#maladie invisible

[compulsion-dexpression]

Modérations groupes Facebook numéro 15

Une pensée pour ceux et celles qui…N’ont pas un super réseau de soutien, d’aide,Qui sont épuisés d’être malade, Ont vécu du gaslighting médical,Qui sont obligés d’être fonctionnels meme si ils sont malades,Doivent toujours expliquer c’est quoi leur maladie et les symptômes,Ont eu une semaine difficile et ont besoin de soutien. Confessions d’un jeune adulte vivant avec une maladie chronique: -Je…

[harriet-de-g]

Toujours mal quelque part

Avoir mal, quand ça dure depuis longtemps, c’est jamais juste avoir mal : c’est devoir adapter son quotidien, gérer l’incompréhension des proches, et faire plein de petits deuils, tout en gardant des espaces de joie. La douleur chronique est un truc qui touche énormément de gens. Pourtant, en dehors des recommandations médicales habituelles, peu de ressources s’attardent sur la gestion du quotidien. Comment on fait quand on n’a pas une thune ? Comment on en parle autour de soi, comment on adapte son existence à une donnée aussi imprévisible ?

Ce zine est un début de piste, qui s’adresse autant aux personnes qui vivent avec des douleurs chroniques, ainsi qu’à celle qui les entoure. Il te dira pas d’aller voir un médecin ou de faire du yoga, tu fais bien comme tu veux. Il existe juste pour te dire qu’il est possible de se rendre la vie plus facile et moins solitaire, même quand on a mal.

Il a aussi été pensé comme un outil pratique qu'on a envie de garder pas loin, avec des espaces de prises de notes et des illustrations pour accompagner sa lecture 🌱.

"Toujours mal quelque part" est disponible en pré-commande à prix libre. Il suffit de m'envoyer un message privé en précisant ce qu’on veut payer, son mail & selon le mode d'envoi : une adresse. Ce soutient financier servira en premier lieu à imprimer et diffuser ce zine. Plus largement, il contribue à l’existence de mon travail et j’en suis très reconnaissant·e. Comme d’hab, une version en ligne est est disponible en fin d'article.

À titre indicatif ✉️ Pour la poste française, le coût d'envoi est à partir de 2,90€ selon le volume, (1€ pour le reste de l'Europe).

Le zine fait une quarantaine de pages, imprimé sur papier bouffant, intégralement en couleur.

Toutes les références à la fin et bien plus sont répertoriées dans ce post.

Lien de téléchargement :

En page par page.

En cahier à imprimer et relier.

J’espère que vous aurez autant de plaisir à le lire que moi à le créer, à très vite!

[tmc-consulting-club]

"Qui et que sommes-nous face à la maladie ?...Sommes-nous prêt à combattre un mal invisible surpuissant ?...et comment ?...et jusqu'où ?... #OctobreRose Bravo et courage à toutes celles qui se sont battu contre, qui se battent contre, ou qui devront malheureusement un jour, se battre contre." #ThibautMarcCAPLAIN

“Qui et que sommes-nous face à la maladie ?…Sommes-nous prêt à combattre un mal invisible surpuissant ?…et comment ?…et jusqu’où ?… #OctobreRose Bravo et courage à toutes celles qui se sont battu contre, qui se battent contre, ou qui devront malheureusement un jour, se battre contre.” #ThibautMarcCAPLAIN

[lesouffleurdemots]

l'ABC des handicaps invisibles

26 lettres pour vous parler des handicaps invisiblesEt pourtant… Ce fut galère de trouver et je vous laisse trouver les intrus ! ⚠ Pour rappel, les handicaps invisibles concernent 80% des handicaps. 🚹 Un handicap invisible est un handicap non détectable, qui ne peut pas être remarqué si la personne concernée n’en parle pas. Les handicaps invisibles regroupent :🔸 les maladies invalidantes…

[musographes]

Se plonger dans l’histoire des modèles vivants, c’est aussi se rendre compte de choses comme cela (clin d’œil à l’actu sur la réforme des retraites).

[buckyclevens]

john confesses to gale (excerpt from my postwar fic)

inspired by the line in the movie tropical malady, "when i gave you the clash tape, i forgot to give you my heart. you can have it today"

John reaches out in the darkness and carefully places a hand on Gale’s warm shoulder. He doesn’t stir. His skin is soft.

“When I gave you my lucky deuce,” John whispers. “I forgot to give you my heart. You can have it today.”

The words are out. Doesn’t matter if Gale is asleep, John reasons, he said the words and they’re out. An invisible weight lifts itself from his shoulders and a vice unclenches from around his heart. John exhales softly. He closes his eyes, leaving his hand on Gale’s shoulder, grateful that he hasn’t stirred.

A moment before John falls into unconsciousness, he feels Gale’s hand come up to cover his own. He feels the mattress shift and opens his eyes to see Gale’s face inches from his own, lit up by the moonlight streaming bright through the window. At their feet, Cinnamon curls herself into a tight bun, purring softly.

“You’ve always had my heart, John,” he says, taking John’s hand and bringing his fingers to his lips. He holds his breath, spellbound as Gale presses his lips to each of John’s knobby knuckles, Gale’s eyes closed as he does so. Gale’s lips are so soft, though chapped, and John’s too tired to resist the thought of imagining his lips on his own.

[lisaalmeida]

Que recherchons-nous à travers nos relations, rencontres et échanges ?

Quel est le sentiment que nous désirons ardemment éprouver, tout au long de notre vie ?

L’amour est évidemment la réponse à toutes ces questions.

L’amour est ainsi le principe et la source de toute vie, sans quoi rien ne pourrait exister ni subsister.

L’amour est la force qui fait tourner les mondes, l’énergie qui maintient la cohésion des atomes comme des planètes.

L’amour est au cœur des mystères que nous sommes venus appréhender et expérimenter sur cette Terre.

Chacun ressent et pressent, même confusément, que l’amour vrai est la clé et la solution de tous nos maux, individuels et surtout collectifs, économiques, politiques et sociaux.

Mais l’amour véritable n’est pas acquis d’emblée : il est à rechercher, ressentir, découvrir.

Il n’est ni instinct de possession, ni dépendance fusionnelle, ni suivisme grégaire, car il émane de soi.

Il est le résultat de l’alchimie intérieure, le fruit de la reconnexion à l’être essentiel et à la puissance de vie.

L’amour est la joie d’être, le signe d’une conscience éveillée et lumineuse, un présent accordé, offert et partagé.

L’amour est ce que nous sommes éternellement, en dépit de nos souffrances, illusions et désillusions et parfois grâce à elles ; il est notre état naturel, notre aspiration à une vie riche, fascinante, magique, inattendue, utile et initiatique.

L’amour est partout, omniprésent et protéiforme ; il se pare de toutes les couleurs et de toutes les fréquences, et se manifeste de multiples manières : amour du compagnon ou de la compagne, des amis, des enfants, des animaux, de la nature, de la beauté, des œuvres de l’esprit…

Mais c’est la relation amoureuse qui se révèle son territoire de prédilection, car alors le sentiment se mêle au désir, à la sensualité et à l’attraction des corps, lieu de toutes les convoitises, de tous les délires et de toutes les extases.

