#it was supposed to be so much sicker than it came out

[d1shfandomz]

persona 5 had so much potential to be one of the greatest social commentaries of its decade in, hell, not even just in gaming and they fucking blew it by giving us fanservice of minors with gigantic tits and totally not pedophilic romance options as opposed to thematically poignant queer relationship options and you expect me to not be pissed off?? like ur kidding

[girlgenius1111]

not what you think

barça x reader what are actually symptoms of a migraine and developing illness are mistaken for a hangover, unfortunately for r. alexia is not happy, and r is too out of it to argue with her punishment. fluff + angst ensue :) cw: mentions of illness, throwing up, etc.

-----

You felt awful. Sicker than you’d ever felt in your entire life. When your alarm went off, you wanted to unplug your phone from the charger and throw it across the room. There was a match this weekend, though. An important one. With a slew of injuries hitting the team, they needed you more than ever. And you were not about to let them down. 

This team meant more to you than you could express. They were the first people in your life to show you love, and care. Barça was the first place you felt like you belonged. And, for the first time in your life, you were really truly happy. You hadn’t realized, before, that you weren’t happy. You thought everyone felt the way you did. And then you arrived in Barcelona, and your entire world was turned upside down simply because, all of a sudden, people cared about you. It was amazing how much that could change in a person’s life. 

So, no. You weren’t going to call out of training because of a little migraine. Even though your migraines always preceded you getting sick, and trying to push through only made them worse.  You weren’t going to let anyone down. 

-----

To anyone looking in on the situation, anyone that didn’t know you very well, it would seem obvious that you were hungover. The team had a big win the other day, and a lot of your teammates had gone out to celebrate last night. You didn’t join them, of course, being only 17. You knew the rules; you weren’t to drink. You were lucky enough they let you live alone, and you weren’t willing to risk that privilege. 

When you walked into the locker room, sunglasses over your eyes, shoulders slumped, face pale, it was almost a deja vu moment. Pina, Cata, Patri, Jana, and a couple others had walked in similarly a few minutes earlier. Your older teammates took one look at you, and instantly came to the conclusion that you were, in fact, hungover. 

There seemed to be some unspoken communication between your captains, who fixed their glares on you instantly. Not that you noticed. You were too busy trying to drink water, hoping the throbbing pain in your head would lessen before you had to start recovery. 

That was the thing. It was supposed to be a chill day, just a quick workout to get the blood flowing, and then a lot of stretching. Alexia and Irene had decided, though, that the girls who had come in obviously hungover were to be punished. They knew what they were risking when they went out, and they did it anyway. So, they were sentenced to the regular laps. The girls were already outside getting started when you’d made it to the locker room, so you weren’t aware at all that it was occurring. 

You were confused, then, when Alexia approached you, a hard look on her face. It wasn’t how Alexia normally regarded you; it was known your captain had quite a soft spot for you, but the thought that you’d been out drinking was infuriating her, and she wasn’t in the mood to be kind. 

Once you looked up at her, she pulled the sunglasses off your face, throwing them into the cubby behind you with a scoff. 

“Up. Outside. Laps. You are already behind.” Alexia demanded, rolling her eyes when you squinted up at her in confusion. 

“Why?” You asked, voice raspy, which didn’t help your case at all. 

“Do not play dumb. Go.” Alexia said roughly. You stood shakily, and walked out the door without another word. 

You thought Alexia was angry that you were sick. You hadn’t thought it would be like this, at Barça, when you got sick, like it had been at your old club. Where you were expected to train through everything, and if you showed any weakness, you were pushed harder and harder. It appeared that Barça was just as you’d feared; too good to be true. 

You still didn’t want to make anyone angry, so you fell into step with your teammates, who all looked to be in varying states of misery, ignoring the confused looks they sent your way. They at least knew that you hadn’t gone out with them the night before. They weren’t sure why you looked so ill, or why you were running laps, but their own feelings of sickness were rather distracting, and they continued on without asking any questions.

You didn’t know how long you ran for. Alexia had said laps, and she hadn’t specified how many, so you supposed you were supposed to run until she said you could stop. The other girls eventually finished their laps, slowly making their way inside to join the rest of the team. You stayed out there, going around and around the field, practically a zombie on your feet. You felt so sick, so bad. You were surprised you hadn’t fainted, or thrown up. 

“Nena, enough. You can come in.” A voice called from the doors. You slowed down, practically falling to your knees, before you forced yourself back up. Your whole body was sticky with sweat, and your vision was weird. There was a blinding pain in your head, now, and you just wanted to lay down. You couldn’t show weakness, though. If anything, the state you were in only reinforced that message. 

You stumbled over to Alexia, accepting the arm she wrapped around your shoulders gratefully. She was still angry, though, still stiff against you. 

“Idiota,” she mumbled. You blinked a few tears away, knowing that crying wouldn’t help you at all. You tried not to be surprised that Alexia was acting in this way. It wouldn’t help to expect to be treated differently. You didn’t deserve it, and you shouldn’t have gotten used to it.

 “Are you going to be sick?” She asked after a minute, her voice still all stern and gruff. 

You took a deep breath. Strong. You had to be strong. “No.” You said firmly. 

“Good. Get in the gym, stretch, and catch up.” 

Alexia handed you a water bottle and gave you a gentle nudge towards the stretching area. You ignored the eyes of the team on you as you headed there, acting much more steady than you felt. Your hands were shaking, and the bright lights were somehow almost worse than the sun beating down on you had been. You were sweating, but freezing, as you began your stretching, the mumbling voices around you not meeting your ears. 

It was Jana that came to your rescue, approaching where Alexia was working on arms with Mapi, Irene, Marta, and Frido. It was brave of Jana, considering how angry her captain was with her for the previous night's activities. 

“Ale?” She asked tentatively, wincing when the icy glares of four of her teammates met her. Mapi was smiling of course, a sympathetic look in her eyes. 

“What?” Alexia asked, crossing her arms and raising an intimidating eyebrow at the younger girl. 

“Why is nena being punished?” 

Alexia looked at Jana like she was crazy. “Because she went out with you all and is hungover. Which we’ll be talking about later. It’s one thing to be idiots yourselves, but to drag a 17 year old down with you? I am disappointed, Jana.” 

Normally, those words would have made the brunette’s stomach drop. Instead, she was just more confused. 

“Nena didn’t go out with us. We’d never do that, she’s practically an infant. She’s not hungover, I think she’s sick or something.” 

It was almost poetic, how quickly you rushed out of the room after that. Realization was dawning across Alexia’s face, quickly followed by guilt, and the little group surrounding her was turning towards you just in time to see you bolt out the gym door. 

“Fuck,” Alexia muttered, moving to follow you out the door. She was stopped, though, by Ingrid pulling her back and shaking her head. 

“Ale, she thinks you're mad at her for being sick. Hang back for a bit, Mario and I will go.” 

The blonde looked like she wanted to do anything but hang back for a sec. Still, she trusted Ingrid, and what she was saying made sense, so she nodded her head and watched as the Norwegian walked out the gym door, quickly followed by Mariona.  

They found you in the bathroom, practically collapsed leaning over the toilet, dry heaving as there was simply nothing in your stomach to come up. 

Ingrid took charge of the situation, turning to Mario. “Get some water, and a couple ice packs. And tell the girls to stay out. 

Mariona saluted dramatically. “Yes ma’am.” Ingrid rolled her eyes, walking over to your crumpled form. 

“Hey, nena,” she said softly, stopping in her tracks when you reached a hand back, gesturing for her to not come any closer. 

“I’m okay, just need a sec,” you mumbled, before you tilted sideways, almost going headfirst into the wall. Ingrid moved fast, though, grabbing your shoulders and sitting down next to you. 

“Easy, honey,” Ingrid soothed, leaning you up against the wall and taking a closer look at your face. “What are your symptoms?” 

“No, I’m okay. Just help me up, I can finish training.” You insisted, although you made no move to stand up. 

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “No, tell me what you’re feeling please.” 

You sniffed pitifully. “Migraine.” 

The Norwegian sighed roughly. “Let’s get you home, yes?”

You pulled away from her, then, stumbling to your feet. “No, I can finish training. Ale is already mad at me for being sick, I don’t want to make it worse, let me finish training please.”

“No-” Ingrid began, before she was cut off by the frantic sound of the door opening. Mario had returned with some water for you, and Alexia had clearly lost her patience waiting, and followed her in. 

“Pequeña, I am not mad that you are sick, I am so sorry. I thought you went out with the girls and were hungover,” 

You were swaying unsteadily on your feet, all three girls watching you very carefully. “You aren’t mad I’m sick?” 

“No, of course not, nena,” Alexia replied, watching as your expression transformed from guarded and determined, to one that was terribly upset and tearful. You leaned, just barely, in Alexia’s direction, and she took her opportunity to wrap you up in a tight hug. It didn’t take long for her to realize you were crying into her shirt and she was sure she’d never felt more guilty in her whole life. 

“I don’t feel good,” you murmured pathetically. 

“I know, nena, I know.” Alexia whispered, frowning at the fever that was very clearly radiating off of you. “Come on, I’m taking you home.” She nodded meaningfully at Mario and Ingrid, who left the bathroom to grab your bag from the locker room. 

Alexia really only realized just how sick you felt when you nodded, resigned, and put up no fight when the older woman picked you up. 

You were practically limp in her arms as she carried you out of the room, eyes falling shut as you rested your head against her chest. You were clearly quite uncomfortable, eyebrows furrowed with pain, and Alexia decided to just take you right to her car; she’d worry about both of your bags later.

------

You were pretty out of it all the way home. So out of it, in fact,that you didn’t realize you weren’t being taken to your home until Alexia was carrying through the front door of her house. 

“Olgui, ven aquí,” she called. The blonde’s girlfriend appeared, the smile on her face disappearing at the sight of you. Alexia very carefully laid you down, allowing you to flop onto the couch. You were a little more aware now, aware enough to squirm uncomfortably when you realized you weren’t at home. 

“Ale,” you complained, the room being much too bright for you. You rolled into the cushions of the couch, hiding your face under a pillow. 

“What did you do to pequeña?” Olga wondered, moving closer when Alexia looked at her rather helplessly. 

“I made her run laps and she’s sick,” Alexia admitted. Olga smacked Alexia’s arm lightly, and the blonde rubbed it even though it hadn’t hurt. “I thought she was hungover!” 

“It’s hot out, Ale,” Olga scolded. “What’s wrong with her?” 

“She said it’s a migraine,” Alexia murmured, avoiding her girlfriend’s eyes as Olga glared at her. It was obvious that Alexia hadn’t really thought through bringing you home. She wasn’t good at taking care of sick people, and she knew it. Her worry had been in overdrive, though, and all she could think about was getting you somewhere safe and comfortable. Thank god for her girlfriend, who took charge right away, crouching down next to you and carefully pulling the pillow away from your face. You groaned in complaint, and Olga smiled sympathetically. 

“Hey, nena, can I feel your forehead?” 

“Okay.” You replied, sighing slightly at the feeling of the brunette’s cool hand on your warm skin. 

Olga’s eyebrows pinched with concern. “You’re really warm, did you take anything this morning?” 

“No.” You mumbled, pulling the pillow back over your face when Olga retracted her hand. At this, the brunette turned to her increasingly panicked girlfriend, listing off a series of instructions and things to bring to you. When she was done talking, Alexia ran off to the medicine cabinet, and Olga pulled you into a sitting position, insistently handing you water. 

You let the two women hover over you, making you take a fever reducer, put a cool washcloth on your head, and drink an obscene amount of water. When they were satisfied with that, and you seemed to be on the verge of smacking the next hand that came towards your face, Alexia decided to bring you into the extra bedroom, and let you rest. 

You flopped right out of her arms onto the bed, and Alexia softly reminded you to shout if you needed anything, before leaving the room. You almost instantly drifted off to sleep, not sure what time it was, but relatively comforted by the knowledge that Alexia would probably come check on you soon. 

------

You slept right through dinner, and though Alexia wanted to wake you up to eat something, Olga advised her to let you sleep the migraine off. So at 10, when you still hadn’t woken, she refilled your water, left a snack on the nightstand, and headed to bed herself. 

The blonde had been sitting in bed, staring off into the distance for at least 45 minutes, before Olga got tired of waiting for her girlfriend to talk about whatever was clearly bothering her.

Olga put her phone down, and turned to Alexia, getting her attention. “Amor, what are you thinking?” Olga asked quietly, bringing a hand up to the nape of her girlfriend’s neck and scratching lightly. Alexia was deep in thought, though she relaxed a bit when Olga spoke. 

“Thank you for helping her.” Alexia murmured. 

“Of course.” Olga said easily. She paused for a moment, studying the blonde next to her that looked, shockingly and inexplicably, close to tears. “What’s bothering you?” 

