#implied chronic pain

[zukkaoru]

thinking about. aya going back to school after everything that happened at the airport and realizing it's changed her immeasurably and there's not a single other person at her school who can really understand. thinking about aya returning after two weeks of absence with crutches that she's basically going to have to use forever. thinking about her not being able to hang out with her friends like she used to. thinking about her feeling so far separated from everyone else because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. everything that went down happened in the course of a few hours max, but it altered the entire course of her life and none of her friends can understand that because they weren't there. aya jumped from a tower, expecting to die. the doctors said her leg will never properly heal. she found bram and lost him and found him again and she reunited with kunikida and then she had to go home to a dad who hit her for taking so long inside the airport even though the world nearly ended and she's just supposed to carry on like this forever? this is just her life now? she's supposed to go back to school and move on? how can she possibly do that? but what other option does she have?

[mrs-snape5984]

“How can I take the pain away? How can I save a fallen angel, in the dark?”

“Fallen angel, just let go. You don't have to be alone. Fallen angel, close your eyes. I won't let you fall tonight.” (“Fallen Angel” by Three Days Grace)

I guess, I have to put another trigger warning on the next three paragraphs of this post. I never mention it explicitly, but my words might imply my suicidal ideation. If you might get triggered by this topic, please feel free to skip the aforementioned parts of my text.

As I already explained in my last few posts, I’ve commissioned some of my beloved artists of Snapedom for a special project of mine. I’ve asked them to draw different stages of my afterlife journey for me. In my imagination, I will finally be able to go home with Severus, when I shuffle off this mortal coil (oh, how very Shakespearean of me 🙄) and leave my unbearable torments and pain behind.

The varying phases of my everlasting life will be shown in multiple artworks of Severus and my undeniably self-inserted OC Jules. I’m clinging to Severus as my comfort character for more than 21 years already. He’s been there for me whenever the burdens of my existence became too overpowering for me. For this reason, it seems only natural to me to expect him waiting for me…and we will finally be allowed to live the life, we deserved to have.

Since I’ve already spoken to both of my closest friends about my wishes for the time after my demise - for which I’m still feeling immensely guilty and remorseful about - I just started to put my requests into writing in an official statement by formulating my “living will” and my “last will”, which I’ve also informed my mother about. And damn, I know, that I have to apologise to my friends for all those dark jokes, which I’m making about this topic (yes, I’m very aware of the fact, that there won’t be a coffin, which could be big enough to bury me with all the items and framed artworks of my personal Snape-Museum 😅), but I need to cope with my sorrows by the usage of my dry wit.

For this component of my personal project, I’ve commissioned my precious friend @opalchalice again. Her mesmerising piece of art shows Jules as a fallen angel in distress, desperately searching for guidance out of her misery. Severus is already awaiting her with open arms, ready to guide her into the pure bliss of her afterlife. This might sound strangely pathetic to some people, but nothing else can soothe my troubled heart as much as these daydreams.

Lia, I know, that you’re very proud of this beautiful drawing and believe me, I’ve never seen anything better from you, yet. I’m immensely impressed by your talent and dedication to the improvement of your skills. It’s always fascinating to me, to go through your former illustrations, recognising the progress, you’re making with every new artwork. Your creativity and your kindness are the reason, why I’ll support you as long as I’ll be capable of going online. Thank you for everything, my lovely friend!

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

[cane-goth]

“Get well soon!”

[n0-al-3n8y]

only thing I want is this loop to stop, the only thing

[softmeetscreatureplz]

ALRIGHT. HERES ANLITTLE EXCERPT FROM A ONESHOT I NEVER FINISHED!!!!

FOR @bsd-disability-week-2024 DISABILITY BSD WEEK (DAY 1: PHYSICAL DISABILITY) - Chuuya Nakahara with Chronic Pain!!!!

(Edit; Yes I just remembered Chronic illness is technically also a day. I will either post another thing or swap them for what I post shhh)

------

Chuuya had first started dealing with- this, a long time ago. Before he'd met Dazai, before he'd even escaped the lab.

The aching, shooting jolts of pain, that spread from his fingertips up his arms, and ate away at his lowered back. When he'd been younger, it'd terrified him. The amount of pain- striking at random seeming, going from dull, easily ignorable things to something that left him in tears and unable to move properly.

He'd ended up filled with experimental drugs from the scientists- handlers there- and for the most part it disappeared.

