#writes MEDICINE

[seeingivy]

just read a life changing musician!eren and now my method acting brain rot is getting even worse

[jadewritesficshere]

Steve and Eddie are sharing a joint, sitting in Steve's car. They're just talking about random shit, when Steve goes to apply chapstick. And that made him think about lipstick.

Steve likes lipstick. He voices this opinion. Likes the pop of color that draws the eyes. Likes how it emphasizes lips, makes them look even more kissable. Likes the marks they leave on the skin when kissing. It gets him all hot just thinking about the trail leading down and down-

And Eddie. Eddie just shrugs and returns to puffing on the joint they are sharing. Says he's never experienced it. Which, Steve thinks is criminal. Sure, Eddie is gay and it's the 1980s, but lipstick is just makeup and anyone should be able to wear makeup. I mean, Steve isn't shy to wearing lip gloss not that he advertises it.

So, Steve digs around his car, finds the lipstick that Robin left. He applies a thick layer to his lips, smacking them a few times. "I'll prove it, come here," Steve says leaning into Eddie's space.

And Eddie is wide eyed but agrees.

One kiss leads to two. Which leads to Steve pressing open mouthed kisses into Eddie's neck. Eddie moans and Steve whispers in his ear," I've wanted to do this for awhile,, you're so hot." Which leads to Eddie's shirt coming off. Leads to red lipstick trailing down Eddie's chest and down and down and

Yeah, Steve was right. Lipstick is hot.

[voiice-of-the-soul]

It irritates me alot when people say that making medic more compassionate is ''missing the point of his character'' when he is literally shown to be in the comics.... did you miss the part where he showed concern for both sniper and miss pauling's well being in comic 5 and 6.

His actions are a combination of genuine attachment + clinical interest and these things do not cancel out one another. He is always pushing boundaries and going against the grain and i think this is what led to him losing his license in the first place. He felt stifled by the rules imposed on him.

He is shown to be extremely passionate so it makes sense that he would use his endless fascination with medicine as a way to show his affection. He loves his friends so he will find a way to make them borderline indestructible. Malpractice is his love language.

[nightmaretour]

Anti-technology people who insist they're not ableist crack me up. What about people who rely on machines to breathe, eat, keep their heart functioning, or otherwise stay alive? "Well not that technology, obviously!" Ok what about AAC users, people who use hearing aids, or otherwise use technology to interact with the world in ways they otherwise couldn't? "Not that technology, obviously." Okay, my mobile phone is my memory, my sense of time, my sense of direction when I get lost, my ability to contact someone when I need help. It is my personal freedom because without it I would need full time care and supervision. But yes, that technology, right?

I hate how technology is made and utilised under capitalism as much as the next guy, but to pretend that technology doesn't greatly improve the lives of countless people, or even allow them to continue being alive, is to be willfully ignorant to the existence of disabled people. A world without technology is a world where a lot of disabled people don't get to survive. Capitalism is the problem, not the technology. Technology can (and should) exist just fine without capitalism.

[hier--soir]

take your medicine

pre-outbreak joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: *tv sales advert voice* so you've been finding it hard to reach orgasm? lucky for you, our best-selling item "hunky boyfriend joel" is on sale at half price. shipping is free, and he is very determined to help you achieve your goals! call the number on your screen to buy now! OR your medication makes it difficult to orgasm so joel (and your vibrator) help make it happen. warnings/tags: set in the early 2000s aka early thirties joel my lover boyyyy, boyfriend joel, depression [nothing dark or sad], anti-depressants, brief discussion of food/eating, cigarette smoking [f], soft!supportive!joel, mentions of masturbation [f], unprotected piv sex, use of a sex toy, ride 'em cowgirl (1939) dir. samuel diege, cream pie, dirty talk, joel talks you through it. word count: 2.9k masterlist a/n: so this one is.... self-indulgent. shout out to all my friends on anti-depressants that are strugglin' to reach orgasm. me too, pals, me too. and there will be no medication shaming on this account, no there will not! so happy sunday, i hope someone else out there enjoys this short little thing with me x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing

Medication is a journey, they say. Every day will be different.

Medication is not the end all be all, they say. We can always try different avenues.

Six months on, now.

Six months since Let’s try the Zoloft for a few months.

Six months since We can reassess in April.

It’s June and summer has settled over Austin with a hot wet vengeance. April came and went with a mutual agreement that you weren’t ready to be weaned off yet. A gentle hand on your forearm and a softly spoken Why don’t we check in again in July?

A low dose. A starter dose. A you shouldn’t experience too many side-effects dose.  

And she was right – for the most part. There were no headaches, no nausea, no dizzy spells, no changes in appetite. That shallow, low mood that’d been haunting you for months suddenly began to lift. Begrudging exercise in the afternoons, a three-meals-a-day regiment implemented by your boyfriend, and a happy little pill with every morning coffee.

But fuck – you can count the number of orgasms you’ve had since January on one hand.

Countless nights spent alone in your bed, tangled betwixt sweaty sheets, fingers and forearm cramping until you finally give up. Drink a cold glass of water, wet your face, and go to bed frustrated; a routine disappointment.

You’d gotten lucky a few times, of course. Vibrator on the highest setting possible, pussy all puffed up and numb from the rough speed. Frustrated tears in your eyes, lightheaded by the time you finally feel that sweet sweet relief coursing through your veins.

A few times with Joel, too, in those first few months. And ignorance was bliss—quite literally—until he caught onto what you’d been doing.

“What was different tonight?” he’d asked you on one of those nights, laid out beside each other in his bed. Chests heaving, satisfied smiles spread across your faces.

Your hand had paused against his head, fingers twisted up in his sweaty curls, and you hesitated. So quick, the briefest pause before trying to play it off, but he caught it. Always too perceptive, too watchful of an eye; especially since you’d been diagnosed.

“What’s wrong?” Joel frowned.

“I… didn’t… my…” you’d mumbled, face tucked against his pillow.

“Can’t hear you when you do that,” he pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Baby?”

“I didn’t take my meds today,” you repeated, voice still low, still wary. But you could tell he heard you. Knew from the way his body stiffened beside you. From how when you looked over his smile had dropped, eyebrows pinching inward. 

For a moment he didn’t even say anything. He hardly breathed. And then—Darlin’, why would you do that?—so painfully soft, the faintest tinge of worry in that deep, rasping voice of his. 

“I don’t know,” you sighed, and something hot began to burn behind your eyes. Wet, pinching shame. “Just… I woke up and I wanted you. And I wanted it to feel like it used to for us, and I can never… you know I can’t finish when I’m on them, and I hate feeling like I’m disappointing you—”

“Baby,” Joel shook his head, strong hand cupping your jaw. His forehead knocked against yours; a tender but firm kind of insistence. The type that says look me in the fucking eyes and listen up. “You’re not disappointin’ me.”

“Joel,” you sighed, face hot, foreheads tacky where they pressed together.

“No,” he grunted. “I fuckin’ mean it. This stuff takes time, okay? We’ll figure it out the way we always do. Just… don’t do that again. Please.”

“I won’t,” you murmured feebly, nose smushed against his.  

“Promise me,” Joel had urged you. “Promise me you’ll take your medicine.” 

“I promise, Joel.”

You kept strong on that promise. Didn’t get frustrated when he’d stay over more nights than usual, or drag you back to his place in the evenings – all just to watch you pop that little white pill in the mornings.  

