartbeat in your ear through his chest as Draco follows only after you are sound asleep. He knew that he could sleep once you were.

-----

As you drift back off into sleep, another dream kicks back in. This one not nearly as horrifying as the last. In fact, it was quite endearing. You aren’t at Hogwarts. You’re somewhere else. Someone’s home. It’s not yours, that’s for sure. The house was smaller, but had a large winding staircase. It isn’t until you hear multiple voices in your head that you instantly recognize where you are. It was undeniably the Burrow. Weasley’s. A smile forms on your face when you recognize your surroundings. 

In this dream of a memory, it’s Christmas time. Molly Weasley in the kitchen, cooking, something delicious smelling of sage and rosemary. Fred and George are in the backyard, building what looks like a fort of some kind, their efforts failing miserably when Ginny runs into the fort, causing it to fall down. A giggle escapes your lips.

You walk further around the house and recognize it more and more with every step. The Weasley home felt like a second home to you. So much so that Molly knew how to cook your eggs and knew the difference between yours and Ginny’s uniforms and Arthur had put a coat hanger in the side hall for you when you were over. You were here almost as often as your own childhood home. Your parents travelled a lot for work and you spent Christmas at Burrow maybe two or three times. This year was undeniably when you were in year four with Ron. You know it to be so because of Ron’s horrid haircut that you teased him about that whole year. 

As if one cue, Ron appears and pulls you to the other room and suddenly you are on the couch, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. Ron is telling you about a prank that George had planted in Percy’s room for when he came home. You have the feeling of undeniable joy in your chest and your cheeks hurt from smiling. Have you ever had this feeling before? The two of you were laughing at the other and expressing your joy and excitement for the holiday, focusing on the company of the other. You loved spending Christmas with the Weasleys because you knew that you would have more time to bond with Ron. Ron was your first friend at Hogwarts and he was the one who introduced you to Hermione and Harry. Ron was the one to push you to go after what you wanted. Ron was your best friend and other half. Undeniably. 

In this dream, Ron looks at you in your eyes with a cheeky grin on his face and says, “I am so glad you’re here for Christmas. It makes things so much better.” He pulls you into a tight hug and kisses your forehead. “I love you.”

Before you can process the words, you speak out, “I love you more, Weasley.”

Your eyes shoot open and you slowly sit up. You were all kinds of confused. Ron Weasley? He was your best friend, sure, but the feeling you got during the dream was not one that a best friend should have. Your face was flushed, cheeks a bright shade of red. Were you blushing? Your heart beat was racing and your mouth was dry. The image of Ron smiling at you, his arm around your shoulder sticks out in your mind. Him saying I love you plays on repeat like a broken record. What was happening? This went against everything you knew and what people told you you were supposed to feel? Ron wasn’t your boyfriend; Draco was. 

Draco.

You look next to you to see Draco still peacefully asleep, lips parting that allowed light snores to escape. His arm was still draped around your figure which you once found comforting, but now you found alarming. Careful not to wake him up, you peel his arm from around you and onto his lap. His touch now was now foreign. How did this all take a 360 within a few hours?

Casting the thoughts out of your brain, you turn over to the other side of the small bed, back to Draco, trying to fall back asleep, hoping that Draco didn’t notice the change of position. You let your heavy eyelids bring you to sleep, but unbeknownst to you, Draco does notice that you are no longer peacefully asleep on his chest. But he doesn’t say anything. Disappointed, he just takes note of it and closes his eyes, but he can’t fall asleep.

-------

The morning light streams in just as quickly as it left and gently wakes you up. The light hurts your head and makes you wince in pain, softly clutching your head. You sit up slowly and rub your eyes with the heel of your free hand, trying to rid the sleep from your eyes. As you let your eyes focus again, you see Draco is sitting in the chair beside your bed like he was like night, trying his shoes. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he smiles at you. You let out a groggy morning. “The Healer left you another pain potion for this morning. He said to take it as soon as you wake up and then you are good to be discharged and go home,” Draco reports.

The thought of going home made you excited, but nervous. Home was always nice and being your parents at a time like this was definitely something you needed. However, your childhood home didn’t feel like much of a home after your time at Hogwarts, especially since your parents were always traveling and were rarely home even on holidays. If anything, home meant going back to Hogwarts or alternatively going back to the Burrow with the Weasleys...

Shaking your head, you return yourself to the current conversation. “Sounds great,” you smile and take the pain potion from off the nightstand, drinking from the small vile, contorting your face in disgust after, the fowl taste lingering on your tongue. Draco laughs as you do so. “I hate the taste,” you blush, wiping your mouth. “Are my parents here to pick me up?” you ask Draco.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I can check with the Healer and see if your parents called or not. If not, I can always take you home. I have no problem seeing that you get back safely,” he offers with a gentle smile as you nod. “Great,” he breathes out. “Let me check for you.”

Draco moves to the door and opens it up only to reveal Ron Weasley standing there, fresh eyed and with a small smile on his face that fades when his eyes land on Draco’s. “Weasley,” Draco greets. “I was just going to grab the Healer. (Y/N)’s been discharged.”

Ron shakes his head, “I know. I’m here to pick her up.” Ron glances to you and smiles before sending you a wink. Your heart stops in your chest and your eyes widen. Something that was a friendly gesture between you and Ron now has new meaning after last night’s dream/memory. What was going on?

Interrupting your thoughts, Draco looks to Ron and says, “You’re picking up, (Y/N)? Where are her parents?”

“Is there a problem with me picking (Y/N) up? I’m her best mate after all. Plus, her parents asked me if I could whilst they dealt with preparing her room and treatments for her arrival home,” Ron pushes past Draco and straight to you. “Morning, darling. I have fresh clothes for you and your mum is making breakfast for you back at your house. Ready?”

You look back and forth between Ron and Draco and the tension between the two is palpable. You thought that Draco and Harry had problems? This was another level. “Um, yeah, I guess so,” you reply to Ron while looking at Draco who shakes his head, understanding completely. Your parents had sent Ron for you. You didn’t need Draco. Draco just gives you a small smile before walking to the door. “Wait, Draco,” you call for him like you did last night. “I’ll see you again, right? You owe me a story,” you gently smile.

Draco lets a pink hue reach his cheeks. “You’ll see me again, darling. I promise,” he tells you. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, this directed toward Ron this time. “Until then, love,” he winks at you before walking out of the room and down the hospital corridor.

Of course, Draco wished he could be the one taking you home from the hospital. He wanted to be with you every step of the way on your recovery. Draco wanted to hold your hand and guide you through every bump in the road. But if this is what you wanted, he had to respect that. He would have his time. He was sure of it. You would come around.

Meanwhile, you changed in the bathroom into the fresh clothes Ron had brought with him. The soft cotton of your clothes made you sigh in relief, it was so much better than that itchy hospital gown. You emerge from the bathroom, straightening out your hoodie before breathing out, “Let’s go home.”

“Brilliant,” Ron beams, guiding you out of the room, his hand on the small of your back. The action makes you gasp a little bit, but you eventually relax and calm yourself down. It’s a friendly thing, (Y/N). Merlin.

The two of you exit in the hospital, leaving behind all of your fears and worries, ready to face whatever obstacle with a newfound confidence. As you climb into the car, Ron starts it and drives away from the hospital, the radio playing whatever muggle music the channel had to offer. The car ride is mostly quiet except for a few exchanges, but that’s when you notice Ron isn’t taking you back to your childhood home. Rather, you are going somewhere else.

“Ronald Weasley,” you furrow your brows. “This isn’t the way home to my parent’s house...where are you taking me?”

Ron doesn’t hide the cheeky grin from his face. “We’re going home alright,” he laughs. “Just my house.”

The Burrow. Merlin, help you.