Then Chuuya had gotten out- living on the streets alone before being found by sheep. For the most part, the pain became dull. Something tiring, that stung every once in awhile, but manageable. He ignored it, keeping his hands hidden and warm in his pockets and protecting his back well in fights. The careful control kept the pain at bay somehow, and helped keep himself in control of Arahabaki.

Until he was fifteen. He met an asshole of a guy- Dazai Osamu. And, he fucking sucked. He was rude, lazy, worked for the PM, annoyed Chuuya, insulted his height, and didn't know how to shut up.

Chuuya hated him. With an absolute, burning passion.

Any sort of fondness there he blamed on his exceedingly poor taste in men. Nothing serious. Nope.

But, then they were working together; and Chuuya took his hands out of his pockets, and they worked together to beat Rimbaud. Dazais hands were warm- and his grip added pressure and Chuuya tried very very hard not to let on how relieved he was that he wasn't worse.

Joining the Port Mafia was- weird.

Weird and different as strange. He got gloves, which meant he didn't have a real reason to keep his hands in his pockets.

He did it anyway.

His hands ached dully, and trying to do both his and Dazais paperwork almost made him want to say fuck it and spree, his back and hands flaring up. He pushed through it, using the fact that Dazai and the others knew he hadn't received a real education to let himself be a bit more messy.

He still didn't tell anyone. He was fairly sure Ane-san had caught onto the fact that something was up, the way he sometimes shied away from picking up his tea and hid his hands more than usual when they met up. She didn't press.

Chuuya still didn't know what was happening other than this, but the more he tried to hide it the more sure he was that no one else here felt the same. He refused to be weak and let it get to him.

Storm bringer- happened. He got electrocuted, and beaten in a fight, and used Corruption. His friends died. He wasn't human.

When they got home, Chuuya hid himself away in his apartment. His arms felt like they were on fire, still being electrocuted. His back screamed at him, aching and stabbing, and he was exhausted. He didn't know how to do this. The redhead lay in bed for ages, pained and mourning. It felt like he had aged years in that time.

The silent tears on his pillows were left unnoticed, and forgotten.

No one tried to disturb him. His phone was left abandoned, the buttons too much to handle.

Eventually, his pain eased. Worse than the dull ache it had been, but manageable. He'd been gone too long anyways. He forced himself up. Chuuya was starting to hate this, just a little bit.

If he had to be not human, why did he have to get a body that hurt too?

[wishingintotheunknown]

I’ve never felt more alone and more useless than I do right now. I don’t know how to be better. I don’t know how to convince anyone that I’m worth knowing or loving. I try so hard to not complain about my pain and I’m so desperate to just feel like I’m more than disappointment and wasted potential. I know that disability doesn’t have to be the end, and I know people can move past trauma and learn to accept or even love themselves. I know people recover from Ed’s, even when they’ve been living this way for decades. I keep watching other people recover and find success and discover passion and go on with it all but I’m still here. I’m stuck. I’m trapped. I keep thinking I’ve found a way out but really it’s just another cage, or just another trap. Another path that leads me right back to the beginning. I don’t understand what I ever did to deserve to be stuck here no matter what I try to do. I’m so tired of pretending I’m okay with watching everyone else from the outside. I’m just so damn tired of being left behind without any explanation of why.

[cheesy-cheddar-sadness]

what are you supposed to do when everyone around you is suicidal including yourself,

because this feels like a bad line of dominos to knock down,,

[chronicallyuniconic]

If I were dead, that would really show them

How much pain constantly runs through my body

How heavy the fatigue sits inside my bones

How often I'm silent about the above

How i physically might look fine, but inside I'm crying, screaming, trapped underwater

How frequent I'm at the mercy of medical professionals that couldnt care about pain or fatigue

How i cannot push through pain and fatigue, it is always there and it will not stop

How scrambled my brain is from dealing with this, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week

How pain free I would be, if I weren't here

How I'd never experience this weight of fatigue, if I weren't here

How happy id feel if I weren't here

How free I'd finally be, free from me

[thecouncilofidiots]

It reaallyyy fucking sucks that the depressive episodes wait to hit until we're no longer having bad pain days

Like, on a bad pain day? Can't do shit because we hurt, but we're just chilling mentally/emotionally

But when the flare up ends/the pain goes back to "normal" levels, THAT'S when the depression gotta get worse?

Now that we're physically able to do things, I gotta be mentally/emotionally fucked up enough to not be able to do things anyways??

Can't we have one fucking day where we're in minimal pain, are emotionally/mentally stable, and don't run into a trigger that cuts that day short???

