#but really the worst symptom and the one i’ve never been able to stop is that i cannot picture having a future

[indigothreads]

tired of not feeling like a real person.

[yandere-daydreams]

Screening: Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978).

Pairing: Yandere!Carlisle Cullen x Reader (Twilight).

Word Count: 2.1k.

TW: Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Medical Malpractice, Blood, Controlling Behavior, Deliberate Social Isolation, Misuse of Prescription Drugs, and Generalized Twilight. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

It might’ve just been the isolation getting to you, but you were starting to think that your doctor wasn’t completely human.

Not that you’d ever say so out loud. At best, it was awful thing to think about a man who’d only ever been kind to you and, at worst, it proved yet another symptom to your ever-developing, ever-worsening illness had cropped up and would need further treatment to correct. You knew better than to say things that would make you seem more sick than you already were, but it was hard to stop yourself from lingering on the idea – especially considering you only had books, sleep, and his company to pass the endless time. Admittedly, it’d been a while since you’d seen another person, but you could’ve sworn he was paler than he should’ve been, to the point of bloodlessness. He never ate or drank around you, but sometimes when he spoke, the light would catch on his teeth in a way that made them look too sharp, too prominent. You might’ve been dreaming, but once, after you took your medicine but just before you fell asleep, you swore you saw him taking the cap off of the blood sample he’d taken a few minutes prior, like he planned to do something aside from—

You heard a door open and instantly, your paranoia was dismissed in favor of more interesting stimuli. In this case, that came in the form of your doctor, Carlisle Cullen, stepping into your bedroom, an inhumanly perfect smile already painted across his inhumanly perfect lips.

…maybe you should tell somebody about your little conspiracy. If only to be absolutely sure that you were really losing your mind.

“Good morning,” he said, and it occurred to you that you hadn’t thought to check the time, yet. Your life existed in three states: alone, asleep, and with Carlisle. Only that last one really mattered – the other two could easily be lumped into the same category helpfully labeled ‘waiting for Carlisle’s next visit’. “Have you been keeping yourself busy?”

“I’ve only been awake for a couple hours,” you explained, shrugging as he took his usual seat in the chair left next to your bed. He was always polite enough to ask about the boring details of your day, and you were always embarrassed enough to skirt around just how little you had the energy for. Most of the time, it was all you could do to pull yourself out of bed and yourself to eat before retreating back into your little safe haven. On a good day, you’d be able to go for a walk, maybe respond to a few of the calls you were constantly missing, but most days weren’t very good. “Reading, mostly. Thanks again for the recommendation.”

The book he’d lent you – a dry historical drama with characters as bland as water and a plot as boring as sin – sat open on your lap, but you’d only gotten through half a chapter before giving up. It was hard to believe Carlisle was only a few years older than you, sometimes. You couldn’t imagine how someone who seemed so young could have such awful taste.

Still, he looked pleased, his pleasantly aloof expression taking on a defined note of satisfaction. “It’s important to keep your mind occupied while your body’s recovering. You wouldn’t want to waste all of my hard work by letting yourself die of boredom, now, would you?”

“No, doctor.” It was stupid to try, but he’d set himself up for it. You couldn’t seem to stop yourself, your heart beating just a little faster as you grasped blindly for the impossible. “You know, there’s this friend of mine who keeps asking when she’ll be able to visit, and I thought it might help pass the time if—”  

“You’ll have to find a way to let her down.” Carlisle’s voice was smooth, calm. You did your best not to sulk, but still, he let out a labored sigh, only a touch too professional to roll his eyes. “It’s for the best. It’s good that you stay active, but you know what’ll happen if you overexert yourself, don’t you?”

Vaguely. It was hard to remember the details of your condition, and you weren’t in the mood for another lecture. “I do, doctor.”

“And you’re going to behave your check-up, aren’t you?”

“I am, doctor.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite patient.” Your compliance was rewarded with a beaming smile, an appeased nod as he pulled his old-fashioned leather doctor’s bag into his lap. “We better make good on that promise before you change your mind, then.”

You didn’t protest. Honestly, you didn’t say much of anything. You never talked during your exam, preferring to let Carlisle go through the necessary motions with as little interference as possible. Instead, he filled the silence with mindless chatter about his children and how they were doing at the local public school, the hospital’s ongoings since you were unofficially discharged, and your favorite – Forks’ particularly colorful smalltown gossip, from the sheriff’s wayward daughter moving back into town to the spike in bear sightings on the local hiking paths. “It’ll be a busy week,” he mentioned, as he finished taking your blood pressure. “You might have some unexpected company, after all.”

At that, you perked up. You met nearly all of Carlisle’s assistants (medical students, you guessed, judging by their ages) by now, and even if you didn’t care for all of them, it was still nice to see someone other than him. Your least favorites were the dark haired twins – the wiry boy who always seemed to be biting back a smirk and the pixie-like girl who always acted like she knew something you didn’t – and you were particularly fond of the blonde girl… Rosemary, or maybe Rosaline. She was nice, compassionate, kind enough to keep you company even when Carlisle wasn’t in the room. More importantly, she brought interesting books – romance and horror, novels like Dracula and Carmilla and Interview with a Vampire, always handing over with a sweet smile and a hushed reminder not to let Carlisle know she was breaking his rules. Looking back on it, you probably shouldn’t have accepted anything she tried to give you. You would’ve hated for her to get in trouble just because she was trying to be nice.

Rather than voicing your overwhelming bias, you watched intently as he slipped the loose cuff off of your arm, tucking it back into his bag and removing something else, something long and silver and sharp. Immediately, your gaze shot back to your lap, your throat going dry in an instant. The next time you managed to spit something out, it was nearly too quiet to be audible. “…is there any chance we could, uh, I don’t know,” You paused, shrunk into yourself. “…skip the phlebotomy, this time?”

Carlisle’s answer was as swift as it was ruthless. An airy laugh, a jagged twist to this smile as he took up the needle properly and turned it over in his hand, looking for defects. It was already attached the glass syringe and, even worse, an empty vial; just a touch bigger than you remembered it being, the day before. “And take that kind of risk? How little do you think of me, (Y/n)?”

“It’s not you, it’s just—I already feel a little faint, and you take one every day, and—” You cut yourself off, inhaling sharply. “I just don’t know if it’s really necessary. Considering how careful you are and everything.”

“You’re right, I am careful. Which is exactly why I have to do this each and every time I come to see you.” He sighed, shook his head – suddenly more of a patronizing, paternal figure than any kind of medical professional, let alone peer. “You understand, don’t you? Without regular testing, your condition may worsen, and if you get any sicker than you are now…” You stiffened as he trailed off, bracing yourself. You knew what came next, what always came next.

“You’ll have to go back to the hospital, angel.”

It was strange, how a voice as smooth and as beautiful as his could be so difficult to listen to.

You didn’t like Carlisle. You hated his condescending smile, his repetitive rambling, his terrible taste in books and his creepy little students. You hated how little he let you do, how he talked about your illness – always skirting around the details, never giving you enough information to know whether you were on the verge of dying or a few days away from making a full recovery. No, when you were honest with yourself, you didn’t like him. Hated him, even.

But you couldn’t go back to the hospital, with its blank white walls and sobbing patients and strange, mind-altering drugs that put your sleep and made you feel like someone was biting into your throat. It’d been a miracle when Carlisle first told you about his domestic services, when he offered to have you discharged in exchange for only the promise that you wouldn’t seek care that didn’t come from him. Arrangements were made, your rent and bills taken over by some nameless, faceless local charity, and for the first time in months, you got to go home. You could live with Carlisle and his once weekly, now daily check-ups. You could live with the fact that you didn’t remember the last time you’d gotten to make a decision for yourself.

And, if you had to, you could live with paying for your freedom in blood, too. As long as it meant you didn’t have to go back to that terrible place.

Once again, you didn’t say anything, but you didn’t resist as he sighed and ran a sterilizing pad over your forearm, the antibiotic strong enough to burn. You clenched your eyes shut, but that did nothing to block out the feeling of a thin elastic band being wrapped around the crook of your elbow, of his needle pushing through your skin and burrowing into the vein underneath it. There was a second of pressure, of knotted soreness, and then, the syringe was gone and you were left feeling just a little colder, just a little more empty than you had before.

Even after opening your eyes, you kept them trained on your lap. You easily could’ve spent the rest of his visit in silence, but metal clinked against glass as he rushed to cap his vial and suddenly, you needed to hear the sound of your own voice. “I think I might be getting paranoid,” you managed, with a breath of a laugh. “For a few minutes this morning, I was able to convince myself that you were… I don’t know, an alien studying humanity, or something.”

“If I was, I’m sure that I would still pick you as the best possible specimen for my examination.” It was hollow comfort, but you smiled anyway, nodding along. Your medication came next, in the form of a small, chalky white pill that you still struggled to swallow under Carlisle’s vigilant gaze. You managed to choke it down, though, and as always, the effects were instant; a sudden clearness, blankness, followed shortly by an exhaustion so thick and so heavy, you couldn’t remember what it’d ever felt like not to be tired. You tried to hold yourself up, but faltered – buckling under your own weight. Carlisle chuckled as he caught you, helping you lay down with a soft squeeze to your shoulder, a feather-light kiss to the top of your head. “Sleep, angel. It’s good for you.” And then, his grin still pressing into your scalp. “And try not to dream about vampires, this time.”

So he did know about Rosalie’s books. Pouting, you shrunk into yourself, letting him drag the comforter over your abruptly immobile body as your eyes eased shut, as he pulled away – a vial of your blood still warm in his hand. It would’ve been impossible to stop yourself from falling asleep, but you managed to stave off unconscious long enough to watch him remove the vial’s carefully applied seal, to unscrew the air-tight cap with the kind of tenderness you’d only seen him use while taking your temperature or petting his fingers through your hair after he thought you were already too far gone to remember. He did a lot of things when he thought you weren’t looking, didn’t he? You’d never really noticed that, before.

Through your eyelashes, you watched him bring the vial to his lips before everything went dark.

[scrawlingschizophrenic]

The worst part about all this is how empty I’ve felt since I got here.

I got so used to using maladaptive daydreaming in my life, I’ve been like this since I could remember. This past year it probably saved my life. I spent almost every waking moment I can still remember making up stories in my head to help offset the symptoms I was experiencing.

But the day I moved back it all stopped. I haven’t been able to daydream at all. It’s been the most upsetting experience I’ve had so far.

I know it seems silly to complain about something that made me stare at the wall for hours, but it was just the way my mind worked.

They’ve been there for me my entire life, good and bad. I’d ask them for advice, using them to help me think things through and make decisions. I turned to daydreaming when I started getting overwhelmed by my hallucinations as a kid.

But since I’ve got here I haven’t been able to. It’s like a part of my mind has been locked away. I can still feel it there, I still want to, but I just can’t.

And I get that maladaptive daydreaming isn’t really a good thing. I get that it consumes people and a lot of people who daydream don’t want to. I was one of these people. I didn’t like how much of my life I was losing to my daydreams. But I never wanted it to go away forever like this.

It feels like a huge part of what makes me “me” has completely vanished, and I don’t know what to do.

[2clementines]

The last couple of weeks have been HELL!!!

Got COVID at the same time as my luteal phase (I have PMDD so luteal is extra horrible and makes me suic*dal enough as it is)

Wasted my break from school trying to rest and get better. Got zero marking done.

Learned a LOT about Long COVID because my health anxiety got super activated and convinced myself I’m going to have it and never be able to workout or live a normal life again.

Finally got over COVID. The day I tested negative…. My period started.

Day one of my period I experienced the worst cramps of my entire life. Literally the worst physical pain I have ever experienced. I tried taking a hot bath to help and almost fainted getting out of the tub. Took some gummies and had to lay in bed (still wet from the bath) waiting for them to take effect.

Bled the most I have ever bled in my life. I’ve never gone through that many products or ruined that many pairs of undies before (and that’s WITH a Diva cup - it just overflows because they don’t fit me properly).

Now finally in day four the cramps have eased up but now I have a horrible migraine. I keep almost throwing up from the nausea. So I’m lying in bed with all the shades drawn curled up with my heating pad and my stupid frozen migraine cap on my head with my phone brightness turned down to the lowest level just hoping this goes away soon.

Surprisingly after my (very mild) COVID symptoms passed my mood really improved but omg I just want to stop being in discomfort!!!! Please :(

[dailyrandomwriter]

Day 733

As a general rule of thumb, I don’t consider myself time blind. 

For those not familiar with the term, time blindness is when a person has difficulty with anything time related. This can include estimating how long a time will take, following a schedule or recognizing when it’s appropriate to start or finish a task. It’s also one of the symptoms those with ADHD can have.

It’s actually one of the reasons why I didn’t originally consider myself as having ADHD.

I follow a schedule all the time (it’s the only way I function at times) and minus the habit of starting something really late because I got horribly distracted by my brain matter, I generally know when I should start and stop a task. And since I’ve always been able to break up a larger task into smaller ones I assumed I knew how to estimate time as well.

Or at least I never had any anxiety over that, and I have seen people who had anxiety over how long a task actually would take.

And I had discovered since September that I might have a tiny bit of time blindness.

One of the routines I have been trying to maintain since September is to start making dinner at 7 p.m. Note I say, make dinner, NOT have dinner. Now I had always assumed my timeframe for making dinner was skewed because I used to get distracted easily while making dinner, but it turns out I have no fucking idea how long it makes me to make any dinner. Even easy ones.

Previously, the tracker was to have dinner at 7:30 p.m. (or something similar) and that never happened. I often had dinner at 8:00 p.m. or at worst 9:00 p.m. but considering how I used to be, that is a great improvement. It turns out I kept telling myself that it wouldn’t take long to make dinner giving myself maybe 15 minutes (don’t know why, I know fucking well how long it takes to cook chicken). As a result, the routine had to change to make dinner.