Ce que l’on nomme amour est rarement digne de ce nom : l’amour qui blesse et qui déchire, qui conquiert et qui rompt, qui domine et qui soumet, qui idolâtre et qui méprise, n’est qu’une caricature égotique, une maladie infantile du cœur, un balbutiement du sentiment.

L’amour qui prend fin n’a jamais existé ; l’amour qui se meut en haine ou indifférence, n’était qu’illusion, transfert, projection, malentendu.

Les relations évoluent et donnent souvent lieu à séparation, éloignement, divergence. Mais comment peut-on rejeter, nier ou diaboliser l’être que l’on a tenu tendrement dans ses bras, si ce n’est précisément à cause de la douleur créée par son absence ?

L’amour véritable est patient, sincère, honnête et compréhensif ; il se nomme bienveillance, bonté, compassion, douceur, tendresse, sollicitude ou empathie.

De la nature de l’amitié, il dure la vie entière, car il n’est pas fondé sur l’image ou les apparences, mais sur les liens invisibles et mystérieux qui unissent les âmes et les cœurs.

Aussi le chemin de l’amour, que tous nous empruntons à notre manière, est-il un apprentissage, qui mène de l’égoïsme à l’altruisme, de l’aveuglement à la connaissance, de la consommation au partage, de la prédation au don.

L’amour est éternel car il est spirituel ; il est la joie libre du cœur qui s’est ouvert ; il ne sait que grandir, fleurir et embellir.

L’amour est si puissant qu’il se joue des barrières, frontières, critères, normes et interdits.

Car l’amour est libre et il souffle où il veut ; il ne peut être contraint, obligé ou mis en cage ; l’autre ne nous appartient pas et l’emprisonner, ce n’est pas l’aimer.

L’amour ne donne ni droits, ni devoirs ; il est une extraordinaire opportunité de vivre des moments merveilleux et magiques, une chance à ne surtout pas laisser passer.

Et si l’amour était sagesse, philosophie éminemment subtile, art et science oubliés, à retrouver, découvrir, réinventer ?

L’amour est un défi. Saurons-nous y répondre ?

LA SAGESSE AMOUREUSE

Yann Thibaud

Extrait de «L'Alchimie émotionnelle ou la métamorphose du coeur»

[runariya]

One-Shot: A Sip Of Eternity (JJK)

pairing: vampire!Jungkook x f!reader genre: vampire!AU, coffee shop!AU, yandere-ish? idrk warnings: foul language, obsession, mentions of blood and ripped out organs, death, hunger, feeding off humans and animals, throwing up, Jungkook doesn't know what hit him, reader is sus, allusion of abuse, lmk if I forgot something word count: ~ 4.370

a/n: okay...I know I said I'm taking a break from writing while mini-me and I are down with sickness BUT hear me out....those fever dreams...uffff👀....I just had to write it down somehow. It's not edited and I think it's a bit jumbled up at places-sorry for that. I'll think about rewriting it, when I'm at full capacity again. Until then, have fun reading👀

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

🎵K.Flay - High Enough🎵 Do you see anyone other than me? Baby, please I'll take a hit of whatever you got Maybe two, maybe three Oh, you're phenomenal, feel like a domino, fall to my knees I am a malady, you are my galaxy, my sweet relief, oh, oh, oh

Thursday morning

It has been 811 years, 296 days, 13 hours, and 49 minutes since he was turned. 811 years, 296 days, 13 hours, and 49 minutes far too long, too boring, too repetitive. Jungkook has seen it all. He’s done it all. But this little human right in front of him? No, you’re new. Exciting, even.

He’s been the chief of this city for half his immortal life, running a cafe for his kind, invisible to anyone else.

So why on earth did a human find its way in here? And why do you smell so, so delicious?

“Back off or you’re dead” Jungkook growls in his head. The other vampires stop immediately, no longer ready to pounce. Knowing they don’t stand a chance against him, they only watch.

“Hello,” you say shyly, with the softest smile he’s ever seen.

“Good morning.” He scans your hands, looking for a wedding band, but your fingers are empty. “Miss.”

You flush, your heartbeat picking up. You’re cute, he thinks. So innocent.

“I said back the fuck off!” His voice booms, snapping the other vampires out of their trance. “What can I get you?”

“I’m new here…I mean in town…and here at this coffee shop, obviously…so…ehm…could you…if it’s not a bother…recommend something?” You stutter, your heartbeat now through the roof. Calm down, he thinks.

“Sure. The crimson latte is the most popular.” Of course, it is; it’s full of blood.

“That sounds fancy.” You cringe. “I’d like one, please.” Your voice is so soft, like a feather drifting in the breeze.

“Coming right up.” Jungkook turns to the coffee machine. “Okay, listen here, you little shits. If anyone in this godforsaken city even looks her way, they’re getting staked. You hear me? Spread the news. This little human is mine.”

A chorus of acceptance of his command echoes in his mind. Looking over his shoulder, he sees you looking around, oblivious. You’re wearing a summer dress, its colour making your skin glow. Your hair is beautifully styled, and your makeup matches your style so effortlessly it’s making him a little breathless. Or maybe it’s your quick pulse; he isn’t sure.

Just as he reaches for the blood on the counter, his fingers halt. Idiot, he reprimands himself. Shaking his head lightly, he takes the strawberry syrup and pours it into your coffee. This will do, he thinks.

Turning around, he falters, seeing your blinding smile. Your eyes sparkle like the tutus he sees little girls wear.

You look so sweet. Would you taste the same? But he won’t do anything. Your poor, precious soul shouldn’t be harmed.

“Here you go, enjoy.” He says, and when your fingers brush his, he feels a jolt. Retreating his fingers instantly, he looks at you with wide eyes.

You’re also startled by his reaction, your eyes wide and full of apology as if he was repulsed by you, which is not true.

“Sorry…how much do I owe you?” Your voice is like tiny bells to his ears.

“No worries. It’s on the house.” Jungkook wants so badly to reassure you, to smile, but all he manages is a twitch of his lips.

Your gaze drops down to his lips, and he’s impressed and elated you noticed his attempt at smiling. When your breathtaking smile reappears on your lush lips, his dead heart sings. Or is it his thirst?

It doesn’t matter. Because when you leave, he’s sure he’ll never see you again.

Friday Evening

Jungkook can smell you before he turns. Why are you back again? He thought it was a coincidence you could enter yesterday. An error in the spell protecting his shop from human eyes. But two days in a row seems troubling.

“Hobi, go out, find a human and bring it before the shop. See if it sees us.”

“Yes, JK.”

You’re now standing directly behind him, the counter separating you both. You’re not even a minute into his shop, and your scent has overpowered every molecule in the air. His thirst burns in his throat. He needs to hunt tonight. Damn you. If it weren’t for your delicious blood, he would have held on for a week more.

Jungkook takes a deep breath to ground himself, but it’s the worst decision of his dead life. Your scent now clings not only to his skin but to every cell of his.

Nonetheless, he turns around. But now he’s not sure anymore if it’s your scent or the sight of you that’s more compelling.

