#i have woken up unable to move or sit up because of migraines and needed to call in with minimal movement

[thedreadvampy]

Kinda pissy bc in my return to work interview (my line manager is on leave so my senior manager did it) she said oooh you've had 7 absences this year that's kind of a lot

but I just looked back through my calendar and I would say actually it's 5 1/2. Cause one I had a PTSD episode at lunchtime and called my boss in tears from my kitchen floor and I was gonna take the remaining 2.5 hours of my day off and work them back later and she was like nah man shut up you're off sick you don't owe anyone that time back. so that was not even a whole day it was like. A longish meeting's worth of time.

but also one illness is recorded as two absences because. and this'll teach me. I had flu but we had a tight deadline so I was off for a day, then came on to work for a day to meet that deadline, then I was off the next day, still with flu. so that's two separate absences. because I came into work when I should have been resting.

so like. Fuck me for trying I guess.

(it's not super relevant cause there's no real unifying condition that needs action. MH episode, migraine, flu, food poisoning, migraine, COVID. and we know about the migraines and have stuff in place to minimise them. It just seems fucked up to me that it counts more against me that I came in in the middle of 2 days of sick leave than that I've been off for a solid week.)

[honey-dewey]

Two

Frankie Morales/Reader

Word Count: 2,691

Warnings: Depressed Frankie, big angst with lots of hurt/comfort

Short A/N: Inspired by the ‘Sleeping at Last’ song titled “Two.” It is not necessary to listen to the song, but it does help. 

Frankie has a very bad day and somehow winds up at his best friend’s house. When he walks through the door, he’s met with their voice, singing something soft and comforting. Of course, when they see him in the state he’s in, they start to sing something else. Something that truly exposes every emotion in the room. 

Frankie rarely had very bad days. 

Sure, he had days where everything sucked and he just wanted to crawl under the covers and hide, but those were simple dime a dozen bad days. He had one of those every few weeks, and he knew how to deal with them. A cup of coffee and a phone call usually did the trick to shake away the brain fog. 

However, every so often, about once every five or six months, shit just went sideways for Frankie. His bad days were ten times worse than they should be. Everything broke until he wasn’t sure if anything would be okay ever again. 

Today was one of those days. 

In reality, he should’ve seen it coming. The past week had been absolute garbage. He’d gotten into trouble at his job on Monday and was now on permanent watch for a month, one of his best friends had broken their leg at midnight on Tuesday and he’d been in the hospital until three in the morning that night, he’d been getting less and less sleep until his nights were just as long as his days, and the boys were all busy this weekend and they’d have to skip movie night.

In retrospect, it was the perfect recipe for a very bad day. 

When he’d woken up to dismally grey weather and a raging migraine on Friday, he decided the universe was definitely out to get him. 

He just barely managed to drag himself through work, simply sitting there with his head low and his back bent as he did his repetitive job, the glare off the computer doing no favors for his pounding head. He didn’t even really react when his boss reprimanded him for mixing up the files. He just took the slap on the wrist with an increasingly heavy heart and headed silently out to his car. 

He ended up in a tailspin when he left work that night, going from place to place and just sitting in his truck upon arriving, numb until he managed to put his foot on the pedal and drive off. It wasn’t until he passed your townhouse three times that he actually managed to put the car in park in your driveway and slowly walk up to your front door. 

When you’d gotten your own house, Frankie was the first and only one to get a spare key. A spare key he now shoved into the lock and turned, hearing the door unlock. He stepped into the entryway, dropping his keys on their hook and shuffling out of his boots. He may be horribly depressed, but he wasn’t uncivilized.

“Frankie?” Your voice echoed from upstairs, soft music playing in the background that you’d been singing along to. He almost recognized the song, some cheery holiday tune you listened to all year long. “Frankie, is that you?” 

Frankie didn’t say anything. He simply stood in your tiny entryway, numb and quiet. He didn’t have the energy to respond, or to walk up the stairs to see you. He merely waited, watery eyes focused on the rapidly blurring carpet on your stairs. 

“Frankie?” You repeated, stopping in your singing when he remained silent. “You okay down there?” 

Your mismatched footsteps did little to break him out of his own head, the cast covered in signatures slowing you down as you came down the stairs and stood in front of Frankie. You were wearing old red pj pants with white polka dots and an oversized Fleetwood Mac shirt that you’d definitely stolen from him at one point. “Oh Frankie,” you murmured, slowly tracing your hands over his cheeks. “Bad day?” 

“Very,” Frankie choked out, leaning into your touch. He knew he looked awful, his face sunken and pale from lack of regular food and the significantly low amount of sleep he’d been getting. You made a small noise of sympathy, taking his hands. 

“Let’s go upstairs,” you said softly, pulling Frankie along as you headed into the kitchen. You knew, in this state, that Frankie was pliant, his brain shut off entirely as he lost himself in his own depression. It hurt your heart to see him focus so hard on walking up the stairs, his brows furrowed as he put everything he had into lifting his feet and slowly shuffling upwards. It was so unlike that active and cheery Frankie you knew so dearly. 

The music changed when you two reached the kitchen, and your eyes brightened as you got an idea. You grabbed your phone, keeping a firm hand wrapped around Frankie’s hand. As you scrolled, you kicked a chair out with your good foot and put your phone on the table so you could urge Frankie to sit down. Continuing to flick through your playlist, you finally found just the right song and hit play. 

“Sweetheart, you look a little tired, when did you last eat?” You sang softly along with the music, snapping Frankie out of his thoughts. You’d sang this to your cousins when they’d been sick and to Santi when he’d been panicking over a minor surgery he needed. It was a lullaby you sang to the boys when they couldn’t sleep after getting too drunk and it had slowly morphed into a genuine comfort. However, Frankie had never heard the first word be ‘sweetheart.’ You always said ‘Dear boys’ or ‘dear heart.’ 

“Come in and make yourself right at home, stay as long as you need.” You continued, handing Frankie a slice of pizza off a tray resting on the counter. It was still warm, but not hot, just the way he liked it. He looked down at it, a sudden horrible hunger consuming his stomach as he finally realized he’d been neglecting food all day. 

You sat at the table with him as he ate the pizza, slowly singing more of the song until Frankie was entirely relaxed into your kitchen chair. “Tell me, is something wrong? If something's wrong, you can count on me. You know I'll take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat.” 

He felt something hit his hand, looking down and seeing a tear. Which was the moment he realized he was crying. Immediately, you stood, wrapping Frankie in a hug and allowing him to bury his head into your chest and finally, for the first time all day, let out every emotion he was feeling.

“It's okay if you can't find the words. Let me take your coat, and this weight off of your shoulders,” you sang gently, taking Frankie’s hat off and resting it on the table. You carded through his hair, swaying slightly as he cried into your shirt. 

Frankie pulled away, wiping his eyes and looking up at you. You smiled, scratching his scruff and putting your hands on his cheeks, the coolness of your fingertips positively burning his skin. 

“Like a force to be reckoned with, a mighty ocean or a gentle kiss. I will love you with every single thing I have,” you sang, moving your hands and pressing kisses into the patches in his facial hair. “Like a tidal wave, I'll make a mess. Or calm waters, if that serves you best. I will love you without any strings attached.” 

Frankie froze. He’d never heard this bit of the song before. “What?” 

You stopped, not bothering to pause the music that kept playing without you singing another line. “Oh Fish, darling, you’re a mess. Are you okay?” 

Frankie nodded, slowly putting a shaking hand on your shoulder. The return of the nickname caused a hole in his chest to open, keening softly until you asked what was wrong. 

“Fish,” he whispered out, beyond the lump of tears that seemed to be choking him. 

You nodded, understanding every word he managed to pack into that one trembling syllable. 

“Okay Frankie,” you said, pouring all the love you could muster into his name. “It’s okay. I hear you.” 

You smiled, poking his nose and gently urging him to his feet after a minute. “C’mon Frankie. You need sleep.” 

He was limp putty in your hands as you slowly tugged him up the stairs once more, going as slow as he needed to. You opened your bedroom door and guided him to the bed, gently kissing his hairline. 

“I’ll be right back,” you promised, pulling away. “Just gonna go set something up, okay?” 

Frankie nodded, watching you go with blurring vision. He desperately wanted to call you back, to feel your arms around his body and let himself sink into you, losing every aspect of himself.

The sound of running water and your mismatched footsteps snapped Frankie out of his immediate misery. He lifted his head and watched you return to him, holding out your hands. 

“I love you,” you said with a smile, pulling Frankie to his feet. “But you smell and you’re covered in sweat.” 

He followed you into the bathroom, where your bathtub was already filling, a layer of bubbles sitting on top of the rippling water. The entire bathroom smelled familiar, and Frankie realized, watching you crouch down to grab something from your bathroom cabinet, that you’d used your favorite lavender honey soap. The one you saved for special occasions. 

“Do you want help?” You asked, straightening and smoothing a hand over the edge of Frankie’s shirt sleeve. He nodded, a tiny bit of embarrassment pooling in his stomach. Not because he was nervous about you seeing him naked, because you’d already seen him naked multiple times and he’d stopped being ashamed a while ago. He just hated that he had to ask for help undressing, like he was a toddler unable to care for themself. 

You, however, simply took the bottom edge of his shirt and lifted it, carefully folding the shirt once it was off and placing it on the bathroom counter. His pants followed, then his underwear and socks, until you were holding his hands and keeping him balanced as he stepped into the tub. 

The water was perfectly warm, surrounding Frankie and giving him life as he sunk lower. You smiled, seeing his muscles finally relax somewhat. “Will you be okay if I go grab a cup of water for you?” 

Frankie nodded, watching you turn the water off and walk out of the bathroom, leaving the door open so he could hear you going down the stairs and filling a cup with water. You came back up as quickly as you could, soft music following you and growing louder as you got closer. 

You set the water down on the counter, next to the folded clothes. Along with the cup, you put your phone down, still playing that gentle music. 

“C’mere,” you murmured to Frankie, slowly dragging a stool over and sitting at the back of the tub. “C’mon honey, come here.” 

He moved without thinking, shifting in the water until he was in front of you, entirely vulnerable to your actions. 

Those actions being you lifting a worn out plastic cup and slowly pouring the warm water over Frankie’s head. One hand moved to his forehead, shielding his face from the water. He leaned backwards, head tipping towards you. His eyes closed as you continued, rhythmically soaking his hair until you deemed it okay for shampoo. 

Which was when Frankie really melted. 

You smiled, watching every tiny movement he made as you massaged shampoo into his hair. His entire body went limp, softly saying things that weren’t English as you kept going, if only to help relax him. 

After shampoo came the conditioner, which he didn’t fight you over. Usually, he just washed his hair and kept going, not bothering to do anything fancy to it. But under your firm fingers, he let you do whatever you wanted. 

Finally, you were done, leaving Frankie with a bar of his favorite soap and a small kiss on the forehead. 

“I’ll be back, okay?” You said softly, holding his face in your hands. 

Frankie hummed, still not ready for solid words in a language you’d understand yet. You smiled, kissing the tip of his nose and walking out, leaving him to wash his body on his own. 

It was a laborious task for him at the moment, but by the time you’d returned, he had done it, and you rewarded him with ample praise as you drained the tub and helped him out. 

“Think you can dry yourself off?” You asked, holding out a towel. 

Frankie shrugged, looking down at the old towel you were offering. “Ayudame?” 

You smiled. Over the years, Frankie and Santiago had been teaching you some Spanish, just in case, but mostly for fun. You knew the basics, and it was enough to know what Frankie needed right now. “Okay. Come closer honey.” 

Frankie grinned slightly at the nickname, and your heart swelled upon seeing his smile. “How do you say that in Spanish?” You asked, starting to towel him dry. 

“El cariño.” 

You nodded, tapping his shoulder and nudging Frankie lower so you could reach his hair. “El cariño,” you repeated softly, running your fingers through his hair and making it stick up. You smiled, handing him the towel. “Think you can do the rest?” 

Frankie nodded, so you left him alone to grab some spare clothes. Digging out an old ass shirt that no longer had a legible logo and a pair of sweatpants, you headed back into the bathroom, seeing Frankie already in his underwear. 

“Here we are,” you said, holding out the sweatpants. “Can you get it?” 

Again, Frankie nodded, slowly putting his pants on. When you held his shirt out, he looked at you with pleading eyes, and you helped him slide it on. 

“I think it’s time for bed,” you said, taking Frankie’s hand and guiding him to your bed. “Left or right?” 

Frankie got into the bed, immediately sliding to the left side. You crawled into the bed as well, turning the lights out and letting the moon filtering through the slats in your blinds illuminate Frankie’s exhausted form. 

He made a small noise, spurring you to scoot closer, until he was firmly cuddled up to your chest. You scratched through his damp hair, pressing kisses into his warm skin. You knew that tomorrow you’d have the usual Frankie back. Cheerful and goofy and simply a best friend. But tonight, right now, you got cuddly and broken Frankie. The Frankie who needed to be praised and held and slowly put back together again. The Frankie who needed a lover. 

“I love you Frankie,” you murmured, looking down at the top of his head. “I love you so much.” 

“Yo también te amo, cariño,” Frankie mumbled, his half asleep voice gliding over you and giving you chills. 

The next morning was nothing like you expected. 