[aspiringtoeverything]

The Beast

(Original Work)

I think recovery is an ugly thing. With barbed teeth that hurt sinking into your skin, but it is all the more painful going out. A tail that rivals karma in the force of its blows, knocking you to the ground and leaving you broken and battered in its wake. Its eyes track your movements, each one with such intensity that you're sure to stumble in its wake. But worst of all, the thing that will always win in the end is its voice. It growls at every misstep, every failure, every bad day and every tear that slips out from behind your fear. Whispering that you never made progress in the first place, no matter how many good days you've had recently. But just when you're about to collapse, just when you're ready to give up, to let the waves wash over you, and let the beast win, it lets you taste the freedom of failure. You see it, the crumpled remains of yourself lying in the distance. It raises its hand for the final kill, you have a moment, a feeling, of hope? 30 Of fear? Of relief? You don’t know what you feel. But the final blow never comes, another tear falls, hitting the ground with the same finality as your first breath. Slowly your eyes open, and you see the beast. You really see it. It’s not kind, it never was. It’s not safe, but neither was the other one. You see it’s ugly, hideous even. It's the medicine to settle your stomach, but it tastes so disgusting you can't help heave anyways. It cares for the wounds it left on you, and if a couple of scars from your past fade with the fresh bruising, then so be it. It takes a while to trust the beast. Tame it, and believe that the pain was worth it. The first days were just fear, running from something that was never going to stop chasing you. The next few after that was just observation, you hid and watched, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The last and longest stage (and arguably the most painful one) was grief. This part never really stops. The grief is the beast too, coming and going, violent in its reminders that it never really leaves. It wreaks your head with images of a home you can’t ever go back to. Taunting with love and affection, and burning you when it leaves once again. A reminder that home is never a constant, only an idea. You care for the beast, and it might just care for you too. It's a painful recovery, learning to love the beast that only feels like it's hurting you. One day you'll sit in the sun, your fingers drifting through its once tangled fur, its growls have turned into purrs as you nurtured kindness, and empathy. It never wanted to hurt you, and it’s sorry it caused you so much pain. You don't quite forgive it, after all you've learned on your journey that nothing, no one, is owed your forgiveness. It took time, there's no doubt about that, but you got there. You are the beast and suddenly That's not such a bad thing.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Small Things

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Scott, Gordon, Virgil

More self indulgent Scott&Gordon fluff because I can and because this scene’s been living in my head rent-free for the past week or so.  Might be the last thing I write for a while, because uni’s just decided to let me know I need to do 390 hours of independent study for a single module with the deadline in eight weeks, and if you’re any good at maths you’ll realise there’s a problem there (alternatively, stress might drive me to writing loads like January; we’ll see).  There are implications of some level of depression in here, so watch out for that.

When an injury leaves Scott unable to do even the most simple things for himself and accordingly frustrated, it takes a brother who understands what it’s like to halt the slippery slope.

Scott was no stranger to injuries, or the frustration of the recovery period.  He’d broken bones, torn open skin, and endured worse still, but that never made it easier – and definitely not this time.  This time, he was arguably mostly intact, and yet found himself helpless nonetheless.

Burnt palms – both of them, and fingers to boot – meant he couldn’t do even the simplest of tasks by himself.  Couldn’t dress himself, couldn’t eat, couldn’t do anything except wait for them to heal as he watched his brothers keep going out on rescues without him.

His family did what they could, Virgil in particular weathering the storm of his frustrations when they spilled over, but no matter how many little gadgets Brains designed to try and give him at least some independence, the fact still remained that he was useless and helpless.

Virgil was conked out on the couch, dead to the world despite his attempts to stave off exhaustion with caffeine in order to keep Scott company as he watched yet another movie – the only activity he seemed to be able to do without help. He’d wake up later, apologetic for passing out as though he hadn’t been on back-to-back rescues with any downtime swallowed up by fussing over his currently-helpless big brother, but for the moment, Scott was more than happy to let him sleep.

Not only did he need it, but the constant smothering was wearing thin.  Scott was active, self-reliant and tireless.  Even the most well-meaning assistance from Virgil – the one that helped him dress, cut his food, and all the other mundane tasks suddenly beyond his capabilities – was grating.  He’d already snapped at him a few times, the most recent of which had been in response to a suggestion he did his hair, moments before John had called in another rescue and Virgil had had to leave before Scott could swallow down the ire, leaving him wallowing in guilt for several hours until he’d returned, dirty and exhausted but still patiently trying to help.

It was an honest relief to see his brother sleeping, even if it left Scott balled up on his own couch, trying to ignore the bandages wrapped around his hands and focus on the movie. He was failing miserably, all too aware that the healing process was still in the early stages and that it would be several more days before he could even think of using his hands. Even with the regularly-applied gel, they still hurt.

The movie was, in theory, one of his favourites.  Virgil’s choice, after he’d huffed when asked if he wanted to choose.  Right then, he just wanted to turn it off and-

The holoprojection paused, right in the middle of one of his normally-favourite scenes, and he blinked. That hadn’t been his doing. Despite Brains’ best efforts, telekinesis was still eluding him.

“Hey, Scott.”  He turned his head to see Gordon jump down into the den. “Reckon you can do something for me?”

Scott held up his hands, in case Gordon had somehow forgotten.  “No.  Get Alan to help you with whatever it is.”

“Gotta be you, bro,” Gordon insisted, catching his wrists and tugging insistently.  “You don’t need your hands for this.”

Despite himself, Scott found that he was intrigued.  The promise of being able to do something was a powerful allure.  “What is it?”

“C’mon,” Gordon insisted in leu of answering, and warning bells rang even as his younger brother successfully pulled him to his feet.  Agreeing to help before hearing the details was always a no with this particular brother.  His appetite for pranks was insatiable, and sometimes his timing left something to be desired. Scott couldn’t handle a prank. Not right now.

“Gordon, what are you doing?”

“Trust me,” his brother replied.  Two words that often came with warning bells.  Scott knew Gordon, though.  Knew when trust me meant imminent pranking and warned that he should be running, and when he could genuinely trust whatever plan his brother had concocted. This was the latter, full sincerity with a hint of a plea behind it.

Trust was important in their family.  It had to be, for International Rescue to work.  Gordon knew that as well as any of them, and when he used that voice, it was always true.  Whatever he had planned, he believed it wouldn’t negatively impact Scott.

He sighed, and let his shoulders sag, feeling the tension start to seep away.  “Where are we going?”

Gordon’s hand was steady at the small of his back, guiding him gently through the house.  Towards the bedrooms, and Scott stumbled to a halt when Gordon stopped outside his room.  Of all the places he expected, his own bedroom was near the bottom of the list. “Gordon?”

“Come on, bro,” Gordon coaxed, opening the door and nudging him through it.  Scott let him, still confused, and found himself guided to his bed.  “Sit.”

Eyeing his brother, and still completely lost as to what he was planning, Scott obeyed.  His bandaged, useless, hands rested in his lap, and he glared down at them before glancing back up to see that Gordon had left his side and was rummaging around in his bathroom.

“Hey!”  What was he doing?

“Easy, Scott,” Gordon called back, turning around and returning.  In his hands were Scott’s comb and hair gel, two items that hadn’t seen the light of day since his hands got burnt so badly they couldn’t hold either.

Scott didn’t appreciate the reminder that, despite Virgil’s pleading, his hair was a sorry mess.

“What are you doing with those?” he demanded, starting to stand.  A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he found himself looking up into compassionate amber eyes.  Gordon gave him a small smile, barely a twitch of his lips but in that moment, it hit harder than his usual exaggerated expressions.

“Relax,” he said, clambering onto the bed and settling somewhere behind Scott.  Attempts to turn his head were prevented by gentle hands, keeping him facing forwards.  “I’ve got you.”

Scott’s mind was scrambling to work out what his brother had planned, and how this came into him doing anything for Gordon, but before he could finish putting the facts together there were gentle fingers in his hair, carding through softly and pulling wayward strands back from his face.

His immediate instinct was to pull away – he let his brothers do a lot, but his hair had always been off-limits, in no small part because it was an obvious target for Gordon and dye, but also just because it was.  Even now, he’d refused to let Virgil touch it.

“Gordon-” he started, and the fingers retreated, only for arms to wrap around his shoulders from behind. Soft, comforting, and a far cry from the crushing squid hugs his water-loving brother loved to dish out. A weight against his back, and then a cheek pressed against his.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw strawberry blond hair, and amber eyes looking at him.

“Let me do this?” his brother asked, in that exact same tone he’d used earlier for trust me. Sincere, but a little pleading.

“Why?”  His voice cracked, an unexpected show of weakness, and he flinched.  Gordon didn’t acknowledge it, seemingly content to let him pretend it didn’t happen.

“I think it’ll help,” he murmured instead.  “Please?”

Help who?

Scott didn’t see how letting Gordon do his hair would help anyone.  It wouldn’t heal the burns any faster, wouldn’t give him back his independence any sooner.

But he’d never been able to say no to a brother when they asked like that, all quiet and sincere.

“Don’t mess it up,” he caved, looking away.  He felt Gordon’s smile against his cheek anyway.

“Thanks, Scott.”

The arms retracted slowly, the cheek also leaving his, and he felt the mattress dip as Gordon shuffled back into position behind him.

Then the fingers were back in his hair, teasing out the tangles and knots that had formed with infinite patience and care.  The motions were soothing in their repetitiveness, Gordon’s fingers dexterous and nimble as they preened out the worst of the mess, and despite himself Scott felt a little more tension bleed away.