Dressed in another flowy summer dress, you look like a goddess. A human goddess, he corrects himself.

“Hello again.” Your smile blinds him, and even though it’s as bright as the sun, it doesn’t burn him. Or does it? Because he feels excruciatingly helpless.

What should he say? What did you say? What time of day is it even? He’s not sure. He’s also not sure who he is. No, that’s a lie. He knows who he is. He’s a vampire, an old vampire. But why does he feel so basic beside you?

“Hello.” He hears the snorts of the other patrons in his head, and they all get a glare in return.

You turn around briefly, then look at him questioningly.

“The usual?” He needs to distract you.

“Oh. Yes, sure! This strawberry latte was soooo delicious. The best coffee I ever had. You must have magic hands or something. Really, when I finished it, I thought, ‘Wow, you need one more.’ And then I thought…” You trail off again, face flushing, heartbeat accelerating as if hunted down, but your eyes turn sad, and you stare at the counter. “Sorry.” Despite his inhuman hearing, he needs to strain to hear your whispered apology.

“I’m glad you liked it.” What’s wrong with him? Why is he consoling you? Argh, you’re so pathetic, Jeon. Whatever.

Jungkook turns around in a rush, starting to prepare your coffee. Your heartbeat now slows down second by second. And it’s nearly at normal when he pours the strawberry syrup in it.

Just as he’s nearly finished, your heart rate rises in panic. He turns around at that, seeing you take a step back from the counter. But you’re looking to your left. And as he follows your view, he sees why.

“Pete.” Jungkook’s voice is grave. Said man startles and looks him in the eyes, like a child caught doing something it shouldn’t. “Sit the fuck down.” And down he sits.

When Jungkook turns back to you, you look at him with wide eyes and mouth slightly open. But it’s not fear he sees in your eyes but pure admiration and respect.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t just now push his chest up a little more. And he would be lying if he said he felt more powerful than he does now.

He steps to the counter, this time placing your not-so-crimson latte on it. Again, your smile and gratitude throw him for a loop he can’t understand.

When you leave with a wave and the door falls shut, he takes off his apron and turns to Pete. A terrified Pete.

“Get up. Follow me.”

And both disappear through the back door, Jungkook the only one with a blood-dripping heart in his equally bloody hand coming back.

Monday Morning

The weekend was horrible. No, it was more than that. If there was a word for the hell he went through, Jungkook would send a thank you note to whoever invented it.

Friday night, Jungkook was starving, so he went for his hunt. At first everything went smoothly, as always; he lured a poor soul in, took a bite, but then everything went downhill. The blood tasted foul.

Thick like tar, bitter like coffee grounds—he threw the sip of blood up in an instant, coughing violently while pushing the human away. He couldn’t help but  heave like a cat trying to throw up a hairball.

Saturday night, the same thing happened. Lure, bite, puke.

And guess what? Surprise, surprise, Sunday night was the same again.

So, when Monday morning came, and with it your positive, content, chipper self with your savory, inviting, toothsome blood—oh boy, Jungkook wanted to cry like a baby.

To suppress the growing hunger, he starts counting the seconds, but when you stand before him, and he knows you’d never have a chance if he wanted to taste you, he’s done.

So done that he starts smiling at you. 

No, not a friendly "hey there"-smile. A grimace more fitting on the face of a psychopath. But where’s the difference between him and a psychopath, really? 

You beam at him regardless, not phased at all. “Hey! Your smile suits you! Your teeth are so nice!”

Jungkook malfunctions at that. His face falls, and he rolls his tongue over his teeth as discreet as he can. Did he show his fangs by accident? No. Hm. 

“Thank...you...?” He questions you more than really being grateful for the compliment.

“I’d like the usual, please.” The wide, happy smile just doesn’t leave your face.

He’s only able to nod, and again like routine, turning around and doing his job. Your scent makes his hands shake uncontrollably. He’s starving, his stomach squeezing uncomfortably. He waits a moment so he’s able to continue. 

“She’s checking out your butt,” Hobi giggles.

“Shut up.” But he can’t help but flex his buttocks and thighs on purpose while shifting from one foot to the other. He stops abruptly, realizing his doings. Why is he like this? He sobs internally, this isn’t him. 

Jungkook again starts counting the seconds, willing his hands to stop shaking again, but this time he just can’t.

When he looks over his shoulder, he catches you indeed checking out his butt. Your eyes snap up, locking with his. You’re clearly embarrassed, and your little heart starts pounding violently. No, please don’t. 

He forces his eyes back to the coffee. It takes all his willpower to take the cup and hand it to you without spilling its contents.

You thank him, as always, with a smile more soothing than any high he’s ever experienced.

“See you tomorrow.” Your airy voice wraps around him, squeezing his airways tighter.

“Bye,” Jungkook presses out, barely able to gulp the saliva collecting in his mouth. 

The air in the coffee shop turns still with your departure, and he’s finally able to breathe normally again.

Tuesday Morning

This time he sees you outside his shop through the windows. You’re looking up at the sign and with that your face lights up. 

You enter, and Jungkook is already on edge. The way you navigate his shop, as if it’s a normal coffee place, unnerves him to the core. How do you keep finding this place?

“Hobi, did you check the spell again?”

“Yes, JK. It’s still intact.”

Your presence disrupts his thoughts again. His body reacts the same way it does every time you’re near: adrenaline courses through his veins, making his hands shaky and his hunger rise exponentially.

You approach the counter, your scent now a familiar, maddening presence.

“Good morning...” Your soft voice trails off, and he finds himself leaning closer to hear you better.

“I'm Jungkook. Hello.” He feels foolishly pleased at how natural his voice sounds while his insides are on panic mode. “The usual?”

“Yes, please. Your strawberry latte is the highlight of my day.”

He turns with a nod and prepares your drink. His dead heart stirs, and he chides himself for being affected by your words and presence. He’s a vampire, the vamp-chief of the city, not some lovesick human.

Wait. Stop. What? He’s not lovesick. 

When he places the drink before you after he’s finished, your smile is radiant. “Thank you.”

He watches shocked as you find a seat, not leaving like the days before. His eyes narrow at any vampire who dares look your way. You are his. No one else must interfere.

And it’s 52 minutes later when you leave with a wave his way.  But who’s counting? 

Wednesday evening

Yesterday he tried to feed off of animals. It went as horrible as he expected. And when you didn’t show up today, he didn’t know if he’s euphoric from the break from you or dejected because you need a break from him. 

So when the door chimes this evening, and there you are again, he doesn’t know how to feel nor react. Jungkook’s throat burns in an instant, his thirst intensifying to infinity. He considers closing the shop early, but your smile as you approach the counter makes him change his mind. 

“Hi, Jungkook.” Your cheerfulness is infectious, despite his inner turmoil.

“Hi. The usual?”

“Yes, thank you.” You lean in closer, and he catches your scent full force. It’s torture and pleasure combined. Oh, what a beautiful drug you seem to be to him. 

As he prepares your drink, he overhears a couple of vampires discussing you. His glare silences them instantly. No one must threaten you. Not while he’s here.

