#i was getting constant headaches and brain fog

[itistimetodisappear]

Ok so if you get regular periods you should *probably* be taking iron supplements.

[iamundondewithoutyou]

these two drawings were made months apart but i realized just now they’re kind of like a before and after so i’m posting them together here

basically just some more stuff of my oc nine, they have witnessed the horrors and then they came to terms with the horrors (and depending on when i finish it soon there’s gonna be another drawing where they are in peace with the horrors <3)

[kilgrvc]

Can I steal K.ilgrave's powers for just one (1) second so I can tell my bosses to give me a break please and thank you.

[oldsyphiliticseadog]

I'm too tired these days to do most things. No sewing. No reading. Only the most basic of video games and only for a short while. I spend most of my time watching videos. I hate watching videos. Watching videos is a thing that should only be done while doing another task, like eating or sewing. It's so fucking boring on its own.

[transform4u]

Hey there,

I’m just your regular gay nerd in the Midwest. I like video games and anime and DnD with my boyfriend and my friends. But I have one big problem. My older brother won the genetic lottery. He and I are total opposites. He’s been with almost the whole cheerleader squad, he’s QB of the football team at college, and he’s like my total opposite, like 6’3” and total douche, mad gainz, Zyzz, the whole package. And he’s the biggest bully at school. And I’m his favorite target because I’m gay. He’s made my life a living hell since we were kids. And it’s really messed up my self esteem.

I saw a shooting star the other day and I jokingly made a wish. “I wish I’d always had a big brother who was less of an asshole to me.”

But things have been weird ever since. My clothes don’t fit right… and my boyfriend has been getting on my nerves… and I keep having weird dreams about the girls I know… and my memory has been foggy lately… can you tell me what’s happening to me?

As you hear the ping from your phone, a brief flicker of excitement warms you. Your boyfriend’s text—“Hey Babe! Can’t wait to spend all night with you and catch up on Drag Race”—promises a cozy night in. You try to muster a smile, but it quickly falters into a sneer.

Frustration simmers beneath the surface. You toss your phone down onto the bed, the soft thud punctuating your irritation. As you lie back, a dull throb begins to form behind your eyes. It’s as though your thoughts are being churned in a blender; memories and snippets of conversations collide in a disjointed mess. The once-clear lines of what you thought you knew about your boyfriend blur and blend into a jumbled haze. Your mind races, trying to piece together why the thought of spending the evening together now feels more like a chore than a treat. The buzzing in your brain grows louder, drowning out clarity and replacing it with a swirling, chaotic fog.

The rhythmic thud of weights and the grunts from your brother in the other room cut through the fog of your headache. His voice, raised and animated as he talks to one of his friends on the phone "Yeah, this babe had this killer rack", you hear him shout. Each grunt and shout seems to reverberate through your skull, amplifying the throbbing pain. The sounds become a chaotic backdrop to your mental disarray.

As you stumble towards your brother's room, irritation prickling at the edges of your thoughts, the rhythmic thud of weights and the grunts of exertion drift through the walls. But oddly, he's not there. Just his room. The room itself, a cacophony of sweaty shirts, half-empty beer cans, and scattered wrestling trophies, greets you with an overpowering stench of stale beer and iron. His bed, a messy heap of tangled sheets, seems to swallow you whole as you flop onto it, your weak frame sinking into the unmade mattress. Your body, still reeling from the sudden, hot flush of irritation, feels embarrassingly inadequate against the backdrop of his imposing physicality.

You can almost sense the oppressive weight of his presence even in his absence. His room is a shrine to muscle-bound glory: posters of athletes flaunting their chiseled physiques and babes in provocative poses decorate the walls, god he was such a douchebag. You lie back and feel your twig-like limbs growing heavy and listless, your slightly puggy belly pressing against the mattress as if to escape the weight of your frustration. The room’s air is thick with the scent of weights and iron, a reminder of the Herculean effort he pours into his relentless workout regimen.

Each twitch of your muscles seems to resonate with the clang of metal and the brash grunts you overheard. A deep, acrid smell of weights and iron fills the air, a constant reminder of the physical effort he pours into maintaining his massive frame. But as the heat continues to pulse through you, something strange begins to happen. Your body, previously soft and unremarkable, starts to undergo a transformation. You feel a tingling sensation, as if every fiber of your being is coming to life. Your weak muscles, once thin and flaccid, begin to contract and swell, each twitch becoming more pronounced.

Your arms and legs, though still slender, start to gain definition. The previously smooth contours of your limbs become more defined, subtle hints of muscle beginning to emerge where there was only softness before. Your biceps, though not yet bulging like your brother’s, start to show a newfound firmness, and your thighs, while still far from his tree-trunk thickness, gain a bit more shape and strength. Your belly, too, begins to firm up, the slight pouch slowly being replaced by a tighter, more sculpted outline.

With every passing moment, your muscles continue to grow, each contraction adding a layer of density and definition. The process is slow and uneven, but there’s a palpable sense of change, as if your body is awakening to a new level of physicality. You imagine your abs, though still far from a classic six-pack, starting to take shape, a faint semblance of definition appearing where there was once only softness. Your chest, too, starts to fill out, becoming slightly more prominent as the heat and effort push your muscles into growth.

You can see them swell, veins emerging and snaking beneath the surface as the muscles become denser and more defined. The once feeble arms are now thickening, the biceps growing to resemble those of a football star, each muscle group clearly delineated and brimming with newfound strength.

As the changes ripple through your upper body, your chest begins to expand. The once soft and unremarkable pecs start to thicken and harden, pushing out against your shirt in a display of solid muscle. The transformation is swift and dramatic, the chest broadening to create a powerful, impressive profile. Each movement causes the muscles to flex and ripple, creating a robust and commanding appearance.

The once clear, coherent thoughts in your mind begin to swirl and dissolve, turning into a haze of confusion and self-obsession. Your memories and emotions start to slip away, replaced by an overwhelming tide of egotistical vanity. The heat coursing through you seems to act as a catalyst, melting away the remnants of your previous self and reshaping your psyche into something entirely different.

Your mind, once filled with the sweet, mundane details of your life, now becomes a void where only the loud, brash echoes of self-importance resonate. The warmth that once ignited frustration now fuels a burgeoning arrogance, and with each passing second, your previous attachments and interests become increasingly distant memories. The affection you once held for your boyfriend fades like a long-forgotten dream, replaced by a sole focus on yourself. The tender moments, the shared laughter, and the quiet companionship dissolve, leaving behind only a blank, self-centered slate.

Your thoughts, once a gentle brook babbling with the sweet, mundane details of your life, now roar like a torrent, carrying away all in its path. The calm, peaceful waters are churned into a frothy, foamy mess as your mind becomes a maelstrom of self-importance. Gone are the quiet moments of contemplation, replaced by a deafening din of your own ego's loud, brash echoes.

Frustration, once a gentle warmth that sparked your passions, now fuels a burgeoning arrogance, as your mind becomes consumed by an insatiable hunger for more. The tender flames of love and affection, once a beacon of warmth in the darkness, flicker and die, snuffed out by the rising tide of self-centeredness. Your boyfriend, once the safe haven of your heart, fades like a long-forgotten dream, replaced by a cold, blank slate.

Your former boyfriend, once the love of your life, is now a distant memory, a reminder of a time when you were weak and foolish. The thought of being gay disgusts you, and you can't help but wonder how you ever fell for it. Your mind is filled with thoughts of big tits, pussy, and fucking whatever dumb blonde bitch you can find. The idea of two men embracing, holding hands, or kissing makes your stomach turn.

Your hatred for your former boyfriend grows with each passing day. You can't stand the thought of him, the way he looked, the way he sounded, the way he smelled. Everything about him repulses you, and you can't help but think of him as a loser, a pathetic excuse for a man. Your mind is consumed by thoughts of how much you hate him, how much you despise him, how much you wish he would just disappear. The thought of him makes you angry, makes you want to scream, makes you want to hurt him.

Your interests, once a kaleidoscope of color and vibrancy, now become a dull, monochromatic landscape. The music that once brought you joy becomes a cacophony of discord, the laughter of your friends a mocking echo. The world, once a rich tapestry of wonder and discovery, is reduced to a dull, grey expanse, with only one focus: yourself.