Fingertips found his scalp and dragged across lightly, almost a massage, for a few brief moments, before retreating entirely.

Then it was the teeth of his comb, running through strands slowly but steadily and pausing whenever they nudged a tangle Gordon’s fingers hadn’t completely erased.  Those, the comb bit into lightly, coaxing and cajoling the strands and never once tugging at his scalp.

Scott had no idea where Gordon had learnt to be so gentle with hair.

There was no mirror in view from where he was sat, but Scott didn’t need one to feel the weight of his hair slowly shifting, leaving its unkempt and chaotic tragedy and falling into the familiar style he favoured.  Without gel, the strands at the front attempted to flop forwards, over his forehead, and he resisted the instinct to swipe them back.

His hands wouldn’t thank him, and the hair would inevitably get tangled in the bandages, but what actually stopped him was the sensation of Gordon interchanging comb with fingers as he continued to smooth the hair back until it fell just right.  Gordon had asked to do this, and despite his initial misgivings, Scott found he was enjoying it.  No-one had done his hair for him since he was a kid, Mom fussing and asserting her right as his mother to do so.  Not like this.

Distracted by sudden memories, he missed the moment the comb left his hair for good, and startled slightly when the cool sensation of gel seeped through his hair.  Gordon had returned to using his fingers, smoothing his hair into position with a precision no doubt born of seeing it so many times, and Scott closed his eyes.

The touches steadily grew lighter, lingering for longer and ghosting over what were presumably stray strands that needed a little more gel to keep in place, until they left all together.

He opened his eyes as the mattress shifted, turning his head to see Gordon slipping off the bed, rubbing his hands with a towel to get the gel off his fingers.  Amber eyes surveyed his hair sharply, before Gordon gave another small, tender smile.

“Come on, bro.”  Hands cradled his wrists, carefully away from the bandages, and drew him to his feet.  “Now you get to judge my work.”

Scott let Gordon lead him to his bathroom, where the mirror hung above the sink.  It was something he’d avoided looking at for the past few days, aware of his deteriorating hair yet unable to fix it and unwilling to let anyone else until Gordon wormed his way in with softly pleading sincerity, but a light nudge over the threshold had him reluctantly facing his reflection.

He looked like himself.

There were still bags under his eyes from the sleepless nights, and his skin was still pale and a little haunted, but his hair was gelled back just the way he liked it – the way he laboured over it every day even when he forwent other aspects of self-care because he didn’t have time – and while it was only one thing, it was enough to banish the unkempt shadow he’d become and replace it with something blessedly familiar.  Blessedly normal.

Unconsciously, his back straightened, leaving him standing tall once again.

Gordon’s reflection joined his, standing alongside him as a hand rested on his shoulder.

“Any better?” his brother asked, worry in his eyes.  Scott tore himself away from his reflection to look down at the flesh-and-blood young man next to him.

“Yeah,” he admitted.  “Gords- what-?”

“When everything goes to hell, it’s the small things that make the difference,” Gordon said.  The reminder was bittersweet – Gordon, too, had once been unable to do even the most basic of tasks unaided.  “It helped me.  I thought it was worth a try for you.”

A sense of normality amongst an ocean of uncertainty.  Something to hold onto when he had nothing else.

Scott raised his arm, resting it lightly around Gordon’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking back at the mirror where the man that looked much more like himself stood, arm around his little brother.  In hindsight, it was obvious; a lack of self-care was a slippery slope – one he’d seen Gordon fight before.

“I know you’d rather do it yourself,” Gordon continued.  “But remember, we’re here to help you.”  The hand on his shoulder squeezed for a brief moment.  “You just have to let us.”

Gordon looked relieved, Scott realised.  He hadn’t noticed how worried his younger brother had been until it was gone, but the story was there, behind smiling eyes and a steadily growing grin on his face.

“Thanks,” he said again. There was nothing else he could say.  Nothing that properly appreciated what his brother had done for him.  Was offering to keep doing, if Scott was reading him right.

He was usually pretty accurate when it came to reading his brothers.

“Could-” he started, mouth ahead of his brain.  “Could you-” He couldn’t quite get the words out, instincts still rebelling against asking for help – asking for this – despite it being freely offered.

“Keep doing it for you until you can do it yourself again?”  Luckily – in this particular instance – Gordon could read him, too.  Scott nodded jerkily.  “Of course.”

The hand on his shoulder moved, arm reaching around him until Gordon had him in a half-embrace.

“Welcome back, big bro.”

If Virgil had any thoughts about Scott letting Gordon help when he’d been refused at every offer, he kept them firmly to himself when he was woken by the pair of them returning to finish the movie.  Scott did, however, find himself subject to a bear hug, and relieved brown eyes looking him over.

In hindsight, it was obvious Virgil had seen what was happening all along, and Scott regretted getting snappy with him about it.  Virgil waved off his apologies, but did consent to go and get some proper sleep in his bed as long as Gordon promised not to leave him alone while he did.

The insinuation that he needed a minder should have grated.  Would have grated, half an hour before, when he was still a miserable mess curled up in the corner of a couch.  But as Gordon promised, solemn sincerity that Virgil could trust, and settled more comfortably on the couch with his arm around his shoulders, Scott just found himself thankful for how much his brothers cared.

[trickstercaptain]

Lottie write a scars post challenge

re: this post / @lighthouseborn because hannah is a glutton for punishment apparently sdfksdfs ily

so i’ve written a lot about Jack’s scars over the nearly seven years i’ve been here, but not so much on the new blog ( i say new as if it’s not already a year old lmao ), so i’m gonna try and consolidate as much info as possible from old posts and my own notes into this post and make this my go-to scars meta, particularly as my headcanons on how he got a few of them have changed as my portrayal has grown and developed on this blog. i’m also only going to focus on Jack’s major scars ( so effectively the ones that appear in that gifset along with a couple of others ), because he has a lot and some of the ones he got as a younger man ( i’m thinking of the ones he sustains during TPOF ) would have mostly faded by the time we get to movie-era Jack ( plus i would be here all day if i was to talk about all of them lmao and not all of them have thematic significance to his character anyway )

the eyebrow scar

so starting at the beginning, Jack has a mark extending through his right eyebrow. it’s quite difficult to see at times because of his bandana ( it really kinda depends on the scene as to whether Jack’s bandana is high enough above his eyebrow for it to be visible, and when he has his hat on it’s even more difficult to spot ). while there are all sorts of ways in which he could have sustained that, i tie this specifically to the abuse Jack suffered as a child -- most notably from his grandmother, who he was forced to live with for a couple of years following his mother’s death. they’re kids books, believe it or not, but there is mention in the young Jack Sparrow series as well as the Legends of the Brethren Court series of Jack having lot of difficult memories associated with his grandmother, from her locking him in a brig because another family member had a premonition that Jack would set fire to her ship ( he was eight years old at the time ), to having nightmares about her red tooth, to casually mentioning how she would attack and throw things at him. 

with mine and @thecodekeeper’s headcanons trying to stitch all of this together into an upbringing that makes sense for Jack, i find it difficult to believe that he would have gotten out of that situation without any marks to speak of, so he sustained it from her throwing something at him. the sad part is that Jack has blocked out a lot of those memories because of how unhappy he was, so he can’t recall precisely what she threw, only that she threw something and was inches away from blinding him in one eye.

burns on his left arm

the lightning burns that twist around his left arm actually have a canon explanation, and that’s from when he was trapped inside of his cabin on the Wicked Wench after it was set alight by Beckett ( he did climb on board while it was burning, so it is partially his fault but y’know lmao ). in Jack’s desperate attempts to save all his worldly goods, which he kept in a chest in his cabin, he was jolted up against the door and the flames from the weatherdeck leapt through and set his shirt sleeve on fire. Jack uses his right hand to try and stamp the flames out, which also happens to be not just his dominant hand, but the palm he covers up with a leather guard throughout all the movies, so therefore i imagine he has burns there too. the guard likely started as a way to stop him from aggravating the burns as they healed, and then after years passed it just stuck as an accessory and he continued wearing it. even though Jack is somewhat ambidextrous in that he can wield a sword in both hands and aim a pistol effectively in his left despite his right being his dominant, his left arm is his significantly weaker one and he does have lingering numbness in it from time to time.

