#hey. ow.

[andhumanslovedstories]

Hey bedside folks. At some point you’re going to need to move a patient or do a task on a patient, and you’ll think “eh this’ll be really quick, I don’t need to raise the bed.” YOU NEED TO RAISE THE BED. YOUR LOWER BACK IS MADE OF GLASS AND DUST.

[violetgleams]

what cycle do you keep repeating?

The Caretaker Loop

You build homes in other people. You notice the unspoken needs in a room and instinctively try to fill them — emotionally, practically, spiritually. You’re the one they lean on when things fall apart. But somewhere along the line, your own needs became negotiable. You learned (maybe too young) that being useful was how you earned love. Now, even when you’re exhausted, you keep showing up. You listen until your ears ring, offer softness until you go numb, smile through the ache. And part of you resents it. But then you feel guilty for that, too. The trap: You give to feel needed, but being needed keeps you from feeling truly seen. The truth: You don’t have to earn your place in someone’s heart by tending to their wounds. To break it? Learn the difference between care and self-erasure. You matter too.

Tagging: @smilingmxsk @mxchineherald @templeofvengeance @riddlesnap @sanguine-salvation & whoever else wants to do this!

[tomepact]

“you are not wrong .” he sputtered out the words in gasps. his wounds were grave and his consciousness rapidly fading. he couldn't quite see hymnal's face ... but he felt him, this time, under his grasping hand. the fires of the inferno calling; he held onto hymnal's shoulder tight for just one more moment. “i- i'm sorry ... for this - for everything ... - that it has to end this way – but it is not your fault but mine. and you are not wrong! ... to trust, to believe ... to help ... to care for and love people even when they disappoint you - ... it is not wrong. you didn't do anything wrong ... not a thing! please don't let this change you. not that part of you ... ”

the mind does strange things in times of intense troubles.

hymnal's mind takes him back, to sitting among the pews of the temple that had been his home. a cleric speaks prayers over them, reciting old hymns, and his hands are clasped and his head is bowed. it is a memory in a memory, because he remembers remembering something else: the face of a man desperate in the middle of a burning battlefield, holding onto hymnal like he's a lifeline.

aid those who are without guidance.

hymnal had started crying so hard in the middle of service that he had been led out of the room. he didn't know why, at the time, but it's all painfully clear now.

the same man lays at his feet now, burning blood seeping into his clothing and the ground and into the roots of the dark trees over them. his wounds are grave, inflicted by a combination of magecraft and the sword that hymnal clings to like it might be the last prayer he has in this world. above him is the only source of light illuminating them, a bead that spins into a halo behind his broken horns.

in another life, it's vespin's claws that are buried in his chest, grasping for the heart of a champion before the world becomes ash around him. this time, however, history rights itself -- the champion of good wins this battle.

you are a fool. you trusted him, and look -- look at what has happened again.

he hiccups over his next breath, trembling all over. he is no experienced knight in this life. here, he was not raised in the hallowed halls of grand cathedrals to walk the path of righteous anger.

here, he was a boy from a farming village wearing armor from another time.

vespin's hand grips into his shoulder, in the place where the pauldron meets the chestplate, and those fingers dig in almost painfully tight as he speaks. hymnal has to strain to hear him over the ringing in his ears. (he only learns later that the strain is because he's crying too hard, that the sobbing sounds are coming from himself.)

" i should have listened. i should have-- "

he should have stayed on the path from the beginning. or he should have run at the first opportunity. he should have done something.

please don't let this change you.

" i'm sorry -- i'm -- "

the fires burn too hot to hang onto vespin for too long. he tries, clinging to his arm until the flames lick up the exposed parts of his arms and he's forced to draw back. eventually, he's left alone in the dark, clutching his arms against himself as he tears the gauntlets off and tosses them to the side.

he's not sure how long he sits there before someone else comes along to find him -- time here doesn't move, not the way everything else does, and between memories of old and new, he can't stop crying.

(hellfire, it seems, never stops burning. the scars remain, black veins in the gold and white marble, and they hurt. they always hurt.)

[bookmcde]

who are you, really?

the caged songbird

there's a pause that stretches on for infinity before the voice clears their throat. "why don't you retaliate?" you blink. "why should i?" "what do you mean?" "here's the thing," you delicately fold your hands in front of you. "just because the world is unkind doesn't mean that i have to be." — instead of turning out angry and furious with the world— you've resigned yourself to it's cruelty. softhearted and kindness got you nowhere, but you know the world's not gonna' change, so why should you? you decided to be kind, and so you are. you decided to care in a world that doesn't, and i think that's very powerful.

[viisiond]

which type of loneliness are you?

coming home after a party

your ears are still ringing but it feels already like it was an age away. it's bittersweet, as if there are only so many more opportunities like this left; looking back, it feels almost like a disguised farewell, glossed over as if to make it sting less.

Tagged by: @xapriciity​ (Thaank you isavel<3) Tagging: Steal it uwu~