You woke up to the warmth of Frankie’s arms around you, cuddled up to him, head resting on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat and feel his chest rising and falling with gentle, half-asleep breaths. Rolling over and sitting up with the intent to check the time, you squeaked as Frankie pulled you back into his chest. 

“Five more minutes, cariño,” he mumbled, eyes still closed as he chased another moment of sleep. 

You sighed. “You get another five Fish. I want coffee.” 

Frankie opened his eyes, showing heartbreaking betrayal. “Stay?” 

You were a sucker for that look, so you took a deep breath and hunkered down for another five minutes. 

Which turned into half an hour of mindless cuddling, but that was okay. 

“Hey Frankie,” you mumbled at one point, once the sun had fully risen and was painting your bedsheets with waves of golden light. “Did you mean it last night?” 

“Yeah.” Frankie propped himself up on his elbow, looking at you. “Did you?” 

You sat up, reaching out to grab his face and kiss him, morning breath and all. 

“Yeah. I did.” 

Needless to say, Frankie’s bad days may have been terrible and numbing and so desolate he thought he had no one to turn to. But he didn’t. He had you. He would always have you.

[rudypankwow]

migraine | jj maybank

not my gif!

you get a migraine while out on the boat and jj takes care of you because he’s amazing and i love him

requested: nope! (requests are open)

warnings: i hardly proofread this, so much fluff

word count: 969

masterlist

a/n: i get migraines a lot so i based this off of the symptoms i get!! pls send me some requests :)

It had been such a nice day. You had woken up to the smell of Sarah and Kie cooking breakfast. You snuck out of bed and tried to not wake JJ, and went to help the two of them finish up. The guys joined you not long after, scarfing down their food before grabbing the fishing poles and cases of beer and ushering everyone onto the boat.

You were all having a great time, until a few hours in. You knew you should have brought more water, you’re horribly prone to migraines, and it’s worse when you’re dehydrated. And the lack of shade didn’t help anything.

You knew something was wrong when your vision started to go. You stopped and looked down at your feet, completely unable to focus on your toes. Without question you knew a migraine was coming.

You looked around, searching for JJ, who was luckily on the boat and not somewhere in the water. You quickly walked over, sitting down next to him and squeezing your eyes shut before pressing your forehead against his shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks, reaching his hand over to squeeze your knee.

“Mhm,” you hum, “just getting a migraine.”

He moves his hand from your knee to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says. He presses a kiss in your hair. “Do you want me to ask JB to head back?”

“No, no,” you say, “I’m okay for now.” You pick your head up from his shoulder, squinting your eyes to look at him. He grabs the sides of your face and places a kiss on your nose. He notices that you’re starting to sweat and grabs the hair tie from your wrist and reaches back to tie your hair back in a low ponytail. You smile at the gesture, his sweetness combined with your head beginning to pound just about bringing you to tears.

“Do you have any medicine with you?” he asks, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. You nod, murmuring into his shirt that it’s somewhere in your bag. You don’t hear him ask for the bag, but within seconds it’s in his hands and he’s going into the front pouch where he remembers you keep the pills. “Baby, can you just sit up for one second so I can grab some water.” You sit up and lean against the side of the boat, and he stands up and quickly grabs his bottle of water, turning back to you and holding out the pills. “Those are the right ones, right?” he asks. You smile and nod, grabbing the water and the pills and taking the medicine before leaning down and laying your head in his lap.

You close your eyes and try to fall asleep, knowing that even a half an hour of rest would help. “Baby,” JJ hums, “I’m gonna put a t-shirt over your head so you can rest a bit without worrying about the light, okay?” You nod and give him a thumbs up and he laughs. He places the shirt over your head and you instantly feel slightly better, and he feels you let out a small sigh. As you start to drift off, you feel him reach a hand under the t-shirt, running his fingers through your hair.

You don’t know how long your asleep, but the next thing you know, the boat is moving. You sigh and roll over in JJ’s lap, pulling the shirt off your head to look up at him. Your head still hurts, but your vision has come back and you feel much better.

He looks down at you and pokes your nose. “How are you feeling, babe?”

You smile and tuck your fingers under his shirt, tracing patterns on the warm skin. “A lot better,” you hum. “How long was I out?” you ask. “You could have woken me up to go have fun.”

“Just an hour,” he says. “We needed to start heading back anyway because Pope wouldn’t stop complaining about how hungry he was and we were out of food.” He looks up at Pope and shoots him a fake dirty look, and he yells back a “hey!”, causing the rest of the group to laugh.

John B hands you another water bottle as you sit up. “You feeling better, (y/n)?”

“I mean my head’s still pounding,” you say, “but I can see again so that’s something, right?” You push some hair out of your face and smile, feeling JJ’s arm wrap around your waist as you sit up.

“Well,” John B says, “we’re almost back and then you can sleep for the rest of the day.”

You laugh, “Oh, you know I’m gonna.” Kie and Sarah laugh and John B leans down to ruffle your hair.

The rest of the ride back is mostly silent, with the exceptional joke and teasing of Pope for making everyone head back. When you finally dock, JJ grabs your bag and jumps off the boat to offer you a hand and help you step out. He laces his fingers with yours, and walks inside with you, pulling you into John B’s spare room. He finds you a large t-shirt and hands it to you, and you change out of your swimsuit and into his shirt.

You sigh and drop down onto the bed next to him, and he pulls you into him, tilting your chin up and giving you a chaste kiss. He runs his thumb across your cheek as you look back at him. “Love you,” he whispers.

You lean up and kiss his cheek. “Thanks for taking care of me.” You rest your head back on his chest, your face falling into his neck.

He wraps his arms around you a little tighter. “Always.”

[pastelwitchling]

This prompt is a gift for @draculaspetbee.

I have no idea how Synesthesia actually works, but I hope this is close enough.

***

               Alex had never seen Michael bleed that much before.

               He was used to pain, used to injuries, used to having his skin sewed up and his bones dislocated and his muscles strained. But seeing Michael lying on the floor like that with his head in a pool of his own blood, that was enough to shatter him.

               Alex’s left foot tapped the tiled ground nervously. He felt Isobel’s hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see her giving him half a smile. The best she could muster.

               Alex knew he shouldn’t have seemed so worried, but Max was pacing back and forth and Isobel more clutched Alex’s shoulder than merely touched it and no one had come to tell them anything about Michael and he was losing his mind just waiting here.

               He stood. Michael wouldn’t have waited if it had been Alex who was injured. Michael would’ve stormed in there and demanded to know what was going on. At the very least, he wouldn’t have wanted to leave Alex alone.

               Sure, a small voice taunted. Keep telling yourself that.

               Alex shoved it down, inhaling deeply, even as he sat back down and resumed tapping his foot. After what felt like days, or it may have been minutes, Kyle stepped out. Despite the fact that Max was already standing, it was Alex who first spoke.

               “Is he okay?”

               “He’s fine,” Kyle said with a sigh. “And working on my last nerve. He took a real hit to the head, luckily his skull is pretty thick already.”

               “Kyle,” Alex said, exasperated, and Kyle held up a hand.

               “Sorry, sorry, thought it’d relieve the tension,” he said. “Look, he had minor brain damage, but the acetone’s already fixing it as we speak.”

               “Will it give him any problems?” Max asked as Isobel thoughtlessly tugged on the hem of Alex’s jacket.

               “He may start seeing spots, may have some trouble remembering what happened, but like I said, the nail polish remover is doing its job. Any side-effects should be gone by the end of the day.”

               Alex nodded. “Thanks, Kyle.”

               “Sure,” Kyle said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some alien MRIs to burn before anybody starts asking questions. Isobel, I could really use your help. With your mind control, I can be quick.”

               “I told you,” Isobel said, still nervously glancing at the hospital door. “It’s not mind control.”

“Whatever, Yoda. Come on.”

               Isobel followed him with a roll of her eyes, and Max raised his brow at Alex. Alex shrugged. “We had a Star Wars marathon.”

               *

               Michael didn’t need the bandages. He’d told Kyle as much when he’d woken up with a throbbing migraine.

               “It’s a headache,” Michael had complained. “I’m fine!”

               “You want to go out there and tell my colleagues why you came in with a blunt head injury and walked out healed? Now, stop whining, lay back down, and try to rest, or so help me God, I will kill you myself!”

               Michael huffed, scratching at the bandage with one hand and chugging down another bottle of acetone with the other. In truth, aside from a slight headache, he didn’t feel as if he’d been attacked by an evil clone of his brother at all.

               Then Kyle’s phone went off, and Michael froze. It rang with a familiar song. Michael didn’t have the time to discern what song exactly because a wave of colors – gray and dull yellow – suddenly flashed before him. He winced and nearly dropped his bottle of nail polish remover.

               Just as soon as the colors started, they stopped. Kyle had shut off the ringing with a groan.

“Geez, sorry,” he muttered, checking the screen before he stuffed it back into his pocket. “Forget to turn that off. You okay?”

               Michael realized he was clutching his head and staring at the wall ahead of him. But where there had been faint colors only a second ago, there was now only white tiles.

               “What – uh – what was that?”

               “What was what?”

               “The colors,” Michael said. “I saw something gray and…” but even as he said them, he realized how ridiculous he sounded.

               Kyle, on the other hand, didn’t seem to want to mock him. His expression softened fractionally, a look Michael had no doubt he perfected while working with patients that believed they were detrimentally ill even when they were, in reality, perfectly fine.

               “You’re still healing, remember?” he said not unkindly. “Your head suffered some damage, there will be repercussions. Don’t be surprised if you saw a little more than a few weird things today.”

               Michael slumped in his seat. “Great,” he groaned, rubbing his eyes. He made a silent vow that, the next time he saw Mr. Jones, he was going to throttle him with his bare hands.

               “Stop whining,” Kyle said. “Max and Isobel are here.” He paused. “So is Alex.”

               At Alex’s name, Michael looked up. He tried not to look too eager, but Kyle seemed to already have caught him.

               “Yeah,” the doctor muttered as he headed towards the door. “Knew that would cheer you up.”

               Soon Max and Alex were coming in, Alex had his hands in his pockets, his head tilted slightly in that way it usually did when he was trying to look a person over for injuries and not let on that he was doing it. Michael tried not to smile as he thought of Alex worried for him.

               “So?” he prompted. “How do I look?”

               Max scoffed as Alex took a seat on the edge of Michael’s bed, beside his feet. Michael realized the armchair was free, but chose not to mention it.

               “Funny,” Alex said quietly. Now that they were sitting so closely together, Michael could see the dark circles around the airman’s eyes, his hollow cheeks, the frown lines etched into the corners of his mouth.

               His heart stuttered as he wondered how long it had been since Alex had slept.

               “Kyle says you’re gonna be okay,” Max said. “How’re you feeling?”

               Just a headache, Michael almost said, and considered what would happen if he said he was all right. Alex would probably leave, return to Forrest who was probably waiting for him at their shared home. He swallowed.

               “Like… someone bashed my head in with a hammer,” he said slowly, and Alex’s concern grew. Michael slumped his shoulders and leaned heavily on his pillows for effect, and his heart leapt when he saw Alex scoot closer to him on the bed, as if unable to help but come to his rescue.

               Max gave him an exasperated look that so clearly said, Are you seriously going to do this? Luckily, Alex didn’t seem to be paying him any attention, his eyes focused solely on Michael.

               “Should I get you more acetone?” Alex asked and moved to stand. “I think I still have some bottles in my car.”

               “No!” Michael yelled, grabbing Alex’s wrist before he realized everyone in the room was staring at him in silence. “Uh – I mean, you know, it doesn’t hurt that bad. I’ll survive it… I guess.”

               “Oh,” Alex blinked. “O-Okay. Then I’ll just… stay here.”

               Michael nodded solemnly. “I think that would be best. Max, you don’t have to wait here.”

               “Mmm,” Max hummed dryly, his lips pursed. “Well, in that case, I don’t think Alex really needs to be here either.”

               “Alex stays.”

               “Michael,” Max said through grit teeth. “He’s not a machine, he needs to rest. Same thing you should be doing.”

               “He can rest here,” Michael argued.

               “Where? You want him to sleep in the chair? And anyway, he hasn’t eaten either.”

               “Um,” Alex tried. “Guys –”

               “He can eat here, too!” Michael started and flinched loudly as Max’s alarm went off this time. The sound echoed throughout his skull, like there were loudspeakers placed in every corner, and then projecting out before him in a slide of colors, splashing against the walls and the people around him. Different shades of reds, purples, pinks, and white moving before him, creating wave after wave, like an ocean coming for him.

               It took Michael a while to realize that Alex was shaking him.

               “Guerin,” he tried. “Guerin, are you okay? Max, quickly, call Kyle.”

               Max’s phone seemed to have been stuck because he was roughly tapping the screen now, silencing the alarm. At once, the colors around him began to fade.

               “No,” he said, his voice ragged, though he couldn’t say why. “I don’t need Kyle, I’m fine, just… tell me you saw that, too.”

               Alex and Max exchanged confused looks. “Saw what?” Max asked, and Michael shook his head, pressing the bottoms of his hands into his eyes.

               “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Michael whined low in his throat.

               “Guerin?” Michael looked up as Alex put a hand on his shoulder. “Tell us what you’ve been seeing.”

Alex still looked concerned, but there was a steely expression beneath it, a resolve to protect no matter the opposition. Michael didn’t think there was anyone who could love as much as he loved Alex.

