#fictional hypoglycemia | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sepherinaspoppies · 2 months ago

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Temporary Fix- Martin x Reader

summary: Martin is desperate to feel something. Anything. Rest? Relief? Sleep? Pleasure? Then he meets you, who can assure him that he will feel all of what he seeks.

warnings: drug use, hair pulling, handjob, ball play?, face riding, sub martin, dom reader, clit piercing stimulation, praise, orgasm denial, unprotected p in v, (please don’t be silly wrap that willy), surprise at the end!

wc: 4,675

general taglist

divider by @saradika-graphics

masterlist

notes: im so sorry this took a long ass time, family problems and I just moved back to Mexico so ive been busy lol.

For weeks, perhaps months, his body was aching. Tension had built up around his lower back, feeling like pins and needles stabbing the muscles of his back. Soon after, those aches and pains shifted over to his chest, and it felt like a heavy weight that couldn’t be shaken away, making it difficult for him to breathe.

Especially late at night.

Which prompted him to consume one of his mum’s low dosage of Ibuprofen. While the effects of the pill worked, it only lasted about an hour or two the most. Eventually his mum caught on the missing pills, but luckily his mum believed the little white lie he told, excusing it as his sister’s behavior.

With nothing to dull the never-ending sensation, he needed desperately to find relief elsewhere.

And that’s how he met you.

Out of all the places in town, he’d never assumed to meet a drug dealer in an open field, sitting by the train tracks, staring into the distance, with a cigarette in one hand and a lollipop in the other.

“I have hypoglycemia.” You informed as you turned around.

It is then when he took in the rest of your appearance. Your eyes were dark, smudged by black eyeliner and eyeshadow. Silver glitter cascading down your cheeks, giving the illusion of tears. On top of your left brow, two little studs of a piercing decorated your skin. And below that piercing were two other piercings, a septum and a lip ring.

He tried to picture you without the dark makeup and piercings, somehow he couldn’t. It suited you.

You wore a t-shirt of one of his favorite bands, Black Sabbath. Paired up with a black tennis skirt and fishnets that accentuated the length of your legs. Truly, you were beautiful.

“What’s that?” He asked you, off topic, taking a few steps towards you.

You exhaled a cloud of smoke, then dragged your tongue around the sweet. “Low blood sugar. When my sugar levels drop below a certain level, I faint.” He nods his head, noticing another silver piercing on the tip of your tongue.

Hot.

He wondered what other piercings you hid underneath your clothes, he had a feeling the facial piercings were not the only piercings you had.

His ocean blue eyes continued to stare at you, assessing if you were who his mate had referred him to. “You’re Tommy?” He asked.

You threw your head back in a laugh. “No, that’s my brother’s name. I strictly use it for business.” You kicked the grass that stuck to your boots as you stood up, getting ready for the usual business exchange. “Most people don’t buy drugs from girls.” Though, you didn’t know why. You were great at not getting caught. No one had suspected a thing when you had done a deal next to a policeman.

“Would you have come if you knew I was a girl?” You questioned.

“Fair point.” His lips pulled into a faint smirk. “So, what’s your name?”

You placed your cherry flavored lollipop back into your mouth, hiding the amusement from his view. There was no denying that the guy in front of you was attractive. Judging by his looks alone, he fit right into the description of guys whom you considered your type.

His long black hair reminded you of Eric Draven, from the Crow. He was tall and lean, similar to the fictional character you had posters on your bedroom walls. But it was his eyes that pulled you in. Which was a shame, you strictly forbade yourself to not date any of your clients. If you’d call them that.

The last time you did, he left you panicked and traumatized. You have learned your lesson since then.

“Will, said you need some sedatives. I have some bars; aka Xanax.” You shake the translucent orange bottle of white bars from your pocket. “They’re legit. They work. But it’ll cost you two hundred quid.”

His eyes almost bulged out of their sockets at the said price. He carried only a hundred in his wallet and a fifty that his mum gave him for groceries.

Fuck!

His reaction caused you to narrow your eyes, “Fine, one-eighty quid.” You negotiated, putting on your best serious and business face.

That, however, doesn’t deter him. “One-twenty.”

You scoff loudly. You were generous by giving him a twenty percent discount, and he wants more?

The nerve of this guy!

“One-sixty.” You counteroffer.

“One-fifty.”

“Done.” You reply as you both are quick to exchange goods. Immediately so, you begin to count the money in case of any scams the dark brunette might throw your way. After all, you barely met the guy.

“Is this…chocolate?” Martin asked, a little taken back that you managed to slip a small Butterfingers next to the translucent bottle.

Is it normal for drug dealers to provide chocolate to their clients?

He wouldn’t know. Though, the last time Martin bought drugs was with one of his mates, behind a very smelly bin next to a seafood restaurant. Not once did that sketchy, and yet very creepy, dealer gave them a sweet after their transaction.

He hears you chuckle, a playful look on your pretty face. “I carry candy with me wherever I go. That’s for you. You look like you could use it.”

“What if you faint?” He stops before you have the chance to walk away.

“Don't worry, I won’t.” You smile, using the heart shaped lollipop to wave him goodbye.

His eyes watch you walk away, and his breath hitches when a small breeze lifts the back of your skirt, giving him a delicious eyeful of what was underneath.

As soon as his bedroom door closes, Martin begins to inspect the bottle you’d given him. He wondered how many of the little bars he could take. He knew, of course, not the whole thing. His mum would scream at his overdosed corpse and probably descend into madness.

So it was safe to say, he only took one.

It dissolved on his tongue almost instantly, and about an hour later or so the effects started to kick in.

The waves of anxiety and the aches and pains Martin usually got during this hour never came. He felt at peace; calm as he stared into the silver glow of moonlight out of his window.

A heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders and for the first time in months Martin finally fell asleep quite comfortably.

This exchange between you and Martin went on for about two more months, meeting at the field exchanging goods and Martin usually attempting to ask you out, only for you to deny him every time.

Eventually, Martin got the hint and no longer hit on you, much to your disappointment. Not only that, you started seeing him less and less as he only met you once every two weeks. Regularly seeing you every week.

Maybe you were a little harsh for not giving him a chance.

But you reckon that wasn’t the case as he would’ve completely cut ties with you.

There must have been something else on his mind or perhaps his work life got the best of him; which was good.

You wished nothing but the best.

After contemplating on whether to call or not call Martin, you decided to instead shoot a message to your shared friend, Will. He informed you that he hadn’t seen him around or heard from him in some days. Which was odd since they were best mates, often talking about random shit (including you but Will would never tell you).

Will you make sure he’s alright? You texted.

Can’t. I’m staying over at my girlfriend’s. But since you care about your best customer, go ahead and pay him a visit ;)

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you could hear Will’s tantalizing voice inside your head.

Stupid wanker. You thought as you typed Martin’s address on your phone.

It wasn’t that far from your apartment, only a couple of streets over that was doable by walking.

Though, Will mentioned for you to sneak through the upstair’s window as he lived with his parents. You were thankful you wore good shoes fit for the climb but not a good enough outfit as you reckon anyone passing by would get an eyeful of your ass.

Martin laid on his bed, playing with what looked to be a miniature helicopter. Although you couldn’t hear what he was saying you still found the act a little funny.

“Martin!” You knocked through the window, not too loud and just for him to hear. You watch as he jolts a little, his face showing a mixture of fear and confusion once his eyes settle on you.

Instantly, he sets his toy aside and runs to you, opening the window and helping you up. You mutter a breathless ‘thanks’ which makes Martin nod. “What are you doing here?” He asks, a bit surprised by your random presence in his room.

“Oh, I- wait, what happened to your face?!” You exclaimed, panic rooting deep in your stomach. Martin turned his head away but you weren’t having that. You softly placed your hands to the sides of his cheeks, examining the markings on his face.

The bruises on his nose and lip were fresh, probably from a few hours or so ago.

“It’s nothing, really.” Martin murmured, attempting yet again to push your grasp. “It doesn’t look like it!” You say, keeping a firm hold on both sides of his cheeks. If you weren’t so concerned about the cuts and bruises, you would’ve taken your time in appreciating how soft and smooth his cheeks were.

“Why do you care?” He murmured very quietly under his breath as his eyes no longer met yours.

It was a good question, why did you care? You weren’t this… caring for your other clients. You had your regulars, most of them coming and going. Not once did you bother to think about them, caring only for the cash that kept you well-fed and alive.

You knew something about Martin was different from the others. Yet, you had a hard time deciphering the answer to his question.

Why did you care?

“I don’t know. I just know I do.” You sighed, taking a seat right next to him. A long comfortable silence followed between you two, and you took your time to inspect the details around the perimeter of his bedroom.

A few posters were scattered on his walls, some of them were a few bands such as Nirvana, The Smiths, and one of your personal favorites: Oasis. The other posters seemed to be art pieces done by himself as the various kinds of paint brushes and the smeared paint on the surface of his desk proved it.

He was an artist.

Far left towards a desk sat a large terrarium made for a reptile that you couldn’t see. You wanted to giggle at the miniature couch and bed Martin made for the little fellow, it was cute and you could tell how much he cared about his pet.

“Why did you come?” Martin finally spoke, although faint.

“Honestly?” You clear your throat as you shift your feet awkwardly, “I hadn’t seen you in a while; I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Not because of the drugs?” He asks.

You tried to conceal a smile at the mirthful tone of his voice. “No…”

His eyes narrow at you and you swore you saw a hint of something playful in his features before he shifted his body to face you. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Fine. Yes, also because of the drugs but mostly because… I- I cared for your well being.”

Oh God.

Heat expands around Martin’s face, and he was glad that there was barely any light for you to see. “I’m sort of alright,” he shrugs. Martin has been better, definitely when the drugs did their job.

Your head tilts to the side at the ‘sort of’. “Sort of? Are you not taking them anymore?” Martin shakes his head.

“I don’t like ‘em anymore. Couldn’t feel anything. Nothing.” Martin did not understand why. The first couple of weeks went fine without any trouble or problems. He had become more productive than he’d ever been, from helping his mum and his little sister with chores and homework to picking up extra shifts (which was totally unlike him).

Then about two weeks ago, everything changed. Martin walked to a new coffee shop when someone— his ex-girlfriend of two years— had accidentally bumped into him as she walked out, spilling hot coffee on his chest and hands.

Normally, one would wince and possibly shriek at the burning sensation, but not him. He smiled at Lydia as she stammered apologies, not feeling the harsh burns on his skin.

As an apology, Lydia had agreed to go out for dinner at their favorite restaurant when they were still together.

They had a good time, catching up about their work, family, and friends. Martin learned new things about her he didn’t even know when they dated. After a few pints and cigarettes, Lydia brought him over to her apartment, where they both stripped each other’s clothes off instantly.

But along the good, comes bad.

Martin had her on all fours, her cunt glistening with so much of her arousal, needy and ready for him. To his horror, Martin’s dick couldn’t seem to get hard. No matter how many times he fisted himself, his dick was unresponsive.

Discomfited, Martin practically ran out without an explanation. Dick move, he knows.

Since then, Martin figured the drug was the cause for his insensitivity. So he stopped altogether.

“Glad to know I wasn’t the only one,” you slump down Martin’s bed once he finishes explaining. Martin furrows his brows in confusion but soon begins to puzzle the pieces. “So those were your pills?” He recalled that moment when he saw faint letters of a name, your name, printed on the bottle. It was a prescription. Your prescription.

“Yea, it was to help with my panic attacks,” you explain. Though, carefully not to give too much of your personal information. “While it helped, it also made me insensitive.” At that, Martin sat up straighter attentively listening to you.

“That’s why I got all these tattoos and piercings, I hoped I could feel the pain of the needle as it went right in.” You could still recall the piercer’s shocked expression when you exhibited no look of pain. You confirmed that you weren’t intoxicated and signed a waiver that everyone signs. Yet the piercer had counted to three with every piercing, and not once did you flinch.

Martin glanced up at the piercings on your face, “Did you?” He asked. You shook your head, moving your arms around, to show Martin the many tattoos. He thought of you brave for not even flinching at something so painful. As much as he appreciated tattoos, he would never get one on himself. The thought of needles made Martin a bit light headed.

“Are these the only tattoos you have?”

“No, I have more.” If your parents were still alive, they’d go crazy at the amount of tattoos you had.

“May I see?”

Your other tattoos and piercings were located in a more private area on your body, and you would’ve said no. But it was the ‘may I’ that made you agree.

Your fingers lifted the hem of your oversized t-shirt, neatly placing it next to you on the bed. You move your hair to the side, granting him more access and the art that took hours to create on your body.

Martin sat amazed, especially at one tattoo in particular. A long branch of wild flowers started between your clothed breasts, going down your hip and finally wrapping around your thigh. It was beautiful that he did not notice the belly button piercing just sitting below it.

The art piece was precise, fully detailed as possible that Martin knew it must've taken you multiple sessions to finish.

Inadvertently, Martin’s fingers start to trace one of the flowers, following the pattern down and down causing you to hitch your breath at the near proximity of where they were going.

“Beautiful,” Martin compliments under his breath. Your skin was so soft that he had no desire to take his hands away.

And you didn’t want him to either. You wanted Martin to continue exploring every inch of your body for his touch was feather-like and gentle, sparking something within you.

Martin looks at you and your eyes are warm and relaxed. His fingers suddenly halt at your inner thigh, right where the branch ends. “You want me to keep going?” He whispers, moving closer towards you, his hands ready to remove the unnecessary clothing until you said that one word of consent.

You licked your lips, feeling the heat from his body coming closer and forward. His lips were only a breath away from yours, awaiting an answer from you.

“Yes,” you whispered back, your head tilting upwards as you brushed your lips with his. The hand that he used earlier, grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you swiftly to close the small gap.

Your lips were just as he imagined them to be, perhaps even better as he pulled you by your underarms and sat you right on his lap, where you gasped at the hardness of his length pressing against your abdomen, feeling every solid inch of himself.

And there was plenty of him.

You continued to chase his lips, never once pausing for required air. The kiss was full of want and need that made you feel like a puddle on his arms. Shivers went down Martin’s back at the cooling sensation of your tongue piercing colliding with his own. Only then, he began to imagine what that piercing would feel like on his cock, resting right there on the bulbous tip where you would swallow every single drop of his come.

In his desperation, Martin’s hands went to unclasp your bra, only for you to tut at him, placing his hands on back on his sides. “No touching, I call the shots here.” You scolded him as if he were a little boy.

Martin’s jaw dropped at your dominant tone, not that he was complaining.

“Do you wanna feel with me?” You whispered, trailing your hands up and down his chest, now that you got rid of his shirt, admiring the light brown sprinkles of hair. His pectoral muscles flexing against your delicate touch.

He nodded vehemently— desperately, blue eyes staring at your cherry pink lips. “I wanna feel everything with you.” It was a want and a need right now.

“Take off your shorts,” he did as you commanded and you swore your insides clenched at the mouth watering view, “d-do not move or come until I tell you to. Understand?” You asked, keeping composure.

You sat behind him immediately after he said yes. A part of Martin was a bit confused on what you had planned for him but another part of him found the mystery of it all quite exciting. And he was right, his hips jolted forward as soon as your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing so wonderfully.

Martin moaned as you gave open mouthed kisses all around his neck before your teeth grazed around the sensitive skin, marking what was yours. You did the same to the other side until you were satisfied and skin covered with love bites you wanted everyone to see outside his bedroom walls.

With the same hand, you slowly began to stroke his cock, pulling the foreskin up and down, your thumb resting at his baby pink tip, admiring the way it twitched with more of his arousal. Your other hand, reached to cup his balls, giving them a good squeeze. Combined, made Martin see stars.