Alexia just shrugged, but gave in when Olga gave her a familiar look, one that told her to start talking. 

“You… you will be a good mother one day.” Alexia mumbled, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. 

“Thank you?” Olga said, blinking at her girlfriend, rather confused. 

“I do not think that I will be.” The blonde admitted. 

Olga softened, leaning closer into her girlfriend. “Why do you think that, amor?” 

“I was completely useless earlier. I hurt her feelings, and then I didn’t know how to make her feel better. She’s 17, and I couldn’t do it. What would I do with a baby? I’d just mess it all up.” Alexia cried miserably, bringing a hand to her face to wipe harshly at her eyes.

Olga’s hand caught hers, the brunette using her sleeve to wipe the blonde’s face much more gently. “That’s what you’re upset about? That you didn’t know how to help pequeña?” 

“When I used to get sick, Mami always knew what to do and how to help. It came so naturally to her, and it comes s0 naturally to you. It is not like that for me.” 

Before Olga could respond, your voice called out from the extra bedroom. 

“Ale?” you yelled hoarsely, and it was obvious that you were crying. 

Alexia was out of bed like a bullet, sprinting down the hall into the guest room where you were. 

“Nena? What is it?” She asked, hovering over you uncertainty. You were laying on your back, eyes squeezed shut, tears running down your cheeks. 

“It really hurts,” you sobbed.

 Alexia sighed shakily, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Your head?”

 “Yeah.” You replied.

“I am so sorry, pequeña. What can I do?” 

“I don’t know.” You whimpered, in too much pain to really be embarrassed about how pathetic you were acting. You were desperate for something, anything to make it stop hurting. Alexia could tell you were beginning to panic, the pain in your head becoming overwhelming. 

“Nena, look at me.” She instructed. You blinked your eyes open, doing as she asked. “Do you need to go to the hospital?” 

“No, this is how my migraines always feel,” you told her. Alexia nodded, filing this information away for later. 

“Okay. Take a few deep breaths for me, yes?” 

Again, you blindly followed her instructions, breathing in through your nose, and out through your mouth. After a few breaths, you opened your eyes again, and looked to your captain for further guidance. 

“How long do your migraines normally last?” 

You thought for a moment. “Not longer than a day.” 

“I think if you go back to sleep, you’ll feel better when you wake up then, right?” She clarified, trying to look at this logically when she knew you could not. 

“Yeah, probably.” You mumbled back, trying to relax yourself back into the bed. 

“Good. How can I make you more comfortable?” Alexia asked softly, pushing a strand of hair out of your face. 

You were quiet for a moment, looking cautiously at Alexia before you shook your head minutely. “I don’t know.” 

The blonde studied you for a moment. “Yes you do. Tell me.” 

“It’s stupid.” You argued back, refusing to make eye contact with her. 

“Tell. Me.” Alexia insisted, poking you twice in the stomach. You jerked away, giving her a dirty look. 

“Can you stay in here with me until I fall asleep?” You asked finally, because the thought of being alone right now was overwhelmingly horrible. 

Alexia softened. “Of course, nena. That’s not stupid.” She slid into the bed with you, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulder, encouraging you to snuggle up to her. 

“It is stupid, I’m not a child, I'm an adult.” You grumbled, but you went practically limp against Alexia when she began to rub your back soothingly. 

“You might not be a child, but you’re still a kid. And needing someone to take care of you isn’t stupid.” Alexia insisted. 

“Okay.” You muttered, already half asleep. Alexia smiled to herself, glad that she could do one thing right, at least. It was only a few more minutes before you were properly passed out on top of your captain. Alexia settled in too, her eyes just beginning to slide shut when Olga gently pushed the door open, a completely adoring expression on her face at the sight in front of her. 

“No maternal instincts, huh?” She teased, moving to the other side of the bed to kiss her girlfriend goodnight. 

“Shut up.” Alexia replied gruffly, though it was impossible to miss the protective look on her face when she pulled you in closer, or the shy blush that lit up her cheeks when she looked back at Olga. 

“Goodnight, mi amor.” Olga whispered. Alexia returned the sentiment, watching Olga leave the room, her thoughts completely overrun with images of her and Olga, and their future. 

What was another kid to the one they already apparently had?

-----

soft but confused alexia :,)

haven’t finished flipped (ingrid x mapi x reader) but i did finish this so hope you enjoy ❤️🫶🏻

[narenohate]

I FOUND OLD ART FROM THE OLD FIC,,, woulde someone want me to rewrite it? i haev plot in me head :'3 the soul scrolls left behind by the collector's people are perfected into beast-curses that make criminals useful by both breaking their minds and warping their bodies. born anew in confusion, they turn to the emperor's light, and bow for baptism, made holy in their sacrifice.

Summary of what i wanna write...

Luz is a basilisk. This wasn't always the case, but she does not remember what she was before this. She's stopped from pondering when she realizes she knows the guard outside her cell-, one Amity Blight, keen-eyed, rising fast in the coven's ranks, from somewhere. She thrashes, tears her blanket to pieces, falls to the floor. She takes on a face by instinct - it comes to the forefront of her mind and her reflexes, more natural than any mask before it, but belonging not to any sort of witch or demon she knows. Instead, it seems to pertain to fear itself, for the girl outside her cell won't stop screaming. She has an aching heart and a brain that barely recalls the meaning of the words she's hearing, taking its time to process what the girl is repeating like a mantra. Amity cannot kill the basilisk while it wears her human's face, and Luz has eight hours to convince her that they know one another from somewhere, and that if Amity opens the gate, she will figure out how things were supposed to be, and she will snap the status quo back in place. If she just comes a little closer, she'll hold her hand. She'll kiss her knuckles. She'll look like she did when they wheeled her away to the execution chamber, in the dim light. Filthy and glass-eyed. meanwhile, far away, Camila Noceda copes with the fourth anniversary of her daughter's return from a summer camp excursion that ended in disaster, and celebrates that, even if she was the only one, Luz survived. A part of her hates herself for letting her daughter back in, more than for leaving her at that bus stop all those years ago. You see, Camila is growing more convinced each day that what came back to her home after the carnage was cleaned up and every other body was identified… Isn't Luz at all.

nobody knows but. this is for want of a nail: luz and camila went their separate ways with a worse fight, because the bus didn't go to the camp on the same day as it all started. as fights tend to do between family members, it got ugly.

and so, once she crossed the threshold, and just so happened to find herself with a witch a bit sicker, a bit more in need of her help, luz sunk deeper into eda's hold, clung desperate, begged for a way to never let go. so she took the mirror and traced the line on her ear - are you sure this is short enough, kid? right angle? it'll bleed too much to do it twice over.

to learn to walk on her toes as witches do and must, she wore odd heels. the sickness of the isles' food faded. it welcomed her. she became faster with a spring to her step and a room like a nest, teeth just a bit too sharp, gums tinted purple from her new diet.

the glyphs, she burned them upon her skin. it hurt like hell and then felt like her papí's hugs.

she leaned into it, called herself a witch by month three. sash and belt, shawl over shoulders, hair tied back behind a scarf. and if you called her clawthorne, she'd jolt to attention, quick, as if she were used to it.

thus, when belos found her, he did not assume he was facing off against a human.

... she did not re-learn her name was luz until a coven guard dully uttered it, nauseous at the sight of her after so many years.

[lunarscript]

OPPOSITE ENDS

SCENARIO : boothill and reader bumping into each other + having a brief interaction under unwell circumstances.

PAIRING: boothill x gn!reader

ⓘ — angst(? if it could count as that), mentions of drinking alcohol + boothill’s backstory, ambiguous ending about reader , reader also has a supposed accent , + references to the IPC + death.

He thinks about you a lot. Perhaps too much. On days he finds himself trying to drink his sorrows away, he cant help but feel worse than before. At least when hes sober, he can change what he’s thinking about.

Now, all he can think about is how he misses you.

The shape of you, the touch of you, the sweet gaze you gave him whenever he came running back with his, your daughter—so full of love and warmth. Whatever happened to that beautiful partner he loved so much? That family he built, he cherished? His entire life? Those damn IPC folk, that’s what.

He wholeheartedly believed you to be dead, with the rest of his family. His love. His world. The mechanized man took another swig of beer before he slammed it back into the table with a huff and walked off, a few coins finding their place on it. His hand finds its place running across his face in irritation. He slowly stumbles away from the bar and all it's blinding lights.

Despite his actions, the alcohol never actually buzzed his gears, but it provided relief when things were stressful. His mind proved just a little hazy when he mistakenly ran into another person.

“Watch it, cowboy!” they snapped. Boothill instantly turned his head with reddened cheeks and scowled, his sharp teeth grinding.

“You’re one to forkin talk!” he yelled, eyes finally adjusting and focussing on the person in front of him.

Black cap, black uniform, maroon tie, and a badge to boot. The sight made him sick, but the face he saw made him sicker.

He blinks a few times before staring at the worker. He had to be seeing things. Usually these IPC officers would wear masks… But this one looked exactly like you, just older.

The same height, build, and your eyes… Aeons, those beautiful eyes he could get lost in were right there. Right there in front of him.

His face grew slack. Astonished, he took several steps back. It was like seeing a ghost. A ghost he longed for, trying his best to never forget that perfect smile or laugh. He slowly took his hat off and pushed it to his chest. his breath hitches, waiting with baited breath for your next words. His imagination might've gotten his hopes up.

“Sorry... That might’ve been a tad too brash of me.” you say awkwardly after a few moments of silence. All he can do is stare. He cant tell if its the alcohol or not, but fudge, it sounds just like you. It hurts him; it sounds like you’re trying to cover up your accent.

You purse your lips and make a face you usually make when something’s gone sour—he would know. You dust your shoulder off, where the two of you collided. Your beautiful face finally calms as you put on a nice smile and ask, “Say, have we met somewhere before?”

The phrase hits him like a pile of bricks. or rather like the entire Astral Express. The wind is suddenly knocked out of him and his eyebrows furrow. His metal fingers become tense, his mechanical knuckles strained, clenching on his hat. It's almost as if he's become a statue, forever staring at your stupid face.

Moreover, his heart is beating so fast and it pinches almost. There's a burning sensation around his eyes but nothing comes out.

There was never really a time where he wished his human body was back but this encounter, this moment, sure made him want to change that. He wished he could cry, have hot tears slowly stream down his cheeks so you could see he missed you. He wished he could reach out with a warm hand so you could remember his touch. To be human again just to lay in bed with you, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck as you both fall asleep in each others warmth and embrace.

So that you could remember the man you loved without all the mechanized parts.

“You seem. Familiar.” You hit him with a soft laugh that wrecks his mechanical heart, your hand on your hip as you tilted your head slightly to the side. The sight breaks his heart.

“You too, sugar.” he quickly responded, putting his hat back on his head with a swift motion. The cowboy cleared his throat as he forced his hat downward. “A mighty fine pleasure to meet’cha though.”

But the alcohol must be getting huge run through his system. After all, there’s no chance of you being alive. And even less of a chance that you joined the corrupt IPC. As much as it hurts to walk away, he does.

His outfit clicks and pings with all the metals hooked onto it. Every click of his heel echoing in his head. Each step feels so heavy, but he must continue.

Last you two spoke, it was about how if anything happens, you would never go into the IPC and you would stand your ground—protect your home. He knows you would never break your promise. He’s put too much trust on your love for you to break the last promise you’ve made with him. For you to betray him like this, no. not like this.

He walks away because you becoming the thing hes sought to destroy and hate is much worse than you dying a horrible death. Supporting the corporation that took everything away from the both of you was unimaginable.

There just couldnt be any other way. You had to be dead.

He had to be seeing things with his perfect, fixed vision.

Besides, there’s just no way he’s staying more then five minutes with a member of the IPC. He can’t risk getting caught now. He’s a wanted man, after all.

And you’ve already gone the opposite way.

[harvestleaves]

Let. Me. In. (RoosterxF!Reader)

Prompt: Hi, I would like to request for a sickfic for Bradley, reader is stubborn as a bull and refuses to admit she’s sick and she gets sicker until Bradley slowly gets her be vulnerable. And in the end the reader is nursed back to health by Bradley.

A/N: Sorry this took me a week to write, I was super tired after work all week, but I hope you like this!  Let me know if I should start also posting these to Ao3!

Rating: T for brief swearing by Bradley

Word Count: 1,239

You weren’t sick.  It was probably just allergies.  It was the middle of April and things were blooming, so your throat was sore.  Of course you ignored the nagging voice in the back of your head that sounded suspiciously like Bradley’s reminding you that you didn’t have allergies, at least to pollen.  Dogs, sure, but not pollen.