“Today’s been so busy, I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. Oh, what am I saying? I’m not your only customer. You’re clearly busy all day and probably didn’t even notice I wasn’t here.” You’re so cute, he wants to eat you. Literally.

“I’ve noticed” Your eyes meet his as he hands you the latte, and for a moment, he forgets to breathe. He can see your racing heart, all the veins zeroed into his sight. Your blood is being pumped furiously through your whole system. “Thank you, Jungkook.”

“Anytime…” His voice is softer than intended, startling him to the core. He needs to fucking feed. 

You say your name in the lightest voice he has ever heard in all his centuries, and he thinks he might faint for some inexplicable reason.

After you've left, he's seconds away from murder when Hobi, sipping his actual crimson latte by the window, teases, “You’re so whipped.”

 Monday Morning - One Week Later

Okay. So. You haven’t shown up since Wednesday evening.

By Friday, Jungkook ordered his subordinates to comb through the whole city to search for you and make sure you were fine. They came back empty-handed.

So, on Saturday, he did it himself.

On the positive side, he could feed on some stray cats. It still tasted like shit, but he managed to suppress the gag reflex.

On the negative side, he didn’t find you. Your scent is unique to him; he's sure he could find it in the middle of an overcrowded stadium, but for some unknown reason, he couldn’t trace it at all.

Thinking it had to do with the nauseating taste of the cats, he searched the rest of the weekend. Every corner, every nook of this shit hole of a city, but it was as if you had disappeared into thin air.

To say he’s surprised to see you enter his shop this morning would be an understatement.

You look drained. The colour and brightness he’s used to seeing you radiate are dull. Your face is sunken in, and your eyes lack their usual sparkle.

“Good morning, Jungkook.” Your voice sounds hoarse, void of the warmth he learned to yearn for in your absence.

“Where were you?” He didn’t mean for his voice to come out this grave, and he winces internally when you look startled and take a step back. “Sorry…”

“I... I needed to go back to... to my hometown for a couple of days. I…” Your pupils tremble, and Jungkook isn’t sure if you’re scared of him or what happened in your hometown. “I forgot some important stuff there... and... it was hard to come back here.”

You’re a riddle. He just can’t figure you out. But the person he sees before him isn’t the girl he got to know. Yes, he doesn’t know much about you, but he knows that this isn’t you—this is a shadow of who you can be.

“You’re regretting coming back?” He needs to know if your state is due to leaving your hometown or leaving this city.

So, when your eyes shine with a silver lining on your lower lash line, and your voice breaks in a barely audible hush saying, “No,” he knows he’s going to take matters into his own hands.

“Good you’re back then.” He stares into your eyes, a flicker of warmth returning at his words. “The usual?” A tiny nod from you is answer enough for him to prepare your latte.

“You heard her. Find this hometown and figure out what happened.” At that, three vampires rise from their seats and are gone within seconds as you look on curiously.

“Jungkook?” His hand halts mid-air as he’s just about to reach for the strawberry syrup, your small voice blaring in his every fibre.

He doesn’t move when you whisper, your voice oh so fragile, “Thank you.”

He stares at his hand, which still hovers mid-air. What should he do? What would be appropriate human behaviour? He doesn’t know anymore. He’s too far gone to know that after centuries of being this emotionless creature. But is he really that emotionless when his dead heart seems to stir since he met you? He isn’t sure anymore.

Nodding once, he hopes it suffices. And when he’s done with your cup and turns around, he knows it did. Because the small smile and gentle sparkle in your eyes are something he seems to reciprocate without wanting to.

“You’re an angel, thank you.” Both your hands gently take the cup out of his large one, brushing them so feathery and warm that it isn’t a jolt that runs through Jungkook’s body but a sparkle as bright and soothing as the light in your eyes when you gaze at him.

Tuesday Morning

When you enter today, you’re wearing cozy loungewear and carrying a book in one hand.

So adorable.

So when you step towards the counter, Jungkook can’t help but lean on it with his elbows to be closer to you. He takes a deep breath of your scent and he’s high again. Even though it amplifies his hunger, your scent has become his drug, and he can’t resist it anymore.

“Good morning, ___,” he hears himself purr, and when a chorus of laughs echoes in his mind, he really couldn’t care less. Because in his vision, there’s only you. He wonders, do you see anyone other than him, too?

“Hey, Jungkook. Lovely morning, isn’t it?” you chirp, now standing so close he can almost taste your blood on his tongue. The pulse at your neck calls his name.

“It’s quite buzzing,” he husks. If only you knew that it’s you who has him all buzzed. If he could just have a little taste...

“Is it okay if I stay in today? I’m off of work and it’s getting so lonely at my apartment…” You bat your eyelashes at him, and those tiny waves of air drifting into his face nearly make him fall to his knees.

“Of course.” He licks his lips, imagining the taste of you on them.

You look down at the motion. “Good,” you husk back, equally drunk on him, it seems.

“The usual?” Jungkook straightens, no longer able to be this close to you. A flash of disappointment washes over your face and he sees you retreating into yourself even more.

“Yes, please,” you say rather sadly, staring at the counter separating you.

As he pours the coffee into your cup, the door chimes.

“JK, we found out what happened,” one says breathlessly.

When he turns briefly, you look at the three vampires skeptically. All three are standing in the middle of the room, staring at Jungkook without saying a word.

“Hey guys, take your seats, I’ll be there in a minute.” Jungkook glares over your head at them. They seem to get the message and do as he says.

“Next time make it more obvious, will you?” The irritation oozes off him and he finishes your latte with more force than necessary.

When he turns around and sees you, still so innocently looking into his eyes as if he were a hero just for existing, his irritation vanishes instantly.

“Here you go, beautiful.” WHY DID HE SAY THAT?!

Your heart stops, then you turn as red as the blood in your veins, and your heartbeat hums as fast as a hummingbird’s. Please don’t die...

“Thank you.” You take your cup with shaky hands and stumble slightly to a free nook, sitting down and staring at the cover of your book until he hears your heart go back to normal.

He walks over to the three vampires who investigated what happened to you, and when they tell him what your uncle did to you again and again, he unleashes the beast he’s known for.

Hushed as the whole conversation, he orders with a sinister smile, “Go kill him and everyone who knew and didn’t do shit.”

The rest of the day he spends watching over you, bringing you more lattes on the house, and using every opportunity to stand near you.

At midday, you ask if he serves anything to eat, and even though he knows he doesn’t—well, for humans he doesn’t—he says he’ll bring you some pastry.

“Go to the bakery at the other end of the city and bring some cake as fast as you can,” he orders Hobi, who chuckles and shakes his head but goes immediately.

He’s back in a couple of seconds.

As Jungkook serves you the cake as if it were his, you thank him profoundly. “You take such good care of me.”

If he had blood running through his veins, he would blush. So he flees to the backroom to shred the packaging, destroying all evidence of his care for you.

Wednesday Morning

You enter the coffee shop again, wearing a beautiful dress, but your gaze is fixed on the phone you're clutching in your hand.

Like a puppet on autopilot, you stand before Jungkook, not once looking up.

"The usual, please."