the brand

we all know how Jack got the brand. i go into a lot more detail about the emotional and psychological effects of being branded in this meta here, but physically-speaking it’s something that causes him discomfort for years afterwards --- in DMC all it takes is for Elizabeth and Gibbs to mention Beckett for Jack to reach for his brand, so while it eventually stops causing him constant pain, the memory of having it inflicted on him and of those involved persists, and it’s probably the scar that bothers him most for the psychological reasons i detail in the other meta above. he has the most complicated relationship with his brand as opposed to the others, and i imagine that is because it is the only one that was deliberately inflicted on him with the intent to leave a mark

scar on his left palm

i don’t have much to say about this one except that, since Jack has to use his blood to help break the Aztec curse ( because he stole a piece of the treasure while fighting Barbossa ), he slices his left palm right before throwing his piece to Will. this is a matching scar that he has with Will and Elizabeth and idk i just like the symbolic significance of the trio having gained the same scar through a shared experience.

powder burns on the right-hand side of his chest

one day i’ll actually be able to tell you precisely what happened here, step by step, and how Jack got shot and who by and the circumstances around it, but it’s the one scar I’ve always kept vague -- i think because it’s the one i want to best demonstrate the point of that deleted scene with Elizabeth: that the truth of Jack’s life as a pirate does not live up to the stories. Jack will tell the story of how he got shot and make it sound daring and dramatic, but i don’t think the truth of it is nearly as exciting or worthy of the legend that surrounds him. i’ve debated the idea that he was shot by an angry husband ( based on a snippet of dialogue that was cut from AWE between Jack and Gibbs ), and i think that’s the closest to the truth that Jack will let me get to exactly what happened

but i can tell you a few other things i know about it for sure. he was shot twice in quick succession, given that both powder burns appear similar to one another and, while it’s his right-hand side of his chest which gives a decent enough distance from his heart ( so it wouldn’t have been fatal by 18th century standards ), it is still in a dangerous enough place that he would have needed medical attention immediately considering the limitations of the era. that’s where Jack’s ship surgeon comes in ( @valorsworn ), because John Watson is a canon part of this franchise idk what you mean when you say he isn’t. anyway it’s my canon that John’s actions saved Jack’s life, but it would have also led to a lengthy recovery period ( you don’t just recover from two gunshot wounds to your chest overnight, particularly not in a century where the risk of infection is arguably even more dangerous than the actual wounds themselves ). so we’re talking weeks of recovery and then probably weeks of rehabilitation as Jack gets his strength back to where it was before he’d gotten shot, and I’d say that this is easily the worst injury he’s probably ever suffered.

[nelllraiser]

seal you later | lucky & nell

LOCATION: al’s diner. PARTIES: @lvcky-charms and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: lucky is on the lookout for a tracker that can find his selkie skin, and is led to nell. she knows we all get by with a little help from our (black market) friends. 

Al’s Diner had always been a staple for Nell. Growing up this had been the place she’d always come whenever she had a burger or milkshake craving, and that happened more often than not with the appetite and sweet tooth that she had. Tonight was no exception as she settled into a booth, having no need for a menu. She waited impatiently for the waitress to arrive to take her order, foot jiggling in place as her stomach let out a low grumble. Was it possible to die of starvation in the span of a half hour? Of course not. But that didn’t keep the witch from pondering the dramatization of how she was wasting away in this booth, wishing for nothing more than for food to magically appear in front of her. Finally, it seemed that a man was approaching her table, and she waved eagerly before realizing she didn’t recognize this face. Had Al’s gotten a new hire? “Are you new here?” she asked with her head tilted to the side, harmlessly intrigued. Maybe this was Celeste’s replacement. After all, hadn’t Ariana said that she used to work here? It was grim to think about how easily a person could be replenished when it came to things like this. The Hunter might be gone and dead, but the world still moved on, and Al’s kept hiring new people. 

Tracking someone or something down in this town was no easy feat. Lucky had been snooping around for the greater part of a week when someone had offered up a name that might provide more leads. Penelope Vural. Thankfully, after popping into most food establishments around meal times, he spotted someone that fit her admittedly vague description inside a diner. The anxiety of walking up to a total stranger had his palms clammy with...whatever selkies secreted (honestly, that one was a mystery to him still). Wiping his hands on his pants, he froze at the table when the woman there looked at him. Shit that’s right, pay attention. “You Penelope?” he mumbled, brow creasing as he concentrated on her lips for a reply. This would be painfully awkward if this wasn’t her.

Nell’s innocent curiosity morphed into a slight frown when the man asked for her by name. Had the workers at Al already been gossiping? Maybe they’d inducted him by running the names of regular customers past him. No...that wasn’t right. Everyone here just called her Nell. Instinctively her shoulders squared, and then tensed as paranoia set in. Ever since Montgomery had hunted her down, those that looked for her and she didn’t know posed possible threats, people that might also want to hunt her. “Who’s asking?” she replied defensively, giving the man a cursory once over to take in whatever information she could about him. He looked to be about her oldest sister, Bea’s age. Or maybe somewhere in between Bea and the middle sister, Luce. His lack of eye contact while she readied her reply was also baffling, though she wasn’t sure what to make of it quite yet. 

Lucky mentally noted the shift in posture. That was never a particularly good sign in his experience. Usually, someone was upset, but he hadn’t set anything in particular that would be upsetting. Pushing that aside, he slid into the booth across from her, propping his elbows on the table and offering a tight lipped smile. Humans liked smiles, and Lucky wasn’t exactly sure if she was human or not, so it was worth a try. “I’m Lucky,” he mumbled, nodding. “I lost my--...a thing. You track things? Yeah?” He sniffed the air with an attempt at subtlety. He could smell a lot of things, sure, but none of them were very alarming. It was mostly food and grease; diner smells. Maybe Penelope was human? Difficult to say. 

He just sat in the booth as if he belonged there, and Nell was slightly taken aback by the sheer audacity the movement required. Again she watched him carefully, wondering who the hell this guy was. By now she was positive he didn’t work here, which confirmed that he was looking for her, specifically. “You lost something?” she echoed, realization beginning to dawn. He was here for a job, wasn’t he? Or maybe someone else she’d helped had passed the word along, and he was hoping she might be able to help him, as well. “I’m Nell- but I guess you already knew that,” she said before extending her hand in an offer for a shake. “But yeah- I usually track people. Or....” She darted her head around to make sure there was no one within earshot of them. “Ah- other people-like things?” That was as delicate and vague a way to put supernatural creatures as she could manage. “What were you looking for?” 

Nell, Lucky mouthed, straining to try to get the mouth-feel right. “Nell?” he questioned, aloud this time. Nodding along, he watched her lips intently, then her hand was out and distracting him. His palms were still slimy at best, so he carefully regarded the extended hand and wiped his palms on his jeans again before accepting the handshake. “Nice to meet,” he mumbled and ducked his head a little in efforts to keep his sharp teeth concealed. That was all he needed, to look like a real threat in the middle of a diner during a dinner rush. His head was still down when Nell began speaking again, so he caught just part of it. People or people-like things. Yeah, he supposed he counted as a people-like thing. Lucky’s leg began to bounce under the table and he slouched a little further down in the booth as he considered how to best answer. If he came right out and said I’m a selkie and I need my skin back, it could end badly for him. Best to ease into it. “I...had a something stolen from me. A people-like something.” Gritting his teeth, he awaited a negative response or some kind of attack, mentally preparing his best escape route. The way his body felt, Lucky was in no condition to fight back. 

The more time Nell spent sat across from this man— the more puzzling he became. “Are you...alright?” she asked reflexively, not knowing how else to figure out what piece she was missing here. Nevertheless, she nodded as he said her name, providing another example. “Like Bell but with an ‘N’.” It wasn’t the most straightforward nickname, and she’d had to use the comparison more than once in her life. “Nice to meet you, too.” It was a quick handshake and then she was back to resting her arms across her chest, her confusion only growing by the minute the more Lucky spoke. For a moment he seemed to cave in on himself, growing smaller in his seat while he thought up an answer. It certainly wasn’t all that like her usual clientele. “A...people-like something that was stolen?” she echoed, trying to make sense of what he might mean. “Like...a special...pet?” If it was a supernatural creature that belonged to him, that would make sense, right? “You know we can go somewhere else to talk about this if that makes it easier,” she offered, knowing a place as public as this might not be the best venue. 

Lucky leaned back against the booth, drumming his fingers on the edge of the table when no attack came. “I’m fine, just deaf,” he mumbled dismissively with a vague gesture of his hand. “Nell. Bell. Okay.” Abruptly, he leaned in closer again. How else could he get her to understand without just outright saying it? If she was afraid of talking about this in public, she wouldn’t attack him; it was the thought of what could happen outside of the restaurant that gave him pause. “Public’s fine,” he said, feeling the anxiety swelling again. He folded his hands beneath the table, wringing them as best he could while they were slick. Here goes nothing. “Looking for...my skin. My seal skin,” he clarified and grimaced, letting his teeth show as he did so. 