It brought out something new in him, the day you’d showed him the prescription. Like some instinctual protectiveness was unlocked and he just kicked into hyperdrive.

Cutting work early to drive you to your doctor’s office, cooking up different meals every night for dinner.

Most days you wake up alone in his bed; wipe the sleep out of your eyes as you wander downstairs. Let him nudge you into a chair at the table, beside Sarah, so he can set identical bowls of cereal in front of the two of you—his girls. Hell, if you had a dollar for every time that man has said Breakfast is the most important meal of the day in the past six months, you’d have more money than you could spend.

Joel didn’t even get mad when you started smoking again in May.

Didn’t bat an eye when he found you at two in the morning, sat on the back porch in one of his sweatshirts with the smell of tobacco staining your fingers.

“Been a long time since I seen once of those in your mouth,” he’d smirked, settling onto the stoop beside you.

“I’m sorry,” you grimaced, remembering how proud he’d been when you quit. He rested his head against your shoulder, eyes watering with a yawn.

“S’late,” he grumbled sleepily. “N’you smell now.”

“I’m sorry,” you’d repeated, stamping the cigarette into the concrete. “Today was just… hard. Couldn’t sleep.”  

“S’okay,” Joel told you. “Just don’t like it when you sneak out on me, yeah? You know I ain’t judgin’ you.”

The only thing that frustrates Joel, is that he comes, and you don’t.

And it’s not a frustration with you. No, it’s a hot faced guilt that spreads through him every time you fuck. Evident in those frantic touches, desperate pleas of your name, of tell me what to do, tell me how to help, of fuck I’m sorry.

Because you still want him, despite it all. Still can’t help your wandering hands, your fingers that tease back his bed sheets and then his boxers and coax orgasm after orgasm out of him, night after night.

Tonight, you thought, would be no different.

Covers strewn across the end of your bed, pillows askew, you sit astride his lap.

It’s hot; the AC in your apartment has been broken all week, and your thighs are tacky with sweat where they press against his skin. Everything wet – sweat in your hair, slick between your thighs, the soft squelching sound that raises with every press of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” Joel pants, hands tight against your waist. “I can’t—goddammit, I’m not gonna last, baby.” 

“It’s okay,” you moan, eyelids heavy as you rock your hips over his.

It’s late, and you both have work early in the morning, but the burn is so good like this. The heavy weight of him reaching so far, pushing the limits of what your body can take. For years it’s been your favourite way to fuck him; poised above his body, admiring the way his stomach tightens and his eyes roll when you sink down on his cock.

“What can I do?” his voice is strained, the veins in his neck bulging as he holds his breath – anything to stave off the impending high.

You only whimper pathetically, grinding your hips into his. Can feel everything in your stomach knotting up into a white-hot ball.

“Hey,” Joel urges, hand landing in a soft slap against your outer thigh. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know,” you cry out, shaking your head. “It’s right there, but I…”

“But what?” he murmurs, hips snapping up again.

“I don’t think I can,” you finally admit, eyebrows drawn tight in frustration. Your lower lip is bitten raw at this point, incessantly gnawed at by your own teeth. His grip tightens on your hips and he drags you upward until his length slips out, falling against his stomach with a wet smack.

“C’mon, tell me what you need,” he says quickly, and you’re sure that the desperation you see in his eyes is mirrored in your own. Pupils blown round and fat, endless black—pleading.

You stare down at him for a moment. Watch the way his chest heaves with harsh, stilted breathes. How little dots of sweat have gathered at the hollow of his throat. And fuck, you want it so bad.

“Top drawer,” you exhale roughly, pointing to the side table.

Joel doesn’t question the order. Doesn’t say a word as he spreads a long arm across the bed, yanking the drawer open and shoving his hand inside. You watch him rifle around for a moment, pulse increasing as you wait for him to find what you want. What you need. And you can tell when he does; his shoulders stiffen and he lets out a choked sort of sound, pulling out the black wand and shoving it into your hand.

“Show me,” he says, eyes wild.

Your finger drops down against the button, turning your hand to show him which one to press.

“There’s four settings,” you murmur, slipping it back into his palm.

“Does this normally help?” he asks, grunting softly as you grip his cock, notching the tip back at your entrance.

“Sometimes,” you sigh, sinking down, sucking in the heavy weight of him. “Can still take a—a little while.”

He presses the button tentatively, watching as the rounded head of the wand starts to vibrate. Spread open around him, he can see your swollen little clit so easily, and he lowers the wand to press against it. Your body jolts forward, mouth splitting open with a groan as heat flares through you. Your hips stutter against him instinctively, chasing that intense feeling, and he looses a gravelly moan at the feeling of your wasted cunt squeezing around him.

“Look at that,” Joel grunts, dark eyes trained on your face. That wicked pink tongue slips out to wet his lips and he nods in encouragement. “I know, baby, I know it’s a lot, you feel good?” 

“Yes,” you gasp, jaw going slack as you settle into the feeling. “Fuck, yes, it’s good, it’s good.”

It’s nothing you’ve ever felt before; nothing your past boyfriends had ever been comfortable enough to try. It has the muscles in your thighs tensing up already; the thick press of his cock paired with that unrelenting, almost overbearing, vibration.

“Can feel it,” he hisses out, head tilting back into the mattress.

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he nods, expression grim. The muscle in his jaw twitches. “So fuckin’ tight like this. All wound up, y’need it so bad, I know.”

You moan, eyelids fluttering as he presses the button again, notching it to a higher speed. You lift up slowly and then press back down over him, and the two of you groan in unison. His free hand falls against the curve of your ass and he squeezes, encouraging you to rock against him, starting up a steady pace.

One of your hands settles on your chest, fingers twisting and pulling at your nipples. You need more, always more, something, anything.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” Joel mutters, and you can tell how fucked out he is already as he watches you. Dark eyes glazing over, mouth hanging open deliriously. “My pretty girl, so damn good for me.”  

Your heart stumbles in your chest and you whimper, appreciation for him flooding your senses. He’s been so close for so long tonight already, teetering precariously on that edge but holding off for you. Fucking you into the mattress before pulling out and tucking his face between your thighs, doing his damnedest to get you to that same place. Urging you to get on top, to take what you needed, to use him to get yourself off.  

“I love you,” you mumble breathlessly, eyes pinching closed as something sharp starts to tingle at the bottom of your stomach.

“Fuck, fuck,” Joel snarls, hips snapping upward.  

“What ar—” your words cut off with choked moan as he clicks the button again, and then again, taking it to the highest speed. Your shoulders shake and you tilt forward a little, hand gripping his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Joel,” you cry out, chest heaving and stomach tightening.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, searching for something to ground yourself against. That firm press against your clit doesn’t falter for a second, and you let out a rough moan.  

“Good,” he grunts. “Good girl, give it to me.”

The muscle in his bicep spasms and strains beneath the skin, everything pulled taut as he keeps the wand pressed firmly against you. And it’s almost painful, the way you can feel your high coiling inside you, burning, but never quite reaching fever pitch the way you need it to. 

A symphony that builds and billows and writhes within you. Sloping swells of violins and cellos and trumpets. Up, up, up to that shattering crescendo you just can’t seem to reach.

“Joel,” you mewl, and there’s tears in your eyes, on your cheeks. Hot, fat tears that stain your face now, dripping from your chin to splatter against his chest.

