#healing from intestinal damage

[ofdinosanddais1]

Who knew food could taste so good when you're not constantly naseous?

[thebibliosphere]

Hope this isn't offensive (feel free to ignore if it is) but what illnesses do you have? I always see very detailed posts from you about different types of hyperspecific injuries or illnesses and I was wondering if you're just super well informed or have all of them.

Which is very helpful and cool for people who need the info, and I'm sorry if you are experiencing all those.

Oh, Christ. Right this is going to be a lot 😅

Conditions I have been diagnosed with as of 2024:

Ehlers Danlos Syndrome

Mast Cell Activation Syndrome

Dysautonomia/POTS/autonomic failure (they all mean a similar thing. I just have them all listed in my file because no one can decide what I actually have beyond “nervous system broke”)

Chronic Migraines

Hemiplegic Migraines

Cluster Headaches

Cranial Instability (caused by my EDS + neck injuries)

Trigeminal neuralgia

Occipital Neuralgia (caused by the cranial instability)

Binocular Vision Disorder

PMDD (likely linked to the MCAS)

Probably endometriosis but it’s unconfirmed.

Interstitial cystitis (definitely caused by the MCAS)

GERD (a symptom of my MCAS)

Pernicious Anemia (likely linked to the EDS and MCAS. I don’t absorb nutrients from my food as well as I should which is common when MCAS damages the GI tract.) which lead to hemolytic anemia in 2019 aka the “Almost Died For Real” year.

ADHD.

cPTSD

Dysthymia or “double depression”

“Probable ME/CFS” is in my file, but with everything else going on chronic and debilitating fatigue is pretty much unavoidable so my doctors are like 🤷🤷‍♀️

I had an intestinal perforation a few years ago that lead to severe diverticulitis that took about a year and a half to heal, but that’s healed now save for the occasional bout of nerve pain.

Uuuh… I think that’s it… (wait and see my spouse/friends chiming in with “you forgot about x”)

So yeah.

Chances are if you see me talking about it, I have it. I do sometimes talk about other conditions that I’ve learned about over the years of navigating my own stuff, but I will always defer to the lived experiences of others when it comes to their own conditions.

It’s a lot to deal with. Most of it links back to the MCAS/EDS/Autonomic failure.

Or as we like to call it: the generic trifecta of bullshit.

[rebirthgarments]

TW: Chemical w-rfare, Ab-rtion

Urgent Ask to evacuate Nara, a 🍉 disabled woman with MS who also has pancreatic cancer due to chemical w-rfare.

Support by financially contributing to her @FedUp4Palestine vetted funhnd-raizer (that I personally vetted): givebutter.com/NaraMedicalAid

+ resharing/ reposting this post!

I, Sky Cubacub- a Fed up 4 Palestine team member, have been in direct contact with Nara to get to know her and her story more over the past few days. We have become fast friends due to so many overlapping symptoms of our disabilities. Nara’s story caught my eye because I have post-viral ME/CFS which many times is a precursor to MS. I really want my disability community to show up for her to get this campaign funded that is so close to my heart so that she can continue medical treatment.

We have chatted extensively! During our chats, I found out from Nara that she had not previously had health issues until she was exposed in the white phosphorus attack in 2008. The long lasting damage and effects of phosphorus continue to compound and become more and more disabling to this day, even after 16 years.

Here is her story in her own words (edited for clarity):

“Hi I'm Nara,

I'm a cancer and multiple sclerosis patient. I need treatment, examinations, and follow-up on a regular basis, but the hospitals in which I used to follow up were bombed and the other one was turned into military barracks. All I need now is to leave Gaza for treatment, preserve my life, and live with my family in peace.

We're a family of 4, including my 12 and 7 year old children.

I had been diagnosed with a tumor in the pancreas as a result of inhaling phosphorus in a previous war. A couple years after being exposed to phosphorus, I became pregnant, and the fetus was pressing on the tumor, which drew the doctor’s attention to the cancer. My fetus was emergency aborted, and the spleen, 80% of the pancreas, and part of the small intestine were removed. I complained every now and then of a lot of pain as a result of the removal of part of the pancreas. I was having follow up care in the Turkish Friendship Hospital for hematology and tumors. But since the beginning of October, I have not been able to follow up because the hospital has turned into a military barracks.

The remaining part is talking about multiple sclerosis:

In 2018, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. I had many complications, such as inflammation of the seventh nerve in the eye, the inability to walk with balance, movement with difficulty, and many symptoms. I was then required to take 12 injections every month and many medications and vitamins. I was following up at the Nasser Medical Complex in Khan Yunis, but unfortunately the hospital was out of service due to the war. So for a long time I have not received any injections. MS is truly difficult and it controls my life completely, and the attacks occur in many and varied ways.”

A note about her breathing apparatus:

Because people in displacement have to wait in long queues and pay to use the bathroom, Nara had started to restrict her water intake because of a UTI she never has been able to heal from. This has created a problem with raised levels of potassium, so doctors have placed her on oxygen for fear of the potassium affecting her heart.

Goals

she needs at least $15,000 to evacuate

2 adults at $5,000 each

2 children at $2,500 each

this price is subject to increase due to the cost of registration for evacuation continuing to go up

The other money will go to the cost of treatment and living costs.

Nara chooses to stay anonymous because she has had to mask her disabilities so much that only her family knows about her MS and Cancer, so we have not linked her instagram, but we are in direct contact with her and can verify that she is who she says she is! Because of this, she cannot promote her own fundraiser, so it is our job to collectively do it for her!

[Image Description: a digital illustration by @k8deciccio of Nara, a Pal-eh-stienian woman wearing a black hijab/outfit with purple highlights. She has a breathing apparatus that is bulbous that goes in her nose. Text Reads: Help Narawith Cancer and MS Treatment, She Must Evacuate with her family of 4. $30k goal givebutter.com/NaraMedicalAid . There is a QR code in the bottom right corner that goes to her support link. The @FedUp4Palestine logo is in the top left corner.]

[bwat5-blog]

The Cost Of Humanity: The Price Caitlyn pays

**Spoilers For All Of Arcane**

The discourse around Caitlyn's fall from grace and eventual redemption continues to be all over the place. I honestly struggle to think of examples from recent media that can compare when talking about the complexity and humanity of her arc, yet people continue to paint her with their broad-stroke, virtue signaling generalizations. Things like this, are why I started doing this in the first place.

Because as much as I have come to love doing these deep dives, and these character analyses, and how I learn along the way and learn new insights from all of you, peoples determination in disrespecting such a masterfully crafted story that is so full of heart, and depth, offends me to my core. As I have said repeatedly throughout my posts like a grouchy nerdy broken record, GOOD STORIES MATTER.

This is not about ships, it is not about favorite characters, and it is not about your right to like, or dislike her character. If you feel questioned by this post, I am not questioning your opinion of a character, I am questioning your ability empathize and see the humanity in a twenty-four year old girl, who has had every pillar upon which she bases her perception of the world VIOLENTLY changed.

To that end, what I am discussing this evening is the cost of Caitlyn's mistakes regarding her assuming the role of Commander and what follows. This is not about how she redeems herself, although I have spoken on that and do feel they did a masterful job in achieving it. This is not a deep dive into her fall from grace, the causes, or rather or not I believe it was justified. This is solely to address the following tidbit of lunacy and all of its variations that are still floating around.

"So Caitlyn's arc is that she becomes a war criminal and gasses kids and goes full KKK and she gets to ride off into the sunset with Vi with the only consequence being an eye patch?"

Physical:

As the easiest of consequences to measure, let's take a look at the effects Caitlyn suffers to her body as a result of her mistakes. For this I will focus on the battle at the end of the show, although she is certainly wounded in various ways in the commune.

Maddie's Betrayal- We will speak more on this when I move to mental, but Maddie literally hits her in the head twice with a rifle stock. Concussions anyone? Skull Fractures?

Stabbed - Stabbed in the stomach with Ambessa's blade up to the hilt. Now I am not a doctor and freely admit that I know nothing about the severity in the wound in terms of placement. And in a world with shimmer healing and such things obviously we can't strictly hold to real world rules. But a simple google search suggested the following as possible long term complications of such a wound: " intestinal obstruction due to scar tissue adhesions, intra-abdominal abscesses, bowel perforation, delayed bleeding from damaged blood vessels, abdominal hernias, chronic pain"

Kicked- Kicked square in the midsection with a knife in her gut. Seems healthy

Head slammed into concrete- Ambessa using her skull-crusher legs sweeps Caitlyn off of her feet slamming her head into the ground (Please Note: Caitlyn is shown clearly struggling at this point tremendously to rise)

Kicked Again- Once again kicked in the midsection with a knife in her gut

Ankle- Ambessa pins Caitlyn's ankle to the ground by force and kicks her leg out from under her before backhanding her

Headbutt- After dazing her with the backhand, Ambessa full on headbutts her with her mask on

Kicked yet again- This time completely off of her feet

Loses her left eye- Her sacrifice to stop Ambessa.

Returning to the stab wound- She did all of this with the knife in her. Tearing and exacerbating that wound.

This was one fight. Don't mistake me, Caitlyn has become an absolute warrior as the show has gone on and is an amazing fighter. But she twenty four, and only a short time ago was still very much in her sheltered life. Ambessa Medarda is a LITERAL WARLORD.