And so, your mind becomes a void, a hollow shell of what once was. The self-centeredness grows, fueled by a sole focus on your own desires. You are no longer the loving, caring person you once were, but a loud, brash, egostical, fuckboi douchebag, driven solely by a desire for sex, exercise, and partying with your bros. The world moves on, but you remain stuck, lost in your own ego's void, unable to feel anything but the echoes of self-importance that resonate within your mind.

The nerdy hobbies that once filled your time—your passion for obscure comics, your enthusiasm for DnD games, the countless hours spent diving into intricate fantasy worlds—disappear into the ether. They are swiftly overshadowed by a newfound obsession with football, gym routines, and social validation. The intricate lore of your favorite fantasy series is replaced by a singular obsession with game stats, player performance, and the glory of touchdowns. Your once cherished quiet evenings are now replaced by raucous parties and boisterous gatherings where you are the undisputed center of attention. As you imagine fucking some chick, your mind gets caught up in thoughts of your muscles. You're vainly beginning to flex them, trying to imagine how hot they must be to this chick. The muscles bulge and swell under your skin, tempting you to squeeze them all day. Your mind fantasizes about her touching, caressing, and gripping them as she rides on top of you. You imagine her moaning and screaming as you pound into her, feeling her juices dripping down your chest. The thought of her hands on your abs, feeling the ridges and grooves, makes you shiver with pleasure. You can almost feel her fingers tracing the lines of your biceps, feeling the power and strength that lies beneath your skin. Your thoughts take a stroll down memory lane, floating back to your days spent hanging with your brother, twin brother in the gym. He was always by your side, making fun of pathetic losers, screaming at the other guys in the gym and doing absurd workouts. You can only think about your muscles these days, especially when some chick catches your eye. When you look down at yourself, you like what you see. What a stunning, attractive collection of muscle. Your look in the mirror makes your insides blaze - damn you could have whatever dumb slut you want. You can't help but flex your muscles again, feeling the power and strength that lies beneath your skin. You're in love with yourself, and it's a beautiful thing. Your phone buzzes, "Hey, Dick! Let's hit the gym and make our way to Murphy's you know those sluts worship at the feet of the Addam bois," With that, your fate is sealed. You're nothing but an obnoxious, douchebag fuckboi. A mind that lives and breathes for one thing, and one thing alone - getting laid and working out. Every day, every hour, every minute, you think about sex. You crave it, you need it, you want it. You're a slave to your desires, and right now, your desire is for those two girls.

You know what's best in life? Being able to walk into a crowded gym and knowing that people can't help but look at you. Knowing that your muscles are so huge that they're almost gawking. Knowing that when you flex, they squint and cover their eyes. Knowing that the looks on their faces say 'I'm so much of a fuckboi' and that's something no one can ever take from you.

You walk down the hallway, heading straight for the gym, where you know your twin brother is waiting for you, ready to get down and dirty with those girls. Your mind is running like a wild animal, preparing for the fun, waiting for the moment you storm into Murphy's, making those girls scream, your mind is a fuckboi, and there is no better place than a gym, where it thrives.

You walk into the gym, your huge and muscular body drawing all eyes to you. You feel a sense of pride and vanity as you make your way to the weightlifting area, your loud footsteps echoing through the empty gym. Everyone looks your way, their eyes catching sight of your massive muscled body. You're a sight to behold, with your bulging biceps and triceps straining against your skin as you move.

You approach your gym bag, taking out two protein shakes and starting to drink them. As you take a big swig, you let out a loud and obnoxious buuuuuurp, the sound echoing through the gym. Your bro, who's standing nearby, looks over at you and chuckles. "That one was a good one, bro!" he says, shaking his head in amusement. You grin, feeling proud of your impressive physique.

You and your bro start to flex in the mirror, admiring your muscles. You hit the mirror with your pecs, making your eyes light up with excitement and a big smile on your face. "Who else wants to see these gains?" you say, running your hand over your thick muscles. Your bro shakes his head, laughing at you and pointing at your body in the mirror. "I mean, you've got some big guts," he says, stopping for a moment, waiting for you to react before he continues. "Especially your gut, looking at that, I reckon it's got its own ecosystem going on."

You continue to flex and admire your body, feeling proud of your hard work in the gym. You start to down another protein shake, letting out another loud gaseous fart PFFFFRRRP. Your bro looks over at you, chuckling. "You're really milking these gains, bro," he says, shaking his head in amusement. You grin, feeling proud of your impressive physique.

You and your bro start to catcall some of the women in the gym, admiring their big tits and toned bodies. You point out a group of girls with big breasts, flexing your muscles as you stare at them. "Whoa, look at those," you whisper to your bro, pointing at the group of girls. Your bro nods, chuckling, and you continue to admire the women, feeling proud of your attractive physique.

[joicecubes]

been thinking about the ways fiddleford and stan would force each other to take care of themselves. like, in the days they would hypothetically spend working together to try and get ford back.

fiddleford, being both a scientist and tirelessly devoted to ford, is probably a massive workaholic. he forgets to eat, forgets to drink water, complains about a “poundin’ headache” and ponders out loud what kind of pill he should take to tide it over until he can finish what he’s working on. stan, also terrible at taking care of himself but with a few working brain cells he uses for something OTHER than complex math equations, is the one who asks him when the last time was that he drank water instead of coffee. and it’s only then that fiddleford is bullied into taking a brain break. stan threatens to rip up his papers if he doesn’t go down a glass of water right now and fiddleford would rather die than see stan follow through on that promise. even though he would never. they’re both too committed to their mission. but truthfully, its the thought that counts, and fiddleford breaks past his brain fog with that first sip of water while smiling into his glass.

similarly, stan isn’t really used to having food and a roof over his head, much less a constant supply of running water. the guy probably forgets to shower, that or he just feels too hopeless to care. not to mention the way his hair has grown out so much that he struggles to take care of it, to brush it, to wash it. i wonder if it would be fiddleford in this timeline who first cuts his hair to get that matted mullet off his neck. and i wonder if stan finds himself close to tears when that weight’s off his shoulders. maybe fiddleford would help wash the remainder, and stan would joke about feeling like he’s in some old barbershop for the first time since he was a teenager. its hard to joke after that, when he gets choked up with the tragedy and intimacy of it all, but the silence is ambience enough for fiddleford to finish shampooing. and he tells him afterwards that he looks like a new man.

[the-bi-space-ace]

Been thinking about Echo & Wrecker lately

I think after joining the batch Echo has to adapt to taking daily medications because I’m projecting for things like chronic pain or other underlying conditions because of his treatment on Skako. This is already an adjustment. Going from not needing any daily medications to needing daily medications is hard enough. What’s worse is that some of the new meds make him nauseous or light headed or even give him brain fog.

For the first two weeks after the new meds he can barely keep food down, has constant headaches, and gets dizzy often. It’s a hard adjustment period. He’s moving so fast, jumping back into solid foods, and a bunch of new medications on top of that. It’s difficult and scary and he’s frustrated.

That’s where Wrecker comes in.

I think Wrecker also has chronic pain because of the accident that gave him his scars and made him blind in one eye. I think he’s taken a few different types of medication and has gone through the same adjustment period and when he notices Echo getting frustrated with the change in his daily life Wrecker gives him some helpful tips.

He decorates a pill organizer that looks just like his. He makes it complimentary so they’re matching but can still easily tell their pills apart. He even takes his at the same time of day Echo takes them so they never forget because they’re on the same schedule. Echo isn’t too sure why Wrecker took the time to decorate a pill organizer for him but he loves it and uses it every day.

Echo often gets nauseous but also lightheaded since he isn’t eating enough. Wrecker starts sharing his snacks with Echo which include a lot of fruit. Not only does it contain sugar which helps with the lightheadedness but fruit is easy on your stomach and it’s incredibly hydrating. watermelon especially, which they try to keep on hand.

Wrecker had to do physical therapy too so he teaches Echo how to work up more muscle and then treat the sore ones. They both experience muscle pains so Wrecker shows Echo how to alleviate some of it with cool downs after missions. They have a whole routine together.

With all the kindness Wrecker has shown him Echo wants to do something in return so he learns several different massage techniques to help with Wrecker’s muscle strain. He adapts them to work with one hand and has helped Wrecker get out so many knots.