It was allergy season.  Sure, there was a spring cold going around the elementary school you taught at, but you wanted to think that you taught your kiddos enough about hand washing technique at the beginning of the year that they shouldn’t get too sick.

Then, two kids were absent from your class for a fever last week.  Two kids wasn’t enough for you to worry too much though, so you decided not to mention it to your boyfriend Bradley.  You knew he would’ve checked you over for signs of sickness immediately. because he was a bit of a mother-hen when it came to any aspect of your well-being.

It’s not like you minded Bradley fussing over you.  You were just used to taking care of yourself and not relying on anyone, so old habits die hard.

You started to regret not telling him this week though when your throat started get scratchy and you were going to bed earlier than normal, at 8:30 or 9 instead of your typical 10 o’clock bedtime.

Bradley was busy with work, and tried chalking up your exhaustion to just being close to the end of the school year.  But there was part of him that suspected it was something more.

Kicking your shoes off when you got home at 4:30 on Friday afternoon, you grabbed a pair of Bradley’s sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt before going to the bathroom for a hot shower.

Your head had been hurting since lunch, and you were shivering.  Despite it being an 82 degree day in California with the sun shining brightly.  Maybe you were actually sick, but you were sure it was nothing a shower and nap couldn’t fix.  Bradley wasn’t supposed to be home until 6, so you figured that was plenty of time to get clean and a quick nap in.

Taking your time in the shower, you let the warm water run over your skin, soothing your muscles as you took a deep breath of the steamy air.

And promptly started to cough.

You were too busy coughing up a lung in the shower that you didn’t hear Bradley enter the apartment and make his way towards the bathroom.  Frowning, Bradley crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway.

“Y/N?  You okay?”

Jumping at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice, you tried to catch your breath, calling back a quick “yeah, I’m fine.”  You hoped that would be enough to satisfy Bradley’s concern until you got out.

Finishing showering in ten minutes, you turned off the water before reaching around the curtain for your towel where it usually hung on the bar next to the shower.  But it wasn’t there.

Pulling back the curtain, you blinked in confusion before noticing Bradley near the sink, holding open a towel for you.  A tired smiled graced your lips before you stepped out of the shower and into your boyfriends arms as he wrapped the towel around your rapidly cooling body.  The very soft and warm towel.

You let your eyelids drift shut, your exhaustion from the last week finally taking over you as Bradley held you close, gently squeezing you in the hug before he dropped a kiss to your wet hair.

“What’s going on beautiful?  You’ve been going to bed early all week, and your voice has sounded scratchy all week.  Is something going around at work?” Bradley asked, rubbing his hand firmly over your back as he held you close to his chest, not caring if his shirt got wet since he was going to change soon anyways.

“Yeah, but I’m not sick.”

He could see straight through your lie.  So, instead of just letting you continue with it, Bradley decided to call you out on it.  Tilting your chin up so you were eye to eye, he leveled you with an intense look.

“That’s bullshit and you and I both know it.  You’ve been going to bed early, and you sound like shit.  We’ve been together for over a year and we live together. Let. Me. In,” he said, reaching up to brush a tear from your cheek that you didn’t realize had fallen.

“You don’t have to do everything yourself.  I know you’re used to it, but I want to take care of you.  I know your last boyfriend complained whenever you asked him to give you the slightest bit of affection and that’s why you’re hyper independent.  But you don’t have to be like that with me.  Just let your guard down, even if its just for tonight,” Bradley said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his words finally shattering the glass wall you had carefully and meticulously built over the last few years.

You were scared, because letting someone in to care about you also left you open to get hurt.  Logically, you knew Bradley wouldn’t break your heart, but there was still that sliver of fear in the back of your mind that you knew wasn’t going away anytime soon.

Letting your tears finally fall down your cheeks, you sniffled miserably against your boyfriend’s chest.

“I might have caught something at work.  I didn’t want to bother you though, it’s probably just a cold.  Nothing for you to worry about,” you said between sniffles before shivering closer to Bradley.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s just a cold or not, I still want you to tell me if you don’t feel well.  Let’s get you dressed though and onto the couch.  Then, I’ll grab you a blanket and make you some chamomile tea.  Sound good?” Bradley asked as he rubbed your back before pulling back to finish drying you off with the towel.  Having you step into the sweatpants and hoodie, he then patted your hair dry with the towel before grabbing your brush to detangle your hair.

Once your hair was brushed, you turned to kiss Bradley’s cheek before shuffling off to the couch, curling up on your right side with an exhausted yawn, smiling as a blanket was placed over you.

Moving to get a quick shower himself, Bradley made quick work of it before emerging in a t-shirt and sweatpants, then making his way into the kitchen to make some tea.  He heated up the water in the electric kettle you insisted on using for it, even though he didn’t think it made any difference than just microwaving a mug of water.

Despite his own thoughts on it, he knew you would appreciate the extra sentiment of the kettle.  Peeking his head out to check on you, he smiled when he saw you finally asleep on the couch, one arm tucked underneath your head as you snored softly.

Bradley turned the kettle off for the time being, deciding to let you get the sleep you so clearly needed.  Leaving the empty mugs on the counter, he moved to gently pick your upper body up before sitting on the couch and placing your head in his lap before re-tucking the blanket around you to keep you warm as you napped.

[magicspace114]

Fighting Death?

You're a fighter.

That's what everyone keeps saying. Fighting against death, you were. But you didn't feel like it. You didn't feel like you were fighting anything. You felt like all you were doing was sitting in a chair, watching the chemotherapy drugs enter your system. You could feel yourself getting weaker with each day, you weren't fighting anything. You weren't in any shape to fight something and win.

But you didn't want to die.

You were scared of dying. You couldn't leave, not yet. You had your sister's graduation ahead, you had your mother's 50th birthday around the corner. You didn't want to possibly leave them, not now.

You got sicker, weaker, you were in agony. You barely slept. It would be all too easy to just give up. But you were scared.

You had nightmares almost every night now. You'd wake up, standing over your dead body and watch realisation spread over everyone who came to check on you. You'd watch your mother burst into loud sobs. Your father wouldn't be able to enter the room, turning his head into the doorway as silent tears fell down his face. He'd be too scared to make any noise and he'd hate himself for not being able to even stand by his wife's side.

Your little brother would be next. He'd be small enough to slip under everyone's notice and into the room. It would take him a little longer to understand because you were just playing video games with him the night before. He'd be denying that you were dead, that you were just sleeping a little deeper than normal, maybe you slipped into a coma.

Your big sister would run to her room and she would not leave it for the rest of the day, no matter how much your mother begged her to come out and eat.

You'd stay awake at night, crying over those images, scared to sleep in case you didn't wake up. You didn't want to die. You didn't want them to be sad. They were sad anyway.

You were so weak now. You could barely move without aches and pains, sickness and headaches, you had no life left in you, no fight. Sitting in hospital, listening to your heart monitor, a small spike of adrenaline would hit every time you heard an irregularity.

You were so scared. But you were so tired. Your eyes closed no matter how you fought them.

You'd always lose.

You cried. You were standing over your hospital bed, staring at your body. This wasn't like your last dreams that were at home. You could hear the heart monitor but it was a slower rhythm. It didn't sound healthy. Your family were close like they knew it was the end.

Your mother held one of your hands, your sister held the other. Your brother was curled up next to your dad, fighting sleep like you had been doing previously. Was it your time? Were you dying? Were you finally losing?

The door opened but no one else seemed to notice or care. A woman walked in, covered in black. Her face was obscured by a black veil, she wore a long black gown and she held a dying rose close to her chest. She looked like a mourner but you'd never seen her before. Did she have the wrong room?

"It's ok," her voice was smooth and soft but no one responded or even looked up, it's like they didn't even hear her, all gazes fixed on you.

You just cried, shaking your head. "I don't want to die, I don't want to leave you."

"Take a breath," the woman continued, "you're not dead. You can hear the heart monitor, it's still beeping."

You paused, looking up at the woman again and she was walking around your family to stand by you, looking down at your body. "Are you talking to me?" You asked.

"Yes," she looked at you directly.

"Are you..." you looked down at her, watching the rose turning black and wilting in her hands. You swallowed, voice barely above a whisper, "death?"

She wasn't the skeleton in a cloak with a large scythe but there was still the black mourning look and dying plants. You supposed this was the second choice in your head for what death would look like.

"I am," she nodded quietly.

You took a sharp inhale, your body in front of you doing the same. You stepped away from her, backing up into the wall.

She reached a hand out, "don't be afraid, I don't want to hurt you." She said calmly.

"You're going to kill me," you choked out, sobs bubbling up, "I don't want to die, please, not yet."

"Listen to me," Death said, her hand reaching out to you.

Your eyes screwed tight, head turning away before she could reach you. Death's touch was your biggest fear. If she touched you, would that be it? Would you be dead instantly? At least it wouldn't hurt. It would be quick. But you didn't want to go.

"Please," you squeaked out.

A gentle touch wiped away your tears, two hands cradling your face tenderly. When you opened them, you could just make out Death's face through the veil, not enough for details but her brows were pinched up in concern.

Behind her, your body was unchanged, heart still beating its weak rhythm. You weren't dead by her touch. You were still alive. For now.

"I am not your opponent," she whispered, "you do not need to fight me, I don't fight you."

"Then why are you here? Are you going to take me away?"

"Honey," she reached out, kissing the top of your forehead, "you've been so scared of me. I had to talk to you some time, your fear is not going to help in your fight."

"You said you weren't fighting me."

"I'm not." She said, "you're fighting cancer. And you don't want to lose, right?"

You nodded quietly. Death wiped another tear from your cheek.

"Then know, you have my support. I will be here, cheering you on. You don't need to be afraid."

"But why?" You asked, "you're death."

"Everyone dies eventually," she said, "it makes no difference to me if you're 23 or if you're 80. If you have some living left to do, I'm not going to keep you from it."

"How do I fight it?" You whispered, "I'm just sitting here. How do I fight something I can't punch. How do I do this?"

"Like you have been," Death smiled through her veil, "you listen to the doctors, take your meds, eat healthily. But most importantly, you get your rest."

"I can't sleep... it's just..."

"You're scared," Death nodded, "but perhaps instead of focusing on what might happen, you think about what you're going to do once you beat cancer. Personally, I think your cooking can take you places." She winked.

"Do you... know if I'll beat cancer?"

"Fate is constantly changing. I can only tell when someone is close." She smiled, "know that if you're ever scared and disheartened by this fight, I will be in your corner." She took your hands in hers, "I won't take your life before you are ready. You could have a long and healthy life, have a family, help people who help more people. The more you prosper, the more stories I hear when you are ready for me."

"So, I can live?" You asked quietly.

Death nodded, "you can. I'm not your enemy. I will always be your friend, ready to take you home after you've had your fun."

You sniffed, wiping your cheeks of tears, "I- I don't want to die yet. I want to stay."

"Then you will stay. But I'm not just going to magically heal everything for you, you need to do the legwork. You need to fight this cancer, and you need to win." She said, putting a hand on your cheek, "get some good sleep. You'll feel better in the morning." She looked around the room, "and so will they."

"The doctors don't think I'll make the night, do they? That's why they're all here."

"Doctors are wrong about that sort of thing a lot. All the medical knowledge in the world can't account for someone's will to live." Death picked up her rose again, finding its petals to be back to a bright red, fully rejuvenated. "Something tells me, they're going to be wrong about this too."

[shion-yu]

A Safe Place (part 3) [day 18]

A feverish Cliff is seen in the emergency room. For @monthofsick Day 18 “Unfamiliar surroundings”. 2,965 words, original work, TWs emeto, hospital content.

Part 1 | Part 2 - I swear this was supposed to be 2 parts but now it’s gonna be 4? Lol whoops.

Elliot supported Cliff into the busy ER. It was a Saturday, of course there were a lot of people there, Elliot thought regretfully. Silly to hope otherwise. Elliot eased Cliff into a seat as close to the reception desk as possible and then checked Cliff in, presenting Cliff’s ID and health insurance card. He was grateful Cliff’s wallet and phone were the two things his boyfriend had actually brought with him when he left his parents’ house, although a jacket and his inhaler would have been useful third and fourth choices.

“What’s this visit for?” The receptionist asked after scanning the cards and handing them back to Elliot.

“My boyfriend is having trouble breathing,” Elliot said, hoping this concerned her as much as it concerned him. “He has asthma, he’s wheezing, and he has a high fever. He didn’t know who I was earlier.”

The receptionist stood up a little to catch a glimpse of Cliff in his seat, who did look like he was struggling. “Okay, we’ll get him triaged as soon as possible,” the receptionist said. Elliot chose to believe her for his own sanity’s sake. “In the meantime, have him wear a mask.”