Jungkook doesn't like this. Why aren't you looking at him? What's with you?

Did something happen again? "Are you alright?"

At that, you finally look up, startled like prey facing a predator. You're clearly in shock, and he's sure it's not because of him.

"He's dead," you mumble.

"Who?" He knows.

"My uncle." You sigh, a smile spreading on your face. Not your usual one, but one that's neither fully sinister nor relieved. A perfect blend, he concludes.

The darkness suits you.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"I hope he rots in hell."

Jungkook snorts, and your loud laugh in response is music to his ears. 

"So, the usual for celebration today?"

"Hell yeah!" You cheer, which earns you some agreeing laughs from the other patrons around you.

Your eyes sparkle more than ever.

Jungkook turns around, the euphoria in your veins too strong for him to ignore the hunger screaming inside him.

"I'm finally free. I can go wherever I want now," you muse behind him while Jungkook's heart drops to the cold, hard floor.

No. No, no, no. That was not the plan.

"Will you leave?" His nerves are over the roof, and even though his instincts urge him to drink you dry, he turns around to gauge your reaction.

"No." Your voice is determined, not any less euphoric than minutes ago. "I'm safe here, aren't I?"

There's a challenge in your eyes. As if you're aware of where you are, who he is, who you're with at the moment.

Jungkook cocks his head sideways, challenging back, "Are you?"

The glee on your face is replaced by the most unarmed look he has seen in his life. Your eyes drip with adoration and devotion when you say, "I'm safe when I'm with you."

"Leave. Now." He barks out, and while the coffee shop starts to empty, your delicate voice calls after them, "Yeah, please leave."

The room freezes, every vampire on high alert when they realise you could hear all they ever said to each other.

Jungkook watches you sharply, calculating the threat you might pose.

But when nothing seems suspicious or even dangerous, he nods to the others, and they fly out.

The silence between you and him hangs heavy, your heartbeat gaining in power and speed with every second.

"What are you?" Jungkook forces out.

Your eyes soften even more at him, tears collecting again at your lower lashes. "I don't know."

He knows you're telling the truth. So when your next words reach him, he can't hold back any longer.

"Please don't make me leave you."

Jungkook springs over the counter, embracing your tiny, fragile form in his arms. When your fingers cling onto his tall frame as if your life depends on it, and you turn your neck to offer him your carotid artery, he's a goner.

You're not only his new drug but also his only supplier.

"Please don't ever let me go." 

Your words flutter against his whole being, intoxicating him further. And it's the squeeze of your tiny hand on his right bicep that unleashes him. He takes a deep breath of your scent and sinks his fangs into your neck.

You moan instantly, running your right hand through the hair on his neck.

You're it for him. He was right. You're fucking it for him. He'll never go back from you. Your taste invades his mouth, and every cell in his body sings with it. The buzz is so strong, he thinks it compares to a golden shot.

"I love you so much," you whisper, your hands running softly over his cold skin.

He retreats, high on you, pupils dilated, with a mouth smeared with your blood.

You look up at him with hooded eyes, the love and admiration pouring into his with every second.

It has been 811 years, 279 days, 15 hours, and 34 minutes since he started walking on Earth. 811 years, 279 days, 15 hours, and 34 minutes until he finally says the words for the first time:

"I love you."

__________________________________________

a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

[yandere-wishes]

Hello there! I hope you're doing well! All I wanted to say was, your fic is 🔥. You cooked so well in Boothill fic, that you kinda inspired me to do the same. This isn't an ask, more so sharing of an idea.

Currently, I am drafting the fic and tinkering with the idea of Yandere! Boothill and self-annihilator darling. Boothill could immediately recognize his darling, since they both have shared history but the opposite can't be the same.

Since his darling memories and sense of self is gradually eroding thanks to the shadow of IX (Aeon of Nihility) and the only way she could suppress it’s influence is by wax seal from a doctor of chaos (specialized doctors for self annihilators), which boothill murdered him since the doctor happened to be a cohort with the IPC.

I kinda wanted to share my idea with you, since you are a fellow boothill enjoyer.

Here’s a synopsis for it;

Synopsis: Plagued with a malady, since you were a wee child, that slowly gnawed on your conscious and senses with it’s invisible mandibles. It was only a matter of time, before you succumbed to it’s influence.

In a desperate mean, you seek a doctor of chaos to cure your terminal illness. Instead of a doctor, you were met by the presence of a cybernetic outlaw; Who had gunned down what was your only chance at survival.

Yet, his white and red crosshair was familiar for some reason almost as if you had seen it somewhere in a fleeting dream perhaps.

Again. Sorry, if I yapped a lot.

OMG, that is like the BIGGEST complement ever!! I'm so glad my little old-Hollywood story inspired you!!

The angst potential is super uncanny!! The reader's sense of hopelessness when her only hope has been gunned down!! Boothill's heartbreak when the lover he could never forget can't even remember his name!! The build-up is so solid, I love it!!

Just from that synopsis, I can tell this is going to be a great fic. The words and sentence structure are immaculate and the emotions are coming through loud and clear!!

I can hardly wait to read it!! Please tag me when you're finished.💞💜 💞💜

[sinvulkt]

Edmond se tournait et se retournait sur la pauvre paille qui lui servait de lit depuis les longues années qu’il habitait le cachot. Il avait perdu le compte des jours quelques temps après sa captivité, mais cela devait faire plusieurs années, n’est-ce-pas ?

Une nouvelle crampe lui crispa le dos, et il changea encore de position dans le vain espoir de dénouer le nœud qui s’y était formé. La douleur ne partait pas, et le sommeil ne vint pas, alors, abandonnant l’idée de dormir, Edmond se leva et se mit à marcher en cercle.

Depuis quelques jours, une sensation de brûlure pulsait entre ses omoplates. Au départ, le dérangement n’était que très faible, la sensation à peine plus perturbante qu’une piqûre de moustique. Mais la situation avait petit à petit empiré, et désormais sa peau le démangeait terriblement. Edmond se serait bien gratté d'avantage, mais il en avait déjà irrité la zone douloureuse jusqu’au sang, et la moindre touche aggravait le sentiment de brûlure qui grouillait sous sa peau.

Il se résolut d’en parler au porte clé qui venait lui apporter sa soupe.

Ce dernier, mis au courant de l’étrange maladie qui frappait le prisonnier et soucieux de ne pas voir sa mort prélevée à sa paye, s'empressa de signaler à Edmond de se déshabiller.

“Je ne vois rien,” dit le geôlier une fois qu’Edmond eut enlevé sa chemise pour révéler son dos nu.

“Regardez encore !” demanda Edmond, désespéré de trouver la source du mal qui le tourmentait tant.

Le geôlier se pencha, lorgnant le dos du prisonnier. Les repas frugales de la prison d’If avaient rendu le prisonnier maigre, les os saillants, mais l’on pouvait encore apercevoir la silhouette des solides muscles qu’on les marins.

“Non, vraiment. Je ne vois rien.”

“Merci.” soupira le prisonnier en s’écartant tristement. 