I still end up eating at 8 p.m. on most days but that is a vast improvement frankly.

And time blindness isn’t just severely underestimating or overestimating time taken. 

Sometimes it can also mean not knowing what you can do within a certain amount of time, and then just not doing anything so you don’t run late. This was something I was apparently doing at work and didn’t realize I was doing it. Of course I can’t make a call in 5 minutes (who knows what I’ll get), but I can certainly make database changes in 5 minutes. Several in fact, and it’s only because of my work journal that I know about this.

So yea… time blindness who knew?

[mrmisery0]

10/9/23

Winter makes me so depressed. It gets to 4pm and it’s already dark and I feel like that there’s no day left. I’m so tired and sore constantly too. The cold this year has made my arthritis symptoms the worst they’ve ever been. At least this time I’m seeing a doctor who takes me seriously.

I’ve been trying to read again. I used to love it as a kid. I don’t know when it happened but I stopped being able to hold my attention like I used to and I couldn’t read books for ages. Last week I was out and thought I’d look in qbd quickly, partly because I’d been thinking about my job application that I put in a few days earlier for there, but also because I’ve liked the idea of reading again recently. Well I got a book, The call of the wild, and I read it all that afternoon. It was short only 90 pages or so but I was happy with myself for doing it. It wasn’t a super happy or exciting book but I sat there and read it on the bus and then on the couch and then outside with my gf and I didn’t let myself move to my phone for faster gratification. Since then I’ve bought two more books and I hope to read them soon, though I feel like I’m more of someone who likes to think they read rather than one who actually does. I mean I’ve just read one book lol I’m not back into it yet I just want to be.

The same is true with bass. I’m scared that it’s not me anymore, it’s something I want to be me and I say that it is but there’s no evidence for that. I haven’t been playing. We went out for my friends birthday to a gig and it made me so happy. I haven’t been going to gigs because it’s too fucking cold by the time they end and I have to bus home but maybe I should get a better jacket and tough it out because it made me excited about music again.

I wrote in an old journal that a new jacket is like a new identity or a new perspective and I feel like I need that! I’m feeling so stuck and miserable. The things I identify with make me feel like a fraud. I have pieces of things that I know theoretically I love and are parts of me but I never actually participate in those things. Right now I’m just a sad dude who wishes he was in a band and played bass but can’t get himself to do anything about it. I’m going to need to do something about it if I want to go to school for it next year. I’ve got less than 6 months now. I failed last year and put it off but I don’t want to put off this anymore. It’s too important to me.

Next week I’ll be one year on testosterone but I feel so depressed about how little I feel has changed. My voice has changed but not enough to satisfy me. I sound masculine but if I speak in a room of other guys I will always have the highest voice. Maybe I do need to do voice training. My friend starts t a few days after I’m one year on and I’m terrified he’ll transition so much “better” than me. He keeps saying he hopes his voice will change all the way. That it won’t just go half the way. I don’t know if he’s aware that he’s hurting my feelings but he really is. I don’t want to think I’d be so awful as to be jealous of him but I’m scared that it’ll be too much for me. Maybe it’s been my dose? The gp seems to think I’ve changed enough but I can’t help but compare myself to others. Hopefully it’ll get better. My before and after photos are almost the exact same. Maybe it’s because I’m young.

I’ve been thinking about what it would be like if we moved to Melbourne. There would be so many gigs to go to and so many cool people to meet and gf could do so many art things. It could be great. Right now it would only happen after school next year, so probably this time next year. We’d live near my aunt and I’d work in a coffee shop or a bar and do music the rest of the time. Gf would make her art and do art shows and we’d have good friends and feel comfortable.It’s a nice dream.

I think this week I’ll try and read Maurice. At least start it. I really liked to movie when I was younger. And I’ll go look for that new jacket.

[chocolate-terminal]

Tomorrow

I’m sorry for how little I’ve been writing to you recently.

This terminal was meant to keep you (us) warm before winter, but given the amount of time I took before posting, I can’t help but feel I failed you.

At the same time, I’m not worried. You sweetly initiated night; may it be a sweet day to you; leaving me with the most beautiful parting words - and sights. Never have I seen silence so fair.

I rested a bit, spent way too much time playing video-games (better coping mechanism than drinking right?), hurt myself doing pushups (Currently, I can only do about- 5 in a row - physical strength’s not my forte.), and caught up with a friend. Also fixed up my sleep cycle, a process I need to periodically engage in, which coupled with winter cold, left me exhausted.

That’s the normal part.

Edit: New info in bold, after the stem cells paragraph. Edit: Updated info

Latest Edit: On fourth reading, I realized that these comorbidities on my uncle medical certificate are probably just things to check for - conditions that have a statistically significant (not necessarily high) chance to accompany something else. (ie: symptoms, another condition.)

Basically guesses for the diagnostic of his symptom.

New Info coming in as I write this edit:

Pulmonary Arterial Hypertension confirmed by his wife. (I’m not sure if she actually understood the question as an actual disease name or just as the sum of the affected systems. I’m not the one who asked.)

___

Edit: I will delete this entire post and the other related posts in a few days. It’s much too somber. That’s not what I want this place to be. (In fact, I will delete everything but these things I had planned on telling you.)

It’s been a difficult couple of week. I thought I was headed for a slow landing, then everything else took a nosedive - A storm waiting in its own shade for the opportune time.

Last week it was one of my aunt. A nurse who lives in Torrance. I’ve only known her for a couple of years, and I don’t feel much kinship toward her, but still, I don’t want her dead. Faintness. At work. Couldn’t breathe properly. Sounds minor? Still lead to a light operation, a month later, for fear of worsening. 

Not open-hearted. Uncalled for. I think it’s called a laparoscopy. ‘keyhole surge-ry’. They insert a sort of probe. Everything went fine. Modern medicine’s pretty amazing.

Sometimes.

My uncle, from Israel. same symptoms. Yesterday, couldn’t breathe properly. Except worst. Had to be rushed to the ER. He’s able to speak again now. 

No operation in sight. So I guess everything will be fi..

Doctor prognostic, pessimistic.

My uncle isn’t young. 74 years old. Still a sharp mind, if all too attached to the old forms. He used to be a surgeon himself. Hospital Professor: Stomatology department. Multiple medical inventions to his name. 

Also a Dentist. Fun times :D

“I think he hasn’t measured the gravity of the situation.”

His words.

Asked that we fly over to him, said he would book planes tickets, wanted to see us one last time before he passed away.

Wait, surely it can’t be that bad if he’s speaking entire sentences, right?

Wrong.

Pulmonary Arterial Hypertension.

PAH for short.

A “Progressive” Disease. (Degenerative is what I call it.)

I really hope I’m wrong. Really hope it’s “only” a myocardiac hiccup. Perhaps, that hoarseness I heard on the phone is “only” labored breathing.

But then, why would the doctors be so bleak?

To sum it up:

Ultimately, the long-term prognosis for patients with PAH remains poor, with an unacceptable high mortality rate of almost 40% over 5 years.

- "The Myth of the Stable Pulmonary Arterial Hypertension Patient”, Extract.

The title alone will make your heart stop. (Why am I so calm through all of this? I used to be so close to my uncle..)

Doctors say there are no cure. Only treatments. Only, Freezing the sun so that the quadrant does not strike midnight.

Even a successful lung transplant is no panacea:

For all lung transplant recipients, overall unadjusted survival rates were 79% at one year, 63% at three years, 52% at five years, and 29% at 10 years

So I did my thing. I went on researching.

I used my little book of magic medicines words:

Gene-Therapy, Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy, Stem Cells, Artificial [Insert Organ Name] Transplant. 3D Printing.

(Add a spoonful of Algorithmic Magic Dust, to get your search results to rise properly.)

All potentially promising. Stem Cells the most:

Clinical researchers in Germany recently reported the first successful treatment of pulmonary arterial hypertension (PAH) using a human umbilical cord mesenchymal stem cell (HUCMSC)-derived therapy.

[...]

PAH is a progressive illness characterized by chronically elevated blood pressure in pulmonary circulation that can lead to right-sided heart enlargement and failure. In advanced stages, PAH is considered non-curable. 

[...]

While the findings suggest that HUCMSC-derived therapy has the potential to become an efficient treatment for the most severe forms of clinical PAH, the team assumes that such a therapy must be repeated at regular intervals in order to be successful long term. Investigators believe that prospective clinical studies are warranted to confirm and further explore the benefits of HUCMSC-derived therapy for PAH.

As a sidenote - Stem Cells is usually the best magic word in my experience.

Edit: This is amazing. PLEASE DEVELOP THIS FASTER!

Looking at the medical certificate. Respiration wise, the most likely culprit is Idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis:

The survival rates of IPF patients 1, 2, 3, 5, and 10 years after IPF diagnosis were 84.5%, 77.4%, 71.9%, 62.9%, and 48.4%, respectively.

So I was pretty close, but not quite on point. Also a “progressive” disease, also idiopathic (precise cause unknown), pulmonary disease, but he himself said his heart wasn’t working right, and I can see that he got checked by those department as well.

Edit: The comorbidities. Please tell me those are just things to check for. Not actually present ones.

I’m not really the denial kind - but I really hope I’m reading this certificate wrong.

---

You might be wondering why I tell you all this.

I think I just wanted to tell you because you’re my Friend, (among many other things), and even silent, it feels good to talk to you at a time like this.

I think I did that terminal mostly for me. (Although I’ve got a couple things I really wanted to show you)

May we soon drink things happier than these bitter waters!

Edit: I am still hoping these comorbidities are just things to check for - conditions that have a statistically significant (not necessarily high) chance to accompany something else (ie: symptoms, another condition.)

Otherwise, if this isn’t the case, I cannot in good conscience claim anything but pessimism. It’s just so much, I’m not even writing the cursed list down. I’ll just say this: 

When he was younger, he used to smoke. A lot.

Oh and, long as it is, this post doesn’t count. It’s an emergency release valve. Is that Ok Doctor?

[givemearmstopraywith]

ohhh, can i ask why you personally don’t want to do therapy? not as a scrutinizing question but more of a “oh. i’ve never encountered a person who actively chose not to do therapy” because i’m really super curious!! but also, if it’s too intimate, pls feel free to just ignore this ask :))

i don't find that contemporary therapy practices, at least at the level which i can afford in the area where i currently am, serve the mental health issues that i have and what i've experienced in my past. therapy is subject to trends, like anything else. the current trend in therapy is one that has actively harmed my mental health and caused me to regress, dissociate, or worse when i've tried to access mental health services. i also find that most therapists who are available to me are not equipped to deal with the type of trauma and comorbidities that i have.

there's also, obviously, financial barriers. most free or low-cost therapy options are coming from people who specialize in cognitive behaviour therapy, which unilaterally does not work for me. cbt treats symptoms of mental illness in order to rehabilitate people who are "sick" so they can function at a level deemed "normal." it does not treat the underlying cause of the symptoms of mental health issues, and when ive done cbt i have ended up regressing hugely and wound up worse off than i was before. i thought maybe i was just doing it "wrong" for years and i was the problem, but i became friends with someone who has a similar traumatic background to me and discovered they also found that cbt did not work for them.

this isn't a choice that i would recommend to anyone, but for me personally being able to allow myself to not prioritize therapy and not play into a feedback loop of guilt and inadequacy- the idea that im not "doing enough" to "fix" a "problem" with my brain- has been hugely empowering. im saying that with caution because i dont want impressionable young people to take this and run with it. if i had the choice, i would be in therapy. and someday, when i have the financial means and access to the therapy that is right for me, i will absolutely pursue it. but we live in a wellness based culture that has simultaneously given everyone the tools they need for diagnosis, while also having coopted mental health into the same arena as fitness, thinness, and diet culture. if you're not actively try to make your brain work better or run faster, then you're lazy. if you're doing what should work to make your brain run faster and its not helping, then that's a problem with you and not with the help you're getting or the industry that's giving it to you. im very critical of how mental health is dealt with, and a lot moreso now that i've engaged in practical training in psychotherapy and spiritual care.

that being said, and this is very important: when my mental health was at its worst, when i was actively suicidal and experiencing extremes of manic depression, i was in therapy because i couldn't cope with it on my own. me deciding that i didnt want to therapy coincided with me recovering from serious issues with mental health and having numerous live changes that allowed me to be safe and stable- i left a very bad job, stopped talking to dysfunctional people, left abusive relationships, and reoriented my life path to one where i felt content and like i was fulfilling my purpose. not being in therapy only worked once the outside factors of my environment were as good as i could get them. if you are in crisis or feel like you may hurt yourself, you should absolutely not hesitate to seek help and not use me as an example in any way whatsoever, except in terms of being critical of the type of therapy you are getting and not being afraid to decide something is wrong for you if it feels like its not helping. you are allowed to decide that something doesn't feel right for you.

[shushiyuii]

Subject T0M au

This is an Au I’ve had stockpiled for a while wkakdnknak. It’s going to multiple parts too, once I get to working on those. If you have any questions you’re welcome to ask!

I hope you guys enjoy it (Also gimme your fucking requests UwU /lh)

Warnings: Experimentation, injury? And Horror elements (It’s mainly fluff i promise :3)

Words: 3K

Document – T0MMY1NN1T

Assigned to: Doctor Wilbur Soot Watson

Description: Subject T0M was once a [REDACTED] by the name of [REDACTED] [REDACTED]. His age is of kin to an elder teen, probably around the age of [REDACTED] to [REDACTED].