Michael shook his head. “It’s like every time any music or alarm plays, I just see colors jumping out at me.”

Max looked confused a moment, then he looked to Alex. “That’s not a real thing, is it?”

“I think it is,” Alex scratched his jaw. “It’s rare though. Something like synthe – syna – something.”

“Should we be worried?”

“Nah,” Alex said thoughtfully, his hand still on Michael’s shoulder. Michael tried his luck and tugged at Alex’s wrist. As he spoke, Alex moved to sit next to Michael on the bed. He seemed to hardly notice as Michael leaned into him, putting his head on Alex’s shoulder. “Kyle did say he had brain damage, but it’s healing as we speak. I think it’ll be gone by the end of the day.”

“No kidding?” Max whistled. “So you can actually see colors? What, like, coming out of the phone?”

“No, just,” he shrugged helplessly. “Everywhere.”

“That’s sounds so cool,” Alex said into Michael’s hair. “And terrifying at the same time.”

“Michael,” Max said, exasperated. “Would you get off him already?”

“He’s not complaining,” Michael argued.

“Guys –”

“Because he’s too nice to, but he does have to get back to Forrest at some point.”

“You just had to bring him up, huh?”

“Sort of, he is Alex’s boyfriend.”

“Guys,” Alex cut in, laughing. Michael’s eyes fluttered at the sound, and he could’ve sworn he saw a shimmer of gold swim before his eyes. “I’m fine. Forrest knows Michael’s here, and he won’t expect me back until morning.”

“But, Alex, you –”

“Max, really,” he said kindly. “It’s okay.”

Max sighed, and Michael could feel his glare, but he chose to cling to Alex’s waist instead, turning his face into the airman’s shoulder and inhaling his scent. He felt Alex chuckle, Alex’s arm coming around his shoulder, keeping him safe and warm.

“Okay,” Max said, rubbing his face. “I’m gonna go check on Isobel. Don’t worry about leaving, Alex, no matter what he tells you.”

“Got it,” Alex laughed, and again, Michael blinked rapidly as more gold and silver shimmered before his eyes.

I wonder if . . .

“Hey,” he murmured against Alex’s shoulder when Max was gone. “Sing for me.”

“What?”

“Sing that song you wrote,” Michael said.

“Oh,” Alex said quietly, and Michael slowly took his hand. He pressed Alex’s palm against his own jaw, and turned into the touch, inhaling his scent.

“You won’t do it for me, Private?”

Alex scoffed into his hair. Michael’s eyes fluttered and he tilted his head up a little more, until Alex’s lips were touching his forehead. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he and Alex were together, and there was no Forrest waiting for him to go home to him in a few hours.

“Getting a little too cozy, aren’t you?”

“Does it bother you?” Michael asked, and pressed further into Alex’s side. “I’m hurt, you know. I need you more than he does.”

“Guerin, you can’t say stuff like that.”

“I don’t care,” he said, and pressed his face into the crook of Alex’s neck. “Sing for me, Private.”

Alex said nothing for a moment, and Michael wondered if he would suddenly decide to leave, and Michael would be left in the cold again, only able to imagine Alex’s body against his. Then –

Would you meet me in the middle?

Could we both stop keeping score?

There’s a battle I must fight alone,

It’s you I’m fighting for...

Michael’s heart thrashed in his chest. He wanted to close his eyes to the sound, fall asleep to Alex’s song. He knew it would be less painful than staying awake and watching Alex leave, but as shades of gold, silver, and different shades of blue began playing out before him, Michael found he couldn’t look away.

As Alex sang, it was like entire galaxies were unfolding. Golden sunlight, the dust of stars, deep and pale hues of blue and purple and pink. He should’ve known that Alex’s music was unlike any other, Alex’s voice a remnant of the planets that had come together to create him. He couldn’t tell Alex what he was seeing – he hardly understood it himself. But it felt like having lightning in a bottle, this moment. Alex’s voice in his ears, his music playing out before Michael in an array of colors that the galaxies couldn’t rival.

“Guerin?” Alex said softly, and the colors slowly began to fade. Michael realized he was clutching Alex’s hand too tightly, his other arm tightening around Alex’s waist.

He quickly let go, sitting up. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Alex said. “What’d you see?”

Michael shook his head. “I don’t know. But it… it was amazing.”

“Yeah?”

Michael nodded. A moment of silence. Then, Alex’s hand came gently around his head, and he was guided back onto Alex’s shoulder, their bodies pressed together at the sides.

“Alex…” Michael breathed as he felt Alex’s other hand in his hair, raking his curls back.

“I have a little more time,” Alex said quietly, as if embarrassed by his own words, but unable to stop. “I’ll keep singing.”

So he started again, and just as they had before, colors of gold, silver, blues and pinks and purple surrounded them, turning the world around them to something better than a rainbow, better than the stars, better than anything.

Michael hugged Alex’s waist as he listened, as he watched, and he realized, in an ironic sort of way, that the home he’d been working so hard to return to, the reason he’d been fixing that old spaceship for so long, had come to him now because of Alex.

[trance-griff]

Kyoka Jiro x Kaminari Denki Part Two

Word count (pt.2): 1716

Warnings: None, just fluff.

Part three 

                                            ■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

Kaminari Denki woke up that morning groggily, throwing off the blanket to the side, a hand reaching down to scratch his exposed stomach before sitting up with the loudest yawn- running his fingers through his yellow locks- before drooping his shoulders, head-turning to the digital alarm clock.

Eight-Thirty AM.

Today was the day. The highlight of his high-school life about to begin the moment he steps out of the building; he couldn’t wait to meet up with the rest of his buddies and classmates. The arcade, karaoke, and beach called out to him and he quickly jumped out of bed. “Come on buddy, new day, great day!”  Grabbing his mobile- he scrolled through the group chat of class 3-A, the class president is the first to be up and greeting everyone a good morning, affirming whether they were all awake, he was already radiating authority and optimism this early in the morning.

As expected from the class president, the emergency exit guy.

Everyone seemed to be active in the group chat, expressing their excitement even Todoroki had gone about explaining what pair of swimming trunks to take. ‘The red one… Or the blue?’ with Bakugou replying with ‘Live up to your name you half n half bastard!’

It caused Denki to snort, skimming through the chat, giving replies of his own as he sauntered about the room, running his fingers through disheveled strands and picking whatever item needed for today- lazily prepping his duffle bag- until he noticed something off. Everyone on the group chat was online except for one particular person. Kyoka Jiro.

Now that Denki thought of it, she hadn’t been very excited for the trip, avoiding the topic as a whole, not to mention she in general just wasn’t herself. On edge is how he would word it. He wasn’t very book smart, but Denki was always quick to notice these things, being socially intelligent and all. Without hesitation he pressed the green call button, waiting for the call to get through as he pressed the device to his ear and plopped himself on his bed, back against the wall. The two weren’t best friends per se, but they were still close and understood each other on a different level, he respected and admired her.... maybe a little too much, but he wondered if she felt the same way.

“I doubt it…”

                                                           ■□■

Kyoka Jiro was in deep sleep when the buzzing of her phone woke her from her slumber, with squinted eyes she couldn’t believe the name displayed on her phone and perceived it as her in a dream, deciding to roll to her side comfortably, the blanket huddled up under her chin- not until the buzzing started to annoy her that she checked her phone with a frustrated sigh and realized it was indeed Kaminari Denki calling. She rubbed her eyes and pinched herself now fully aware that she was not dreaming. “Heck?”

But why would he be calling?

Deciding to stop overthinking, she sat up and answered her phone with a lazy hello, covering up her stutters with a yawn or an annoyed sigh, a hand reaching up to play with her dark strands. “Oh! Jiro! Morning~!” There was amusement laced in his voice, Jiro flinched, having just woken up, she didn’t need to hear Denki’s energetic voice so early…

…

Wait… What was today…?!

Drawing her curtains open, she was met with the piercing sunlight, cursing under her breath as she shielded her eyes momentarily, the room now bright enough for her to glance at the clock mounted to the wall. “Shit…”

She could hear laughter on the other side of the line, inciting a groan from her. “You totally forgot, didn’t you?” The female was tempted to snap, but bit her lip and instead smiled at his joyous hilarity, her chest swelling up as she pressed the device closer to her ear. “Yeah, yeah. It’s not funny, y’know?” She breathed out, fully awake and aware of her surroundings, she still had time to get ready and leave to meet up with the girls, they agreed to meet up at Tsuyu’s place which wasn’t too far. Stepping to her closet, she shuffled around to pick out her clothes with Denki still chortling in the background. “Can’t help it, it’s not like you to be late or forgetful.” He wasn’t wrong, with how anxious she was about today, she ended up sleeping quite late because of a certain person invading her thoughts, little did she know he would be the first she’d talk to, and it helped ease her mind; miraculously. Maybe because she didn’t have to /face/ him at this very moment.

“I guess. A-Anyway, thanks for calling… to uh wake me up…” She trailed off, cursing under her breath for her awkwardness, she could hear him exhale, picking up on every sound that was emitted by him, her cheeks red as she patiently waited for him to respond. “Uh… yeah! No probs. See you soon?” Denki had more to say, she waited for him to say more but time was passing by and she needed to get ready. “Yeah… Later.” After hanging up, Jiro stared at her mobile before leaning her head against a wall, the shirt she had picked out earlier; clenched between fingers, before realization dawned upon her, why didn’t she ask him when she had the chance?

Why did he call…? More like, why bother calling in the first place?

Knowing she wasn’t going to get her answers, Jiro continued with her day, following her morning routine, and was soon out hurrying towards Tsuyu’s place greeting the females and explaining her tardiness, excluding the part where Denki called her. She didn’t want to be teased, and Mina would definitely talk loudly about it.

“You’re here now, that’s what matters!” Hagakure exclaimed, patting the other’s back.

                                                           ■□■

The class finally gathered at their meeting point, the lot of them assembling like that caught a lot of attention so by default they split into groups, some deciding to go shopping instead of the arcade, some had other plans, they promised to meet up again with Tenya Iida throwing in instructions, hands moving in all sorts of ways. “I think we’ll all be fine, Iida…” Izuku Midoriya assured with a sheepish laugh, a hand behind his neck, causing the class president to relax and adjust his glasses. “You’re right, Izuku. Alright! You’re all dismissed!” Everyone mumbled their complaints, they weren’t on a class trip, they didn’t need any babying. “Hey, Hey! The arcade’s right there! Let’s go!” Mina was dragging Jiro towards the direction of the arcade, only to realize the rest of the females weren’t tagging along.

“I get terrible migraines with all the lights; I’ll sit this one out.” Momo explained, lightly rubbing her head with a sympathetic smile, even though it was her idea to go to the arcade and gain an experience of a lifetime, meanwhile Uraraka gestured towards Midoriya with fidgety hands, unable to look at anyone directly in the eye. “I- Maybe I should just check on Deku!” And ran off towards the direction of the freckled boy, Hagakure had disappeared in thin air (No pun intended) Mina explaining she saw her walk off with Ojiro earlier and nudged Jiro with a wink. “They’re cute together, right?” Jiro only laughed sheepishly. “Probably…” and Tsuyu? She simply idled with Tokoyami and Shouji, lounging with them silently, the arcade was not her sort of thing.

Jiro felt betrayed, she certainly didn’t want to spend time with the obnoxious group, knowing full well Denki was there, her stomach churned and she clutched it, despite their short call earlier, all the nerves in her body tensed, this is why she was avoiding this dreadful day, she was stuck with him and Mina did a good job keeping her around. “Oh, Jiro!” She was greeted by the yellow-haired individual, wincing and avoiding his gaze, she was sure he would bring up their previous interaction but surprisingly he didn’t even mention it, not even subtly. “Can we go already?!” Katsuki’s voice boomed, no one flinched at his brash behavior, even Jiro who blankly stared at him, the temperamental bully stormed off on his own while Kirishima ran behind his friend. “Wait up, man!”

“Then hurry the fuck up!” And everyone followed, increasing their pace to catch up to the ticking bomb of a man, at least someone was looking forward to the arcade. As they made their way inside, music and neon lights flooded their vision and hearing, the adrenaline rushing through them and Jiro grinned, the colors of the neon lights reflecting against her skin, the pink and orange and blues called out to her; for a second forgetting all her worries, as much as she liked instruments, the arcade was also her go-to place, she wasn’t a gamer so to say, but now and then she’d spend time playing video games. “Ready to kick some butt?!” Mina challenged the group, running in the direction of the counter to get started with all the games. They were all pumped up, Jiro only stared at them from a distance, a little too shy to open up, as she was lost in her thoughts; once again, a nudge to the shoulder brought her back, Denki purposefully bumped shoulders with Jiro, catching her attention and staring up at him, immediately freezing on the spot. “W-What do you want?” She questioned irritably. “Ready to get your butt kicked?” His confidence radiated as he grinned with his teeth exposed, Jiro responded by straightening her posture shoving her hands into her pockets. “Losers treat winners.”

With a little nudge to his shoulder, Jiro was instantly reminded of their previous interactions, interactions that didn’t involve her getting panicked or flustered around the ball of energy, when things were ‘normal,’ when her feelings were undiscovered and their bond was purely playful and ordinary. This one-sided unrequited love pinched at her chest causing frustration but, just for today… She would enjoy every moment and lock up the feelings that hindered her. These were memories being made for them to keep as they grow older and pursue adulthood and no way would she ruin today because of a one-sided emotion, it wasn’t like Kyoka Jiro at all.