“C’mon now,” he grunts, hips shifting up off the bed, meeting you thrust for thrust. The stretch of his cock is so wide, so deep, and every shift of his body punches the air from your lungs.

“I don’t know if I can,” you shake your head, stomach on fire. The vibrations are so intense, the speed so fast, you can feel your clit going numb beneath it. But Joel doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop the fast pace of his hips. The muscles in his abdomen twitch under you, tan skin glistening with sweat.

“You’re so close,” he goads, jaw tight. “Don’t fight it, baby.”

“Stop moving,” you beg then, your voice a high keen. Joel stills instantly, wary eyes darting across your face. He doesn’t pull the vibrator away though. Not yet.

“Fuck,” you cry out, hand firm against his stomach. “Just let me-just—”

Knees on fire against the bed, you grind your hips down into his. Gasp as his cock presses hot and heavy against something deep inside of you that sets your entire body shaking, vibrating against him; buzzing at the same high-speed rhythm as the wand between your legs. You rut against him again and again and then something pulls tight and hot at the base of your spine.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, eyes widening. “Oh god, Joel, I think—”

“Shh, I know, I know,” he moans. A bead of sweat rolls from his hairline to his chin. “You’re okay, let it happen.”

“Touch me,” you say, breathless and needy and so so desperate. “Fuck, please.”

Joel groans – a deep, guttural thing. A sound that comes from somewhere in the base of his stomach. It rattles your bones and has your fingernails digging into his stomach, and then his hand is on your chest. Rough fingers squeezing and stroking and pinching and you’re gasping, keening his name as he whispers frenzied words of encouragement and it’s building it’s building it’s building and and and—

Everything goes silent when you come. It’s all blurred vision and deafened ears; an intense ache in your jaw from the way your mouth hangs open. You can feel a vein in your neck, raging beneath the skin; a staccato rushing sound that echoes inside your head.

And you think you can hear Joel’s voice, somewhere beyond it all; Fuck, there it is, good girl, good fuckin’ girl.

When your eyes flutter open, you can only see Joel’s face swimming in your vision. His eyes rolling back, lips parted as he snarls your name.

“Fuck,” he spits. “—yeah, that’s it, there we fuckin’ go.”

You feel his cock kick inside of you; fast jerking spasms and then a warm rush as he starts to come. Your hand wraps around his, pushing the wand to the side of the bed, but he doesn’t fucking stop. He grips your waist and fucks up into you, spitting curses and warbled slurs of your name as he pumps you full of his hot spend.

It’s obscene – a mix of your come and his, squeezing out around his girth and smearing against the inside of your thighs. It pools around the base of his cock and you whimper at the sight, swollen cunt still tightening around him. Only when you start to sag down against his chest does he rest, his thighs twitching and tensing with the aftershocks of his high.  

Joel raises a hand, calloused thumb brushing the tears from your cheeks. Then, carefully, he grips the back of your neck, guiding you down to rest against his chest.

Your shoulders slump and you press a lazy kiss against the jut of his collarbone. And for a moment there’s just this. No sounds but that of heavy breaths and a soft buzzing, forgotten somewhere in the sheets. The swipe of his fingertips down your spine, your lips against his salty skin. A gentle tap against your waist and he’s slipping out of you with a sigh, but not letting you pull away, not letting you move from where you’ve collapsed directly on top of him.

“Missed that,” you slur sleepily, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“Me too,” he mumbles. “Did so good. Made me proud.”

“S’that right?” you smile against his skin.

“S’right, baby.”

You hum, dragging your head up to press a kiss against his mouth. Both of you so exhausted that it’s just a brief, lazy swipe of your lips, but it’s enough. It’s thank you.

“Shower?” he suggests softly, smiling up at you.  

“Or… cigarette?” you respond, eyebrows raised, teasing.  

“Watch it,” he smarts, laying a quick smack against your ass before nudging you off of him. He stands and holds out a hand to help you off the bed, tutting underneath his breath. “Although I guess you’ve earned it.”

a/n: in hindsight, idk why the fuck i wrote that it took them six months to try this but what can you do lmao.

thank you for reading! x

[whumpster-dumpster]

Another Sickfic Alphabet

Cause why not?

A: Achy

B: Blankets

C: Contagious

D: Delirious

E: Emergency Room

F: Fever

G: Gag Reflex

H: Heating Pad

I: Insomnia

J: Jammies

K: Keel Over

L: Lingering Cough

M: Medicine

N: No Appetite

O: Overworked

P: Pale

Q: Queasy

R: Rash

S: Shivering

T: Tissues

U: Unsteady

V: Vapor Rub

W: Weakness

X: eXpectorant

Y: Yawn

Z: Zonked out

[morgana-ren]

I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRITE FULL FICS BUT IF YOU DO PLEASE WIRTE ONE ABOUT TGAT LAST ASK.

Just about Astarion sitting in his throne of sorts, in the palace, with tav sitting in his lap. He’s bored, tav sits there- dissociating and wishing they were anywhere else. He asks them if they’d like to do something fun and they say something like “Only if you do my lord” and he saddens some, expecting them to come up with something fun like they used to but they can’t think of anything that he would approve of them doing after so many years of breaking them down and he realizes it’s gotten so dull because tav was the person that brightened his life

"Awfully dull today, hmm? How would you like to do something fun, my love?"

It's an oh-so rare quiet day in the Crimson Palace, and his favorite source of amusement sits placidly on his lap, silent as the grave and still atop him. Content as he is in the peaceful quiet with solely her company, he'd spend the day with her doing– well, something, surely. It’s been a while since they’ve had any time to themselves to truly enjoy each other’s company alone. In fact, he cannot recall the last time with any distinct accuracy.

It seems so terribly long since they've had any time to themselves. Being a Lord keeps you awfully busy.

In a tender moment, he reaches forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear with a long, pale finger. She doesn’t react save a slight instinctual flicker of her lashes. Not a hint of expression on her face. He expects her to lean into his touch as she used to and is almost shocked when she does not.

Odd, he thinks. She hardly even seems to notice anything at all.

It’s almost like she isn’t entirely present.

Still, before he can chastise her, she responds to his bid for her attention.

"If that is your wish, my lord,” She responds to his question, lifeless and monotone. Perfectly obedient, just as befits her, and yet—

He frowns, just a little. It irks him, but now that he thinks about it, he cannot recall the last time he saw enthusiasm on her face– or much of anything at all aside from the blank, hollow mask she has now. Completely impassive and unresponsive in a cruel sort of practiced indifference. 

He studies her for a moment and comes to the conclusion that it reminds him of the robots they found in that strange tower in the Underdark so long ago. Programmed to respond to the right things and make the right moves, but utterly incapable of acting on her own whims. Eternally awaiting instruction. 

Empty. Robotic. Precise and yet disingenuous somehow. Eerily so.

Has she been like this before? Has he simply not noticed?

Perhaps she just needs to awaken a little more. It was such a long night, and he had kept her remarkably busy. She must be exhausted, but surely, she will perk up. She always does. 

Doesn’t she?

“Come, darling. What would you like to do?” He jostles his knees, dandling her on his legs like one might a small, particularly grumpy child. She bumps up and down, only reaching to steady herself on the sides of his throne. 

“Whatever would please you would please me, my lord.”