“Oh…fuck,” he stuttered, feeling his end approaching.

You smirked, stroking his pretty cock faster. “If you come, I’ll punish you. And you won’t like it when I do, baby. I won’t show you any mercy.” The last guy you punished ended up passing out within seconds, and as much as you wanted to punish Martin, you needed him. Needed his cock inside you.

A part of him was intrigued at what you’d do, but Martin chose not to awaken that side of you. He wanted to be good so that he’d earn his reward. His release.

You watched as Martin kept control of his breathing, his hands fisting the sheets impossibly tight. Meanwhile you found yourself growing wetter and wetter at the little whines he let out.

This went about a few more minutes until Martin ran out of things to think about to not come. From his grandmother to his best mate, Will. While it worked, the need to release screamed louder with each fast stroke.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck! Please, I can't-can't hold it much longer!" Martin whined, as heat settled in his gut with each involuntary thrust up.

You grabbed his jaw to face you, noticing a few tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. You slowly swirled your thumb at the wet slit, causing Martin to sob loudly. “Aw, you wanna come?” You cooed, biting his earlobe not too harshly.

“Yes! Yes! Please! I beg you, I- I- need it!” Any more of your teasing, Martin was sure his dick would fall right off. “Please!” He begged yet again, his pretty blue eyes full of want and need.

When you finally were going to grant his release, he did the unexpected and touched you. Using your hand to stroke his cock at a much faster pace. Then Martin released a long moan of your name as ropes of his come gushed on his lower belly and your hand.

Finally, he came.

Just as he relaxed in your arms, he sat back up frozen in fear over what he had done.

“Did I say you could come?” You questioned, with an angry and dangerous tone. “I’m sorry–” Martin tried to apologize, holding your hand to prevent you from leaving. But you weren’t having it. Those sweet puppy eyes wouldn’t work on you anymore.

“Only good boys deserve to come. And since you were bad, you don’t get to come anymore–”

“But I am your good boy. I won’t do it again, I promise.” The dark haired brunette pleaded, caressing his head with your hand. “Please, I'll be so good to you.”

“Then prove to me how much of a good boy you really are, Martin.” His hands automatically shift you down the bed, ripping your fishnets right down the center of where he truly wanted to show you how good he was.

“No, I wanna sit on your face.” You briefly told him and Martin’s eyes widened with interest.

“Can you keep this on?” Martin pointed at your fishnets.

You agreed.

With great enthusiasm, Martin lays on the bed, ready to use his tongue on you. He hoped he wouldn’t disappoint you, never once did he receive a complaint about his head game. However, in those experiences he was the one in charge. Now, Martin was about to unlock a new experience he was set on trying for years.

After you rid yourself of your bra, you hurriedly crawled your way to Martin’s face, setting your knees on both sides of his face. Martin’s eyes darkened, not only at your heart shaped nipple piercings on both of your breasts, but the piercing over the small hood on top of your sex.

A clit piercing.

“Be a good boy,” you instructed before you lowered yourself on his mouth. Your hands gripped the metal bed frame for leverage as you slowly grind your cunt, back and forth.

Martin hummed, in total bliss at the taste of your sweet slick that was coating his face. You moan loudly as he moves his nose against your piercing, sending shocks of pleasure to your spine. His tongue feasts on you, licking the seam of your folds with each of your grinds.

You press your core closer to his face, unconcerned if Martin could breathe; not that he minded. It was a good way to die, though. And your jaw drops open with multiple breathless moans, once his tongue made its way inside your entrance, licking inside your quivering walls.

Martin’s eyes stared at you as you were lost in complete pleasure, you truly looked devine sitting on his face. He could come on just this alone, but he didn’t want to risk another punishment from you. Martin was set on being your good boy, so for now he had to follow your instructions.

“Yes, that’s it!” You rip one of your hands from the headboard and dig them into his hair, guiding him where you want him, as you are getting closer to that cliff of euphoria. Martin happily goes where you want him.

When you guide his head towards your bud, Martin moves his nose at a much faster speed. When you guide his head lower, Martin sucks and licks at your entrance vigorously.

“S-so good!” You praise and it took everything in Martin to not come.

Martin moans. The vibrations alone cause your thighs to shake and release multiple broken moans as that tight coil at the pit of your stomach finally snapped, triggering your release.

“Oh fuck, Martin!” You shout, pinching your hardened nipple for extra stimulation.

Martin laps every gush of your sweetness, licking you clean through your orgasm. He watches as the apple of your cheeks flush bright red, and your eyes flutter rapidly in what he thinks is bliss.

“I’m too sensitive now,” you whined as you laid down next to Martin, basking in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Martin frowns, he wanted to make you come another round, this time–with your permission– he’d use his fingers.

“Did I do good?” Martin asks as he lays on his side to face you.

“Perfect.”

“Do I get a reward?”

You throw your head back and laugh. “No.” You say as you straddle his hips, and Martin hisses when you grip the base of his cock, running the swollen head around your pussy, gathering wetness before you slid down.

Martin’s eyes roll in the back of his head over the smugness and warmth of your tight walls clamping down at him. The feeling of you was indescribable, heavenly; and he couldn’t do anything but groan and grip tightly at his sheets, desperately wanting you to move.

Once you adjusted to his overly girthy length, you began to grind your hips at an angle where you could feel the head of his cock kissing your cervix and hitting that special spot inside of you that had you cross-eyed.

Fuck he was big.

“I won’t be able to last much longer,” Martin warns, gasping at every clench you give.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Martin.” You snaked your fingers down your bud, circling your pierced clit before you came once again with a loud whine so unlike you.

However your eyes, in which you didn’t realize were closed, shot open as you felt Martin’s cock pulsate and instantly separated yourself from him causing him to whimper over the loss of contact.

“Please! I need-want to come inside of you!” He cried, chasing his hips towards your pussy.

You denied him that and started again.

Every round Martin was close to coming, you detach yourself from him. Until your hips became somewhat sluggish, Martin took you by surprise and threw you at the end of his bed, mounting you from behind. You were at a loss for words as he slid inside of you without warning, giving hard, fast, and needy thrusts.

“Be a good girl and take what I give you,” Martin mumbles as he grips the roots of your hair, forcing your head to look at him. “You don’t get to come anymore. Do you understand?”

You have no choice but to oblige.

READ ON AO3

#Ewan Mitchell #martin x reader #idk how to tag this #martin (in the modern world) x reader #ewan nation #pls dont come for me over these tagz #in the modern world #filthy smut #so be nice to me

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mandalhoerian · 2 years ago

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NO TIME TO DIE | leon kennedy x oc | 5

pairing: leon s. kennedy x oc word count: 14K~ warnings: themes of suicide, losing a parent, negative thoughts, humor as a coping mechanism, descriptions of gore and violence, birkin fight, hypoglycemia, allusions to past child abuse. Irons lmao chapter summary: Vera is ripped from her denial about Marvin's condition and has a mental breakdown over losing him, Leon and Claire have to pick up the pieces where she can't. After all, this is no time to die. There is no time to die. READ ON AO3 ! CH. 6 ☆ NO TIME TO DIE MASTERPOST

Had she been an animal, she would have torn the iron and stone down with her bare punches. It was only a fucking door buried six feet under, doors were made to be opened. But this was Vera’s own special grave perhaps, gifted by all the bodies she had put underground —

(because if they were condemned to a hell so undeserved, she also had to lose something to preserve the balance; so they would gift a tragedy to her in comradeship, in the kindest good spirit they could conjure up)

— but what use were her hands if she couldn’t use them to get rid of a simple obstacle such as this? She should be able to dig her way back up, that’s what these were for, yet she could do absolutely nothing. Nothing.

Vera Kaplan was useless for the first time in her life.

She didn’t register the pain of little papercut-like sores opening in her hands, and the pulsing ache in the bones of her fingers the more she kept banging on and rattling the iron gate, and slamming her palms on it interchangeably. A repeating, broken record played from Vera, the single pitiful thing coming out of her mouth being, “Please open the door,” — and its other iterations.

She had lost her voice, pushed away the gentle hands that tried to pull her back, entirely deaf to the consoling voices trying to reach her or reason with her. Vera couldn’t even hear them at all. She had to get Marvin to open this up and join them, he couldn’t stay behind. Why would he stay behind?

From the small window just above her eye level, when she stood on her tiptoes she could see into the main hall, and the tiny back of her father turned away from the passageway as he sat slumped over on the couch, not answering her whatsoever — the only audible noise being his loud and shaky breathing and the faint whimpers of pain.

Why won’t he look at me? Why won’t he answer me?

Why is he abandoning me?

Some other part of her wasn’t registering the situation at all, entirely contrasting the panicked breakdown of her body. It was that of a kid who had come back home from school and was waiting for her father to get the door; because that door had never been left closed before to shut her out from the house no matter what kind of shit she’d gotten herself into.

That door would always open to reveal the welcoming of a smile, a hug and a hair ruffle, the unique smell of home would envelope her within the arms of one person.

“Marvin, I'm not going anywhere until you open this!” She struck the door with an open hand, a strong sound resounded back in the narrow corridor down the stairs ringing in her ear. Her jaw clenched and unclenched. “I won’t. I will cement myself here and wait and not even one of god’s angels coming down will move me to some bullshit salvation! You understand!? I’m not fucking leaving you here! I don’t know what possessed you to think you could will me away if you locked me out, because I refuse to be the subject of some heroic sacrifice. This isn’t fucking fiction, I’m not leaving my goddamn father behind!”

All energy was sucked away from her lungs as she heaved for a second, the surroundings in deafening silence as the only answer she got back was the lingering echo of her begging.

Vera had been begging and begging for what seemed like forever.

To a wall. To a literal wall. She couldn’t even see Marvin if she didn’t exert herself to reach the tiny barred window above.

Then came the tipping point. The last drop on a glass about to overflow.

A wrath nothing like she’d experienced before broke out of her. Ripped its way out.. “LOOK AT ME!”

But there was something behind that scream sizzling with anger, something taking cover behind it. Its name was grief — desperation, nothing more than a trapped woman aimlessly tossing explosives in a battle of soldiers she’d got caught up in, terrified for her life, alone, and helpless.

Terrified.

Leon’s voice crept into her mind when she least expected it. He is scared too, Vera. Terrified, even. When you're hurt to that point, all you can think about is death. He fears what will happen to you if he dies. That's why he's frantic. He can't be strong for you, so you have to be strong for him.

Marvin looked so small.

A strange sensation of undisturbed stillness before the storm came over her like deep sea waves. “Do you really want it to end this way?” Her fingers gripped the bumps on the ornamental fence gate like her life depended on it. “We’re just going to separate like this? You’re going to leave me thinking you’re saving me when it’s the cruelest thing ever to do to yourself? I’m supposed to accept you basically committing suicide and move on when you’re this scared?” Marvin’s shoulders shook, the only reaction she’d gotten out of him this far, and so did her heart shake with him. “I know you don’t want this, I know you don’t! So please just let me—”

“There is no other way.”

Vera thought she’d imagined it at first. After that much time spent on throwing down rocks into a bottomless well, it was unnatural to hear something back, almost like a mirage you knew wasn’t real.

“God knows I want nothing more than to come with you,” Marvin said weakly, she could barely hear it from how low it was coming from the considerable distance between where he was and the passageway, but he was trying to be loud — his speech was strained past the controllable point, it shattered her soul. “But I can’t. You know why. I can’t do that to you.”

Just hearing his voice got tears welling up in her eyes. The blindfold denial wrapped around her vision was loosening, but she desperately held it up even when the knot was slowly unfolding.

“I don’t know why you would say that.” Her arms were trembling, and so were her hands, she didn’t know if it was what settled after overexerting the limbs until they couldn’t anymore. A winter chill had spread around inside Vera, she was breaking out in a cold sweat. “You’re hurting both of us right now, c’mon, you’re saying you want to be with me, so be with me…”

Him turning around and dragging his body forward to sit at the edge of the couch to face their direction was an expectation-fueled flicker of burning hope against the wind, Vera could fly off from where she was. But he didn’t stand up, or move to come their way, Marvin couldn’t see Vera from the tiny opening of the window below, but she could. He’d done that so she could see him.

He was blinking, using every muscle surrounding the area like he was trying to get rid of a vision. He shook his entire body to refuse that. “This is how it needs to end, honey. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… I didn’t… I didn’t want it to be like this. I didn’t want to do this to you. Forgive me.” His voice was unrecognizable, fluctuating, fading away. “I can’t…”

Vera felt like he had slapped her, harshly biting down the insides of her mouth to keep the burning of her eyes at bay, drawing blood. She couldn’t stand seeing him like this.“You don’t have to do this alone. Da—”

“You know what’s happening!” He screamed, the sentence cracking and shattering at the end. “You know how this ends! Leave!” He slumped sideways, his head resting at the back of the couch, holding his side, limbs shaking. “Save yourself. Do this for me. Please.”

The blindfold fluttered away, disappearing in the darkness, no way to get it back anymore. Vera could only grab at the air after it like some toddler.

And she was left standing alone in a void of her own making. The residents of her heart came to a still, the pipe dream and the problem solver forever silenced, as the one hidden in the shadows emerged — the doomsayer, not mocking them with “I told you so”s nor languishing about why they hadn’t listened to her in the first place. She just wordlessly mourned, they saw where her eyes were supposed to be was hollow, shriveled and dry flesh glistening with tears. All stories she would tell ended the same, and the sadness that followed still tasted the same as the saltwater streaming down her face — not dulling and never going through flavor exhaustion over the years. Knowing the end didn’t make it less bearable.

Funeral bells rang from afar.

Her heart slammed itself against her ribs like a mad animal.

They somehow had the exact same sound.

“No, you’re not saying… No.” All color drained from Vera’s face, her knees were shaky, she stumbled — almost slipping down and falling from the top of the stairs she was standing at. “No, you’re wrong, this isn’t right. You’re gonna be okay, c’mon, just open this and—”

Thump.

“It’s too late. I tried, Vera… But I couldn’t stop it, even with all you’ve brought for me. I can’t stop it.”

Thump. Thump.

“You and I both know... what comes next. I don’t want you to see me that way. I don’t want your last memory of me as… that.”

Thump. Thumpthump.

“Leon, if you’re there and listening… We can’t let this thing spread. It’s on you now. Remember your orders… Just go…”

Silence again.

Thumpthumpthumpthump—

Vera’s bowed head met with the solid iron plate of the gate, and she started hitting her forehead against the metal in a slow pace, chewing her bottom lip to try to contain the trembling. The inside of her head was television static. Blank.

Empty.

All of a sudden, a feather of a weight tentatively settled on her bare shoulder, awfully warm, and she jumped out of her skin, turning around in a flash and slamming backwards into the corner of the door and the wall of the passageway meeting.

Leon had his arms up in surprise, just a step down from her in the stairs, round azure eyes reflecting a deer caught in the headlights. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry…”

With a heart beating furious enough to break her rib cage and start running far away from here, Vera said, “Don’t. Sneak up on me,” a hand on her chest like she wanted to keep it where it was.

In the half-light reaching from the inside of the office below, Leon was an apologetic spirit— unmoving and phantom-like with how he whispered. “I was calling for you but I don’t think you heard…”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Leon lowered his hands, fingers flexing in his gloves restlessly by his sides, his boots made some squeakings in the corridor as he shifted his weight around — a knot coiled around Vera’s stomach the more she kept looking at his face contorted with pity, her brow furrowing as she focused on a place somewhere just above his right shoulder, blinking rapidly to get rid of the tears.