Le geôlier n’avait aucune raison de se moquer de lui. Après tout, les portes-clés n’avaient que peu d’intérêt à le voir mort, emprisonné comme il était. C’était donc que l’homme disait la vérité, et que le mal qui déchirait le dos d’Edmond demeurait invisible.

Une fois son geôlier parti, promettant qu’il appellerait le docteur si les choses s’aggravaient, Edmond écarta sa soupe. Il n’avait pas faim. La douleur qui vrillait juste sous ses omoplates s'étendait maintenant sur toute la longueur de son torse, comme pour se moquer de sa faiblesse. Pis encore, une nausée montante rendait ses mains tremblantes et sa vue trouble. Même si son estomac avait été d’humeur, Edmond doutait qu’il eut pu porter la nourriture à sa bouche. 

Le reste de la journée s'échappa dans un flou nauséeux. Edmond était trop fatigué pour bouger, mais trop agité pour rester allongé. Il alternait donc entre les deux, plongé dans une vague brume cauchemardesque. Son cœur battait la chamade et son corps était secoué de frisson, sans que cela n’empêche la brûlure annexant son échine de le tourmenter. La fraîcheur de la nuit, loin de le soulager, empira encore son malheur.

Des vagues de crampes successives mettaient son dos à l'agonie, le laissant pantelant sur le sol froid et humide. Le moindre frottement était décuplé. Bientôt, Edmond ne supporta plus le tissu rêche de ses haillons, et avec un de ces regains d’énergies que la fièvre donne parfois, il s’empressa de les jeter au sol.

Edmond ne savais combien de temps il passa dans cet état intemporel que donne la maladie. Quelque chose de froid et gluant s’était mis à lui couler sur le dos, mais il n’avait plus la force de vérifier si ce n’était que de la sueur, ou bien du sang. Une sensation de douleur bien plus pénétrante que les autres le traversa, et Edmond ne put réprimer un hurlement.

Puis un second. 

Puis un troisième. 

C’était comme si une valve fermée s’était soudainement ouverte, libérant l'expression de toute la souffrance qui le secouait et lui coupait le souffle. Edmond se recroquevilla sur le sol, front a terre, tirant désespérément sur ses cheveux pour échapper à la torture qui le dechirait de l’intérieur. Des pas accoururent, mais perdu dans la fièvre et la douleur, Edmond ne les entendit pas.

“Mais bon sang, que se passe t-il ?!”

On le secoua, sans pouvoir provoquer plus que des gémissements. Puis, les doigts charnus qui l'avaient malmené le quittèrent. Il y eut une pause, puis d’autres cris; qui cette fois ne venaient pas de lui; puis une main contre son épaule alors qu’il tentait de se retourner pour frotter la zone brûlante au sol délicieusement froid.

“Ne bougez pas.” 

Edmond s’accorda très bien de cet ordre. Maintenant que la personne le disait, se retourner semblait en effet une bien mauvaise idée. Et puis, le sol était trop froid. Il préférait bien plus la main chaude qui était restée posée près de son cou. Une seconde vint se poser sur son front. Elle s’en éloigna presque aussitôt, et Edmond regretta la fraîcheur qui l’avait brièvement envahi à son contact.

“Mais c’est qu’il a de la fièvre, ce pauvre garçon.” Le geôlier leva la voix. “Appelez un médecin !”

Le cri, trop fort pour les sens surmené d’Edmond, lui fit l’impression d’un ballon qui éclatait dans son crâne. Ses gémissements reprirent de plus belle.

“Que se passe-t-il?” Une nouvelle voix lui transperça les tympans.

“Le prisonnier est souffrant.”

“Ça, je l’entend bien qu’il est souffrant. Cela fait une demi-heure qu’il nous casse les oreilles. Mais avez-vous une idée du mal?”

“Non. Ce matin, il parlait encore.”

Le flot de parole fut bientôt enseveli sous la vague de fièvre qui l'envahit comme un nouvel accès de crampe, tel une cruelle lance brûlante qui le perça de toute part. Sa gorge était rauque à force de crier, et le son ne sortait que par accoups étranglés. 

“Allons, allons.”

Les porte-clés, bien embêtés, tentèrent tant bien que mal d’aider lorsque ce dernier se releva sur ses coudes pour tousser. Ils ne réussissent qu'à le perturber davantage. 

Edmond voulait fuir toutes ces mains inconnues, bien trop moites, bien trop épaisses pour être celles qu’il cherchait. Il se languissait de la douceur du toucher de Mercedes contre sa peau. De lointains souvenirs remontaient le long de ses pensées confuses, prenant le pas sur les voix bien réelles qui l'entouraient.’

“C’est le milieu de la nuit. Ne peut-il pas tenir jusqu’au matin ?” l’une d’entre elle grommela. “C’est la prison, ici, pas l’hôpital.”

Une douleur, au moins dix fois plus terrible que toutes les autres, foudroya Edmond. Un cri final s’échappa de sa gorge desséchée. Il lui sembla, l’espace d’un instant, que sa peau se déchirait, mettant à nu la structure osseuse de ses omoplates et de sa colonne vertébrale. Que tout le sang de son corps se déversait le long de cette plaie sanglante, le laissant vide, sans vie.

Aussi vite qu’elle était apparue, la tortueuse agonie s’en alla, ne laissant derrière elle que les traces lancinantes d’un écho. Edmond était trop faible pour remarquer le silence qui pesa soudain entre les deux geôliers.

Le premier se tourna vers le second.

“Dites au médecin que c’est pour un ange. Il viendra.”

Le monde semblait bien lourd à présent, sans l’aiguille de la misère pour le garder éveillé. Les paupières d'Edmond se fermèrent au rythme des pas qui s’éloignent. Exténué, à bout de souffle, il ne réfléchit pas deux fois au répit qui s’offrait à lui et se laissa tomber dans le clément oubli de l’inconscience.

[compulsion-dexpression]

Modérations numéro 17

Traduction: pendant ma formation, un docteur a dit Juste parce que vos patients sont résilient ça ne veut pas dire qu’ils ne souffrent pas. Ce concept de co existence m’a reveillé. Le concept de résilience vient souvent du fait que c’est nécessaire pour survivre et ça ne veut pas dire que quelqu’un est correct… La personne que tu connais qui vit avec une maladie, un trouble chronique , que ce…

[harriet-de-g]

Ressources autour de la gestion de la douleur.

Cette Bibliographie est issue du zine "Toujours mal quelques part" sortie en janvier 2024. Les catégories reprennent les différents chapitres de celui-ci. La liste est régulièrement mise à jour et complétée. N'hésitez pas à partager vos propres ressources pour la faire évoluer!

C’est quoi la douleur ?

L’Institut national de la santé et de la recherche médicale a un dossier qui reprend des informations générales sur la douleur.

La douleur, quelle chose étrange, Steve Hains & Sophie Standing, livre, 32p.

La douleur chronique perturbe l’équilibre cérébral, Rev Med Suisse, 2008/145 (Vol.-6), p. 493a–493a.

Lien entre douleur et trauma

Le Trauma, quelle chose étrange, Steve Haines & Sophie Standing, livre, 32p.