He groans, rolling his red eyes, a very sudden burst of irritation bubbling in his gut. Always with the My lord, My lord, scraping and bowing like some sort of indentured serf. Proper respect is important, of course, but for the first time in a while— longer than he can honestly think back on, to be honest— they are entirely alone. He is her Lord, yes, but she knew him by another name once– did know him by another name. She knows better than to tease him in front of his vassals but surely—

He can’t remember the last time she said his name. 

His real name. 

How long since he has truly sat by her side and talked with her? Spent time with her? He's been so busy, laying plans and waste, conquering and shedding blood of those who oppose him. The Lord Tyrant, come to rule over his dominion of Eternal Night. She is always by his side, never straying and yet— 

(“I love you, Little Star,” She’d laugh, planting a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, which would promptly crinkle in annoyance. 

“I’m not ‘Little Star,’ and I’ll never understand why you insist on calling me that.” 

“That’s what your name means, doesn’t it? Little Star? Or perhaps Little Starlight– I don’t really remember.”

“Then why make that my pet name?" He rolls his eyes, annoyed at the use of his own childish moniker that follows him like a shadow to anyone who speaks even a lick of his native language. "Of all the things your brilliant little mind can concoct, you give me a child’s handle? I’m strong, dashing, capable, handsome, fearsome– but instead you choose that absurdity” 

“Because you’re my little star!” And she would smile so brightly that it seemed impossible in the darkness, and he could not help but smile himself. “My light in the darkness. My Astarion, for as long as you want to be. And I love you.” 

His expression would soften once again and he would simply sigh, pulling her close to kiss her temple. The night was cold, but she was so impossibly warm against him, somehow fitting perfectly in his lap and into his heart, where she’d wormed her way in against his own will. The dim firelight reflects in her eyes as she tells him again that she loves him forever if he’ll have her, and he can think of nothing he’d desire more than to ride out the endless night of eternity with her here on his lap, cradled close.)

Something gnaws at him. Something raw and edged with a vicious sort of misery he’d done so well to avoid in ages. He cannot place it but as he looks at her, his stomach is as a dark, abyssal pit, circling and swelling like a maelstrom. 

Something is wrong.

He cannot place the negative emotion, and so he does as he always does now, making the strange yearning her responsibility to soothe. 

He lashes out at her. 

“I’m growing bored,” He says with a cold, cruel edge to his voice. “You know how much I dislike boredom, don't you, darling?"

What he seeks is a reaction. A sudden spark of life from within her. For her to grab his hand and take him to do— to do something. Surely—

And yet, with a motion so fluid that it implies an aged and practiced skill, she slides from his lap down to her knees before him, reaching towards the laces of his breeches. There is nothing behind her eyes as she extends her hand forward to unlace him, hardly even seeing him. Nothing at all. 

“What are you doing?” He slaps her hands away, scowling down at her, taken back by her brashness. 

“You said you were bored, my Lord.”

“And why would you think–” 

Because that is what he’d taught her. 

That her body was built for his amusement; his temple to defile at will. Because of the cold nights in the castle after so many years where he would reach for her, and she would quiver and shake her head with eyes rimmed red and puffy and beg to be left untouched and yet he would speak the words without thinking and she would bend for him any way he wished. 

Because even as she would obey, she would cry and turn away, and he would give it little thought until one night the crying and protesting simply stopped. He thought she had learned. Made peace with her duties and loyalty to him and what it entailed. Mayhaps she had come to realize that her theatrics had little impact on him and surely, he wasn’t so wretched to her now that these waterworks were necessary. His touch could not repulse her so that her weeping was remotely acceptable. She loves him, surely she—

Because he would command her until she would kneel, and so now, she kneels without command.

He sighs, breathing the fire from his lungs, reaching down to pull her back up into his lap. She does not respond, only obeys in kind to his guiding instruction as he settles her back down on his legs. He finds a semblance of patience from within himself which is a strange and unusual feeling, mustering it up to once again ask:

“My dear, what is it that you would like to do?” 

Her head cocks. She does not understand. 

"What would you enjoy? If you had the freedom to do anything, what might it be?"

It takes a moment, but for the first time, a reaction: Confusion. It is slow to take hold but becomes blaringly apparent as it does. It is not as if she doesn’t know the answer, but almost as if she doesn’t understand the question. 

“Whatever you would like to do, my Lo–”

“No, no, darling. What is it you would like to do?” He impresses, harsher this time, and she flinches, recoiling from… something. 

From him.  

If her heart was still capable of beating, he'd be able to hear the way it pumps into overdrive. As it stands, he cannot, but he is aware no less. Her scent changes entirely around him to something that has his brows furrowing. Shortness of breath, dilating pupils, hands beginning to quake— Adrenaline. Steel-edged anxiety. As if this is not a question at all, but rather a test and she does not know the answer, and failure means his displeasure and his displeasure means–

"I— What would you—" She hard-swallows, harrowed by the open-endedness of the question. "—I want what—"

("Come to the meadow with me, Asto," She would grab his hand with a mischievous smile when their compatriots were fast asleep, tugging him up from the comfort of his bedroll. "I want you to come with me."

"It's late, darling. Wouldn't you rather come here and lie with me?" He would try to tug her back down playfully, but would fall against her aggressive temerity, being pulled to his feet through her sheer will. She would stifle her giggling with a hand as she guided him past their slumbering companions, through the tree line and deep into the forest. 

"Come on, lazy boy, come! Come with me!"

"Well, I'm trying to—"

She would hush him and yank him by the wrist, out into the field where he'd first had her, down once more into a bed of wildflowers and long grass. Her melodic laugh like a strange song as she yanks him to the ground despite his weak protests until she would lie her head on his chest and trace gentle patterns on his white shirt against his flexed chest. 

"We don't have to come all the way out here to make love, darling—" He would move to try to kiss her, but she would adamantly press her head against his torso, insisting he stay down in the dirt with her. 

"I'm not trying to seduce you," She would giggle, pointing at the star-spangled sky. "I want to lie under the stars with you." 

"But… why?"

"Because I know we'll have eternity to do it, but it's my favorite moon tonight and it reminded me of you."

He squints, struggling to find anything different about it at all. "I don't notice anything, darling. It looks very much like the moon we see every night." 

"It's so full and bright! Look at the rays!" She holds her hand out as if to cradle a silvery moonbeam in her palm. "It reminds me of the color of your hair." 

She reaches over him to delicately pluck something from the grass, tucking it gingerly behind his ear after she does so. "These poppies are the same beautiful deep red of your eyes in the moonlight. I feel safe here; home, with you. I just wanted to enjoy it for a moment. Just the two of us."

He would wrap his arms around her waist, squeezing so tightly that she would gasp and worm about, trying to return the favor, and yet he would not relent. 

"I want you to feel safe with me," he would whisper into her hair, desperately trying to memorize the scent of it, as if expecting Bhaal himself to come and steal her from his frantic embrace. "Now and forever, I want to feel home in your arms, with you.")

He thinks, for a moment, to return to that meadow, and that perhaps his love— the one he remembers— will return to him. As if her ghost still lingers there, trapped and waiting to be rescued. 

He can’t. 

It is not a meadow any longer, but a battlefield, not unlike the vile destruction left in Ketheric's wake at Raithewait; another one in a million places sacrificed in his conquest for glory, littered with bodies and bones. A graveyard tribute to his power, scorched soil and dead grass. No flowers bloom there anymore— there is nowhere for them to bloom between the suffocating aura of death. 