Potentially triggering vent art below cut (isolation/abandonment, guilt/accusations), talk of disordered eating+self-harm

We haven't eaten today

Alesc made us a shit-ton of food yesterday, knew I wouldn't be too motivated to cook on my own

And all I gotta do is warm it up

Which would be blessing on a bad pain day, when it's only immobility keeping us from food; easy-to-"make" yet still filling

But that's not the case right now

I don't WANT to eat right now, I can't fathom it at all at the moment

I just want to hurt

Because if I hurt it makes sense

Punishment? I don't know

But I feel GUILTY

'm supposed to tell my partners when I'm feeling this way, but haven't yet

Because I know they'll care about me, see what they can do to get me to eat without breaking boundaries

It's only 5:30 pm... we'll see, I guess

[ofthatcolossalwrxck]

Entry date: 24th of September

Well , ain't this funny . The last entry I wrote was on 6th (or maybe 7th ?) of this month , and Uh . I'm not good at telling time apart , how could I when the dates just feel so . Blurry ? But well , I digress — I hadn't taken my anti psychotics for so long , and I hadn't realized until the nausea had me passed out at work . . Thankfully , no co - worker of mine saw me . They all walked by , thinking that I was just asleep on my desk , and although the thought that people can just pass by when I'm like That . . Kinda stings . It's Whatever , it's fine . I should have learned my lesson a long time ago that people are not keen as they seem ; because if they had , I think they would have noticed a long time ago my cries for Help . My desperation . My

Ah , No . No . no . Now , that's selfish . I am not entitled to that kind of attention and I don't deserve that kind of attention , I feel . And I shouldn't try to rely on people for that either , I shouldn't rely on people too hard because they're not as trustworthy as they say they are , and Well , I don't want to hurt more than I have alreadybhurt . Anyways , anti - psychotics Right . God bless my therapist for beingbso patient with me ; I have no idea as to why she hasn't given up on me yet , especially since I missed so many sessions and I haven't taken much of my medication lately either so I have so much to make up for . Hm

On my first night after a long time of taking anti - pscyhotics . The side effects feel just as heavier than it did before though , now I feel like there's a literal something weighing down my eye lids , because with each second I breath in , I find myself dozing off . The nausea hasn't gotten away completely either – so I'm not sure why I'm feeling that way either . Actually thinking about it , I always feel that a Lot ever since I came back into existence . Comes in waves but it's usually bearable So i dont know Why Everythtigg's aching , I don't know why it hurts to moce a lot i mena it usually is but It feels more Painful it hurts the throbbing I can feel it Down mg Legs

the air fele sHumid i think i think I thrink I think I deserve abit of rest maybe Lay down for a Little while on my bed perjaps . . Something scarss me though , my therpaist wants to administ e r anti depressants as soon A sI get used to anti pscyhotics but Honestly ?? Id dont know if I want to take more medicine if this is how I feel rigtht now i hope aftee a bit of rest I will be ready for the job interview in Thee days god i need that job now that theres one person a d a pet sheep in my house Now

ghostbur . Ghostbru right . I havent nmmentioned Ghostbur , haven't I ? he's moved in with me now afte rmy invitation , and thinkjng anout it , I should definitely work on that extra room too so we won't have to share the Same bed and he can have his Own little space . Its the lwadt I can do since he nrought me the closure I needed – I i nee d I N eed to be better , i have to because everyone's pain would be for nothing if I didn't I i yeah . just a Few moments of rest first .. before I think about that ......

[lookatmenowx]

I don’t want to live like this for the rest of my life, please tell me I’ll get better PLEASE

Or I’ll simply won’t have a life to live, because crawling and leaning on the wall in pain while trying to walk is not living

Depending on having a “good day” to be able to clean the house without feeling to much pain is not living

Not being able to go out like a normal person because you’re scared you won’t be able to walk to much without feeling pain IS NOT LIVING

FEEL YOU DEPEND ON YOUR PARENTS BECAUSE OF IT AND THEY USING IT AGAINST YOU (cause they did “everything to you” and now you’re being ungrateful) WHEN YOU DON’T AGREE ON WHAT THEY WANT FROM YOU IS NOT LIVING

I’VE ALREADY LOST 6 YEARS OF MY LIFE LIKE THIS

6 YEARS IN PAIN AND FEAR

6 FUCKING YEARS WITHOUT BEING ABLE TO LIVE LIKE A NORMAL PERSON

6 years without a diagnosis, without a affective treatment

It’s been so long since i had hope for me to get better

And being told “I’ve done everything i could” because there’s no other doctor to go is even better, right?