Le corps n’oublie rien. Bessen Van Der Kolk. Il existe une version résumée en zine nommé « Ressources sur le traumatisme » (Morgan.e).

Comment les traumatismes d’enfance impacte la santé tout au long de l’existence (« How childhood trauma affects health across a lifetime ») Nadine Burke Harris.

Qu’est ce que le trauma? L’auteur de le corps n’oublie rien explique («What is trauma? The author of “The Body Keeps the Score” explains,) Bessel van der Kolk.

Childhood exposure to violence and lifelong health: clinical intervention science and stress-biology research join forces. Moffitt, T. E., & Klaus-Grawe 2012 Think Tank (2013). Development and psychopathology, 25(4 Pt 2), 1619–1634.

Mécanismes d’adaptation 

Pain-determined Dissociation Episodes, David A. Fishbain, R. B. Cutler, H. L. Rosomoff, R. Steele Rosomoff, Pain Medicine, Volume 2, Issue 3, September 2001, Pages 216–224.

Trop à l’aise avec nos diagnostics, zinzinzine,

Et toi, tu fais quoi dans la vie ?, Harriet de G, brochure, 4p.

Quand tout va bien

Une introduction en français à la technique du pacing.

Laziness Does does not exist, Devon Price, livre, 256p.

La culture du Valide Occidental, Zig Blanquer,

Les thérapies alternatives

A claire voie : manuel de savoir être fou en société, zine, 91p. Comporte un chapitre spécifique pour les premiers entrevus avec un·e thérapeute (dans un cadre psychiatrique).

Pour les proches

La théorie des cuillères, article wikipédia.

The spoon theory (La théorie des cuillères), Christine Miserandino, essai.

Soutien mutuel : les bases

Paillettes Toxiques et Sérum Phy : des pistes pour repérer des dynamiques de pouvoir dans nos relations (pas cis hétéro), zine, 275p.

Point drogue

Une carte interactive pour savoir où tester ses produits

Relation entre tabagisme et douleur : revue narrative de la littérature scientifique, D. Balayssac, Revue des Maladies Respiratoires, Volume 38, Issue 3, 2021, Pages 269-277.

Se faire mal : comment prendre soin de toi lorsque tu ressens le besoin de te blesser, Icarus Projets, zine, 56p.

Alternatives à l’auto-mutilation, Traduction de Choose recovery par Dandelion Guide pour décrocher des médicaments psychotropes en réduisant les effets nocifs, zine, Icarus project, 70p. Tumer Fue : Une méthode libre pour en finir avec la clope, Robin, zine, 80p.

Toxicophobie mon amour, Pour déconstruire ses préjugés sur l'usage de produits.

Pendant la tempête

Le manuel de sevrage des psychotropes, livre, Soutien Benzo, 196p.

Aider ses ami.e.x.s qui ont parfois envie de mourir à ne peut-être pas mourir, traduction par ezekiel and the weirdos, zine, 33p.

Le mouvement death positiv tente de réduire les tabous autour de la mort et d’explorer les façons de préparer sa fin de vie sereinement.

Living with depression, Kat Amarië, vidéo (traduite).

Dépression comment te quitter, Luks, zine, 20p.

En vrac :

Chroniques des chroniques : une émission autour des maladies chroniques (douloureuses), radio rageuse.

La souffrance: que ressent-on quand quelqu’un nie notre douleur ?, podcast Emotion.

The Cancer Journals (Journal du cancer), Audre Lorde, livre, 96p. Fragments, Fatou S, livre, 150p.

Guide de navigation en eau trouble : se fabriquer des ressources quand on vit une crise ou un moment pas cool, zine, 40p.

Les ateliers groupe soin, volume 1, 2 et 3, zines, groupe soin. Du partage de savoir et vulgarisation de concepts médicaux issus de rencontre en groupe pour s’autonomiser.

My Body Is a Prison of Pain so I Want to Leave It Like a Mystic But I Also Love It & Want it to Matter Politically, Johanna Hedva, vidéo et transcript.

Hollow, Mia Mingus, Traduction d'Emma Bigé et Harriet de g, zine. De la science fiction avec des handi·es autonomes.

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

The Bell Witch Haunting

In the early 1800s, John Bell moved his family from North Carolina to the Red River bottomland in Robertson County, Tennessee, settling in the Red River community, which later became the present-day Adams, Tennessee.  Bell purchased some land and a large house for his family. 

One day in 1817, John Bell was inspecting his corn field when he encountered a strange-looking animal sitting in the middle of a corn row. Shocked by the appearance of this animal, which had the body of a dog and the head of a rabbit, Bell shot several times. The animal vanished. This was the first documented manifestation of the entity. Bell thought nothing more of the incident, at least not until after dinner. That evening, the family began hearing "beating" sounds on the outside walls of their log home.

The mysterious sounds continued with increased frequency and force each night. Bell and his sons often hurried outside to catch the culprit but always returned empty-handed.  In the weeks that followed, the Bell children began waking up frightened, complaining that rats were gnawing at their bedposts. Not long after that, the children began complaining of having having their bed covers pulled from them and their pillows tossed onto the floor by a seemingly invisible entity.

As time went on, the Bells began hearing faint, whispering voices, which too weak to understand but sounded like a feeble old woman singing hymns. The encounters escalated, and the Bells’ youngest daughter, Betsy Bell, began experiencing brutal encounters with the invisible entity. It would pull her hair and slap her relentlessly, often leaving welts and hand prints on her face and body.  The disturbances, about which John Bell had vowed his family to secret, finally escalated to the point that he shared his "family trouble" with his closest friend and neighbor, James Johnston.

Sceptical at first, Johnston and his wife spent the night at the Bell home. Things began peacefully, but once they retired for the evening, they were subjected to the same terrifying disturbances that the Bells had been experiencing. After their bedcovers were yanked off and James was slapped, he sprang out of bed, exclaiming, "In the name of the Lord, who are you and what do you want!" The entity did not respond; the rest of the night was peaceful. The next morning, Mr. Johnston explained to the Bells that the culprit was likely an "evil spirit, the kind that the Bible talks about." The entity's voice strengthened over time and became loud and unmistakable. It sang hymns, quoted scripture, carried on intelligent conversation, and once even quoted, word-for-word, two sermons that were preached at the same time on the same day, thirteen miles apart. 

The spirit grew stronger and more aggressive over time, particularly picking on John Bell claiming to want to kill him. Bell had been experiencing episodes of twitching in his face and difficulty swallowing for almost a year, and the malady grew worse with time. By the fall of 1820, his declining health had confined him to the house, where the malicious entity continuously removed his shoes when he tried to walk, and slapped his face when he recovered from his numerous seizures. Her shrill voice was heard all over the farm, cursing and chastising "Old Jack Bell," the nickname she had given him. John Bell breathed his last breath on the morning of December 20, 1820, after slipping into a coma a day earlier. Immediately after his death, his family found a vial of strange black liquid in the cupboard. John, Jr. sprinkled two drops on the cat's tongue. The cat jumped up into the air, rolled over in mid air, and was dead when it hit the floor. The entity then exclaimed, "I gave Ol' Jack a big dose of that last night, which fixed him!" John, Jr. tossed the mysterious vial into the fireplace. It burst into a bright blue flame and shot up the chimney.