[ephemeral-afterlight]

Day 30: Recovery

(We'll bring you back to life.)

Whumptober 2019 Day 30: Recovery

Word Count: 5766

Relationships: D(LAMPR)/DR. PAL (platonic)

Warnings: Suicide attempt aftermath (it isn't really talked about much, but it is mentioned), not unsympathetic Patton but he is kind of an asshole in this and he sees the error of his ways (hopeful ending), Remus-typical disturbing/violent language, angry confrontation, mentions of a scar/violent altercation, mentions/implications of brainwashing, cursing

A/N: I AM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. i meant to get this out in time and then i had a really bad bit of writer's block and got super unmotivated, but... anyway, enough excuses! i really hope this makes up for the wait, if even a little bit. this is a direct sequel to day 1: shaky hands (bringing it full circle babey!!!!) and it is the longest one yet! pls enjoy hehe~

When Deceit wakes up, he realizes three things simultaneously. One, it’s fucking cold, so cold that he can’t feel his hands or feet. Two, his head feels like it was just run over by a truck, like his brain got melted into mush and now he can barely think properly. Three, he’s not dead. He knows he’s not dead, he’s not gone, because Logan is sitting in a chair across the room quietly reading a book. If Deceit had truly succeeded, Logan wouldn’t be here, and he wouldn’t have woken up at all.

Shit.

“Wh… What happened? Why’m I not gone?” Deceit asks hoarsely, words slurred and throat gravelly from disuse. Much of his existence has been defined by his innate ability to repulse people, to scare them and push them away, so it’s more than a shock for him when Logan glances up from his book and gives him a small smile. That warm look is always reserved for the others, the ones who actually deserve it, so seeing it directed towards himself steals the breath from his lungs.

“You’re awake, I see. Are you in any pain?” Logan asks as he strides over to stand in front of where Deceit is lying propped up on a stack of pillows. He raises his hand to check for a fever, the backs of his fingers a warm balm on cool skin. When he detects nothing unusual, Logan tucks a loose strand of hair behind Deceit’s ear, tilts his head and listens with rapt attention as Deceit describes his points of pain (throat, stomach, head). The care he’s being given is so unexpected, and surreal, and Deceit is almost desperate to keep receiving it. He doesn’t remember the last time he had any kind of affection directed towards him, the last time someone cared enough to ask if he was okay. It’s odd, yet addicting in a way.

“Why aren’t I… should’a died,” Deceit whispers as his brows pull in, an unmistakably sad look echoing in his distant eyes. It doesn’t feel like there’s much else to say when his legs curl up to meet his chin, when he gazes ruefully at the blankets in front of him, and yet Logan somehow knows how to quell even a little bit of the turbulence in Deceit’s mind. He just sighs and sits on the bed, adjusts his glasses, and clears his throat with restlessness barely hidden below a mask of indifference.

“Roman found you in the tub. We immediately got to work caring for you and attempting to keep you alive, however you fell into a coma, which is obviously irreversible when the injury is self-inflicted. You have been asleep for approximately three weeks, and it… has been, well. Chaotic, for lack of a better term. As you did not die, there was no replacement to act in your stead, but since you were not awake to properly facilitate your function, Thomas was unable to employ your trait at all. It caused a lot of havoc, you know,” Logan says softly, exhaustion clear in his face and voice. A gentle finger wraps around one of Deceit’s own, holding it in a gesture of comfort, a promise. “I’m… I apologize for not saying anything that day, for not stopping Patton. I should not have been so cowardly as to enable the casting away of such an important side.”

And though Logan’s voice is thick, his sentiment remains steady, a quiet regret laced in the atonement that’s just as heavy as the tears building in Deceit’s eyes. He never thought in a million years that Logan would ever apologize to him, that anyone would ever care enough about him to feel guilty. It tears through him like a whirlwind, switching back and forth between joy and grief so quickly it’s causing a migraine to poke tauntingly behind his eyes.

“Logan that’s… s’not your fault. You didn’t wanna get hurt, and that’s good. I’m glad you didn’t. I’m… ‘m self-preservation-- not just for me and Thomas, but for you sides 's well. You getting mistreated would be far more painful than anything I’ve had to endure,” Deceit mumbles, wet eyes shining as he finally raises his head to meet Logan’s sorrowful scrutiny. Logan swallows hard as he moves his fingers to thread through Deceit’s own, unusual tactility breathing in a space meant for rest. His posture is tense, a sure sign of discomforted remorse, and it takes all of Deceit’s effort not to reach forward and gather him in a protective hug.

“It’s not an excuse, though. I still shouldn’t have allowed them to push you out like that, should’ve tried harder to get them to understand how valuable and important you are to Thomas. Like you are to me,” Logan stresses, and Deceit’s breath catches in his throat. He… does he really care that much? He thinks Deceit is important even when Deceit doesn’t believe that himself? That he’s of value? That… that he isn’t worthless?

And Logan has never been one for brevity, has always been ready to go on tangents of information and explanations and reassurance. He always clarifies things, breaks them down to the true basics to expose them for what they really are. He teaches, and cultivates minds and knowledge, and he’s so incredibly fascinating to watch. His mind is mesmerizing, the way he forms his thoughts so clearly and concisely that it’s impossible to have things be lost in translation.

“You keep Thomas safe, Deceit. You are his verbal shield, of sorts, what gives him the ability to protect himself and others. You strive for him to better himself and to do things for himself. You allow him to treat himself kinder, let him live easier without so much stress and responsibility and exhaustion. Although I don’t agree with some of your viewpoints, you only want what’s best for Thomas and will fight for it despite everyone pushing back on you anyway. You’re the only one of us who is truly alone and yet you’re brave enough to face the scorn just so that you can do your best to help Thomas. I… I admire you, Deceit. You are much stronger than I could ever be. It’s why you can’t leave us. I know selfishness is in your nature, and wanting to disappear is understandable given the circumstances of your existence, but… Thomas can’t function properly without you. He’s almost lost three friends just this week, which would only be detrimental to his mental and emotional state. We need you to stay. I need you to stay.”

And, well, if an immeasurably vulnerable Deceit is only able to burst out into tears, bury his sobs in the fabric of Logan’s button-up shirt while they both rock soothingly back and forth, then maybe it was time to really, truly let go.

-

To Deceit’s surprise, the second person he sees after waking up is Virgil. Logan has apparently allowed Deceit to stay in his room throughout the duration of his slumber, but Deceit is seriously starting to miss his pet snake, Ethel, so he managed to convince Logan to let him switch to his own bedroom. It’s odd to walk after not moving at all for weeks, so leaning on Logan’s shoulder for support is crucial to making sure he doesn’t fall over and take a nose dive into the floor.

It’s in the hallway that they run into the anxious side, and where Deceit is sure he’s about to get yelled at or something. Although they had been close in childhood, once Virgil left them, his attitude flipped like a switch for no apparent reason. For a long time, Deceit wondered what he did, thought that Virgil’s hate was warranted, but now… although he still doesn’t truly believe he belongs with anyone, he’s done throwing a pity party for himself. He didn’t do anything wrong, has never done anything to purposely harm Virgil, and hell if he’s gonna let the other side's scalding remarks poke holes in his self-esteem.

“D… Deceit?” Virgil breathes when he sees them, stops in his tracks and hides further in his hood. Logan looks at Deceit questioningly, as if telling him that he will absolutely walk right past Virgil without a word if Deceit wanted him to, and it’s so reassuring that Deceit immediately feels a thousand times more ready to finally face this. “You’re actually awake.”

“Yeah. I am,” Deceit says, and then he realizes that he needs to say this now before he loses his courage again. A sigh escapes him as he rubs his eye tiredly, and Logan squeezes his waist comfortingly. “I’m not leaving, Virgil. I don’t know what your problem is with me, I don’t know why you hate me so much when we used to be best friends, and I don’t know what I did to you that was so awful that you have to fight with me every time I’m around. I don’t. But I’m tired of spending night after night crying to myself and wondering what I did wrong. I think… I think it’s time for me to ask what you did wrong, and I don’t know if I can really forgive you for the things you’ve said to me right now. But I’m here, and I’m staying for good, and you’re gonna have to learn to get over that because I’m seriously getting sick of feeling like I'm not good enough for you.”

Wow. That little rant made him feel the best he has felt in a long time. Although he’s pinching himself hard and using the pain as a way to be able to tell the full truth outside of their rooms, a certain clarity befalls him with each word. It’s immensely relieving to finally say the things he’s been wanting to tell Virgil for years, to finally let himself think that maybe it’s not his fault for once. And he can tell Logan is proud of him, judging by the way his eyes shine with respect despite his neutral expression.

Virgil looks miserable, and Deceit wants to feel bad, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t regret what he said a single bit, doesn’t wish to take back any of his words. The anxious side opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something, but aborts the action at the last second, instead going to stare at the floor while he chews on his lip. His silence means a lot more than Virgil himself likely realizes, meanings and intentions and unnamed thoughts spilling out in the space between them, and Deceit nudges Logan so that they can walk around him and into Deceit’s own bedroom.

They have a long way to go, but Deceit can already feel the tiniest bit of hope shining inside him.

-

A lot has changed in the four months since Deceit’s attempt. For one, Thomas has allowed him a more permanent spot in the group, after a particularly heated argument with Logan than ended with the three of them finally coming to a mutual understanding with one another. Secondly, Virgil is talking to him again. Not the passive-aggressive banter, not the scathing insults, not the glares and hostility that Deceit is so used to. Now, he’s really trying to actually talk to him, will speak about something that happened in the news with him at the dinner table or show him memes when they’re both chilling in the mindscape living room. There’s so much more there, so much more respect and care, and Deceit has a feeling that they might even be friends again sometime soon. 

Thirdly, Deceit has barely seen and hasn't talked to Patton outside of filming videos.

Although Deceit doesn’t particularly want to speak with Patton, listen to him say that "he's a bad influence, Thomas is a good person, you can't be here", it’s still odd that he’s somehow able to never be in the room when Deceit enters. When he does catch him off guard, the older side only gives him an unreadable look and makes his exit as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, typically taking advantage of the twins’ commotion to slip out undetected. Deceit notices, because of course he does, and to his own surprise, it doesn’t bother him as much as he expects. He’ll just wait for Patton to come to him, whenever he’s finally ready to admit his faults and apologize, so there’s no point in fretting over it.

However, Deceit does need to talk with the twins, Roman more so than Remus, and it’s this need that leaves him standing outside Roman’s door at one in the morning, a fist raised to knock. It’s not like he has to worry about Roman being asleep, because he’s always awake into the late hours of the night, frantically coming up with new ideas just to veto them all anyway. His process is almost manic, completely self-destructive, and it garners a lot of sympathy from a part of himself that can sorely relate.

The three swift raps on the door evoke a surprised squawk from within the bedroom, and multiple loud thumps can be heard before the heavily decorated door swings open. Deceit just stands there with a judgemental expression, lightheartedly raising an eyebrow in amusement at the sight of the creative side. He’s covered head-to-toe in glitter, multiple colours sparkling when the plastic reflects the dim light coming from the hall. He looks ridiculous, with the flakes in his hair and eyelashes and clothing, but he manages to look confident even despite that. It’s fake, Deceit knows it’s fake, but he humours him anyway.

“What’re you doing in there?” Deceit asks, a sly smirk playing on his lips, and Roman has the humility for an embarrassed blush to spread across his cheeks. He fidgets with the bottom of his coat even as he puts on a brave face, and Deceit can see through him so easily. Maybe it has to do with his purpose, the fact that the very arrogance the princely side portrays is a lie in itself, or maybe it’s because Roman is just that transparent.

“Just-- Just creating art! None of your business! Why’re… why are you here?” Roman asks, initial loudness tapering off to reveal uncertainty and vulnerability, and it’s a wonder the others haven’t figured this out sooner. Roman is so painfully obvious in his insecurity, shows how much he truly doubts himself and his work like a flashing neon sign above his head.

“I wanted to talk. Come to an understanding, if you will,” Deceit hums, adjusts his trusty bowler hat on his head casually despite it actually being a nervous tic. He doesn’t actually know what Roman is going to say, doesn’t know if he’s going to fall back on yelling and accusations and swing out his sword just like he did before. Will Deceit be left with a scar this time, too? Will he gain another streak of raised white, another lightning bolt stretching across the expanse of his skin, marring the smooth surface just like last time?

“Oh. Uh, um. Come in, then, I-I guess,” Roman stutters, picks at a flake of shimmering chipped nail polish as he steps to the side. His room is just as much of a mess as Deceit expects if not more, but the vexation he feels as he scans the aftermath of a creative tornado is just as acute. Stacks of parchment paper are piled in high towers around the room, looming overhead like a thundercloud of loathing. Pens and pencils and fabric and threads are strewn about, placed in such an intrinsically accurate way that it feels like the chaos is almost organized. It’s meticulous in its frenzy, a passionate craze that seems to be woven into so much of how the other side functions.