I still have a neurological option but I’m poor, my mom, my parents, have already spent so much money on this, I can’t ask for more anymore

I don’t even want to go to the psychiatrist cause I’ll probably starting taking meds and that costs money

I left my old job because of this shit, I was physically and mentally horrible

I really should’ve just k1lled myself when i was 15, would have spared me all of this

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you baby, I’m sorry I couldn’t save myself

[n0-al-3n8y]

vent about psychiatric hospital and loneliness, sui ideation mentioned

ive been in psychiatric hospital for 2 months

and since the beginning I hear everyone (the staff or others ppl) say "*at least you're well surrounded/ not alone*" but it's the opposite, being here is so lonely and I'm someone that has been alone since forever and appreciate it.

without my dog, surrounded by strangers I am truly alone, the loneliness is insufferable. i just want to leave this world and rest finally

[rigormortisangel]

i feel like my anorexia isnt even about being skinny anymore. im naturally underweight due to medical conditions that make it hard for me to put on weight even if i do eat enough. i mainly do it just to make it seem like its on purpose. my body isnt failing me, i want to be thinner, i need to be frail for the aesthetic or whatever its not out of my control i want this. right? right?

[crush-echoes]

21/5/23 - 82 days before What Should've Been, 64 days until the Final Incident

There’s a cold that seems to chill me no matter how many layers i wear

It’s similar to the fear no matter how many layers there are to my lies

I don't think in words or shapes or pictures, there's just black and white, a darkness i can’t escape 

It’s so lonely here

I don't want to talk to them they annoy me

My skin can almost peel away from my bones and i swear i don't have muscle and my bones are rotting inside me

There's nothing around my fingernails and it burns

Everything does

I'm just writing i don't think i can do anything else

I can only create with this pain, horrid disgusting things that make me feel sick

It's better than the alternative, destroying but feeling accomplished and joyful

I think I would feel that

I can't give into that though, no matter what

I don't know why, i just can’t

There are a lot of things i don't know, and i don't think i want to know them

I just want peace, but part of me doesn’t know that word and it’s stopping me

[asyouwlsh]

I don’t want to go to work tomorrow 😭 past being a boywife at this point, can I just be someone’s cherished pet in a comfy cage

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 8: Sensory Deprivation

(Disclaimer: neither of the characters in this story belong to me. Both Phantom and Bones are the property of Nathan Sharp/Give Heart Productions.)

(Trigger Warnings: implications of illegal business, implied chronic pain, mentions of death/dying, descriptions of water/floating, skin-flaying, exposed bones, blood, similarities to an out-of-body experience, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13

Out of habit, Bones cracked his knuckles as he wandered down the hall. 

He had no idea why he’d developed aforementioned habit; it wasn’t exactly uncommon for his joints to crack with enough volume that you’d expect them to start glowing in the dark. Then again, he’d had more than enough time to learn how to tune out those noises. Even when he found himself in areas that managed to be eerily quiet.

Like this one, for instance. 

A decent amount of time had passed since coworkers and customers alike had vacated the club. All the lights had been turned off. Now, had Bones still been fully alive, that would’ve caused problems (mainly him getting an excuse to fuck up someone else’s night due to tripping over the decor a few too many times). However, Bones was not fully alive. Death was strange—yes, it took a lot of things away, but for whatever reason, it also ended up having a few things to give. 

Not like that made it any better, mind you. 

Having supernaturally heightened senses didn’t make up for having fragmented memories, for having to operate under a nasty mixture of exhaustion and restlessness, for having to know that you’re part of the proof that something is fundamentally wrong with the world—

“Boooones,” a familiar voice called from elsewhere in the building. “While I always appreciate lurking for dramatic effect, I don’t have all night.” 

“. . .Yeah, because you’ve never taken your sweet damn time on things,” Bones snapped back, knowing that his terse tone wouldn’t hide how he’d flinched. 

“Touch’e, but that’s only when I know I can get away with it,” Phantom replied, sounding much closer than he actually was. “C’mon, you’re gonna want to see this.” 

Bones rolled his eyes, but still turned on his heel and started traipsing in the direction of the sound. “Sure I am.”

  Despite there still being a few good employers out there, any relationship between worker and boss would always be just a tad strange. Especially if the boss in question was an outer monstrosity in disguise.

While Bones didn’t exactly fear Phantom—as a revenant, Bones was typically one to be feared—he still knew better than to just let his guard down around him. He wasn’t about to try calling himself a saint, but seeing some of the things Phantom had done to “take care of business” made him a bit relieved that he couldn’t sleep anymore. Other times, Phantom’s eccentricities just got on his nerves.