She had decided.

“You guys can go ahead.”

He flinched ever so slightly. “What?”

Vera waved him off. “Go. Leave.”

“What do you mean get out of—”

“Should I go invisible to be clear enough?” She snapped, bringing the mean out. “What part aren’t you getting when I say get the hell outta here?”

“Without you?” Leon’s jaw flexed. “Vera, I’m not leaving you.”

He was so sincere — so otherworldly kind.

It was wasted on Vera.

(Did she really have to throw rocks at the dog for it to finally leave and not follow her anymore?)

“Well that’s too damn bad. I’m not leaving my dad here either, so the only thing you can do is get Claire to safety at least, I know you got some sorta savior complex going on and that should satisfy it enough, Officer Kennedy.”

That was supposed to hurt him. It was ammunition prepared for Leon, so why did he look like Vera was hurting herself instead?

“Don’t do that.” Leon quickly shook his head, a stern crinkle on the bridge of his nose. “Don’t shut me out. What did I say about doing this together? We’ll figure something out. Let me help.”

Vera smiled, it was bitter like the bile that had raised from her stomach; she shrugged, opening her arms a bit to vaguely gesture to nothing. “There is no help anymore. There is nothing left.”

In the right-handed shove she’d given to Leon’s left shoulder that knocked him one step down, there was barely any antagonism and force. “Just fuck off from here, go. Enough courtesy and cop duty shit—”

He’d caught her wrist with his left hand before she could pull away, holding it in the air right beside his neck, it was grounding, stable, determined. “Has it ever occurred to you that I simply care about you?” Leon lowered their intertwined hands, giving it an encouraging, friendly squeeze. There was nothing more scary to Vera than the harmless nature of it, she couldn’t tear her surprised gaze from the sight. “And that I just don’t want to leave you behind?”

A forced laughter puffed out of her, despite him playing her heartstrings like a harp. “We just met, you don’t even know me.” She pulled her hand off his grip, trying to stay unfazed by his disappointment. “I can’t be that important. We survived together for a while, and sure, I was useful and you might have needed what I could offer, but come on—”

Anger flashed in his eyes, and his whole face followed suit, the sharp lines getting more prominent and reminding Vera that Leon could come off as intimidating with how he actually looked, and it shocked her — it shouldn’t have, it was what she’d aimed at, but it looked so foreign on him, as if someone had imagined this non-confrontational and well-meaning friendly guy getting angry in their mind and tried to paint how he’d be like.

“I’m not doing this because you’re some kind of tool to me, stop!” Leon climbed the steps between them in the blink of an eye, with such vehemence it was almost marching — and he stood just beside her at the top of the stairs, facing her head on. “I don’t need a reason to care, Vera, I just do. And I want to help.”

The compassionate and benevolent meaning of his words got lost on Vera due to the intensity they were told through.

“What help?” Vera spat out harshly. “Can you somehow stop him from…” Her voice betrayed her, hoarse from all the screaming and snuffing out just before the word she didn’t want to say out loud. “Turning?”

It fell between them like an unignited, ticking time bomb, whatever anger that held him by his strings dissipated, making his shoulders sag. “I…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She swallowed, her tongue like paper, turning away from him and the light coming from below, staring hollowly at the gate. “Save yourself for fuck’s sake.”

“You’re sounding like the lieutenant, you know that?” She turned away yet again, looking to her left directly at the wall upon his persistence, this was as far as she could to block him off. “What you’re reprimanding him for, you’re doing right now. So maybe you understand him after all.”

“That’s…” Her exhale quivered, she had shielded her face away just in time to hide away the crumbling, the falling apart. But her voice couldn’t. Did she have to? Was that kind of thing important now anyway, past the point of no return? “Does that matter anymore? I’m losing — no… I’ve lost everything.” She whipped her head back to him, letting Leon see the entire ugliness. Fine. Let him see. Let him look. Maybe then he would understand. He was only a wavering blur behind the layer of her tears. Her whole face was burning up. “Everything! Do you think any of this matters to me?”

“Vera, you can’t do this—”

A loose cannon, she began to come down on him like a ton of bricks. Leon backed off immediately, going down the stairs backwards the more she walked up to him just as a bull seeing red. “I don’t care! What about you, huh?”

“Vera, please—”

“When are you going to drop this charade that you care so much?” She didn’t stop even after they reached the bottom, and kept forcing him to back away. In the corner of her eye, Claire was in front of a stack of books fashioned from white iron just to the side when they entered the golden-lit office.. “Are you that bent on doing the right thing or whatever the hell it’s called?”

Eventually, Leon’s hips hit the edge of the desk behind him and he staggered and held on. There was nowhere to go anymore, no more space left to hinder Vera from getting right up in his drought and stressed face, only inches between them, noses almost touching, as she let her eyes do the talking. “I don’t want it — go your own way. You’re a good cop, I get it, I understand. You’ve proven yourself to be a splendid rookie. You can go now.”

His eyes were everywhere in her face, not knowing where to look or focus on— but that panic from Vera’s intimidation method didn’t last long, he was composed enough to re-catch his train of thought. He seemed to remember he was built like a tank. “I just told you why I won’t leave, you hear but don’t listen. Or maybe you don’t want to, I don’t know. It’s not important.” He gave her the puppy eyes. “We can still get this open. You can be there for him—”

Tongue-in-cheek, she closed her eyes a bit long to indicate her annoyance. “Don’t patronize me—-”

“Will you just hear me out?” He pushed himself off the desk, stood taller, somehow able to force her back just a few inches that allowed him to breathe. “I know how crushing it is to be unable to reach someone suffering right in front of you, I know you’re grieving and I don’t mind you turning it into anger and taking it out on me—”

“Choose your next words very carefully, Leon,” she said in a low warning, and dared him to do so.

A tense quiet befell them, in which the only things exchanged were breaths from both of their personal space, Vera could even hear him swallowing hard. He searched for something in her, intimately — and seemed to find it, the change threw Vera off and the weird electricity of that moment got all the hair on her body standing up. It made her want to get off his orbit and pull away, but she couldn’t let herself give up first in this standoff, no matter how suddenly uncomfortable she’d become.

“This is no time to die.” He took one step forward, and Vera had to withdraw, muscles all locked up from the soft perseverance mingling with the pleading underneath from Leon. “There is no time to die, Vera. You can’t be letting go like this. Do you truly understand what I mean? Do you remember what I told you?”

“Of course I do.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t blame you for losing sight of it, you’re hurting.” Leon took another step, and Vera took a couple back, putting considerable distance between the two. Her bitterness over having lost control of the situation was clear as day.

One tiny part of her that had listened to Leon questioned what she was doing. Did she even know? What was she even up to? What was happening?

All the eyes on her had her shrinking like she’d drunk that potion from Alice in Wonderland. Looking back at Claire proved it — they both felt sorry for her and she hated it. It was pure emotion that had the reins of her body, instant backlash to stimuli, because it was safer that way, perhaps. action and reaction coming easier to her than being left alone with herself in existential dread of losing Marvin. Yeah, she hated being at the center of pity, and that she wasn’t in her right mind so it was essential for them to coax her along like a feral stray, and that’s what the anger wanted to lash out at.

Vera wanted it to stop. She wanted all of it to go away.

“He’s scared. You’re hurting him by being like this.” Again, that stance was like he was approaching an undomesticated cat to rescue it off the streets. “I want to help your father. Be it in his… final moments. Let me.”

One detail in what he was saying hotwired her brain. Final moments.

The inflammable anger didn’t respond, the fire was out, exhausted in mere seconds. That got her to slowly retreat, eyes landing on Leon and Claire frantically as if she’d seen them for the very first time in her life. “Final moments?” She tried laughing like it was a cruel joke, but it was a broken, frail thing. “Final moments..?”

Reality was a landslide that took Vera down with it, waves of a storm that washed over her and filled her lungs the moment she resurfaced to breathe.

“No. No.” She turned her head from side to side, unseeing, not even in her body anymore, her own voice sounded like a stranger to her. “I can’t do this,” she muttered, and that moment, her heels hit something solid and she fell backwards, landing harshly on the steps of the stairs she’d chased Leon down before. Sliding right, she fused the side of her whole upper body with the wall like it was her lifeline, folding into herself and burying her head into her arms and knees — shutting everything out, rocking back and forth. “I can’t do this.”

She let nothingness cocoon her, took refuge in it — if she was in the dark, she didn’t exist at all, none of this was true, her pain wasn’t real. Vera could stay here forever in the mothering arms of oblivion, dig her roots into the stone, dry up like an old oak tree and wither away eventually, at a state of blissful unconsciousness.

But they just had to take that away from her, Leon just had to sit next to her, he enveloped her shoulders with his arm, a cozy weighted blanket to her soul that wished to fly away, and gently nudged her into an embrace she basically crumbled into — burying her face into the crook of his neck and letting the tears wet his uniform, warmth welcoming her despite the wall-like bulletproof vest. It was all-encompassing and painfully affectionate.

“I got you, I got you. Let it out,” he hummed, soft as a feather but steady as a mountain anchoring Vera. She gripped onto his vest with all her might, and Leon rocked her in Vera’s own rhythm. When the violent sob she couldn’t hold back anymore rattled her body, he hugged her tighter, rubbing her arm soothingly. “There you go. Let it out. Let it all out. You’re okay. You’ll be okay.”

And she cried.

Vera wept and wept until she couldn’t anymore.

Leon held her through it, and along the way Claire slipped in, joining the hug as well, taking the role of the person who brushed Vera’s hair away from her eyes and wiped all the disgusting bodily fluids running down her face. She alternated between that and sitting right by her feet, holding her hands, rubbing soothing circles at her wrists and palms, and occasionally forcing Vera to take a couple sips of water from the bottle she’d brought.

Two strangers she met that day coddled Vera like family members would, and perhaps that was another factor why the tears wouldn’t stop.

“Look at you, your hair is actually curly, huh?”

Vera, in the middle of scrubbing her face clean with the wet wipes taken from her backpack, turned her head to Claire sitting beside her, having taken Leon’s place, twirling a wavy lock of her hair around, she’d probably noticed it while pushing it behind her shoulders. “Great, it’s frizzing.”

“I think it’s beautiful, but wow, this hair is totally dead. You shouldn’t use straighteners this much.”

“I don’t know how else to look after it, curly hair that’s not curly curly but not wavy either — it’s so annoying.” She stopped, staring at the wipe, folding it once and sighing. Her suffering and terrified dad was beyond this underground office and here she was, useless, chatting about hair types. “God, what am I talking about?”

Claire took her hand back like she’d touched fire, and gave her forearm a regretful pat. “Sorry, sorry…”

Glancing timidly at Leon, going over the main desk with a typewriter on it, she cleared her throat. “Hey, uh. Leon?”

He raised his head, absentminded. “Hm?”

“I wanted to… I wanted to say I’m—”

He grinned understandingly, flashing his teeth at her. “I know. It’s okay.”

Vera grimaced. “It’s not though—”

“Hey,” he hushed her, dropping the paper he’d taken from the typewriter.

Circling around the desk in a hurry, Leon dropped down to one knee in front of a gaping Vera, they were at the same eye level as she was still sitting on the steps. “I told you before, and I’ll tell you again. You don’t have to explain, I know. This is fucked up. The world is falling apart, I understand. You probably hate to hear that right now, but I do, and it doesn’t matter if you get mad at me for it, I’ll be here for you regardless. It’s fine, lay it all down on me, I can take it — we have to be real with each other and help each other to get through this and I’ve already… I’ve already let the lieutenant down and I—” He shut his eyes and looked away, a pinched expression dissolving as fast as it broke through him.

Flabbergasted and disturbed, Claire gasped, “Leon,” like a teacher would. She reached and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You can’t possibly be thinking this is somehow on you.” She looked between the two, serious and fiery, letting him go. “You can’t blame yourselves for something entirely out of your control. The blame is on what caused this. All of us are victims here. Please.”

Leon didn’t seem to be convinced, something underlying making it unable for him to be consoled, but he hung his head and nodded affirmatively — a defeated, tired undertone to it.

“I… I don’t care about the blame or whatever makes a victim anymore, I don’t want to waste time thinking,” Vera swallowed, but the lump didn’t go away. “I don’t want to leave my dad alone in that pain. I just want to go back to him, whatever happens afterwards — I don’t care about that either. I just want to be with him.”

That snapped him out of the hidden turmoil he was going through, and his spine straightened. “Okay,” he piped up, blue eyes clear and shining. “We can do that. Just have to figure out how to circle back to the station or to open the passage up again… But we do that together, okay?”

Vera sniffed, she collectively felt like shit already, but was introduced to a new level of bad with the sheer amount of goodwill thrown her way. “You guys don’t have to join me.”

“This again?” Claire protested, and Leon let her go, standing up — his knee must have started hurting. Vera didn’t expect to feel the loss of the warmth tremendously. “Back where we started?”

“I can’t—” She rubbed her face with both hands, massaging her eyebrow lines. “I’m not letting you stay behind with me because it’s unfair to you.” Leon’s lengthy exhale resounded in the room, and she began to shake her leg. “How could I ever ask any of you to help me and put your lives on the line when we’re literally stuck in a zombie movie— I’m selfish, but I’m not that selfish! You deserve to get to safety, not a side quest in your way. There’s a limit to together, y’know?”

“Okay, let’s say we leave you,” Claire stood up, an arrow shot from the bow, glaring fiercely down at Vera — or, preparing for battle would be the better word for it, she sure was hostile as if she was going in to fight an enemy. She and Leon side by side were the portrait of a couple scolding their child. “What are you going to do?”

“Explore? I don’t fucking know—”

“So, run around like a headless chicken without an objective, got it.”

“I’ll plan, Claire, it’s not like I’m that helpless.”

“It’s not about you being helpless. You’ll be on your own and you don't even have environmental awareness at the moment. Do you know what I found? This.”

She pointed to something away from her and inside the circular secret office that wasn’t visible to Vera before, and her hand slapped back to her side from the sheer annoyance. “There’s a missing thing that goes here to open up the passage from inside. I don’t even think you would be able to discover this blatantly obvious thing, because you would go directly for the elevator to explore the lower levels. You don’t exactly have it together right now.”

Vera really wanted to clap back, (she didn’t lose an argument, ever), and it would have broken into an all-out catfight, but she was too shocked and was processing everything at the same time. Claire was faster, and on a roll. “Fine, we do what you want and leave you — what’s gonna happen after that? You’ll just end up as a zombie because you’re all over the place and too emotional at the moment.” She put her hands on her hips defiantly, daring Vera to tell her she was wrong. “Also, for a genius you’re pretty stupid for not taking the help you need when it’s offered.”

Claire had spoken pretty fast, spitting fire left and right, and had to stop to take a deep breath in once she was done.

Vera could only stare with her eyebrows shot up nearly all the way up, mouth agape, she could only open and close her jaw attempting to respond to all the accusations and scolding spilling from Claire like a gushing waterfall from a broken dam, but the younger girl hadn’t given her the chance to contradict any of it.

“All of that, but without the disrespect,” Leon said, sheepishly.

“Wow, thanks,” she said flatly.

Leon gained his composure back. “We’re here Vera. Until the end.” He reached for one of her hands resting on her knees and picking at the fishnets, his palm closing on the back of her palm, leaning into her a bit, and pulling her back on her feet.

There it was again, the weird and indistinct current of electricity prickling lightly under her skin, tingly even, and making way to her chest in the look they shared that was so foreign to Vera. She had to clear her throat and yank her gaze from him because Leon just didn’t.