Echo even sets timers for snacks throughout the day between regular meals to help stave off how starved Wrecker feels on a daily basis. It’s not perfect but he finds every two hours when they can manage it is the sweet spot. If he has even a little bit of food then Wrecker’s stomach feels better and he can feel less nauseous on bad days. Handful of crackers, some fruit, a chocolate bar. Anything. Echo keeps snacks on hand for his and Wrecker’s ‘Snack Attack’.

[anisangeldust]

Lavender Haze 𝜗𝜚⋆

did i have every intention to post this on 4/20? yes. but did i get so faded that i’ve had severe brain fog for the last day and a half? also yes 🫶🎀

Summary: Coriolanus sees you at a party with a particularly rough group of people and he just has to have you.

Pairing: Dealer!Coriolanus x Fem!Reader (Modern AU, Innocent!reader)

Warnings: DRUG USE AND ABUSE!, (mentions of: cocaine, weed, heroin, cigarettes, oxy/percs, and others), Mention of guns, mention of murder, mentions of ODing, mentions of rape, smut (p in v, fem!receiving oral) CNC/dub-con, impact play, masochism, minor gun kink.

A/N: dipping my toe into darker themes! happy late 4/20! (smoke responsibly)🎀🎀

It was painfully obvious you didn’t belong here, from the cloud of smoke settled around everything in the room, to the stray bottles of little white pills the attendees were popping like candy. It was all so foreign to you.

If your friends weren’t here, you’d have gone home the second you were invited in.

Coriolanus had been watching you, he was perfectly hidden in plain sight. Your cute little pink dress was like a magnet to his icy eyes, and the way you were stepping over discarded needles was almost endearing.

The uncomfortable look on your face grew as your headache got worse, the constant hotboxing starting to run its course on your untarnished little body.

Coriolanus decided to scoop you up and keep you safe before anyone else got their grubby hands on you, after all, he was a dealer; not a monster. And to have you taken advantage of by another seemed like a horrid option, so he went with the former.

“Hey darling, you look like you don’t belong here” Coriolanus cooed, walking up to you and making sure you knew he was safe.

“I don’t, my friends dragged me here, i don’t do this kind of stuff” your voice was small and a little timid, like a stray cat at a shelter.

“I can tell princess. how about you stay with me? i’ll get some fresh air, and i’ll make sure you’re safe” he reached around to pat the handgun in his pocket.

“Oh! O-okay.” You were in no position to deny this stranger, after all, he seemed very kind, and he was very handsome, tall with buzzed blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

“Don’t worry hunny, you’re safe” he teased and wrapped one of his strong arms around you. “wanna go sit outside? you can even sit on my lap” he offered as his hand drew light circles on your waist.

“That sounds great, my head really hurts” you smiled back and lean into the handsome stranger.

——

‘Coriolanus, his name was Coriolanus. Coryo he said to call him.’ was the thought swirling in your head as you sat on his lap while he rested on patio furniture.

“I’m a dealer baby, I have the drugs and then I sell them to people, ‘s how I make money, it’s quite profitable too” Coriolanus explained, the lit joint between his lips and large hand cupping your ass all adding to his appeal.

Every once in a while a few people would come up to him with cash, he’d hand them a bottle of pills, or a baggy of weed, but when a guy about his age with curly chestnut colored hair walked up, he asked for cocaine.

“Alright Creed, I’ll have to measure it here though” Coriolanus murmured as he counted the cash handed to him by this mysterious stranger and then placing the bills into your hands. “hold this for me pretty girl”. His voice a million times more soft and gentle than when he was talking to the ‘Creed’ guy.

“Ever cut coke before princess? ‘Course you haven’t, you’re too much of a good girl” he chuckled against your ear. Grabbing the scale next to him, he pulled out a small baggie of white powder from his coat pocket. After measuring exactly a gram, he took a credit card and carefully pushed the powder back into the ziplock baggie.

Coriolanus took the cash from your hands and pushed it into his pocket, taking the joint from his lips, he gave you a kiss on the cheek before blowing the smoke away form your face.

“Can I try?” Your voice squeaked out, the joint didn’t seem too scary, and you wanted to at least try something while you’re sat on the lap of a dealer.

“The joint? Oh baby, are you sure?” He teased and moved your hair out of your face.

“Yes, I wanna try it, please?” Your big eyes were something he just couldn’t resist, so he took the rolled up cannabis and placed it between your plump lips.

“Breathe in like you’re sucking on a straw baby girl, that’s it..” he held your hand and the joint, looking deeply into your eyes.

The moment the smoke filled your lungs, the taste of tar and skunk filled your chest, instantly you coughed and stared to tear up. “Ew! How do you do that all the time!” You cough and lean into Coriolanus’ touch.

“Told you babygirl, it’s gross” he teases and takes a long drag before blowing the smoke into your face with a chuckle.

“Coryo!” You scrunch your face and whack his chest

“C’mon baby, how about this, I’ll blow some smoke into your mouth okay?” He murmurs and takes another drag, holding your jaw open, he blows the smoke into your open mouth, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

Your hands reach up and cup his face, leaning into the sudden display of intimacy. He brings one of his large and calloused hands up and smacks your ass playfully, eliciting a giggle from your lips.

“Promise me you’ll never get involved in the heavy shit, smoking weed is bad enough, I don’t need your pretty little self dropping acid and then dropping dead” he murmurs between kisses.

“Never.. I’ll never” you promise him, knowing that you’re too much of a pussy to do anything beyond maybe shrooms.

“Good girl, and I’ll put a bullet into anyone who tries to sell you anything, you can’t trust anyone, they’ll get you woozy then rape your cunt baby, it’s not safe to do this shit.” He warns with absolute seriousness. How ironic.

“I won’t do any drugs Coryo, you have my word” you giggle gently and scoot up on his lap

“You little tease, need me to show you who you’re fucking with right now?” He jeers and throws the joint on the floor, grinding it beneath his heal before he picks you up and carries you to his, surprisingly nice, car.

“My place isn’t too far, I’ve made enough money for tonight, right now all I need is your pussy baby” he pays your thigh and buckles you in before climbing into the drivers door and closing it, immediately speeding off.

——

Coriolanus’ apartment was actually really nice, a pretty spacious area, a nice part of town, you’re surprised he doesn’t already have a lady to call his own. Though I suppose he does now.

“Nice isn’t it? Told you it’s profitable” he murmurs and locks the front door behind you two, immediately scooping you up for the second time that night and carrying you to his bedroom.

His hands are immediately all over you, and your hands all over him. He reaches and slips off his jacket, tossing it, the gun, his cash, and any access drugs, across the room.

Coriolanus almost immediately reaches up your dress and cups your pussy in his hand “fuck me, was it me who turned you on? Maybe my gun?” He teases.

“Coryo..!” You whine and buck your hips up like a bitch.

“That’s me, don’t worry baby, I won’t be too mean” he coos and pulls off your panties, throwing them into the pile of his stuff.

“Oh fuck me princess..” he murmurs and looks over your cunt. The visual in front of him is pornographic. Your pussy was glistening wet and puffy, your swollen and pink clit poking out of your folds a bit.

“Can’t resist baby-“ he cuts himself off by diving into your cunt like it’s his death row meal, the skilled muscle that is his tongue poking and licking up your sex.

“mmm! Coryo!!” You whine and hold his head (since he has no hair to hold on to) “so good! can’t.. oh god..” you buck your hips up and he hold you in place with his strong hands.

He continues to devour you, his nose every so often bumping your clit, eventually, he brings up his hand and starts to draw lazy circles around the bundle of nerves.

“Gonna cum! Coryo..! My tummy..” you whimper and lean your head back, savoring the feeling of your new, hot, drug dealer friend eating you out like your arousal was a sacred elixir.

His name fell from your lips like a prayer as you came against his face, grinding your hips and pressing his face against you while you rode out your orgasm.

A string of spit connected his lips and your cunt, his whole face flushed and sticky with your cum.

“Taste so good sweetheart” he groans and pulls your dress over your head, immediately unclipping your bra and attacking your, now very sensitive, nipples.

“mmm… so good for me, my good girl..” he groans and pulls you into his lap as he goes into a sitting position. Moving his attention from your tits to your lips. “Gonna ruin that perfect pussy, mold you into my perfect doll, use you whenever I want” he growls and pulls his hard, fat cock out of the confines of his pants.