Mental/Emotional:

**I'm sure there are things I'm going to leave off of this. But this is just what I am thinking of in the moment. This is NOT a bashing on her list. This is what I feel the kind and courageous woman we know she always been is going to have to work through in the aftermath.**

Violet- Thankfully she and Vi have found their way back to one another. And while I love their reuniting, I don't think its unfair to suggest there is still quite a bit of healing ahead of them. Vi was not without blame in what happened between them (not justifying what Cait did to her at all, just that neither of them are perfect and were going through a terrible time). But ultimately Caitlyn has to make peace with the fact that she left the woman she loves crying alone in that chamber, and that that heartbreak sent Vi into a spiral that very easily could have killed her. When you add to that the loss of Vander, Isha and Jinx in Vi's life these are all things a woman like Cait is going to struggle not to blame herself completely for.

Zaun- The early show does an excellent job establishing that Caitlyn does not share the classist and oppressive attitudes of others in her social circle. But at her most lost, she bears responsibility for the full military occupation of Zaun, imprisoning its citizens, and likely the death of more than a few at the hands of the Noxians who Caitlyn allowed to be there . And that is to say nothing of the actions of the strike team, or that it is Vi's home.

Maddie- The woman she invited into her bed to distract herself from the loss of Vi, came as close as someone could have to executing her right then and there. Someone she never realized was a spy, prepared to shoot her the back of the neck. I think the trauma here is obvious.

Death Toll- The deathtoll and destruction of the war are going to weigh on her. They just are. It is clearly not actually all her fault, But as I have stated, and as anyone who pays attention will have seen, Caitlyn IS A GOOD PERSON. Yes, I'm sorry, I know some of you want to pretend otherwise because you have the emotional depth of a teaspoon. But she is. And there is simply no way she does not feel the weight of the loss brought on in part by a woman she allowed to seize control.

Mental trauma from injuries- On top of the base physical component of her wounds, Caitlyn was quite nearly beaten to death. Speaking as someone who has been in a bad fight (nowhere near this obviously) it's not something you just forget. Not to mention the impact to her shooting which has been such a major part of her since she was younger.

I could go farther with all of this but you get the idea. Caitlyn is so.... so young. I and so many others have gone on at length detailing her arc, her grief, her trauma and all of the other components that make up this part of her story. I encourage you to read them if you are interested. This list of her suffering and of the suffering she will feel guilt for is not about what she does or does not deserve. As stated, that's not why I wrote this. I wrote this because as I stated in a much shorter look at this topic, you literally have to try to miss the consequences of Caitlyn's actions. You have to blind yourself in the name of being able to place whatever hashtag makes you feel righteous in condemning her character. If you want to say the reparations to Zaun were not fully addressed in the course of the show, okay I can give you that. But I would remind of you two things:

Caitlyn surrenders her family seat on the council to Sevika. For the first time as we understand it, the undercity now has a voice.

This show is not the end of the story. From the beginning Arcane has been our door into this universe, not out of it.

Listen folks, I'm not actually crazy. I understand it's a tv show. But as I have and will always continue to say, good stories matter. There is a reason fables and epics stretch back throughout our history as a species. Yes, of course for entertainment, yes of course to impart lessons or wisdom. But that belief that we can conquer our own darkness, that we can stand in the breach against those who would bring death to the innocent, and that can find redemption, these beliefs and many more have guided the best and worst parts of us for all time.

As always, thank you so much to any of you who take the time to read the rantings of a lunatic. I cannot express to you all the joy I have felt engaging in this community and celebrating this epic tale. I can't wait to see what they have for us next. Until next time, keep standing up for the stories that stay with us.

[tonixe]

♱ — dolor — ♱

A/N: Hey guys, I'm back with a new fic, yes I was gone for like 5 months or 3 or smth. This idea was inspired by @sinclairdoll, and his idea, here! I#bringbacktheoldnoir

WARNING: angst, sad, tw!new noir.

PAIRING: Black Noir x reader

WORD COUNTER: 865

Life was never normal after he died, you really didn't get it. Tears filled up your lashline, as you started sniffling to yourself. Your eyes staring at the photo in your hand, I mean you two were supposed to be together forever, that is what he wrote to you. Giving you sticky notes with his cute cartoony character drawn on the bottom.

You tried to hide your smile from him and ultimately failed, as your lips spread into a grin. You loved it when he drew you pictures, especially of those old Vought cartoons, you always collected every single note or picture, displaying and saving them away. But it was never the same, on the fateful day, it wasn't like it was raining, or something bad╼or maybe there was.

You would always share your feelings and opinions with Noir, voice out your deepest secrets or what was bothering you. You would have thought you did the same for him, well you tried. He was always quiet around you, I mean I guessed he couldn't help it with everything that happened to him. You thought you would live your life with him, but I guess faith had other things in mind.

There weren't any cards or a funeral for him. It was all under the wraps, just how Vought liked it. I mean being a Vought employee yourself, you would understand, no?

You saw it yourself, no secondhand point of view to see it with you. You watched with horrified, shock maybe in disbelief, watching him die. You weren't supposed to be there, nobody was supposed to be there. But you saw everything, Homelander just viciously ripping out his intestine, it was a nightmare, you wanted it to end, maybe stop him. If you did you would just be another part of the collateral damage, but you kind of wished you did do something, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you were able to be with Noir.

When he died, it felt like something you died with him, maybe your morale, your laughter, your hope...gone, it was all gone.

Time passed by you, days turning into weeks, piecing your life together but all grief consumed you whole, you were in a spiral that you didn't want to come out of, a deep depression, that all you could of though of was your past, what you could do to stop him, maybe if you stopped him from leaving you, leaving your apartment, he would have been here with you.

You looked at the ceiling with a blank stare,

But soon or later you were able to leave that dark place you were in, though the pain was still in your heart and panged. You couldn't wish for him back, it was too painful to even think about him without breaking down.

Walking down the halls of the unforsaken building you worked at, you hated, you didn't really know why you were still here. You grumbled to yourself as you walked, fixing the hems on your shirt cuffs until your eyes set themselves on a familiar person.

You were surprised by the revelation.

You wanted to cry, maybe yell, or just jump. You looked in disbelief as the very man you loved walked by you, no hug, no talking, no..nothing. Your heart yearned for anything from him, you were still shocked at how he was still alive.

You watched Black Noir, Earving die in front of your eyes, maybe it was some time of miracle. You felt your throat getting dry, your eyes watering up, and your mind was torn. By the time you knew it, you were already walking toward him, not running toward him.

"Black Noir" You called, you watched as Noir turned towards you. You felt your tears dripping down your cheeks, and you stopped in front of him. "Do I know you?" Your eyebrows furrowed, as you listened to his voice, no way..he talked. I mean he never talked in front of you or around you, maybe he was healed in some way to start talking again,

But your heart panged at the unfamiliar words he used to greet you, "You..talk?" You stammered, "You know whatever, do you remember me, Y/N" You cracked a smile in the joy that it was really happening, tears welling up in your eyes again.

You heard the man you thought was Noir curse under his breath, which confused you a bit, "Sorry, ma'am I don't think I know you" He stammered, you were able to grab his hand before he was able to walk away from you, "Please, just try to remember" You whispered, your voice breaking, you were already a mess, tears escaping you.

He quickly shook his head and took your hands off his arm, before he walked away from you, leaving you a mess on the floor.

It was cruel, a cruel twist of fate, you felt like the ground was ripped out from beneath you, it wasn't fair. You struggled to process everything that led you to this point in life, it was complete utter torment to your mind and your heart.

Your tears dribbled down from your cheek onto the floor, you didn't even process the fact you were crying.

You were alone...

heartbroken,

—and crying on the floor to yourself.

[amelizscribbles]

OK, EXPLAINING DABIS SCARRING because @good-lord-not-books asked

*note these are just my hcs and some medical research

I'm putting this under a cut because it's long as hell, and I apologize in advance for any typos or if it's confusing. I have no problem explaining further♡

His scars are hypertrophic. which 1) explains the discoloration. It's what happens when the smaller blood vessels become partially or fully obstructed with scar tissue. They typcially start off pinkish or light red. (like when he woke up from his coma.)

Typically the treatment for this is laser removal. But if you don't have access the color may naturally shift with age/as it natueally heals. But with continuous damage to the areas.. the scar will get darker as the veins and tissue is further injured (the deeper into the skin and possible muscle it damages)

most hyrpertophic scarring can take a year + to heal. but obviously Dabi just keeps making his worse. The scars themselves are cause by the body over producing collagen for wound healing and not actually being able to break all of it down.

Which leaves collagen fibers in the skin to harden and thicken. Hardened skin doesn't allow much give, lessening the skins elasticity over all. Which can be shown in the way his unscarred skin pulls along the edges where the dermal rings line said scars. (my thoughts on his staples acrually being dermal rings will be at the end)

That's not even going into the nerve damage systemically for him considering hes covered in that kind of scar. So when he says he can't feel a thing it's literal as the nerve endings are shot to shit. And that is only going into skin deep level.