“I obviously lost the chance to romantically help you stand up like a 50s’ gentleman to Leon, but I agree as well,” Claire teased, and Vera snatched her hand out of Leon’s, face burning up, suddenly conscious about it. “Whoops. Ruined the moment, did I?”

The office either belonged to Brian Irons or Albert Wesker, Vera didn’t know which alternative was the worst. She didn’t know much about the latter man — despite three years of barely being acquainted with him, and mostly seeing the introverted and closed-off man from afar, she was thinking maybe all this extravaganza wasn’t really his style, his villain style was discreet and lowkey, as she’d been told. Whoever had decorated this office was into luxury, and Irons fit the bill the most.

Vera didn’t quite register her surroundings out of impatience to move forward and the fear of falling apart again if she stayed back too long, but the old money design of the elevator ride down below brought to mind the bellhop-ran antique hotels of at least a hundred years back. She clicked her tongue at herself. “Did the king of England use this elevator or something?”

“King of England?” Claire picked up for some reason. “It's the United Kingdom — and it has a queen, not a king. Good lord, college dropout.”

“Shut it, minor. I can give you a crash course on how an engine works right here right now, but I’m a dropout because I don’t know England has a queen? What use to me is the queen of England?”

Leon chuckled. “I mean, Queen Elizabeth could get us out of here. Shame you don’t know her, though.”

“You expect the queen to bust in, guns a-blazing?” Claire pointed out. “I swear I saw a caricature of something like that in the newspapers one time.”

“My ideal sort of help would be to be picked up from above, but I can see the appeal of a Rambo-fied Queen Elizabeth.”

Vera gave her back to the back wall of the slowly descending elevator, but didn’t give all her weight to it in case she’d crush her loaded backpack, finding irony in what Leon said. “I mean, being carried up to the heavens by an angel or something is our best bet to be rescued at this point.”

“I meant a helicopter.”

“Oh.” She said, yikes would have been a better choice. “I mean, a Rambo Queen Elizabeth is still more realistic. Maybe she’s into cosplay and Vietnam veterans.”

Claire groaned in guilt. “Can you not make me imagine it, please? I feel so bad for finding something funny to laugh at in this situation.”

The lift eventually came to a halt, and the doors flung open, revealing a deep blackness that caused Vera's stomach to lurch. Leon slipped into a red alert, shotgun drawn and light flashing. "Stay alert," he said in a throaty whisper as he cautiously left the elevator, scanning for any danger. Vera trailed after him, his anxious apprehension bouncing off of her as well. They were in a wide, concrete stairwell with descending steps, no light whatsoever in sight, except from the red light emanating from possible wall-mounted electric boards down below.

She couldn’t see the bottom of the stairs.

“This is how people die in horror movies,” she lamented. And by Satan’s horns, she had no survival instinct-stunted white bone in her body to overlook how horribly this would end, her dad had taught her better. But there was no way but down. The chance of finding a T-bar valve handle just laying about was so slim that getting out of the building and actually circling back to the entrance of RPD would take less — so she had to keep going down until an exit presented itself to them.

They gradually made their way to the bottom of the stairs with nothing but their flashlights guiding them, and found themselves encircled on both ends with lines of compressors and pipelines — and then something hissed loudly over them.

All three raised their heads in synchronization to the source of the sound scampering away, and immediately looked at each other to confirm if the others had heard it too.

They didn’t have any choice but to move on, staying in one place for too long had proven to be fatal before.

The passageway they were pursuing opened to a massive engine room underneath them. They were strolling on grated ramps which were stretched out above the labyrinth of the machinery — if she didn’t know any better, Vera would think this was a part of a factory. She peered over the balcony for a better look, if mitochondria was the powerhouse of the cell, this place existed to generate power for some unknown place — and she was ready to bet on it either being one of Umbrella’s NEST laboratories or the transportation needed to travel between them. She just couldn’t fathom this was right under RPD.

"Let's keep moving," Leon said, his weapon still ready for action. He walked down the ramp to the side, towards what appeared to be an office, which was blocked by an overturned metal bookcase.

And there it was again —-

Scraping, floundering, groaning, and wailing — above them and nearer now, something was down here with them and it definitely was no licker or undead, too weighty for that. The kicker was that it eerily sounded… Sounded as though it was in pain.

Claire cursed, agitated by how close the sounds had gotten. “Shit, what is that?”

“Shh,” Leon whispered strongly. “Whatever it is, I don’t think letting it hear us is a good idea.”

Claire’s voice dropped down to a whisper, too. “Vera, do you know what that is?”

“No…”

“You knew those skinless monsters—”

“This thing doesn’t come close to anything in the police station. It… It sounds…”

“Human,” Leon completed, lips drawn to a stressed, straight line. “We can’t stay here to find out.”

Claire contemplated that. “What if it’s someone who needs help?”

“We’ve survived through enough to know it isn’t,” Leon persisted, running entirely on instinct of what he’d encountered before, and Vera couldn’t exactly disagree with him. “C’mon, let’s go.”

The metal shelf was in their way, and Leon tucked away his shotgun to his back, steadying a good grip on the shelf and pushing with all his strength, his biceps bulging in the process with the strain he was putting into his arms. After some struggling, he managed to get it to stand up and back on its original place, letting out a labored grunt along the exhale he was holding in to gather strength to his core.

And the moment the metal practically boomed into place, something small skittered in crouching position, hiding away from sight behind some stacked boxes, and only when a mop of blonde hair peeked out for the reveal did they understand that this was a fucking child.

A small girl who had to be in primary school still, shakily cowered away from them, flinching from the chilly wash all of their flashlights pointed towards her, her large glassy blue eyes filled with dread, darting around to look at all three of them and beyond them for some reason. Her arms and shoulders pulled into herself, she was plainly trembling — trembling because they had weapons on their hands, out in the open. A blue and green plaid patterned vest wrapped over her little frame, part of what appeared to be a school uniform with long shorts and a blue ribbon, her white sneakers and knee-high socks thankfully looked clean — she was unharmed. Her shiny hair was tucked behind her ears with some strands falling on her face, the thin red hairband basically a cute decoration rather than a practicality to hold her bangs back.

“Oh my god,” Leon muttered, thrown off but most of all, deeply concerned, immediately crouching to be on her level and making himself smaller to be less intimidating. “Hello, sweetheart. Are you okay? Are you hurt at all?”

His sweet voice seemed to get her to take baby steps forward, but she was still scared, stuttering. “Ah…”

“It’s okay,” Claire said, bending from her waist, smiling encouragingly at the girl. “We won’t hurt you, I promise.”

The girl spoke for the first time, her voice tiny. “Po-police..?”

“Yes,” Leon nodded along, tentatively reaching out for her. “I’m a police officer, but you can call me Leon, okay? What are you doing down here all by yourself?”

When the girl couldn’t answer, Claire stepped in, Leon — a cop, must have been too intimidating for the girl no matter how harmless he looked. “Do you need help?”

Vera heard feet dragging from the distance, eyebrows furrowed, she turned around slightly to confirm if there really was anything behind them. She could be imagining it.

Her breath hitched.

What the fuck?

She wasn’t seeing this right. The silhouette emerging from the shadows was… was disproportionate. The right shoulder and half of his torso was…. bulging… swollen?

“You… need… help…”

With the girl’s ominous stuttering and the thing stalking closer, Vera’s chest began to heave as she bypassed all fight or flight reflex and barrelled down to freezing in place. “Guys,” she said, but her voice didn’t come out.

“I’m sorry, I can’t understand you,” Claire told the girl, none of them had heard Vera.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

This was a man once — his abnormally reddened head was about to disappear within all the swollen and moving flesh, but it was a man, rapidly mutated by cancerous growth of twitching and writhing muscle, transformed into something repulsive, but wearing a labcoat still. The man's face was anguished, an eye nestled in the big, bloated shoulder, holding a pipe as if he wanted to play golf with the head of anybody he came across.

“Guys,” she tried again, but both of them were more occupied with making sure the girl was okay. Her hand reached for the holstered Lightning Hawk.

“You need help.”

The little girl had encountered the monster before.

Claire was genuinely confused. “Why…?”

“He’s right behind you.”

“What?”

“Run!” Vera yelled at them, as they turned around to see what the girl was talking about and froze in place when they saw the thing as well, slowly rising from their places. “Run, run! Get the girl! Let’s go!”

That thing fucking roared at that.

They got moving instantaneously, Leon grabbed the little girl under her arms without any effort, Claire sprinted forward; and the mutated man slammed his pipe on the floor once, twice, thrice — the strength with which he did that caused the grating to come loose, and the movement knocked Vera off her feet and the slope caused her to roll down towards the monster, making her unable to follow Claire, Leon and the girl swiftly getting away from the scene.

The grates under them collapsed, and Vera plunged into the mechanical jungle she’d only inspected before out of curiosity, screaming at the top of her lungs at the sensation of falling.

She should have blacked out from the exploding pain, her lungs had stopped working and she couldn’t draw any breath in for a few seconds, mouth opening and closing in desperation but her ribcage just didn’t expand enough, and her body, out of reflex, started panicking and trying to breathe even more frantically. She rolled to her side and crawled away as if she could physically run away from it, unable to control the choking sounds coming from her, and another loose grate above crashed where she was just lying down on.

She didn’t know how she managed to get back on her feet, Vera had never felt the need to survive this animalistically before — limitless energy was galloping like a racehorse in her veins and she didn’t even register the snapped metal of the grating had cut her upper left arm vertically deep, the cables of pain had gotten cut off with scissors from her brain the moment adrenaline had kicked in, her body burning with rapidly generated survival instinct.

All she knew was that it couldn’t end here. She had Marvin to get back to.

“Vera!”

Vera's primal daze was ripped apart by Leon's cry resonating from above. She looked up and noticed he was scared shitless, face gone white and pacing like a caged animal just on the edge of the broken grates, trying to figure out what to do. But she realized Leon couldn't drop down here without causing a sprain or risking harming himself in one way or the other since the height was too considerable and the fallen and twisted grates underneath were a spiky death trap — Vera was probably hurt from that in hindsight, she just didn’t feel it at the moment.

The mutated man growled at Vera, standing sluggishly and stumbling due to his equilibrium being thrown off from the extra weight on his overgrown shoulder.

"Stay where you are!" Vera yelled as she withdrew, bringing out Matilda first, calculating the twenty-four rounds she had on it and preparing to conserve Lightning Hawk on the spot. "I’ll deal with this!"

She had to. There was no other choice.

“I got this,” she mumbled. “I got this.”

As the creature lurched towards Vera and lifted the pipe over his head, aiming on cracking Vera’s skull open like an egg, she reassured herself that she wasn't terrified. Fake it till you make it. She needed to live.

Vera skipped away from the strike and shot four times with Matilda, figuring she needed to start with her usual rounds to assess where this thing stood in the spectrum of lickers and the normal undead by seeing what just shooting it would do. It scarcely caused him to stagger, but Vera took it on the chin, gaining additional room between herself and the beast before retreating completely.

It was pure survival instinct that got before the steering wheel after that. She didn’t know she had it in herself.

She slowly examined the labyrinth, drawing circles around to get the thing behind her back, identifying all of the spots she didn't want to be trapped in, collecting a few wayward cartridges that would most definitely save her life, and rolling beneath the monster whenever it drew too close.

Vera had created a pattern of some sorts, she could do this. He was sluggish, ungainly, and clumsy; and she moved fast enough to—

“Help me,” the thing moaned as he writhed, “Help… help…”

It disrupted Vera’s attention long enough for the creature to snatch her by the head in the clasp of its enormous, nasty hand. It plummeted Vera down to an uncalled for memory lane and suddenly this wasn’t a creature, but the rotund body of Brian Irons, gripping her skull like one of those face-grabber things from the alien movies and shaking her around, yelling at her. About what, she didn’t know, but he was in the right as always and this was for her own good. Vera didn't dare scream, aware that uttering a sound would only make matters so much worse; he didn’t like the crying, he made it extra painful when he was annoyed, she simply had to stay silent, and it'd be done soon, it was easier when she didn’t struggle.

Before her head became a mess of mashed brains and broken shards of skull, a blinding light blew up right by their feet; the monster scurried off, clawing at the giant eye lodged into his shoulder, and Vera— came back to her senses.

“Vera, keep moving, don’t let it catch you again!”

It was Leon. He was following where the fight went from the railings the best he could, he sounded a bit far away, but still had seen what was happening, had probably thrown one of his flash bangs like a baseball bat, as well.

Don’t think, thinking slows you down, slow gets you killed.

Vera switched to the Lightning Hawk, taking advantage of the monster being stunned, she fired twice at the big, blobby eye. The bullet holes were gushing an acidic, sickening pus, as if the eye was a giant pimple she could pop, the pulsating was way too disgusting.

Five left in Lightning Hawk, twenty in Matilda. She’d spent enough time testing how he moved, it was time she went into attack mode. The magnum had done significant damage, he wasn’t getting up.

No choice, she had to keep going until she took him down.

With a furious howl, the creature smashed his pipe into a tank, triggering the noise of metal shredding as steam started to flood the labyrinth, obscuring Vera’s sight.

This was getting annoying, she didn’t have time for this. Fuck, she was busy fighting an abomination while Marvin— Marvin—

She bore her teeth and barely got out of the way when the monster appeared from behind, and slammed into a scalding hot pipe full of steam, straight up fucking cauterizing the wound on her arm that had opened when she’d fallen— the cry she let out and the tears were involuntary, and her vision blacking out from the pain for a second, and because of that momentary halt, the monster almost got her with his pipe. Vera tumbled away from his path the last second, and the creature advanced towards her with incredible speed it didn’t have before; the sheer panic of that got her making way to the open space where she could dodge it and run circles to avoid it again, but the monster was backing her up to a dead end bit by bit. Changing their positions by crawling underneath the claw that was shot out to get her, Matilda was back in her hand in seconds as she shot at his back ten times and it still wasn’t enough, the magnum was reserved to be used on the big eye because she had an inkling it was this thing’s fatal spot. She was running out of cartridges.

And then she recalled it. Vera had passed by this place — railing. And bottomless darkness beneath it. She could fucking push him down there and never have to worry about it again. Marvin was waiting and fucking hell this bitch was wasting her goddamn time—

The monster screeched and dashed forth once more, out to get Vera, but this time, she didn’t back away, bracing herself for the plan she’d come up with in mere seconds. This was a huge gamble but she'd seen red, having taken her shovel out this time.

He impaled himself right in the eye when she used it as a spear, yowling and trashing as Vera quickly began to push forward with both hands gripping the handle without giving him any time to react or break free — push him back as the only way for him to get away from the pain was retreating, ahead and ahead— “You’re in the goddamn way!” She screamed with fury at last, a battle cry, if you will. She came face to face with the real head of the monster and spat all her venom out, gathered from all the frustration at being thrown around like a ragdoll by him. “I don’t fucking have time for you!”

His waist hit the railing and Vera pushed once final time, feeling the shovel plunging deeper into the soft tissue within the eye. Before plummeting over the ledge and into the abyss, the creature bellowed pitifully and continued shrieking as it faded away and disappeared into the darkness while Vera was watching as if it was from some film.

It was over.

She tucked away her shovel at her backpack, ignoring all the goop dripping down at its end and stood there, stupefied and feeling the after-amnesia of waking up from a dream.

Vera had to clutch the railing with one hand not to fall right to her knees, all the strength was pulled away from her limbs the moment danger was gone. If she let go to relax right now, she’d definitely fall apart.