Cliff sagged against Elliot when Elliot sat next to him. He was in no shape to do paperwork, so Elliot tried to fill it out as much as he could. Fifteen minutes passed. Cliff was whimpering in pain and his wheeze had grown louder. “Just a few more minutes, Cliffy,” Elliot said, hoping it wasn’t a lie. Thirty minutes passed. Cliff was now insisting he was fine after all, and that they ought to go home. But that was when he was lucid, which would last only a minute before he’d follow up by saying something that made very little sense and reminded Elliot exactly why they couldn’t leave. Finally, about forty minutes after they’d checked in, a nurse called Cliff’s name and brought them to a small room between the waiting room and the actual ER. Elliot repeated the story he’d given the receptionist although more aggressively this time as the nurse nodded and took Cliff’s vitals.

Elliot never wanted Cliff to be so sick. However, his vitals did prompt some action and for that Elliot was grateful. Cliff’s fever was 103.5 now, his oxygen running lower than expected at 92%, and his heart rate and blood pressure were both high. The nurse led them to a stretcher in a curtained off bay and told Cliff to change into a gown. Elliot had to help Cliff climb up, his boyfriend’s coordination poor. His hands were shaking too hard to button his own gown up, so Elliot did it for him.

“Don’t feel good,” Cliff mumbled, swaying even as he sat up on the stretcher.

“I know, just lie back,” Elliot said. “They’re gonna help you.”

Thankfully, this time they only waited about ten minutes before a new nurse came in with a small bucket full of supplies. She introduced herself as Anna and said she was going to insert an IV, take some blood, and hook Cliff up to oxygen and fluids. She was also going to swab Cliff for flu and strep, but Elliot explained the urgent care had already done that. “Well, this tests for some other stuff too, it’s a full respiratory panel. I’d recommend we just do it anyways.” Elliot agreed on Cliff’s behalf; Cliff seemed to be communicating only in nods at this point.

Nurse Anna looped some oxygen tubing over Cliff’s ears first and plugged it into the wall. She also attached a blood pressure cuff and oxygen probe that she said would stay on for now for monitoring. Elliot felt like all the devices only made Cliff look sicker. Anna swabbed Cliff’s nose, which made him cough harshly to the point of gagging, and then got ready to insert an IV.

Cliff looked to Elliot in panic, swallowing rapidly. ‘Faint,’ he mouthed to Elliot helplessly. “Um, I think he passes out when there’s needles,” Elliot spoke up for him. Cliff nodded gratefully.

“Well you’re in the right place if you do,” Nurse Anna said. She lowered the head of the stretcher and told Elliot to hold Cliff’s hand as she looked for a vein in his other arm. “I’ll go super quick,” she reassured them, and she was right. It was quick. But Cliff turned sheet white and got really sweaty and by the time she’d collected enough tubes of blood, flushed and secured the hub and hooked him up to a bag of fluids, Cliff was barely conscious. “Don’t worry, it happens,” she said. She put a pillow under Cliff’s legs and told him to breathe deeply through his nose. Elliot found her calm demeanor the only thing keeping him calm, because it seemed terrifying even if it was normal. Cliff followed her directions and eventually gained some color back. Anna said his blood pressure was coming back up and that he should just lie there with his feet up for a few more minutes, then left the room.

“I’m sorry,” Cliff apologized miserably for the tenth time since they’d come back here.

“Baby, please, stop apologizing,” Elliot told him. “You’re here because you have to be and you’re not doing anything bad or wrong. Just rest.”

Cliff’s eyes filled with tears and he covered them with his forearm. “I suck,” he whimpered, Elliot’s words clearly not having reached him as intended. Elliot sighed and put one hand on Cliff’s head to stroke his sweaty hair. It wasn’t worth fighting Cliff on this right now. Elliot just had to be there for him.

Cliff fell asleep to Elliot’s relief. Elliot texted his mom what was going on and hoped this wasn’t as bad as it felt. Cliff snored quietly until a woman came with a huge portable x-ray machine. “Sorry to wake you up,” she said, “Cliff? I’m here to get your x-ray. I’ll go fast.”

Cliff opened his eyes and stared blankly at her. Elliot wasn’t sure if Cliff knew what was going on at this point so he stroked Cliff’s arms and explained, “Cliff? She’s gonna take the pictures of your lungs now.” He helped the x-ray tech manipulate Cliff’s torso so that he was lying on a hard board. Elliot stood in the doorway while they did the films.

“Alright, take a nice deep breath for me and hold it,” the x-ray tech said. “I know, good job, got it. You can cough.” And cough Cliff did, that same desperate wet cough that had made Elliot’s mind up to bring him here. He managed to catch his breath, but it wasn’t over. “One more,” the tech said, moving the boards and machine around to point at Cliff’s side now. “Again. Deep breath. One, two, and good. Let it out.”

This time Cliff didn’t seem able to stop coughing. He coughed until each gasp sounded like a Herculean struggle and Elliot wasn’t sure that any of that air he was gulping in was actually reaching his lungs. The machine that was measuring Cliff’s oxygen levels started to beep and the tech told Elliot she was going to find the nurse. Elliot held on to Cliff and tried to soothe him, but it didn’t seem to work. Cliff just kept coughing until suddenly his eyes flew open and he spewed a sharp wave of vomit from his mouth all the way to the end of the stretcher. Elliot winced, pulling back and trying not to look at the mess. Cliff spluttered and coughed between additional harsh gags that produced little besides a stream of thick brown saliva that pooled in his lap. Elliot prayed the nurse would come in soon and hesitantly rubbed Cliff’s back. He didn’t know what to do and Cliff seemed frozen, unable to lift his head or close his mouth.

Thankfully the nurse showed up then and said, “Oh no!” Oh no was right, Elliot thought anxiously. “Did we just get coughing too hard?” She glanced at Cliff's oxygen levels and turned a small green dial on the wall, which made a quiet hissing noise for a second as the flow of oxygen increased. “Don’t worry hun, we’re going to get you cleaned up.” She found a change of sheets in one of the cupboards behind the stretcher and changed the blankets and top sheet in record time. She checked Cliff’s fluids which were nearly done and then charted standing in the room for a few minutes on her rolling computer.

Cliff was silent, hunched over holding a pink plastic basin in his lap in case of another incident, and Elliot couldn’t tell if he was just out of it or humiliated. The room still smelled of putrid stomach acid; Elliot breathed through his mouth. His phone dinged in his pocket and he saw an alarmed text from his mother. He didn’t have time to reply though, as the doctor walked in at that moment.

“Doctor Jim,” Anna greeted him politely, scooting her computer farther away from the bedside. “He just threw up coughing and I turned up his oxygen.”

“I’m not surprised,” Dr. Jim said. He looked to be in about his forties, was mostly bald and had tiny round glasses that looked too small for his face. “Cliff? I’m Jim, I’m a physician here. How are you doing today?”

Elliot thought that was a stupid question. Cliff looked at Dr. Jim with hazy eyes and mumbled, “Sick.”

“Well, that makes sense. You’ve got yourself a nasty case of double pneumonia,” Dr. Jim said. Elliot’s heart sank. “Has this ever happened to you before?”

Cliff shook his head no. He moved his hand to the edge of the bed that Elliot understood as a silent signal to hold it, which he did. “Well, I think it’s best if we admit you for observation overnight with the vitals you have. I’m going to order two IV antibiotics and some steroids, try and get that swelling down in your lungs and hopefully you’ll be feeling better in no time. How’s that sound?”

Cliff didn’t answer. “That sounds fine,” Elliot said, squeezing Cliff’s hand. “Can I stay with him?”

“Once we move him to the floor, visiting hours are eight to eight,” Dr. Jim said. “But you can stay with him for as long as he’s in the ER.” He turned to Anna and gave a few other orders for Zofran, Tylenol, albuterol and budesonide treatments. It all seemed so casual to them, but Elliot was still disturbed by how sick Cliff looked and seemed to him.

Dr. Jim physically examined Cliff next. Cliff shuddered and Dr. Jim apologized for his cold hands, but Elliot knew that the temperature hadn’t had anything to do with it. He hummed a lot, wrote down some notes, and then left with a “Hope you feel better soon.” Elliot wondered if he told all his patients that, or just the ones who could actually get better soon. Nurse Anna also excused herself to get the ordered medications, leaving Elliot alone with Cliff once again.

“So… pneumonia. That sounds pretty bad,” Elliot said. “Why didn’t you tell me you felt so sick?”

“You were at work. I didn’t want to bother you,” Cliff said in a tiny voice. “And then I tried to text you but none of the letters in my phone made sense.”

Elliot felt his chest clench painfully hearing that. “Cliff, you wouldn’t have bothered me.”

“But I’m bothering you now,” Cliff whimpered.

Elliot frowned. “I didn’t say that.” Silence from Cliff. Elliot sighed and grasped Cliff’s hand in his own. “Cliff, Cliffy, can you look at me?” It took a second, but fever-bright, hazel eyes eventually focused on Elliot. “You’re my boyfriend. I want you to be okay. Can you at least try to trust me?”

“I do trust you,” Cliff whispered, voice hurt.

“Then let me care about you.”

Cliff fell quiet again and Elliot sat back but kept Cliff’s hand in his. Cliff had his eyes closed, but it didn’t do much to hide the tears that escaped from the corners of them. Elliot didn’t say anything, just brushed them off of Cliff’s cheeks with his sleeve. Once Cliff was asleep, Elliot finally allowed his own silent tears to fall.

Eventually a CNA came to bring Cliff down to the short-stay unit. She rolled Cliff’s stretcher down the hall and into an elevator. Cliff looked nervous and kept glancing at Elliot, making sure he was still right next to him. Elliot always was. They got to a small room that had a real hospital bed in it and the CNA and Elliot both helped Cliff take two steps from the stretcher onto the bed. It was painful for Elliot to see how difficult even this brief transfer was for Cliff, and Cliff started another one of his long coughing spasms afterwards. Elliot rubbed Cliff’s arm, unsure what else he could possibly do to help. “Water,” Cliff croaked hoarsely between deep, rattling coughs.

“Sure. Um…” Elliot looked around him but this room was barely more than an ER bay. It didn’t even have windows. “Let me go check,” he said, and went to go look for the nurse’s station. There were two tired and rather bored looking, middle aged women sitting at computers at the end of the hall. “Excuse me? My boyfriend just got here and he could use some water…”

“I’m almost there,” one of the nurses said, which Elliot thought was a weird thing to say when she very much wasn’t almost there. Regardless, they didn’t seem to like him hovering very much so Elliot went back to Cliff’s room. There was nowhere for him to sit, so he stood at the bedside. Cliff had managed to stop coughing at least.

The nurse, despite her indifferent demeanor, did show up with a little bin that contained hospital socks, meds and a large plastic jug of water. “Clifford Barrows, hmm? I’m Carey. And you are…?” She raised an eyebrow at Elliot.

Suddenly feeling extra protective, Elliot quickly said, “His boyfriend.”

“Alright. Mr. Barrows, are you okay to have Elliot in here?”

Cliff nodded a yes. Elliot thought it was so weird to hear Cliff called by his last name. They seemed too young for that.

“Well, your boyfriend will have to leave after I finish this admission paperwork as visiting hours are over soon, but remind me to get you a chair for tomorrow,” Carey said. She started a myriad of questions, which included Cliff’s emergency contact.

“Make it Elliot,” Cliff said quickly, looking at him. “Um, will my dad know I’m here?”

“You’re eighteen, right? Not unless you tell him,” Carey said. “But I see your dad is the primary insurance holder so he may see the invoice after you’re discharged. It shouldn’t show any details though.”

Cliff grimaced but nodded. At least there would be no confrontation in the actual hospital, Elliot thought to himself. Carey kept asking questions, which ranged from did Cliff smoke to could he walk up a flight of stairs to did he have any plans to hurt himself right now. They seemed a little ridiculous to Elliot, but Cliff was able to answer all of them with simple yes’s and no’s pretty quickly since he was for the most part entirely healthy.

“You’re easy,” Carey said, winking at Cliff. “Boyfriend? Visiting hours are over now honey, so you say your goodbyes and you can come back at 8am tomorrow morning.” Elliot thought she was kind of like those old ladies at diners who yelled at you for your order but called you honey so you couldn’t feel totally attacked.

He nodded and gave Cliff a quick hug. He thought about kissing him, but Cliff didn’t like to be kissed in front of other people so he just squeezed Cliff’s hand instead. “I’ll be back in the morning,” he promised. “Get some rest and tell them if you don’t feel good, okay?”

“Okay,” Cliff said. He looked scared, so Elliot hugged him again and kissed the top of his head this time.

“I love you,” Elliot said. “I know you can be strong for me. You’ve got your phone right here.”