Interal organ nerve damage is a whole other mess due to the scaringbeing from burns. As severe enough burns cause systemic damage. (will also go into atfer the scarring part)

His skin looks TIGHT on him. If he did have and semblance of sensation in his nerves it might feel like hella tight/dry skin. Also I think hypertrophic scars are an inflammation response to the body healing.

His body is literally misshapen from it. (and yes we love him the way he is) You can see in panels where the skin is probably softer where there's lack of muscle definition but can see where it's tighter or pulling over his arms/ shoulders/ribcage because the skins elasticity is non-existent. The instances where it's sifter looking is probably due to his body trying to retain as much body fat it can to keep healthy (or as healthy as it's going to get in his state.)

As far as it going right up to his lower lids and having zero tear ducts. that man has chronic dry eye like it's nobodies business. so itchy and possibly bleeding eyes isn't a shock. he probably has several counts of grand larceny in artificial tears alone.

Ok so as for his scaring being from burns, burns affect the whole body and how it works depending on the severity.

It can effect muscle tissue/muscle mass, bone structure and interior organs.

Given he seems to be perpetually giving himself 3rd degree + burns .. his respiratory system and cardiovascular system are probably shot to shit. Just from smoke inhalation and perpetual injury. (hypertrophic scars fill the veins with scar tissue remember) Assuming how deep the burn and scar tissue goes.

But we haven't seen him with much breathing issues so I'm assuming it's whatever. He has mentioned motion sickness and we've even seen him turning down food. So I can at least go into it's affects on his GI tract.

In the GI tract, burns can result in increased gastric secretions, reduced intestinal motility, decreased nutrient absorption, increased GI mucosal permeability, bacterial translocation and increased intra-abdominal pressure. If it's bad enough he may have ulcers or gi hemorrhaging. Severe burns also cause liver and intestinal damage.

The fact that he's been alive this long is wild if he's been homeless this whole time and just committing small crimes to not die. One thing that irritates me is when people think he would be incredibly unhygienic due to the scars and such.

Like do you understand how CLEAN you have to keep burn injuries to keep them from getting infected?? Even if it's layered over already damaged and scarred skin. He might smell like burnt flesh but I doubt he's letting wounds fester.

Yes he could probably just cauterize himself but that's still just burning burn wounds. Especially with 0% health insurance. I always assumed he kept breaking into the Todoroki family home when he knew no one would be there to do basic things to make sure he didn't die on the street over the years.

Quick add on to my thoughts on his staples just being dermal rings to homd his skin together/as a form of human Kinstugi.

They (the rings) are pretty rounded in the manga, surgical staples aren't nearly that large either so I always assumed human Kinstugi regardless of metal color (between manga gold or anime silver) and it was both decorative and necessary for his skin.

I just assumed wherever the rings weren't, it was just spots he couldn't reach.

it's also shown in the manga that he's adjusting/adding more along his scars.

als, in case anyone is unfamiliar with the term Kintsugi, it's this

Kintsugi (Japanese: 金継ぎ, lit. 'golden joinery'), also known as kintsukuroi (金繕い, "golden repair"), is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with urushi lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. The method is similar to the maki-e technique. Its the Japanese philosophy that the value of an object is not in its beauty, but in its imperfections, and that these imperfections are something to celebrate, not hide.

which I think suits his character very well when his piercings and dermal rings are gold looking in some of the colored manga art.

ok, I'll shut up now, ♡

[its-luna-noel]

soul tied | gojo x reader

01. the knight, the witch, and the coffee shop

"You're not going to die on me." "My love, not even death could keep me from you." When the love of your life - or one of your lives - is on death's door, you perform a soul tie ritual to make sure you'll meet again. This tie binds you across time, space, and every universe; your souls now belong to each other. But even a soul tie doesn't make love easy.

content: f!reader, reincarnation au, soulmates au, threads of fate, angst, pining, slow burn, fluff, meet cutes in every life, non-linear storytelling

word count: 2.7k

chapter: 1/? next chapter

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hi this idea has been stuck in my head, and it might be a little ambitious to pull off what i want to do with it, but i hope you enjoy anyway!

1174, Britannia 

The only sound in the small hut is the frantic clinking of vials and labored, painful breathing.

Your hands shake as you dig through your shelves of ingredients and herbs, hurriedly making a poultice to stop bleeding and ease pain. You feel like you might get sick, though you’re not sure if it's actual queasiness or if your heart simply can’t bear the stress of the situation.

A hand catches your wrist, smearing crimson blood on your skin beneath the wide sleeves of your tunic. Another raspy breath pierces your heart. “My love–”

You grit your teeth, though if it’s out of true frustration and anger or just to bite back tears, you’re unsure. “Sir Gojo,” you say, and there’s a sharpness to your tone that is not unfamiliar, “unhand me so I may heal you.”

The knight that’s laid out on your bed lets out a soft huff of a laugh, then coughs. Blood spatters his lips when he does. “You won’t even let me hear my given name from your lips before I die?” You think his tone is meant to be playful, but his voice is too weak for it to come across that way.

Tears burn in your eyes once more. “You are not dying! I won’t let you.”

He gives another soft, wavering smile. The hand that’s not on your wrist presses a thick linen cloth to the wound in his belly; it’s already soaked through with blood. Even if you’re too stubborn to admit what’s happening, he already knows.

Satoru Gojo is dying.

You go back to frantically shoving herbs into the mortar on a nearby shelf, grinding them into a paste that’s thick and fragrant. The fresh smell of yarrow and goosegrass is calming to you, and you try to concentrate as you breathe them in, telling yourself that everything will be okay.

You’re not going to let him die.

You turn from your working station, stone mortar held in one hand as you come to kneel at the bedside. You push aside his torn tunic, the jagged tear from a sword making your stomach clench once more. Then you pull his hand away from the wound and try not to weep.

The wound is deep; you already sutured it with thread made from sheep intestine, but the stitches are ugly and hurried, and you can do nothing for whatever internal damage he’s taken. You’ve seen many wounds like it, and all were fatal. But you know this knight, he’s the strongest you’ve ever met; surely a wound like this can’t fell him? He can’t die by such…mortal means.

He’s watching you, startling blue eyes trained on your face as you take in the wound.

You dip your fingers into the mushy poultice, then start to smear the mixture over the crude stitches. It’s thick and wet, and the knight winces as you put gentle pressure on the wound. You apologize softly, fingers moving with reverent intensity as you try to dress the wound.

It’s still weeping blood.

Then, very quietly, the knight murmurs your name, and you look up, once again meeting those bright blue eyes.

Those eyes are already starting to fade.

You take in the sight of him, how pale he looks, how his white hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat. His knuckles are white, too, with how tightly he’s gripping the sheets, and you can only imagine the pain he’s in while laid out on your bed. The small cot has never been glamorous enough for a knight like him.

It surely isn’t glamorous enough to be his deathbed.

He whispers, expression open and vulnerable. “Tell me you love me, too. Tell me you would’ve married me.”

Your eyes sting; you’ve always been far too stubborn to allow him to properly court you. No knight should lower their societal standing to court a witch, and you’ve said that over and over to him, but he never seemed to take the hint.

And now, as you sit here, you know it’s true. You do love him. You would’ve married him.

“In every lifetime,” you whisper.

He huffs another laugh, eyes tracing over your face. Even disheveled and worried nearly to death over him, he still finds you as enchanting as the day you met. “That’s blasphemous, you know,” he says, and you can’t believe even in his last hours he’s teasing you.

Perhaps that’s part of the reason you love him.

He continues, a soft lilt to his voice, “I’d say I’ll see you at the pearly gates, but they say witches don’t go to heaven.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Your voice cracks. “You’re not going to die on me.”

“My love,” he says, and he raises a shaky hand to brush your hair out of your eyes, painting your temple with his blood, “not even death could keep me from you. I will see you again, or else I will raze heaven and hell to find you.”

I will see you again.

And that’s what gives you an idea. You remember an old tome you read as a child during your studies with your coven. You thought it was overly romantic at the time, an old spell that could never work, because could magic truly conquer death?

You’ve never had anything that made you want to try before.

“Sir Gojo,” you say, catching his hand and holding it to your cheek.

“Satoru,” he insists.

You fight to swallow. “Satoru,” you correct yourself, and your voice strokes the name with the softest of caresses. “I…I want to try something. A ritual. It might…it might not work, it might do nothing but– but it’s a chance to see each other again, a chance to–”

He doesn’t even let you finish, he’s already nodding. “Yes.”

You hesitate. “It might keep you,” you say, “from whatever afterlife you’re hoping to find.”

“The only afterlife I want is another life with you.”

You hold his hand to your cheek for a moment longer, before you turn your face and kiss his bloody palm. Then you stand and grab your first grimoire from your bookshelf, the leather ratty and tattered by the years it has weathered. You flip through pages, frantically searching through the first rituals and spells and potions you ever learned, searching and searching until…

You find it, and your fingers gently stroke the parchment. A soul tie.

You take a deep breath, reading the ritual notes and instructions, gathering the necessary ingredients. Dried rose petals, pink quartz shards, cinnamon, and two candles. One red, for your heart, and one blue, for Satoru’s.

Then you cut a length of thread and bring the supplies back to the bedroom.