“Vera, over here!”

Vera’s head snapped up at her name being called, only to see Leon dropping a ladder from the upper level he was in. She gathered her strength and ignored the dizziness clouding her head, basically dragging herself all the way there, feeling like one of those undead, and looking like one of them too, her stride was slow and sluggish, the adrenaline was receding fast and running low, leaving her drained, she just wanted to sit down and take a nap.

And then the pain started reminding her that it was there, and she found herself swaying with the tide it’d come down on her, gripping tightly at the ladder, and taking a second to settle the ebb and flow of the burning ache licking at her sides and at throbbing sizzling on her arm.

“I can’t,” she sighed, more to herself, her legs were too jelly to climb the ladder at the moment and her arms didn’t have strength for some reason — there was something wrong with her ribs. She attempted to pull herself up but slipped, and this time, her knees decided to give in.

“Shit,” she heard Leon curse, full on alarmed.

“Should we go down?” It was Claire who’d spoken. “Carry her up in a piggyback ride.”

“She’s gonna pass out any minute now, I don’t think we can get her to hold on long enough to figure out the logistics,” Leon refused, clearly stressed out. “Hold on, can you give me your good hand, Vera? I need you to bear it for just a moment and jump, okay? I’ll catch you and pull you up. Can you do that for me?”

Vera shook her head like she wanted to throw off the blanket of fuzziness that weighed her body down and held on to the ladder, pulling herself up, gritting her teeth at the surge of fire that went down her limbs. “‘ll try, ‘guess,” she slurred. She didn’t think Leon could do it at first, but Claire was directly behind him, holding onto him from one hand as he sagged his entire torso down the edge, all to better catch her, probably.

His whole face was still white as a sheet, eyebrows knitted in concern, his strong jawline clenched, the roots of his blond hair that was curtaining his eyes since he was leaning down were fading to a darker shade from sweat as if he’d been the one fighting the monster, reaching a hand down the ladder at her — it was a sight to behold, Leon simply was a different person when he was dead serious. Kinda attractive… Weird she was thinking about this right now, was she just dissociating?

“Come on, you can do it,” Leon encouraged, indefatigable in his efforts in getting Vera to move but there was an edge to his sweet incentive — he looked like he could jump down any minute if it kept on going, not even climb down like a normal person would do. “You were amazing fighting that son of a bitch, what is jumping a bit to you, right? You got this.”

Oh, of course he had to hit her with a compliment, the positive feedback honey to her aching body and further urging her to relax, but if she did, she wouldn’t get up for a hot minute. Vera had to jump, that childish pigheadedness about pleasing a person she received praise from came back from its years old grave. Vera hated that part of her that she’d buried long ago, but this time it helped her to take the leap, and she yelped at the feeling of being yanked so strongly—

And she was in Leon’s arms, blanked out and unable to comprehend how he’d snatched her up like she was one of those prize dolls in a claw machine while also being overwhelmed by the safety in his hug, one arm secured around her waist and the other on her back and his hand clutching at her nape, pressing Vera’s head into the curve of his neck where she could physically feel the rapid fluttering of his pulse against her forehead. She was embraced by his high temperature and smell, the fresh scent of aftershave—

“I got you,” he mumbled, exhaled strongly, like he could breathe again after being underwater for so long.

Vera could fall asleep.

If it wasn’t suddenly freezing and the shivering hadn’t kicked in, that is — and her lips were tingling.

A third voice seeped into her consciousness from far away. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, Sherry, just a bit shaken from that fight,” Claire assured her, but some suspicion was in her next remark. “Right?”

“Coming down from an adrenaline high,” Leon said, and Vera could feel the vibrations of his voice. “Her arm’s hurt…” He gently shook her, getting her heavy eyelids to open a bit. “Vera, can you hear me? Can you tell me where else is hurt?”

“‘urts…”

“Where does it hurt?”

She really wanted nothing more than to snuggle in more, she was so cold and he was warm, but some conscious part of her brain said absolutely not to. “‘ibs…”

He craned his neck down to hear her better, their cheeks brushing together. “Hm?”

Vera’s eyes fluttered close again, she was slipping away gradually. “Ribs.”

“Yeah, I figured, you couldn’t climb…” Leon shifted her in his arms. “We gotta relocate.”

And as the others were discussing some things and the voices started fading away, in the middle of being taken away by sleep, she realized her blood sugar had dropped down too much, she had to tell one of them to give her some treats from her backpack, she had to. But her body was so heavy and she was so under, couldn’t even open her eyes.

Vera could only weakly tug on Leon’s uniform to make an attempt to get his attention and he shifted his attention to her right away, she understood from his body movements. “Vera?”

“Sugar…” She quavered, words whales on her tongue. “Di… d…” She was gone for a moment, and came back when Leon shook her again, asking something in an urgent tone she didn’t hear. “Sugar,” she jumbled again, kind of annoyed he’d interrupted her sleep. She was overcome by the delight of being held by an alive being in the midst of the sea of dead suffocating them from all sides.

Vera let go.

She woke up in a cold sweat, disoriented and disturbed, Marvin was the only thing in her mind. The sharp movement of darting forwards triggered a dull ache at her sides and she groaned in pain, clutching an arm around her torso as she collapsed forward. The red leather jacket draped on her like a blanket fell down. What the fuck was happening, why was she asleep in the first place?

Claire was by her side, holding her by the shoulders and steadying her. “Hey, hey, you’re safe, it’s okay, you’re safe now, take a deep breath.”

“What? What?” Vera looked around in a hurry, but she couldn’t register anything, really. The lack of Leon was throwing her off her balance, as well. She’d been resting her head on Claire’s shoulder and sitting — or, resting, against the wall, the child they’d come across right beside her with her legs crossed under her, she was frightened by Vera being frightened.

“What do you remember?”

“I…” Vera held her head, she was feeling much better, magically so, even, despite aching here and there. “There was a monster? I fought it? I don’t remember much after…”

“You collapsed. We thought it was because that thing had wounded you too bad, but Leon figured out it could be from diabetes? He fed you treats he found in your bag and we mixed some herbs for you, and then we let you rest. How are you doing? Feeling any better?”

She did actually, her vitality was restored, that sleep had done wonders.

But wait. Leon had figured out she had diabetes? Holy shit. Vera had been awful at trying to convey it through her fight against the edge of hypoglycemia, but he’d gotten it, understood her somehow. She owed him one, because goddamn, how had he even put the pieces together?

“Just peachy,” she said, flexing her arm to see it’d been bandaged expertly by someone who knew serious first-aid, and listened to her body for any other protests at the pain.

Then it dawned on her. Standing up in a frenzy, she asked, “How long have I been out?” to Claire.

“A while,” she pondered. “Almost an hour?”

She could hit something— fucking sleeping like a baby when Marvin was out there, suffering on his own?

Goddamnit!

“I have to go.” Vera fumbled around, looking for her backpack, they were in a control room of some sort, a console with a window above that looked at separated grated platform bridges. “I can’t stay here.”

Claire finished getting her jacket on and rose up as well. “Hey, slow down a bit. What are you doing?”

“Getting a move on, Marvin’s waiting.”

“Leon’s still not here and you were just hurt badly, you can’t go off on your own.” When Vera didn’t stop putting her backpack on, and gathering her gear from where they had neatly stacked them, Claire grabbed her from her better arm. “Just stop and breathe for a moment!”

“I can’t!” She raised her voice and backed off harshly. And from the corner of her eye— saw the quiet little girl shrink away because of that, lowering her voice to a reasonable, softer but stern tone. “My father is out there, scared and on his own, turning into something he can’t stop, Claire, and I’ve left him behind— and wasted more than one hour on—on what? Resting? I have no time to rest! I don’t have the right to rest!”

Claire looked pained and lost at that, speechless.

“You’re looking for your dad?” The blonde girl spoke to her for the first time, hands drawn to herself, peeking out shyly from behind Claire. “I’m looking for my mom. Maybe we can look for them together?”

Vera blinked, staring at the kid, and then at Claire, confused, looking for answers.

“Her mom is apparently down here.”

Vera’s eyebrows twitched at that, why would a child’s parent be down here in an underground bridging system? How had she even found her way in here? This place was supposed to be a highly protected and concealed secret — unless.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Sherry…”

“Do you have a surname, Sherry?”

Sherry looked at Claire, wanting permission from her almost. It was after Claire nodded that she told Vera. “...Birkin.”

I’ll be damned, she thought, her eyes widening in recognition. This is the Birkins’ kid. No wonder, they must have brought her here before.

Sherry’s big blue eyes reflected joyful hope as she stopped hiding behind Claire and took a few steps forward, though not leaving her completely. “Do you remember me?”

“Huh?”

“You played guitar for me before!” She piped up, shy but excited. “I was lost… You and your friends found me, I was scared… You gave me food, and you played ABBA for me. I remember, I never forgot. You always wear pink and black!”

“Ah.” Vera pointed at her, shock poured all over her was a bucket of ice water. “You’re that kid? Man, you grew up well.”

“You two know each other?” Claire put her hand on Sherry’s back.

“Well, uh…” Vera grimaced, she didn’t know how to explain the situation without breaking Sherry’s heart on the spot. “Long story, we found her in front of the bar I used to play at, like, four years ago? We took her in, it was pretty late, there are weirdos out there, you know? Entertained her until her parents came.” Claire obviously had questions, but Vera made a face that told her she’d tell more about it later. “She was itty bitty back then, I didn’t recognize her. Way to go Sherry, you drank your milk, huh? Told you it would make you sprout.”

Sherry beamed at Vera ruffling her hair, she was apprehensive and withdrawn before. Her hands went to her head after Vera let go, adorably bashful. “I put honey in it like you said. It made it taste better.”

Vera smiled. “Attagirl.” As the memories about her resurfaced and she got an idea why a literal child would have found her way into this underground facility, it withered away right after. “Mom and dad leave you again?”

“No, it’s…” Sherry’s mood dropped instantaneously. “They didn’t come back, it’s scary out here, and I got worried… Mom didn’t call, I couldn’t reach them, so I… I’m looking for her.”

God knows how long they hadn’t contacted the kid. It must have been hectic in Umbrella, huh? So hectic that you would forget your child existed. Leaving her all alone in the middle of this… Fucking hell, these scientists were something else, as cold as the stainless, sterile white labs they ran tests in. How could you rest easy knowing that your own daughter was on her own, surrounded by zombies; how could you not lose your mind at the possibility of some of them getting into your house even when you believed it to be safe? What if she was out of food, what if she didn’t have water?

Vera was torn between fuming at the Birkins and wanting to coddle Sherry.

“Can you help me?” She pleaded innocently, and Vera’s heart dropped. “I’m sorry if it’s too much trouble…”

This poor child.

God, Vera had a soft spot for kids, this really was an exercise for her conscience at the moment.

At one hand, she needed to get back to Marvin, her chest constricted at wanting to get her to safety — but hell. This was something to be considered seriously, what did helping Sherry find her mother mean, really? The woman was probably cooped up in one of Umbrella’s labs, the NEST under the Spencer Memorial Hospital or the other one, they would have to break into one of them and getting it right was a 50-50 chance, just to get Sherry to her. And was that what they should be doing? It was easier to take her and get out of the city, in all honesty.

But if she was in Sherry’s place, her mom would be more important than saving herself, and Vera understood that in her soul, she was in the same boat with her, after all.

“Hey, you’re up!”

All of them directed their attention to the entrance to the operator’s room, and Leon was there, loosely clutching to the side of the door with a relieved smile on his face, he had an extra hip pouch now, he must have explored around to see if there was any loot while she was sleeping.

There was a bounce in his step as he came up to them. “How are you doing? You gave us a scare back there.”

“Much better, thanks to you,” Vera affirmed. “How’d you figure out I had diabetes?”

“Insulin in your backpack.”

Oh. Oh, fuck, that’s right. It wasn’t that hard to figure it out when you put it that way. “Ah,” she said, a bit embarrassed at giving him too much credit, she had put him on a pedestal to fully expect he would understand from her stuttering, huh? That was humiliating. “Ah, well, I’m grateful regardless. You stopped me from going into hypoglycemia.”

“Thank god I did,” he laughed, humorless, inspecting her body with his eyes in a medical manner that made Vera disappointed there was too much respect in there. “Herbs must have worked too. I’m glad you’re okay.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, or do something, the intent of action was nervous energy bouncing off of Leon, but it dispersed out of him when Sherry waved at him, one hand holding onto Claire’s jacket. “Hi Leon.”

Oh, he made her shy, Vera turned away and hid her smile behind her palm, acting like she was scratching her nose or something.

“Hi, Sherry.” He looked between the girl and her. “You met Vera?”

“Yeah, but we know each other already.”

“You do?”

“Tell you later,” Vera said, wanting to close the subject and move on to another. “Sherry here wants to find her mom, but I have to go back to the station. What do you suggest we do?”

“We are not splitting up.” Leon wasn’t going back on that decision. “Let’s go back to the station together, and then… And—”

He noticed the blank, hollow expression Vera had on, and promptly stopped talking, they both knew what was about to come after finding their way back to RPD again. To Vera, it was the end of the road she was actively trying not to think, choosing to obsess over the objective coming before that instead, which was to just find a way.

Weariness stepped on her spirit. “Are we sure we want to take her back to… that?”

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Claire said, hesitant. “We can search for her mom after… Well.”

After Marvin dies? After he’s done dying? The thought alone branded her very being with scorching hot iron, smoke filled her lungs and made her eyes water, an ache at the back of her nose from unreleased tears. If she stopped to think for one second, she would find meaning in it no more and revert back to her original despairing state, that’s why she had to keep going. For Marvin’s sake, she had to, it wasn’t fair that he was alone in his pain, it wasn’t fair he was prioritizing her despite what was happening to him — and she— she had been such an ingrate. What was she doing?

Vera zoned off, in her own head as Claire asked if Sherry would be okay with coming along with them, only snapping out of it when Leon gingerly took a hold on the forearm of her unhurt arm. “You okay?”

“Are any of us, really?” She tore her gaze from the buttons on the control panel, and smiled at him, it didn’t really reach her eyes, but she nudged him to make up for it. “It’s fine. Don’t get your panties in a twist over me.”

He rolled his eyes at that, keeping up with her gig only out of worry, falling into her “trap” on purpose. “I don’t wear panties.”

Vera faked a gasp. “Flying solo? Naughty.”

“What does flying solo mean?”

They both gaped down at Sherry, eyes wide and looking like they’d stepped on shit, quite literally.

Surprisingly, it was Sherry who was guiding them about where to go in this underground facility, her young and fresh mind remembering paths not even Vera's adult informants could clearly recall and describe to her. They had told her about their plan to get out of the station and she was immediately on it, leading them from corridor to corridor, as if she knew it like the inside of her palm. Children were wonders that way, Vera always got laughed at by Marvin when she said an elementary student would do math better than an adult, but Sherry here was proving that by navigating this entire maze on her own without help.

Claire was striking a conversation as they jogged through the metal coves. "So... what's your mom like?"

"She works at Umbrella. She's making an important new medicine," Sherry said, and the lack of knowledge about what Annette Birkin really did was almost endearing, the girl sounded proud about it, too. It was obvious that she put importance on her mom's job.

"Umbrella?" Claire queried. "That big pharmaceutical company?"

Sherry tried to act unfazed and say it in a matter-of-fact tone, but didn't really succeed, she was a child, after all. "My mom's always at work. I don't get to see her much."

"Well, hopefully, you'll get to see her again soon. So... Where's your dad?"

"He, um... worked with my mom but... He's gone."