Bones knew things could’ve been much, much worse. Yeah, it was a complete and total bitch to have hollow pain thriving inside him like a colony of parasites, but part of him still understood that he was making the best of his circumstances. 

Eventually, Bones found himself behind the bar counter, facing the huge cabinet that had been built into the entire fourth wall of this room. He paused, having to dig through the duffel bag of stuff he’d been instructed to bring tonight. It only took a few muttered profanities to convince said bag to let him fish out a silver key: its bow was adorned by a picture of a flower with an eyeball in the center of its petals.

Bones ran his fingers along the bottom of the center shelf, quickly finding a well-hidden hole that the key’s biting cuts fit perfectly into. A loud CLACK rang through the empty room as he turned the key to one side, prompting the cabinet to perform an amateur recreation of The Red Sea. The organized collection of bottles rattled on their shelves, but not a single one went shattering to the floor. 

Bones hovered in the familiar, freshly-revealed hollow doorway. It wasn’t imposing to him; he’d done this at least a hundred times by now. This hidden staircase was just so fucking steep. He knew for an absolute certainty that it would be impossible to run up or down it without tripping on one step and bashing your head against another. 

Dull pain flared around his ankles and raced up to his kneecaps. Bones ground his jaw, putting a deathgrip on the railway as he began descending. The halves of the cabinet reconnected behind him, but that didn’t leave him in total darkness. Colorful light flickered at the bottom of the stairs, casting shadows that danced similarly to those of a fire. They seemed to be trying to reach up along the steps. . .

Though he didn’t stop walking, Bones felt his hackles raise. They didn’t lower when he realized that soft music was slithering into the air. 

The club’s basement was in a state of functional chaos. Chests and crates that came in a plethora of sizes almost outlined the room, stacked on top of one another and pushed up against the walls. It always felt like there was a different amount each time Bones had to venture down here. (It also wasn’t one of Bones’ responsibilities to keep track of them all. He’d already learned the hard way that you couldn’t just open them.) 

He immediately discovered Phantom in the center of the room, his trademark claw-handled cane softly thudding against the floor as he paced around. . .something.

The unfamiliar object seemed to be eight feet long and four feet wide. It was coated in a silver finish, shaped similarly to a snake’s egg. The top half of it hung in the air, supported by simple hinges on either side. It glowed from the inside with that same color-shifting light. It was the source of the music, too. Bones’ instincts told him that those gentle notes were being produced by whatever was in there. Like a monster’s voice echoing from the bottom of a well. 

“What the hell is that supposed to be?” Bones called, feeling his brow furrow as he loomed by the foot of the stairs. 

Phantom came to a halt on one side of the glowing object, turning his head to offer a cryptic smile. “I sent a message about having something in store for you earlier this week, didn’t I?”

“The novel-text you sent me was just rambling about how I needed to keep your clients in line because you’d be busy rearranging the reality in this part of the building,” Bones replied pointedly. 

Phantom clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “This is a sensory deprivation tank. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about them by now.”

“I have,” Bones argued, “but unless you’ve cooked up some weird plan to turn this place into a spa, I’m not sure why we suddenly need one.”

Phantom beckoned Bones to come closer. “I mean, what we calculated as your deathday is coming up.” His grin slightly widened to showcase how his teeth were slowly but surely becoming sharper. “And I’d be a real jackass if I didn’t get you a present, right?”

Bones scoffed as he wandered over, hoping his aggravation would mask his reluctance. He made sure to keep some distance from Phantom, standing by the opposite side of the tank. “Not like that would stop you from being a jackass every other day.”

“Meh, fair point,” Phantom confessed. “But don’t worry, I won’t say I told you so after you see how great this thing is.” He reached up to pat the tank’s lid as though it was the hood of some snazzy car. This helped Bones finally realize that the tank’s exterior wasn’t smooth. Rather, it was covered in symbols that looked like animalistic mouths and eyes. He couldn’t tell whether they’d been carved into or sculpted onto the original material.

Before he could stop himself, Bones peered at the tank’s interior.

His stomach immediately sank. 

The color wasn’t beaming from a light further inside. No, the tank’s liquid itself glimmered. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve assumed that a bunch of bathbombs had just dissolved in there (and that the combination of all their colors miraculously wasn’t reduced to some ugly shade of brown). 

The liquid also looked fresh,  clean. And while that wouldn’t be something to complain about. . .it meant that Bones could see the bottom of the tank. The longer he stared, the more the tank just seemed to keep going down, down, down into a gaping black pit. Even with how far away it appeared, it still looked so much larger than the tank itself. 