Satoru is fading fast; you can see it in his eyes that he’s trying to stay, trying to let you do whatever it is you’re doing. You want to kiss him for it, want to thank him for staying with you, for holding on.

You don’t. Instead, you set up the ingredients at the bedside, drawing your ritual circle with honey. You place the candles in the center, then surround them with the petals, crystal shards, and spices.

Then you light the candles and you begin the ritual.

“Keep my heart and soul near,

Even where my body cannot cross,

Death shall have no hand here,

And we shall never again know loss.”

You recite the ritual chant, and as you do, you tie the thread to Satoru’s left wrist, then to your own. Once you fall silent, you glance at him, finding him watching you with dim eyes. The flickering flames from the candles throw shadows across his sallow face.

“Did it work?” he murmurs.

Your heart aches, because you don’t know; you can’t. You’re not even sure this ritual is a real one; it could’ve just been an old witch’s tale to tell young children when they ask for a love story.

But you don’t want him to worry, not as he’s lying there dying in your bed. So you just nod, fighting back tears, and raise the hand that’s bound to his to brush through his hair. “It worked,” you whisper, and you lean forward to kiss his forehead, lips lingering for a long moment.

He lets out a soft sigh and relaxes into your bed. And when you pull back, his blue eyes are open and unseeing.

And so, just in case you don’t see him again, you say your goodbyes, weeping into his unmoving chest as you mourn the love you should’ve had for the rest of your life.

~

2024, Tokyo

You’ve never really had to deal with death before.

You suppose you’ve been lucky; many of your friends have already been through a death in the family, have already had to bury someone they cared about. But all that extra time with your grandfather couldn’t have prepared you for the gut punch it was when he did die.

You’re dressed in black, on your way to the funeral service with a folded up piece of paper in your pocket that you scribbled a tear-stained eulogy onto. You don’t want to read it in front of an entire church of people, but your grandma asked you to, and how could you say no?

You wonder if your grandpa really will be watching from heaven, or wherever he is. Maybe that’s just a bunch of sentimental bullshit.

You stand anxiously in line at your favorite coffee shop, the one you stop at every morning. Maybe you should’ve skipped this routine today – is it disrespectful to bring a travel mug to the lectern? – but you couldn’t help but want to remember the times you’ve taken your grandpa here and played cards while shooting the shit.

It feels like just one more goodbye.

You step up to the counter and order your usual, and the barista gives you a cheery greeting, because of course he doesn’t know that your life has come crashing down around you. You fight to offer that same kind smile you always do, hoping it doesn’t look as brittle as it feels.

You hand him your card, and after a moment, he frowns. “Uh, it said it declined.”

“Shit, sorry.” You take the card back and hurriedly dig through your wallet for another one. “Here.”

He tries that one, but glances at you awkwardly when that one declines, too. “Sorry, do you have, like, cash?”

Of course you don’t have cash; who the hell carries cash anymore? You’re not exactly sure what’s happening, but your best guess through your foggy, grief-addled mind is that you forgot to make your credit card payment in the haze of your grandfather’s death. You swear to yourself and take the card back, a little more aggressively than necessary. “Forget it,” you say, waving your hand. “I’ll just take a cup of tap water.”

Before the barista can void your order, someone from behind you speaks up. “I can cover it.”

You look up, lips parted because you can’t let some stranger pay for coffee, but then you see perhaps the most gorgeous man you’ve ever met, and you just blink, stunned into silence as he steps forward, handing over a thick platinum card for the barista to take.

He’s tall, exceptionally so, with long legs perfectly fitted into dress pants that accentuate just a tiny bit the muscles of his thighs. His dress shirt is also a perfect fit, and looks expensive, neatly tucked into those pants with the top button undone. And then your eyes trail up to his handsome face, because of course he’s not only fit but also achingly attractive, with long lashes and fluffy white hair.

You shake yourself free of your stupor and speak up, “Uh, you don’t have to do that.”

He turns to look at you, a devastating smirk curling his pink, glossy lips, and that’s when you meet his eyes, so pretty it nearly hurts. They’re crystal blue and so bright in the sunny cafe that they nearly shine. “It’s fine,” he says, and his voice is just as delicious as every other part of him, and you just want to melt into a puddle right there. “Merry Christmas, or whatever.”

Your throat closes up, and you can’t believe you’re about to cry over some stranger buying your coffee for you. You clench your hand into a fist, nails biting into your palm to try and distract you from the tears threatening to well up in your eyes. “Uh, thanks. I…I really appreciate it.”

And then he smiles, and Jesus Christ you have to pull yourself together because you’re about to either throw yourself at him or run out of the cafe screaming. “You’re welcome,” he says, and his voice is soft, and it stirs something inside you, like somehow your heart knows that voice and wants to come home to it.

You shake off the feeling. You’re just being emotional.

You wait for your coffee, and when another barista hands it to you, you turn and wave awkwardly to the stranger who paid for your drink, silently thanking him. He offers a small, amused smile and waves back, a casual gesture that should not send your heart fluttering as much as it does.

Then you walk out of the cafe and are reminded of where you’re headed, and you almost want to smack yourself for getting distracted on a day like today. A day where you’re putting someone in the ground.

You walk to the church, coffee in hand, and it’s the only thing keeping you warm in the chilly winter air. When you arrive, your family wraps you up in somber hugs, and you all line up for the remembrance of your grandfather to start.

The wake and visitation crawl by, and you can’t wait to get home and be able to mourn by yourself. But the time soon comes for you to make your way towards the lectern and read your speech, and you stand up, receiving a gentle pat on your shoulder from your grandma. You step up in front of the waiting crowd, and you hear quiet sniffles and soft weeping over the oppressive silence as they all wait for you to speak.

You pull your eulogy out of your pocket; the paper is crinkled. You unfold it with shaky hands, then glance at your family one more time before taking a deep breath and beginning to read.

“‘So it goes,���” you say, eyes trained reverently on the piece of paper in front of you, because if you look up at the crowd one more time you’re afraid you’ll burst into tears. “A quote from one of grandpa’s favorite authors, Kurt Vonnegut responds to every death in Slaughterhouse Five with the same words: So. It. Goes.

“At first it didn’t make sense to me. I just thought Vonnegut was being purposefully facetious, in a book where that wouldn’t be surprising. But through the book you soon meet the Tralfamadorians, whose outlook on life is very different from ours. You see, the Tralfamadorians believe that time isn’t linear, but that all time exists at once. So even if someone is dead at one moment, they are, in that same moment, alive in all others. 

“It’s a little confusing, I guess, and nonsensical. But I can’t help but take comfort in the quote, now that I’m missing grandpa so much. Grandpa might be gone in this moment, but in my memories he’s alive and well, just like he is in all of yours.

“So maybe all versions of us do exist, even if it’s not in the literal sense. We all exist in memories, in the marks we’ve made on each other’s lives.

“And maybe, because of that, other versions of us are all together, laughing and smiling. And maybe that’s something to be remembered in our times of loss. Because one day, that’ll be us, too.

“So it goes.”

thank you for reading! -luna xx link to ao3 | next

(taglist: @/inlove-maze, @/jotarohat, @/moonchhu, @/elitesanjisimp)

[orngbananaa]

///TW for gore///

twtptflob but to contrast the pedelians' healing abilities the agriches have fleshy, bloody and overall gross magic that permanently affect their bodies much like roxana's butterflies do, kinda

so at the most random times a servant will see one of the kids' arms just. ooze off of their shoulder as a result from magic overuse, I'm thinking the damage is reversible but it's still horrifying to stumble upon. maybe it varies depending on the kids' strengths

i imagine the top three are the least affected by it, but stuff still happens--roxana coughs up blood as usual but she will sometimes find chunks of what she assumes are pieces of her intestines and in those moments she can only sigh in annoyance and prepare to spend the rest of her day in bed vomiting.

jeremy's bones will give off a harsh crack out of nowhere and his legs will give out under him as he howls both in mild pain and sheer anger at his daily lessons being interrupted by his own limbs breaking apart.

random, meddling bandits watch, unsettled, as lante's second oldest son's teeth fall out in a rush, dion's expression still so dead and empty even as his mouth rots--he knows it's only temporary gore but that doesn't make it any less troublesome, he prefers to not talk during those times.

their magic--apart from making their own bodies a whole gore fest--would mainly be used for combat or surgery, as I imagine it, griselda would be the most accustomed to using it to repair limbs and other such procedures and lante would be most pleased by the results it creates. honestly think this guy wouldn't have much opposing opinions on the magic itself when it is, in fact, quite useful. he only stops thinking that way when his kids decide to use it against him.