All that is left is a beautiful memory buried beneath a river of dried blood, and you cannot water flowers with dried blood or wean them on bone dust. That meadow is one moment suspended in time as trapped in amber, impossible to claw free from its temporal prison. He cannot remember the last time he saw that jovial smile she had saved just for him in that damned meadow. 

He cannot recall the last time she said the words "I love you" and cried his name as a preternaturally beautiful siren song without being commanded. 

He frowns, feeling something strange and haunting in his chest. Something viciously clawing up his throat as he looks at her: at her empty red eyes that were once the most beautiful color, full of love and life when she looked upon him; at her contorted expression that used to be as radiant as the sun and he could have sworn that her light could have sustained him through the dark, miserable nights of his eternal curse if only she was by his side; at the frailty of her body that almost seems to creak and break beneath his weight. 

"My love, look at me."

And she does, if not by command, then by instinct. 

"Smile for me, will you? Can you do that for me?" 

And she does, her lips turning upward and raising to reveal two sharp teeth— and nothing more. It's uncanny and revolting and wrong. There is nothing behind her eyes, nothing at all. No light, no life, and certainly no love. 

He used to be able to see himself in her eyes. How her heart sang for him, cheeks blossoming with blood at the sight of him. He could hear her heart rabbit behind her ribs, her hands quaking with excitement to touch him even in the most innocent of ways. Through her eyes, he found his own value— his own worth— and finally began to understand that he deserved love; he deserved happiness. She had healed him, giving almost all of herself to do it, selflessly and without asking for anything in return even as he despised himself and refused his own agency—

And she stares at him now with soulless eyes, he is left to wonder if he has taken too much from her in his quest to take everything. Wonders if she will ever be that lovestruck, moon-eyed girl again, wanting nothing more than to lie under the moonlit meadow with him. If she will ever kiss his eyelids as a delicate butterfly and whisper eternity in his ear. If she will ever feel safe and home and loved around him again in his embrace–

Save she is no longer quaking with anticipation at his touch, but trembling from fear, lost and terrified at the posing of a simple question. Her scent is foreign even as it is familiar and he cannot recall when it began to change. There is something in her eyes that haunts him, and though he can see himself within him, what stares back is not him. A terrible realization rakes knives down his soul, a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole. A tightening in his lungs, and even as he does not breathe, he does not believe he could even if he tried. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, my Lord?” 

Her face is impassive once more. Perfect porcelain expression. Not a crack in the mask. Not a wrinkle in the facade. Practiced day in and day out until it becomes real. He remembers it well.

How long has it been? How long since he has looked at her? Truly looked at her? Spoken to her? Told her he loved her? 

Showed her he loves her?

When was the last day he did not command from her that which she begged not to willingly give?

He cannot remember. He cannot recall. 

He demanded and she had no choice but to give. More and more and more. He drained her dry and now where was once his sacred oasis, there is nothing at all. No matter how long he looks, there is never a flicker of anything in her glassy eyes. 

He wonders if even as he has gotten everything he has ever wanted, he lost the one thing he needed. 

It paralyzes him. For the first time in an ageless eternity, he feels something: Panic. 

Even his endless power cannot bring her back. His beloved is dead, and he has killed her. Upon him sits a pretty corpse, empty and devoid of all that made her her. A doll with her face. A doll with barely even that. 

Her laugh, her smile. Her passion and desire and love. The tenderness inside of her and the warmth she once held. Everything that pulled him from his shell and showed him how to love once more. He bloomed in her light– and then snuffed it out entirely. 

How long has it been? How long has she been gone?

Though she may be undying, he realizes with horror akin to a dawning sun that she is gone– and has been for some time. 

“You seem stressed, my Lord? How can I make you happy again?”

Second part of the story HERE

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Bruises

Bruises - or ecchymoses

A discoloration and tenderness of the skin or mucous membranes.

Due to the leakage of blood from an injured blood vessel into the tissues.

Pupura - bruising as the result of a disease condition.

A very small bruise is called a petechia.

These often appear as many tiny red dots clustered together, and could indicate a serious problem.

Pattern of a Bruise

Bruises change colors over time in a predictable pattern, so it is possible to estimate when an injury occurred by the color of the bruise.

Initially, a bruise will be reddish, the color of the blood under the skin.

After one to two days, the red blood cells begin to break down, and the bruise will darken to a blue or purplish color.

This fades to green at about day 6.

Around the 8th or 9th day, the skin over the bruised area will have a brown or yellowish appearance, and it will gradually diminish back to its normal color.

Long periods of standing will cause the blood that collects in a bruise to seep through the tissues.

Bruises are actually made of little pools of blood, so the blood in one place may flow downhill after awhile and appear in another.

For instance, bruising in the back of the abdomen may eventually appear in the groin; bruising in the thigh or the knee will work its way down to the ankle.

The blood under the skin that causes the discoloration of bruising should be totally reabsorbed by the body in 3 weeks or less.

At that time, the skin color should completely return to normal.

Sometimes, a bruise may become solid and increase in size instead of dissolving. This may indicate blood trapped in the tissues, which may be need to be drained. This is referred to as a hematoma.

Less commonly, the body may develop calcium deposits at the injury site in a process called heterotopic ossification.

Treatment

A bruise by itself needs no medical treatment.

It is often recommended that ice packs be applied on and off during the first 24 hours of injury to reduce the bruising.

After that, heat, especially moist heat, is recommended to increase the circulation and the healing of the injured tissues.

Rest, elevation of the affected part, and compression with a bandage will also retard the accumulation of blood.

Rarely, if a bruise is so large that the body cannot completely absorb it or if the site becomes infected, it may have to be surgically removed.

Prevention

Vitamin K promotes normal clotting in the blood, and therefore may help reduce the tendency to bruise easily. Green leafy vegetables, alfalfa, broccoli, seaweed, and fish liver oils are dietary sources of vitamin K.

Other good foods to eat would be those containing bioflavonoids, such as reddish-blue berries. These can assist in strengthening the connective tissue, which will decrease the spread of blood and bruising.

Zinc and vitamin C supplements are also recommended for this.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References Writing Realistic Injuries ⚜ On Anatomy ⚜ Fight Scenes Part 1 2

[l-in-the-light]

About pirates and their treasure (a theory)

You know what they say, right? X marks the treasure. Luffy has a huge X on his chest, where his heart is. Buggy has big crossbones painted all over his forehead. Chopper's hat bears the X mark. Strawhats used to have an X mark on their hands in their famous farewell scene with Vivi.

There are many really ridiculous theories trying to connect the X on Chopper's hat to the main treasure of One Piece, claiming it points towards Long Ring Long Land because the dots surrounding the X (post-timeskip) remind them of that island's shape. Don't worry, this won't be one of those theories. In fact, we're going completely different direction here, and by the end of this post you might instead start to vomit rainbows of happiness. Don't blame me if that happens :D

Let's start off with this mysterious occurance. Both Chopper and Franky mistake the symbol for danger with that of a pirate flag. What's up with that? Do those two scenes have anything in common?

Let's take a look at Hiluluk trying to explain the meaning of skull and crossbones. "This shows there's nothing a man can't do", "it makes man fight like a pirate", "it's the symbol of man's faith", "thanks to it the man rejects impossibilities". To understand this, let's take a closer look at history of Chopper's hat that bears an X, because it's for sure connected to this idea.

Chopper got that hat as his first ever gift, from his first ever friend, as his very first peace offering. Triple first meaning. And he got it from his most favourite person in the world. That's why it's his treasure from now on. Both Chopper and Hiluluk have matching hats from now on.