Laying you on your back, he uses his hands to press your knees to your chest, allowing him the most perfect view of your dripping and sensitive cunt.

“So good baby girl” he praises as he slides his fat tip across your glistening folds.

“Please.. please.. need it so bad..” you blabber out and whine.

“I know baby, I know. Let me just..” he slips the tip in and growls “fuck me doll” he hisses and uses every bit of self restraint to not jackhammer into you.

“More! Please..!” You beg, his cock sliding into your tight walls inch by inch until the tip kissed your cervix

Coriolanus gave you a second to get used to his size before he started to pound into you mercilessly, his hips snapping to meet your clit. “Can see myself in your tummy baby, so good for me, ‘m so fucking proud of you doll” he groans and increases his pace impossibly faster.

“Gonna fucking cum.. you love being my cocksleeve huh? My pretty little fleshlight.” He coos and keeps up his impossible pace until you whine and groan, cumming the second time. He pulls out and tugs his cock twice before cumming on your stomach.

“Oh fuck princess, so fucking pretty huh?” He murmurs and hold your face, kissing your swollen lips.

“So good Coryo..” your voice is weak, as is the rest of your body, but before you can get up he stops you.

“You think I’m done? Very funny princess, maybe I’ll snort a line off your perfect tits” he teasingly thinks out loud.

You were in for a very long night.

[salty-autistic-writer]

Part Of The Family Summary: Tommy is recovering from a concussion. Buck creates a schedule to ensure he won't be alone. Tommy learns what it means to be part of the family. ~

Concussions are a buzzkill.

It’s not Tommy’s first one. But it’s definitely the worst he’s ever had.

They were fighting a fierce structure fire and he didn't see the danger coming until it was too late. Tommy vaguely remembers someone calling out his name in warning, before something connected with the back of his head in a very sudden and very painful way. Apparently, the culprit was a heavy piece of debris. Heavy enough that his helmet didn't make much of a difference. After the impact, Tommy found himself on the ground, stars appearing in front of his eyes. Someone helped him out of the building and almost immediately, a headache crept in and stayed. It’s still there now. A constant pulsing ache.

Tommy doesn’t even remember how he got to the hospital.

But now he’s in a bed, with his head stitched and bandaged, and a doctor is there to tell him something about several tests they ran. Fortunately, they didn’t find any swelling or bleeding in his brain. 

The doctor says more, but Tommy can’t focus anymore. Everything is too bright and too loud. Everything hurts. His head is heavy and his floaty thoughts seem to hit an invisible wall whenever he tries to form them into something coherent. Feels like his mind is filled with fog. Tommy just wants to close his eyes and go to sleep. But then, Evan appears in the room and Tommy’s mood brightens immediately. Evan is like the sun, pushing through the clouds inside his mind.

“Ev,” he croaks, raising his hands and reaching for his boyfriend. 

Evan looks worried. Why does he look worried? It makes Tommy feel concerned too. Oh. Right. Tommy is injured and in a hospital bed. That’s why.

“Hit my head,” Tommy tells Evan, pointing up to that aching pulsing thing that must be said head.

“I can see that,” Evan says softly, hugging him and exhaling shakily. “I’m so glad to see you awake. You will be alright.”

Tommy frowns. Has he not been awake at some point? He really can't remember. “Can we go home now?” He asks hopefully.

He doesn’t want to stay at the hospital. Not again. 

Evan studies him, his brows furrowing. “I don’t know. You don’t look … well. And you can barely keep yourself upright. Maybe you should stay here at least for overnight …”

Tommy starts to shake his head, then immediately stops because it hurts too much. “No. Please.”

Evan chews on his lip. “Alright. Let me talk to the doctor.”

The doctor doesn’t approve. He says Tommy should be under observation for at least 24 hours. But Evan tells him he can do that at home. The doctor sighs and asks Tommy if he can get out of bed without any help.

Tommy can. At least he thinks he can. He can see that they are both watching him. It feels like a test, so he does his best to get himself out of the bed. Everything is fine until he tries to stand. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit him. The world sways. Feels like flying a helicopter through a hurricane. Tommy grimaces and reaches out for something to hold on to. He finds Evan’s shoulder, which is solid enough. There. He's standing. He can do it.

The doctor raises a doubtful brow and clears his throat. “I still wouldn’t recommend you to go home, but in the end, I can’t force you to stay. Just let me explain some important things you should think of concerning this concussion and the next few days of your recovery.”

It’s Evan, who listens to the doctor. Tommy just tries to not fall. Evan stands there, with his hands on his hips, nodding along with a very serious expression on his face, clearly memorizing everything the doctor is telling him. 

Tommy looks at his boyfriend, his chest glowing with happiness. God. Evan looks so good. Oh. Did Tommy say that out loud? Because Evan and the doctor fall silent for a moment and throw him a glance, before continuing talking. Huh.

“He definitely shouldn’t be alone tonight,” the doctor finishes with a sigh that seems to say: I'm done with stubborn firefighters for the day.

“He won’t be,” Evan says firmly. “In fact, he won’t be alone at all. Not until he’s doing better.”

Tommy frowns. What is that supposed to mean? He immediately forgets about the words again though because it’s hard enough to follow Evan out of the hospital. He holds on to Evan’s arm with one hand, squinting his eyes and keeping his head down, since the lights only seem to turn brighter around him. 

The car ride is a nightmare too. He has to close his eyes for the entirety of it because every time he sees a glimpse of the moving world, he’s hit by a wave of violent nausea. A groan escapes his lips and Evan puts his free hand on one of Tommy’s, holding it. An anchor in this stormy ocean that throws him around. Tommy holds on to it as firmly as he can.

It’s a relief when they finally arrive home. Evan has to support him the few steps to and into the house.

“Bed,” Evan says sternly as soon as the door closes behind them. “Right now.”

Tommy doesn’t protest. He’s glad when he can finally lie down. When the world stops moving and he doesn’t feel like he’s the captain of a ship that has to navigate through a storm. He closes his eyes and grimaces when dizziness is replaced by pain. It starts in the back of his head and stretches until it’s everywhere.

“Hurts,” he mutters.

Evan’s fingers run through his hair. Slow and gentle. “The doctor said you can have some Tylenol. And I’m going to make you a cold compress, alright?”

Tommy just hums, sinking into the comfort of being touched. It feels nice not to be alone. The last time he returned from hospital he was alone. Soon enough he’s had a few pills and has a cold towel on his forehead. The pain slowly fades into a numb pulsing. Tommy feels pleasantly floaty, especially with Evan’s warm body beside him. Eventually, he falls asleep.

The next morning, Tommy feels a little better. Still foggy and dizzy, but at least he can think clearly and string words together again. His symptoms didn’t get worse which means he doesn’t have to go to the hospital again. He’s glad. He hates the hospital with its flickering neon lights, squeaking plastic shoes, horrible food and never-ending surprise visits by nurses or doctors.

This situation has its ups and downs. The upside: He can stay at home, where he has his own bed, his own food, his privacy and, most importantly, his Evan.

The downside: He has to stay home all the time and do nothing that might risk him falling and injuring himself further or tearing any stitches. 

For at least 48 hours, he will be bound to his bed. And he will be trapped in his house for almost a week. No exercise. Not even a walk. Also, he shouldn't be doing anything that requires concentration, like video games, watching TV, reading, texting or using a computer if it worsens his symptoms.

Evan stays with him for the first 24 hours, making sure he’s not getting any worse or exerting himself too much. But after that, he has to go to work.

And suddenly, Tommy is alone. He tries to look at a few videos on his phone but that makes him nauseous after a while. Watching TV is making him nauseous as well. He ends up back in his bed, on his back, staring up at the ceiling while his head is pulsing and pain and hating everything. How is he supposed to spend almost a whole week like this?!

A knock at the door - a very enthusiastic one - interrupts his depressive thoughts. Tommy frowns. He isn’t expecting anyone. And he doesn’t look very presentable either. Maybe it’s just the postman. He gets up with a grimace, dizziness making him sway and he has to catch his balance before he can walk slowly - very slowly - to the door and open it. He blinks in surprise. It’s Maddie. With Jee-Yun. “Hey,” Maddie says, smiling at him. “I brought cake. I heard it’s a good sweet cheer up in case of head injuries.” “Oh. Thank you,” Tommy says, accepting the box she hands him.