“Pretty sure these things are only supposed to hold ten inches of water,” he muttered, unable to take his eyes away from the hole. 

“First of all, the stuff in there isn’t water,” Phantom casually mentioned. “Second of all, that capacity is only the standard for the tanks that humans use.”

Bones’ neck gave a sickening cRiIiCk as he turned his head to stare at Phantom. “. . .If that stuff isn’t water, then what the fuck is it?”

Phantom shrugged. “Not important.”

“I’m inCLINED TO DISAGREE.” 

“There’s no hydrochloric acid in the elixir,” Phantom tried. At the way Bones snarled, he continued, “And even if there was, you know it wouldn’t kill you.” 

“That doesn’t mean it couldn’t hurt me in a way that might make my limbo even worse!”

“I never said anything about hurting.” Phantom sighed. “Look, as much as I’d love to infodump, I literally can’t tell you how I managed to whip it up. It’s just one of those types of knowledge that only certain species can process.”

“Oh, so you think calling me an idiot in a roundabout way is just gonna reassure me?!”

“Hey.” Phantom growled, a newly-forked tongue flicking out of his mouth. His voice seemed to grow, as the air now shook when he spoke. “It’s not my fault that so much shit doesn’t make sense. I didn’t write the rules for these kinds of things. I could’ve used the past few days and nights to get plenty of other shit done, but instead, I focused on building this because I wanted to try and help you out.” He took a single step forward, thin columns of smoke beginning to drift out of his eyes. “So don’t put any fucking words in my mouth, alright?”

Bones’ mouth opened and closed with nothing coming out. While the eye-vapor didn’t actually float near him, the smell still had quite a bite to it. Not to mention how it made his throat feel like sandpaper. He subconsciously straightened his back, though he was still stubborn enough to keep grimacing. He dipped his head for just a second or two to get the point across: Fine, I get it, you can stop emitting surreal dread now. 

Phantom responded with a short, low hum. The smoke stopped pouring as he blinked. “Anyway,” he pronounced. “There’s a reason sensory deprivation therapy is such a hot topic. Several reasons, in fact: at first, it was thought to just help with psychological problems. Now, it’s been proven to have plenty of physical benefits, too.” 

“Thanks for the reminder that I have a lot of problems in general,” Bones snorted. “But like you just said: that stuff applies to tanks made for humans. So what does that mean for this tank?”

“It means,” Phantom replied, exasperation seeping into his mischievous calm, “that this tank will work even better than the ones made for humans. Because I’ve designed it to give its user an experience that human bodies can’t handle.”

“It’s kinda impossible to list all the things humans can’t handle.” Bones glanced back down into the tank. The dark cavity at the bottom seemed to be stirring the liquid all around it. The odd, subtle movement almost resembled breathing. 

And yet. . .a voice in his rotten mind started begging him to touch the elixir, to dive into the tank headfirst. Another voice popped up, snidely quoting, This is my hole! It was made for me! (It made more sense than the vibes the tank was giving off, since manga was one of the few things that actually didn’t frustrate Bones these days.)

“What makes this experience so special?” Bones inquired before any vague euphemisms could barge their way into the strange compulsion.

“That’s something you’ll have to find out yourself,” Phantom answered. “I’ve already given it a test run, but I’m pretty sure it can’t have the exact same effect on whoever else uses it.” 

“Wow. That’s not concerning at all. This sounds so damn promising,” Bones deadpanned. 

“Oh, c’mon! It’s functioning safely!” Phantom contended, slightly throwing up his arms. “Think, Bones: you’re my right-hand. Why would I want to hurt one of the most capable people on my payroll?” 

“Why are you obsessed with harvesting the souls of your contractors?” Bones retorted. “You pretty much never have a reason to do something, but that doesn’t exactly stop you.” 

“You’re just complimenting my work ethic, y’know,” Phantom smirked. 

Bones huffed an agitated sigh, feeling the bags under his eyes actively grow wider and darker. A splintery sensation stabbed into his brain (a tiny part of his skull had probably tried to cave in).  

Phantom tilted his head, taking a few steps closer. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Don’t you remember the voodoo dolls we started selling last year?”

“How could I forget?” Bones murmured, holding back a shudder at the images of Phantom’s body contorting in time with that first test doll. 

“Well, those have proven to be pretty good painkillers for you, right?”

“. . .Right,” Bones relented. 