“Oh,” Nell said without thinking, her gut reaction of embarrassment at having not noticed quickly replacing the confusion that had been dominating her expression. “Ah- I mean- sorry- I didn’t mean to-” Perhaps it was best to let that die on her lips for fear of accidentally putting her foot in her mouth. “Right. Alright. I’m glad you’re fine.” That counted as a recovery, right? His swift and unexpected movement forward, and her subsequent reflexive jerk backwards was a welcome distraction, and she found her hand gripping the outline of one her hidden knives out of instinct. Again her mind pestered her about whether or not he was actually here looking for something, the vigilant beating of her heart in her throat putting her on high alert. It wasn’t fear, but self-preservation that made her wonder. First it was the mention of his seal skin that sparked a flicker of recognition, another soft “oh” falling from her, though it hadn’t completely processed until he revealed his teeth. “Oh,” she repeated a little louder this time, understanding flooding Nell while her eyes widened ever so slightly. “Right, right your-” she cut the sentence off with another glance around them, figuring there was no need to repeat what Lucky truly was for anyone that might be able to overhear it. “It’s lost?” she asked with renewed concern as the cogs began to turn in her mind. “Someone took it?” Wasn’t there only so long that a selkie could go without their pelt before… “Shit,” she cursed aloud. “Yes. Yeah, I’ll look for that. Do you have any leads or anything? Where was it taken? How long ago?” Hunters that took from selkies were the worst sort. Of all the supernatural creatures in the world, the seal-people were arguably the least harmful. Quite literally nothing more than...seals. 

Lucky slowly backed up again as Nell recoiled and made a mental note to slow his movements. Thankfully he’d stopped biting things as a casual test of danger. That would’ve gone over much, much worse. He straightened up in his seat and cocked his head, considering Nell silently for a moment. He let his lips fall back down over his teeth. If Nell posed any danger, certainly his teeth were threat enough, though she didn’t seem to want to fight him at all. He felt a sense of relief wash over him at that realization. Nell seemed intimidated--no, maybe it was an overt sense of caution. That he could respect and relate to. Lucky nodded again as Nell connected the dots aloud. “Been tracking it. Five years. Led me here, so I’m looking for more local leads. Got your name looking for a tracker. My skin might be…” he paused, slowly leaning forward again, letting the stiffness in his shoulders ebb away. “Black market?” he mumbled, more of a question than a statement. Truthfully, he didn’t know how to get connected to that particular part of town. If there was really a skin trade operation, he had to find it as soon as possible. Lucky’s stream of income was running out slowly the less he found himself able to work, and the hotel he was staying at didn’t seem like the kind to accept credit and a promise. Then again...promises seemed to go pretty far around here. “You’ll help?” Lucky perked up, suppressing a pleased wiggle, and grinned at Nell, teeth showing again. This was the closest he’d felt to finding his skin in a long while and he couldn’t help the flutter of excitement that bubbled up in his chest. 

“Tracking it how?” Nell asked, wanting to know just how far Lucky had gotten. The more information she had, the easier this would be, and the higher chance of success they’d have. “What led you here? If I know where it was taken from- I could maybe go check it out even if it was five years ago.” She nodded at the mention of her being a tracker, but quickly amended the statement for him. “To be fair- I usually look for people. They’re easier to find than things.” Plus the usual spells she used didn’t find objects. Maybe she could somehow tweak it? But a skin wasn’t like any normal item. Surely it was bound closer to Lucky’s essence than a misplaced book or jacket might be. Right? She’d have to look into it. Probably experiment a little, and maybe get a little invasive with the man sitting before her. That could wait, though. For now she needed to learn the basics, the rest would come after. “But I can find your pelt,” she said fiercely, as if she could will the possibility into existence. They’d find it one way or another. Nell nodded at the mention of the black market, already knowing how to break into that. “For sure- that’d be a good place to look. I can ask a couple of people I know if they might be able to help with that part.” Felix would surely know his way around it. Maybe even Erin with all the organ trading she’d done. “Of course I’ll help!” she answered with a passion that matched the bright fire in her eyes. She wasn’t going to let the man before her just...waste away into nothingness if there was something she could do about it. “We can start right away.”

“Got a few tips on where it might be, if it was trading hands, that sort of thing. Followed it from California to here, trying to make black market connections on the way.” Lucky’s brow creased and he looked at the table for a moment, the excitement dwindling. He hadn’t been led here with much more than a comment that this was the biggest hub for supernatural activity on the eastern seaboard. White Crest, of all places, wasn’t a massive city by any means, but it was certainly an odd beacon for the strange and unusual. “Came here on a tip that the trade is good. Skins come through here often. You know about that?” Lucky looked back up at her, his eyes pained. The confidence in her voice, in her expression, was something Lucky didn’t know if he could trust. Sighing, he steeled himself again. He didn’t have any other option as he saw it, and Nell was willing to fight for him. That was something he was desperate for; someone who was in his corner. He gritted his teeth and nodded firmly, eyes matching the passion in hers. “Where do we start?”

Again Nell nodded along as Lucky spoke, mind running a mile a minute as she began to plan— trying to choose the best route that would lead to Lucky’s missing skin. It didn’t seem that Lucky’s information was all that specific, but it was still something. She’d find a way to work with it. The corners of her mouth tightened as he mentioned White Crest’s seemingly flourishing selkie skin trade, not exactly surprised to hear such a thing, but also not pleased. A memory flashed through her mind’s eye, going back to the pile of selkie pelts he and Luce had liberated from Montgomery’s disgusting trophy den. She’d known there were more out there that hunted selkies, but the undeniable proof of it sitting in front of her only made her stomach churn uncomfortably. “I’ve seen some pelts here before. They weren’t in the trade, though. And one of the friends I’m thinking might be able to help dealt a lot in selling body parts and stuff- so maybe that includes pelts.” The way he looked at her while he spoke tugged at something in her, a need to help this poor man gain back what had been wrongfully taken quickly finding a home in her. She’d seen it before in the people she’d helped while on her travels, and Nell was eager to get back on track with helping people. So much of what she’d done in the past few months had been harm, and though she didn’t regret any of it...it would be nice to bring about something good via a path that wasn’t blazed by destruction. “Why don’t you come over to my greenhouse later on? We can start ironing things out there. And I can get in contact with my friends, and then I’ll point them to you.”

Hearing that Nell had seen other pelts around town filled Lucky with conflicting emotions. On one hand, the possibility that his skin could be here had him bordering on happy; but on the other hand, the thought that other selkies could be missing such an essential part of themselves was heartbreaking to hear. It was a void not easily mended, and one that grew harder to ignore every day. What pulled him out of that train of thought was the casual mention of dealing in body parts without a moment’s pause. The learning curve of White Crest really was a sharp one. Mimes, invasive postal workers, organ trade… No time for that specific spiral. Nell mentioned a greenhouse and Lucky nodded along. “What time?” he asked, already digging around in his jacket pocket for a pen and paper. He produced both and started scrawling while looking at Nell’s lips expectantly. 

Nell checked the clock on her phone before answering, trying to figure out how long it would take her to be ready to see Lucky again. Finally she settled on a time. “7:30 PM.” That would give her a bit of a window to get ready. It was a little close to a standard dinner time, though. The realization came a bit belatedly, and she quickly made Lucky an offer. “I can make us something to eat too, if you’ll be hungry. I’m assuming most any meat is a good bet, right?” she asked with the beginnings of a grin. Most selkies thrived off a protein rich diet. “You can meet me at this address,” she said before rattling off the location of Bea’s house. “The greenhouse is around back, and it’s kinda in the middle of nowhere so just text me if you get lost.” Then she was giving him her phone number as well. “We’re gonna get it back,” she affirmed once more, iron determination in her voice. “You just wait and see. Soon enough you’ll be back in the ocean before you know it.”

[sasskarian]

I know you're not exactly a DA blog anymore... But... I just finished DA2 for the very first time and, and. I got myself Inquisition with all DLCs. I need to know what happens. I want the poor baby Cullen to be happy :(

Nonnie, I am still at my heart very much a DA blog (and Mass Effect; I just tend to smear new obsessions everywhere. Like finger painting). I curate my experience as much as I can due to the fandom being shit, but my love for DA is strong and steady. 