Jee is holding on to her mother’s hand, with her free hand she points at Tommy’s head and says, “Ouchie”, her eyes widening. “Yeah. Big ouchie,” Tommy says, touching the bandage wrapped around his head. "But I will be fine."

“How are you feeling?” Maddie asks while they’re slowly walking into the living room. Jee stays close to Maddie’s leg, her fingers brushing against her mother’s pants as she looks around a bit shyly. Tommy shrugs. “Dizzy and nauseous, but the pain is a little better today. I have a feeling that this piece of debris really wanted me to remember it.”

“Well, we are here to distract you a little from it,” Maddie says with a chuckle. They sit on the couch and Maddie pulls several things out of her bag. A colouring pad and pencils. A plush elephant. And a few small bottles of nail polish. Jee climbs on the couch and looks at all the things Maddie has brought as if she’s trying to make a very hard choice. Finally, she points at the nail polish. Then at Tommy, her expression serious. Maddie chuckles. “Jee painted my and Howie’s nails so often, I think she needs a new model.”

“And I even get to choose the colour,” Tommy says when Jee presents him with three different options. He chooses blue.

It’s relaxing. He just has to sit there and hold still. Jee is very focused. The tip of her tongue is visible between her lips as she paints his short nails with the tiny brush. While she’s working, Maddie and Tommy talk. She tells him about what's going on at the dispatch centre and asks him about what he's doing at Harbor Station which leads to him telling her about some of the more interesting calls. She also asks him if he's always wanted to be a pilot and he ends up telling her a bit about his past. She listens attentively.

When Jee-Yun is finished with Tommy's nails, she shows him that he has to shake out his hands to let the paint dry and he does it with her, chuckling.

“Should I paint your nails now?” Tommy asks Jee. She beams at him and laughs, holding out her small hands.

It’s a bit difficult. From time to time, Tommy is still hit by a wave of dizziness and focusing sometimes leads to double vision. But Jee holds perfectly still, even when he has to take a break.

“Et voila,” Tommy says when he’s done. Jee inspects her now purple nails and gives him a bright, tooth-missing grin.

Maddie smiles. “Very pretty.”

They all eat a piece of the cake Maddie brought. Soon, Jee is yawning and rubbing at her eyes. “Guess I will take her home now for her nap,” Maddie says. “I hope you will feel even better tomorrow.”

“Thanks for coming by and thanks for distracting me. Now I have my pretty nails to look at when I don't feel so good,” Tommy says, smiling at Jee-Yun, who waves him bye, not so shy anymore, and follows her mother out.

Soon after Maddie and Jee leave, there is a knock at the door again. Tommy raises his brows. He opens. This time, it’s Karen with Denny and Mara. “Hi,” she beams at him, raising two plastic bags. “I brought dinner. Buck said you like Chinese?” “I love Chinese,” Tommy says with a smile, letting them inside.

Hen and Evan join them later, marvelling at Tommy’s nails. They’re all playing a game of Monopoly later and everyone is laughing at Tommy because he constantly manages to land in prison while Denny somehow builds enough houses to make them all go bankrupt.

Later, Tommy is a little exhausted but he also realizes he barely noticed his head for a long time. He remembers Evan’s comment on how he won’t be alone at all, and he thinks he understands now. Evan must have made a schedule, determining who is going to visit Tommy when.

And it’s just the beginning.

Every time Tommy starts to feel antsy over the next few days, there’s a knock at the door and every time he opens it, it’s a member of the 118 family. He always has someone sitting on his couch.

~

Ravi brings cookies and wants to know a lot of things about flying. 

He asks so many questions that Tommy is wondering if he is considering a career as a pilot. Or maybe he’s just as fascinated as most people are. For a lot of people, flying is a mystery. To them, it seems like magic, when it’s actually physics.

How can a heavy plane or helicopter stay in the sky? How does it get into the air at all? How does it move forward? “That’s so cool, man,” Ravi says after a while, taking a bite from his cookie. “For the first time ever, I really understand why a plane manages to fly.” “Are you thinking about flying a helicopter or plane in the future?” Tommy asks, intrigued. Ravi looks taken aback for a moment, then clears his throat and looks a little … embarrassed. “To be honest, I have a fear of flying.” “Oh.” Tommy didn’t expect that. But it’s not unusual. Many people have a fear of flying. He doesn’t know what it feels like, but people he knew told him how uncomfortable they feel while being on a plane. Tommy guesses it’s the same thing as with sharks. Media makes flying look like something risky and highly dangerous because every time something does happen, it’s all over the news and people who have no idea about the science behind flying share their wrong opinions.

Ravi grimaces and scratches the back of his head. “Yeah. I kind of inhabited it from my family. Constantly had to listen about how dangerous flying is in general and that I shouldn’t ever enter a plane. Theoretically, I know it’s not dangerous. But my mind is not that convinced. And now I know you, and you’re flying all the time and I thought it might be a good idea to learn a little more about it from someone who is a professional, you know?” Tommy clears his throat, feeling a little embarrassed now. “I don’t know if I would call myself a professional …” Ravi raises a brow. “Please. You flew a helicopter into a hurricane and landed it on a capsized ship. Buck couldn't shut up about it for an entire week. After a while, I almost felt like I was there."

Tommy chuckles. “Ok. You have a point. Well, if you want to, I can always take you on a flight once I recover from this concussion, to show you how everything works and why it’s not dangerous. That might help with your fear. Someone once told me we have to do the things that scare us to show our mind that nothing happens.”

“That’s awesome, thank you,” Ravi says with a bright smile. “I’m absolutely going to take you up on that offer!”

When Ravi leaves, Bobby and Athena arrive with lasagna. It's so delicious Tommy kind of never wants to eat anything else ever again. While they're eating, Bobby remembers a few crazy calls they had back when Tommy was still part of the 118 and they all laugh about them. Especially about Maurice. "Can't believe the first thing I did was handing you a traumatized rooster which tried to kill us all," Bobby says, reaching for Athena's hand and squeezing it. She smiles and they look at each other so fondly ... Tommy's heart warms for them and he's so glad Howie called him back then. He still remembers how worried he was when he heard that Bobby and Athena were missing. And he remembers the moment when he saw them hugging. When he was so relieved that he had flown into that hurricane and that they had found them. And of course, he remembers Evan's hand suddenly touching his shoulder, remembers Evan's smile and his bright eyes. The moment that made his breath hitch and his heart jump.

It's a little crazy, Tommy thinks, how much impact Bobby had on his life. Bobby was the one suggesting the transfer to Harbor because he believed Tommy needed a fresh start. (And he was right about that.) It was Bobby who gave Evan a second chance at the 118. And it was Bobby - plus Athena - who needed a rescue and made Tommy meet the love of his life that way. Sometimes, the world seems incredibly small and it feels like we're all connected by invisible strings, Tommy muses, taking another bite of the amazing lasagna. ~ “No,” Christopher says patiently. “You have to press this button to jump. Not that one.”

Tommy feels old. So old. He keeps on dying. And every time he does, Chris gives him advice on how he can avoid dying the next time. But Tommy keeps messing it up. The video game is too fast for him. And the little figure on the screen never really does what he wants it to do. “I’m really bad at this,” Tommy sighs, looking at the screen where another “you died” appears. In big red letters. Great.

“You can’t be the best at everything,” Chris says seriously.

“True,” Tommy says, putting the controller down. “Come on. It’s your turn. Let me watch the professional.”

Chris chuckles. “Okay.”

He easily jumps over all the obstacles and eliminates all the threats his little figure encounters while running through a pixeled world in search of … Tommy doesn’t really understand what the goal of this game is. But well. He leans back on the couch and watches. His head got a lot better. The screen’s light doesn’t give him a headache anymore and the dizziness as well as the nausea are almost gone.

In the evening, Eddie and Evan arrive with food and Eddie thanks Tommy for watching Chris. “Are you sure he didn’t watch me?” Tommy asks with a glance at Evan, who sits on the couch with Chris, trying the video game too and being way better at it than Tommy. Eddie just laughs and hands him a hamburger. ~

Anxiety and insecurity hit Tommy the next day when he’s watching a movie with Howie and - because he’s taking meds - not having a beer like usual, but instead tea, which Howie made.