Phantom nodded. “That’s what this tank is meant to be. Another type of painkiller for you.” By now, his demeanor had returned to its usual levels of smug and shit-eating. But Bones was quick to spot something else in Phantom’s eyes. He didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t seem malevolent. “I’ve adjusted the tank’s settings; your session will only be fifteen minutes long. Plenty of time for you to see how you like it without feeling trapped. Just try it out, okay?”

Bones felt his lip start to bleed before he’d even began chewing it. He paced around the tank, inspecting every part of it that was in eyeshot. There was no lock on the top half, no hidden compartments anywhere. The only parts of it that didn’t look normal were its depth and that chasm. . .

Then again, Phantom was a chaos deity. Bones was the living dead. Normal wasn’t really an option for anything that involved either of them.

“Fine,” Bones eventually proclaimed. “But if this does end up doing something I don’t like—”

“There’s only so much you can do to me, and even that won’t stick,”  Phantom interjected, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

As he spun his cane in his hands, his skin started burning from the inside. . .Well, it quickly ended up burning on the outside, too, since flames erupted from his eyes and mouth. The fire enveloped Phantom, then spent the next few seconds coiling around in the air. At least twenty eyes stared at Bones. Bones stared right back, folding his arms across his chest. Leave it to Phantom to go apeshit with dramatic exits. 

The monstrous display surged up through the ceiling, leaving an assortment of blisters to spread along the paint. Even after it completely vanished, that still didn’t stop Phantom from calling, “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”  

And with that, Bones was suddenly alone in the club’s basement. His ears rang as he paced a few more laps around the tank, still searching for any threats. Or, his ears tried to ring, at least. That soft music crawled through the tank’s liquid and up into the air. He still had no idea what could be producing it, but he couldn’t deny how...grounding it felt. 

Having cameras down here would’ve just been a complete idiot-move on Phantom’s part. Still, Bones retreated to the darkest corner of the basement, dragging his duffel bag along. A couple minutes passed before he trudged back over, letting the tank’s glow stretch over him and the bleach-dye trunks he was now wearing. 

Bones stood before the tank, pursing his lips, giving it one more tense stare. When the tank failed to reveal itself to be a mimic or spontaneously combust, he carefully lowered himself to sit on the lower rim. He instinctively grit his teeth, bracing himself as his feet dropped into the elixir with a soft splash. 

He didn’t touch the bottom of the tank, obviously. The elixir seemed to softly churn around his legs. It felt. . .just like water. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t hot, either. Bones gave a few experimental kicks. Ripples were sent shivering throughout the tank, but that was pretty much it. It didn’t start boiling. No swarms of piranhas manifested. 

After a few more seconds, Bones finally barked a resounding, “Fuck it.” He reached up to grab hold of the tank’s top half, pulling it closed over him as he pushed himself off the rim. 

Due to no longer needing air in his lungs, Bones didn’t automatically float like a human would. Despite all the things he’d forgotten about his former life, the basic necessity of swimming clung to his mind like a stubborn leech. He stared down at the chasm so far beneath him. The chasm stared right back, not really contributing unless you counted whatever creature could potentially be lurking in its darkness.

The music got a bit louder, now that it was more contained, but it somehow didn’t bounce along the tank’s ceiling. 

Curiosity wormed its way into Bones’ paranoia. He swam a few laps around the tank’s perimeter, still testing, still waiting. The thought of circling like a shark made him feel a bit more secure, a bit more in control. 

Even so, he eventually got bored of it. 

If he wanted to see what this tank could actually do for him, then he’d have to stay relatively still.

So, Bones paddled into the center of the elixir. 

He maneuvered himself onto his back, letting his arms unfurl and reach toward nothing. 

He let his head roll back. And as he felt the elixir filter into his hair and creep around the corners of his face. . .he realized how the music felt solid. Tangible. 

As though it and the elixir’s ever-changing color were part of a living mass. 

Bones swallowed a lump in his throat. He’d sink if he stayed like this, but he wouldn’t drown. He could always just swim back up to the surface. 

His dry, sore eyes drifted shut as the elixir washed over his skin. He just barely felt the cool air disappear. 

But his vision didn’t turn black. He could still see the colors of the elixir.

As a matter of fact, he saw a blurry shape somewhere in the tank. 

Bones immediately wanted to panic, to start thrashing his way up to the surface. He wanted to, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. All he could do was listen to the music and watch the shape as it got closer and clearer. . .