The appearance of Subject T0M is like a human, they have blonde hair and pale skin. Their most common height is 6’3 on average but can change depending on the form. Their face, arms and legs are covered in a black substance of unknown origin, it mainly takes on half of their body and appears to be almost liquid.

Their face is completely black, the only thing apparent is their fangs like a wolf when they open their mouth to feed, multiple fangs, the only other feature on Subject T0M’s face is their light blue eyes that glow in the dark.

Subject T0M isn’t very intelligent, they have some semblance of human intelligence, understanding simple language and commands.

They’re quite approachable as well but Subject T0M is to be approached with caution, as they could be quite dangerous. If angered there’s no knowing what Subject T0M is capable of.

Their abilities consist of being able to manipulate the material of their body, being able to change shape and size, their favourite is to mimic those around them. It is not an exact copy; it is apparent that Subject T0M is themselves because the material of their body will still be there even if they changed forms.

They can also create weaponry and different things from their material but again not exact copies, they’re quite harmless usually.

Subject T0M is to be assigned to Rookie Doctor Wilbur Soot. Under the watch of Philza Watson.

 Entry 01 – 02/09/20—

So today was my first-day researching Subject T0M, from what I can say so far is that they’re quite interesting but so far besides the examinations, they haven’t shown much behaviour. Only staring at me from a distance.

Also, I’m not used to this sort of thing like writing documents and reports, not my favourite thing in the world but it’s not the worst thing either. So, Subject T0M already has a lot of his abilities recorded, I’m just here to see if he develops any noteworthy changes and watch over the guy.

Currently, there is no change in behaviour, he just stares down at me at a distance, like I’m the most interesting thing he’s ever seen, perhaps that’s the case?

He seems so lonely in that containment cell, it’s just an empty white box surrounded by glass, perhaps at some point I could request an upgrade to higher-ups for the lil’ fella? That way he can have a more comfortable place. Rather than a highly lit, bland, cold box.

 Entry 02 – 05/09/20—

So Today, Subject T0M did something quite interesting, it’s a drastic difference from the last few days by just staring at me through the windows of the cells.

You see, instead of just watching me from the other side of the office, as usual, it can get quite boring in the office once you finish the days' assignments of reports, schedules, contracts and more and having to watch this guy and do the usual routine gets quite boring so I decided to work on some personal things and bring my guitar, so I could work on my songs, practising the guitar and stuff.

So, I played some things, the next thing I know is that one moment I’m singing, the next in shock as I look over in disbelief. Subject T0M had moved over towards the window, his hands and face on the glass, dead staring me in my eyes, they were filled with curiosity and interest like an infant listening to music for the first time.

A way to describe it would be that Subject T0M seemed so much happier, but when I stopped, he looked almost disappointed, I stared at him in amazement for a moment and I started to play again, and his expression went back to being amazed.

My music seems to interest Subject T0M so perhaps I should do more research and experiments with different kinds of music to see which they prefer?

Not only that but it’s nice to have someone rather than my dad that enjoys my music. They’re almost my second biggest fan. I’m looking forward to seeing more of this kid.

Entry 03 – 06/09/20—

As of now, I have started the experimentation of music with Subject T0M, he seems to prefer rather upbeat, pop music and general music.

I also played him some songs from popular games, one of them being The Able Sister’s from Animal Crossing, he really seemed to enjoy that one.

Besides the experiments, I’ve started to talk to Subject T0M as it does get lonely here, plus he’s the only other guy here in the department. Although he doesn’t talk, he’s a great listener, nodding whenever I state my opinion and even trying to communicate verbally from time to time, even though he doesn’t seem to have the ability to speak.

And I’ve also seemed to have started a habit of calling Tom or Tommy, it suits him! He’s also been showing more personality, he seems more aggressive like a gremlin but not in a bad way, he’s just displaying more emotion it seems.

Entry 04 – 09/09/20—

So, the experiments and communication of Tommy have made significant progress. He’s become feistier and more vocal, he’s not aggressive in a physical sense, just annoyingly loud. He’s like a fucking child.

And today was another experiment with Tom, with the test subject being myself since it seems safe enough, so need to gather others or security over it.

I entered his containment cell, and the moment I did, Tommy showed no difference in behaviour, to begin with, just a somewhat surprised expression on his face. Probably because this was the first time, he had seen me so close.

I carefully approached at first but then a thought came to me. So far I’ve been treating him like a human so maybe treating him the same way now would have the same effects?

I sat down next to him and started talking to him as usual, and he slowly started to move closer to me, cautiously. He seemed almost nervous, but his focus was on me, rather than himself. I found it rather odd, maybe something is wrong?

Again, he tried talking back but of course, it sounded like a fucking crack pipe, so it didn’t quite work. But he was talking and for some reason, it just brought a smile to my face.

I felt like an older brother would be a way to describe it, I made a promise in my head to protect him. We even tried singing together, it was a lot of fun, I look forward to spending more time with him.

Entry 05 – 12/09/20—

The past couple of days have been a lot of fun with Tommy like I’ve gained a friend. You see, growing up I was always a bit lonely, I was social, but I never found myself clicking with anyone because nobody had the same interests as me, so I turned to focus more on my studies, science in fact like my father told me too. And look at me now!

I’m a training researcher in the same facility as my dad, as this place is one of a kind opportunity, so I guess I got pretty lucky. And it seems Tommy agrees maybe, he reminds me of well me, I don’t want him to be lonely like I was, maybe I could arrange a meeting between other monsters?

Entry 06 – 14/09/20—

Tommy and I have been bonding a lot more lately and I’ve also improved a lot myself with finishing work sooner and taking up more assignments.

Speaking of which my father said if I keep this up, I may get more recognition in the facility, maybe even a promotion which I’m happy about. I’ve sent in a request to the higher-ups to allow Tommy communication of other monsters to which I hope they approve.

Besides that, I was talking to Tommy as per usual and he displayed a different emotion, excitement. He seemed eager to show me something and when I asked, “What is it?”. His form changed to be slightly taller and more of his black substance covered his body but after a while, his form changed to be similar to my own, he tried copying me.

Like physically. It was quite surprising if I’m honest, my shocked expression to Tommy made him realise the situation and immediately changed back and tried to reassure me, I felt bad and tried to reassure him it was okay. It’s funny to look back on.

Entry 07 – 15/09/20—

I got approval from the higher-ups, probably getting special treatment since my dad is one of the higher-ups, others aren’t normally so lucky. Dad, or should I say Doctor Philza? He said we could have a meeting between Tommy and his subject, R4NB00 or as he says Ranboo.

 Dad said that his subject Ranboo does need to socialise more since he appears to have symptoms of social anxiety so maybe this will do them both some good since they both seem to be around the same age. Like Tommy, Ranboo only socialises with him and another subject T3chn0, or the blade, blood god. He’s got quite a reputation around here.

Anyways, I’ll say what I know about Subject R4NB00 as of his report, so I know to look over it in case of emergency.

R4NB00 is a tall humanoid standing above 8 ft tall. They have a black and white fur coat, a thin fur coat to be described as silky. Their coat is black on one side and white on the other, their hair is the same but in the opposite way to his fur.

They have heterochromia in their eyes, one being green and the other a bright red. They also have horns of small height; they aren’t sharp and rather small so they wouldn’t hurt anybody with them. They also have a thin tail, with it being fluffy at the end.

Subject R4NB00 isn’t the biggest fan of the regular attire assigned to all subjects, they rather wear a tuxedo embedded with the facility’s logos. They are also timid, avoiding conflict whenever possible. They also can speak but prefer not to due to being shy, they will only communicate with a select few.

Their abilities consist of having the ability to teleport at will and communicate in an unknown language. They also have weaknesses being unable to touch the water and having a state of mind of when they aren’t in control of themselves, they talk in their unknown language in this state and teleport randomly, they are to be awoken as soon as possible unless they are in this state for a test.

Report 16/09/20-- - Meeting of Subject T0M and Subject R4NB00

Today was the meeting of Subject T0M and R4NB00. Both were properly secured successfully and safely in transportation cells with the required security of 5 guards each in each truck and successfully transported to the meeting facility without stress or failure.

Both researchers were safely secured behind the required monitoring window.

The meeting was rather successful between the two creatures. To begin with, when the two saw each other they both maintained distance, for Subject R4NB00 it was because they were anxious about meeting another creature and for Subject T0M, meeting somebody else rather than their researcher.

Subject T0M was the first to contact Subject R4NB00 by trying to communicate verbally with them, it was unsuccessful and resulted in Subject R4NB00 being confused. The two sat in silence for a moment longer until Subject T0M attempted another move of contact by cautiously approaching Subject R4NB00, which resulted in them backing up into a nearby wall and trying to get away from Subject T0M.

Subject T0M then backed off and changed their form to mimic R4NB00, this is theorised to be Subject T0M trying to either comfort or entertain Subject R4NB00, they then changed back into their regular form.

Despite being confused, Subject R4NB00 seemed to notice that Subject T0M meant no harm and then tried to approach subject T0M. Subject T0M did not move.

When Subject R4NB00 approached, there was approximately 1 meter between the two, Subject R4NB00 looked at the two researchers to look for approval to which he got from Doctor Philza via a thumbs up.

Subject T0M curious looked to where R4NB00 was looking and noticed the two researchers and made a noise of happiness towards his researcher, to which Doctor Soot responded with a smile and a thumbs up.

Both Subjects looked back at each other and sat down beside each other. Subject R4NB00 began to communicate with Subject T0M, Subject R4NB00 introduced themselves and made small communication, to which Subject T0M responded positively too, as they couldn’t communicate back. After that, the meeting was concluded.

After their meeting, when asked about the meeting by their researchers. Subject R4NB00 responded positively to seeing Subject T0M again and talked positively about them despite not being able to communicate.

Subject T0M appeared upset a few moments after the meeting, scratching at the windows of his cell, whining. When asked if he wished to see Subject R4NB00 again, he responded positively. Another meeting between the two has been arranged.

Entry 08 – 17/09/20—

Tommy seems to miss his new friend quite a bit but it’ll be a while before the next meeting between them as it has to be approved again and it’ll be a while.

Doing our normal routine keeps him happy for a while but if I leave him for more than 15 minutes he begins to whine again. I wasn’t quite sure what to do as I couldn’t keep him company all day.

On my lunch break I talked to my co-worker Doctor Puffy about the matter, she’s a smart gal and rather motherly, she reminds me of my mom at times. She suggested that I give Tommy a gift, like a plush bear to befriend so he wouldn’t feel so lonely while I was gone.

So, I quickly made my way to a store, it was rather odd to see myself, an adult in a toy aisle but I found a decent plush. It’s a Minecraft spider plushie. I gave Tommy the plushie and introduced him to the plush, when I asked him what he wanted to name the plush he responded with a sound, it honestly sounded like he said shroud, so I suggested it. He responded happily so I guess we now have Shroud the spider.

Now I’ve got the peril of getting medication for my father as he’s somehow gotten sick.

Incident Report  #19283 – 18/09/20-- -

No staff or other creatures were harmed during the containment breach, minor damages to the building, broken walls and broken windows within the cell. All to be fixed within a minimum of 3 hours. Subject T3CHN0 was successfully contained in a holding cell as we interviewed him as to why he breached containment, to which he responded that “Nobody told me where Phil was.”.

Doctor Philza was then contacted to talk to Subject T3CHN0 to explain his current predicament of being sick, to which Subject T3CHN0 huffed in response and refused to cooperate with us further.

Subject T3CHN0 escaped containment in a rampage, the reasoning being as he was not informed of his researchers’ location, as Doctor Philza was sick for the past two days before the incident. Both researcher and creature are rather close with each other, as to why the Subject was upset.

Prior to the incident (recorded by security cameras), Both Subjects of Doctor Philza were speaking to each other about the current location of their researcher, both concluded that neither of them had any idea of where the Doctor was, both subjects ask their temporary carer as to where their researchers’ location was, to which the carer wouldn’t respond so Subject T3CHN0 decided to find his answers.

Subject T3CHN0 broke through his containment cell’s window and then proceeded to break through multiple walls trying to find his researcher.

(The document then goes into detail about what T3CHN0 did during his rampage before he was contained)

During the rampage, Subject T3CHN0 broke through the walls of Doctor Soot’s office and his creature, Subject T0M. As Subject T3CHN0 entered the office, Doctor Soot was frightened at the unexpected visitor as tried to get away from the approaching Subject T3CHN0, Doctor Soot demanded that he get away, to which T3CHN0 huffed in response.

Subject T0M took some time to register that his researcher was in danger, but when he heard he did, he sprang into the action of defending his researcher.

His form changed into one of being described as fearsome, they changed heights to one over 15 ft tall, his hands turned into claws, long sharp fangs became visible, a sharp tail and pair of horns after appeared with this form. (Doctor Soot has been requested to do further research into this form)

Subject T0M roared in warning towards the other, then proceeded to pounce through their containment cells window, shards of glass scattered throughout the room.

They then ran towards their researcher and in a crouched position, picked up his fallen researcher and held him close to his chest, growling furiously at T3CHN0.

The two Subjects stared at each other for a moment until T3CHN0 began to communicate verbally by asking where his researcher was, Doctor Soot was too much in a state of shock to respond.

Subject T0M held his researcher closer and tried to comfort him in a way of purring, even nuzzling his researcher for a response, to which Subject T3CHN0 left due to being impatient.

Subject T0M continued to hold onto his researcher and eventually Doctor Soot snapped out of his state to stare in awe of Subject T0M, When Subject T0M saw their researcher responding he made worried sounds to them, to which Doctor Soot responded with a laugh and said: “I’m fine buddy”.