[jazzyblusnowflake]

Hello there :"3

Small health update i should write here too.

for those of you who know from instagram i have had my meds recently changed in hopes of giving me more energy which instead wrecked my nervous system and caused alot of damage.

first ofc i have to apologize for my absence and that theres something new with me every time that yall have to deal with every once in a while but thankyou for going through this healing journey with me as i get better... or deteriorate XD

now then, i need to write here that first of all, im getting better from the initial damage and severe continuous panic/anxiety attacks the pills caused and the headaches from crying has subsided, however i think im still going to need another day or two to get the effects out of my system fully, but im going to need to go back to taking depressants again sadly. my hands are still shaking and i need to constantly distract myself due to cortizol levels still not fully decreased.

my stomach and intestines are royally destroyed and my IBS has been killing me- and more things that i need to continuously take painkillers for [3 diff types of painkillers today alone at different hours and this is me feeling BETTER. ] it also does not help that i cannot eat or drink because im nauseous but i know if i dont ill get even more nauseous... sigh.

my doctor told me to go back to my old meds to see if ill feel better again and if not she will give me another appointment.

i do not wish this experience on anyone...

anyway PLEASE DO NOT REACH OUT TO ME-

i appreciate the well wishes truely but it only increases the anxiety if too many people are messaging me at once, i just needed to post this for people to know why im inactive.

so this has been an update on my health and ill be doodling stuff and writing fics so i could finish them and post them soon :"3 and yeah i know i say that alot but i swear im trying XD

hope yall have a good day 🌸

[owlbelly]

drove a cumulative 4 hours today to be (basically) re-diagnosed with celiac disease for the nth time. not doing great about it

went to see the Big Specialist at the Big Hospital who pretty much told me he thinks my GI doctor of the past 3 years sucks ass (i know this. i agree with this) & mishandled my case & that it's very likely to just...still be celiac even though i'm seronegative & seemingly asymptomatic & the intestinal damage didn't heal after a year of GF. he thinks i might need some kind of steroid treatment on top of going completely GF again. he's gonna look at all my biopsies & get back to me but he said he's like 99% sure it can't be anything else & in fact it's not outrageously rare for it to present like this (it IS rare like let's be fucking for real. i'm in an extreme minority of celiac cases. but he has met & treated other people like me)

it was literally a 2 hour appointment, i talked to an intake nurse, a med student, the celiac specialist & then a dietician on top of that. shockingly none of them were shitty to me!! even the dietician! i had to explain to her that i am in special hell due to GF/DF + ARFID & she actually fucking knew what i was talking about & was compassionate & validating?? rather than making fun of me? the bar is on the floor but they all cleared it

but i'm fucking exhausted from traveling & crying. i have been yanked around for 3+ years, i have been diagnosed & un-diagnosed & re-diagnosed & every single time it upends my life. guess we'll fucking see what happens now that i have competent doctors working on it. i hope. who knows maybe they'll un-diagnose me again

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 3 - Found

Rated M for violence, past abuse (content warning), and language.

The rogue fails a perception check.

On AO3.

Astarion has, in nearly two centuries of undeath, gotten used to a certain factor of rapid healing. Vampire lords are hard to kill, in part, due to their rapid correction of what should be catastrophic wounds knitting back together, bones snapping and cracking into place, skin stitching itself whole.

Even lowly spawn, on the verge of starvation, utilize a robust sense of urgency when healing. A broken arm lashes itself back together after a day or two. Fingernails grow all the way back in by next evening. Even torn throats or caved skulls typically don’t take more than a few days—the punishment for failing to deliver to the master is an excellent motive in that regard. One can always cover wounds with a scarf or a hat or makeup.

But none of those take into account the accursed illithid parasite currently contenting itself nibbling on his gray matter. Astarion is slower than usual, his limbs far heavier. It’s apparently altered his eyes enough that this measly cavern refuses to present itself to both his elfish and vampiric sight.

And his godsdamned shins are bruised to all the hells.

That is the fault of the boulder field that ridiculous trap dropped him into. He’s on his feet again, trying to use his soft-soled boots to gauge a path. But even his natural grace—hamstrung as it is by the tadpole—cannot save him when a rock beneath his probing foot shifts and he, once again, crashes to his knees onto more rocks.

He suspects his lower legs are more bruise than flesh at this point. It would have been smarter to crawl, he thinks now that his knees are too damaged to attempt it.

Part of him would very much like to curl up on his side and lay there. Close his useless eyes and wait for one of the others to find him. Their illustrious leader is somewhere out there—he can feel her, closer than she was. They’re allies now. And she’s the generous sort (when she’s not being ruthless).

Yet. He’s heard many a tale of the Underdark himself. Even the ghosts of whispers drifting forward from his lost boyhood. Monsters and madness, the dark and its denizens.

It would be extremely unfortunate for him if something other than their leader found him here.

He’s no stranger to pain. He despises it, but he knows a necessity. One cannot leave their own innards lying about on the stone floor of the kennels and expect them to just rearrange themselves. They have to be put back into place so that wound can be sewed mostly shut and perfumed and covered in threadbare finery.

So Astarion grimaces and forces himself back to his feet and his aching hands touch cool, dry stone instead of wet, cool intestines. Dust washes off much more easily, anyway.

The silence presses heavily on him. He keeps working his throat, as if trying to get his ears to pop. It’s oppressive. An actual weight perched like some demented hell creature upon his shoulders, broken only by the occasional drip of water in the distance.

Were he above ground, this wouldn’t overly concern him. The forest is usually quiet when he stalks about beneath the trees. The living know the unliving when they see it, and most animals, it turns out, know when a predator comes nosing.

Down here, it’s different. He can’t see. There are no trees to scale, no alleys to duck into. He can’t even properly disappear into the shadows, because everything is shadows and the creatures of the Underdark know how to see and navigate within it. He could be two feet from something made of teeth and he wouldn’t even know it—

“Eleanor?” he whispers. Even that echoes.

His knuckles pop, fingers wrapped so tight around the hilts of his knives he has to make a conscious decision to ease them before one bursts out of the socket.

No reply. Nothing moves. Water drips and the air is still and perfectly, completely black.

“Fuck,” he allows himself.

But that seems to do something. Carry just enough that something scrapes off ahead of him. Dust and stone crunch. Cloth whispers.

“Hello?” So does their leader when she finally speaks.

Astarion is so very glad of the dark in this instance, as there’s no way the human woman can see his knees almost give out (and it has nothing to do with the damned rocks).

He makes good time towards that voice. Bashes his shins, rolls both his ankles—the left one twice-over—and batters his hands.

“I’m here,” he whispers after a moment, and oh. Oh. Thank his vampiric hearing; once he’s close enough to catch the faintest tha-thud of a mortal heartbeat, he has to take a moment, hands braced against a particularly wide boulder, to gather himself. Wouldn’t do to come scrabbling out of the darkness like some beggar.

“Astarion?” She’s trying to be quiet, poor thing, but she still doesn’t account for how much better his ears are than hers. She might as well be speaking at full volume.

“Right here, darling,” he says. His feet finally hit what feels like smooth floor and he takes a few, delicate steps, tapping with his toes before placing his weight. Just his luck, he landed in the middle of some jumble, while she got plonked down as fine as can be on a gentle, little slope.

“Astarion,” she starts to say. He’s locked in on her voice and starts towards it, walking normally for the first time in what must be hours—

“Whoa, hey, stop!”

Good thing his instincts are as sharp as ever. He catches the snap of her tone before the words even start to translate, and every muscle locks. His front foot isn’t even touching the ground.

“There’s a drop off,” she says.

He takes one step back. Kneels down to run his fingers before him, and she is indeed correct. Half of his foot would have landed on open air and he literally would have plummeted down to join her face-first. How embarrassing. Good thing she was paying attention to his footfalls.

“I landed down here,” she says. “I can reach the top, but I…uh.”

He waits. Is she injured? Caught on something?

She mumbles. Even his hearing can’t decipher it.

“I’m sorry, darling, but you’re going to have to repeat that,” he says.

A moment. Then she sighs, and it’s such an irritated sound he can’t help the slight tug of a grin. She can keep her face as blank to the world as a mirror is to a vampire. But her voice and the movement of her hands tell him exactly what she’s feeling half the time. (The other half is like speaking to a brick wall, which he won’t admit; it detracts from his air of mystery).

“I do not have the arm strength to pull myself out,” she says. She articulates every word very precisely, in her foreign drawl. Which is something else she does when she’s annoyed or embarrassed. It’s almost adorable.

“Well, I suppose as your ally, it falls to me to offer you a hand up?” he says.

Oh, this is so much easier with another person to play off of.

“’Ppreciate it.”

He finds the ledge. Finds her hands swaying about in the dark. He won’t need to dig through his pack to find rope, at least.

He braces himself in a squat. Grabs her forearms as she sort of grasps at his.

“Darling, you’d better grip like you mean it if you want this to work.”

She wouldn’t touch that automaton with her hands, either.

“Right,” she says.

She doesn’t sound happy. But she does grab him back. And on the count of four—she actually starts at three like a wild person, until he explains that one counts to four before doing anything—she gives a hop. Her weight snaps through him, and he digs in his heels even as her boots scrabble as she tries to climb.

Up, up—damned tadpole; this should be easy for him—and she’s nearly free. When his damaged knee decides it can take no more abuse and gives a truly wretched pop, buckles, and gives out on him.

Another burst of pain spikes up through his spine. But that’s obliterated almost as quickly by that awful grate of his left knee.

Scraping and scuffing, and then her voice, “Oh shit. Are you okay?”

His knee is torn. Hasn’t felt that in a long while, but he recognizes it. Which, again, wouldn’t be a problem if he wasn’t starving and tadpoled.

“Do you have a torch in that bag of yours?” he says. A simple tear shouldn’t take too long to mend. A major one, however…

“I…” she says. And pauses for some reason. “I mean, yeah. Hold on.”