Bones’ mind didn’t turn blank when he realized that the shape was himself, that he was somehow looking down on his own body as it kept capsizing. At first, his anger and fear threatened to make his head explode (mainly to spite Phantom, since having to clean bits of brain and skull out of the tank would not be very fun). It felt like at least an hour had passed before confusion finally attempted to take center-stage. Though he saw his eyes refuse to open, he also saw himself grind his jaw, saw himself carefully wave his arms. 

Bones was still in control. He was just. . .having to watch. 

He expected his spine to take the drifting as an excuse to contort. He expected his lungs to shake with a chorus of awful snaps and pops. He expected his abdomen to start bloating like that of an actual drowning victim. 

Nothing like that happened.

The music wasn’t letting any of those things happen. 

The music didn’t give him a chance to start questioning what this meant.

The 

Music 

Was

The

Only

Thing

He

Could

Feel 

There was no pain or panic as the music actively crept into Bones’ head. It was lapping at his skull, oozing down his spine, spreading along his ribcage. 

The numbness was, miraculously enough, a good kind of numbness. 

Bones wanted to swim, to move along in time with the music’s notes. But the music told him that he needed to stay still right now, that things would be easier if he did. So, he obeyed.

The elixir must have wanted to obey the music, too. Because, right as Bones’ body got within five feet of the chasm. . .he stopped sinking. 

The thought of opening his eyes barely even occurred to him. He could still see himself. And even if he couldn’t, he was still listening to the music. As long as the music kept playing, nothing bad would happen. He was sure of that. 

The elixir began to churn, but Bones remained perfectly still. 

Thin lacerations began opening up on his skin. They started at his fingers, then proceeded to grow longer and longer. They stretched over his hands, up his arms, around his neck, over his face and chest. (This wasn’t really anything new, but for the very first time, there was no stinging sensation for Bones to wince or hiss at.)

The spreading cuts grew deeper and deeper, prompting Bones’ blood to begin seeping out and leaving misty trails in the elixir. It almost looked black against all the colors. It didn’t drift up to the surface. Instead, the blood glided around Bones like a school of tiny fish. 

Once the gashes managed to carve themselves over every square-inch of his body, now resembling a network of tree roots, Bones’ skin began to twitch. Almost like a hangnail, a corner of skin lifted away from the tip of Bones’ index finger. That particular strand became longer and wider as it continued peeling itself off in a spiral. This set off a chain reaction: more and more sections of flesh shivered as they detached. Blood was now spilling out in clouds that nearly hid the entire scene. 

But Bones could still see everything. 

Threads of skin started slithering off of his face. Even as his eyes were forced open due to their lids peeling away, his perspective didn’t change. 

The music was still keeping him company, so he didn’t start thrashing or screaming.

It took a little over five minutes for his skeleton and organs to be rendered bare. His blood continued circling around him in a lazy whirlpool, but his skin apparently had other ideas. One by one, the fleshy strands moved downward, wavering like eels as they vanished into the darkness of the chasm. 

Bones almost felt like he was asleep. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually slept.

Had his heart just twitched? Were his intestines shuffling? 

He couldn’t be sure, because as he kept staring, the gore slowly grew blurrier, fading in and out of eyeshot. . .

Far too quickly, the music came to a halt. The new silence only lasted for a second or two. Then, a low, buzzing alarm droned into Bones’ ears.  

A loud gasp tore its way from Bones’ throat as he sat up, kicking his legs and thrashing his arms. He blinked, watching as the tank’s lid drifted open above him with a soft, electronic hummmm.

Air collided against his skin, feeling cool considering how he was soaked in the elixir. 

Bones froze, immediately reaching up to touch his face and neck, craning his neck to look at his torso. All of his skin had returned to its rightful place. One top of that. . .he couldn’t see any bruises or scabs or leaking cuts. 

The pleasant numbness was gone. He scowled; a headache was just starting to blossom beneath the bridge of his nose. 

But it wasn’t on-par with a migraine. 

In fact, it was nearly overshadowed by how. . .clean Bones was now realizing he felt. 

He didn’t feel healthy (he was dead, after all), but the feeling of a hot shower and a deep-tissue massage combined. . .it was enveloping him.

Inside and out. 

Bones’ expression shifted so quickly he almost got whiplash. 

He stayed floating for another moment.

Then, he clambered onto the tank’s rim, heading for the basement stairs, not caring one bit how he was dripping and leaving wet footprints everywhere. 

He needed Phantom to show him how to adjust the tank’s settings. 

He needed to spend some more time in there. He needed to have another session—he needed to have at least one hour-long session per day. . .

@that-bat @sammys-magical-au @ineedallofthehugs @th3w00ds @captainrose35 @nwtbobsessedemo