Subject T3CHN0 was then contained shortly afterwards.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

destiel, 2.4k, mild hurt/comfort, happy ending. for @wormstacheangel who wanted a fic with anemic!Cas <3

"Cas?"

Dean hears a flump from the direction of the bedroom right as he finishes shaving his left cheek. It takes him about five seconds from there to dashing out of the bathroom, sink hastily turned off and half of his neck still covered in white, wearing an expression of worry that doesn't quite go with the foam beard.

Cas seems to hold the same opinion because his face splits in a wide grin the moment Dean enters the room.

A grin almost distracting enough for Dean to not notice that Cas is back on the bed, and suddenly wearing a blanket.

Almost.

"Goddammit, Cas." He sighs, huffing as panic slips away to make room for exasperation. He walks up to the bed, sets about righting the blanket around Cas.

Cas lets him.

"I should've known -"

"- Dean, I forgot -"

"- you were going to ditch your meds the first night after I stop bugging you 'bout them." Dean mutters, ignoring Cas completely as he makes weak attempts at protesting when Dean tucks one corner of his blanket all the way round at the other side, effectively turning him into what he mentally likes to call a Cas-burrito.

He doesn't like to call it anything at the moment though, cause right now, it's just proof of how Cas doesn’t listen.

Friggin' ex-angel of the lord, billions of years old, with libraries worth of stories and history in his head — but taking his meds when they're supposed to be taken, he forgets.

"It wasn't on purpose." Cas insists in a small voice, and Dean shoots an annoyed look at him before stepping back, finally finished with the blanket routine.

If you could call it that.

Well, Dean does call it that.

Because it happened often enough times after Cas's return from the Empty, human as the day Dean was born, to prompt both a title, and a reason to investigate why in the first place.

And not a lot of road to cover from typing in Cas's symptoms in a search engine — headaches, spells of dizziness, fatigue and feeling cold in general (things Cas had dictated to Sam who was typing, while Dean seethed from the next chair at not having been priorly informed of most of those things that warrant being informed about) — to ending up at the conclusion of a few billion (but actually just the first four) results, just minutes after.

Cas had anemia.

(The doctor Dean took him to the very next day, and Sam's completed research on the Novaks' medical history by the time they got back, confirmed it.)

Now, as far as the Winchesters were concerned, that was practically a relief — especially since their next place to look would've been old, tired books of curses, and the meekest of those would've been several times more worrying than the awfullest case of anemia one could possibly get - and Cas's, thankfully, wasn't even that bad.

However, curses are reversible. Or at least, equally as destroyable as their curse-rs are — who, usually, tend to be pretty destroyable when it comes to Sam and Dean.

Mineral deficiencies, on the other hand, are neither.

So supplements it is, as the doctor said and then prescribed — or so it should have been anyways, except for how the love of Dean's life was a giant baby when it came to taking pills.

"Sure it wasn't." Dean rolls his eyes, continuing in his exaggerated 'Cas' voice. "You just forgot."

Cas squint-frowns at Dean with all the ferociousness of a tired, cold and anemic four-weeks-old human, and Dean perches next to him on the edge of their bed with a sigh, the exasperation wearing off too.

(If he hadn't already wrapped them up, this would've been about the time Dean would've taken Cas's hands in his own.)

"Cas," He says, softer now.

Truth be told, Dean can't imagine what it must be like to go from being a - a being, that can heal itself and everything else, to a human who gets shivery and lightheaded cause of things inside of him he can't even control.

It's got to be terrifying, and obviously awful, and Dean's proud of Cas for the way he's been handling all of it — but dammit he's supposed to do the things that make it easier.

Just like he's supposed to let Dean take care of him.

"Dean," Cas replies, looking sideways at him with most of the stubbornness melted from his expression as well. "I'm a little cold but it's okay. I'm fine." He says, like he can still tell exactly what Dean needs to hear.

What he needs Cas to be.

There's a pause and Dean looks down at his hands. He can't help his next question, it's been on his mind for some time.

"What about the first time you were human?"

Cas noticeably withdraws into himself on hearing him, and Dean feels immediately a pang of guilt. It may have gotten easier to read him since he became human, but an accidental display of emotion was still a novelty. (Being difficult to read was apparently more of a Cas trait than an angel feature.)

"What about it?"

"Shouldn't you, uh," Dean pauses. "Shouldn't you also have been anemic then?"

Cas turns away from him, slow enough that Dean knows he's not taken offense, deliberate enough that he's thinking.

He finally answers, facing the wall ten feet away instead of Dean.

"I guess I was."

"But," Dean frowns. "I thought you had no idea you had anemia until last week."

"Dean, I didn't even know there was anything wrong with me until last week." Cas returns, his tone steady. "And back when I was human for the first time, I didn't either, because I'd never known what healthy felt like before, so I had no idea if I was or wasn't it. Of course I knew in an objective sense, say, the ideal temperature of the human body, but the ordinary amount of chilly one should feel on the streets in winter, or how hard or easy falling asleep is supposed to be, I couldn't have told you."

"Oh."

"And I still wouldn't have been able to," Cas turns back to him. "Had you not been the one to point it out."

Dean scoffs.

All he'd done was ask why Cas had been shivering in the middle of the day. That was it. Honestly, how could he not have seen it sooner?

"So you just," Dean lets out, afraid of the answer. "You just thought the cold spells and the, uh," he falters. "The being tired all the time — you thought that was part of being human?"

Cas smiles wryly. "It is for a lot of people."

"But —"

"And it was, Dean, anemia or not, for a lot of the people I lived with back then."

Dean's stomach bottoms out. He knows Cas is right. Six years ago, he'd been living on the streets, living in a bus. Dean remembers him — homeless, cold, sleeping on the floor of a Gas 'N Sip in his only set of clothes, Cas. And he knows he's responsible for it — knows he deserves to be hated for it, and it messes with him everyday that Cas doesn't — but did Cas really not even know what Dean had done to him? What Dean had — and Jesus, he detests himself — made him go through?

"You really thought all of us were going through that," Dean blinks. "And none of us was saying a thing?"

Cas doesn't look away this time and Dean goes on.

"I mean, I know you put humanity on a pedestal it doesn't deserve, and you think we're all capable of things you're capable of, but Cas, I can't believe you associated being human with being cold and tired, and —" Dean scrubs his face with a hand. "Goddammit, Cas! How could I have let you go out there on your own when you — h-how did I not see it, and — and you should never have had to deal with it all alone, I should've —"

"Dean."

It's not until Cas interrupts him that he realizes he's been rambling. Ranting, really, because it's not fair that Cas only got to see the worst of humanity, and it's not fair that Cas was so used to feeling awful that he just figured everyone felt that way all the time. That Cas was all alone at a time Dean should've been there for him, should've been at his side, been there to make sure he was warm, and make sure he ate spinach and seafood and whatever the hell else is rich in iron — hell, Dean should've looked it up sooner — and Dean should've been able to tell that Cas was sick, even if Cas couldn't, because that's his job.

He hasn't felt this way in a while — this particularly familiar fear of failing Cas, and losing Cas, entwined horribly, returning to him; seeping back in through his skin, and settling on his bones like the vast sediments of guilt and loss he's been carrying for most of his life.

Cas is supposed to be okay, and Dean's supposed to make sure he is.

But so far as upto here, turns out Dean's just been failing in more ways than he'd even known.

"Dean," Cas repeats, pulling him out of his reverie with determination in his voice, and a hand on Dean's left arm, his blanket now hanging off of one shoulder.

Dean immediately reaches to make it right but Cas holds him right where he is. Physically and not-drowning-in-his-own-head wise, and he's the only one who can do that.

"You're not listening to me."

Shit, Cas had been speaking this entire time, hadn't he? "Sorry, I was -" Dean looks Cas in the face to apologize, and lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, cause thank god, Cas isn't that pale. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Cas smiles, and it's not lopsided anymore, it's just Cas.

(Dean wonders if he should try to mirror it.)

"I was just saying that now I know that that's not the only part of being human."

"What do you mean?"

"The pain and the suffering, Dean. That's not all." Cas says. "There's also love, and kindness, and worry of the non-lifethreatening kind that dissipates with a smile, and warmth."

Dean stares at him.

"And sure," Cas shrugs. "I knew those things before too — I've read books, I've watched you and Sam — but now I've felt them as humans do, for the very first time, so it's a different kind of knowing."

Cas takes Dean's hand in his, and Dean's the one who squeezes.

"I believe the human expression is 'knowing it in my bones'."

Dean lets out a strained laugh in spite of himself. "Dunno, man. I don't think that's exactly what that means."

"But I do know it in my bones." Cas says simply, and Dean's heart does that thing where it feels too big for his chest. How Cas could go through so much, and still be so full of kindness and good, is one of the mysteries of life Dean's never going to solve — but it doesn't stop him from falling a little bit harder every time it happens.

"You should've gotten to know it the last time too, Cas." Dean tells him, sighing again. "I'm just — I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"Well, you are now." Cas tilts his head. "And I prefer the things I'm learning this time over the last time anyway, and I believe it's you who's always taught me that the present is what matters the most. I'm just glad you're here this time."

"And I'm not going anywhere." Dean squeezes their hands tighter, and Cas's smile grows. God, he deserves the world and he keeps settling for Dean, doesn't he — and Dean hates it, and loves it, and couldn't live without it. He puts his other hand on Cas's face, gloving his cheek. Cas leans closer.

"I love you."

Dean's throat constricts. "You're too good to me."

"I think that's the point."

Dean can't help but smile, and he really can't help the tears.

"I'm okay." Cas says, once more. "Are you?"

There's only one answer, and nothing to fight this time.

Dean closes the gap.

"I love you too."

It's not their first kiss, nor is it the first time they've ever said it — but it feels more significant than anything's felt before. It's more them, too — not sickly-sweet or angry and fighting, just them, coming around to the end of a hard talk, falling into each other's arms with an ease they reserve for each other only, and sinking into each other, slow and perfectly synced, like they're made for it.

When they pull back, a moment later, Dean leans his forehead against Cas's and licks his lips. Breathes.

"There's so much more to being human," he hears himself saying. "Than you'd ever find out just living here in the bunker with us."

"Dean," it's Cas's turn to sigh. "I've already found everything I need."

Dean's cheeks heat up. "I thought it was never too late to learn."

"It isn't." Cas leans back, hands falling back to his sides from where they were wrapped around Dean's neck. "But sometimes, practising old things is more important."

Dean immediately dissolves into laughter. "Yeah, no, great going. Call me old before you go to town practising on me."

Cas ignores him save a twinkle in his eyes. "And some things, I'd like us to learn together."

Dean grins.

"And some things," Cas concludes, with a wide smile. "Aren't taught anywhere else in the world."

"Yeah?"

Cas shrugs.

"Why so?"

"Well, rumor has it the teacher's afraid of flying."

Dean freezes for a moment, silent, and then snorts — because yeah, that's funny, Ha Ha, but okay, if Cas is fit enough to make jokes, then he's fit enough to take his meds now, and Dean tells him that gleefully, resulting in Cas's grin immediately turning upside down as he tries to scoot away from Dean, except Dean's kinda expecting it so he's prepared to launch himself on the bed if he has to — and he does have to, cause Dean might love him for his heart, and his courage, and his kindness, but remember how Cas is just a baby in a trenchcoat?

Yeah.

(And that is just a regular morning in the Winchester household.)

[redrobin-detective]

Side Effects of ghost powers

Hey all! I’m writing a DP fic called Side Effects exploring the physical and later mental/emotional impact of Danny initially getting his ghost powers. As an ICU stepdown nurse for 3 years, I wanted to view Danny’s accident through a slightly more realistic, medical lens. 

Note: I had to fudge a good amount because Danny really should have fucking died and there’s no getting around that.

I do recommend you read the fic first before reading this as there’s some spoilers. Or if you don’t care you can read on. So! The two factors we are looking at regarding the accident are: ecto-contamination secondary to electrocution. 

Electrocution

I was forced to downplay a lot of the severe symptoms of electrocution because, again, a bad enough shock will kill someone. My hand-wavey explanation is simply that the portal didn’t activate at a deadly voltage so he got a good shock but not enough to be fatal. I guess.

Muscle weakness/spasms: intermittent muscle spasms are common from shocks, muscles being activated by electricity and reacting to the lingering impulses. Danny’s is transient but quite annoying for a time. But his muscles are gonna be weak and achy af for days if not weeks after from the massive contractions caused by the shock and the after effects. Sensory issues: lots of things can cause nerve damage, including electrocution so Danny is experiencing some pretty severe neuropathy primarily manifesting with numbness and tingling throughout his body. His entire skin and peripheral nervous system got fried so while its mostly numb it’s also super sensitive for a bit of time causing massive pain and discomfort from your body tingling like a thousand bee stings. It’s worst in the hours after the accident but is something that never quite really goes back to normal both from the electrocution and his ghost half taking over and generally dulling his sense of touch.

Hearing/Vision loss: Like skin/nerves, your sensory organs in your eyes and ears would be affected by such a severe and allover electric shock. Danny has some blurred and occasionally double vision from his eyes not properly receiving/understanding input. Hearing loss is common following electricity given how delicate the inner ear is but I just give Danny some nasty tinnitus (ear ringing) for a bit. This inner ear problem also massively throws off his balance when he’s trying to move post accident. These factors are exacerbated by the ecto-contamination and mostly fade in the days following the accident before going away as his superhuman healing kicks in.