John Bell's funeral was one of the largest ever held in Robertson County, Tennessee. People attended from miles away, and three preachers (two Methodist, and one Baptist) eulogized him. As the crowd of mourners began leaving the graveyard, the Bell Witch entity laughed and sang a song about a bottle of brandy. Her fervent singing didn't stop until the last mourner had left the graveyard. The entity's presence was almost non-existent after John Bell's demise, as though it had fulfilled its purpose.

[ltalaynareor]

Baudouin UA moderne

Baudouin marchait d'un pas déterminé à travers les couloirs de la faculté d'histoire, ses livres serrés contre sa poitrine. Les regards curieux et les chuchotements n'avaient plus le pouvoir de le faire vaciller comme avant. Il avait appris à vivre, à affronter les regards de ceux qui ne comprenaient pas.

Alors qu'il traversait l'amphithéâtre, un visage familier attira son attention. C'était Alix ! Alix qui avait partagé sa nourrice, Alix qui avait été la seule à rester près de lui, alors qu'il avait la lèpre et qu'aucun médicament ne fonctionnait. Alix qui était là quand enfin quelque chose avait fonctionné mais que la moitié de son visage avait disparu. Alix qui avait décidé de se battre pour lui, quand au collège, les autres se moquaient de lui. Alix qui avait la chance de partir à la Sorbonne mais qui avait refusé pour lui. Toutefois, Baudouin ne voulait pas qu'elle sacrifie son avenir et il avait fait des pieds et des mains pour qu'elle accepte. Elle était partie il y a deux ans et même s'ils s'envoyaient régulièrement des nouvelles par SMS, il ressentait toujours son absence.

Il perçut immédiatement la surprise dans son regard, mais pas de pitié, pas de jugement. Juste de la sincérité et de la chaleur.

"Baudouin ?" s'exclama Alix, se levant de son siège pour le rejoindre. "Tu es là !"

Baudouin sourit, soulagé de retrouver son amie si chère. "Alix, c'est tellement bon de te revoir. Comment es-tu arrivée ici ?"

Alix lui fit un rapide résumé de son changement de faculté, évoquant ses projets d'avenir et ses nouvelles découvertes. Baudouin sentit une bouffée de fierté pour elle, s'émerveillant de sa force et de sa détermination.

"Et puis, il faut avouer que tu m'as manqué. Je ne pensais pas que ce serait si dur d'être sans toi.", murmura la jeune femme.

"Tu m'as manqué aussi Lizzie."

Alix sourit brillamment et fit une blague à propos de l'emplacement de la fac et de la bibliothèque. Cela entraîna un rire de la part de son compagnon.

Pendant qu'ils discutaient, Baudouin remarqua qu'Alix ne fixait pas ses cicatrices comme les autres le faisaient. Au contraire, elle semblait se concentrer sur ses yeux, sur ses paroles, sur lui en tant que personne et non en tant que sujet de curiosité.

"Alix, tu es la seule qui ne me regarde pas comme si j'étais un monstre," confessa-t-il, un poids invisible se soulevant de ses épaules.

Alix lui prit doucement la main, la serrant avec compassion. "Baudouin, tu es bien plus que tes cicatrices. Tu es courageux et intelligent. Ne laisse jamais personne te faire sentir autrement."

Les mots d'Alix résonnèrent en lui, apaisant ses doutes et renforçant sa confiance en lui-même. Elle lui avait vraiment manqué.

Tandis qu'ils poursuivaient leur conversation, riant et se rappelant des souvenirs de leur enfance, Baudouin ne sentit plus cette pression dans sa poitrine. Alix l'avait toujours connu, même avant sa maladie et elle n'était partie que parce qu'il lui avait dit que tout irait bien pour lui. Tout n'avait pas été bien, mais tout irait mieux maintenant.

[ask-felix-aberg]

*Looking at the cloth-bound volume on Felix's desk, Andrew chewed his lip and finally stepped back. He had spent the last minute mentally debating whether or not he should personally return the book to his roommate, but then decided that the conversation regarding how Andrew came to the conclusion that it belonged to Felix was one he would very much like to avoid.

A copy of Advanced Potion Making sat atop the desk with a note accompanying it:*

Hello Felix!

I picked this up outside the library today and thought it might be yours since it had this written in the margins: "Are you a dragon tonic? Because you make my dragon rise, baby."

They are um- selling invisible ink in Hogsmeade if you would like to pick some up for next time.

Your friend,

Andrew

Felix pushed open the door to the dorm room. His robes, already loosened at the collar, now hung limply as he dragged himself across the threshold, his shoulders sagging under the weight of a long day spent in the sweltering heat. Even with the castle's cool stone walls, the warmth seemed to seep in through the cracks, making the long hours of studying almost unbearable.

The Ravenclaw kicked off his shoes, half-wishing he could just collapse onto his bed and let the day fade away, but something on his desk caught his eye - a cloth-bound volume resting there with a note perched atop it.

Curious, he walked over, his fingers tracing the spine of the book as he picked up the note. As his eyes skimmed over the words, a slow smirk curled the corners of his lips. 

"Are you a dragon tonic? Because you make my dragon rise, baby."

Andrew, of all people, with a line like that. Felix shook his head, chuckling under his breath as he pictured his friend, red-eared and flustered as he scribbled that line.

But as the initial amusement faded, Felix' brow furrowed slightly. "Outside the library?" he murmured, running his thumb along the edge of the note. 

He recalled seeing Madam Scribner earlier that day, clutching this very book and muttering something under her breath. It was hard to miss with the various garters she sometimes used as markers jutting out from the pages, like overgrown grass.

It was possible she’d dropped it. He made a mental note to return the book the next time he visited the library, together with the copy of Magical Maladies: A Healer’s Guide to Poking and Prodding he still had.

[wanderingmind13]

Invisible implies unable to be seen

The diagnoses I carry are labeled as such and maybe people can’t imagine, don’t want to imagine but it’s easy to dismiss something you claim is hidden from sight

what I experience is far from unseen

My disease reveals itself in the armor I don for battle each day, compression as a second skin, braces and tapes to hold together tissue and bone frail and bird like

It is visible in the hours spent in waiting rooms, the familiarity of cold, clinical sterility associated with pain

My skin bears the burden of illness, marked with bruises and scarring delicate as aging paper

Punctured daily with medicine intended to heal glass bones but simultaneously eroding my spirit

At times flushing on my face akin to a butterfly’s resting place, red hot wings branded onto flesh

This malady is seen in the repeated fractures and tears, limping and adjusting to find relief

It is identified in my need to sit, the sweat that blossoms when I must stand, the blood pooling in extremities, swelled and discolored

Mostly it is evident in the absence of me, the late night gatherings that happen as I rest, physical activities exceeding what I can give

The pain and exhaustion dragging me back to a point of isolation, one from which I’d escape if I could

The manifestations are intricate but revealed with empathy and the mindful gathering of information

To call my conditions invisible negates the palpable evidence of affliction

Minimizes my experience

And exacerbates my pain