“I came to ask you for a favour. I ask you to not whip out your katana at me any time we are in the vicinity of one another. We wouldn’t want a repeat of last time, no?” Deceit asks, smooth and suave and uninterested on the surface. Of course, underneath he isn’t faring as well, but Roman doesn’t need to know that. Deceit is just waiting for Roman’s congeniality to flip on its head like a switch, for the civil nature of their interaction to turn sour when he decides he’s done listening to him. He’s expecting for Roman to yell, or maybe even for a fist to come his way, and he’ll have to start back at square one again. That’s just how Roman is. Fiercely protective, headstrong even when that same stubbornness and fire causes him to stumble, to put his attention in the wrong place.

But he doesn’t. Roman doesn’t get angry, in fact, he gets quite a sad look in his eyes at Deceit’s words. The way his gaze probes far into Deceit’s own, pulls him apart and examines his intentions and thoughts and feelings, it all leaves him feeling incredibly vulnerable. And he is uncomfortable when against all odds, Roman just darts forward to pull Deceit into his arms, smushes his half-scaled face into a broader chest with a passion that has never, ever been for him.

“But of course, small snake! A true prince would never brandish his blade at anyone other than a foe, and you, my Daring Deception, are far from it,” Roman tells him with a full tone and bright eyes, and the way he looks down at Deceit with such compassion and care to completely contradict his usual regards leaves Deceit’s head spinning. The snake-like side looks up at Roman from where he’s snuggled into his chest, gives him wide eyes and a look of surprise that he forgets to mask, and Roman’s smile is so much more gentle than Deceit thought he had the capacity for. “You are a friend. You’re a brave, shining knight to protect Thomas, just like me! If you ask me, I think we’d make a pretty good team.”

The endeared grin Deceit gives him in return surprises both of them equally.

-

Deceit doesn’t expect much to happen when he rises up in Remus’ room. The place is just as messy as always, just as chaotic as Roman’s is but in a different way. While Roman can make sense of the chaos, search through the whirlwind with such accuracy as if rifling through a file cabinet, Remus simply takes a sniff and hopes for the best. He doesn’t bother with organization of any kind, doesn’t bother with making things easier on himself, and Deceit supposes that very tendency can account for a lot of the behaviour Remus has portrayed in the past.

“Double Dee! What’cha doin’ here? Wanna try the sandwich I made? It has strawberries and eel meat and tartar sauce! Here, have a bite!” Remus demands excitedly, childishly, and despite the disgust Deceit feels while looking at the absolutely abominable excuse of edible food squished between Remus’ fingers, he only shakes his head neutrally. He just needs to get this over with, make sure everything is okay between them.

“I’ve already eaten today, Remus. Maybe next time. Actually, I wanted to ask you something,” Deceit dismisses, waves a gloved hand as he clears away some garbage for a spot to sit on Remus’ bed. The owner of said bed perks up from where he sits cross-legged on the floor, a rigidly-postured Remus surrounded by a circle of discarded candy wrappers. Deceit only hopes Remus actually ate them, and didn’t do something stupid, like glue them to his legs or see how many he could shove up his nose. “Do you… do you hate me?”

“What? ‘f course not! You’re fun, Dee-Dee! Almost as fun as when rollercoasters go flying off their tracks and smash into a building and go up in flames with the screaming passengers still inside! Hey, what did dying feel like?” Remus answers, jumping and shifting from one topic to another so fast it’s giving Deceit whiplash. He doesn’t like to linger on a particular topic for very long with the exception of him being the one to bring it up, unless it’s immediately or inherently shunned by someone else for existing. That only adds fuel to the fire, gives Remus a reason to keep perpetuating the idea, because the more Thomas doesn’t want to think about something, the more he’s guaranteed to toil under it. “You wanted to die, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t’a ate all those pills. ‘cept I already know that we can actually die ‘n’ be replaced, since that’s what happened with our ol’e pal Lust. And the new one got thrown in the subconscious a week later, so. Are y’a wantin’ to leave? Wanna… wanna leave me behind?”

And Deceit doesn’t really know what to say to that. They didn’t talk much when they were still living together in the “dark” part of the mindscape, not even when they were three instead of two. They’ve never been particularly close, and yet Remus sounds genuinely upset at the notion of Deceit leaving for good. His impact must be much larger than he’s thought all this time, to cause such hurt and betrayal in someone he was sure was indifferent to his presence. 

“Of course not, Remus. It was a mistake, and I won’t make it again. I’m staying, this time, and I’m not gonna leave you alone,” Deceit consoles, reassures despite the fact that Remus isn’t outwardly upset. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t lash out, he doesn’t scream or shout or yell. He simply sits there, stares with his wistful, bitter brown eyes, and it makes him simultaneously all too easy to read and yet incredibly difficult.

“Oh. Well, good! That means I can make y’a more sandwiches! Chef’s special!” They’re sure to be disgusting. But maybe Deceit can pretend to like it just to see delight burst to life on Remus’ face.

-

Confronting Patton is the scariest thing Deceit has ever had to do in his entire existence as a side.

Despite what Logan said the day he woke up, Deceit is a coward. It’s a direct result of his purpose; after all, what kind of self-preservation would run straight into danger with no regard to what might happen after? His caution is certainly warranted, given the situation, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that it isn’t still difficult. It’s hard to be so distrusting of someone who’s supposed to be a helper, someone who’s supposed to be Thomas’ morality. And Thomas is a good person, at times dangerously so, which makes Patton’s actions that day so many years ago so confusing.

Despite how part of him rings a pulsing red alarm when he’s even within a twenty-foot radius around the patriarchal side, there’s an even bigger part that’s yelling at him to hurry up and instigate an apology already, because this is getting annoying. He just wanted to wait, to let Patton come up with the correct conclusion on his own, because how else will he truly learn? But Deceit can’t even be in the same room with him without the other side scampering away at the first opportunity, and he’s tired of playing these cat-and-mouse games. The worst part is, he doesn’t even know if he’s the cat or the mouse.

Having already made amends with all of the others, Deceit decides it’s time to stop putting this off. If Patton won’t suck it up and apologize, or if he really is just that oblivious to the point of all of this, then fine. He can be like that. Deceit will just come to him. And so he does, manages to sneak up on him while he’s in the kitchen, humming as he makes himself a salad. It’s late, so everyone else is either asleep or pretending to be, and it creates a space where Deceit can do this on his own. Although he’s embarrassed, Deceit isn’t too proud to admit that he is a little afraid, that he can see Patton turning on him and hurting him as a vivid mental image playing in a loop. He just hopes this doesn’t go that way.

“Patton,” Deceit says stoically, not exactly a greeting, but more of an accusation. Patton lets out a little shocked yelp and whips around, butter knife out as if he’s going to actually use it. Deceit may be scared, but apparently Patton is too, and he has no right to be. Before Patton can sink out and run away just like every other time, Deceit grabs his shoulder, gently but assertively pushing him down into the kitchen chair scooted away from the table.

Patton looks up at him with terrified eyes and an almost nauseous expression, and it takes a lot of personal control for Deceit to not be offended. Who is he to be afraid of Deceit? What has Deceit done to hurt and scare him so badly? What gives him the right to be so frightened, the nerve to seem petrified of this encounter after how he treated Deceit? Anger boils up in Deceit’s throat listlessly, a nebulous animosity that yearns to explode. It only builds when Patton cowers under the snake-like side’s unimpressed stare.

“We need to talk. No more of your running away,” Deceit demands, stern and obstinate, but he’s sure his firm demeanour appears much more inexorable to the fatherly side. Although Deceit really is trying his best to not be antagonistic, his ire is only fueling his volatility, leaving his self-restraint put through the wringer in the face of his almost overwhelming sense of betrayal. What took place that day should never have happened, the events seemingly a direct antithesis to Patton’s usual intentions and motivations as Morality, but it did, and he can’t go any longer trying to escape responsibility and repercussions while Deceit shoulders all of the stress it caused.

“W--W-What do you wanna t-talk about, kiddo?” Patton stutters, stumbles around a feigned ignorance as his eyes dart between everything but Deceit’s own steely gaze. His fingers tremble as he fidgets with them, attempts a distraction from the confrontation, and it’s so unfair that Deceit almost wants to turn and kick the side of the counter in an angry outburst. He doesn’t, of course, because he’s not that brazenly juvenile, but he sure does wish he could.

“I’m not your kiddo, not after what you did to me. Don’t you dare call me that,” Deceit hisses as he slams a hand down on the table right beside where Patton is leaning. The latter of the two flinches, jumps with a tiny scared squeal dying in his throat before it can even be released into the silence left after Deceit’s outburst. He swallows hard as tears prick at his eyes, shine in the dim light of the kitchen, and Deceit feels no sympathy at all.

“P-Please don’t hurt me!” Patton rushes out as he curls in further on himself, tries to make the space his body takes up as compact as possible. Deceit scoffs, pulling back to stand up straight once more. He may be the shortest out of all of the sides, but his dominant, authoritative fury lets him loom just as well. There’s really no point in drawing this out any more than it needs to be, and although Deceit certainly would take an immense satisfaction in seeing Patton squirm, he needs to be the bigger person here.

“Hurt you? What, like you hurt me?” Deceit’s words are simple, biting, but they accomplish their intended effect all the same, maybe even more so. Patton shrinks back as if he’s been slapped, and he kind of has, at least metaphorically. The only way he will truly understand the nature of his actions is by being blunt and upfront about it; no sugarcoating, no dancing around the subject, no room to make excuses or twist the imperative words. Guilt is a powerful thing, and when utilized correctly, it can be the one thing that truly shifts the interpersonal tide.

“I-- I… I’m sorry!” Patton blurts out, uncertain under Deceit’s withering glare. His admission feels fake, hollow, empty. It echoes in the room for a round, allows Deceit a moment to quell the curses that well up in his throat and dance on his silver tongue. “I didn’t mean to--”

“Yes you did, don’t lie to me,” Deceit spits, interrupting the fake reassurance and stopping it in its tracks before it can become bigger than it deserves to be. Patton’s mouth snaps shut as he looks down at his lap, arms slowly shifting to curl around himself in a mockery of an embrace. Fine. Let him garner all the comfort he can get, because he sure won’t be comfortable when Deceit is done.

“You made me think I was safe, that I had a family. I had existed in the mindscape for a total of two hours before you threw me out for something I couldn’t even control. And I’m half-snake, you know that-- did you know that snakes are cold-blooded?” Deceit asks, and he laughs humourlessly when he sees a dawning realization that turns into horror on Patton’s face. “I almost died out there. When Virgil found me, he had to literally bring me back to life moments before I would have fully faded away. Do you know how much that fucking scared him?

“You turned everyone who I ever thought could have been a friend against me. Roman was so happy to finally have someone to go on adventures with, and the next time I saw him, he hated me. I wonder why, hm? Did you know that after he switched his sword from plastic to metal, after you made him believe that I’m the evil villain he needs to slay, he tried to do exactly that? I still have the scar,” Deceit says bitterly as he lifts his hand up. He ignores Patton’s flinch in favour of pushing aside the fabric of his capelet and shirt, showing the paternal side the raised white line that jaggedly falls from the top of his shoulder to about halfway down his arm. A whimper spills from Patton’s lips, desperate and ashamed, and Deceit really hopes he’s finally starting to get it.

“Not to mention what you did to Logan. He was so fucking terrified to speak up about what you did to me that he stayed silent, went directly against his purpose as a side just to make sure that he wouldn’t be thrown out and ostracized too. Do you know how much that hurts me, as self-preservation? What’s even worse is that I’m glad he stayed quiet and kept himself safe, because who knows what could have happened if he dared to go against Morality.”

With the words shot from Deceit’s mouth like a bullet from a revolver, tears finally breach Patton’s lashes, roll over his cheekbones and fall in droplets onto his pants. His shoulders shudder under the weight of silent sobs, and even as Patton’s lips twist as he tries not to cry audibly, he still keeps his head held up while he listens. The action is peculiar, and Deceit knows what he’s trying to convey, but atonement is much more than just that. It’s a start, but there’s certainly a long way to go.

“Virgil was my best friend, you know. I cared about him so fucking much, and he was the only one who truly had my back when I was still recovering from what you did. But even he wanted to have a taste of acceptance, and it wasn’t a surprise in the slightest when he suddenly hated me the next time we were able to talk. Your brainwashing knows no limits, truly,” Deceit sneers, contempt in his eyes and pain in his heart. He doesn’t want to open up. He doesn’t want to be honest like this, doesn’t want to pinch himself until he’s numb just so he can focus long enough to finally show Patton the truth about what he’s done. He doesn’t want to, but he has to, because he’ll just regret it if he doesn’t.

“I wasn’t really ever close friends with Remus, but that doesn’t matter because Remus shouldn’t even exist. In fact, neither should Roman. You split Creativity apart, forced them apart based on your arbitrary set of rules for Thomas to abide by, and shoved him into a harmful, narrow mindset. And if that wasn’t enough, you couldn’t even let them properly be brothers and grow up together as siblings, like they should have. No, you shoved Remus out just like me, and it caused him to hole himself up in his room for nearly twenty years just so he could use his part of the Imagination to make a world where he wasn’t separated from his literal other half. He likes to act like he doesn’t care, but I know he does, and he shouldn’t fucking have to.

“You’ve only brought suffering upon me, and Remus, and Virgil at one point. To those who needed you the most, you scorned and demonized, and left us with no guidance or warmth simply because you don’t like our purpose. But we are all sides of Thomas, just as much as you are, and whether you like it or not, we are important and needed. I’m done trying to convince myself to be the villain, to play into your fantasy and the knowledge that I’d never get accepted or be listened to. I deserve so much more than you’re giving me, and I’m never going to make the mistake of inherently trusting you again. This time, you have to earn it.”