Heart Arrhythmia: an irregular heartbeat caused by the electrical impulses that control basal heartrate not coordinating they they should for a variety of reasons, in this case, massive electric shock. Danny would be somewhat aware of it, its not exactly painful exactly but you can just feel that your heart isn’t beating right. Secondary side effects are dizziness, chest pain, fatigue and shortness of breath. This resolves almost entirely when Danny stabilizes

Cognitive issues: Danny got his brains a little scrambled in addition to his molecules being rearranged. The first third of the story Danny is very clearly NOT thinking straight and Tucker/Sam should not have left him alone. Shocks can cause things like irrational emotional behaviors from hormone release along with memory loss and depression. He constantly waxes and wanes in mood and opinions on what to do in the story and never comes to a true decision that, damn lucky for him, worked out on its own.

Ecto-Contamination

Alright so Danny got massively shocked, sucks right but people live through that all the time. Ecto-contamination is more tricky (not only cause its made up and I had to think about what symptoms it would theoretically produce) but because the effects are more life threatening. It’s also irreversible, once he was contaminated it was only something that could be survived not cured. 

So I theorized that Danny got shocked by the accident and was slowly dying of ecto-contamination and was pretty much clinically dead for a brief moment there, the death was enough for the large quantity of ectoplasm in him to immediately coalesce into a ghost (Phantom). So Danny was mostly dead but not quite, I’ve coded and brought back enough people to know it can be reversed somewhat. Danny becomes Phantom but the sudden stable formation of the ectoplasm into what its supposed to be, a ghost, caused his body to stop fighting the ectoplasm as a foreign invader and become part of the self. His core finished forming in his chest and his body started back up again, his ghost safely nestled in his once again living body as he slowly comes to grips with his actual death experience. 

Nausea/Vomiting: I likened the idea of ecto-contamination to radiation poisoning, something that is essentially the antithesis to life. One of the first symptoms of radiation is n/v which is also why it’s one of the first overt symptoms Danny has. He was heavily electrocuted/irradiated and his body wants to expunge it all. As for the ectoplasm/blood he vomits, that’s the next section. 

Gastrointestinal (GI) Bleed: So I was a little mean here. When one vomits up blood (or in this case ectoplasm/blood mix) it has to come from somewhere and a lot of the times it’s a GI Bleed. These are nasty, they need to be either cauterized or surgically repaired not to mention replenishing the blood lost. Fanon says that ectoplasm is at least mildly corrosive to humans so it is here, as it’s bonding to him, it’s literally eating him very slowly from the inside out which is causing a great deal of his internal pain. It’s not enough to be immediately life threatening but would kill him eventually. He developed some nasty bleeding ulcers in his stomach which let in blood and ectoplasm which were expunged. Danny’s core formed overnight and began healing the damage it had previously been causing but Dan is still gonna be vomiting excess blood/ectoplasm not to mention having black, tarry stools for at least a few days afterwards.

Hypothermia/Tremors: Hypothermia is when the body hits 95F/35C which Danny is just above at the start of the chapter. Danny initially starts shaking really bad (rigors) but as his body temperature cools further his shaking slows and eventually stops, a sure sign that the body is rapidly losing the fight to hypothermia and will likely die soon without immediate intervention. This is caused not only by the ectoplasm but his ice core shakily starting to form inside of him. Once he fully turns half ghost his hypothermia doesn’t change but it just no longer negatively affects him (I say Danny hovers naturally around 96-95F/35-33C getting much colder as Phantom at baseline. His body still can be damaged by going too cold but that’s a whole other post.) 

Incoherency/Hallucinations: I mentioned in the electrocution section that Danny is more than a little addled and the contamination didn’t help in that regard. Not only is he not thinking clearly but he’s also getting a little delirious and seeing things. Common hallucinations I see are: someone in the room watching you, things crawling on the walls, creeping shadows, you’re in the wrong place. I think its a solid 50/50 as far as Danny straight up hallucinating but also becoming more aware of natural ectoplasm that hangs around in the atmosphere. (And before anyone asks, yes Clockwork did come and visit, Danny just doesn’t remember)

Pain: Being electrocuted, irradiated, being dissolved slowly on the inside is enough to cause massive amounts of pain. Danny is 14, he doesn’t understand true pain and probably underestimated how much it would hurt. Once it got bad, it was almost paralyzing so it got to the point where even when he wanted to call for help, he couldn’t move or think past the horrible pain of his every molecule slowly dying and rearranging itself.

Weakness/Fatigue: I don’t really have anything much to add for this section that hasn’t been said in the others. Just the combination of all of the above meant Danny is so incredibly weak and fatigued, this will be problematic in the days and weeks following the accident as his body heals from the stress put on it. Poor boy was probably just getting past the worst of his symptoms by the time of the Lunch lady attack one month in.

Ghost instinct: Going off the medical rant for a minute to go into another aspect of the contamination present in the story, the idea of ectoplasm adding inherent ghostiness to Danny. Its common fanon that all ghosts (through ectoplasm) have their own unique code and language that is just omnipresent and instinctive. Such a massive, body altering dose of ectoplasm saw those things start to leech into Danny even before he became half ghost. The biggest is his fear of being seen, majority of ghosts are completely invisible and don’t want to be seen by the living. As Danny’s suffering and literally dying, he can’t bring himself to confess to his loved ones for very understandable reasons but also this ghostly instinct in the back of his head telling him to hide and get away. Other instincts are a strong attraction to the portal/Ghost Zone, lowkey being able to sense living people around him and a bit of an emotional dampener when Phantom. 

[masterjedilenawrites]

What about a reader that is drunk, going to do some nonsense, so both Tech and Crosshair stop her, and in the next day there’s a climate btween them? Pretty please 🥺

I wasn't sure what you meant by the last part of your request so I just let the scene play out in what felt like a natural direction, I hope that's okay! I'm happy to write something else if you'd like!

Tech & Crosshair & Reader | 1.8k words

You tried to hold back your giggles as you gathered up as many helmets as you possibly could. This was going to be great. You couldn't believe you hadn't thought of this before, it was probably one of the best ideas you'd ever had in your life. Your whole body seemed to shake with excitement. Or maybe that was just the alcohol. Nah... you hadn't had that much to drink. This was a genuinely good, smart idea.

You stumbled out of the closet and down the hallway, dropping a few helmets along the way but not even noticing. It was like the edges of your vision were out of focus but surely that was just the dim lighting of 79's. It'd always been hard to see in here.

"What are doing?"

The voice came out of no where, even thought its owner was practically standing right in front of you. Arms crossed, scowl on his face, eyes studying you as you juggled a half dozen clone trooper helmets in your arms for seemingly no reason.

"Back off, Crosshair," you slurred, trying to push past him quickly. Why was he always in your business?

The sniper was too quick for you even on your good days. He took hold of your arm and pulled you back before you entered the main bar area, keeping you in the relative privacy of the hallway.

"Why are you stealing the 501st's helmets?" he rephrased his question.

"It's not stealing, it's a prank," you protested, trying and failing to get your arm out of his grasp. Another helmet tumbled to the floor in the effort.

"Oh there you are," came a new voice. It was almost as if you were moving in slow motion as you tore your gaze from Crosshair and over at the newcomer.

"Tech, tell this jerk to get out of my way," you thought you said. But whatever actually came out was apparently not as understandable. Tech looked between you and Crosshair, confused.

"Um, okay. Why are you stealing the 501st's helmets?" he asked the same question as his brother.

As if on queue, another helmet slipped out of your grasp, though you hadn't moved. At least, you didn't think you did. You huffed and ignored Tech's question, turning back to Crosshair with pleading eyes. Both men were standing between you and your chance to pull one over on the 501st, a battalion infamous for their clever pranks. And you were not going to be stopped.

"Come on Cross," you drawled. "I'm pranking the regs, you should be proud."

Even through your crazed senses, you were still able to pick up the amused twitch of his lips. But he quickly suppressed it and turned back to his usual grouchy grimace.

"Normally I would," he said, "but not like this. Not tonight."

He took a pair of helmets from you and handed them over to Tech, ignoring your whiny sounds of protest.

"He's right," said Tech, placing the helmets on the floor in the corner. "Wrecker already upset some of them tonight, I don't think they'd find this very humorous. Besides, in your drunken state..."

"I'm not drunk!" you exclaimed, probably louder than you intended judging by the flinch both men gave in response.

"Your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are bloodshot," said Tech matter-of-factly.

"And I saw exactly how many drinks you had," added Crosshair.

Tech nodded at him. "Yes, we could go on, but that should be indication enough that..."

You cut him off again, this time with tears. You couldn't help it. The whine that had almost been perpetually eking out of you during this whole conversation grew into actual cries and whimpers. Before you knew it, your cheeks were wet and your lips trembled uncontrollably.

"You're both so mean, you never let me have fun, the one time I come up with a great idea and you shoot it down like I'm an idiot, it's not fair, all I wanted was to show you that I belong here with you guys, but none of you let me, you don't care about me at all, you're such fun-busters..."

You babbled on and on, only barely making any sense to the two men who'd now freed you from your armful of stolen helmets and were gently guiding you out of the bar. You clunked along between them like a baby learning to walk for the first time, unaware of where you were going or what was happening. You could only focus on your emotional speech, and then after a few minutes, your focus was redirected to the queasy feeling in your stomach.

Thankfully the boys got you back onto the Havoc and into the refresher before you spilled your guts. Crosshair held your hair back and rubbed a hand soothingly along your spine until the worst of it passed. You fell limp next to the toilet, unable to form any coherent thoughts in the aftermath.

"Come on," Crosshair said softly by your ear. He tried pulling you up, but when it was clear you weren't going to stand on your own, he picked you up altogether and carried you over the to bunks.

Tech had pulled out one of the cots, the one everyone on the ship agreed was more comfortable than the others and thus fought over the right for almost every night. He had it set up with blankets and pillows, and he stood nearby holding a bottle of water as Crosshair laid you down.

"Just small sips for now," Tech said, holding the bottle up to your lips and helping you get down a few quick swallows, enough to calm the burning in the back of your throat. You were vaguely aware of his thumbs wiping away the remnants of your earlier tantrum from your eyes.

"Fun-busters," you muttered before curling up on your side.

Tech looked over at his brother, who only rolled his eyes at your stubbornness.

"Good-night to you, too," he said just before you lost consciousness.

* * *

The next morning was... rough, to say the least. You'd been tipsy a few times in your life, but never full-on drunk, which meant you'd also never had to deal with a full-on hangover.

Your head was splitting open, you were sure of it. Every turn of your neck made you feel sick. There was a pressure behind your eyes and a lightness to your stomach. You wanted to stay in bed forever. But even more painful than your hangover symptoms were the memories of your behavior the night before, and the urge to make amends eventually propelled you to get up.

You found Tech first, fiddling with his holopad in the cockpit. He eyed you as you carefully lowered yourself in the chair next to his, keeping a hand up to shield your eyes from the rays of morning sunlight that crept through the windows.

"I'm sorry," you said in a low, raspy voice, getting right to the point. You knew Tech appreciated when people did that. He wasn't a fan of small talk and segues, not when there was clearly something important to discuss. "I was kind of a dumbass last night, wasn't I?"

Tech set down his holopad with a shrug. "You had too much to drink. You weren't in control of your mental faculties."

You smiled at his uncomplicated way of viewing things. But then came a cough from behind, from a particularly unamused sniper leaning against the doorway.

"You were a dumbass," he said just as plainly as his brother. Well, at least they were both honest, even if it was in contrast to each other.

"I'm surprised you remember," said Tech, quickly trying to move past his brother's more negative comment. "From what I've read, memory loss is common after heavy intoxication...."

You shook your head, immediately regretting the action as it made your head ring. "I don't remember a lot, just enough to be embarrassed. If I said anything nasty to either of you, I really didn't mean it, I swear. I was just...."

You trailed off, not sure what it was you were really trying to do. You'd wanted to pull a prank, but there'd been something else driving you forward, some other motive to want to do something so stupid.

"You called us fun-busters and cried because you didn't think we cared about you," said Crosshair through the customary toothpick in his mouth.

You looked at Tech, who gave you an apologetic look that confirmed his brother's words were true. You let out a little groan and slumped into the chair. A part of you was glad you didn't fully remember.

"Do you really think that?" Tech asked. "That you don't belong here?"

You shrugged. You still weren't sure about your feelings.

"I dunno... I guess, maybe sometimes... it does feel like you treat me the way you do the regs." You spoke slowly, discovering your own thoughts as you said the words. "Like I'm just along for the ride. Just a normal person who doesn't matter. I thought if I did something to them, you'd see I wasn't part of them. At least, that's what my drunk alter ego thought, anyway."

You gave another shrug and tried for a laugh but it didn't feel quite right.

Tech looked thoughtful for a moment. "You do realize most of the regs in that club were inebriated, too. But we didn't carry any of them to bed for the night."

"Or watch as they puked their guts out," added Crosshair with a slight wrinkling of his nose.

"Yes," Tech nodded at you. "We knew you've been feeling down lately, that's why Hunter suggested we all go to that bar in the first place, to give you a chance to have some fun. Crosshair and I kept an eye on you, and Hunter and Wrecker made sure those regs didn't get upset over your, ah, attempt at a prank."

Tech let his words linger for a moment as you finally raised your throbbing eyes up to meet his.

"You belong here. And we do care. We care because, well..."

He looked over at his brother and you followed his gaze. Crosshair took out his toothpick and pointed it at you.

"Because we're your family."

He put the toothpick back in his mouth with a wink and then turned to leave, showing that that was the final word on the subject. Tech looked at you with a soft smile, one that made you finally feel at peace. You hummed as you laid back against the chair and let the feeling really take hold within you.

You belonged with the Bad Batch. They were your family.

It was a very nice feeling.

[cuttoothed]

Day 8 of @jonmartinweek for the “AU” prompt.