William Birkin was dead?

"What do you mean gone?" Vera pressed on, putting a nonchalant tone to her voice to not make her suspicious about her intentions. "Did he get out of the city and leave you and your mom, or...?"

"Um..." Sherry trailed off, and Vera felt bad about digging into the issue, her trepidation gave her the answer she was prodding around for.

"I understand, Sherry, you don't need to say anything more," she said, regretful. "I know a thing or two about losing a parent."

Claire supported the direction Vera was trying to lead the word to. "Both of my parents are gone—it's just me and my brother."

"Oh... I'm sorry, both of you..."

"Don't be. It means we've got something in common and... That's a good thing, right?"

"Yeah, I don't have parents either," Leon added, too upbeat for someone who was sharing that his family was gone. "I'm on my own, it's not that bad, don't worry about it, Sherry." He rubbed her back lovingly in a brotherly fashion. "Something to bring us closer together."

"Hey look at us, orphans supporting orphans, huh?" Vera clapped her hands, as if to dust off the depressive air. "Orphans Support Group? Who needs parents anyway, right? Trauma makes you cooler." Leon and Claire looked back at her with disturbed distress on their faces, for Sherry's sake, most likely, because she didn't think they'd mind if it was the three of them. "Don't worry I'm not gonna make orphan jokes, the punchline isn't apparent, after all."

Leon fell back and let Claire and Sherry take the lead, lowering his voice so only Vera could hear it. "Jesus Christ, Vera."

"What?"

"I don't think saying orphan out loud to a girl who's searching for her only remaining parent is helping."

"I'm coping, cut me some slack, will you?"

He didn't say anything to her after that bitter statement, falling silent — and it annoyed her even more, she could physically feel the empty words of consolation and support he wanted to say pressing on her skin, but he chose to just occasionally stare them into her during the remaining way to the manhole that lead to the parking garage Sherry was taking them to.

Leon had led the way, lifting the manhole lid to scan the area for threats before deeming it safe, and helping the others to climb up. The place appeared to be deserted, except for a handful of patrol cars, one of which was parked outside the locked gate with its lights on and beaming into the garage itself that Vera had to squint when it stabbed her directly in the eye, and as soon as she was on her feet, her bare legs and shoulders were stung by the late September chilly air.

The entrance was secured by an electronic metal gate that needed a keycard to open, and they obviously didn’t have anything like that — meaning Sherry had entered the underground systems another way. Vera made a mental note of that, they could ask her to lead them there.

Looking around, Vera could spot three doors leading out of the garage. She pressed up against the security fence, staring up at the slanted entryway. Interestingly, no undeads were around in this area, the street this garage led to also was where Kendo’s Gun Shop was, it was a relief to think this could mean he and his family were safe. When she sighed, her breath twirled around in misty swirls before disappearing into the air.

She shook the fence a bit to test the sturdiness of it. Nope, there was no forcing this open. “Now what?”

“This is how my mom took me last time,” Sherry said, disappointed.

They heard footsteps coming from the side, and Vera instantly recognized who it was, disgust shooting up her spine. “Sherry!? I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Sherry… Brave little girl to leave your house in the middle of this mess…”

Leon aimed his shotgun at the person immediately, it wasn’t like him to do so, perhaps he hadn’t liked the way the man had called for Sherry. “Identify yourself.”

He stepped into the light and Vera’s lips contorted in repulsion. “Lower that fucking gun if you know what’s good for you, rookie. I’m your superior.”

“Chief Irons,” Leon rasped, shaken, and took a more respectful stance, nodding his head in recognition. “I apologize, sir. It’s been a rough night—”

“Shut it,” Irons waved him off, clipped and curt, focused on Sherry and Sherry only — and it clicked for Vera. This man had been taking bribes from the Birkins, or rather, William Birkin for a long time now, was he instructed by them to take her to safety? No. That was too good to be true. He was more of a man to kidnap her in plans to make demands of them, even with the world going to hell.

Leon’s body went taut after hearing that, the same posture he had when facing all enemies from before, expression stiff and braced.

“Sherry, come,” the man said, not sparing one glance to the others. “We’re leaving.”

“Excuse me, who are you to her?” Claire said angrily, stepping in front of the girl and shielding her.

Irons looked at her, she was a bugger stain on the bathroom wall to him, and he didn’t hide it. “A family friend,” he stated, impatient and free of his usual charm to get people under his false charisma. “Now, Sherry, come on.”

Leon was watching him like a hawk. “Are you taking her to her mother, sir?”

“I don’t fucking report to you,” he spat, and did a double take when he saw Vera right behind him, closer to the closed gate, his expression changed from irritation to cold calculation within seconds. “Jane.” He scoffed. “Oh, what a surprise. You survived.”

He’d said that so ominously that Vera got goosebumps all over her body, she didn’t even detect Leon whipping around from his waist to observe her after hearing the word ‘Jane’.

Irons took a couple steps forward as if he was ready to square off, and the open hostility rang the alarm bells in her brain. This guy had openly tortured his officers — he had set the monster inside of him free because he believed the world was ending. “How fortunate for me. We have a score to settle, missy. After all I have done for you… Sending a rat after me? Really?”

Now everyone was staring, in confusion or in fear, she didn't know, the same fight and flight when she'd fought the monster down in the underground levels was being poured into her veins. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Some positive feedback to remember." The man pulled his revolver from his holster and aims towards her. "You're under arrest for robbery, trespassing, forgery, and... child endangerment."

It wasn't her who expressed outrage, but Leon, eyebrows forced together into a pronounced frown and mouth falling open. "What?"

"On the ground, hands behind your head," he shook his revolver towards Claire as well. "You too. Now."

Claire shifted on her feet, restless. "You can't be serious... What's this about—"

And he fucking fired a shot off to her side, which broke the window of a car. "I said, on your knees!" Leon immediately went into alarm mode and his hand went to his shotgun, but Irons was faster, pointing the gun to him this time. "I don't think so. Throw your weapon away."

Leon did as he was told, but didn't stop trying to reason with the unreasonable man. "Please, sir, I don't think—"

"Is this obstruction of justice, officer?"

Fear interrupted Leon's focus. "No... No, I..."

"Cuff her," Irons ordered, and pointed to Vera. "Cuff her now."

Leon froze, and Sherry was horrified, she couldn't move, only being able to protest verbally. "Why're you doing this?"

"Shut up," Irons dismissed her, and threw Leon a plastic handcuff. "Tie the other one."

Leon was physically showing distaste for what he'd just been ordered to do. "Sir, this isn't right—"

He crossed the distance in surprising speed and dug the barrel of his revolver right against the kneeling Vera's temple. "Okay, then, we do this the hard way. You do as I say, or they die."

Irons was showing his true colors, shit, he wasn't even pretending to manipulate people anymore.

Leon was high on alert, eyes wide as saucers, a wild animal wavering between playing dead and fleeing the scene. He couldn't find any meaning or point in what Irons was doing, his face was a book and Vera read this loud and clear. "I don't understand what you're doing and why you're--"

"I said, I don't report to you. I'm running out of patience, rookie." He forcefully pushed Vera's head down with the revolver and she tumbled down on her hands. Leon made an attempt to rush forward, but was stopped by Irons' words. "Cuff this one and tie the other one, I won't repeat myself again."

Leon's jaw flexed from how hard he was clenching and unclenching his teeth, and hesitantly took the handcuffs hanging from his belt, kneeling in front of Vera and taking her hands to lock them into place. "Leon, you can't do this," she said, panicked, his eyes momentarily flicking to hers, but she didn't struggle when he really clicked the cuffs into place around her wrists in fear of what an unstable Irons would do. "Please trust me, you can't listen to him, I didn't do any of what he accuses me of, he—"

Vera's eardrums rang from the shot that reverberated in the parking garage, shoulders recoiling. Irons had fired at Leon right in his back, the blond's breath constricted as he wasn't even able to scream, bumping into Vera's shoulder as he fell flat on his face beside her, unmoving.

Irons shot Leon.

Time slowed down to a stop, Claire's blood-curdling yowl of, "Leon!" didn't reach her ears.

"Idiot pig," Irons tutted. "Look what you did to him, Jane," he laughed cruelly at Vera. "Know that it's your fault."

What?

Vera could only stare, the inner corners of eyebrows angled upward, her brain not processing any of what was happening. Leon wasn't moving.

Her fault?

Claire raged and raged, cradling Leon's body. "You monster! What the fuck! What the fuck did you do!"

Vera's heart started picking up, her breathing shallow and fast. Leon was dead? He had killed Leon?

"Sherry, since the good cop's gone, you tie her hands behind her back," Irons commanded the crying girl, she was on the ground, sobbing and covering her face, Vera hadn't even noticed. "Or one of them goes next and I'll make you choose."

Vera couldn't tear her unseeing gaze from Leon and vaguely perceived Sherry executing what Irons had told her to do, her whimpers breaking into the wild thumping in her ears. She was eight years old again, under her bed in the orphanage, and shutting her ears off not to the commotion outside of her room.

The man swiped his keycard through, which unlocked the gate. "Now, come here."

Claire was seething. "What are you gonna do to her?"

"None of your fucking business."

"You asshole, I swear to god, my brother is STARS and you'll pay for this. I will fucki—"

Vera flinched violently when Irons kicked Claire down in the left side, not quite there in her head, watching things unfold from outside of her body. He walked over to where Claire had fallen and picked her head up by gripping her hair, shoving his gun in her face. "What's your name? What's your fucking name!?"

She hollered, not from the pain of Irons' ripping hold on her hair, but from the sheer hatred. "Claire!"

"Sherry, you come with me now or say goodbye to Claire!"

"Okay, okay! I'll go..! Don't hurt anyone anymore, please!"

Claire began to struggle. "Don't listen to him! He's full of shit!"

He struck Claire across the face with the back of his hand, making the girl fly off and hit her head on the ground with the sheer strength of it.

"Stop hurting her! Please!"

"Don't tell me how to do my job." His attention shifted to Vera, who still looked around like a coma patient who had just woken up. "Now, you... You'll be coming with me. Some re-disciplining is in order."

He raised his pistol above his head, and it merged with the silhouette of the past, younger Irons raising his hand for a slap, and she braced for impact. The handle of the revolver came down lightning fast on her skull in a pistol whip, and she hit the ground, feeling a gush of warmth trickling down her head, and on her face, she was facing Leon’s collapsed body before blacking out right after.

The next Vera came to, she was dangling off the shoulder of Brian Irons as if she was one of his recent fresh kills, and he was snarling, "Obviously, nobody taught you manners! We'll fix that. Oh yes, we will," at Sherry as they climbed the slope away from the parking garage, Claire's yells getting further and further away.

Those were the words he used to drill into Vera long ago, and the last things she heard before losing consciousness.

tagging: @ocappreciationtag

#leon kennedy x oc #leon s. kennedy x oc #leon s kennedy x oc #leon kennedy #resident evil oc #leon kennedy fanfic #story: gravedigger #era: no time to die #oc: vera kaplan #shai's writings

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queerautism · 2 years ago

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Oh! Are we discussing bad med experiences and doctors being incompetent with informing patients of side effects?

Well! I discovered that my ADHD medication causes low blood sugar! Guess how I found this out? By the hand of the professionals who encouraged me to take it? No, of course not! By roleplaying fictional characters, one of which who had diabetes, and realizing that when I forget to eat/don't have time to eat while on my meds, I get the same side effects he did with hypoglycemia! And while Google said stimulants can cause hypoglycemia, I now may have to get off my meds for a couple days before seeing an endocrinologist, just in case it's NOT just my meds! Fun times!

That is some real bullshit, I'm sorry. I hope you can figure it out.

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vcalmore · 2 years ago

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Introduction

Valentine, 19, They/Them Pronouns

Nonbinary, Trans, Queer

Autistic, ADHD

Migrated from Twitter

Studyblr: High School Senior -> Soon to be College Freshman

Taking AP and Cambridge International Courses

Writer: Mostly LGBTQ+ or Mental Health Fiction :)

Reader: Most genres, typically YA.

Recoveryblr: In recovery from Anorexia Nervosa, self-harm, and cPTSD - Managing reactive hypoglycemia

Follow @reasonstworecover if you're looking for more recovery content

I post sims content on @valentinecsims

I plan to post about my life, mental health, my queerness, and of course nerdy stuff like literature, writing, and history.

#life blog #tumblr diary #studyblr #bookblr #writeblr #introduction #introducing myself #new studyblr #new writeblr #study blog #recoveryblr #eating disorder recovery #anorexia recovery

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yourl0cal1ncorporealb3ing · 6 months ago

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TW VENT AT SOME PARTS

(ALSO NONE OF THIS PROOF READ SO IT MAY NOT BE LEGIABLE I just wroet this and i already forgot half the stuff i wrote)

y'know the mix of horrid chronic fatigue and insatiable numbness and the dissociation just makes me feel like I missing out on life, I yearn to go outside, to go play, to have fun, just run around but I cant. I sit in my room on tumblr or youtube wasting the day away wishing I did something more productive. I feel like a husk of person I feel like Im in a movie theater alone watching the most boring movie ive ever seen, I feel lonely while also being too socially drained to watch and respond the the video my friend sent me. Not to mention when my parents used to fight, my moms road rage/anger issues, it caused me to fucking terrifed of conflict so sometimes I minimize my needs when around other people and constantly asking about things and if im doing it right but also worrying if im annoying them with all my questions because my grandma has gotton mad at me for that before i think either that or it was me asking why she loved my cousin more than me because she yelled and fought with my dad because i wouldnt give my cousin my fukcing chicken nuggets my dad bought for me like fuck you i mean im sorry grandma

The anxiety and hyperactivity of my ADHD spikes up at night so either i got to sleep and wake up in 13 hours or I can stay up till 4am, go to sleep and wake 13 hours (Just feeling a lot worse). Im literally shaking as I write this and i can tell if im just so fucking restless even if im fucking tired (its 3:38am) or anxiety or the entire kiwi strawberry monster I just drank Its ok im drinking water a lot of it i just need to get my thoughts out of my head because its like a thousond of the dvd bouncing tv screen in my head rn idk if its getting better idk if im gonna post this too maybe idk any ways im shaking oh btw i might have non-diabetic hypoglycemia and i have to get a bunch shots next week and I really hate the doctors it always makes me really scared and uncomfy n shit and idk why damn im shaking a lot. I almost freaked out bc i cant find my charger and my tablet almost died but i have another one ive been using so i just used that but i want to know where my charger went :(

istg ive been eating fucking pasta for the lat 3 weeks and i hate it i hate it i hate it HATE it every. fucking. meal. I cant. I have comfort foods I like and its mostly carby food like pasta so i eat pasta alot but since our oven stopped workin its all i know i can make that easy and i laike it but i secretly dread it so i have been eating a lot of candy to keep my brain happy but im not i should be happy ive been hanging with my frinds and its summr break but im just numb, i always am, yk the year I just finished? yeah for the majority of the i was fighting autopilot mode and disassociation but i was constantly in it i dont think i cant handle going to high school this year i think i might act pass out from exhaustion I barely survived middle school Im not okay i need something meds? idk I should not be this messed up i mean my family is great (yk...apart from the fighting which isnt that common anymore and moms anger issues) but theu love me so whats the problem? school school why is it so unoccomidating to neurodivergents same with ppl with social anxiety like i have had MULTIPLE bad panic attcks in class cause i had to do smthin in front of the class I fukcing hate the school system fuckfukcufkyoiuu school fuck the emercian school system FUCKYOUUUUUUUUU

Im too conflict avoident I cant

the afternoon feels so tiring in a stuffy way if that maks and sense i need to treat my FUCKING adhd already i can have music playing at all times thats not a good long term strategy to shut up my brain i mean ffuck i have music on rn and you can see my insane ramblings

anyyways I kinda think im a daave fiction kin (like DSAF) but im 90% sure im just and otherlinker and I just want to feel speacial or some shit but whos know i have the worst imposter syndrome known to man (I have almost every symptom of Cfs and my friend has asked if i have it but nahhh i defs dont) but also i had a weird experience once. I was like listen (its getting hard to type with the shakiness :0) ing to 2 dave and henry playlists and i kept listening to the henry one and I was in the car and i was falling and out of sleep when i saw like flash of dave but it didnt look like cannon dave he looked different he was mush more blue and he was leaning against a wall with messy longish hair and he had a hat and scars all over him and he had a purple buttoned shit that was fulled buttoned up and the perspective i saw was like a photo someone had taken and he seemed just chilling perhaps talking to jack? idfk but yeah theres my weird experience like the best way i can explain this feeling towards dave is "Idkk if i was you but probably mightve at some point like most likely at some point"

i hope i sound legiable (if i do post this AND someone actually reads this all) it is 4:08am and I feel too many things once i probably will sleep at 5 or 6 anyways byebye

#my body was vibrating #vent??#i feel like orange garbarge juice

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diabetesdailyblogs · 8 months ago

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The Benefits of Fasting for Diabetes: Separating Hype from Reality

Introduction: Fasting has gained significant attention in recent years as a potential strategy for managing diabetes. Advocates claim that fasting can improve insulin sensitivity, promote weight loss, and even reverse type 2 diabetes. However, amidst the hype surrounding fasting, it's essential to examine the scientific evidence and separate fact from fiction. In this article, we'll explore the potential benefits of fasting for diabetes, the various fasting approaches, and the realities individuals with diabetes should consider before incorporating fasting into their management regimen.