Elliot didn’t look back as he left, because he could feel Cliff’s kicked puppy expression trailing him and knew if he did, it would be ten times harder to leave. He walked to the parking lot without thinking, got in his car, and drove home without Cliff beside him. He made it to the park a block away from his parents’ house before he pulled over and cried for a solid ten minutes.

Cliff was going to be okay, Elliot told himself. Cliff was stronger than he seemed, and realistically Elliot couldn’t be there for him every second of the way. But he’d promised Cliff they weren’t going to the hospital, and then he promised Cliff that he’d be right there next to him the whole time. He’d broken both of these promises and now Cliff was sleeping in a hospital bed, in a tiny room with no windows and only a crotchety old lady to keep an eye on him. Elliot felt just terrible and wondered if he’d made the wrong choice dragging Cliff to the ER. All he wanted was for Cliff to be okay, though, and he really hadn’t seemed okay today.

Elliot wiped his tears away and told himself he had to be strong. This seemed so intense and adult, but Elliot couldn’t let it overwhelm him. He tried to remember the coping mechanisms his therapist had taught him back in high school. Deep breaths. One second at a time. He could do it, and so could Cliff. Elliot turned on the car and returned home by himself.

[Part 4]

[riality-check]

part two of angsty soulmate things, a continuation of this

There's an after.

It's not that Eddie isn't grateful that there is one. He's like most people only in the sense that he would rather be alive than dead. And while being eaten by demonic bats is a very metal way to go, it's slow, and it hurt like hell.

Not worse than cutting the string, but it still hurt.

Eddie isn't ungrateful for the after. He's just confused as to how he got here in the first place, and he's scared because there isn't supposed to be one.

But he doesn't want to think about that. That train of thought makes him nauseous, and he's barely been able to eat anything as it is.

Hospital lights, he thinks instead, are a constant. They're the same everywhere, that bright, sterile white that makes people look sicker in a place that's supposed to make them healthy. In the chair next to his bed, for example, Steve looks like he should be admitted himself.

His skin is paler than Eddie's ever seen it, the bags under his eyes could more aptly be called suitcases, and, most concerningly, his hair is flat.

Steve "the Hair" Harrington's hair looks lifeless. Eddie really screwed this up, didn't he?

He wonders if there's adverse effects to cutting the string. Other than the pain, of course. Long-term stuff is probably a better way to put it.

He tries to remember back when Mama did it, but that was a while ago. Maybe seven years now? His recollection's a bit fuzzy, but he remembers her being almost sick, even after the pain stopped.

Then again, Mama was always sick, one way or another. So even if she's the only example he has, she's probably not the best one.

Steve stares at Eddie with wide, red-rimmed eyes. He really does look like hell.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something, to crack a joke, to do anything to make Steve look a little better, but Steve beats him to the punch.

"What happened?" he croaks.

"I died," Eddie says. It's not a lie. Wayne told him, when he first woke up, that it took three rounds of CPR to get his heart started again.

"Bullshit," Steve says.

"It's not bullshit."

"I know your heart stopped," Steve says. "But you didn't die."

He holds up his hand, and Eddie sees, stark black on his sickly pale skin, the remnants of a string curled around his finger. Black like a brand, like a tattoo, whatever.

It's there, and everyone knows black means death. Permanent death.

(Or, if they're a nutcase or a gullible middle schooler, a dagger. But normal people don't believe in those, so normal people don't ever consider that a possibility.

Hell, even Eddie wouldn't have if he didn't do it himself.)

"What. Happened."

If Eddie weren't in a hospital bed, he'd come up with a better lie. He'd say something about the bats, or the Upside Down, or, hell, he'd blame it on Vecna.

Nancy came in and told him the bastard's dead, so. It's not like he'd be able to counter it.

But Eddie is exhausted, mentally and physically. It's finally setting in, after the first few minutes of being awake, how tired he is, and how much pain he's in.

So, instead of lying, Eddie just says, "I'm sorry."

Steve frowns, confused. "What do you mean you're sorry? Eddie, I just want to know what happened. I'm scared out of my mind because this shouldn't be happening. You're alive. We should still have a string."

Eddie sees, clear as day, how he can use this as an out. He could lie so easily, could blame it on some occurrence within that parallel world. Steve would nod and accept it, not because he's stupid, but because literally anything, so long as it's awful, is possible there.

But Eddie thinks beyond the now very often, though most people are surprised by that. He thinks about how Steve will want to be with him; every time Eddie thought about his soulmate, the string appeared, so Steve was constantly thinking about him. He thinks about them five, ten, twenty years down the line. He thinks about forgetting the lie, about being inconsistent, about Steve pushing and pushing like he seems to do sometimes until Eddie breaks and tells the truth.

No. Finding out then would be so much worse.

Eddie has an out, but he's choosing not to run. Last time, that was a terrible decision, but no one, except for Wayne, really, has ever said that Eddie was smart.

So, he tells the truth.

"I cut it," he says.

Steve continues to stare at him. "What?"

"I cut the string," Eddie says. "With a dagger."

"Those don't exist."

"They do. One showed up for me. I used it to cut the string because I thought I was going to die, and I didn't want you to feel it," Eddie says.

"You're lying," Steve says, voice wavering, face crumpling.

"If I were lying, I'd do it better," Eddie snaps. He's exhausted and doesn't want to fight but he knows that's what's going to happen.

Steve thought about his soulmate constantly. Eddie cut the string.

"Do you know what it felt like?" Steve says.

"Yeah," Eddie says. "It was the worst pain I've ever felt."

Worse than the bats that laid him up in here, worse than the surgeries and the pull of stitches every time he tries to move. Worse worse worse.

"Me too," Steve says, and oh, he's gone quiet. Cold. The tone seeps into Eddie's bones, and he really, really doesn't like where this is going.

"You made me feel the worst pain of my life when we were going against Vecna," Steve says. "It hurt so bad that Robin was ready to drag me out and leave Nancy by herself. You put us all in danger."

"I'm sorry," Eddie says, but he can barely get those three syllables out before Steve keeps going.

"You put us in danger, you put the rest of the Party in danger, and for what?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"It still fucking hurt!" Steve shouts. "It still hurt. You did nothing. You accomplished nothing."

Eddie will not cry here. He won't.

"Steve-"

"Did you know that I thought about you every day?" Steve whispers.

"Yes," Eddie says, because fuck it, why not be honest? He has nothing left to lose.

"Do you know how excited I got when I saw the string? When you thought of me, too?"

"No," Eddie says because he stayed away from Steve Harrington all throughout high school on account of the principles and stereotypes he's realizing weren't true at all.

"I didn't think you would," Steve says. "Because you didn't fucking think, even for a second, about anything besides what? Your own guilt?"

Eddie won't cry. He won't let Steve have the satisfaction of seeing him do it.

It's getting harder, though.

"I thought of you," Eddie says instead.

"First time?" Steve asks mockingly, and before Eddie can say anything to that, he's out the door.

Then, and only then, does Eddie let himself cry.

It hurts.

[luimagines]

Could you possibly write a platonic scenario with the chain reacting to the reader who is sick but refuses to rest because they don't want to slow the group down.

Absolutely! That seems easy enough. (watch me take forever to write it)

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

You were sure you were sick.

At first it started with an itchy throat but you didn’t want to think too much on it. But then it started to get warmer for you despite the fact that you were traveling where there was frost still on the ground. And then came the slight trembling in your limbs and the slight pain that came with eating and swallowing your food.

But you tried to hide it.

You had tea.

You put on more layers, trying to sweat it out.

You walked behind the group and tried to keep up with their pace.

And then there was just trying to keep everything down even if you felt like it was tumbling and turning even as you were sitting completely still.

But none of these worked. If anything, it got worse.

You couldn’t let the group know about it though. Everyone else was fine. everyone else was counting on you. You needed to be strong. You needed to be able to keep up. You needed to be able to defend if need be.

And a need there was.

You knew you got looks every now and then. Wild noticed your decreased appetite. Warrior noticed that were isolating yourself from the others. Four noticed your jitters. Time noticed that you had gone pink and then red in the face. Twilight could smell it.

And he had enough after you nearly collapsed on yourself from over exerting your body. 

“That’s it.” He growled and picked you up effortlessly. “You’re done. We need to get to a town. You’re sick and need a real bed.”

You growl back and try to push yourself away. “I’m fine! We can’t just stop the group.”

“Yes we can and we are.” Twilight (gently) tosses you on top of Epona. The motion makes you feel sicker than you had before and now the whole group can see that something is worse than you were letting on. Twilight turns to Time and calls out. “What say you, Old Man?”

Time nods and gestures toward the village they were about to pass. “Kakariko Village is just this way. We can be there within the hour and them taken care of.”

Warrior nods, a little disappointed in himself for not calling you out earlier.

It’s Legend who actually looks betrayed though. “Why didn’t you say anything? Are you stupid?”

You turn to him the best you can and the truth is, you’re off by a decent margin. You can’t even see straight. “For your information, in the middle of a potential threat to reality as we know it. We can’t slow down for a stupid cold. I’ll be over it soon.”

“It’s been days!” Twilight shouts. “And you’re worse.”

Warrior holds a hand up before you can speak. “He’s right. We’d rather have you up and functional than falling over and ill.”

“We can’t stop the mission just for me.”

“We are.” Wild takes out a potion from his magic tablet and gently takes your hand, making sure that you have it within your grasp. “Drink this. You’ll feel better until we can stop moving to get you settled until it passes.”

You take it but you’re not happy about it. “This is too much.”

“I’d argue it’s not enough.” Sky mutters. “You can’t just do this. You can’t disregard your health. It’s important.”

“The mission is important.” You stubbornly hold on. You’re so disoriented, you don’t even realize that you’ve been moving this entire time.

“Then what if you got the rest of us sick?” Hyrule interjects with a quiet snarl. “Then what would you do? With multiple of us out of commission how is the mission going to be completed anyway?” 

The new angle stops you in your tirade, letting silence fall over the group. He makes a decent point and you hate it. You grunt, trying to keep the very little food you’ve had to eat down in your stomach where it’s supposed to be. 

You can’t think how to argue what he says and so you’re forced to acquiesce. You’re very frustrated with yourself for failing to deal with this properly and thus making it everyone else problem. You cough, badly, and all but flop on Epona’s back.

It worries those known to ride horses. You could easily fall off but can’t seem to care any less.

“Just leave me in the village then.” You say. “You can go on without me.”

“You’re definitely sick. Do you hear yourself? You’re delusional.” Warrior scoffs.

You snap your head up and glare at the Captain but he’s leading Epona and on the other side. Another thing you fail to realize in your ill state.

“You’d never leave you behind.” Wind says softly, sadden by the very thought of it. “Why would you say that?”

You gulp, trying to will your emotions away. “It’s better this way.”

“Not happening.” Time grunts. “And that’s final.”

No one questions it, having come to a silent unanimous decision. 

You can see that there’s no convincing any of them. Even if you hate to be the reason for the pause in travel, you have to accept a full defeat. You’re stuck with them through thick and thin.

And then your vision goes black at last.

[centralperkchenford]

Could you do one we’re Lucy get sick but goes into work anyway and everybody is asking her if she’s ok but then grey makes Tim go home and take care of her

Could you do one we’re Lucy get sick but goes into work anyway and everybody is asking her if she’s ok but then grey makes Tim go home and take care of her

A couple of summers ago I had a bad sinus infection and the headache was so bad I went to the emergency room so this is based on that. Also they never diagnosed me with a sinus infection because my nose wasn’t runny but I definitely had one 😅🙃

Touch me and you'll never be alone

Lucy coughs once and then twice and she groans her chest hurting as she does. She sees Angela give her a concerned look from her desk and Lucy busies herself by looking at the paper on her desk. But she can’t concentrate, everything hurts, from her chest to her head to her muscles. She feels like she can’t move without groaning in pain. Tim left before her today but if he had known she wasn’t feeling well he would have insisted she stay home. And then he would have been worried all day about her.

But Lucy is stubborn and she hates missing work and she hates worrying Tim. So she sucked it up and came to work.

She coughs again and this time she lays her head on her desk for a minute relishing in the coolness of the wood. She lifts her head up to see Angela standing over her.

“Lucy.” She says sternly. “Are you okay?” Lucy licks her dry lips and the nods, trying not to grimace.

“Yes.” She says hoarsely. “I’m fine.” Angela looks around the station as if she’s looking for someone and Lucy shakes her head again despite her head pounding when she does.

“Don’t tell Tim.” She says. “He will freak out and if he’s on a case he will lose concentration.” Angela looks hesitant to agree to that but Lucy smiles at her. “I’m fine. I promise.” She says and takes a drink of water, the coolness feeling good on her now sore throat. Angela nods and goes back to her desk. Lucy feels her eyes on her every so often.