Leather rustles and then things clink around in that muffled way as she sticks her whole arm into her bag of holding. A few moments later, she hums.

“Don’t suppose you got any matches?” she says.

He taps her, finds the torch, and she lets him take it. He feels along until he finds the flammable end, holds it well out to the side, and then reaches within himself to call forth, “Ignis.”

He doesn’t have much cause to use that old cantrip, most days. Has a vague sense he’d learned it to impress some soft-eyed boy when he was barely dressed in adult clothes. He funnels the magic until it takes hold, warmth lighting in his palm.

But…but the darkness doesn’t change. He turns to face where he knows his hand is, yet there’s nothing but that black curtain over everything.

The flame starts to wither with his inattention. He brings his hand to the torch, hears the whump as it ignites, yet the blasted shadows don’t lift. At all.

Magic. This must be some sort of trap. Or part of a section of the Underdark with…with some preternatural darkness. There are spells for that. They must simply be caught in one.

“Well,” he says. “So much for that.”

His illustrious leader, beside him, says nothing. In retrospect, that was the fourth clue or so. But he’s distracted, his knee is an agony on top of an agony, so he sets down the torch and goes about gingerly tracking along the edges of the wound.

It’s bad. Misshapen. It’s not only torn, but the kneecap seems to have popped out and twisted itself at a strange angle.

He sighs and falls back to brace himself up on his hands.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any healing potions, do you?” Astarion says.

In response, the sound of a cork unstopping. She must have had it ready. It’s the second-most wonderful thing he’s heard in the last hour.

He finds his leader’s hand. Fumbles it—he can keep his own hands steady through many injuries, but after a time when those injuries don’t stop, his coordination starts to fall apart. Luckily, it’s too dark for his companion to see that. She still guides him to it and lets him take it.

It tastes like ash, as most mortal things do. He knocks it back, feels it seep through his body like those first rays of sunlight on that beach. Soft and warm and the hint of burning and danger. Healing potions don’t work on his kind. Lead to rather messy purges, actually. But he downs this one and his knee crunches and flesh and sinews all twist and pull his errant bone cap back into place. He grits his teeth as the ridiculous joint mends itself. Then it’s over and he tests it. Extends his leg and brings it back up. Still tender. Easy to damage again; he’ll have to be careful for a couple of days. But it will hold for now.

“Better,” he says, because she tends to ask things like “how are you” and “does it hurt” and “how does one kill a goddess.” He probes the joint, then traces down to his tender shins. Still battered, and that ankle seems a bit weak around the edges. “I hope you’ve got some idea to get us out of here without going the way I came in, darling. That path was rather rough for me, and if I can’t see, you don’t stand a chance.”

Again, that pause. He’s got the sense she’s doing that “gazing somberly” thing she does now and then. Mostly when she tells him not to drink the blood of a dead gur.

Then, “You can’t see?”

And perhaps he was picking up on those clues. The way she warned him about the step. The way she helped him find that bottle. The way even in perfect darkness, he should see something. What are vampires, if not creatures of the night. He’s never had trouble with that before. Not even…even then.

Because those words leave her and punch through him, his instincts shrieking. Those same instincts level his voice, twist up his tone to his usual, light mockery. “We’re in a cave, darling, and there appears to be a darkness spell, in case you hadn’t noticed?”

He picks up the useless torch and waves it about. The black air doesn’t even shift.

His leader sits quietly. Only the increase in her pulse gives her away when she says, “Astarion, that torch is lit.”

“Yes, I know,” he says. Probably more sharply than he intended to, but there’s something rising up, pulling his vocal chords tight and that horrible, fetid iron taste coats the back of his throat again. “I just lit it.”

“But you can’t see it.”

“Repeating yourself won’t change my answer, dear.”

Cloth rustles. He feels that strange intensity in the air she carries close to her skin, and the scent of her blood—still tucked safely away in her veins—wafts over his face.

“Nothing?” she says.

She’s waving at him. Treating him like some…some doddering old…hag.

“What are you getting at?” That’s a snap. He knows it. Doesn’t care.

And she stays infuriatingly calm when she says, “This cavern is filled with some kinda bio-luminescent moss. On the ceiling, anyway.”

Which only halfway makes any sense at all.

“And you got that torch lit.”

He’s still waiting for a point to this vapid conversation of one.

“You really can’t see nothing?”

A dozen different ways to cut at her with his words. But she’s his ally. His only ally. She supposed to be useful (she has been). Keep the others on his side, be a shield should that bastard come looking. And to keep an alliance, he can’t go calling her a stupid, ignorant peasant to her face.

He settles for a clipped, “No.”

She pauses. And it’s the last time. His mouth opens, because if she’s going to draw this out any longer, all bets are off and he’s going to bite something, quite literally—

“Because I can,” she says. “I saw you the second you stumbled in here. Astarion, I can see that torch.”

There’s the fear. Cold iron rushes up from his gullet as the dread seems to spear down through him and drop his guts to the floor.

Previous - Index - Next

[nunalastor]

Buckshot Anon here! At long last, it is time to talk about Alastor’s recovery period after the events of the Spawn of Evil AU (for all those who don’t know what that AU is, it basically involves Alastor suffering an ectopic pregnancy by Roo, and Lucifer helping to keep him alive. I got asked its logistics a while back, and now that's a constant).

The recovery on this is interesting because it is simultaneously pretty simple and complicated. The best place to start is with the surgery itself, because delivery would not be able to happen in a natural way, and would need to be done through surgery, though not a cesarean in the traditional way. Because the part of the small intestine the parasite child latched onto would be incredibly damaged by virtue of the warping necessary for the child to grow (which would have caused a rupture unless angelic blood has medicinal properties), the procedure would be treated as an intestinal resection surgery, where the effected area of the small intestine would be outright removed. Specifically an open surgery, making a cut of about 6-8 inches in the stomach. A cesarean would have 4-6 inches normally, so if you’re going with a happy medium, an incision of 6 inches. After the damaged area and the child are removed, the healthy parts of the small intestine on either end would be stitched or stapled together. This whole procedure would probably not take more than two hours, but could go upwards of four hours if there is damage in the surrounding areas of the intestines and other organs.

Once the surgery was finished, Alastor would on average stay in the hospital for a week, both to recover and make sure there had been no complications or damage to other organs. Some people can go home within three days, but due to the nature of the situation, he would be asked to stay longer. He would need to receive nutrition through an IV for a period of time before being allowed to go on a liquid diet. I will elaborate on that more in a minute, but there are some other things that should be brought up.

After being discharged from the hospital, Alastor would not be allowed to continue work at the hotel for another 4-6 weeks. There is some wiggle room in this, he may be able to return to work within 2-3 weeks provided that work is strictly paperwork, but anything physical he would need to wait a while to avoid reopening the stitching on his intestines and the incision area, or causing a hernia. He will also be encouraged to walk regularly every day, for reasons including:

Boosting blood flow, which helps to prevent blood clots.

Lessening his chances of illness.

Preventing a buildup of excessive abdominal scar tissue that could hinder movement and cause more blockages in the intestines. Scar tissue is something that will happen and in itself isn’t a problem, but scar tissue can and will become excessive if given the chance, and being sedentary while it is building up can make that worse.

Regaining muscle mass he would have lost from months on bedrest.

Avoiding constipation. Awkward to talk about but that is an important reason.  

Alastor also would not be allowed to have sex for 2-6 weeks. I doubt he would be heartbroken by this information. 

If angel blood truly does have a medicinal property that could heal him, he can mostly skip this part, and go straight into the complicated part.

Remember when I said I would elaborate more on the nutrition IV and the liquid diet? That’s where this comes into play. Alastor ate minimally if at all for the majority of the estimated 7.5 months (30 weeks, give or take) of pregnancy, and that makes the situation more complicated than it traditionally would be. Being generous and saying he was able to eat solids for the first 6 weeks, after which the blockage would make that very painful, and another 2 weeks would make even a liquid diet technically doable but difficult, Alastor would be living off of angel blood and nutrition IVs, specifically Total Parenteral Nutrition (TPN). 

That in itself is doable. People can be TPN-dependent for upwards of three years and still have a 65-80% survival rate. It can replace eating for as long as necessary. However, there is a caveat to that. Surviving TPN-dependent is one thing, but once someone is taken off it and needs to adjust to eating again, they can be at high risk of what is called refeeding syndrome. 

Refeeding syndrome is an interesting topic with a lot of complicated factors, but the main thing to know is the body adapts quickly to having little to no food. Metabolism drastically changes, and certain organs will begin to function differently as a result. Alastor can’t immediately begin to eat like he did before all of this because his body is no longer equipped to do so. If he were to try binge-eating or even just eating something normal after being discharged from the hospital, the symptoms he would suffer vary but consistent ones tend to be seizures and coma, sometimes even cardiac arrest or respiratory failure that result in death. 

To get around this, the best way to go about it is to very gradually reintroduce food into his diet over the course of 2 weeks, starting by eating about 14-28% of the calories he would normally need, and building upwards over those few weeks. Reteaching his body how to digest food and restore a healthy intestinal tract can usually happen within 2 weeks, but when accounting for how long he wasn’t eating solid food and the damage he needs to heal from, he might be recommended to do this for 3 weeks to be on the safe side. His best bet would be light soups and maybe yogurt.