The best thing I can say is, play through the game and DLCs. (Tho suggested order is Jaws > Descent > Trespasser) I promise you, Cullen has the option of being happy. I wouldn’t write about it if I didn’t see those paths, and at least some of them are canon. 

I know what you mean, tho. Cullen is, to some of my friends’ dismay, near and dear to my heart. He’s my canon quiz’s romance, for many reasons. The truth is, I struggle with the fandoms’ interpretations of him and was just talking about this with my DA/FO/ME bestie @asaara-writes the other day. I think a lot of Cullen’s trauma is easily missed or overlooked in favor of louder plots (like Fenris’s, who doesn’t get hated on nearly so much for his hatred and distrust of mages, or Anders who hates Templars and is lauded for it. If I see another ANDERS WAS RIGHT banner, I’m gonna overclock somebody’s capacitors)

(Pardon me, I’ll throw this under a cut because wall of text, but I have some got-damn Opinions on Cullen and how the fandom treats him)

But for me, I’m neither in the “Cullen is poor bab who never did anything wrong uwu” or the “Cullen is a horrible bastard and should be set afire” camp. I walk a more moderate line, and here’s why:

I have a Cullen. 

My fiance, he’s... so much like Cullen that it breaks my heart. Military vet, disillusioned with his desire to do good in the world and the realities of corruption and power abuse. Substance abuse issues, and recovery from addiction. Said some bad things/had bad opinions when he was younger due to abuse by certain groups of people, and has since reformed and is trying to continue changing. Abuse survivor. Blood on his hands from his career. Trying his best to find his way in a world that he doesn’t understand. So I see the similarities, and I live with the reality of what that kind of history and life is like. 

Cullen was a fresh-faced 18 year old in the Kinloch Circle (however old his in-game image looks, he was canon 18-20). Which, by canon, was one of the less problematic, more lenient Circles (though you have to have Mage origin to find that stuff out). I don’t think he’d been a Templar long at that point. And he joined the Templars out of a desire to do good in the world. His examples of Templar behavior were those stationed in a small village, who had more leniency and less lawkeeping duties. Honnleath was tiny, and quiet. I’m going on assumption here, on my own history of small towns vs larger cities, that there wasn’t much evidence of power hunger and abuse an eight year old would notice.

Note that he remains kind and even remorseful at some of his duties (for instance, having to attend Harrowings) even under a hateful man like Greagoir.

When Uldred takes over the Circle and kills everyone, Cullen is the last left. He watches possessed mages and demons run wild in his home, killing and torturing his friends. If you’re a mage origin, he talks about how the demons used his feelings and affection for you, inappropriate though they were, to torment him. It’s implied through dialogue that at least some of those demons sexually abused him. 

Yes, in his panic and fresh trauma, he begs the Warden to kill any mages found left in the Circle. I wonder why. Tumblr at large acts like the only way for PTSD and trauma to be exhibited is through cowering and nightmares, but it’s well known among people who have PTSD (including myself) that outrage, hair trigger tempers, and anger issues are as common as crying jags and insomnia. 

After the resolution of Broken Circle, Cullen is reassigned to Kirkwall. Arguably, this is the worst possible Circle he could have been sent to in the entirety of the goddamn world. Not only is Kirkwall famous for increased blood mage activity (both due to history and also due to Templar behavior), which is one of his trauma-groups, but Meredith hates mages, and rules over them with an iron fist. She is fucking crazy, and whether her past makes her a sympathetic villain or not (ymmv), she downright encouraged the abuse of mages and as she loses her mind, we see her start accusing everyone of blood magic. 

Canon states that there are Templars in Kirkwall who sexually abuse mages, who torture them, and who kill them at will, and these are never dealt with. Meredith has no desire to change the way the Gallows is run, and it’s said or implied that before her reign as the overseer, the Gallows-- while still not great-- was not this bad. 

So, freshly traumatized and young Templar is sent to the worst possible place in Thedas, under the command of a crazed mage hater, surrounded by the very thing that will trigger him nigh constantly. I see a lot of the fandom say “well why didn’t he quit/leave?” And I wonder if those fans understand what indoctrination can do. Specifically, military indoctrination. You’re told that the ranks are your home, your family, the only ones who can or will ever understand you. You’re told this for so long that it becomes a life raft. It becomes your world truth. That’s the nature of emotional abuse that fosters codependency: it literally reshapes your world. 

Added to that, Templars are controlled by the Chantry through lyrium, an addictive drug that quitting is difficult and surviving the withdrawal of is often fatal. (that’s another rant entirely that can be summed up as tl;dr fuck the fucking Chantry)

The Templars were the only thing he knew. After that kind of soul-shaking trauma, do you leave behind everything you ever knew? (Remember, he was 13 when he joined into this kind of brainwashing.) No. You cleave to what you can, to what keeps you getting through the day. 

Cullen spent a further ten years in Kirkwall, watching the city fall apart under Qunari, blood magic, and Meredith’s increasing insanity. There was no reprieve for his PTSD: everywhere he turned, there was Something. And yet, we hear in Inquisition (depending on player choices, ofc) Samson say that Cullen tried to continue to be kind. He didn’t abuse mages, he tried to protect them where and how he could. 

[Samson: He arrived after the trouble at the ferelden circle. Cullen jumped at his shadow in those days, always on the watch for abominations and demons. Did right by the mages, though, never played rough with them. Not like Meredith.]

Was it limited? Yes. Was it hampered by circumstance? Yes. Should he have tried harder? Yes. 

But he still tried. 

Does he say regrettable things? Yes. Does he regret those things later? Yes. 

I had a friend, who I am no longer friends with for various reasons, tell me that “If Cullen was a good person, he wouldn’t need a redemption arc.” And... no, No, that’s not how redemption arcs work. Everyone does problematic things. Everyone who grows up brainwashed has to unlearn shit, and atone for shit. 

Cullen still struggles with mages. He still has a deep fear of them. Partly this is the Templar in him talking, partly this is trauma. And, here’s where we break from canon and go deep into psychology land: I think partly because he’s projecting. Cullen cannot imagine forgiveness for what he’s done. I wonder if part of him fears mages because he expects-- perhaps even some part of him desires-- retribution from them for his actions and past. 

And there’s things that have been retconned or that were misleading in previous games. For example, the rumor that Cullen escaped after Broken Circle and went on a mage murdering spree. That was nothing but a rumor, but the fandom levies it against him as if it happened.

But if Cullen “hated” mages, you wouldn’t be able to romance him as a mage. And honestly, that mage romance in DAI? Is one of the sweetest, most tender things I’ve seen in DA. As a mage, you can choose to help him past his fears, help him with his lyrium addiction. Help him grow as a person, and watch as he becomes a better person. As he learns that mages are more than their magic, and that Templars are so often wrong and awful in their treatment of them. 

I find Cullen to be well written. And believable as hell. The portrayal of him-- from the mood swings, to the trauma, to the shaky but steadying growth-- feels real, and I can back that up with my fiance’s own similar path. 

So. To wrap up because hoooooo, Opinions, play through the game. There’s a lot of gems there. <3 

[thisselflovecamebacktome]

Dancing With The Devil Part 4 Thoughts:

(As per always, I will put this under a read more but it will talk about the pandemic, drug use and mental illness/health so count this as your trigger warning)

General Thoughts:

This episode felt a little weird for me because while it felt very genuine in a lot of ways, it also felt very PR in a more obvious way than part 3 did and in a way parts 1 and 2 did not at all. On the most part, I think this came down to having other celebrities come in that didn’t really feel like they added much or said anything that Demi’s loved ones hadn’t already said. Likewise, there were little moments like the ‘team’ question (over just say asking about loved ones more generally) and Scooter talking about putting everything off after the Grammys that also came off very PR and unneeded. There were also a few moments I wish they went more in depth with which I will talk about throughout this piece. In saying all of that, overall it was a good concluding piece for the documentary and I enjoyed it for the most part.

Pandemic Effects:

I don’t have much to say here past I related heavily to both the guilt and relief of Matt and Demi saying that Demi had a really good year and was able to do a lot of healing because of the time off with the pandemic. While I obviously didn’t have the money and resources Demi did for that process, I lived in an city that was barely touched by the pandemic and had a government that, while they have taken it away now, strongly financially supported people on government payments like myself. So much like Demi, I did what I could to make the best of that but much like Matt, I feel a lot of survivor’s guilt about saying that because that wasn’t most people’s experience.