***

Lucy is not fine and she knows it. But she powers on as she gets up to deliver something to Carradine. She gets dizzy and has to hold onto the edge of a desk before continuing, tears burn in her eyes as the lightheadedness slowly dissipates.

“Woah Chen. You don’t look so good.” Carradine says as soon as he sees her. She waves him off much like she did to Angela.

“Does Bradford know you are sick?” He asks hesitantly. And she does her best to glare at him but she imagines she looks pretty pathetic.

“No. And he doesn’t need to know.” She says quickly. “He will just worry.”

Carradine raises his eyebrows at her in half amusement and half exasperation. “He is your husband Chen. He is suppose to worry.” He says but Lucy waves him off again turning around to do a quick undignified cough. “I’m fine.” She says not looking at him and handing him the papers.

Carradine raises his eyebrows again but doesn’t say anything so Lucy turns around and walks away her eyes burning once again as she does.

***

Lucy is pretty sure she’s even sicker than she was when she started work. It’s past lunch time but she didn’t have anything, her stomach clenching anytime she thought about food. But once again she powers on knowing she only has a few more hours to get through. She leans back in her chair and closes her eyes. She’s not sure how long she’s been asleep but she feels someone gentling shaking her.

“Lucy.” Comes Grey’s voice and she blinks up at him. Her head still pounding as she tries to focus on him.

“Hmmm.” She mumbles and she hears Grey huff out a laugh.

“Lucy you are sick.” He says gently. “You need to go home.” But Lucy shakes her head and sits up.

“I swear I’m fine.” She says but Grey gives her a dubious look.

“You have been telling everyone that.” He says. “But I don’t buy it.” Lucy sits up pin straight and then grabs her pen from the desk.

“I just have to finish my work.” She says her voice coming out much more nasally than before. “I promise.”

Grey gives her another dubious look and then walks off and she gives a sigh of relief. She looks around to make sure he’s out of sight and then leans back again. Her eyes haven’t even been closed three minutes when she hears yet another voice from above her except this one is.. soothing. Tim

“Luce.” Tim says and she feels his large hand on her forehead smoothing back her hair. She opens her eyes and sees her husband looking at her in concern. “Luce, how long have you been sick?”

Lucy shrugs arching up so she can feel his hand more. “Since this morning. Well technically last night. I suppose.” She admits. Tim shakes his head and then pulls her up into his arms and she immediately nuzzles into his chest. As much as she didn’t want to worry Tim, she can’t resist being in his arms. He is exactly what she needs. Her remedy.

She feels a light kiss on the top of her head and voices around her but all she cares about is Tim’s warmth.

“I’ll take her home.” She hears Tim say to someone. “I got it from here.” She feels Tim gently leading her out but she’s really not aware of where she is. She hears Tim unlock his truck and then lifts her in when she refuses to let go of him.

“Luce.” He mumbles when she is still holding on to his shirt. “I need you to let go baby so we can get home and you can go to bed.” She shakes her head and clings to him tighter not wanting his warmth to go away.

“I will cuddle you when we get home.” He says softly. He places his hand on her forehead, and she hears him growl a little bit. “Did people notice you were sick? Other than Grey.” He asks. Lucy winces a little not wanting to tell him both Angela and Carradine had noticed and insisted she go home.

“I felt fine.” She lies. Tim tuts a little and Lucy finally relents and let’s go.

“I’m going to have a talk with whoever knew you were sick.” He says firmly. “I want to know right away.”

Lucy is about to say something but Tim is gently closing the door and next thing she knows he’s backing out.

She dozes off on the way home, her head still pounding. She feels Tim’s hand on her hand rubbing soothing circles on it. And then she hears the truck turn off and the driver side door opening and closing. And soon Tim is pulling her from the truck and back into his arms. She relaxes immediately as he pulls her into the house. He deposits her on the couch, and in her dizzy and delirious state she just sits there.

Tim comes back pressing two aspirins and a cold water bottle into her hands. “Take these and drink the water.” He commands firmly but softly. “And then you are going to take a shower to clear up your sinuses and then you are going to bed.” Lucy reaches for him and he puts his hand on her cheek, his wedding ring cold against it.

She does as he says and then he’s lifting her up again and pulling her towards the bathroom. He undresses her gently and normally she would want to jump him but she can barely move. He gets her undressed and into the warm shower, the steam helping her breathe a little easier. Tim helps her wash and then wraps a towel around her when she’s done. He pulls out her pajama shorts and one of his shirts knowing those are her favorite thing to wear to bed.

He places her into bed and she’s vaguely aware of him gently kissing her forehead. She falls asleep pretty quickly after that.

***

Lucy wakes up and she glances out the window, it’s still light out. She groans as she rolls over and buries her face into Tim’s pillow. She breathes in his scent and then realizes it’s not enough and she needs the actual thing. She rolls out of bed slowly, her head wasn’t pounding as hard nor did her muscles ache as much. She makes her way into the living room where she found Tim on the sofa. He looks up as she comes into the living room, he gives her a soft smile as he meets her halfway.

“How do you feel?” He asks kissing her on the forehead. She sways a little bit and Tim leads her to the couch.

“Better.” She says truthfully. Tim purses his lips and pulls her down so her head is in his lap.

“Thanks for taking care of me.” She mutters. Tim pushes some hair out of her face pressing his finger to her pressure point. It immediately soothes her.

“Of course.” He says. “I just wish you would have stayed home. There is no need for you to feel miserable at work.”

Lucy closes her eyes and just hmmms quietly. Tim chuckles softly before grabbing Lucy’s hand and holding it.

“You promised me cuddles.” She says suddenly. Tim runs his hands through her hair, softly and gently.

“We have all night for that baby.” He says and Lucy nods satisfied with his answer. And to be honest they have the rest of their lives to cuddle and take care of each other. And Lucy wouldn’t have it any other way.

[aropride]

long vent post abt covid + my sister

i genuinely dont know when the last time my little sister wasnt sick for more than two weeks was. im trying to remember but i cant . its been almost constant since she got covid in dec2021. and she has all these new allergies and symptoms and stuff she had as a baby came back after. and my parents are like antivax antimask "its just a cold" conspiracy theorists and they arent going to protect her they only got her her mandatory vaccines bc our doctor finally made them and theyre convinced shes always sick bc of the vaccines and not bc of covid. and i know theres nothing i can say or do that will get through to them. and i know my sister doesnt understand Why shes sick all the time so of course shes going to believe our parents because shes a kid why wouldnt she believe them. and i know eventually she'll figure out why shes so sick. when long covid gets talked about more when i figure out how to explain it to her etc eventually she'll find out and it's going to like. ruin her view of our parents and the world at large

and i spent my whole childhood since the day she was born making it like my lifes mission to keep her safe but i had no hope of protecting her against this there was no way i could have done much but my parents could have and should have and now they blame it all on the vaccines its because the doctor gave her vaccines no it isnt!!! no it is not!!! and every time i see her or facetime her or she sends me an audio message i hear the crackle in her throat and i dont know if it will ever go away

and if youre not looking for it youll miss it but if you go in public and sit and listen .youll hear the coughing and sniffling and the crackle in people's throats. i keep my windows open bc my dorm gets too hot and all day i hear people walking by and coughing. my only other covid cautious friend has noticed it. none of my non cc friends have. but i swear to god it's there sit in a library for a few hours and listen it's there it gets worse every year. and nobody even notices and people look at you weird when you mention that everyone's been getting sicker recently

but they are they fucking are ive read the studies ive looked at the data. everyone's sick all the time and they dont even notice it they go "it's the freshman flu" "it's allergies" you arent even a freshman you dont even have allergies. "man ive just been so short of breath recently" then i'm the crazy one if i say the obvious reason for that. i feel fucking crazy i know im not im looking at the studies im looking at the data im learning the science but nobody will listen

i share covid data and protection and everything on instagram all the time im always talking about it because im always thinking about it because i hear it everywhere and nobody listens nobody is masking and i dont understand why i dont understand how - i heard someone cough out my window just now - i don't understand how social pressure can win over the objective truth when the objective truth is killing and disabling people. how do people not care??? i need people to care one-way masking is better than nothing but so much could have been prevented if people would just put on the fucking mask

what am i even supposed to do when everyone's just accepted being sick forever when people dont 'even notice how fucked up their bodies are becoming when people seem to think it could never happen to them and they don't seem to care that they can and will pass it to other people even if they never are symptomatic . how are we supposed to live like this??? are we going to reach a breaking point or are people just going to fucking die forever??? what will it take for people to start masking again??? to start caring???

i dont know what infection number my sister is on. three that i know of for sure but i'd be shocked if she hadn't had it at least five times. shes thirteen . i dont know what to do

[catharthistle]

thinking about trauma stuff (sorry to the people I already told about this lol) (csa + sex trafficking warn)

Uh like or comment if you read i guess I’d rather know who knows this stuff lol

i dimly remember being so bewildered and concerned, on the journey there, when neither of the men who were bringing me somewhere new did anything to me that first night. or the second. or the third.

two strange men pay the housemistress a bigger sum of money than you’ve ever seen in your life to take you away somewhere new and then they don’t even want to do what strange men usually pay to do to you?

of course I vaguely knew that I was never supposed to talk about the things that happened to me back at the house. so eventually I think I figured that there just wasn’t enough privacy on the ship, or else they didn’t want to do anything to me when I was sicker than hell at the time?

the lost feeling is clear even though I didn’t really remember much of what happened for a long time. even though I shut out what it was about I never forgot the confusion. again and again, wondering: why not now? why not yet?

I think at some point I learned that they were taking me to the king of somewhere? and I think I must have rationalized it, then, that I belonged to him now, that they just weren’t supposed to touch because I was just his. (after all, he paid more money to have them bring me home than I’d ever seen in my life.)

so then, when I got to the golden country: utter confusion, again, when the king never came to my room. never took me by the hand and led me to another bedroom. never even—

(I guess the memory gets haziest there. like there’s something I try to remember but can’t. like there’s a blank space where I can’t picture what happened but I can still feel the ghosts of their hands.)

(did I think I’d disappointed him? I wasn’t good enough for him? I feel like I must have, at the time, for a while. I feel like I must have felt I’d failed somehow, that he didn’t want me the way all those other strangers did.)

[ficsforfundota]

Hiding an Illness

Another prompt fill for @badthingshappenbingo

Steve doesn't want people to be worried about him so you know hes gotta hide things Rated Teen? - Mostly just sickness and stuff what else do you think would happen with a sickness cuased by the upside down?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58453510 --------------- Steve had noticed the symptoms for a while, his ears would ring, his vision would blur, his head would ache, and he would sweat. However, what he didn’t want to do was make anyone worry. So he decided his best plan was honestly to just live with it.

Day in and day out he would do whatever he had to do to deal with it, the party had no idea that he was in pain or that he felt sicker than a dog. Some days he would have debilitating pain, ever since Steve had started messing around with the upside down he honestly felt like there was something making his head hurt even more. Any illness he had felt ten times worse, he had always felt like he was burning up when he felt sick.

Steve had no idea what it was that was messing with him, but he was certain he couldn’t let anyone know, he couldn’t tell anyone that he was feeling like this. The party and their little group they had formed since the craziness didn’t need to worry about him too.

Their priority was supposed to be Will and Eleven.

Those were the two that they were supposed to be focusing on, not him, so he would keep hiding it. That was the goal, to not let the kids know what was wrong with him. He didn’t want Joyce or Hopper to be worried about him either. He didn’t want them to fuss, but he didn’t know how to react to any of it either.

Steve was sitting in the classroom, listening to the math lesson when his head began to ache, his vision blurred. He gripped the desk tightly, squeezing his eyes closed.

He tried not to swear, and tried not to yelp as his head continued to ache, but this wasn’t going to just go away either.

As he squeezed his eyes closed again he saw flashes of red. He bit his lip, the upside down was inhabiting his mind in a way that it certainly shouldn’t. He had hardly spent time in it, and while he had been around it yes, he also didn’t think that he should be experiencing what he was with such little contact.

The spores however had infested his mind and body, his willingness to protect the children and push them out of the way while in the tunnels had caused him to get the brunt of the sickness that should have been infecting them all.

“Harrington.”

Steve looked up, and the teacher was standing over him.

“Sorry…” Steve muttered softly. “I-”

Steve turned over and vomited. The teacher stepped back with a look of alarm. “Go to the nurse.” He muttered. Steve nodded and did as he was told once he was finished retching.

This wasn’t embarrassing at all. Making his way to the nurse, he stumbled down the hall. Each step felt like it was pulling the last ounce of his strength.

“Steve?” The nurse looked him up and down carefully. “Are you okay?”

“I- I think I need to go home… I just threw up… all over…”

“Oh.. that isn’t good. Alright let’s get you home.”