Understanding Fasting: Fasting involves voluntarily abstaining from food and, in some cases, drink for a specified period. Different fasting approaches exist, ranging from intermittent fasting (IF), where individuals cycle between periods of eating and fasting, to extended fasting, which involves prolonged periods of fasting lasting several days or more.

Potential Benefits of Fasting for Diabetes:

Improved Insulin Sensitivity: Some studies suggest that fasting may enhance insulin sensitivity, allowing cells to more effectively respond to insulin and regulate blood sugar levels. Improved insulin sensitivity can be particularly beneficial for individuals with insulin resistance, a common feature of type 2 diabetes.

Weight Loss: Fasting can promote weight loss by creating a calorie deficit and encouraging the body to burn stored fat for energy. Excess weight is a significant risk factor for type 2 diabetes, and weight loss can lead to improvements in insulin sensitivity and glycemic control.

Reduced Inflammation: Chronic inflammation is associated with insulin resistance and type 2 diabetes. Fasting has been shown to reduce markers of inflammation in the body, potentially mitigating the inflammatory processes that contribute to diabetes complications.

Enhanced Autophagy: Autophagy is a cellular process that involves the removal of damaged or dysfunctional components. Fasting can stimulate autophagy, which may have protective effects against diabetes-related complications by promoting cellular repair and regeneration.

Lowered Blood Sugar Levels: Fasting can lead to reductions in fasting blood sugar levels and improvements in postprandial glucose control. By limiting the intake of carbohydrates and reducing insulin secretion, fasting may help stabilize blood sugar levels in individuals with diabetes.

Different Approaches to Fasting:

Intermittent Fasting (IF): Intermittent fasting involves cycling between periods of fasting and eating. Common IF protocols include the 16/8 method (fasting for 16 hours and eating within an 8-hour window) and the 5:2 method (eating normally for five days and restricting calorie intake on two non-consecutive days).

Time-Restricted Eating: Time-restricted eating limits the duration of daily food intake to a specific window of time, typically 8-12 hours. This approach may improve insulin sensitivity and metabolic health, even without significant changes in calorie intake.

Alternate-Day Fasting: Alternate-day fasting involves alternating between fasting days, where individuals consume minimal calories or abstain from food altogether, and non-fasting days, where they eat ad libitum.

Realities and Considerations for Individuals with Diabetes:

Individual Variability: The response to fasting can vary greatly among individuals with diabetes. Factors such as age, weight, medications, and overall health status can influence how fasting affects blood sugar levels and overall well-being.

Hypoglycemia Risk: Fasting can increase the risk of hypoglycemia, especially for individuals taking insulin or certain diabetes medications that lower blood sugar levels. Close monitoring of blood sugar levels and adjustment of medications may be necessary to prevent hypoglycemic episodes.

Nutritional Adequacy: Fasting may pose challenges in meeting nutritional needs, particularly if individuals do not consume a balanced diet during eating windows. It's essential to prioritize nutrient-dense foods and consult with a healthcare professional or registered dietitian to ensure adequate nutrient intake.

Potential Disordered Eating Patterns: Fasting may trigger disordered eating behaviors in susceptible individuals, leading to an unhealthy preoccupation with food, guilt surrounding eating, and fluctuations in weight. Individuals with a history of eating disorders should approach fasting with caution and seek support if needed.

Long-Term Sustainability: While fasting may yield short-term benefits, its long-term sustainability and effects on overall health remain uncertain. Long-term adherence to fasting regimens may be challenging for some individuals and may not be suitable for everyone.

Conclusion: Fasting holds promise as a potential tool for managing diabetes, with potential benefits including improved insulin sensitivity, weight loss, and reduced inflammation. However, it's essential to approach fasting with caution and consider individual factors, such as medication regimen, nutritional needs, and overall health status. Consulting with a healthcare professional is crucial before incorporating fasting into a diabetes management plan. By separating hype from reality and making informed decisions, individuals with diabetes can explore the potential benefits of fasting while prioritizing their health and well-being.

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multifandumbmeg · 9 months ago

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Certied hypoglycemia post. This was made for me. I once started a zombie apocalypse novel in 10th grade where the main character, the group of orphaned teenagers' leader, had hypoglycemia and it constantly gets her nearly killed in the field because she's like running?? Sorry I am puking on the ground now. Thoughts?? No longer having them. Need cracker. Oh migraine? Now I am blind too that's not great.

Anyway this is your sign to research and include disabilities in your stories, ESPECIALLY ones you have and know intimately well! Fiction can help people understand things they haven't personally experienced, which is vitally important in the current era of turning back and restricting rights. Abled people truly do not understand anything about disability so educate them or educate yourself and ask questions!!

more people should consider the effects of hypoglycemia when they write "magic comes from your physical energy" worlds

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baeddel · 2 years ago

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tips for writing a character with type 1 diabetes

people make these for whatever disability they have. but most of the time they're not really about writing, they're just informative about the disability, which isn't always that helpful. i thought it'd be fun to do one that takes the writing part seriously. so, here's mine!

the only fictional depiction of diabetes i'm aware of is Paul Blart Mall Cop. it's a pretty stupid point of reference, so i'm mostly going to be talking about the protrayal of the blood plague in Bloodborne instead. perhaps surprisingly, this post contains Bloodborne spoilers.

Table of Contents

Preface on Modes of Narrative Discourse

Tip 1: Varieties of Diabetes

Tip 2: Onset of Diabetes

Tip 3: History of Diabetes

Tip 4: Living with Untreated Diabetes

Tip 5: Treatment of Diabetes Today

Tip 6: Hypoglycemia

Tip 7: Diabetes is an Immune System Disorder

Conclusion

before we start, in this post i'm going to use the division of the narrator's discourse employed by Lubomír Doležel in Narrative Modes in Czech Literature, 1973, 5-10, except i'm using 'third person' and 'first person' instead of Er-form and Ich-form because you'll stop reading if i call them that. here's his chart for reference:

the objective narrators (first and third person) are totally external to the events they narrate and have no interpretations to make about what they see—they write in the detached manner of an ornithologist's field journal. example: Hemmingway's 'the Killers.'

the rhetorical third person narrator gets to interpret what it sees; the interpreter in rhetorical third person will generally be someone not involved in the story, such as the author themselves or a fictional storyteller like Shazarad. example: Balzac's 'Sarrasine' (once the Sarrasine sequence actually starts).

the subjective third person narrator is when the answer to 'who speaks?' and 'who sees?' is different. here, the narrator confines their interpretation to the point of view of a specific character within the story. Dolezel's example: "When Helenka was finishing her internship in orthopaedics, there was in the ward a young man who had broken his thigh-bone. Such a common femur fracture, a rather uninteresting case" (M. Pujmanova, Playing with Fire). the comment that the fracture is "uninteresting" is spoken by the narrator, but it is obviously Helenka's interpretation.

the personal and rhetorical first person narrator is a character within the story who can report on their own thoughts and feelings. the personal narrator acts within the story, while the rhetorical narrator merely comments; generally first-person stories will contain all three kinds of first-person narration; personal for their own actions, rhetorical for the actions of others, and observer's for things like providing context about the enviornment. example: Hajime Kanzaka's 'Slayers.'

i promise it's going to be important. now for the tips!

TIP 1: there are different kinds of diabetes

Type 1 diabetes (5-10% of cases), MODY (1-2%) and MIDD (1%) are genetic, whereas Type 2 (90%) and Gestational Diabetes are acquired. you get Gestational Diabetes during pregnancy and then it goes away (it occurs in 6% of all pregnancies), and you acquire Type 2 diabetes pretty much randomly although it's highly correlated with bodyweight. MIDD is accompanied by hearing loss. there is another unrelated disease which is also called diabetes, diabetes insipidus.

if you're writing about a historical period Type 2 is going to be much less common. the number of people with Type 2 has exploded since the 1960s. "As of 2015 there were approximately 392 million people diagnosed with the disease compared to around 30 million in 1985" (wiki). personally i don't know jack shit about any of those other kinds, so i'm only going to talk about Type 1.

TIP 2: onset is prolonged and dangerous

while Type 1 is entirely genetic, onset doesn't actually start until your teens or twenties. basically, your pancreas just stops working. you cannot predict if this will happen, and you won't notice as soon as it does happen.

when you eat carbs or sugar you're absorbing glucose. your body detects the presence of glucose and the pancreas creates insulin which converts glucose into energy. when your pancreas stops working, you will not produce enough insulin to convert the glucose and it'll stick around in your system indefinitely. this is called 'hyperglycemia' or 'high blood sugars' and it is extremely perilous, but its effects come on slowly.

first of all, you will suffer fatigue and tiredness because you aren't making enough energy. at the same time, all the excess glucose your body isn't using will stick to your cells and cause problems. it sticks to the retina, causing vision problems (everything is white and gooey, like you've been rubbing your eyes). it collects in veins and arteries, slowing the flow of blood to the extremities, causing your hands and feet to become severely cold. you'll be lightheaded and dizzy all the time. you urinate constantly, and you also become extremely thirsty, nothing will parch your thirst, and your urine will be completely clear, like water. you lose a lot of weight. you sleep for extremely long periods of time and no one can wake you up. eventually you'll start to collapse during the day and lose consciousness. then you'll die.

if you're reading this and think you have some of those symptoms, please see a doctor!

for myself, i was collapsing unconscious regularly before anyone realized something was wrong. while i've just described these things as symptoms of a disease, your characters are probably not likely to interpret it as a disease right away. i was about fifteen, so my family probably thought i was just a teenager. i didn't want to go to school, but no teenager wants to go to school. i was sleeping in all the time, but that just meant i was lazy and needed to be disciplined. these years (years!) were very hard in my family; every morning i would fight back visciously to stay in bed. i would refuse to attend school and i would defend myself if they tried to drag me. punching and clawing. i was a disobedient teenager with behavioural problems and poor attendance. in fact, i was very close to death. it was only after i started passing out that it became evident to anyone (including me) that something was wrong with my health. when they took me to the doctors they hospitalized me immediately.

so if you're going to write about a character experiencing the onset of diabetes, they are going to have most of these symptoms, but they will probably not experience them as symptoms. if they are from a society like ours, which puts a lot of value on work ethic, they'll probably blame themselves for their flinching self-discipline. they are not likely to connect things like their worsening eyesight to their sleep and behaviour changes; they all come on slowly, over a long time, and don't look connected. other characters will notice gradual changes in their behaviour; their lover might find that they've become distant and disinterested in sex, the people at their church might notice that they attend less, and so forth. they're likely to have become isolated from the people in their life before they start passing out, so no one might be around to notice. i dropped out of my social life before anyone learned i had diabetes, so my old friends don't know what happened.

so, the onset period of Type 1 Diabetes is inherently denpa (see). it also has a natural narrative arc; there is a period of confusion, uncertainty and conflict which culminates in the dramatic symptoms of prolonged hyperglycemia—the sudden fall from unconsciousness. the diagnosis recontextualizes everything the reader has previously witnessed about this character. it therefore fits well in a slow story which takes place over a long time, months or years, and wants a coy narrator who can fairly hide information from the reader: personal first person, observer's first person, objecive third person or subjective third person. in this situation it's an especially good red herring, for example in a mystery or horror novel where the reader is paying close attention to out-of-character behaviour, and a long, slow, character-focused story is expected. but you could also pick a rhetorical third person narrator who conveys information to us which the characters are ignorant of, allowing the reader to cringe as the characters act on their misapprehensions. example:

once Eric didn't open the door on the third day of knocking Lune said "what the hell, you bastard," and then they said "i didn't need you anyway, and i'm not sad you're breaking up with me." then they went and wrote him a pissed-off letter about how they would just go to Denver on their own after all and they stuffed it in the letterbox. four days later when Eric woke up from his diabetic coma he found the letter.

i understand that suggestions like this can be a bit less than useful, since a lot of writing ideas only work in one story, so if you read it in a post someplace it's probably already too late to use it. i would like to make the case, however, that Type 1 diabetes onset can be a generically useful trope. Amnesia is a generically useful disorder in fiction because of how efficiently it solves narrative problems; it allows first person and subjective third person narrators to hide information, and it gives the characters an excuse to explain known information to the reader—the character just forgot all the important stuff. Type 1 diabetes can't be quite that useful to narrators, but it is quite useful; untreated diabetes causes a person to be inconsistent, unreliable and uanvailable. if you ever need a character to fail to show up at a crucial moment in the story, but you don't have a reason yet—it was the diabetes! EZ! this turns what might have been an inconsistency into a set-up for a later payoff, when they figure out what was wrong with them.

more generally than Type 1 diabetes, 'life-changing symptoms which no one realizes are symptoms' and 'slow onset of an unpreventable disease' are common situations in real life, but don't happen very often in fiction, so you should feel free to use them. it's a device that's used to excellent effect in Bloodborne, where it affects almost every character in the game, since everyone uses a substance the tragic effects of which they could not foreknow. because in Bloodborne it's happening to every character all the time the trope has a stochastic impact on the player; as the player learns more about the plague curiosity gradually shades into dread, the heart sinks with each new phase of the moon as the player worries about the characters they've left back at Oedon Chapel.