The week passed so fast because he’s never really been alone. And it’s been so nice to have all of them there. Still. There’s a part of him that isn’t entirely sure about all of this. A part of him tries to convince him that they are only here out of pity. Or because Evan told them to come. Not because they really care about him.

“Y’all don’t have to do that, you know?” He says, glancing at Howie. “Being here. It’s not like I can’t take care of myself.”

Howie takes a sip of his tea. “Tommy, we all want to be here. Trust me. Buck insisted on making a schedule, because, well you know what he’s like when he gets a chance to go full clipboard mode, but we all would be here anyway because you’re family. And we take care of family.”

Howie’s words make warmth spread in Tommy’s chest. “Alright,” he says, his throat a little tight now. “Thank you.”

“Not for that, man. But please. Be a little more careful with that head of yours in the future. Because I can only stand Evan 'my boyfriend is injured and we’re all going to take care he won’t do even more damage to himself' Buckley one time in a year," Howie says with a feigned pitiful expression on his face.

That makes Tommy laugh.

~

Tommy wakes up in fractions, blinking into the sunlight. Evan’s face is hovering above him, a smile spreading on it, as he looks down on Tommy, with his head tilted to the side and his hair still tousled. “Hey.” “Hey,” Tommy breathes, smiling sleepily. It’s the weekend and this is his favourite way of waking up.

“How is that pretty head of yours today?” Evan asks, running his fingers through Tommy’s hair. The bandage is gone now. “Better,” Tommy says honestly. “Barely feeling it anymore.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Evan says, kissing Tommy’s forehead.

“Whose turn is it today by the way?” Tommy asks teasingly. Evan chuckles. “Only me today.”

“Good,” Tommy says, wrapping his arms around Evan’s body with a content sigh, enjoying the warmth and the morning softness. “As nice as it’s been to have everyone around, I’m happy when I get to have you all for myself." 

Evan smiles. “You know, they all were worried and wanted to be there for you while you were recovering, but I also think they loved the chance to get to know you a little better.”

Tommy thinks back to what Howie said and for the first time, he can allow himself to accept that he’s a part of this family now.

[bloodiedrogue]

DEPOLLUTE ME, GENTLE ANGEL

SUMMARY: Gale's been hiding behind his pride for far too long. Or at least, Astarion thinks so.

PAIRING: Astarion & Gale

WORD COUNT: 2,053

WARNINGS: Descriptions of decomposition and injuries. Brief mentions of dissociation.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, this idea has been consuming my brain since I read @ssalballoon's comic about rotting gale. Obviously the concept isn't mine and is heavily inspired by their art, so please give them some love! <3

MASTERLIST

-

Something’s wrong with Gale. 

Often smelling more like a batch of tanned leather than a human wizard, Astarion can’t help but linger at its presence. Despite the way it violently rips through his senses —clouding his vision like a putrid fog of death— the smell is strangely intoxicating. A temptation of sorts, plaguing his thoughts with a powerful sweetness wrapped in rotting flesh. 

It calls to him in ways he doesn’t quite understand. As the days pass, he can feel it clinging to his nose, assaulting his senses each time the wizard draws near. Ripping through him like a bloodied knife reeking of day-old viscera. 

Most days, it’s presence is fickle. Ebbing and flowing like the tides, there are moments in between when he’s able to breathe a sigh of relief and forget the strange desires that sit at the back of his mind. Moments where the air is pure and unalloyed —no longer tainted by whatever shit Gale’s got collecting underneath that wretched bandage of his. Ones where Astarion can breathe without the threat of a fragrant assault each time the wizard passes. Allowing him time to think of himself rather than focusing on the increasing injury that Gale hides in plain sight. 

Because Astarion can tell it’s getting worse. As the days turn to nights and circle back, he can see the subtle changes in Gale’s behaviour. How the wizard’s charm has slowly dampened over time, leaving nothing more but this suppressant version of himself, aimlessly floating from one camp to the next. 

It drives him mad if he’s honest. Watching the way Gale refuses to cook with his hands. Instead choosing to waste his precious Weave to pilot those ridiculous apparitions. Or how he no longer waves his hands like a man gone mad each time he speaks. It’s depressing really, seeing him swiftly wither away. Witnessing the downfall of his autonomy each time he struggles to hold his staff during battle. 

Even conversations with him have changed. Once resembling an elegant show of vast grandeur, talking to him has become nothing more than some menial task. A boring back and forth lacking that past boisterous quality of wit. 

Astarion knows it’s because he’s exhausted. Slowly rotting from the inside out will do that to you, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying. Especially because he’s become embarrassingly reliant on the bastard. Not that he would never admit it out loud but the man’s become somewhat of a constant in his daily routine. A moment in time he stupidly looks forward to each time they both find themselves awake before everyone else. 

Considering neither of them sleep, over the weeks it’s become a constant to greet each other before breakfast. To simultaneously wander out of their respective tents when the sun comes up, stretching their aches and pains away before meeting by the snuffed-out fire. Usually, Gale will greet him like an old friend, his tone cheery or playful, while Astarion merely nods and grumbles his way back to consciousness, eventually giving in to whatever conversation the wizard’s decided to focus his energy on.

It sounds preposterous given the circumstances but he enjoys the company. More so than he probably should, he thinks. Which makes the decreasing energy of his friend’s soul all the more painful to watch.

And to smell. Especially now that they’ve returned from battle, caked in the blood of their enemies —coated in dirt and sweat. All of it mixing together to create a cocktail-induced headache Astarion has to pretend not to notice.

Clearing a lump in his throat, as soon as they’re back he rushes for the lake just South of their campsite. Paying no mind to the rest of the party who follow leisurely behind, he quickly takes a deep breath to try and calm himself down. Sucking the tainted air as he closes his eyes, he pauses to allow it to filter through his lungs, counting each second spent struggling to maintain any sort of composure before he inevitably lets out it. 

With just an inhalation or two he can tell Gale’s only a few feet back, moving slower than usual. Most likely sitting at the tail-end of the pack in order to push through the pain of his injury.

As they continue walking to their shared destination, Astarion can’t help but pity the poor fool, knowing how difficult it must be to move after all that excitement. Considering throughout their encounter he could see him struggling, it’s a miracle he’s still upright. Having spent the majority of the fight using his staff more like an anchor than a weapon, Astarion could feel the irritability of everything coursing through his veins —rushing through him alongside the adrenaline of battle.

It quickly became obvious he shouldn’t have been there in the first place. What with him whiffing every other shot and defiantly going against Tav’s orders. Having him around had become nothing short of a liability. And based on how hard he’d managed to push himself, he knew it too. 

Which is why he refuses to stop, even now as they make it to the water’s edge and begin stripping down to wash away past thoughts and actions. Instead of acknowledging his need for help he merely continues to ignore the issue, walking down to the furthest point of the lake so that he can hope to slip away unnoticed. 

Immediately going against such an idea, Astarion follows behind, keeping just enough distance so that he can remain undetected as he watches the wizard struggle to lower himself to the rocks below. Staring at the way his hands shake with the kind of violent energy Astarion’s far too familiar with.

Frowning at the memory of having to dig himself from his own grave centuries before, he can still feel the rupture of his knuckles against the dirt. How they cracked under the pressure of his desperation, threatening to break just like Gale’s now seem to do. 

Remembering the irritation of the filth beneath his nails, Astarion can’t help but flex his digits at the same time Gale swipes his good hand across his face. Watching how the frustrated features disappear behind his fingers before returning with exhaustion.

A sight that immediately makes Astarion frown. A sort of sadness filling up his chest at the image of his friend struggling to maintain whatever semblance of strength he has left. Sympathy latching onto his bones in the form of cautious steps that force him from his hiding spot. 

“You look like you could use a hand.” 

Before he can even think to stop his offer, Astarion moves to the wizard’s side, acting as if the smell doesn’t bother him. Pretending like the scent of the stained cloth that coats the lower half of his arm doesn’t remind him of a festering corpse splitting open to reveal spoiled organs.

“Care to lend an arm as well?”