I also agree with Elton that isolation is the worst thing you can do to someone who needs support, and though I’m glad they didn’t focus too deeply on Max, I’m glad that that was explored through that relationship in the documentary, even if it was heart breaking (and concerning considering I thought she was going to say she relapsed for a moment when she started crying) to see Demi cry over him. Likewise, while it was a more general note, I’m glad that they pushed the idea of getting help when symptoms start as opposed to when you spiral out because I imagine a lot of people needed to hear that, now more than ever.

Being California Sober:

This is one of the areas that I wished they had questioned Demi on more. Specifically, I feel like a question should have been asked regarding drinking being the start of the spiral and what’s changed. Arguably the answer is the same as the ‘the drugs I would want would kill me and that freaks me out’ answer she gave for the lying question, but I still would have liked a bit more exploration of how that connection and/or her attitude to alcohol with drugs has changed. I’m especially curious on a self centred level because a lot of what she said about realising that heroine wasn’t enough for her and that freaking her out is how I felt about realising my own connection between alcohol and drugs was stronger than I realised, even when I’m in a good mood. So yeah, I would have liked to hear more about that.

I also find it very interesting that on the most part, they put opinions that disagree with moderation forward, Like the case worker seemed to be the only one that was fully on board with the idea of moderation for Demi. Granted Sirah gave an on the fence answer of “I don’t know either way” but it felt unconvincing that she felt this was best and then Elton and even Scooter being like “I don’t agree with it at all” seemed like interesting choices to put in. And you can argue that it was to balance the conversation, but it didn’t feel balanced at all to me. Not that that’s a bad thing, just an interesting choice that most documentaries don’t make.

I won’t go too far into my opinion here because I recently went into it in this ask, but tldr: while I know some recovering addicts who can have a big night out and not touch stuff for years, I personally could never see moderation working. I also agree heavily with Elton that you can live just as an amazing life completely sober comparatively to when you’re drinking/drugging and most of my best moments have happened sober. However, in a “Tragic. The worst person you know made a good point” moment, I do agree with Scooter that trying to control Demi has not worked in the past and unless major red flags come up, it is best to trust her and pray that she knows what she is doing.

Honestly? I feel a little mixed about pushing the idea of having to be sober for yourself and not pushing people who aren’t ready for sobriety to get clean. Like yes, in a perfect would everybody would do it for themselves and I agree that you’re more likely to stay sober if you’re doing it for yourself. But it is not a perfect world, and even now, going on nine years being sober of drugs, I still have days where I can’t do it for myself and use things like “I don’t want to disappoint my mum” or “It would make my friends worry” or even “hey I won’t be able to see the new episode of this show if something happens” to keep clean. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing, just like I don’t think Demi getting clean the first time for the sake of her relationship with her sister was a bad thing. Again, it’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing.

Other Mental Illnesses.

This isn’t to do with Demi personally, but I do find it interesting that she was misdiagnosed with Manic Depressive Disorder given what I learned in my psychology undergraduate degree. In general, if a woman is misdiagnosed, typically she is diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder when she really has Manic Depressive Disorder. Alternatively, males who are misdiagnosed are typically diagnosed with Manic Depressive Disorder when they really have a Personality Disorder. Again, this isn’t about Demi specifically, but I just found that interesting when she said about the misdiagnosis.

I also found it interesting that they flat out asked her about her past compulsive lying. One area I wish had been questioned more on that front was when she mentioned about cutting her hair being a liberating thing. Like I find it interesting that she brought up thinking people would hate it and make comments out of malice, but nobody brought up about when she said she changes her hair when she feels out of control. Again, much like the alcohol/drug connection situation, I feel like it would have been a good way to compare and contrast the difference in her mindset now compared to then and lowkey reassure loved ones that this isn’t something they need to question anymore.

All up, Dancing With The Devil is a decent documentary. Though I wished they focused on some parts more and others less, it came off as an authentic look into the struggles of Demi and her loved ones as she rebuilt her life post overdose. While I’m hoping we never get another documentary of this nature from her again, I would not be opposed to another documentary in general years down the line to show the (hopefully positive) contrast of her life when the actions she’s spoken about taking now take full effect. Until then, all I can really do is hope she continues her recovery and growth into who she wants to be.

[autisticmob]

HELLO everyone i am now ten days out from my tiddy surgery so i think while everything is still fresh-ish in my mind I should get a rough timeline of how things went for me, just so anyone having similar stuff done in the future can have it as reference?? 

so under the cut is how shit went down, warning we are gonna be tmi about it for Max Information Dissemination, i will be talking about IV placement, Needles, Bleeding, Bruising, Bathroom Stuff In General, etc. so like. Be Warned.

OKAY SO what did i have done and how did i get it:

- i got a bilateral breast reduction with a “T,” “keyhole,” or “anchor-shaped” incision. this procedure, unlike double-incision top surgery, does not detach your nipples at all, but it DOES leave a decent hunk of breast tissue behind to avoid the nip graft. this connecting tissue keeps your nip attached and supplied with enough blood to survive. that means with this one, theres basically a limit to how much they can take off, and it depends on how big you are to start off with. 

- i went with the T-incisions because as a NB person, I wanted to sidestep the “gender-confirming surgery” route with my insurance. technically, I believe it would have been covered if i had gone through the process of talking to a therapist and getting a note that the surgery WOULD help confirm my gender, but i suspect it would have taken much longer, and I was afraid that my doctor and community resources would not have ended up approving me FOR the surgery since I don’t exactly fit the typical trans narrative. and luckily for me i had Massive, Spine-Bending G Cup Tiddies to contend with. so every doc that took a look at me said “yeah, you need those taken care of for medical reasons.” so i thought hey, let’s see how far this will get me!

- i talked to my primary care doc about my back pain and mentioned i’d like to look into a breast reduction, and she referred me to a local surgeon who could do the procedure. at the time i was still entertaining the idea of double-incision, but as it turned out, this surgeon just didnt do that. but i knew for certain my insurance would cover him, his results were good, and he was local, so i said yes to the T-incisions, which he said would likely get me down from a G to at least a C. it wasnt my ideal scenario admittedly, but frankly the back pain was getting to be too much, and i needed it to be addressed sooner rather than later.

- i had a consultation with the surgeon in early december, and they took pictures and measurements to send to my insurance so they could confirm the tits WERE in fact Too Bomb To Live. Doc said that it varies between insurance companies, but most will have a minimum amount of tissue that needs to be taken off, in grams, from each breast. he was like, “your insurance needs at least 1000g total removed, which’ll leave you on the small side, is that cool?” and i was like “My Man, take AS MUCH as you possibly can, im sick of these” and he was like “cool, makes my job easy then.” 

- it took my insurance like 1.5 to 2 months to get back to me, but late january the surgery place called me and we set a date for february 5th, 2020!!

PRE-OP:

- before i went into surgery, the hospital made me go over my medical history with them over the phone, informed me of all the risks, and gave me a special scrub kit to shower with at home for the last 2 days before the surgery

- fun fact this soap will make your whole bathroom and body smell strongly and exactly like a hospital and it is gross as hell if you hate hospital smell

- i also had to go to my primary care doc to get the OK that i was healthy enough to go under general anesthesia, and also get some blood tests and a urinalysis done. i fucked up the urinalysis tho (which is a whole other story) so i had to redo that the morning of the surgery when i got to the hospital anyway. 

- when i scheduled my surgery they also gave me a list of things i had to NOT DO before i went in. this included stuff like avoiding herbal medications and non-prescription supplements and not drinking any alcohol for like 2 weeks prior to surgery, and not eating anything after midnight the night before surgery.

- then it was SURGERY DAY!!!

- i went in with uhhh a LOT of anxiety about what everything would entail, ngl. i knew i had to do it because staring down the barrel of life with tiddies forever was way scarier than surgery, but yknow whenever you go under general anesthesia they legally do have to let you know that you could die and thats just a lot to consider, PLUS the whole thing involves just, really mangling your torso so like. its a lot! its okay to be scared!

- both my parents went with me for moral support which i appreciated a lot, but i didnt actually see them much since they had to spend a lot of it in the waiting room.

- when i went back with the doc they had me Wash The Tiddy Off with some antiseptic and change into a gown. i got some grippy socks out of the deal which is probably not a universal experience, but this hospital did it so shoutout to them for the socks i guess

- then they asked me all my medical history stuff again and checked me for any like, rashes or open sores or anything. i had some Tit Zits but they did not seem to be worried about that.

- then the surgeon came in and drew lines on me for the incisions. bro when i saw how high up my nips were gonna be i was losing my damn mind. this is one of the really exciting parts, because you finally get to really visualize what your end size is gonna be!! 

- once he was satisfied with how everything looked, they started really Prepping Me For Surgery.