“I’m so sorry, Deceit,” Patton whispers, slow and thick and watery at the same time, and the soft, quiet words cause Deceit to completely deflate. He’s so tired, so fucking exhausted, and he knows that it’s going to be this way for a long time.

And maybe it’s too much. Maybe it’ll take too long, or maybe it’ll never happen. Maybe they’ll never truly fix this, mend and repair the cracks driven between them as a result of how Deceit grew up. Maybe Deceit will never work up the courage to forgive Patton, to be able to look at him without fear and anger leaping up into his throat. But none of that matters, not really, because Deceit finally has people who care about him, people who will stand up for him and support him when he can’t do it himself. And for now, maybe that’s all he really needs.

[traveller-lover-dreamer]

A Web of Minds, pt 9

Teaser || Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four | Part five | Part six | Part seven | Part eight | Part nine

Summary: He climbs walls and protects the neighborhood. She reads minds and feels people’s emotion. What’s going to happen when their world collide?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Telepath!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Blood, death, grief, lots of angst

-

“I see you’ve brought dear Y/n with you”, Adams said as Y/n ran into the room.

Y/n stopped and suddenly she was back in that car on the night of the accident.

“You…” she let out, her eyes started pricking with tears.

Peter spun around. “Y/n, don’t move.”

Y/n stepped forward nonetheless. “You killed my father”, she spat, all the venom in the world dripping from her words.

Adams chuckled. “If I were you, I wouldn’t take another step forward.”

Y/n’s mother caught the girl’s gaze and it seemed the world slowed down. Her mother wanted to say something but Y/n understood what was going to happen a moment too late.

“Adams, you’re after me, not her”, her mother said.

“I’m glad we figured that out”, Adams smiled. It wasn’t a smile, it was more of an evil grin and Y/n knew the world was about to turn to hell.

“Mom…” she let out.

Adams chuckled again and hit May on the temple. She fell unconscious to his feet. Peter moved forward but it was like he was in a nightmare and couldn’t quite move, as if he was underneath water and all of his movements were slower. And that water turned to ice when Adams pointed the gun on Y/n’s mother’s head.

“Why?” Y/n gently said, knowing that it was too late.

“Your father started a war long before you were born and I’m here to end it”, Adams explained.

Peter knew that any sudden movement would lead to the man shooting Y/n’s mother so he stayed still, figuring speech was his better option now.

“Killing someone is never the solution”, Peter said. “You shouldn’t shoot her and we’ll try to figure something out.” His eyes darted to Aunt May, who still wasn’t moving. “No one else needs to get hurt”, he added. He started moving his hands, raising them so Adams could see them.

Adams’ maniacal laugh fell from his lips again. “You don’t understand, kiddo.”

“Your man mentioned the Vulture when he came to my place”, Peter tried a new angle. “What was that about?”

“The Vulture was working for me”, Adams declared. “He was supposed to get rid of Pamela and Y/n but it seems he got too caught up in alien technology.”

As Peter made Adams talk, Y/n let go of the walls around her mind again, searching for his mind, hoping to find an explanation. She only hit solid walls around Adams’ mind.

“I see you’ve gotten stronger”, Adams said as Y/n’s mind snapped back to her body. “As a telepath myself, I can tell that you are going to be strong.”

“What?” Y/n asked.

“Have you ever wondered where your ability comes from?” Adams enquired.

Y/n nodded slowly as Peter glanced at her.

“Your father was experimenting on the human mind”, Adams began. “We used to be associates, back when his experiments weren’t hurting anyone. But then he decided to use me as a subject for a rather peculiar experiment. I didn’t want to and yet he induced a comatose state on me before plugging me into that machine of his… It wasn’t fully functional and yet he blasted my mind with a full charge of positrons.”

Adams stopped as Peter moved a little.

“If you make another move I’ll blow her brain up”, Adams threatened and Peter stopped moving.

He had called for Mr. Stark thanks to Karen but now he was scared that Mr. Stark wasn’t going to get there on time.

“See, a full charge of positrons tend to make someone go crazy”, Adams continued. “Your father, Y/n, was surprised I even got out alive. What a way to treat a friend, isn’t it?”

Y/n gulped, dismay written all over her features. She couldn’t believe that Adams was talking about her father, that sweet man that always took care of her and played with her even when she had just woken him up at 6 am on a Sunday morning.

“See, those positrons turned my brain into something else…” Adams added. “Turned me into a telepath. But to get there, to become a telepath, I had to go through years and years of painful hallucinations and migraines. Enough to make anyone go crazy. But here I am, feeling better than ever.”

“If you aren’t crazy than why are threatening my mom with a gun?” Y/n asked and it sounded so childish, oh so childish.

“I wanted revenge”, Adams. “And now I’ve got it. You have no idea how great it is to be able to say I’ve finally gotten what…”

Then, all of sudden, a lot of things happened. At once. And Y/n was stuck in a haze and she just watched everything unfolding before her eyes, unable to move or to say a word.

Y/n’s mother’s arms raised to hit Adams’ gun, Iron Man burst in and Peter shot a web toward Adams… but most of all, most of all Adams pulled the trigger. Y/n watched as her mother’s body tumbled to the side, a pool of blood forming under her once she hit the ground.

Y/n’s world stopped turning at that moment. It was like going at a full 80 mph and suddenly pressing the breaks while not wearing a seat belt. You plunge forward and nothing can stop you, nothing but a certain death. It’s like everything is alright, everything seems fine, but then a single moment obliterates your mind and you get lost down a spiral of pain.

Y/n stumbled to her knees and she felt the dam in her mind exploding as her mind flew out of her body. She lost touch of herself and at the same time all she could feel was the pain. The grief. She had lost her father the night of the accident and now her mother was gone. Her mother was gone because she had tried to defend herself against the monster that was Adams.

Y/n could hear a lot of people talking. A lot of people thinking. Most of them were feeling pain, they were feeling her pain and that’s when Y/n realized her abilities were way stronger than she had thought. Yes, she could feel what people were feeling and hear what they were thinking, she could tell where they were, but she could also make them feel what she was feeling. For a moment she felt powerful, she felt as if she could make everyone go through the pain that she was going through her right now, but then somebody said her name and her mind went back to her body.

“Y/n, Y/n, come back to me”, Peter was saying.

Y/n noticed she was lying on the cold hard floor. She opened her eyes and her gaze got caught up in Peter’s eyes. He had taken the mask off and there was blood on his cheek.

“Peter, she just had a seizure”, Mr. Stark said from the other side. “She needs to go to the hospital.”

“My mother…” Y/n breathed.

“I’m sorry, Y/n”, Mr. Stark said and he had tears in his eyes.

-

Y/n woke up in her hospital bed to the sound of a hundred of voices speaking at once. She shut her mind off, hid it behind a wall of stones and then opened her eyes.

Peter was sitting next to her bed, looking a mess.

“I’m so so sorry”, he apologized as he noticed she was awake.

That’s when she remembered. She had to close her eyes to keep her mind from going loose again.

“It’s not your fault”, she said as Peter’s guilt filled her.

“I should have done something before he…” Peter insisted and a tear rolled down his cheek as he was not able to finish the sentence.

Y/n opened her eyes to look at him. “Peter, it’s not your fault, you didn’t pull the trigger.”

The grief came back to her twice as bad as it was before and suddenly a sob shook her. Peter looked at her for a moment, not knowing what to do, but then he sat on Y/n’s bed. He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug.

Y/n clung to Peter as if he was the only thing keeping her afloat. Her body was shaken by sobs, her pain leaking through every pore of her skin, even getting into Peter’s mind a little. Peter couldn’t stop the few tears that slipped on his cheeks, but he held her. He held her because he knew how it felt to lose his parents. He had lost both of his parents and his uncle, he knew more than enough about grief. But seeing your mother die before your own eyes in such a violent way, Peter had no idea what it felt like. He knew it probably was a hundred times worse than any grief one should have to feel in one’s lifetime and yet, here was Y/n.

He held onto her until she stopped sobbing. He didn’t let go of her then either because she was still holding onto him as if he was the only thing keeping her afloat in the darkest of storms. And he didn’t want her to feel alone. He wanted her to know that he was there and that he was always going to be.

Pepper walked in the room, her eyes red from all the crying. She had always been close to Pamela, to Y/n’s mom, and never in a hundred years had she expected Y/n’s mother to die so suddenly. But right now, she had to suck it up and take care of Y/n because the poor girl didn’t have any family left.

“Hi, Peter”, Pepper said, her voice still heavy with grief.

Peter stared at Pepper for a moment, as Y/n moved to look at her mother’s boss.

“My mom…” was all Y/n could say.

“I know”, Pepper said. “I’m here for you, Y/n.”

Y/n got out of Peter’s grasp to sit up in the bed and Peter moved to give her a little space. “What am I going to do without her?”

Her voice broke on the last words and a sob shook her body. Peter’s heart shattered into a million pieces and he just wished he could take all of Y/n’s pain away. But he couldn’t. There was nothing he could do to lessen the pain.

“We’re going to take care of you”, Pepper reassured Y/n as she sat on the bed too. “Tony and me… We’ll take care of you.”

Y/n looked at Pepper, her gaze filled with tears. She took a ragged breath and then nodded. “Thank you.”

Pepper smiled sadly and put a hand on Y/n’s knee. “Anytime, darling.”

-

The next weeks passed in a dull haze. Y/n wouldn’t be able to recall those weeks for the rest of her life, her mind erasing everything to lessen the pain. All she could tell was that Peter was there and that sometimes Ned and MJ showed up. But most of the time it was just Peter and her and she liked it that way. Not that she didn’t like when Ned and MJ came, but they didn’t understand, they couldn’t understand. Peter, on the other, did understand.

Sometimes, Mr. Stark or Pepper were there and even Happy showed up a couple of times. They talked to her, tried to make her smile but she was never really listening to them, she was always in her mind, behind her walls. Only Peter could get her to react. It was like she was the ghost of who she was before.

The day of the funerals is probably the only thing that Y/n would remember. She’d remember standing next to the coffin in which her mother was laying for her last sleep, she’d remember putting a white rose on top of the coffin and then watching it lowering into the ground. She’d remember the ride back home, a home that now was with Tony and Pepper at the Avengers compound. She’d remember standing underneath the water in her shower that night, as she absentmindedly tried to wash the grief from her but couldn’t.

It was like her mind had disconnected from her body. Totally. And all that was left was a dull ache with pangs of grief once in a while.

Everyone around her were worried for her. She hadn’t gone to school in weeks, she barely ate anything, it was as if she was dead. She still was in shock weeks later, her mind not processing the grief like a normal person would.

Then one day, something changed. Peter came to visit her, bringing Gummy bears and Sour Patch Kids gummies and when he put them in front of her on her bed she looked up to him and the ghost of a smile appeared on her face. Peter was almost startled when she even talked.

“Thank you”, Y/n whispered.

Peter stared at her for a moment, his mouth agape and then a genuine smile spread on his lips.

“You’re welcome”, he let out after a moment. “We can watch Harry Potter, if you want. I figured you would like…”

“I would love to, actually”, Y/n agreed.

Now Peter was absolutely flabbergasted. She had said two sentences in less than a minute. Maybe she truly was healing, under all this silence and behind her empty gaze.

Peter put the movie on as Y/n opened one of the candy bags, immediately starting to eat some. Peter felt his heart flutter in his chest at the sight of Y/n acting so alive and he tried to ignore it.

He and MJ had gotten in a fight not so long after Y/n’s mother had passed away. MJ, even though she had tried to be understanding, had said to Peter that he never had time for her anymore and that he spent all of his time with Y/n instead. And she told him she understood and that she didn’t want him to stop because Y/n needed him. MJ just couldn’t deal with it anymore, she missed spending time with him and she had said that it probably was better to call it off for a moment.

Actually, it hadn’t really been a fight, Peter had just agreed with MJ because she was right, it was better to call it off for a while. Yeah, it had hurt a little but it was the least of his worries. MJ was fine and she didn’t need him like Y/n needed him. And MJ would still be there once Y/n would get better.

Peter sat beside Y/n on her bed, using the remote next to her bed to turn on the TV and then to put the movie on. Y/n watched him as he did so, wondering if he knew how grateful she was for him.

As the movie started, Y/n settled into his side, Peter putting his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer even though his heart skipped more than a beat as he did so. He wondered if Y/n knew it, with her abilities, but he didn’t ask her and he sure as hell hoped she didn’t. She had a lot on her mind right now, he didn’t want her to have to deal with him.

And Y/n knew. Of course she did. It was the only thing keeping her afloat.

-

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[backtothestart02]

25 Days of Westallen Fanfiction: Day 13 - Mixed Drink [2/?]

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for beta’ing.

...

Chapter 2 -

When Iris woke up the next morning, she could hear the low buzz of soft snoring coming from down the hall and the distinct dripping from a sink not all the way shut off from either the bathroom or the sink. The sound had been easy enough to tune out when she was too drunk to care but waking up with a major hangover including a migraine the size of Alaska made it impossible to ignore.

“Shut up,” she grumbled. When it continued, she tossed the small pillow she’d been given in the general direction of the sound. “Shut up!”