Unfortunately, Gale's joke falls flat. Not necessarily because of the material but because of the tone. Its lack of joy hitting Astarion’s ears in a way that furthers the ache. Forcing him to kneel in front of his friend with a sigh. “You know you’re starting to worry the others.” 

“Am I?” 

Ignoring the question, Astarion’s fingers gently inch towards the top of Gale’s dressings, searching for an opening —twitching reluctantly against the sweaty fabric as they continue to sit in silence. Neither one of them able to speak out of fear of revealing too much. 

Which only increases the pain inside Astarion’s chest. Like a knife, it pushes through his lungs, creating deep craters for the rotten scent to penetrate —holes the size of Gale’s hands that now rest limply against his lap.

Peeling away the soiled cloth, Astarion holds his breath while Gale lets out his. Both of their minds struggling not to veer off course as the bandage is torn away, revealing sick skin. Showing them both the polluted flesh that wraps around broken-down muscle and bone. 

“You reek, you know. Of... whatever this is.”

All Gale does is hum as he reaches into the pocket of his robes, prompting Astarion to narrow his eyes until there’s a fresh set of bandages placed in front of him. Then he merely grabs them and begins to work, slowly unravelling them as he looks at Gale’s expression, noting the slight blush across his cheeks. How his eyes grow heavier with each passing moment they spend together. 

“You should really consider finding a cure,” he says. “For my sake, obviously.” 

Grinning then, Astarion expects some sort of quip, but again, all he’s met with is silence. The continued absence of Gale’s wit refusing to acknowledge the obvious. Most likely rejecting the idea that for once the vampire’s making sense. 

A fact that fills Astarion with annoyance, knowing the pride Gale feels is something he deeply relates to. How every day he’s met with the struggle of asking for help versus manipulating it out. Each moment he spends with any one of his companions he has to resist the urge to beg for their assistance. To ignore the desire to drop to his knees and cry for a forgiveness none of them are aware of in hopes of earning their aid. 

It’s the same reason why he’s currently helping Gale. Why, instead of granting the wizard time to brood by his lonesome he’s instead inserting himself into his space. Taking it upon himself to woo and distract —making it seem like it’s merely just kindness. 

It's what he always does, despite the reluctance that sits at the back of his mind. How he earns the trust of all the people he encounters. Similar to Gale, he uses his pride to his advantage, showing it off to anyone who will see it. Producing it as if it were a mask instead of the blade that constantly nicks his skin each time he weaponizes it. 

Always hiding behind its decorative design, Astarion allows his confidence to do the talking. To earn their trust as they continue towards their common goal despite knowing that it’s wrong. 

“Apologies for the burden I’ve become as of late.” 

Too engrossed in thought, Astarion nearly misses Gale’s apology. Focusing on their shared advantages, his voice is faint at first, barely hitting his ears as his fingers absentmindedly work around his arm. Echoing in the back of his mind over and over again until it’s clear as day, forcing him to look up. 

His eyes are distant in a way that breaks the vampire’s heart. Shattering on impact, he has to swallow down the shards that try to escape, feeling them slice across his esophagus as he tries his best to ignore the sting of Gale’s expression. How it grows in both distance and familiarity the longer the two of them stay.

“You wouldn’t be a burden if you set your pride aside for once.” 

Gale huffs and then blinks, returning all at once. His moment of absence becoming nothing more than a memory that both of them will eventually forget. “You’re one to talk, aren’t you?”

Astarion lets out a single ha —one filled with total falseness. “You and I are nothing alike, wizard,” he then lies, even though Gale’s right. 

Far too often he sees himself within him. Lurking in the strangest of places, it’s as if Gale’s behaviours often mirror his own. Always reminding him of his motivations —prompting him to question why he does what he does as he’s forced to stare at these distorted images. Ones that look familiar but somewhat changed to better suit the wizard’s needs.

“Perhaps… perhaps not. I suppose it depends on the finer details.” 

This time, Astarion’s the one to remain silent. Opting to ignore the tightness in his chest that presents itself to turn his attention to the bandage now fully wrapped around Gale’s arm, allowing his fingers to trail down his wrist to grab his hand. 

“Well, for the right amount of coin I’m sure there’s a decent healer in Baldur’s Gate who could help you,” he says, once again smelling that scent. Feeling it rush through his nose like a rapid river of disgust, forcing him to clear his throat and mind as he raises the wizard’s knuckles to his lips before leaving without another word.

-

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[balkanradfem]

I once measured crazy low blood pressure and my usual doc (amazing) was out so I had this other female doc and she didn’t seem that fussed she said it was thing that happens to some women during summer??? And told me to drink more water??? But I also have some symptoms of POTS so…

Okay this could be serious, it's crazy to just say drink more water, if it is a low blood pressure issue, then it should have been explained that you need about two liters of water a day, and two teaspoons of salt, so a lot! For me this resolved it, women in my comments explained to me the actual amounts I need to make my blood pressure normal.

I had a women in my private messages who was worried I had POTS, and she told me all other symptoms, so I'm just going to list it here, for anyone else who might have it:

fainting when you stand up too fast, for a long time, or start running suddenly, gets worse when it's hot, dizzyness

constant nausea, trouble eating seasoned food, sometimes vomiting water

getting red and blue splotches on legs

fingers turning raising-like even out of the shower

getting cold very fast

heart palpitations, racing heart even after quiet sleep

headaches

brain fog, struggling to remember things

Woman who explained all this to me also mentioned that COVID makes POTS more likely to develop, and that after it we had a POTS epidemic in younger women. If you have a lot of these symptoms you should ask for 'table-tilt test!' She said she was diagnosed this way. And also that POTS can go away after a few years, but it's hell to manage. Here's a link to read more about it!

edit: the woman giving me the info also wanted to make it clear it's dangerous to self-diagnose and to seek professional diagnosis for POTS. Some of the symptoms could be occurring due to the more serious diseases!

I hope you manage to get it figured out anon, good luck!

[hasufin]

On not hitting your hand with a hammer

Something I'd really like for most doctors to understand: if you're prescribing lifestyle changes to your patients you're... well, you're being kinda dumb. Also arrogant and extremely disrespectful.

See, you've gotta meet people where they're at. And part of that is recognizing that there are reasons for where they are which exist outside of your exam room.

Are you concluding that your patient doesn't get enough sleep? I assure you, they have spent time crying because they didn't get enough sleep. Literally in tears. Because nobody says "Oh, I will not get enough sleep on purpose and spend all day in a brain fog with poor emotional regulation. It's awesome!"

Telling them they're overweight and need to eat less? Have you engaged with "this is the only way I can keep awake and focused in my job which does not even vaguely match my natural sleep cycle"? How about "I tried the diet regimen you suggested, and after a year of always being hungry, cranky, and miserable I quit torturing myself for a number."?

They need to spend an hour a day stretching/doing cardio/&c.? In their copious free time? The stuff which doesn't exist?

Oh, you were going to suggest making time? Why didn't anyone in the history of ever think about that? Sure, just gonna stop by the time Store to buy some time threads and weave up some more time. Gonna get right on that!

Telling someone this new pain or constant headache is just allergies or a minor lifestyle thing? Do you have an explanation for why this wasn't a problem in the past? When everything was the same except for this new issue? No? Then why do you think this issues suddenly started becoming a problem now?

Consider first, that most patients are living as healthy a lifestyle as they realistically can. That unless you can prescribe a 26-hour day or a $100,000/year salary, the rest of what you're saying is meaningless jabbering.

And second, be aware that the vast majority of the time when you tell your patients to make a lifestyle change and sit back, confident in a Job Well Done, what actually happened is that they tried to do what you said, it didn't work, and they gave up. Because you've as good as told them you're not going to provide them any help and this is just How It Is Now. If they're lucky, someday down the road they'll find a real doctor who can help them, but that's not you.

Stop "prescribing" lifestyle changes and start listening to patients.