Most of this would be handled in the hospital, the process of weaning him off the TPN, by the second or third day reintroducing liquids, then soft foods. Doctors would still want to keep tabs on him for this process once discharged, and would be able to make a better judgement call with his situation specifically on when he can return to eating normally. Normally, as in a reasonable meal, not eating multiple people or even one person in one sitting, that would have to wait the 4-6 weeks after discharge.

He would need to have multiple check-ins with his primary doctor for various reasons to make sure everything is going smoothly, make sure his physical therapy and regaining of muscle mass is going well, and that he is eating properly and healing. Doctors would also be searching for any signs of stress and psychological distress that may negatively impact Alastor’s health and cause thoughts of harming the child, which would result in a postpartum depression screening and/or a post-traumatic stress disorder screening. Debates on if Alastor would even consider the child as one aside, that does not change the need to carefully monitor his mental state and try to improve his quality of life as well as prevent any loss of life or actions he may regret.  

In summary: Alastor would have an open intestinal resection surgery, spending his first week in the hospital and after that point focusing on resting while recovering muscle mass, as well as slowly reintroducing his body to food after being taken off the IV. He should be able to eat regularly (in moderation, don't eat a person) within 2-3 weeks, with the rest of his healing taking somewhere between 4-6 weeks. He would not make a full recovery for a few months, but provided his recovery goes smoothly while monitored, he could return to his daily life with minimal issue within 6 weeks. 

(Note: The stress and trauma of the whole experience could hinder recovery severely because an increase in stress causes wounds to heal significantly slower and weakens the immune system. If this happened, it would increase Alastor’s recovery time by roughly 25%, but could be increased by up to 60% depending on the severity of that stress. Prioritizing a stress-free environment would be crucial to his recovery.)

(Another note: The pregnancy duration was estimated at give or take 30 weeks, the reason for that is pregnancy weeks are weird. It’s calculated from the date of the last menstrual period, not the date of conception. Alastor does not have the equipment for having it traced the normal way, that’s half the problem, so it would be based on the objective weeks since conception. Unlike the average pregnancy where it’s a gamble if the mother knows the conception date, Alastor would undoubtedly know.)

👀

[gith-zeri]

Body Chart - Felicia Aguilar

This is just a breakdown of Felicia's vicissitude modifications and scars. I made the chart like a Second-Inquisition document.

Vicissitude modifications are colored red and labeled with letters. Scars are colored purple and labeled with numbers. Expanded explanations under "read more."

Vicissitude Modifications

A.) A three-inch slit starting underneath the chin and terminating an inch from the clavicle. The slit is held closed via mini-serrated bone along the opening flaps, interlocking with each other. This passage is mostly used for ease of access to the vocal cords.

B.) The ribcage has been altered with extra bone, used to create hidden armor plating. The sternum has been thickened and widened. False ribs have been reinforced to support modifications that are lower within the torso.

C.) A four - to five-inch slit that spans the width of the flank, held closed via the same method as modification A. The slit is used as an entryway to the stomach to remove food or check on the Odious Chalice attached to the stomach.

D.) 27 feet of altered muscles that have taken the place of the intestines; hollow yet firm and dexterous. These main tendrils are used in combat to whip, grabble, or, in extreme cases, drain a victim of blood from a distance. There are drawbacks. However, in extreme emotional circumstances such as frenzy, the limbs will act independently of the kindred and "exit" the body via any method, causing aggravated damage. Hence, there is a need for various exit ways along the body.

E.) These are Fangs that are attached to modification D, enabling the limbs to drain blood. The fangs are retractable and come in various lengths.

F.) A three-inch slit that rests diagonally across the hypogastric region. Held closed via the same method as modifications A & C. Its main purpose is to be an exit way for smaller tendrils, ones that can not be utilized for combat but for more covert actions. These tendrils have different nerve connections than their larger counterparts and lack fangs.

G.) The largest incision on the body, in a T-like formation; starting from just below the collar bone and terminating at the navel. Held closed via the same method as modifications A, C, and F. This passage is mostly used to access the ribcage and tendrils for maintenance.

All exit points are covered with a thin, skin-like membrane that blends the incisions in, with the rest of the body. On visual inspection, they are distinguishable from normal skin. On physical touch, however, it becomes very apparent that the area is abnormal.

Scars

Two faint facial scars, one across the lower lip and another one painting the upper left cheek.

Three short but deep scars, running diagonally above the left breast. These seem to be inflicted by someone's nails, specifically the pointer, middle, and ring finger, if judging by distance.

A large gash that spans the left side of the abdomen vertically. Felicia acquired it by scrambling through a broken window when she was younger.

Clusters of burns Felicia earned via a car lighter, nasty business. The other scars on her palm were from breaking an old guitar during a heated argument, not one of her best moments. The only other thing of note is her calluses.

A large contracture scar that wraps around the knee joint and tappers off before reaching the mid-thigh. The way this injury healed left Felicia with a slight limb.

I've said this before, but technically, Felicia should have more scars. However, her Sire at this time made sure to smooth most things out.

[sexfusstiefer]

How WWX was able to walk with his guts out and his core missing

So I was thinking about how WWX compared the stab he got from his and JC’s duel with the one JL gave him, claiming his new body is weaker than his old one, and I started wondering… why is it so much weaker, actually?

Yes, MXY doesn’t have a core, BUT WWX also already didn’t have a core at that time! Shouldn’t his body react to an injury like a normal human body would? It’s not like we can walk around with our guts out… Yet, he was able to simply tuck all his intestines back inside and go grocery shopping.

To that, I have three theories:

nature of the injury. Theoretically, you can walk around with your guts out if the blade just sliced the skin without damaging any internal organs. Looks gorey but is not nearly as dangerous as a deep stab wound.

residual cultivator’s strength. Since WWX was an exceptionally powerful cultivator, was it possible for him to retain some of his cultivator’s strength even after losing his core? Doesn’t really make much sense because, well, the point of destroying one’s golden core is literally to turn a cultivating superhuman into a very boring humanly normal human? JC also didn’t seem to have any extra powers in the short timespan he spent coreless. But hey, what do we know about how magic works?

demonic cultivation. That’s currently my favourite. Also doesn’t make sense since the resentful energy is the energy of the DEAD and shouldn’t have any healing powers but it’s not like I have another explanation on how WWX managed to survive the fall into Burial Mounds and came back with no broken / badly healed / deformed bones. So, I’m sticking to the "he was so full of resentful energy it helped to keep his body parts together" version. 

[missvelvetsstuff]

With Friends Like You, Who Needs Enemies?

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Reader is a mutant with the ability to turn sound into light who was 'adopted' aka stolen as a child by Baron Von Strucker to use for experimentation. She was given a form of the Super soldier serum so in addition to her mutant abilities she also has super strength, enhanced senses and healing. When he starts experimenting on his volunteers, the Maximoff twins, she tries to convince them to escape with her but they tell the Baron that she's planning to escape so he doubles her cell security. Steve and reader met when the team recovered Loki's scepter from Strucker.

She falls in love with Steve and becomes good friends with Nat but they aren't the friends she thinks they are.

This story is canon adjacent except that Thanos never happened.

Chapter 11

Warnings: swearing, angst, injuries

Notes: I'm totally obsessed with another story and have had a rough time writing because I'm too distracted. Sorry it took so long and I hope it's not terrible.

****READ 'Unwanted' by @scoonsalicious So good, seriously****

As Rainbow was wheeled away Bucky followed until Wanda stopped him. He flashed her a dirty look and tried to keep going.

Wanda stood her ground "I know you're worried Bucky, we all are but she will be in surgery for a bit so you need to shower and eat." She gently pulled him towards the residential wing "I'll whip up something for us to eat while you clean up. Then we'll go wait together." She looked at him with a soft smile and nodded.

Bucky sighed and nodded before going to his room, rushing through a shower and throwing on some sweats and a t-shirt. When he entered the kitchen, Wanda was already filling a bowl with stew and setting two warm biscuits on the side. He sat at the table with Sam and Tony, all eating without a word or even looking at each other as they tried to process what happened. Clint had gone home to Laura and his family, to mourn his friend and the woman he thought she was.

Helen Cho and Bruce were racing to repair the damage from the knife that Nat shoved into Rainbows gut. The knife was long, wide and serrated on one side so did more damage coming out than going in. Rainbow died again on the operating table and needed 2 pints of blood.

Once she wasn't bleeding out anymore Helen worked on the multiple cuts all over her face and body. Then she transferred Rainbow to the cradle to help her body heal itself.

It had been a few hours since they landed, everyone had eaten and most of the team was in the waiting area outside of the med bay when Helen came out with an update. All eyes turned to her.

Helen tried to smile reassuringly "Y/N is stable and has been moved to the cradle to help accelerate her healing. We had to remove her appendix and some of her large intestine but not enough to cause any long term problems. One of her ovaries was nicked and I tried but couldn't save it. That will affect her future fertility. We will have to see how she heals since she was given a version of super soldier serum. She will be unable to do any strenuous activity for at least a month. The first week or two will be on bed rest and a soft diet so someone will have to play nursemaid."