Hiluluk has his "treasure" symbol on his medical suitcase, because it's thanks to the specimens he keeps there that he can cure people (later it's the same for Chopper and his medicine bag, also bearing an X). Being a doctor and curing people is his treasure. Kureha is wearing a shirt with a cherry blossom image on it, just like on Hiluluk's flag. The symbol on the shirt is close to her heart. That's because Hiluluk was her treasure. That's why she picked his dream and took care of Chopper. Soon Chopper becomes her treasure as well.

Kureha and Hiluluk bantered with each other all the time, but they also knew each other for ages. Hiluluk knew that Kureha isn't overly emotional, but that he can count on her. After all she always helped him without taking any money for it. Her actions are honest, unlike her words. who does it remind me of? Do you catch the drift?

Pirates love their treasures. But pirates are just people, and actually for most people their biggest treasure can be something like a memento, autograph or other object holding emotional value, but if we put it in the context of One Piece we have for example Chopper's hat. Obviously it's his treasure, but not because it's a hat, but because it's a gift from Hiluluk. They both wore hats from then on and it symbolically connected them together. That connection is what is Chopper's actual biggest treasure. The reminder of love and acceptance he received from the most important person to him.

Okay, let's switch to someone else:

Did you know Nami and Nojiko wear matching bracelets? Those bracelets are cheap and worthless, the only value they carry is that they connect the two girls, no matter where they are. That's why those bracelets are their treasures, because they mark each other and serve the purpose of a symbolical connection between them.

Remember Vegapunk's broadcast when Nojiko declared she's not gonna listen to it anymore and instead went back to her tangerine groves? That's because she understood, in case the world is truly going to end, the least she can do is to take care of Bellemere's tangerines, because that's also a treasure for both her and Nami. And she for sure wants to keep those tangerines in top shape for her sister. All she can do to help her is just to do her best and have faith.

Next stop is Brook and Laboon. This theory explains why Brook's afro is so important to him. It's his treasure, because it reminds Laboon of a whale/himself. Rumbar Pirates even mentioned that Brook's afro looks just like Laboon. That's literally what connects them together, again, no matter how far apart they are from each other. Brook safekeeping the music dial in his head is also quite symbolic, since it will be a present for Laboon, for keeping his promise. Brook's treasure is his afro, but his biggest treasure is Laboon; that afro serves only as a reminder of their connection.

The talk about treasure always reminds me of Shanks and his strawhat. He claimed it was his biggest treasure when he handed it to Luffy, but later on Buggy is so perplexed: if it's Shanks's biggest treasure why would he just discard it like that, right? But Buggy is actually wrong. That hat means a lot to Shanks and is his treasure, but he has even more important ones. And in his case, it means the person he gave his hat to is his treasure, bigger treasure than the hat itself. And the funniest thing of all is, Luffy isn't even his biggest treasure. There's a person Shanks treasures even more.

In the first flashback of Buggy and Shanks we see the red-hair jumping in the water to save Buggy, uncaring what happens to his strawhat, not even stopping for a moment to remove it, it just flies somewhere to the side. That's Oda's hint: for Shanks, Buggy is his biggest treasure. Other treasures be damned.

And what's the most ironic here is that this is mutual. Buggy was ready to give up on his dream for Shanks. Despite being so disappointed in him, later on Buggy still said things like "I'm not gonna tell you anything about Shanks, not even as a send-off to afterlife", he's still defending him. It's ironic because neither of them is aware how important they actually are for each other.

This paragraph will enter speculation territory. My suspcion is that Shanks earned his scar against Blackbeard because the other surprised him by mentioning Buggy. He probably thought he's the son of Rocks D. Xebec. Blackbeard's ship is called "Xebec" and I bet there is a connection here. Shanks probably did the same thing Buggy did - refused to say anything not to sell off any information about Buggy. Those two might have seperated ways because of a misunderstanding, but they remain each other's treasures and defend each other to this day. Despite Buggy's promise/threat that they will be enemies the next time they meet, they both avoided each other. They finally met at Marineford and they were not enemies back then either.

And then I realized, it's just like in real life. Pirates or not, people's biggest treasures happen to be usually other people. That's why so many characters have specific X marks on them. Like Luffy or Buggy, but not only that. Scars, tattoos, they can also serve for symbolically marking a treasure. And just like in real life, one person can have many treasures, but only that One Special Person in their life.

For Shanks, he has this scar on his eye, while Buggy has crossbones on his face. X marks the treasure, their marks are kinda matching. Their jolly rogers also emphasize the marks around the eyes.

Now let's take a look at Whitebeard and Ace. Both got defeated by blow to their hearts. Whitebeard's treasure wasn't money or fame, it was finding a family. It was the same for Ace. They have the matching family symbol on their back: jolly roger of the Whitebeard Pirates (we're never shown any other crew having those tattoos on their backs, or at least I don't think I saw it, but please correct me if I'm wrong). The last words Ace said: "Thank you for loving me" weren't meant only for Luffy, but also for Whitebeard and his fellow crewmates. They were all Ace's treasures. But he also had just one Special Person and it wasn't Luffy.

In the very first introduction scene of Ace we see his back with the tattoo and the tavern people presume Ace is dead which feels like a very symbolic scene. Last scene we see of Whitebeard is his mantle falling revealing his back tattoo, identical to Ace. That's the mark of their treasures and it's on the same place on their body! Sure, Whitebeard has his other children, and Ace also has Luffy and a tattoo in memory of Sabo, but all of this exposition actually shows us something important: this means their biggest treasure is actually each other. Whitebeard loved Ace the most (that's why he said he's just a man with one heart doting for one lad of the young generation and he meant Ace then) and Ace finally found the ultimate answer he was searching for in Whitebeard's love for him.

Isn't it oh so curious that Law and Luffy share a mark in exactly same spot? They're matching. Luffy has a scar over his chest, marking his heart. Law has a a heart tattoo on his chest, in the middle of which there is a smiling face. Luffy rescues Law literally sitting on a Heart Throne. This is so straightforward it freaking hurts.

Of course Luffy has his crewmates and friends, they're his treasure. But after losing Ace Luffy earned himself a scar. It marked him. It shows us that from this moment on Luffy gained his most favourite person in the world, the Special Person. Who would that be? It would have to be someone who chose him over everything else, right? Because Luffy has serious abandonment issues. And what did Law do for him? He risked his life to get Luffy's ass out of the danger in Marineford, healed him and quietly sat there waiting for him to recover. So far significant people in Luffy's life always leave him (sometimes even his own crewmates, as sad as that is, and he needs to chase after them. Damn, even Ace finally left on his own, didn't he?), but this time this guy just appeared out of nowhere, he didn't even know Luffy well, but he was there in Luffy's lowest moment, and saved his life unconsciously fullfilling Ace's will ("live, Luffy!"). And that guy didn't even wait to hear thanks for that, leaving Luffy to do whatever he wants with the life he just saved. Like, how can we not think that Luffy would be all crazy about that person, knowing what we already know about Luffy?

As for Law... Law's novel puts it very nicely. His biggest regret and worst nightmare fuel is that he couldn't save anyone in Flevance. Not even one person. He helped quite a few people from then on. But many years later he managed to actually save Luffy's life, against all odds.