[adelaidedrubman]

man doctors are so fucking dumb as hell i have spent two years dealing with almost daily tension headaches/migraines, muscle pain and spasms, constant unilateral tinnitus, ear pain and popping, eye pain and blurry vision, severe insomnia, brain fog, vertigo, and balance/coordination issues.

i had consults with multiple neurologists, rheumatologists, audiologists, and physical therapists to get a ton of inconclusive test results and a “something mildly abnormal. who could say why. looks like my job here is done” and ineffective or nonexistent treatments. learned to just live with the pain and impaired functioning while secretly worrying i had some serious condition that would remain undiagnosed until i collapsed in public in some dramatic fashion and got sent to dr. house.

dentist feels my jaw for 5 seconds and says “oh yeah that’s real fucked up lol. are you also having [all of the previously described symptoms]”

and the punchline to all this is i have to pay out of pocket to have it fixed because insurance doesn’t cover adult orthodontics ✨️

[tauforged]

so i either have a bunch of unrelated underlying conditions that all managed to manifest at pretty much the same time that are separately causing heart palpitations, increased joint pain, bouts of dizziness, constant headaches, significantly worsened tinnitus, chronic fatigue, brain fog, and shortness of breath, OR i definitely have had long covid the entire time and no amount of blood tests to check my iron levels and adjustments to my medications and referrals to specialists who eventually shrug and say they didn’t find anything out of the ordinary and send me elsewhere are going to help me get back to where i was a couple years ago . awesome .

[keplercryptids]

Hey, I sent an ask earlier asking about help with medications for migraines and I now see a bunch of your past resource posts. Thank you for taking the time to write and post about your experiences.

I was prescribed sumatriptan a few months ago, but haven't taken it often because it makes me feel dizzy, fatigued, lightheaded, and gives me brain fog. But I've been taking 50mg and never considered decreasing the dose! I plan to try 25mg now. I've been relying on ibuprofen, excedrin, and cannabis to treat pain which isn't great for my long term health. If you have any more suggestions, they are more than welcome and very appreciated

I guess I have 2 new questions, if you'll have em :)

1. So far I haven't found any of your posts that discuss preventative options. Do you have experience with these? What was your experience like?

2. Healthline says that one shouldn't cut or crush the tablet. Based on your posts, I assume your experience with doing this is fine, but I wanted to make sure before trying it.

Genuinely thank you for any help you may be able to give me. I downloaded the keeler method because of your recommendation.I appreciate it🐝

hi! some folks definitely get some gnarly side effects from sumatriptan. i was told by my physician that cutting the pill in half is fine, and i've been cutting the pills for 10 years without issue. but take that with a grain of salt, i'm obviously not a chemist lol. you may also want to ask your doctor about other triptans (rizatriptan, zolmitriptan, etc). it's possible that you'll react similarly to all triptans, but maybe there's an option that you'll tolerate better.

there are many options for migraine preventatives, which i have been exploring for 7 or 8 years now. keep in mind that my experience comes from living in the US with private health insurance. i can't speak to how you'd go about this in a different country or if you're uninsured, etc. also keep in mind that health insurance might not approve you for preventatives (especially the newer, better ones) unless you've been diagnosed with chronic migraine (meaning, 15 or more migraine days per month).

something i highly recommend to everyone suffering from regular headaches is to start taking magnesium. start at a lower dose (200mg daily), which you can increase to 400-600mg. magnesium is affordable, accessible and well-tolerated by most people, and is shown to be effective at preventing migraines. the main side effect is a laxative effect, so proceed cautiously if you have problems with that.

as far as prescriptions go, older migraine preventatives fall into three classes: antidepressants (usually amitryptaline), anticonvulsants (topiramate is a common one), and blood pressure medications. newer (and better, but more expensive) preventatives are: botox injections and CGRP inhibitors. in most cases, you'll need to jump through hoops to get these better preventatives. health insurance usually requires that you try and fail two of the three classes of old-school preventative before approving you for botox or CGRPs.

i've tried amitryptaline (did nothing; also, i don't tolerate antidepressants well) and three different anticonvulsants (topiramate, gabapentin and lamotrigine). i had horrible reactions to the anticonvulsants, with side effects like constant brain fog, tingling in my extremities, changes to how food tasted, increased headaches, and a full-body rash, to name a few. i don't say this to discourage anyone from trying these preventatives--in fact, many folks have great results with them. but they're medications used to stop seizures. they're heavy duty and the side effects should be weighed against their benefit.

botox (injected every three months by my neurologist) worked amazingly for about 6-8 months, and at its best i was only getting one or two migraines a week (which for me is great). but over the last six months, it stopped working as well and i was back to getting 10-15 migraine days per month. i would have liked to keep getting botox while pursuing other options, but insurance wants you to try monotherapies first. so i stopped botox and i'm in the process of getting approved to try aimovig (a CGRP inhibitor that you inject yourself once a month). there are other CGRPs that are in tablet form, like nurtec. CGRPs work remarkably well for lots of people, so i'm hopeful.

as a final note to this very long post lol, if you're able to get a referral to a neurologist or, better yet, a neurologist with a migraine/chronic pain specialty, i highly recommend doing so!

[brighteststar707]

OMG THE VALENTINES REQUEST! Maybe GE Saeran and how he loves hungrily? 👀

Thank you for the request, anon! I was hoping someone would ask for this pairing, so I was thrilled to receive this in my inbox!

Saeran loves hungrily

He spent most his life denying himself his most basic wants. He wasn’t living, just existing, pushing through the heavy haze in his head in order to prove that he was worthy of the little he received.

He was hungry. All the time. For the sky and the flowers, for sweet snacks, for the smallest bit of kindness. He wanted nothing more than to get rid of it, but It lived inside him like a gnawing reminder of everything he could never have.

It made him feel guilty. Wanting more than he had was always attributed to selfishness, thanklessness. He was lucky enough to be alive, he was told over and over again. To want more was greedy.

So, in order to prove that he was good, he tried his best to ignore the growing hunger inside him. He was determined to become strong enough to survive on as little as possible. It was easy to lose himself in the numbness of his daily life. With his near-constant headaches, exhaustion and the brain fog caused by the elixir, the hunger pangs were easy to dismiss. Another pain his body would have to adjust to.

Then, he meets you. His shining light, the gift that guided him through the fog. Once he realized there was a way out, he couldn’t stand to exist in the darkness any longer.

However, along with this newfound clarity, you also brought with you a dangerous new kind of hunger. One that he could not simply push away. He felt it in his throat, in his fingertips, in his chest. It was an all-encompassing need for you.

It scares him at first. He has trained himself to never give in to the things he craves. You encourage him to try things slowly, one little indulgence at a time, and he’s so relieved when you don’t call him greedy for wanting just a little more.

You show him a brand new life where he’s allowed to want things. He’s allowed to satiate the burning hunger inside him, be it for the sky or sleep or you (especially you).

And oh, he wants you.

He wants to hear you say his name. He likes to watch it form on your lips, feel the warmth that always seems to accompany it. He has spent a long time avoiding his name, feeling only fear when it was called. With you, every time he hears it, he feels loved.

He wants to hold your hand. There’s a certain safety in knowing that you’re connected this way. Even when you’re alone, even when you’re not going anywhere, he wants to feel the warmth of your hand in his. In quiet moments, he’ll intertwine his fingers with yours and run his thumb over the back of your hand. It never grows old for him.

He wants to feel your hands on him. Your fingers running through his hair, gently combing through any knots, putting it in little styles, working shampoo into the roots. Cupping his face when you want to look into his eyes, fingertips gently resting against his cheekbones. Trailing down the contours of his body, lingering just enough to make his breath catch in the back of his throat. It’s never enough.

He learns that he’s allowed to be selfish sometimes. He’s allowed to ask you for the things he wants, and you won’t hate him for even daring to want more than he has.

The intensity of his feelings for you doesn’t seem to fade the more time he spends with you. In fact, he seems to only crave you more the more he gets to know you. The first time he kissed you, for example, he didn’t know how it felt for you to smile against his lips, or how you’d run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Now, he feels goosebumps form just at the thought.

It seems like the more you give, the more he wants to have. Once, such hunger would have terrified him. Now, he embraces it. The gnawing ball of need has become a warmth that fills his chest, a hollowness that is easily filled. He wants to know every secret you hold, every thought on your mind.

The greatest surprise to him, though, is being shown that same desire in return. You seem to hunger for him in the same way he does for you. You smile at the sound of his voice, your skin burns under his touch, you kiss him with a passion that leaves him breathless. You welcome each discovery and change in his life as he grows into the person he wants to be.

It is the return of your feelings that truly cements the idea in his mind that this hunger is something he wouldn’t want to live without. It’s proof that he’s alive and free at last.