Everyone, including Helen, looked at Bucky who blushed and shrugged "Obviously I'm gonna take care of her, no question." He looked up at Helen "Can I see her?"

Helen nodded "Just for a few minutes until she is out of the cradle."

Bucky went to see her and he was glad to see that her color was improving. "I can't stay for long doll but I'll come see you when you can leave the cradle. I'll be in the waiting room, if you need anything."

He stared at her for a few minutes, his heart aching at the thought of how close he came to losing her.

Bucky went back to sit in the waiting room, just staring at the wall until Friday spoke up "Mr Stark? Captain Rogers is asking for you and threatening to tear his door off. Shall I tell him you're unavailable?"

Tony sighed and shook his head "No, I'll go talk to him. This oughta be fun."

Sam quickly stood, "I'll go with you." He patted Bucky's shoulder on their way out reassuring him "We got this."

When they arrived at Steve's room he could be heard yelling but they couldn't understand what he was saying.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose "Alright Friday, open up."

As soon as the door opened Steve tried to push his way past Tony and Sam who pushed him back into the room.

Steve was obviously pissed "What the fuck Tony? You hit me with a tranq dart and lock me in here for 2 days? What's going on? Did you find them? Is Natasha alright? I mean did she hurt Y/N?"

Tony scoffed "Don't be such a drama queen Capsicle, first it's barely been 24 hours. Second, it's telling that you asked about Nat first. We found them, Y/N is alive and out of surgery but will take awhile to heal. Nat is gone."

Steve tried to rein his temper in "What do you mean Nat's gone? Did she get away from you?" He almost sounded hopeful.

"Gone as in never coming back. She's dead and I can't bring myself to feel sad about it."

Steves eyes narrowed and "You killed her? What the fuck happened, Tony? How could you do that to her?"

Tony sighed "I didn't personally kill her but after what she did to Y/N and the absolute lack of remorse for the damage she caused the team, there wasn't much choice. Having her in the wind and able to come back and cause more trouble didn't seem like a great option."

Steve laughed sadly "Of course it wasn't you, you don't have the nerve to do something like that. Bucky did it, didn't he?" He clenched his fists.

Tony shrugged "Doesn't really matter at this point. She's gone and won't be back. Now we need to focus on Rainbow, she has a lot of healing to do."

Steve nodded "I'll go down to see her and-"

Sam shook his head "No, man, that's not happening. You need to leave her alone, you've already caused her enough trauma."

Tony nodded "Friday, please allow Rogers access to his room, the gym and the common area but absolutely not the med bay or Rainbows room."

"Of course Mr Stark."

Steve glared at both of them "You can't keep me away from her forever."

Tony smirked "Not forever, just until she's healed enough to join the discussion about your status in the team. Hopefully in a week or two."

"My status with the team? You gonna try to boot me too? I'll talk to Fury. I'm not going anywhere."

"Sure Cap. We'll see what the team decides."

Steve grumbled and went back into his room to sulk and plot. He spent the next few days stewing and working out, trying to find the angle to keep his place on the Avengers.

Rainbow was transferred from the cradle to a regular bed later that day and Bucky didn't leave her side, anxiously waiting for her to wake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N felt herself being dragged awake, like being pulled out of molasses, heard a beeping sound and smelled bleach. She felt lingering pain in her stomach and groaned before realizing that someone was holding her hand. She squeezed the hand and tried to speak which made her cough. She tried to open her eyes but it was too bright.

Then she heard him "Rainbow? Doll? Are you awake honey?"

She nodded and opened her eyes, squinting immediately "mmhhmm."

Everything was still fuzzy when she saw a blur with brown hair in front of her. She blinked a few times until she could see his ocean blue eyes looking her over.

Trying to ask for a drink made her cough again.

Bucky sat up and offered a straw for her to drink from. "Easy sweetheart, just sip so you don't shock your system."

Rainbow drank most of the water before trying to speak again, she looked him over carefully, noticing the tears in his eyes "Are you ok, Jamie?"

She closed her eyes as her head throbbed "I don't, I can't I....what happened?? I remember dancing and then. I was floating? Then pain."

Bucky squeezed her hands and chuckled softly "You've been out for almost a week and are worried about me? I'm just happy you're ok, you scared the Hell outta me doll. We almost lost you."

His voice choked.

Rainbow reached out to caress his cheek, feeling butterflies from how his eyes closed and he leaned into her touch.

"I'm ok I think. Still hurt in my belly. And my face feels tight." She paused to touch her face gently, there were multiple healing cuts "What happened? I really don't remember."

Bucky sighed "Dr Cho will be here in a minute. She can tell you the details but the short story is Nat kidnapped and tortured you, we saved you."

"What about Nat?" She asked quietly.

Bucky rubbed her hand "You don't have to worry about her any more."

Rainbows brow furrowed "What do you mean by that? Buck-"

Helen Cho entered the room "Hello Y/N, it's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

Y/N shrugged "Apparently like I was tortured by a crazy Russian assassin."

Helen chuckled "That's a fair assessment. What do you remember?"

"Nothing really. Dancing, floating, pain."

Helen nodded "Yes. You were drugged at the gala and she took you away to torture you. I've been told there were no demands made, she just wanted to hurt you. She pulled all your nails, made a number of incisions and impaled a large hunting knife into your torso."

Rainbow paled a little as a hazy image of Nat standing over her wondering if Bucky would still like her damaged, flashed behind her eyes. She felt her mind and her heart speed up, she started hyperventilating until Bucky soothed her "Rainbow, hey it's your Jamie. doll you're ok. It's all over and your safe back at the compound. I've got you. Just breathe with me."

Rainbow latched onto his voice and let it flow thru and calm her.

Helen made a note in her chart "I'm going to refer you for counseling, going through something like this can cause PTSD. We need to be sure you're ok before returning to active duty.

As far as the physical damage, your nails will grow back fine, the cuts on your face should heal without scarring. Your abdomen was a little more difficult but you're healing very well. The only really long term damage was the ovary that was nicked. I couldn't repair it and had to remove it. Now, you still have one left so should still be able to have kids if you want but it will be a little more difficult."

Rainbow sat quietly and took it all in, feeling overwhelmed.

Helen tried to reassure her "I know it seems like a lot but we'll take one step at a time and you'll be out chasing bad guys before you know it." She smiled at Bucky "You're lucky to have a very attentive and dedicated nurse."

Bucky blushed "Only right for a man to take care of his best girl."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks had passed since Rainbow woke up and she was back in her own room one morning when Tony came in to talk to her. "Looking good kid, I hear you're healing faster than expected.

Rainbow smiled "Well I have a top notch doctor, a very attentive nurse and the best health coverage in town."

Tony chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck "I hate to interrupt all the laying around and being waited on hand and foot but we need to have a team meeting to discuss Rogers. You're part of the team and the one most affected by his actions so we'd really like your input."

He looked at her hopefully.

She smiled "I knew we would need to deal with that whole thing eventually and it's not like I'm busy so just say when."

Tony smiled "Atta girl. Is lunch today ok? He won't be joining us until a decision is made."

She sighed "Sure, I just need to get cleaned up. What's for lunch?"

"Anything you want, doll." Bucky tossed out as he walked into her room, really it was their room but he still had his room even though he never slept there.

Tony glared at Bucky but it was a softer glare than he used to give the super soldier "No tinman, we're having a lunch/team meeting to discuss the status of your buddy as an Avenger. So let your girl take a shower and we'll see you in the dining room." Tony quickly left, calling Pepper to have her order lunch.

Bucky went to help Rainbow stand up, she took the hand offered with soft protests "Bucky, I'm almost better you don't need to wait on me hand and foot any more."

He pulled her up and close to him, kissing her softly before responding "Yeah but what if I want to wait on you hand and foot? What if I want my hands on you all the time? What if I want my hands, and my mouth, on every part of you all the time? Then what do we do doll?"

His eyes turned stormy.

Rainbow felt her face heat up and hoped Bucky didn't notice. "I seem to recall promises of a proper date and romancing." She flirted "We will have to find a way to accommodate you but let's get this meeting over with."

Bucky smiled "As you wish, muya lobov."

@vicmc624

Chapter 12

[peliginspeaks]

Ok I'm making this a different post than the disability month one so I can ramble because I don't think most players (and Failbetter tbh) appreciate how much kataleptic toxicology would fuck up your digestive system With A Vengeance. Like, if you're ingesting poisons on a regular basis that's wreaking havoc on your liver and kidneys of course, but I'd imagine it'd also damage your intestines and stomach lining in the same way Celiac or an inflammatory bowel disease would.

A character who specializes in KT would (barring healing in Parabola or Shapeling Arts intervention) probably end up with nutrient absorption problems long-term, if not chronic pain and/or bleeding from inflammation and scarring. The only reason Hallowrove's been getting away with their level of routine poison-chugging is that their Rubbery friend who likes to homoerotically vivisect them sometimes (Scaleflats) just replaces or repairs whatever's damaged and shores up whatever needs to work more efficiently. I am holding an invisible gun on this guy 24/7 and that gun is labeled Consequences Of Your Actions and the only thing stopping me from pulling the trigger (other than not wanting to project even more than I already am lol) is this squid.