She called the Harringtn place, his mother picked up but didn’t seem very bothered. She came to get him, but didn’t even ask further questions. Steve slept the entire way back home, his stomach burning and his head aching.

She helped him into bed and got him a water bottle before going back to her office to work.

Steve was sort of glad at that moment that his mother didn’t ever pry or seem to care even when he hoped she would. He didn’t want anyone to have to know what he was going through, there was too much to focus on to be worried about what he was currently dealing with, yet at the same time all he wanted was to know what was wrong with him.

[kowaindar0u]

Hi... It's me again.

At least... I think it is.

I feel... different.

That's an understatement.

Something is wrong... but I don't know what. I feel exhausted and sick. Like deathly sick, like I may actually, seriously die. My whole body hurts, like... like every bone feels sore somehow.

I woke up, or came to, or... I don't know. I woke up walking down the street, I guess on my way home, just an hour ago. I don't know what happened, where I was the last several days.

Several days. Fuck. I've already missed four days of work-- I mean. I assume... For all I know, I went and just don't remember.

Either way, I can't work like this. I feel like I should be getting nice and cozy inside a grave instead.

But worse than that... I'm scared. Like I should be constantly checking over my shoulder, or that something real bad is going to happen real soon...

And... I feel... hungry. But the thought of actually eating anything makes me feel sicker than I already do.

I'm here, in my closet. I don't know why. It just feels like the most comfortable, safe place I can be. I don't want to leave.

I should probably go to a doctor with how utterly sick I feel but... I'm scared to do that, too. Maybe I'll just... rest...

I just woke up. Slept for like two hours. I had a nightmare, but I can't remember anything about it. Just...it was dark, and I feel sicker, and hungrier, and... now the side of my neck kind of burns.

Maybe... Maybe I'm having some kind of allergic reaction or something...

We both know I'm just trying to come up with possible excuses to try and keep from freaking myself out too much. I have no fucking idea what's wrong with me.

[a few days later]

I'm not dead yet. I feel like I should be.

But... I think I know why I'm not.

Saseki came over.

He said he hadn't heard from me in over a week and he was worried.

I... I told him I had just been sleeping too much again. It wouldn't have been the first time I just... Slept constantly because I couldn't handle being awake. The depression sleeps, you might say. And then I said I thought I might be coming down with something.

It feels awful to lie to him. But I didn't know what was wrong. What could I tell him? I don't want him to worry. Besides, he's supposed to be moving in in a couple of weeks.

I hope by then I can figure out how to be around him.

The whole time he was here, I kept getting distracted. I could hear his heart beating. I don't think he was nervous, you know?

Then he nicked his finger using a knife to cut a cake he brought, and... I could smell the blood. From across the room. And I wanted to taste it. Desperately.

I don't even want to write this. It sounds fucking ridiculous.

But I think I'm a vampire.

I finally got it up to check that spot in my neck that hurts sometimes-- not as much anymore-- and... It checks out. Two little scars.

It doesn't really explain what happened though. Why there are four days I just have... completely blacked out.

Why I'm still constantly afraid-- more than I was before.

I don't know what to do.

[about a week later]

I feel... better.

at least physically. a little.

I had always heard about this particular nightclub being a bit sketchy, and the alley behind it even more so.

The inside is loud and full of people. The alley is (supposedly) full of shady criminals with knives and guns.

I think I prefer the alley.

There had always been rumors of so-called black market dealings going on there. Turns out...some of them are true. Sort of.

I felt so out of place there. But one man seemed to clock me immediately. He seemed to be a vampire too, but I'm sure my tremors were giving me away, if nothing else. He sold me ten packs of blood at a discount because I was a first-time buyer.

I came home and drank one, and... and another one. And another one. I stopped myself-- even with the discount, they weren't cheap. But three of them seemed to kind of be... Enough.

I feel... okay. Still kind of sick. Still kind of hungry.

But okay.

I think I can deal with 'okay.'

[tired-truffle]

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 3.7k

Part 53/54

“And the earth looked at me and said 'Wasn't that fun?' And I replied "I'm sorry if I hurt anyone.” - Dan Deacon

Masterlist

The sun beat down on her exposed skin, heat that spread through her cold limbs like the first signs of spring after a long, harsh winter. A gentle breeze danced through her hair, carrying the sweet scent of wildflowers and dewy grass. Gwen felt a sense of calm wash over her as she took in her surroundings. Her body felt lighter than it had in years. Her joints didn’t ache, her bones didn’t grind together, and the scars along her back didn’t pull tightly on her skin as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

Gwen struggled to open her eyes, feeling as though she was emerging from a thick fog. Her surroundings blurred together, the trees at the base of the hill where she rested swirled together like paint on an artist’s palette, their vibrant green leaves melding into one another. Above her, the clouds drifted across the startlingly blue sky, creating shapes that Gwen couldn't quite make out.

It should have been unnerving - waking up in a strange place with no recollection of how she got there - but Gwen couldn’t find it within herself to be worried. This was a safe place, the truth of which reverberated deep within her bones.

Looking down at her hands, Gwen frowned to herself. Something wasn’t right. Her skin was as pale as it always was, rough from years of training with her daggers, but something was missing. Flexing her fingers, she turned her palm up, scanning for whatever was pulling at the back of her brain, warning her that this was wrong. 

She counted her fingers, all ten were present, and all in the right spot, the lines of her palm creased as she moved, and—

Her fingers. There wasn’t supposed to be ten, not anymore. Shaking her hand as if that could get rid of the offending, false appendages, she scooted backwards, panic beginning to rise in her throat.

How in the Maker’s name had she gotten her fingers back? There were no faded bands of scarring peeking out from her sleeves, and she was sure if she reached under her shirt and ran her hands along her back, she would feel none of the familiar scars that littered the surface. She ran her tongue over her teeth, counting them silently. They were all there, just like before. Even the large hole in her cheek was gone.

This wasn’t possible, she couldn’t heal from those sorts of injuries, she hadn’t her entire life. And why would she? They’d only gotten worse as she’d gotten sicker. 

She’d been sick, fatally so. Her tainted blood had destroyed her body, sucking every ounce of hard-earned life from her veins. She’d been on her death bed, her breath rattling in her chest, her entire body alight with pain. But she’d held on, too stubborn to let go. Not when Alistair was beside her, holding her hand, whispering sweet words to her. How could she ever leave him?

And yet she had, ten years ago she’d abandoned him. Had she done it again?

Gwen scrambled to her feet, the world spinning around her in a dizzying blur. She stumbled forward, desperate to find him before it was too late. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a painful reminder of how much she loved him and how foolish she had been. She cursed herself for wasting so much time consumed by self-hatred and blind to the hurt she had caused him.

But she had no idea where she was, she could barely think straight, and there was a dreadful feeling tugging at her gut telling her that she wasn’t supposed to be there. 

With trembling hands, she reached up and grasped at her head, feeling the strands of stark, white hair shift against her fingers. A sharp pain shot through her temple as memories came rushing back, assaulting her mind with images of her final moments. She could almost feel Alistair's sorrowful gaze upon her, his hopeful expression etched into the back of her eyelids, the cool touch of Anders' magic enveloping her and then... nothingness.

“Gwen!” 

Hallucinations weren’t entirely uncommon when one was losing their mind to panic. Had her mind conjured something to try to soothe her? The sound was familiar, almost forgotten - sweet and young and pure. But with just one word, carried on the rustling breeze through the tall grass, she was made to feel like a little girl again. 

Gwen’s heart stuttered to a halt, her whole body freezing. She couldn't bring herself to move, to turn and confirm that the voice she heard belonged to who she thought it did. It seemed impossible, this moment unfolding before her eyes.

It was a vivid dream, only she knew it wasn’t, it couldn’t possibly be. Gwen never had dreams like this - peaceful, comforting. 

The gentle rustle of rapidly approaching footsteps over the tall, swaying grassy hill towards her caught Gwen's attention. Her body reacted instinctively, muscles tensing and limbs unlocking as she turned towards the sound. Her lips parted in anticipation, eyes widening in search of the source. And then, she saw her - a familiar figure with arms outstretched and a wide grin spreading across her face as she sprinted towards Gwen. The sun cast a golden glow on the scene, highlighting every vivid detail.

Gwen's legs gave out, sending her crashing to her knees. Her breath rushed from her lungs in a panicked gasp, and her heart hammered against her ribcage. The figure in front of her was unmistakable - eyes like crystalized honey, the smooth tanned skin peppered with freckles. Gwen knew who this was, and she wasn’t a dream or a hallucination. She knew it like how her body knew how to breathe; this was real. 

“Lucy,” Gwen said in a breath of a whisper, a reverence in the tremor of her name. 

Lucy’s giggle echoed through the clearing, and with no warning, the girl threw herself into Gwen’s awaiting arms. 

The pair tumbled back, Gwen’s strength failing her under the force of Lucy’s lunge, the younger girl tightening her hold around Gwen’s neck. A delighted squeal escaped her, quickly devolving into more giggles. Gwen pressed her face into the side of Lucy’s head, feeling the tears already rolling down her cheeks and slipping into her mouth through the slits. She smelled like Lucy, warm bread and sunshine. She was joy incarnate, a much-needed rest after a gruelling journey, a roaring hearth in the middle of winter. She was real. Impossible, but real. 

Gwen barely registered how her body shook, the tickle of the grass on the back of her neck. All she could think was that Lucy was here with her, in her arms, and safe. 

She hadn’t let herself imagine what she’d say, what she’d do, in this situation. Why torture herself over something that could never happen? 

In place of anything thoughtful or coherent, babbling apologies bubbled up in her throat, spilling over and mumbling into Lucy’s auburn hair. She couldn’t hear what she was saying, couldn’t make sense of her own words as she apologized for every wrong she had forced upon Lucy - and the list was wrong. 

Gwen muffled a yelp of surprise more than pain as she registered a sharp pinch to the side of her neck. Lucy pushed herself up, using Gwen’s bony shoulders as purchase, and stared down at her with the determination of the most stubborn twelve-year-old to ever exist. 

Lucy leaned forward, her brow furrowing as she narrowed her eyes, lips twisted into a scowl. “Stop that,” she commanded, her small hand gripping Gwen’s shoulder, grounding her as though she could physically pull her friend from her sorrow.

Though Gwen’s mouth felt dry, she managed to say, “What?” 

Lucy huffed, puffing her hair out of her face with a sharp breath. “You’re being silly,” she said in the way only a child could. “You did nothing wrong. My death is not your fault, your existence isn’t a burden. You aren’t honouring my memory by being miserable all the time. Aren’t adults supposed to be smart about this kinda stuff?”

Gwen’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide and blinking rapidly as though she could clear the confusion from her gaze. Lucy exhaled with an exhaustion that should never have been placed on someone so young. She sat back, her legs straddling Gwen’s stomach, pinning her in place, and she placed her balled fists on her narrow hips. 

“It was an accident, neither of us knew what the taint meant. You tried to stop me, remember?” Lucy rapped a fist against Gwen’s forehead like she could open the door to her mind and flood it with understanding. “You warned me and I didn’t listen. I don’t blame you, and I have never been scared of you. I certainly didn’t die for you to lock yourself in a cell of your own making. Don’t you get it?”

No. Gwen did not ‘get it’. “But you… you would never have been hurt if I wasn’t—“ 

Lucy clapped her hands over Gwen’s mouth, a bushy eyebrow raised. “If you were about to say that I wouldn’t have been hurt if you weren’t around, you better rethink those words very carefully. I won’t have you wishing my best friend was never born.” 

Lucy spoke to her like a parent reprimanding a misbehaving child. If it had been any other circumstance, Gwen may have laughed. 

With one more look of warning, Lucy removed her hands and allowed Gwen to start again. 

“You looked so afraid, when you were…” Gwen took a deep breath, centring herself before continuing. “Dying. It was my blood that did that to you, how could you not be terrified of me?” 

Lucy smiled, as bright as the sun that shone above them. “Because you’re my friend, and I could never be afraid of you, it’s impossible. I was only scared ‘cause it hurt, and I could tell I wasn’t gonna make it. But having you there made it easier, I knew that you’d stay, that I wouldn’t have to be alone.” Lucy’s face fell and she averted her gaze. “I’m sorry that you ended up alone for so long. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you.”

Gwen sat up, forgetting in her haste that Lucy was perched on her stomach, and sent the girl falling back. Gwen caught her, pulling her into a tight hug. The first time they’d shared a hug, Gwen had been small and frail, her body unable to grow from lack of nutrition and care. Now she was taller, taught muscles shifting beneath her skin, having lived her life while Lucy had been stuck perpetually young. “If you won’t let me apologize then don’t you dare try to do it yourself.”