The life of that rascal who also defended prejudiced fishman in Sabaody, indirectly defending Law at the same time ("don't come closer, you will spread diseases!", that sure reminded him of Amber Lead Syndrome trauma or maybe even triggered him), just like Law's other favourite person did before, Cora-san.

I don't think it's a stretch that for Law rescuing Luffy was a big deal if not The Biggest Deal, exactly because Luffy survived. Just by that fact alone he became his biggest treasure. After all, in that situation, Law was literally the only person in the world who was able to save him.

Another potential "treasure" pair. After timeskip their eyes are marked - by a swirling eyebrow and a literal scar. We know that Kuina was the most important person for Zoro, she was his rival. Now that place is reserved for Sanji, he's Zoro's rival, and Zoro never misses opportunity to pick up a fight with him. And how are things from Sanji's POV? Perhaps all you lovely ZoSan shippers can tell me why Zoro would be marked as Sanji's biggest treasure. I know he must be the one, after all Sanji asks Zoro and not anyone else to eliminate him in case he loses control of himself thanks to Germa's suit. Sanji would never say it to just anyone but only to someone special, that much I'm sure of.

Another possible pair. They have scars/tattoo running all over their face, one diagonally, the other vertically. It's probably not a coincidence. Considering both have the same goal of creating their very own armies, there is probably a story waiting here to be told. I doubt it's a happy story though, my bet is that their ways got seperated. They're kinda like Shanks and Buggy, constantly missing each other, at least that's my bet. I don't think this means automatically that Crocodile is one of Luffy's parents, sorry.

Caribou and Coribou, they're also marked as each other's treasures. We learn from the cover story that their grandma told them to get along and not fight, because they're brothers and should support one another. Indeed that's exactly what they're doing as adults. They are each other's most important people.

Other possible treasure/special persons matchups: Franky and Franky's Family, Franky and Iceburg, Usopp and Yasopp and Usopp and Kaya, Page 1 and Ulti, Kid and Killer (maybe Killer will even earn a matching scar to Kid now after he took the blow for him against Shanks, who knows). And possibly countless others.

Mr 3 and Bon Clay? Why not! But that's not why I chose this image. "Jolly Roger is not something to laugh at or shot at". Replace "jolly roger" with "treasure" and we get this: "You don't laugh at other people's treasure". And since we know now that the treasure is love, we get finally: you don't laugh at other people's love.

For jolly roger/treasure/love one is willing to "fight like a pirate" which means "risking your life". It's a symbol of faith and a promise of life. All of that applies when thinking about "love" as well, you fight for your loved ones (all the freaking time in One Piece), you show unbreakable faith in them (also all the time, especially Luffy's crew for him but he always returns the favour as well), and it's a promise of life because what's the point if you die and leave your loved one all alone?

Other possible indications that X marks the treasure on the jolly rogers. Bonney's favourite dish is pizza, Apoo's most favourite thing in the world is his music.

If Shanks is right that scars don't make a man and there's always a lesson behind the scar that you need to learn, then that lesson in this context would be: to realize who is the dearest person to you and how much you're willing to risk for them. Only then you "earn" your treasure, because if you have love but can't treasure it, what good is it for?

Live action actually plays with this motif one more time when small Luffy declares proudly he ate the devil fruit because it was an important treasure to Shanks, and now Luffy has to be that treasure for him instead. Sneaky child!

Every pirate treats their treasure differently, right? Some tuck it away so others can't find it (Law tucked Heart Pirates at Zou to keep them safe... to keep his treasure safe), some just reach their hands for the grab and always keep their treasures close to them (Luffy - any time he finds a good person he just forces them to become his crewmate), and some just resign from reaching for it at all, thinking they're unworthy or because they don't think that treasure belongs to them (that's Buggy in a nutshell). Other people just let it go, like Shanks.

How does it all relate to One Piece's titular treasure? Well, if it was treasure left by Joyboy, then I assume it was very personal, something or someone he loved the most. The same way with Roger's treasure btw. That one? Most likely snatched by Whitebeard for himself heh. Yes, I think it's likely it was Ace. But it could also be Roger's whole crew, Rayleigh included. "My treasure? You need to search the whole world to find it", because indeed, those people are scattered all over the seas. "I left it all there" part still remains a mystery though.

Post dedicated to @tae-rambles because she claimed I interested her in the art of fishing. This theory is your fishing rod. All of you, please go fish! I want to see what treasures you can find!

This is the theory I used as basis for my Lawlu series of analysis posts. This is why I'm convinced Luffy and Law are Special for each other. You think this is going too far and there's no way Oda did a code like that in his pirate manga? But he always says, even in the SBS, that love is an important part of his story. "Love" was the answer to a question of how exactly Sanji's legs can ignite! Why do you think Sanji is constantly repeating "love is a hurricane" otherwise? Love is everywhere in One Piece <3

[lion-writer]

Reincarnation Au where Kaveh and Alhaithem reincarnate into Aventurine and Ratio. Because I've seen a ton of comparisons between these two and Need a reincarnation Au badly.

They're so similar on a surface level, flamboyant blonde x tsundere scholar. Then you get deeper and realize just how different they are. Alhaitham is lazy, and doesn't care about others. While Ratio is passionate to a fault, he's dedicated his life to teaching, to spreading knowledge.

And on the other side, we have Kaveh and Aventurine, two blondes who have lived lives of tragedy, and have self esteem in the negatives but try to cover it up with a flamboyant attitude. We have Kaveh who binds himself to his ideals, suffering for their sake. While Aventurine is bound by others and by fate itself and as such isn't free to hold himself to such ideals.

But If they're so different, how do you get Kaveh and Alhaithem to become into Adventurine and Dr Ratio? You may ask. And the answer is quite simple. You just break them.

Once upon a time, there lived Kaveh, who lived with Alhaithem. And they were in love, not that most people were able to tell what with all the fighting. A lot of it was over Kaveh's bleeding heart, how he would sacrifice himself on the altar of his ideals. How he would give and give only to receive nothing but pain in return. And then one day Kaveh got sick, and died, slowly, painfully, and far too young, questioning if it had all been worth it.

After Kaveh dies, a month or a year, some amount of time later, a cure is found. And Alhaithem recognizes the researcher who developed the cure, maybe they asked for his advice only to be shutdown, or they had submitted their research application while he was grand sage only for it to sit on his desk for a month and get rejected. Maybe nothing would have changed had he helped them, but possibly a cure would have been discovered quicker. And that possibility haunts Alhaithem, that maybe had he cared, maybe if he tried to help, maybe Kaveh would still be there. But maybes won't bring the dead back to life.

Thus in another life we have Aventurine, who can't quite remember why he tried to do the right thing, but knows that it has been his downfall before. He has two lifetimes of evidence as that proves that loving something is the best way to lose it. But still, no matter how hard he tries, he can't help but care. At the very least, with this heart of stone he's tried his best to create, he feels closer to that voice he doesn't know yet can't forget.

While Veritas remembers loving somebody who Cared. Remembers losing them because he didn't. Remembers calling himself a genius only to be hated and alone. And so, determined to fix his mistakes, he makes it his mission to help others, he will not, can not, rest untill he has cured the universe of its ignorance . Even if he'll never be able to care as much as the smile in his memory did.

They both cling to a memory of the person they once loved, and try to push and prod pieces of themselves into that shape. Cause they'd do anything to see their partner again, even if it's just in the mirror.