This week has been such a delight to write for, and it’s the most productive and inspired I’ve been in a long time. I've really enjoyed all the great content coming out of this week. Thanks to the organizers for this wonderful event!

CW here for depiction of depression, though the term itself isn’t used. Depression symptoms are also shown to spontaneously improve over time, though it is stated that this is not a complete or permanent recovery.

*

There is a land with many gods. Gods of war and of peace; of harm and healing; of storms and snows. Gods of life and death; gods of hearth and home. The smallest village has its own small god; the cities have thousands, all clamoring for attention.

There is a valley with a kind and gentle god. He makes sure that the rains fall in spring, and in summer that the sun shines on the fields of growing crops. In winter he tempers the cold winds, gentles the frosts to spare the valley worst of the chill. The people love their god, and trust that he will always care for them.

Until one spring, the rains do not fall, and the clouds do not part to let the sunshine through. A freezing fog rolls in, blanketing the little village and the lands around it; the fields remain frozen, and those few plants that sprout from the frost-bitten earth rot in the clinging damp. The people despair, because their god has never let them down before. Have they done something wrong? Angered him somehow? They will have enough stores to survive one year without harvest, perhaps two; if their god’s kindness does not return by then, they will have to abandon the valley that has been their home for centuries.

The most senior leaders from the village go to speak with the god, in his shrine on the hillside. The god is distressed at their plight, but he tells them he cannot help; his soul is mourning, and he does not know why. He has tried to call on the sun, on the soft rains, but his heart is too sorrowful, and all that comes is fog.

The people of the valley try everything they can think of, to restore their god’s happiness. They bring him gifts, recite stories and songs; they throw a carnival in the foggy village square, with costumes and games and music. They offer to search for anything that will make him happy, if he will only tell them. But the god cannot tell them, and nothing brings him joy, and the fog remains.

*

One day, a scholar comes to the village. Jonathan Sims is from the city, from one of the temples of knowledge, where they have heard about this valley and its inconsolable god. He walks through the cold, mist-shrouded streets, and up to the hillside where the god’s shrine is.

The shrine is a cottage, small and quaint, with lights in its windows and smoke curling from its chimney; it isn’t like any shrine Jon has seen before. He hesitates before knocking on the door, unsure if this could truly be the home of a god. The person who opens the door looks like a man, with a kind face, and rough, home-spun clothing; he is quite unlike the gods of the city, who are sharp and polished and alien. But one look at his eyes tells Jon that this is the god: they are ageless and endless, swirling like silver-gray fog.

“I’m sorry,” says the god, “I’m not really in the mood for visitors at the moment.”

“Please,” Jon says, before he can shut the door. “I’ve brought jasmine tea—I heard you enjoy it?”

The god hesitates a moment, then says:

“All right, you can come in—but just for tea.”

The inside of the cottage is what Jon would have expected from its outside, cozy and cluttered, with a fire crackling in the hearth. The god fetches saucers and cups and brews a pot of the fragrant jasmine tea, and there are little cakes with dried fruit and honey, which the god tells him were a gift from the village.

“I’m not much of a baker myself,” he admits, pouring the tea. Then he asks: “What’s your name?”

“Jonathan Sims—Jon. What, uh, what should I call you?”

“I don’t have a name,” says the god. “The people around here just call me “the god”, and I’ve never thought to ask them for one.”

“You could always choose one for yourself.” The god gives him a curious look, as if that’s not something that had ever occurred to him.

“I suppose that I could,” he says. He takes a sip of his tea. “This is very nice, thank you.”

Jon has never had tea with a god before. The god asks him about the city and his work for the Temple of Beholding, and Jon finds himself talking freely; this god is very easy to talk to. His face is open and kind, and he listens attentively as Jon talks about the city, its people and its gods, about the work of the Temple to gather knowledge, to understand their world.

“Why did the Temple send you to me?” the god asks at last.

“We heard of what happened in the valley—of the fog,” says Jon, and sees guilt flash across the god’s face, the silver-gray of his eyes darkening. “I came to see.”

“Not to try to cheer me, then?” the god asks. There’s a bitter note in his voice.

“No, not to cheer you. Just to speak. To understand.”

“I’m glad you aren’t wasting your time, then,” says the god. “My people have done all they can to lift my sorrow. And I have tried, every way I know how, to send this fog away, to clear the skies, but I cannot—”

He shakes his head in frustration, lines of worry and grief etched across his features. Jon has the sudden impulse to reach out and comfort him; but this is a god, and besides, they’ve scarcely even met.

“I’m sorry that you carry such a burden,” he says. The god looks at him, and his mist-colored eyes are grieved.

“My sorrow isn’t important, only that it causes me to fail my people.” He turns away, his expression pained. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t bother you with my troubles. It’s probably best that you leave.”

Jon wants to protest, but he thinks it’s probably not a good idea to refuse a god’s request. He sets down his teacup and puts on his coat, and at the door he pauses.

“May I come back tomorrow?” he asks. The god considers, and then nods.

“I would like that,” he says, with a faint hint of a smile.

It’s quite a lovely smile, Jon can’t help noticing.

*

In the village, Jon asks about the god. The god has always been there, he learns. The god has always cared for them, has always ensured their harvests are bountiful and their winters are mild. The people of the valley don’t understand why their god is so unhappy now, but they hope it doesn’t linger too long. They need him to be the joyful, attentive god he has always been; they depend upon it.

The next day, he walks back up to the cottage on the hillside; the door opens to his knock, and the god smiles in greeting. They drink tea by the fire, and Jon asks about the valley—about how it is, when the fog isn’t here. The god talks about the farms and the orchards, the beauty of this place in both summer and winter; he talks about the lives of the people, their joys and their trials, how they rely on him for their wellbeing.

“That sounds like a great responsibility,” says Jon.

“They need me to care for them,” the god says simply. “So that is what I do.”

They talk into the evening, and the god insists Jon stay for supper; a rich stew of root vegetables and herbs. The god smiles shyly when Jon compliments the meal.

“I’m a better cook than a baker,” he says.

It’s coming into night when Jon leaves, and the god gives him an oil lamp to light his way to the village. His fingers brush against Jon’s as he hands him the lamp, and there is a jolt of electric sensation; a reminder that he is still talking to a god.

“Walk safely,” says the god.

“May I come back tomorrow?” Jon asks, and the god smiles, his eyes shining silver-gray.

“I look forward to it.”

*

Jon comes back the next day, and the next day, and the next. Sometimes he and the god talk; sometimes, when the god’s sorrow is too deep for conversation, Jon makes tea and they sit together quietly. Some days they walk in the hills, where the fog coils around the god’s feet like a cat. Jon brings the god the books he’s carried with him from the city, and the god—eventually, shyly—reads Jon a poem that he’s written. Jon is no aficionado, but the soft sincerity of the god’s voice makes something warm curl in his chest.

Their fingers brush over tea cups and the spines of books, each touch sending that little electric thrill through Jon’s nerves, and a warmth that has nothing to do with divinity. He knows it’s foolish—utterly ridiculous—to harbor such feelings for a god. But the god is kind and caring and clever; he sometimes makes terrible jokes, and when they walk, he insists on stopping to greet every shaggy brown cow they see.

The god is also sad, a bone deep, aching sorrow whose roots are unfathomable. He tries to explain it to Jon: he has always felt such sorrow, from time to time, as if all the joys of life were far away, seen from behind glass. But it has never lasted for so long, and it has never before prevented him from fulfilling his duties; he has always been able to push it aside, to do what he must.

That, Jon thinks, is part of the problem; his god is too kind, too devoted, too willing to sacrifice himself for his people.

His god, and when did Jon start to think of him that way? Not in worship, but in growing affection?

*

More than anything, the god loves to hear of Jon’s travels. He has journeyed far and wide in service to the Temple, and the god listens raptly as he describes distant places he has been, sights he’s seen, people he’s met.

“I’ve never traveled anywhere,” the god admits. “It sounds quite wonderful.”

“It can be,” says Jon. “Though it’s best when you have somewhere to return to.”

*

One morning in midsummer, the fog curls denser than ever, and Jon can scarcely find his way to the cottage through the murk. He hurries as fast as he can, worried that something might be astray. He worries more when the god does not open the door to Jon’s knock; Jon wonders for a moment if he might not be home, but they had agreed to walk and visit the cows today. His god would not forget.

He hesitates, then lets himself in.

He finds the god curled by the fire, sitting on the floor with a heavy blanket around his shoulders. His face is drawn and tear streaked, and as Jon approaches another shuddering sob tears itself from his throat, fresh tears flowing from his silver-gray eyes.

“Oh—” Jon drops to his knees on the hearthstone, his hands flying up as if to touch the god’s face, but instead hovering helplessly above his shoulders; they have never touched, but for those accidental brushes. Does he have the right?

“Jon…” the god says, his voice rough and choked. “I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have to see me this way.”

“Don’t say that,” says Jon, distraught. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” says the god, even as another sob shakes his shoulders. “I’m—there’s nothing wrong, not really. I’m just being...selfish. Absorbed in my own foolish melancholy when my people—“

“Forget your people!” Jon snaps, more sharply than he intends, and he sees his god flinch. “Just for a moment, think of yourself. I beg you.”

“My people—this place—they are me,” says the god. “If not for them, what would I even be?”

“You would be dear to me,” Jon says, hoarsely, and the god’s fog-colored eyes go wide, startled. The truth, then, and this time Jon does press a hand to his god’s soft cheek. The touch sends that familiar, tingling thrill through his palm, the feeling that Jon has learned to love.

“Oh,” the god whispers, and his hand comes up to cover Jon’s on his cheek. He leans into Jon’s touch, smiling even as the tears continue to flow.

*

There comes a day, in autumn, that dawns with sunshine and blue skies.

Jon wakes with his god curled beside him in the warm nest of their bed, and watches the light shining in through the window with wonder. It isn’t precisely a surprise: the fog has been lessening these past few weeks, the clouds growing less gray, but still he had not dared to hope that the sun might return—to the sky, and to his god’s heart.

After a time, the god wakes as well—slowly, as he always does—and his tousled head turns towards Jon. His eyes blink open, and their color is the clear blue of summer skies.

“G’morning,” he says sleepily, and Jon’s heart swells with love for him.

“Good morning,” he says. “The sun is out.”

*

The people of the valley rejoice with the return of the sun. This year’s harvest is lost, but they can begin to plan for next spring’s planting. The leaders of the village go to the shrine to give thanks to their god, but the strange scholar from the city answers the door and refuses to let them inside.

“He’s busy,” the scholar says, and shoos them away.

*

“You know that the fog may return, in time?” The god’s fingers twine gently with Jon’s. “I love you more than breath, but love cannot guard against such inborn sorrow. It comes when it wills, regardless of life’s joys.”

“Let it come,” says Jon. “I have loved you in the fog, and I will again. You own my heart, however heavy yours might be.”

He lifts his god’s hand and kisses his fingertips, feeling the buzz of bright sensation against his lips.

“My dear,” his god murmurs. “My heart.”

*

It isn’t long before Jon receives the letter that he knew would come; the fog has lifted and there’s no more to be learned, he is to return to the Temple at once.

He reads the letter once, then burns it.

*

“We should go somewhere,” Jon says, one evening. His god smiles, fingers stroking through Jon’s hair, leaving little trails of electric sensation behind.

“That’s a pleasant fancy,” he says. “I would love to travel with you, see those wonderful places you’ve told me about.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Jon urges. “Just for a time?”

“I-I couldn’t,” the god stutters. “My people—“

“Your people would carry on without you,” says Jon. “You have given everything that you are to this place and its people for so long; you’ve suffered through pain and sorrow in silence, until you could conceal it no more. You have thought of nothing for yourself, love, and so I must think of it for you.”

His god is staring at him now, his blue eyes wide and wet with tears. Jon grasps both of his hands, feeling the little sparks of divinity dancing across his skin.

“Come away with me,” he pleads. “Be selfish, for a little while.”

“Jon…” His god breathes his name like a prayer, and Jon wonders at the fortune that brought him here. His god smiles, bright and glorious.

“Yes,” he says.

*

They lock up the cottage before they leave, an empty shrine, but only for a time. The spring sun is shining, and in the valley below they can see people working in the fields, planting for their next harvest. The god gives a worried sigh, and Jon takes his hand.

“Your people are well,” he says, gently. “And we won’t be too long away.”

“I know,” says his god, and squeezes his hand. Then he smiles, wry and mischievous. “I had a thought; since we’ll be out in the world, I should choose a name. I expect most people won’t take kindly to calling me god.”

“That may be wise,” Jon agrees, laughing. “Have you thought of the name you might want?”

“Well…” his god says. “I was fond of the protagonist in that novel of yours—The Life and Adventures of Martin Blackwood?”

“Martin Blackwood, eh?” Jon says, considering. His god—Martin now, perhaps—tilts his head quizzically, his blue eyes shining.

“What do you think?” he asks, and Jon smiles.

“I think it suits you.”

[hxseok-honee]

atlas heart || part 28

a/n : aha,,, ahaha,,,,, listen, i know this is a jimin au okay I KNOW -- but this chapter belongs to jung hoseok and thats that im sorry

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When Y/n finds Jimin down by the lake, she feels that every fiber of her being wants her to turn back, wants her to run and hide under her blankets -- as if she’s the one that needs protecting from him. He doesn’t see her until she’s a few feet away, approaching him from the shoreline. The smile he gives her when he turns is kind but reserved, like he’s preoccupied. She lets out an awkward laugh.

“Why did you want to meet down here in the middle of the night? Way to be weird, Jimin.” He rolls his eyes playfully, nudging her with his elbow before gesturing back toward the ground not far away, covered in grass instead of the sand here by the water. Y/n follows him there, taking a seat next to him with question marks in her eyes when he doesn’t answer her. He snickers at her confusion.