The snoring abruptly stopped, and she groaned, aware of what it meant. The sound of rustling sheets and drawers being opened and shut told her the friendly neighborhood bartender – and her host for the evening – had been woken up in the midst of her cries.

“Iris?” came the raspy voice, and she fell back onto the couch. “Is everything all right?”

She sighed and gestured to the sink. His brows furrowed, but apparently it registered what she was referring to because soon enough he was across the room and shutting off the sink all the way until the water stopped dripping and the sound stopped.

“Oh, Heaven.” She smiled blissfully, her eyes sliding shut.

“It probably would be good for you to drink some water though,” Teddy said, turning on the faucet again and filling a gup. Iris grimaced at the sound but relaxed when it had been shut off again.

Then he was in front of her, holding the half-full glass for her to take, and she was obliged to open her eyes and drink some of the beverage.

“Mmm. Tasty.”

“It’s water.”

She blinked, then her eyes narrowed.

“Maybe I should whip something up for you,” he said, returning to the kitchen.

She snorted and set the glass of water on the coffee table she’d run into more than once when they first entered his little apartment.

“It’s a little too early for alcohol, Theodore,” she mocked. “Even for me.”

Unthwarted, Teddy pulled out some ingredients.

“Not alcohol, Iris. A hangover cure.”

She propped her elbow on the top of the couch and turned to look at him, her head resting in her hand.

“I’m listening.”

“Well, I won’t tell you what’s in it,” he said. “Then you won’t drink it. But trust me, I know what I’m doing. This will cure that throbbing pain and inevitable puking like nothing you’d ever tried before.”

Just the mention of puking made her want to gag, but Iris grabbed the glass of water and downed it instead, hoping it would keep the bile at bay.

“Did they teach you all this in bartending school?” she asked, amused.

To that he smirked and brought the newly mixed drink over to her.

“No, this I learned from being a college student.”

She didn’t want to think about how young that made him compared to her, if he’d graduated yet or not. So she took the drink and take several long sips, telling herself to not imagine what could be in it.

“You can stay as long as you want,” he said, taking her empty glass from the table with him back to the kitchen. “But I have to leave. If you’re still here when I get back, we can get something to eat.”

Iris set the glass down. She watched him for a while, trying to figure out his motive.

“Why are you doing this, Teddy?” she finally asked. “You hardly know me.”

He put the glass away and pulled out some milk and cereal.

“That’s not true at all, and you know it.” He continued when she tried to interject. “You come in three times a week and pour out your troubles to me as I pour you glass after glass, as long as you’ll pay for it and you can walk straight enough to make it to the door. Whether you remember it or not, I know just about everything about you except where you used to live and where you work.”

“Worked,” she muttered under her breath.

His brows furrowed, and she realized she must’ve not gotten drunk enough to tell him.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, pouring the milk into his bowl of cereal.

She sighed. “Teddy.”

“Look, I know I’m just a bartender to you, but you’re not just another customer to me. I care about you. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you. In a lot of ways…you remind me of my sister.”

She rolled her eyes. Oh, great.

With some willpower, she forced herself to her feet, wobbling a little. Teddy halted what he was doing to focus entirely on her.

“Listen, Teddy, I appreciate what you’ve done for me, what you do for me on a pretty regular basis. I’m glad for the couch and the hangover cure, but I’m not gonna be your charity case.”

“Iris, you’re not.”

She held her hand up to silence him.

“Now, I’m gonna go into the bathroom and freshen up, and then I’m going to leave. I might be back at the bar tonight or in a few days or never again, but I don’t want you to be worrying about me, okay? I’ll be fine. Just…focus on your classes. Be a good college student and graduate on time.”

He looked conflicted, but he apparently couldn’t think of anything to say before Iris left him spellbound as she walked into the bathroom and the glorious hot, steaming water of the half-decent shower.

She heard the front door close before she got out of the bathroom, and told herself to be grateful, but alone in the apartment, drying her hair on a hopefully clean towel, Iris felt very distinctly alone.

She shook the feeling off though and went to retrieve her phone. Beneath it was a piece of paper with Teddy’s number and a message to call him if she ever needed anything – the ‘anything’ being underlined twice.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” she muttered but stuffed the piece of paper into her coat pocket anyway. He’d probably try to track her down if there was any evidence that she hadn’t taken his advice when he returned.

Nice excuse, Iris.

She headed straight for the door and locked it behind her, determined to forget the night before just as she had so many others. When she stepped into the hall though, her phone started to buzz.

Her brows furrowed as she dug into her pocket to see who was trying to get a hold of her. She couldn’t think of anybody who cared a damn about her other than Teddy after last night.

Her jaw dropped when she saw the name spread across her screen.

Handsome Stranger.

“No way.”

She opened the text and saw the message sprawled across.

Good morning, Beautiful.

“He has some nerve,” she muttered, then rapidly returned the nonchalant greeting.

Who the hell is this?

Do you always wake up this way or do I get special treatment?

She fumed.

Wrong number.

I’ll be at the coffee shop on 8th Street and Dilbourn. Meet me in 15 minutes. I’m buying.

She wasn’t going to do it.

She wasn’t going to do it.

Her stomach grumbled beneath her rumpled dress, and she knew her willpower just wasn’t strong enough this morning.

Damn it.

…

Barry smirked when she walked into the shop, unable contain himself when his eyes traveled down her figure, taking in the clothes he’d stripped off her in the bar’s bathroom the night before.

It was definitely her.

He waited a while before getting her attention, thoroughly enjoying the way she huffed on her way to him. He didn’t stand up to greet her. He only sat there, a big grin on his face, his hands folded in his lap as she glared down at him.

“Well?” he asked innocently. “What will it be?”

She was silent a few moments more and then listed off a very detailed, very fancy drink, a couple pastries, and a breakfast sandwich.

“You’re lucky they have variety,” he said, amused as he stood to his feet.

“I’ve been here before,” she said, tossing her hair over his shoulder.

He said nothing, only continued to grin as he moved past her and went to the counter to put in the order.

He turned his back to the counter and leaned against it after he’d made the order and paid for it. He watched her sit there, looking tense as ever and the complete opposite of how she’d been when he’d first seen her. Last night she had looked annoyed with life and annoyed with him, but that had morphed into a sexiness that radiated off her the moment she decided to seduce him.

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence – women trying to lure him in for a quick shag in the nearest secluded location. Though her reasoning clearly went beyond the physical. She’d had nothing but her driver’s license and her phone on her when he quickly sifted through her belongings. So either she didn’t go around carrying much, or she had quite possibly hit rock bottom and needed a place to stay for the night. He’d assumed the latter and he’d been right.

“Barry?”

The sound of his own name behind him alerted him to the order being ready. He lazily turned around, grabbed the purchased items and shot the cashier a thousand-watt smile and a thank you before returning to the table.

“As requested,” he said, setting the items before her.

She opened the bag and eyed everything meticulously, obviously trying to decide if she should tell him everything was wrong and make him re-purchase what she had actually wanted.

She looked up at him and waited.

“All good?”

She sniffed airily, as if to show she was too good for him. He tried hard not to laugh.

“It’ll do,” she said, and then lost no time inhaling the food while she waited for her coffee to cool.

He didn’t comment on how clearly hungry she was, only took the seat across from her and watched her as she ate, occasionally glancing out the window to watch the people walking on the sidewalk and across the street. Her moans of satisfaction from the consumed food reminded him of the moans he’d elicited from her when he fucked her into the dingy tiles in the bar’s bathroom, and he shifted slightly to control his hard-on.

“So,” she saved finally, taking a sip of her drink after her food had been thoroughly devoured. “Why the invitation? What made you decide to feed me?”

He met her eyes, still amused at her behavior.

“You seemed like you needed it.”

She eyed him suspiciously.

“Why’d you meet me?” He leaned forward. “Weren’t you scared I might steal something from you again?”

“I was hungry,” she returned.

“And hunger overrides safety is that it? The promise of food is too tempting to ignore?” he teased.

She folded her arms.

“You already stole everything you wanted last night, and you gave it back, so it must be useless to you.”

He smirked and slowly rubbed his foot against her calf under the table.

“Not everything was useless.”

Incredible, he thought, when it took her a full ten seconds to pull away from him and stand to her feet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“Feeding you, I thought.”

“Don’t ignore what just happened. I’m not a complete idiot.”

He looked up at her innocently. “You think I’m trying to seduce you?”

“I know the tricks. You’re not subtle.”

He stood to his feet.

“Neither are you.”

They stood staring at each other, the tension building until he was certain either one of two things was going to happen. She would either huff and walk out of there, possibly deleting his number from her phone and blocking him. Or she’d jump him, and he’d be grateful once again that there weren’t too many customers using the unisex bathroom in the coffee shop.

The click of the lock behind them and the drop of her coat on another dirty, tile floor were nothing compared to the taste of coffee on her tongue as she pulled him down to her with a reckless, passionate kiss.

...

*Also posted on AO3 and FFnet.

[hazzamylouworld-blog]

Serve and Protect

Louis sighs, closing his eyes as soon as he slides into his car. He's exhausted. He's been working for over twenty four hours on a case that seems nearly impossible to crack. He's been a police officer for four years now and he thinks of himself as quite good at what he does. But he just not this case. Because who would want to kill someone in front of their six year old daughter? The case hits home more than usual this time because at home, probably still snoozing in bed, is his heavily pregnant husband, Harry. The couple is having a baby girl and they're busy preparing their house for her arrival. So it's really no shock that Louis is tired. Because when he goes home from work, that's when he's supposed to rest. Only he doesn't. Because when he gets home, Harry always wants to do something to prepare for the baby. Which he totally understands. Harry is thirty seven weeks and so they DO need to prepare. It's just...Louis wishes Harry would allow him to sleep for an hour or two before he drags him out to every baby boutique in London. When he finally arrives back home, it's nearing nine AM and his eyes ache with exhaustion. His head throbs viciously behind them and the thought of his bed and cuddling up to his pregnant husband is so very inviting. He unlocks the door and slips into the kitchen, sighing in relief when the house is still quiet. He pops a few Advil in his mouth and trudges up the stairs, massaging his temples. He smiles in adoration at Harry snoozing, curled up on his side. The bed sheet has fallen and his shirt has risen up just enough for Louis to see his rounded belly up until his protruding belly button. The milky white skin is begging for a kiss but Louis knows if he kisses his belly, their daughter will no doubt wake up and starting bouncing around in Harry's belly. So instead, Louis rubs a thumb to the skin and scoots behind his husband, sighing in relief when his head hits the pillow. He's asleep in a matter of seconds. He's woken up only a mere hour later by Harry bouncing the bed, attempting to get up and out of it. "Oh good, you're awake." Harry hums, bending over his belly uncomfortably to place a kiss to Louis' cheek. "Mm, not really." "How was work?" "Tiring." "What time did you get in?" "Hour ago." "Poor love. I'll leave you to sleep then. Don't forget in a few hours we've got to go pick the paint for the nursery though! We've only got three more weeks or less!" Harry coo's. Louis nods, not bothering to open his eyes. He feels Harry struggle on the bed for a minute or two longer before the room is full of peace and quiet again. It doesn't take him long before he's clonked out again. Harry hums in happiness, waddling to their sweet Beatrix' room. Her crib, changing table, rocking chair, and swing are all put together and ready to be organized. Her closets are stocked as well as her drawers so all that needs to be done before her arrival is the finishing touches of paint on the back wall. Beatrix kicks happily within Harry's belly, letting him know that she's quite hungry. Harry scrunches his nose and pushes her out of his rib as it sends a shooting pain up his side. Every time she moves in an odd position he keeps a bloody Braxton hicks. That's why he and Louis need to get this nursery done. His doctor thinks she'll be here in the next week. Once she's out of his ribs, his stomach muscles relax and he's able to waddle downstairs to the kitchen. He chooses peanut butter toast, banana, and a small bowl of cereal as his meal choice because everything else makes him feel a bit nauseated. His doctor told him to prepare for his morning sickness to come back at the end and Harry thinks that's a bit shit if he's honest. He eats every single bite and Beatrix calms down, happy and full from the breakfast her daddy consumed for her. He decides to shower next and hopes that by the time he gets upstairs, Louis will be awake. He isn't. And Harry is pouty over it. Still, he gets in the shower and brushes his teeth and dresses himself. And Louis still hasn't woken up. He whines in frustration and shakes Louis' shoulder. Louis moans and curls up tighter beneath the sheets. "Come on babe! We've got to goo." Louis groans. "Harry, please.." "I'm sorry. I let you sleep as long as I could but the store only stays open so long." Harry's being dramatic and he knows that but he's nesting and that wall not being done is frustrating him to no end. Louis groans in frustration. "Fine." He sits up and rubs at his eyes tiredly before stumbling to the bathroom and having a quick shower. He still looks completely knackered even after showering and Harry actually feels a bit guilty for waking him. Still the boy puts clothes on and allows Harry to lead him to the car. "Do you mind driving?" Louis mumbles, looking dead on his feet. Harry doesn't particularly like driving nowadays because his belly presses into the wheel but he's afraid if Louis drives, he'll fall asleep and wreck. "Course love." Harry turns on the radio station that Beatrix likes (she always kicks around when any sort of pop song comes on) and sings along to a song Louis doesn't recognize. But he DOES recognize the incessant pounding it's causing in his head. He abruptly turns it down low and Harry pouts. "Sorry babe. We can turn it back on in a second, ok? I've got a pounding headache." Harry still pouts but he nods, knowing how tired Louis really is. The fact is proven when only minutes later, Louis clonks out in the passenger seat. Harry feels guilty even waking him when they arrive but what choice does he have? "Lou? Wake up." He prompts, lightly pushing Louis' shoulder. Louis whimpers and turns over. "Wake up, Lou." Harry whines, getting impatient. The steering wheel is really digging into his belly now and it's more than a little uncomfortable. Louis snorts and opens his eyes in confusion. "We're here." Harry hums. Louis moans, pinching his nose and nods, sitting up. "Do you have any Advil?" "No. Come on, it'll go away once we start moving around." Harry pulls him by the arm into the store. Louis leans over the cart as Harry goes down every single aisle. "Come on, Harry. Can't you just go down the aisle with pink? That's what you wanted, right?" Harry sighs dramatically. "Louuuuuis. I don't know if I want PINK yet. I might want a red or a light yellow or a pu-" Louis huffs and rolls his eyes. "You've been raving about pink for months and now when I have a migraine you want to decide between 50,000 colors? Are you TRYING to annoy me?" Harry's mouth drops before it turns into a smile that Louis knows is anything but sweet. "Hm. That's um...that's a really good question. You can ponder it while you sleep on the couch tonight...dick." Louis sighs, hanging his head. "Sorry...go ahead." Harry smiles and continues down every aisle. Louis can tell he's going extra slow just to make him angry. Harry stops in front of the pinks and Louis huffs in frustration. Harry starts out with about twenty different shades of pink, then goes down to fifteen, ten, five... He stops and turns to Louis with two different shades and shows him. "Which one?" Louis looks down at the them. "Babe...seriously?" "What?" "They look exactly alike." "You've got to be kidding me, Louis. They're completely different." "How so?" "This is bubblegum pink and this is princess pink." Louis' mouth drops. "That's not a difference." "Louis, just pick one." "That one." Louis points to one, barely looking at them again. "Do you even care at all?" Harry huffs. "About the color of the wall? No babe, I don't. You can pick and I'm sure I'll like it." "Do you care at all about the baby's room? The baby? Me?" "Harry, you can't be fucking serious." "Don't curse at me." "I love you, Harry. You know I do. But you are purposely driving me NUTS today and I don't know WHY. Are you mad at me because I went to work? Are you mad at me because I feel shit and I'm tired?! I don't understand!" "No I'm not MAD at you, Louis! I just want you to participate!" "I'm here, aren't I?!" "Barely." "I got out of bed after an HOUR of sleep just to be here with you." Harry sniffles and Louis is horrified to see tears spring to his eyes. "I want to go." "What? What about the paint?" "I want to GO. I don't care what paint we pick, I want to go home." Louis bites his lip. "Harry, both colors are beautiful, yeah? I'm really s-" "I said I wanted to go. Please." Harry sniffles harder before completely leaving Louis in the middle of the aisle. Louis only catches the back of him leaving the store, unable to catch up with him. He sighs, scrubbing his eyes and grabbing the can of paint that Harry was looking at the hardest. He checks out and heads back to the car, finding Harry turned on his side with tear tracks down his face. "Harry." "Harry...please look at me." "No." "Harry, I love you more than anything, yeah? I'm sorry I snapped. I'm really, really sorry. You didn't deserve it at all. I'm just not feeling well." "I just wanted your input." "I know." "And you would barely even talk to me. And if you did you were snapping." Louis sighs. "You don't know what it's like, ok? You don't know how shitty you can feel when you can't figure out who the FUCK would murder someone in front of their child. You don't know what it's like when you have to tell a child their parent isn't coming home. You don't know what it's like to see all these shitty things and worry that all of them will happen to the person you love more than anything in this world." Harry sits up and looks at Louis in shock. He places a hand over his and sniffles. "Lou...I...I never knew you felt this way. Look...feel..." Harry places Louis' hand on his belly, "We're still here. We're still alive. We're safe." Louis sniffles and turns to Harry, grabbing his face and kissing him passionately. "I'm so sorry, H. I love you. I love you so much." "I love you too, Louis. I don't care what color her room is as long as you're by my side helping me paint it." "I promise..I promise I will be." "Hey Louis?" "Yeah?" "Lets go home and nap." And that's the first thing the two have agreed on all day.