TIP 3: diabetes was understood from ancient times all over the world

there's a bit of a misconception that nobody knew anything about health and illness until very recently, and past peoples attributed everything to magic. for example, there have been countless attempts to diagnose Hildegard von Bingen with Temporal Lobe Epilespy based on her descriptions of her mystical visions, which—while it isn't refuted by this evidence—seems a bit unchairtable considering she was a physician who especially wrote about epilepsy herself. in short, assume people in the past were medically informed.

according to wikipedia diabetes is one of the oldest diseases described (see). in ancient and imperial China it was called "wasting-thirst", and the article talks about how ancient Egyptian and Indian physicians diagnosed it based on the sweetness of the urine; we actually still diagnose diabetes this way, except we use a chemical that reacts with the urine instead of taste unfortunately. Galen named it diarrhea urinosa, 'diarrhea of the urine', in reference to how much you pee. Galen's medical writing was circulated all over the Middle East and, later, Europe in the medieval period, and diabetes was also described by Celsus who's work was circulated throughout early medieval Europe.

they didn't, however, have an effective treatment for it. if you're writing a historical setting it's likely to mean a long, slow, and unpreventable death. "[Aretaeus of Cappadocia] described the disease as 'a melting down of the flesh and limbs into urine' [...] commenting that "life (with diabetes) is short, disgusting and painful'" (wiki). i'll talk more about contemporary treatment below.

TIP 4: a short, disgusting, and painful life is worth writing about

in tip 3, when we talked about the onset of diabetes, we were thinking from the perspective of a character experiencing gradual changes. but death from untreated diabetes might take years, so they have plenty of time to settle into new habits and routines. it's worth thinking about not just how they change, but what kind of person they become, and therefore might already be before your story starts.

you will get access to the untreated diabetic's first person perspective in the narrative discourse if you're writing them from their own point of view in personal first person or subjective third person, as well as in their character's discourse (ie. dialogue) or in their reported speech. we immediately have some interesting questions about such a character's first person perspective:

1. do they know they have diabetes?

2. if so, are they receiving an ineffective treatment?

Avicenna (our Avicenna!) treated diabetes with "a mixture of lupine, trigonella (fenugreek), and zedoary seed" which could not have helped anyone.

3. if so, do they believe that treatment will work?

i have a very unusual form of Type 1 diabetes which is extremely difficult to treat (there isn't a name for it or anything, as far as i know i'm the only one). it took over ten years to stabilize, and i still have to endure a lot of compromises. all the while i also had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, which further confused my and my physician's ability to understand what was happening to me. within my own psychology there were two stages of post-diagnosis experience; an initial faith that i would eventually respond to treatment and everything will go back to normal, and the gradual realisation that help isn't coming. yearning and passivity turn to dejection and stubbornness as doctors stop ordering new tests and i stop asking for them.

4. if they don't know they have diabetes, how do they interpret what's going on with them?

earlier on we talked about a hypothetical diabetic who blamed their lack of work ethic for their problems. how are they doing four years later? they might start identifying with their inaccurate self-image; now they've become a bitter, stubbornly workshy Belacqua.

4. how do they live as someone with untreated diabetes?

remember the symptoms from before; aside from constant urination, exhaustion and losing weight, your sleep becomes very disordered. it is difficult to socialize, keep appointments, work. for myself i have never worked a single day, i no longer leave my house, and i usually sleep during the day. as a teenager and young adult, either before diagnosis or during the unstable period where i did not respond to treatment, i certainly became a different person. i gave up on my physical hobbies and focused on things i could do by myself at any time of day. i read a lot of strange books, i argued with strangers online, and so forth. i was probably never destined to be a normal person, but i certainly became more strange, more reclusive, more self-involved, until i no longer even really share a culture with my neighbours. your untreated diabetic will probably be this way. an eternal stranger; a diseased anchorite, slowly dissolving in the latrine, barely touched by the material world which passes overhead.

many characters in Bloodborne are protrayed that way, but Gilbert is a good point of reference. he is locked in his house—we never see his human form—so we encounter him as a disembodied voice. he is a stranger to Yharnam—he is as alienated from it as the player and becomes our confidant—yet he is also the source of special information. he has certain foreknowledge of his own inevitable death; in conversation he is politely dismissive about it, although you can overhear his terrified pleading.

our experience of Gilbert in Bloodborne is a strictly third person one. Gilbert doesn't want to talk about his health, so his statements in character's discourse are brief and a bit dishonest. the player therefore has to read between the lines. after playing some more of the game they probably assume that Gilbert is suffering from the same beast plague everyone else is. when Gilbert finally turns into a beast and attacks the player we are therefore not surprised, but find our suspicions horribly confirmed. this kind of elenctic delivery, which coaxes knowledge from the reader rather than informs them, is an attractive way to present the symptoms of a secondary character who is only available in third person objective, third person subjective or another character's first person, and the nature of their condition never has to be made explicit. such a character might be—as we suggested earlier—missing or unavailable. they might live alone, not work or socialize, sleep all the time, seem exhausted, and so forth. every time these symptoms present themselves it both explains that character's personality and foreshadows their future, either early death or diagnosis.

all together, the symptoms of untreated diabetes can be part of the penumbra of an interesting character, and the progress of their disease can be a useful and emotionally significant means of advancing the plot. to summarize with a simple example, the protagonists might have to go to a certain character's house because it's known that they won't leave it themselves. then you could have a dramatic scene where the fully dressed detective (for example) has to interrogate the emaciated, barely clothed and barely conscious suspect in her tranny hovel while she lies in bed (or even in the bathroom while she pisses involuntarily). he tries to show her his badge but she can't even see it, "for all i see is white—it means God in heaven must be with me, sir." she makes a rotten smile.

TIP 5: treatment is difficult and prone to human error

the first effective treatments for diabetes came in the 18th century when it was discovered that restricting the intake of sugar improved outcomes. the diet which developed as a treatment resembles what today we call the "Keto diet", containing no sugar and few carbs. a diet like this works because it shifts the burden of energy production to the liver, which begins to turn fat into ketones which are converted into energy in a manner similar to glucose, a state called 'ketosis.' this is actually happening during prolonged hyperglycemia in untreated diabetes as well, since the body isn't converting glucose for energy, but at very high sugars these ketones are more likely to turn acidic in the blood and kill you, which is called 'ketoacidosis.' this happened to me and i had to have my blood flushed (after some emergency asthma treatment raised my blood sugars to toxic levels).

you might be surprised to learn this—most people seem to think there was no effective treatment for Type 1 diabetes until the discovery of insulin in the 1920s, but that isn't the case.

regardless, since the discovery of insulin it has been the first line treatment for diabetes. 1923 is the year that Eli Lilly first produced commercial quantities of insulin, incase period matters. wikipedia has a timeline of insulin milestones (see).

while i spent the last 3,000 words talking about the horrors of untreated diabetes, diabetes which is being managed may be nothing more than a nuisance. there are many diabetic athletes. in one study, "the absolute probability of working was 4.4 percentage points less for women and 7.1 percentage points less for men relative to that of their counterparts without diabetes" (see). that's a noticeable amount, but it still means a minority of diabetics are unemployed because of their diabetes (compare to schizophrenia or autism, where only a small percentage find employment). so diabetes is not necessarily even a disability for most diabetics.

insulin is a very effective treatment. normally the pancreas makes insulin in response to glucose; if you make insulin in response to glucose instead, it's like nothings wrong at all! the point is to take an appropriate amount of insulin relative to the amount of carbohydrates you're consuming. in principle there are no dietary restrictions necessary for a diabetic managing their diabetes with insulin, but in practice refined sugars in things like sweets and sodas raise the sugars too dramatically to manage. diabetics should therefore avoid sugary foods as much as possible, but sugars in foods like cottage cheese which are bound to proteins digest much slower and are much easier to manage.

note: the following descriptions of the treatment of diabetes are based on my own experiences and the experiences of people i've met. they may not represent a worldwide view, may be slightly out of date, and are likely to be partial or limited in other ways.

there is a lot of technique involved in taking insulin, most of it is outside the scope of this post. for your purposes it should be enough to know that there are two types of insulin a typical Type 1 diabetic will use: slow release and fast release. i know these as Lenovo and Novorapid, or green and orange insulin (because of the colour of the pens). a typical diabetic will take some slow release insulin at night, and possibly once or twice during the day, and will take rapid insulin every time they consume carbs. the more carbs, the more insulin. the patient is educated in the relationship between carbs, sugars, glucose and sugar levels and afterwards they are responsible for their own insulin management.

insulin is a completely clear, water-like liquid. it comes in pens with metered doses. doses are very small to allow granularity. most people take double digits of rapid insulin with every meal; i take very small doses, 1-2 units at a time, because i'm extremely sensitive to insulin (part of my strange case). disposable needles are screwed onto the top of the pen and discarded after one use. injection is hypodermic; it is typically injected into the outer thighs or at the bottom of the stomach, but it can be injected elsewhere, such as the butt. pens can be disposable or reusable with disposable cartridges of insulin. the injection is painless in my opinion.

most diabetics will also have a blood-glucose reading kit which tells you what your sugar level is. you do this with meals, anytime you think something might be wrong, and to help make decisions relating to sugars (eg. can i wait and order takeout or do i need to eat right now?). to take a blood reading, a disposable strip is inserted into a small computer with a digital screen. the user pricks their finger with a lancet needle (a sort of small needle gun) and draws blood that way. this is a lot more painful than taking insulin!

all that sounds pretty good, right? so why the ominous headline? well, it's very easy to mess this up. if you take too little insulin then you're going to be high blood sugars again. you might feel lightheaded and tired, but short-term high sugars aren't really a big deal. the problem is that you can take too much insulin. apart from mere forgetfulness, there are many situations in life where we end up with less carbs on our plate than we predict. burning some food, ordering at a restauraunt, and other situations out of your control can present dangers any time you have already taken insulin. while you can delay taking rapid insulin until the food is ready, your long-acting insulin is always ticking down. taking too much insulin by mistake or missing a meal entirely because of circumstance happens more often than you think it would, and it always leads to

TIP 6: Hpyoglycemia... Living Hell

shaking hands, vertigo, cold sweat, nausea, intense dysphoria. none of it really does it justice; hypoglycemia is an overwhelming, all-consuming hunger. but it's not a hunger in your stomach, it's like a hunger with your whole body.

if you don't treat a hypo you'll pass out. then you'll die. i have passed out from a hypo before and had to be taken to hospital; my grandfather fortunately found me lying unconscious, otherwise i would have died. while its hard to get to this stage under normal circumstances—you cannot fail to notice hypoglycemia, it's so intense—humans are not always in normal circumstances. especially in a story, you're often talking about abnormal circumstances. getting lost in the forest, your car breaking down in the desert, getting shipwrecked, or even getting locked out of your apartment. these are all potentially lethal predicaments for a diabetic with insulin in their system, their sugars inexorably ticking down to nothing. it's a very dramatic situation which can turn things which are small inconveniences for other characters into life or death situations for the diabetic. meanwhile, hypoglycemia impairs your ability to resolve your situation.

hypoglycemia is used as a plot device in this way in Paul Blart Mall Cop. actually, it's used in a very funny way. they're doing the 'Dark Night of the Soul' beat, where the hero has to look like they're on the verge of defeat, but they turn it around for the climax. so all the action is going on—whatever the hell it is that happens in that movie—and Blart enters hypoglycemia at the worst time. he's lying on the floor, incapacitated... defeated by his illness, just like back in the Police Academy... when he finds—miraculously—just out of reach—a lollipop! sugar! shots of him struggling to reach the lollipop are intercut with the rising action in the A plot. then once he reaches it, it's all gross because it was on the floor. comic gag of him eating a gross, floor lollipop... and then he leaps into action and saves the day!

it's very funny, and part of what makes it funny is how incredibly inaccurate it is. sucking on a lollipop basically gives Blart superpowers; in his post-hypo sugar rush he can accomplish things he couldn't even accomplish normally. it certainly doesn't work that way, you're really going to be in a daze all day and should be in bed. but this goes over while you're watching. what's funny is that they're turning the language of blockbuster cinema to a very mundane, stupid situation, to which it cannot possibly really apply. it's absurd that a diabetic mall cop can turn into a Sylvester Stalone-like movie hero with the help of a piece of candy, and that's the joke the movie is making.

so you can take a lot of artistic license here, and lean on the drama, and the audience will understand. Paul Blart Mall Cop actually takes something like the first step towards making diabetes into a generic narrative disease like Amneisa the way we discussed. by the way, there's another Kevin James movie, Hitch, which does a similar thing with Asthma. in that movie, the Asthma of Jame's character, Albert Brennaman, is made into an image for his imperfection and thus low status as a person (which makes him incompatible with the very high-status woman he is in love with). because asthma attacks take us by surprise, he must use his inhaler at times not of his choosing, and inconveniently expose his poor health and, poetically, his low status. Hitch, the date coach, attempts to make him mask his low-status and, consequently, his asthma, bad advice which Brennaman overcomes in the finale when he opens his big gesture to the leading lady with a few puffs of his inhaler.

it's a bit wasted on those movies, but it's actually very good writing—it's a very good way to use impairments, making them plot devices, poetic motifs and sources of comic relief, without being at all mean spirited.

anyway. there are, again, two ways to depict hypoglycemia: the first-person view of the diabetic, available to personal first person or subjective third person narrators, or the third-person view of another character, available to the rest.

in third person, the hypo is another way in which diabetes is naturally denpa. on this occasion, when we encounter this character, they are acting differently—not just strange, but scarcely human. possessed, possibly even violent. once when i entered hypoglycemia in town i had to try and navigate to a shop and buy a can of soda, since i didn't have anything with me to help. i managed to find a shop, grab a soda and navigate to the till, but i missed the queue entirely and pushed infront of an old lady. she interrupted me to scold me, but once i turned around—i don't know what she saw in me, but she immediately became very frightened and apologized. the situation is even worse for a diabetic who doesn't understand their condition and doesn't know how to help themselves.

if you choose a coy narrator and withold the fact that they're diabetic, or presently low blood sugars, from the reader, you can present a lot of confusing signals to them. it naturally creates an enigma which the reader wishes to solve. and if you choose a narrator who is free to interpret the situation for the reader, such as the rhetorical third person narrator, then it is once again a situation to stage tragic ironies—conflicts or confusions which the reader understands, but which the diabetic character cannot communicate.

it's also a captivating way to introduce a character for the first time. here it's a bit like Father Gascoigne in Bloodborne, who we only meet in person after his blood-craze has begun—sweet blood, ooh, it sings to me—but before and afterwards we have the chance to hear reports about his loving faterhood and doting family.

from the first person, it's probably going to be a bit of a challenge to represent hypogycemia. it is characterized by a total distortion of the inner experience. i generally don't remember what happens during one, but if i do, it is not at all what others recall. only certain prose styles—highly emotional, subjective ones, such as the stream of consciousness—will really be appropriate. it is acceptable to treat it as a blackout, accessible only through vague flashbacks. however, if you are writing a highly emotionally intense story which cares a lot about the inner experience of its characters, hypoglycemia may be an alluring state to paint with. i am not aware of any attempt to render this in prose fiction. Serious Weakness has scenes a bit like that, for other reasons, that's the closest i can compare it, or else some of the junk sickness sequences in Burroughs.

TIP 7: diabetes means being sick all the time

this is a rather minor point, but diabetes is an autoimmune disorder. your immune system is very compromised. you get sick all the time, sometimes for reasons you can't specify. i have severe flu-like symptoms a lot of the year.

in conclusion, i think Type 1 diabetes is a very strange disease with a lot of alarming symptoms which no one is really exploiting in fiction. a lot of our everyday experiences as diabetics lend themselves well to fictional situations and there's a lot of room for the writer to use their artistic license. depending on how you choose to narrate the symptoms of diabetes it can take on many different appearances and colours and therefore fit into a lot of stories. and much of this is probably true not just of diabetes, but of disorders and impairments in general. it's up to you to decide how and why you want to write about impairment, the 'moral' organization of your story which this post doesn't care about. hope that helps you write something, fuckers!

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