“You’re really stuck on this, huh? Maybe I just wanted to look at the stars with you.” Her features scrunch up cutely as she reacts to his admittedly cheesy one-liner, and he feels the tips of his ears go red. “Okay, I swear that sounded better in my head.” She grins before turning away, looking up at the sky in contemplation. Jimin thinks that maybe, in other circumstances, they really would have been able to sit here together in peaceful silence and watched the stars all night long. He hates that he has to ruin it.

“I actually… I have to talk to you.” She doesn’t pull her gaze from the sky, but he does notice that her expression has clouded over with something he can’t place. It looks a lot like resignation. Swallowing once and trying to shake out his nervous limbs as subtly as possible, he takes a single deep breath before turning his upper body to face her. She still won’t look at him.

“I know you’re probably going to hate my guts after this, and I completely deserve that because I’m selfish and stupid, and I’m too nosy for my own good, and I never should have pushed so much, but I--”

“I know.”

“Yeah, I know you know that I’m an idiot, and that I’m annoying, and that I ask too many questi--”

“Jimin, I know.” He stops then, and the look of pure confusion he gives her breaks her heart. She has no idea that the pained expression she’s giving him is breaking his. She can’t even keep her eyes on him when she continues. “I know that you know.”

Jimin jaw drops, and he gets the idea that he looks a bit like a dying fish, closing and opening his mouth as he tries to figure out how to continue. He hadn’t planned for this turn of events when he’d practiced the conversation in his head.

“You -- but how? Was I too obvious?” He sits up straight, terrified that his suspicious behavior had already gotten her into more danger. “Did I do something that risked your secret? What was it? Tell me so I can make sure never to do it again--” Y/n’s eyes shut as she sighs, and she quiets him with a shake of her head.

“Dumbledore told me, the day after you’d gone to see him. He wanted to warn me.” Jimin stares at the side of her head, processing that she’d known almost two weeks that he’d figured everything out, but she hadn’t confronted him about it. “I haven’t told the boys yet, but I’ve been freaking out about it. I wanted to talk to you right away, but… I decided to wait until you were ready to talk about it…” Her eyes flick to him, but at the sight of his gaze fixed completely on her, his attention fully hers, she looks away. “I was scared that you hated me. Even when you kept reaching out and talking to me, I felt like… maybe you hadn’t realized exactly what I am or what that means. I was waiting for you to leave me. Or expose me. I don’t know. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“I would never do that to you.” It falls out his mouth, feeling oddly like a confession when he says it without thinking and is immediately embarrassed. He clears his throat when she looks up at him with wide eyes, scratching awkwardly at his collarbone. “I needed time to process… not that you’re a werewolf, but that I had been such a fucking idiot the entire time. I should have listened to your friends and just let you be. I was nosy and selfish and objectively really annoying, and I hadn’t even realized that they were just trying to keep you safe by pushing me away. I’m really sorry, Y/n… for endangering you like that.”

He won’t look at her -- he can’t. But when a cold hand closes around his own, squeezing gently, he at least is able to look in her direction. She squeezes again, and, with as much courage as he’s ever had to gather at once, he lifts his eyes to meet her. She looks to be on the edge of tears, but she’s smiling at him, and it confuses him to no end.

“You’re not… mad? Because I completely understand if you are--”

“I’m not mad, Jimin. I’m kind of relieved that you know now, even if I am probably going to always be scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize that I’m a monster and run for your life.” He breathes out a laugh, knowing that she’s not joking. He just can’t imagine a version of himself, now or ever, that would look at her and see anything but the girl he’d been desperate to befriend all this time.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/n. I want to help you, if that’s okay. I want to do anything I can to help keep you safe.” It’s then that she pulls away from him, her expression turning apprehensive. Jimin takes one look at her and assumes it must be about her friends. “I know that Hoseok and Jungkook don’t like me, but I can talk to them if you want me to! I can explain myself and make sure they know that I’m just trying to help--” She shakes her head suddenly, cutting him off with a wave of her hands. She can already tell how her conversation with them later tonight will go, dreading having to ask them to meet so she can break the news.

“No, it’s not them… I’ll handle the boys -- it’s probably better that you aren’t there when they lose their minds, so I’ll talk to them. It’s just… things are more complicated than you think. It’s not really as simple as helping me… there are things you still don’t know, and it’s not my place to tell you…” Jimin thinks back to the way Dumbledore had called the situation ‘infinitely more complicated’ than he knew, and the way Y/n’s talking right now has him going out on a limb.

“Is this… about Remus Lupin?” Y/n meets his eyes with alarm, her breath catching audibly in her throat, and Jimin knows he’s right. “He’s… like you, right? His friends are involved, too.” She gapes at him, unsure how to respond.

“How…” He looks away, rubbing at his neck uncomfortably.

“Well, the night I figured things out -- it was a few days before the full moon, so your symptoms were a little more apparent at the time. I saw him in the Great Hall the next day, and he was looking just like you… and his friends, they act a lot like Jungkook and Hoseok sometimes… it wasn’t hard to put it together.” Y/n sits there in silence, not certain if Jimin is just really observant and was hyper-aware of everything because he’d just realized such a monumental secret, or if she needs to talk to the Marauders and her own friends about being less conspicuous. Probably both. She barely hears Jimin when he starts talking again.

“Is… that what’s keeping you from letting me help? I swear I won’t say anything -- I’ll even pretend I don’t know about him. I’ll do anything.” She watches him as he starts to devolve into what’s probably the third rant in the last half hour alone, and she knows he’s desperate to prove himself to her. He doesn’t need to -- he’d made his innocence and kindness clear to her long before he’d had any idea of her affliction. It’s everything about him, really, that’s causing her so much pain. She’s scared for him.

“Jimin… are you sure this is what you want? We’re in the middle of a war… and you’re a muggleborn. If anyone were to find me out, and they link us… I don’t know what would happen to you. Everything’s so delicate and dangerous, I don’t know if I can put you in that kind of danger.” This time it’s Jimin that reaches out for her, slipping his fingers through her own and linking their hands once he has her in his hold. He looks entirely level-headed when he looks her in the eye and responds.

“I’m with you, Y/n. I’m with you.”

--

Y/n stares up at the entrance to Slytherin common room, a deep frown set into her features. She’d made what she’d believed to be the right choice by not having Jungkook and Hoseok in the same room when she told them about Jimin -- they have a habit of enabling each other’s worst characteristics, and the last thing she wants to deal with is two enraged boys in the middle of the night. But now that she’s here, having just left a furious Jungkook in the room of requirement, she’s not looking forward to having this conversation again.

Jungkook had been surprisingly calm when she’d broken to him that Jimin had discovered her secret, but if there’s only one thing in the world that Y/n can say with complete confidence, it’s that she knows Jeon Jungkook. The look of complete ease that he’d given her had terrified her far beyond any explosion of anger. She almost prefers that he had reacted. It had taken her the better half of an hour to calm him down, only feeling comfortable texting Hoseok that she was on her way to him when she’d seen an emotion cross Jungkook’s eyes other than blank detachment. Even then, it was only annoyance at the fact that she refused to let him “talk” to Jimin on his own.

Now, it’s almost 3am, and Y/n’s only brushing away her tragic attempt at reasoning with Jungkook when the door to the Slytherin common room slides open, revealing a sleepy-eyed, bedhead-ridden Hoseok. He’s only half-dressed, clearly unable to be bothered to care about his appearance this late at night. He scratches at his bare collarbone with one finger while he squints at her, his blatant concern hidden slightly by how disgruntled he looks.

“Do you have any idea what time it is? Why would you do this to me?” Y/n snorts, knowing from experience how objectively rude Hoseok can be in the first few minutes of being awake. She hopes he stays bogged down by his sleep-deprived mind long enough that he doesn’t completely lose it when she talks to him. She glances past him into the common room before responding.

“Is there somewhere we can talk in private? I have something to tell you.” Immediately, the sleep is gone from Hoseok’s eyes, and Y/n mourns the hope that he wouldn’t be clear-minded during their conversation. He nods once, pointing over his shoulder.

“My room’s fine.”

“Isn’t Yoongi there?” Hoseok shakes his head, a slight smile gracing his features while he explains.

“He got a call from Kim Seokjin not that long ago -- something about a late-night snack run and how eating alone is ‘a lonely habit’.” He shrugs, and Y/n guesses that Yoongi must get dragged out against his will by Kim Seokjin quite often if Hoseok is unbothered by it. Hoseok points again in the direction of his bedroom, and Y/n only follows with a nod.

By the time they return to his room, Hoseok’s awake enough to be self-conscious, so he’s searching for a shirt immediately, gesturing for Y/n to close the door behind her. Then he flops down onto his bed, crossing his legs and patting the spot at the end of his mattress for her. When she decides to remain standing, running her fingers along the edge of his bedpost awkwardly, Hoseok squints, suspicious.

“What happened?” Y/n closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, looking Hoseok head-on and ripping the metaphorical band-aid off.

“Jimin knows about me. He just told me. Before you say anything, we talked about it, and--”

“That little shit--” Hoseok’s standing from his bed, fists balled up in rage as he heaves out an enraged breath. “When I get my hands on that nosy, obnoxious fucking twerp--”

“Hoseok, wait! Wait.” Y/n holds her hands out in front of her, planting them on his chest while she stares up at him with wide eyes. “It’s okay! It’s fine, we talked! He’s not going to say anything to anyone, even about the stuff with Remus--” She’ll admit that saying that last part probably wasn’t her best idea, considering how Hoseok reacts, blind with fury.

“What do you mean? What does that mean?!” He’s growing louder now, and Y/n knows she has to calm him down before he wakes the entirety of Slytherin house. Taking his face in her hands, she tries to force him to focus solely on her, but it only results in Hoseok gripping at her wrists, desperation clear in the way his hold is shaking. He’s looking at her with wild eyes, demanding an explanation for something so wholly unacceptable, but Y/n can’t give that to him while he’s like this.

“Hoseok, I need you to breathe, okay? I’m okay. I will be okay. But I need you to lower your voice and breathe. Don’t think about anything else.” This display -- a total loss of control -- is what she’d expected from Jungkook, but the boy who’d been beside her their entire lives must have known better than to show his ruthless side and risk upsetting her. In this moment, Hoseok, who’s always so keen on hiding himself behind a mask, is seeing red the way he never has before, and that’s what scares Y/n most.

“Eyes on me, Hobi, hm? Look at me -- I’m right here, and I’m okay. Look at me. See? I’m perfectly fine. Nothing’s gonna happen to me, I promise.” She’d somehow managed to bring him down from his erratic high, keeping his face close until she could see in his eyes that he’s looking only at her. His breath is ragged, and if she thinks she’s caught the slightest tremble of his bottom lip when he opens his mouth, he’s hiding it well. But what he whispers to her breaks her heart clean in half.

“You can’t promise me that. The more people that know about you, the harder it is for me to trick myself into believing you.” Taking a breath to stop herself from tearing up, she releases him slowly, stepping back when he only moves to sit back down on the edge of his bed.

“Hobi… you can’t do anything to Jimin, okay? You can’t confront him or do anything rash. I mean it.” It takes a few moments, but finally Hoseok is lifting his eyes to meet hers. He nods, and Y/n knows that’s all she’ll be able to get out of him. She wishes it was enough, that weak agreement, but if there’s one other thing in the world she can say with complete confidence, it’s that she doesn’t know Hoseok quite as well as she knows Jungkook.

--

Jimin’s on his way to class the next morning, lost in his thoughts about Y/n -- he can’t seem to focus on anything else these days -- when he’s unceremoniously dragged by the back of his robes into an empty classroom and shoved against the nearest wall. Hissing at the pain, he barely has time to slump over and catch his breath before he’s being pinned back against the cold stone by a pair of very determined hands.

He stills completely when he finally lifts his gaze and meets the eyes of Jung Hoseok. The Slytherin is visibly furious, his glare almost manic as he pushes Jimin’s shoulders back into the wall. He only lets up when an involuntary cry of pain escapes Jimin, but he never lets the boy go.

“Now, you’re going to listen to what I have to say, and you’re going to listen closely. Yeah?” Jimin isn’t sure it’s a question that needs answering, considering that he’s literally trapped, but the increased pressure of Hoseok’s knuckles on his chest has him nodding frantically. Hoseok doesn’t release him when he leans down into his face.

“For some ungodly reason, Y/n has decided that you can be trusted, and I’m sure you loved that she said she’d talk to us so you wouldn’t have to do it yourself, huh? But I think that you deserve to have the whole picture, Park -- look at me when I’m talking to you.” Jimin had shut his eyes simply from the proximity of Hoseok’s hateful glare, unable to handle it, but when the older boy shakes him roughly, he opens his eyes so wide that he’s terrified to even blink.

“This game you’re playing? Using your obvious little crush on Y/n as an excuse to pry into her business and put her in danger just because you like sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? It needs to stop. Because you don’t know all the rules, Jimin. And you don’t get any do-overs.” Jimin can feel the grip on his shirt starting to tremble, and at first he thinks maybe Hoseok’s so enraged that he’s actually shaking, but the glint in his eye tells Jimin differently. It tells him that Hoseok is scared -- he’s terrified. The uncertainty of Jimin’s existence in Y/n’s life -- not knowing if this is going to end badly for them -- it’s scaring him, and Jimin gets the feeling that Hoseok’s someone who deals with fear by being angry. Taking a very big risk, he whispers out to the 7th year.