Ratio remembers more of his past life, partially due to Adventurine attempting to suppress the memories of his childhood, and partly due to Ratio still desperately trying to not repeat his mistakes. Thus when they first meet, Ratio would despise Aventurine. It feels almost like looking at one of those face swap photos, an unholy conglomeration of somebody he regrets being and the face that haunts his dreams. Blonde hair in the wrong shade, mannerisms that are almost but not quite. Still he falls in love, slowly, begrudgingly, and hating himself for it.

On the other side, what little memories Aventurine has is mostly of a grey haired scholar with a tongue as sharp as his swords. And so Adventurine sees Ratio and can't help but compare the two. They're different, undoubtedly, but it would be so easy to ignore those differences and fall. But he can't, he can't lose yet another person he loves.

[virtuosicstudyblr]

Will I finish my thesis before the new semester starts? I don’t know, but bets are accepted ;)

[macgyvermedical]

Post-election, I find myself a part of multiple communities that will struggle to access Healthcare under a 2nd Trump Administration.

As a result I am working on building my medical knowledge base as well as stocking up on physical supplies. I was wondering if you have any favorite resources to build Healthcare skills and knowledge aimed more towards community care.

I already have a decent handle on emergency medicine and basic wound care, but I'm struggling to find solid resources on how to fill the gaps left by a lack of access to GPs and even limited access to Emergency Departments.

The common advice I hear is to go to a professional when we are out of our depth, but my community is already low on safe professionals and the shortage is only going to grow. Any resources that are downloadable or available in hard copy are especially appreciated.

Thank you for all you do. I know it must be exhausting, but you are providing an invaluable resource.

I have a few resources you might look into.

The first is Where There Is No Doctor by David Werner. You can borrow the 2010 edition (there is a newer one I recommend you buy if you have the cash) from Internet Archive here. This is a healthcare handbook aimed at low-resource areas and is written in very plain language (and in a number of different languages) for anyone without a health background to understand.

The second is Where There is No Dentist by Murray Dickson. You can borrow it from Internet Archive here. Similar in concept to the previous book, this book is geared towards teeth and mouth problems.

The third, if you happen to have access to someone who happens to be a health professional but who isn't used to low-resource settings is Improvised Medicine by Kenneth V Iserson. It's a little pricier to buy than the first two, but you can borrow it from Internet Archive here.

The fourth is Barron's A Complete Guide to Home Nursing by Diana Hastings. You can borrow it from the Internet Archive here. Yes this is from 1986. Perhaps surprisingly, however, this is the most useful, complete, and accurate text on the subject I have found.

[melsmodernlife]

Can we talk about this?

I feel like this gets so overlooked due to the whole “Rescuing me makes him so happy” bit. But I absolutely adore how Crowley says he won’t leave Aziraphale and almost before he’s done saying this Aziraphale is already saying “I know.”

Look, our ineffable duo kind of fail at communicating well (it’s basically the whole theme of season 2 and a consistency of the series so far), but they do trust each other.

I think this is partially why Aziraphale was so shocked by Crowley not following him to heaven. There’s push and pull, but Aziraphale trusts Crowley to play a protector for him and to always come back.

Just look at their fights so far. In particular, they fight about the holy water but Crowley later shows up and saves Aziraphale from the Nazis. They fight twice about running off together during season 1 and both times Crowley comes back to see Aziraphale. They fight about what to do with Jim and Crowley storms off saying Aziraphale is on his own only to return and apologize.

But part of the problem is Aziraphale takes that trust for granted. He constantly pushes Crowleys boundaries, but returning to Heaven was a hard limit. This demon who has put his life on the line multiple times for Aziraphale because of love and trust says no and Aziraphale constantly pushes past that to get his way with the expectation that Crowley will fall in line with him again.

And I say all this to say, Crowley comforted Aziraphale saying he wouldn’t leave him and Aziraphale implicitly believed him. But when has Aziraphale done that for Crowley?

[samdeancrimespree]

samdean having the same blood type is so important to me like icb we never saw them giving each other blood transfusions.

it would’ve been john’s idea at first… sam gets a serious injury on one of his first hunts and he’s losing blood but they’re in the woods and john— calm, ignoring the obvious horror and self-blame on dean’s face— orders dean to the car, go get the first aid kit. dean’s out of breath when he gets back, silently taking over putting pressure on sam’s wound, entire focus on keeping him awake, you’re okay sammy, just look at me. he barely takes notice of john until he’s pulling dean’s left hand off sam, pushing up his sleeve. dean doesn’t even glance at him until he feels something stick in his forearm. that’s when he looks, seeing plastic tubing and needles. he makes brief eye contact with his father, understanding despite never going to a doctor before, and turns back to sam. sam barely reacts to the needle in his arm, just a weak flutter of eyelids, and dean sits there in shock until john smacks him on the side of the head, ordering him to stand up. dean obeys, already a good soldier at 17. he stands over sam like a guardian angel, watching his blood travel down the tube into sam’s veins as john sews the hole in his abdomen shut.

john knows from looking at him that he must be lightheaded, but dean still insists on helping sammy back to the car, sticking close to him like he’ll die if he lets go.

both boys in the backseat, pale from blood loss, but alive. sam’s head is on dean’s shoulder, and deans arm is around him, blood-stained fingers dragging up and down his arm slowly, soothing.

john doesn’t even argue about them sharing a bed that night; he’s too tired. dean refuses to leave sam’s side for a moment, washing the blood and grime off sam’s face, hands and stomach without doing the same for himself. they fall asleep with sam’s face almost against dean’s chest and dean’s arms tight around him, feeling him breathing.

once they know they can, they do it a lot. dean offering when it’s really not necessary, and sam letting him, both pretending they don’t just enjoy sharing everything about themselves.

and Maybe when they get a drop of blood on their hands they just lick it off instead of dirtying their clothes and Maybe that’s where sam got his taste for blood from but who am i to say

[meldelmew]

[serickswrites]

Field

Warnings: blood, wounds, shrapnel, explosion, injury, field medicine, unconsciousness

"PLEASE!" Whumpee roared as they thrashed in pain.

"Hold still, Whumpee. Hold still," Caretaker ordered as they tried to take stock of just how much shrapnel was in Whumpee's back.

"CAN'T! H-H-HURTS!" Whumpee screamed as Caretaker's fingers accidentally brushed against a particularly bloody piece of metal in their back.

"I know it hurts. I know it hurts. But you have to be still. Please, Whumpee. I need to help you."

Caretaker's unspoken words hung in the air. Let me save you. You saved me. Let me save you.

Whumpee had shoved Caretaker down, covering Caretaker with their long, lean body. Whumpee took the brunt of the shrapnel from the explosion. Caretaker would be dead if Whumpee hadn't. But now they couldn't let Whumpee die.

Whumpee's thrashing slowed. "Please," they whispered quietly. "H-H-Hurtssssss," their words slurring. "C-C-Care'rrrrrr."

"Ah, ah, none of that, Whumpee." Caretaker tapped Whumpee's clammy cheek as Whumpee's eyes rolled into the back of their head. "Stay with me, Whumpee. Stay. Please."

But Whumpee didn't break. Their breath came in shallow gasps. "I am sorry," Caretaker whispered as they realized they had to hurry. "I'll be quick." Their fingers wrapped around a particularly large piece of shrapnel. "I'll get you bandaged up." And they pulled the piece out. The piece pulled free in a loud squelching sound. "I'll get you to help. Just hold on."

Tags: @wollemi-whump