[ericschumacher]

A new post, (Welcoming Chronic Sufferers), is available at Eric Schumacher

New Post has been published on https://www.emschumacher.com/welcoming-chronic-sufferers/

Welcoming Chronic Sufferers

This guest post by Jennifer Ji-Hye Ko explores how the local church can welcome, include, and minister to chronic sufferers. It is part of my “Welcoming…” series, which features first-person articles on how to welcome various demographics into our lives and church communities. Previous installations include “Welcoming the Hearing Loss Community,” “Welcoming the Eating Disorder Community,” and “Welcoming Single Parents.”

You’re feeling it, aren’t you? That desperate excitement. The quarantine restrictions may soon be lifted, putting an end to staying at home – an end to virtual meetings and church services, distance learning, and homeschooling. I am truly excited for you, but not necessarily with you. You see, as the majority of people will be rejoicing in their freedom, many like me will experience a loss. 

Chronic Suffering

While I am a wife and mother as well as a servant minister in my church, I have also been disabled for 15 years from chronic illnesses. Every day I have woken up with some measure of all-over, system-wide pain. If I can get out of bed, it takes about an hour to warm up my body before it is safe to do so. By my mid-twenties I was inexplicably disabled for three years before receiving my first diagnosis of Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder with Psychosomatization as a result of childhood traumas I had endured. 

My second diagnosis was Fibromyalgia/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome which would further explain fatigue and widespread pain, as well as a myriad of other strange symptoms. Involuntary muscle tension chronically pulls my muscles so tight that I can sprain or tear a muscle simply by moving. The fatigue makes it difficult even to breathe some days. Sitting up can take maximum effort leaving me in shivering convulsions. 

Last year overt symptoms of Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) left my skin feeling like I had a second-degree burn from head to toe. This makes wearing clothes problematic which in turn makes going into public problematic. Between the unique pain and crippling fatigue, it became distressing, unwise, and at times dangerous for me to leave the house. 

This past January, while in treatment for MCAS, I was found to have Lyme disease. Lyme has been attacking my nervous system causing problems such as intense sensory sensitivity similar to chronic migraines. Most recently, symptoms of psychosis are becoming more pronounced taking portions of my agency. Any stimuli can trigger an outburst. Now realizing that most, if not all, of these conditions have been building since childhood, it is abundantly clear why leaving home has become increasingly painful for me these past 15 years.

COVID-19

For the past few months, the rest of the world has joined with people like me to experience a degree of what it means to be homebound and shut-in. Church service has been made accessible in a new way as many churches are now providing live-stream. Community groups and Bible studies are meeting via Zoom and other chat services. People are suddenly acutely aware of the weakest among us. Since March, those of us who have been on the fringe of society, shut up in our homes long before this pandemic started, have been able to be included in ways we weren’t before – and that may soon come to an end.

Church, as you celebrate that first Sunday together again, don’t forget us. I’m not saying celebrate less or feel guilty – by no means! It is a sweet blessing to gather together in person with other believers. But as you are celebrating, remember us. Bear witness that we are here and that we matter. Here are a few ways to continue welcoming members of the church who are homebound in the days and weeks to come.

Church Services

In the first week of quarantine here in Los Angeles, a dear friend of mine texted me exactly what I was feeling: “It only took a pandemic, but we finally got live-streamed services.” We had been discussing ways to make Sunday service accessible for a little while but, for various reasons, it was slow going. It is a big undertaking to provide accessibility. The amount of work it requires can be overwhelming and can cause many people to burn out and/or give up. But for many of us who can’t make it to church on a Sunday morning in normal times, we can feel left out or cut off because of how difficult it can be to love us sometimes. The reality is that it took the majority needing live-stream service for chronic sufferers to be included, and it’s easy for that thought to bring up feelings of anger and bitterness, whether warranted or not. Ideally, it would be a huge blessing for churches to continue live-streaming after the restrictions are lifted. Where that’s not possible, it would be both loving and appreciated to openly acknowledge the lack and to continue to make church services as accessible as possible. 

Compassion

This pandemic has disrupted everyone’s life. Because of how it has, many people now have a glimpse into the daily frustrations and longings of chronic sufferers and those who are regularly homebound. Set time aside to reflect on your time in quarantine and how your feelings might mirror those who have experienced being shut in before now. Write down how you feel during this time and talk to God about it. Be honest even about your most vulnerable, and your most petty, thoughts, and emotions. Then think how a friend might have felt losing her job when illness took over. Or how protecting one’s health can be a daily concern for some. How hospital visits may be necessary but always run the risk of adding infection. Or how not seeing another human being besides one’s family for months can cause an indescribable ache. Not only will this be a sweet meditation with God, but it’s also a way to gain empathy for shut-ins in our church family long after this pandemic is behind us. 

Community

While those of us who are homebound desire community, it is often difficult to reach out and can be tiring to do so. Friends can help take that burden by continuing to make community group meetings available via video chat, even after groups begin meeting in person again. It would be a huge blessing for groups to take the initiative to have a laptop and good WiFi set up for members who will still be unable to be physically present. This is also valuable for one-on-one meetings that can’t happen in person, whether they are social gatherings, Bible studies, or other fellowship opportunities.

For years, I overextended myself beyond my capacity to make sure I was physically attending church events. It never occurred to me that, because I am sick, the church could, and should, be coming to me. Recently I expressed to my husband that it feels as though the church has been coming around us much more. He offered another perspective. For the past 10+ years, I have had one faithful friend who has kept a weekly standing appointment to visit. While I do communicate with others via text and the occasional call, this friend has been my main human contact with the church for some time. When she goes on vacation or has an illness flair herself, I feel the absence. Recently another friend started intentionally reaching out through text, phone calls, and socially distanced in-person visits. My husband conjectured that, as starved as we have been for community, this one extra friend carries a profound weight. But this weight ought not to be carried by one or two members of the church body. Each person has unique abilities, availability, gifting, and personal relationships designed to be a blessing to those suffering. Unfortunately, since chronic sufferers are not visible, it can be all too easy for us to fall through the cracks. 

Bear Witness

As you have likely experienced in quarantine, staying at home creates a black hole pulling our attention into the vortex of our own navels. Isolation makes it really difficult to remember that other worlds exist outside our own. The days grow longer without activities to break them up, and we can begin to feel as though we are forgotten. This is where “tiny texts” and “gifts of remembrance” come in. 

It is noble and godly to pray for one another; however, it is challenging to feel the prayers of others if we don’t hear them ourselves. Honestly, it’s hard to feel much outside the continual current of pain and psychological episodes as well as the hurricane of doctor’s appointments, medical procedures, and self-care routines. But a phone call or text can go a long way. You can text your prayer or text, “I prayed _____ for you today.” It’s also a blessing when people send texts about their day and share their own struggles and celebrations. It brings us out of ourselves and invites us to engage in the lives of others. This is a small, concrete way to encourage the exhausted and strengthen the fainthearted (Isaiah 35:3).

Gifts of remembrance are also wonderful signposts to remind us that we are known and remembered. They are gifts that keep on giving. I have a painting on my wall that is so perfect, so spot-on, that I cried upon receiving it. My eyes are filling with tears just writing about it now. When I look at it from my bed, I am comforted that Camille knows me and remembers me. When my husband pulls out his whiskey sampler, I am encouraged that the Rosses know and remember him. And when my daughter wears her favorite princess dress, I am blessed that Marisol knows and remembers her.

Another way to bear witness is to acknowledge us to others. On that fine Sunday when you meet together once again, verbally acknowledge those of your church family who will not be present to attend services. We feel invisible and to a certain degree, we are invisible. When we are safe at home we are out of sight and very easily out of mind. Additionally, relationships are a give and take. Because we can’t give much and need a lot, we can sometimes feel like leeches, no matter the sacred purity and wisdom the Lord is refining in us. Helping the rest of the congregation remember us is an act of love and advocacy that affirms we are, as Paul says, indispensable to the church (1 Corinthians 12:22), equally part of the body even if we cannot be there in the flesh. 

Be Patient With Us All

Remain patient and remember that patience is active. Being patient with the weak means sitting with us when we are in pain, talk to us when our minds are spiraling, grieving with us as we endure daily losses, bringing us a meal or groceries (again), and eating with us – doing so without expectation of an end to your patience or our need for it. In our fast-paced age, our patience grows thin fast and we are less likely to long suffer unless the Lord gives us circumstances that demand it. Put it in your mind that there is no time limit on suffering or grief, and that the Lord will always provide strength to the willing heart. So prepare yourself and stay with us. Not only will you encourage the fainthearted and help the weak, but you will also slowly begin to really know us and see us as our Savior does. Even more, you will be our witness, Christ to us in times when our vision grows weak. Together we will reflect the body as it is meant to be, loving and serving one another, reflecting God’s glory to the world, whether we are sheltering at home or traveling far beyond our own thresholds.

Jennifer Ji-Hye Ko is a writer, poet, and servant minister at Cornerstone Church West Los Angeles. She lives with her husband Joon and their daughter, remaining tenacious amid her various physical and mental illnesses. You can follow Jennifer on Instagram at @jennifer.jihye.ko.

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