“I swear, I just want to hel--agh!” Squeezing his eyes shut when Hoseok lifts him away from the wall and promptly slams him back into it, he doesn’t finish his plea. He can feel Hoseok’s breath fanning angrily over his face, and he swears a low growl rumbles from deep within the Slytherin’s chest when he responds.

“Shut up! You don’t know what that even means. You don’t know how to help. All you’ve done is screw things up for us, so let me welcome you into our little group with a warning.” A hand clamps the sides of Jimin’s jaw, lifting his face and squeezing hard until Jimin opens his eyes to look at Hoseok.

“You get one chance, so if you even come close to screwing that up, Y/n is the last thing you’ll have to worry about. Clear?” Jimin nods again, the hand on his face making that incredibly difficult. Finally, Hoseok releases him and steps back, watching with unmasked annoyance as Jimin fixes his clothes and rubs at all the spots he’s sure will be bruised by morning. They stare at each other, Hoseok eventually rolling his eyes with a sigh.

“Y/n told me you want to help. She asked me to mentor you in potion-making. I only agreed to it because she’s very stubborn when she wants to be, and someone needs to take over her doses. I won’t go easy on you, so you better be ready for a summer of hell. I need to know she’ll be safe with you once I’m gone, and frankly, I don’t even trust you to boil a pot of fucking water, much less a dangerous, highly sensitive potion.” Jimin swallows hard but doesn’t comment on the blatant insult, only processing that Jung Hoseok has agreed to train him.

Hoseok’s eyes flicker to the door, and Jimin takes that as his cue that the conversation -- if that’s what this was -- is finished, so he wanders out of the room in a slight daze, Hoseok following closely. As if the universe is telling him that this moment can, in fact, get much worse, Jimin meets the eyes of one Jeon Jungkook as the Gryffindor happens to be passing on the way to class. Where Hoseok’s glare was unbridled fire and rage, Jungkook’s gaze is turning to pure ice, and Jimin can’t decide which is worse. Jungkook doesn’t even acknowledge him as he passes, breaking eye contact and going on his way as if Jimin doesn’t even exist. Hoseok chuckles darkly behind him.

“I almost feel bad for you, Jimin. If you think you have it bad with me, you’re in for a real treat with Jungkook.”

[kkeidawrites]

Can you please write something for pregnant Greta? Like, it comes to a shock to both Greta and Alucard but they’re both so excited and happy about it or Alucard knows before she does and his dramatic ass plans a whole 9 yard evening dinner and tells her? Idc what it is but we need more Daducard content!!!

Her scent was different these past few days. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it could be.

Greta had been going to the latrine more often than usual and Alucard decided to try something to confirm his suspicions.

Her mood had also changed a lot during the past couple of weeks and Greta claims it’s just the stress from the building of the wall around the ever growing village of Belmont. There was also a time where Greta fell out in a faint while working on blueprints for the proper rope that needed to be used when building the wall.

The people of Belmont voiced their concerns to the dhampir and Alucard needed some advice on what it could be.

“Alucard, how often have you and Greta been…you know,” Sypha’s unfinished question makes the dhampir tilt his head in confusion. He had made a stop at, she and Trevor’s home to talk about Greta’s current conditions.

“What?” Alucard asked.

“She’s asking how long have you been fucking the headwoman unprotected?” Trevor’s vulgarity never ceased to amaze both Sypha and Alucard as his quip is earned with a slap to the back of his head.

“What does that have to do with-”

“Alucard, have you ever thought that maybe Greta is…pregnant?” Sypha asks and Alucard thought for a moment. He and Greta had been very much, been ‘together’ ever since they had married a year ago but, he would had never thought that he would have been able to procreate, albeit with his vampire and human background, it seemed impossible.

“She has been going to the latrine more often than usual, but I didn’t think it would pertain to that.” He tells Sypha.

“But you did say her scent has changed, right? The signs are all there. The fainting, the multiple trips to the latrine, she has been snacking a lot lately and it’s all going to her hips.” Alucard blushed at that. Greta’s hips have widened a bit and he has very much appreciated the change in them.

He often finds himself placing his hands on her hips and most instances squeezing her ass at the extra plumpness there.

“You should tell her Alucard.” Sypha suggested and Alucard sucked in a breath and then felt his cheeks flush a bit.

“And if she’s pregnant…? How do you think-do you think she would be-”

“Of course she would be thrilled Alucard,” Sypha grasps one of his hands in her small ones.

“You two have been together, going on two years now, not only are you both amazing godparents to our son, you both care enough to put others before you and are willing to do everything in your power to keep the people happy. That also means that you both should be happy as well.” Sypha tells him.

“But-”

“Oh for Christ sakes, just set up a dinner for you two tonight and just tell her. What’s the worst that can happen?” Trevor says with a shrug and Alucard bites his lower lip.

That evening, Alucard guides a giggling Greta to their shared bedroom and opens the door for her to step in first. She smiles at the gentlemanly gesture and Alucard watches her go inside their room his eyes finding her ass, bounce more often than before.

Her gasp of surprise made the dhampir look up to see Greta place a hand over her mouth in surprise at the small dinner setup in front of the fireplace. The small dining table held two plates and glasses with a nice dinner garnished on top.

Alucard closed the door and makes his way to her side, pulling out her chair and letting her sit in it. She thanks him as she is scoot in close to the table and Alucard takes his own seat across from her.

He serves them both a plate of grilled fish with potatoes, garlic and spices and then a glass of some sweet juice that Greta loved so much. The two quietly eat in silence.

Alucard’s heart seemed to be beating awfully loud as he kept sneaking glances at his love and Greta secretly smiles at this. The two years she’s gotten to know him, she noticed things that she would keep to herself. Even a particular spot under his chin that she loved to rub that makes him…she wouldn’t spill all that.

Alucard took another bite of his meal then set his fork down and cleared his throat to get her attention. Greta takes another sip of her drink and looks at Alucard’s slowly turning red face.

“Nervous?” She asked with a grin.

“Um, a bit.” He says rubbing his sweaty hands together.

“I wanted to tell you s-something. It’s a bit um…life changing.” He tells her. Greta’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Really?” She questions.

“Yes! Um, I think you will like it, love it actually,” he says and moves from his seat to take a knee by her hip. Greta turns her body to him.

Alucard grabs her right hand and kissed her knuckles, staying there a bit longer for her to feel all of his love for her.

“I love you. You know that right?” He asked and Greta smiles with a nod.

“As much as I love you.” He smiles.

“Greta, I…”

“I believe that you may be with…that you…”

He clears his throat again nervously. Greta felt she didn’t need to play with him anymore and put her left hand under her chin.

“So, when are you going to tell me that I am pregnant?” His eyes widened and then he laughs as she laughs as well.

“I’m guessing you already knew?” He asked.

“I just found out this afternoon, I was going to tell you later this evening, after we had dinner and among other…things.” She hinted with her eyes pointing to the bed.

“How did you find out?” He asked, actually curious.

“Adrian, I’ve been around pregnant women ever since I was young, I know the symptoms and I kind of figured I was with child when I kept blowing my chucks in the latrine far more times during the day and my snacking went straight to my hips and ass. I went to the healer and they had me do the latch test, and low and behold I am indeed pregnant.” She tells him.

Alucard’s lips break into a smirk and he suddenly scoops her up into his arms as the woman giggles.

“I can just pretend we didn’t break the ice on the news and we can still do other ‘things’.” Alucard teases as he walks them to their bed with a playful glint in his eye.

“What news?” Greta plays along and Alucard kisses her as she laughs again.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$&$$$$$$$$$$&$$$$

I am soooooo sorry for the late response to your request I hope you like it!

Part 2!

[mimzy-writing-online]

How do you handle casual ableism especially ableism that’s said to be “a joke”? I am blind and I get this all the time and it’s so annoying because I can’t win.

If it’s said by someone I know I probably won’t talk to much, if ever again, I just grin and bear it. If I’m invested in this friendship or know I’ll be working with them a lot, then I’ll say something. But I do have some personal pet-peeves.

“Oh, so you’re blind, but not like, blind-blind.” 

Whenever I explain to someone new that I’m visually impaired and what I see, I sometimes get the “oh, so you’re blind, but not like, blind-blind.” and I just... *internal screaming*

I hate it because it reinforces this hierarchy of “who has it worst in the world” that abled society has. It’s like saying, “oh, you’re blind, but at least you don’t have cancer.” That is insensitive to both people who are blind, people who have cancer, and people who have both. 

Everyone is going through their own stuff, and sometimes it feels debilitating and sometimes it feels normal. Undermining someone’s experiences by saying/implying someone has it worse is terrible and even worse is using that idea to say “oh, then you don’t need this accommodation that badly, you’re not disabled-disabled.”

I am blind. Just blind. I have a condition that highly affects my life and just because there are a few settings where I can pass for sighted, does not mean that I am not blind.

And those people feed my internalized ableism and imposter syndrome so that I begin to think “I’m not that blind, people have so much less sight than me” and begin to feel like I don’t deserve any of my accommodations, even my cane when my worst days hit. My cane, that thing I bought myself that affects no one apart from warning them I can’t see them, but means everything to me.

What I would like to say: “I am blind. What I’m describing might sound like no big deal to you, but it affects my life every day and I will never, under any circumstances, see as much as a sighted person. Please stop comparing my disability to other disabilities.”

“Can you use your cane as a weapon?”

It was funny the first 3-4 times I heard it, but strangers say it to me constantly and it’s just like... “oh, them Lakers” or “How’s the weather up there” or some other cliché joke that has been told to death. And these strangers don’t realize how unoriginal it is because they probably never interact with other blind people, but I hear it all the fricken time.

I’ve explained to friends that I don’t like this joke. And I have an example of it in A Witch’s Memory, specifically Ulric’s second chapter. But like, I cannot control what strangers think is funny.

What I would like to say: “I cannot. Canes are much more fragile than you think, and each one has cost me $50 each. And I’ve had... six? Over the years. And they take weeks to ship to me. I would be terrified of my cane getting damaged.”

“I bet you’re looking forward to robot eyes.”

No. I’m not. I’m really not. Leave my eyes the fuck alone.

This was waaaaaay before I was diagnosed with Visual Snow Syndrome, which is a neurological problem, not an eye problem, even if the symptoms that affect me most are visual.

And as for the ableism, there’s soooo so much in that statement:

“Oh, I bet you’re looking forward to getting cured”

“I think being blind is terrible, I would want robot eyes immediately”

And if I said that I didn’t want robot eyes ever, I’d almost always get:

“I bet it wouldn’t be that bad, you’d be a cyborg. How cool is that?”

I said no the first time. Respect that answer. It’s my body, my eyes. I’m so tired of this debate.

The only form of this conversation I will ever accept is from my best friend who admitted that he personally would jump at the chance for cybernetic enhancements, especially something that reduced chronic pain. There are some more personal issues I won’t disclose, but from his perspective I understood and we came to the acceptance that we had very different stances and that was okay so long as we respected each other’s choices.

What I would like to say: “I have considered this and personally decided that under no circumstances would I ever want this kind of surgery done to me. Please respect that choice and don’t joke about experimental surgeries with me.”

“Just consider me your personal human guide dog.”

Only one person has ever said this to me, but he’s said it several times while acting as my sighted guide and I hate it, not because there is any ableism directed at me, but because he’s calling himself less than human and I wish he treated himself better. He deserves better. My solution is just saying nice things to him every chance I get about how much I care about him and how he is good.

“Fuck you! I love you! Don’t you dare call yourself a dog. You’re amazing and I love you.”

“Well you’re able-bodied.”

Said to me by another person with a disability, specifically a chronic illness, while complaining about why I couldn’t do something for him.

It was my father.

and I just...

I have literally never not been disabled in some capacity.

I remember my ADHD affected me from the early age of six years old and how much that affected my self esteem. I started having chronic health problems (mostly due to anxiety) as soon as I entered my teenage years. The worst was when I was 19. And then I went blind.

I am in no way able-bodied. Do not throw this hierarchy of who’s more disabled at me. I physically cannot handle the task you asked me to do without physical pain following me for the rest of the day. It’s either going to have to get done by someone else, or I’m going to need help. Why do I need to be in pain all day for this?

You’re young, therefore you are able-bodied.

You means nothing in terms of disability! Lots of people are disabled, visibly and invisibly. And if your kid needs disability aids to perform normal tasks like walking safely outside, you shouldn’t be calling them able bodied.

What I would like to say: “I am not able bodied. I am far from it. What you’re asking me to do will either risk serious injury to me or will cause me serious, lasting pain. Please respect my physical limitations.”

“And on your right you and hear, smell, taste, touch the ocean.”

It was a joke by a close friend when we were on a road trip. Also, we were in a car on the freeway, literally, none of those things would be possible from that distance because all I would hear and smell would be car fumes. 

Like, okay, I know I can’t enjoy the scenic view the way sighted people can, but I am enjoying this drive in my own way. Even the visuals I can see are nice(ish). It’s stimulation, something different for my brain. I’m having fun listening to the music and your story while we move and there are shapes and faded colors passing us.

I’m experiencing this amazing road trip.

Maybe it’s not the way you would experience or best enjoy it, but I am having fun, don’t spoil it by reminding me that I’m different from you and that my experience “must be less enjoyable.”

I told him: “I don’t like those jokes. They aren’t funny to me. I don’t need to see it to enjoy it.” And he stopped. He never made another one after that drive.

(He’s also one of those people who has serious anxiety around making someone uncomfortable, and me telling him “hey I don’t like this, can we do this instead” actually helps us both, because I’m no longer uncomfortable and he can trust that I would immediately tell him if he ever did something I didn’t like. If I’m not speaking up, then I am good. And I can trust that he will stop as soon as I tell him to, and that I can always speak up if I need to.)