- they hooked me up to a blood pressure cuff, a heart monitor, and some compression leg thingies that would inflate and deflate intermittently around my calves to help me not get blood clots. this felt weird but tbh also like kind of a nice massage

- then the iv placement. bro im not lying when i tell you this is the worst part. the nurse numbed me with some lidocaine before placing the needle and let me tell you that shit HURTED. lidocaine Stings and Burns when it hits and this was arguably the most painful part. but the good news about that is it means nothing else after that is all that bad. and i got THREE lidocaine shots because these two nurses could NOT find my blood anywhere. they finally called in their ringer (an EMT named kirk, s/o to kirk) who got that sucker in my arm with NO numbing and NO pain in like, 2 fucking seconds. i pray you all have a kirk. kirk knows where your fucking blood is and hes not gonna fuck around getting to it because he JUST wrestled a drunk dude into an ambulance like an hour ago and compared to that this is nothing. kirk had sleeveless scrubs. im obsessed. anyway.

- then they put a plastic, inflatable, heated blanket over me? it was between two regular blankets so it wasnt as uncomfortable as you might imagine, but it was strange. warm tho so that was nice.

- THEN they wheeled my bed down to surgery. i was having so much anxiety at this point it was like... dreamlike. getting wheeled into the OR was just surreal. i was like, no thoughts head empty, just taking everything in.

- once i got there the surgical team was very cool about keeping me calm tho. they were playing their like, pump-up music and one of the guys was like “hey fyi about halfway thru the surgery we will be turning the lights off and having a rave, just in the interest of full disclosure. promise not to leave any glowsticks in there tho” and i was like what no i would LOVE glowstick tiddies

- i had to kinda roll from my bed onto the operating table, which was significantly harder and smaller. that kinda made things feel real, so i got a little more anxious at that point.

- to help me calm down they had me breathe in some straightup oxygen thru a mask while they hooked my iv to the fluids and such, and the guy was like “WHOA you got some lungs on you dude” and i was like yeah thanks im recovering from hyperventilating

- then they let the anesthesia into the iv, letting me know the whole time what was happening, talking to me until i was just OUT, which was not a lot of conversation time because i was out in like 5 seconds or less. they didnt make me count down or anything, but i promise you it was nigh instantaneous.

POST OP

- it really was instantaneous. i know everyone says that but it really is the truth, it feels like the whole thing takes seconds. like one moment youre laying there in the OR feeling the drugs Hit, and the next youre waking up in the little wake-up room feelin kinda groggy with a nurse talking to you, and youre still druggy so youre just rambling to her about how fucked your voice sounds right now and as soon as shes contented that youre basically lucid they start wheeling you to your room where youll ACTUALLY stay while you recover.

- THE THING I WAS THE LEAST PREPARED FOR WAS MY THROAT

- your throat will Hurt afterwards, but even more than that, you will be producing So Much Mucus. my surgery took about 2 hours and during that time, all my muscles were paralyzed by the anesthesia, including my lungs, so i was on a breathing tube. my throat, understandably, hated this, and started producing Gallons Of Fucking Mucus to protect itself. it then continued to do this for the next two days or so. the nurses were encouraging me to breathe deep and cough Hard to combat this, and avoid getting pneumonia, so i did. but THAT hurt the tiddies. it was really a vicious cycle. but its necessary because god if i had to have pneumonia on top of all the other recovery shit?? god. 0/10 wouldnt recommend. so it might hurt but dont worry your tiddies wont bust open or anything.

- i spent basically the rest of the day still hooked up to all the machines i listed earlier, PLUS a thing that would beep at me if my heart rate went too high, which it did a lot because i have anxiety, but luckily the nurses didnt seem too concerned. it really kept my breathing on track though because if i didnt breathe deep enough my heart would shoot up super fast and it’d beep and god that was just annoying and im pretty sure that was The Point. you kinda have to get used to breathing again, and the beeping trained me.

- they gave me like a bunch of crackers and a huge mug of water to work on at my leisure. i actually had lunch pretty quick after waking up? i know a lot of people have nausea issues from anesthesia but i didnt experience any of that. i DID move like a fucking sloth while i was eating tho. the pain meds and general grogginess of recovery slowed my whole body down sooooo much. my mom was actually like “are you okay??? like neurologically??????” and i was, totally, i was just. on slo-mo.

- anyway i didnt have to get catheterized for this procedure thankfully but they DID make me measure my pee every time i went to the bathroom. like i had to pee in a little bucket attached to the toilet and the nurse had to come check it every time and i felt really weird about that. so idk just be prepared for that i guess lmao

- also idk if it was the pain meds or the anesthesia itself but post-op, i couldnt shit for like a week. the constipation is real so get u some fucking laxatives asap when you get home, this is not a joke lmao

- they also had me put on a belt every time i got up so the nurse could hold onto me in case i decided to fucking biff it. they got me up a couple times throughout the day/night to walk up and down the hallway outside and get my body used to being upright again

- oh speaking of i never got to lie down completely flat, they had my bed locked at like a 30 degree angle minimum to help with... something. im not quite sure what, but im not gonna question it

- when i got up the next morning they had a couple nurses come in and help me un-bandage so i could shower and finally look at what the tiddies looked like for the first time!! and it was exciting but i didnt cry like i expected lmao i think i was too drained and too distracted by the bleeding

- the bleeding wasnt too bad actually, just little beads kinda coming out of parts of the incisions between the stitches. but once i got in the shower obviously stuff started getting diluted in the water and it looked like a lot more than there actually was, so dont be alarmed by that! 

- SHOWERING: its a little complicated. youre not supposed to soak the incisions, and youre not supposed to apply direct water pressure or actually touch them at this point. so what i had to do was get a washcloth wet and soapy (with antibacterial soap, i think it was hand soap honestly. hand soap’s what ive been using at home so........) and then just kinda. squeeze it at your collarbone and let it drip down over everything kinda minimally. its kind of a process but it works fine. washing your hair and like, tbh literally everything else is gonna be hard. reaching over your head is hard and scary at this point. i will admit my hair care Suffered the first week. 

- then i got bandaged back up and they got me back into my own clothes and ready to go home! they also put a bra on me over the bandages in my new size. i was only there for about 24 hours total, since i didnt really have any complications. 

- on the ride home i had to make sure the cross-chest part of the seat belt was NOT touching me. if whoevers driving you hits a pothole, your soul WILL exit your body tits-first for a moment. im sorry if you live somewhere like here in nebraska where the roads are garbage but its not gonna be fun.

ONCE YOU’RE HOME!!

- i live at home with my mom and sister and if you live alone, id try to have a friend basically move in for the first week. you will need Help with things. basic things. you’ll mostly want to sleep because of the pain meds but those made me pretty dizzy so it was cool having my mom around in case i like. fell on the way to the bathroom and died or anything like that.

- changing bandages is really kind of a 2-person affair too, and youll have to do it at least once a day post-shower, so keep that in mind. 

- the bleeding is like, not that bad after that first day honestly. i never had to change the bandages more than just the once per day. 

- basically from here the procedure is just to take it easy, get up every few hours and walk around a little to keep the blood clots at bay, and enjoy yr new silhouette basically

- worst thing about recovery honestly? im a stomach/side sleeper, and i cant manage anything other than laying flat on my back with my arms at my sides right now, and thats just like.... idk i really cant sleep like that. its not comfy. ive had to set up kind of a pillow fort around me to keep me from rolling over in my sleep bc im afraid i might hurt myself accidentally like that, but idk how well-founded that fear is.

- i will say as someone who did have back problems before this, the difference is IMMEDIATE. i literally had better posture like Day 1. im still a little hunched over because the stitches create a bit of tension in your chest, but like literally it was instantaneous. god. once i got healed to a point that i could like, kinda relax and not be so fucking tense all the time? back pain has basically just been GONE. 

- other fun things to notice: i had some pretty significant stretch marks before, and now they are running in a completely different direction. i crossed my arms over my chest the other day and they actually touched my torso for the first time in like, well over a decade. if i close my eyes and try to grab my tiddy from muscle memory, i stop like a full 3 inches from where my tit actually starts now. the size i am now, just like, freeballing it? this is how i looked when i wore a binder before. if i wore a binder now i imagine id be completely flat, and honestly if i layer up at this point you cant really tell that i have anything more than the average chubby dude’s moobs, which as a kinda chubby person is totally fine. 

its a trip relearning what i look like and what im supposed to feel like but its just. such a fucking improvement over where i was. absolutely no regrets, regardless of how hard recovery has felt at times. anyway i hope this information is at least interesting and maybe helpful to anybody considering anything similar!!