Lucy sighed, letting her face rest on Gwen’s shoulder, her arms wrapped around her waist. “I guess that’s fair.” 

Gwen hummed her agreement, letting silence fall between them. She held Lucy close, letting the girl's simple words wash over her like a cleansing rain. She wanted to believe them so badly and accept the absolution Lucy offered. But the gnarled knots of guilt and self-loathing within her remained unwilling to unravel.

Yet Lucy's hazel eyes shone with such conviction, her voice ringing with the innocence of youthful idealism. She spoke as if the cruelties of the world had never touched her gentle spirit, as if the harsh lessons of experience could not challenge her steadfast faith in the goodness of her friend.

Gwen envied Lucy that purity of spirit, even as she feared she might destroy it with the merest brush of her cursed hand. She wanted to cling to this fragile moment, to pretend the years between them had never passed.

But the scars upon Gwen's back told a different tale, as did the hard lines etched upon her face from too many nights spent weeping alone in the dark. The ocean of blood upon her hands could not be washed clean by Lucy's sweet benediction.

She thought of Alistair, with his easy smiles and bright laughter. He had looked at her with such tenderness, even after seeing the scars on her body. He held her hand without flinching, and touched her cheek with reverence. Alistair had loved her, for a time at least, and the memory of it made her soul ache with longing.

And Darcy, the great hero who had ended the Blight and slain the Archdemon. Darcy had seen her true face, monstrous and contorted, and still treated her with friendship and respect. Gwen had never forgotten the shock in Darcy's eyes that first glimpse, and the dawning understanding that followed after.

Leliana had been a surprise. So devoted to the Chantry, to the organization that had deemed her a monster in the eyes of the Maker, that had beaten her and robbed her of a childhood, and yet Leliana had not. She’d looked upon Gwen as a dear friend, had worried for her, had laughed with her, and Gwen wouldn’t trade that for the world

Lucy's unconditional love, Alistair's gentle affections, Darcy's quiet acceptance, Leliana’s firm friendship - they were the keys that had opened Gwen's prison, even if she hadn't realized it yet. She had blamed herself for so long, certain that she was unworthy and unlovable. But she was beginning to see, in the light of Lucy's wisdom, that there was still hope for her yet. She had been shown compassion - forgiveness - and it had planted a seed of possibility within her.

As Lucy moved away, Gwen's heart constricted and she fought against the instinct to grab her and never let go. Her fingers tingled with the fear that if she stopped holding Lucy, she would vanish into the thick fog like a fading evening sun. But Lucy remained solid and real, still standing there with a soft smile and a hand outstretched. With a deep breath, Gwen reached out and took her small hand. As Lucy pulled her to her feet, Gwen was surprised to find the strength her tiny arm could manage.

Lucy tilted her head, a smile creeping onto her face. “You always worried about being a burden, but you were my hero, Gwen. You faced everything with such resilience, you took everything those cruel Sisters threw at you and you never complained. I wanted us to have a life, you free from the Chantry, and me free from the Circle. We may not have gotten it together, but we did escape. ”

“And you weren’t alone the entire time. I want you to tell me about your friends, the life we could have had together.” Lucy paused, tilting her head as if listening to something Gwen couldn’t hear. “Tell me about Alistair.” 

Gwen’s heart fluttered in her chest as Lucy said his name, a blush rising to her cheeks. Lucy made an over-exaggerated gag. “Ew, you kissed him didn’t you?”

Her blush spread to the tips of her ears, darkening in colour as she ducked her head, her lips twisted in a bashful grimace. “Let’s not talk about that.”

“Ugh, fine by me.” Lucy grinned. “But I still want you to tell me about him. Was he at least handsome? Like the princes in my books?” 

“Yes, just as dashing as your princes,” Gwen said, tugging at the collar of her shirt, looking everywhere but at Lucy. “But how do you know his name? And how… are you here? How am I here?”

As understanding dawned upon Lucy's face, her features softened and she reached for Gwen's hand. Together, they walked through the tranquil meadow, the blades of grass tickling their bare feet as they trod along. The warm sun glinted off the dewdrops that clung to the flowers and leaves, creating a sparkling path before them. A gentle breeze whispered through the field as they strolled hand in hand.

"I’m here because I believe you still have so much to live for. Watching you suffer alone… I couldn’t stand it. I want to help you heal, like you helped me feel loved when I was alive.”

“You are sleeping, teetering between life and death, and so you are here. I don’t know how a lot of this works, but I know I’m somehow connected to you. Maybe it has to do with your blood and how it… you know… But when you think of me, here and when you were fully alive I could hear you.” Lucy squeezed Gwen’s hand, bumping her with her hip. “But I could only hear bits and pieces. So I want you to tell me about your friends, your life, everything I missed out on except for the gross kissing parts.”

Gwen spluttered, feeling the reddening of her cheeks return full force, but Lucy didn’t let her organize her thoughts and she continued. “And then I want you to let me go.” 

As quickly as the blush had come on, all blood seemed to leave Gwen’s face and she pulled them to a stop. An anvil pressed on her stomach, leaden shackles pulled at her ankles. “What?”

Lucy pursed her lips and released a heavy sigh through her nose. “It’s beautiful here, and honestly it was good for me to get used to the idea that I was dead before… well, whatever comes next. But I’m ready. I don’t need to be here anymore, I want you to let me go so we can both move on. I want you to be happy, to stop punishing yourself.”

Gwen shook her head vigorously, her hands wringing together, as though trying to piece together her shattered thoughts. “I… I can’t— I don’t know how,” she stammered, her voice trembling.

“I’m not saying you have to forget me,” Lucy said with a gentle smile, patient and soft and everything Gwen was not. “But you’re holding on, stuck in the past with my ghost. I’m gone, Gwen, and you almost were too. But you aren’t supposed to be here yet, you still have time, so we can’t move on together. I’ll be there, when you are ready. But I want to rest, and I want you to enjoy your life, to spend it around people who can be there for you. You deserve happiness, Gwen, and you won’t get that by keeping all that pain buried in there.”

Tears pricked at the corner of Gwen’s eyes, her throat constricting around any words begging to be free. Let go of Lucy, of the girl who was so ingrained into her soul she wasn’t sure what was left of herself should she rip them apart?

“It doesn’t have to be right this minute, there’s no rush.” Lucy gestured towards the open expanse of beautiful landscape. “We can make up for lost time, I can get to know this version of you. But when it’s over and you’re on your way back to whoever this guy is that makes your cheeks turn that colour, I need you to release me. Can you please do this for me?”

Though her chin wobbled and hot tears tracked salty trails down her face, she managed a nod. For Lucy, she would do this. “Y-yes,” she stuttered. “I will.”

Lucy beamed up at her, an excited energy thrumming through her small body. “Thank you, Gwen. I know how hard that is for you, but we have so much time together now. Maybe it will make it easier.”

Nothing could make it easier, but Gwen couldn’t help but smile down at her lost friend, the girl who had taught her the meaning of kindness and the importance of a soft touch. “When did you get so wise?”

Lucy laughed, and Gwen felt a piece of her heart warm at the joyful sound. “When I stopped being dragged down by your dumbass. Now come on, tell me about this boy of yours already.” 

In this enchanted place, time seemed to stretch and bend at will. No matter how long they talked and laughed, the sun remained fixed in its position high in the vivid blue sky, the weather a perfect balance of warmth and coolness. They never felt hunger or thirst, lost in the tranquillity of this paradise. But as with all good things, it couldn't last forever. As Gwen's eyelids grew heavy and her mind foggy once again, she leaned back against Lucy's comforting presence. The young girl gently guided her down until her head rested in her lap, providing a soft cushion as Gwen struggled against the inevitable pull.

“Lucy, what’s happening?” Gwen asked, her voice groggy, blinking blearily up at Lucy’s now blurry face. 

Lucy’s smile grew luminous as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes sparkling with reassurance. “You’re going to be okay,” she said, her voice steady and calm as she cupped Gwen’s cheek with a tenderness that had panic slipping from her chest like water over river rocks. 

Gwen frowned, confusion clouding her mind. “What about you?”

Lucy’s eyes softened, and she gently cupped Gwen’s cheek with her small hand, thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You’ll let me go, remember?” she said softly. “And I’ll see you again, someday, when it’s your time, and you can fill me in on everything else that I missed, alright?” 

Yes, she had promised that. Letting go of Lucy, but not forgetting. Gwen could do that, for Lucy, she could. 

“Tell Alistair I say hello, and thank you for looking after you when I wasn’t able to.” 

Gwen nodded, she could do that too. 

“Stop fighting it, Gwen,” Lucy whispered, running her fingers down the side of Gwen’s head, brushing through her hair. “They’re all waiting for you.” 

Waiting for her… her friends. It had been so long, and yet, no time had passed at all. 

As though she was being dragged down by the weight of a thousand sandbags, Gwen's body felt heavy and leaden. Her limbs refused to cooperate as exhaustion consumed her, her eyelids drooping heavily until they finally closed, blocking out the sight of Lucy and her beautiful realm. The last thing she heard was Lucy's voice, soft and soothing, as she whispered a final farewell.

She didn’t want to leave her friend, but it had been Lucy’s request, so when she felt Lucy press a gentle kiss to her forehead, Gwen thought to herself, I release you, I let you go. 

And Gwen sank into oblivion, gone from Lucy, untethered from her past, and on her way home, to her heart. To her beloved Alistair. 

Next Chapter

A/N: Summary - Gwen gets throttled by a twelve-year-old into self-forgiveness

Only one chapter left :') but also I may have started an epilogue to the epilogue that will be posted soon after the last chapter… I just can't let go yet!

The epilogue will be posted Thursday!

[schizochasm]

I went to the store.

My mom sent me 100sek less than she said. So I had to cut some stuff and accept that I'll not have money for the rest of the week.

I still got 2 6packs though. Cause if I hadn't I would've been even worse off.

I was supposed to start watching SVU while waiting for the bus, but my friend called. They were very upset, but at least it saved me from watching it.

Rant about him and my life

TW: (sc1de talk, abuser, hopelessness, and just horrific shit tbh. Proceed at your own risk.)

Once I got home I smoked 2 ciggies in the bathroom venting at him. About how I don't even care anymore and if I had the money I wouldn't talk to anyone anymore. And just let go of what I "need to do" to keep my life together. Just isolate and go back to being g drunk 24/7. Cause I just don't care anymore.

And I told him how I feel about him. How much I hate him etc. even though I know he knows. He's in my head. He knows all of what I think and feel. More than I do sometimes.

I just needed it said.

That's when I made my last post.

After that it was time to watch fucking SVU.

And I'm not even through episode 1 and already hate him for it. And myself.

I can't. I can't cope.

I hate myself for getting this way. For being sick. For being schizophrenic.

And for not listening to him when I should've.

I hate him for ruining my entire life ever since I first met him. Especially after I got sicker years ago and he came back.

But everyone keeps saying he's technically me. He's part of me. He's from my brain.

But he may be from my brain. But he's not me. Fuck that. He's not me. He's nothing like me and he's just horrific terrible scum.

Yet I can barely muster being mad at him anymore.

It's been years. Years.

I'm more submitted, broken, and scared than angry.

That anger, fight, and animosity... It's almost all gone...

He broke me long ago.

And it only got worse over time.

I'm not even one cohesive identity anymore. Not to me.

I'm broken.

And people with abusers that "are real" can escape. There's hope. Somewhere in there you might escape. It might end one day.

But me with my "not real" abuser doesn't get that. For about 2 years I held on to hope.

"One day it'll all get better." And similar. I heard it so much I believed it deep down. That one day maybe it'll all end.

One day he'll stop. He'll go away again and I can start healing and making a life.

I don't have hope anymore.

Not anymore.

It's been at Least 2.5y.

At Least.

I suck at keeping track.

You break.

You fold.

You lose hope.

I can't run. He's in my head.

I can't go to the cops or a shelter. He's in my head.

The meds aren't enough to make it stop. (Maybe if I had a decent dr it could've worked.)

Therapy can't help me cause I'm Currently being controlled and abused, in every category of abuse.

I wish I were dead.

I wish I could k1ll myself.

But my younger brother died 2 years ago.

And since then I don't have it in me to k1ll myself.

Can't do that to my mom and brother. They can't lose us both.

So I'm stuck living.

In a hell scape that people want to just brush off and ignore. Cause to them it's not real. To them it doesn't matter.

It's real to me.

I experience it as if it were real.

But they don't treat me like that's what I'm dealing with.

And I can't even tell them outright myself.

Cause he won't allow me to talk about it. They know. More or less depending on who. But they don't treat it like that's the case. And they never will.

Cause they can't see the scars, rope burns, rashes, cuts, brandings...

They can't see him. Hey can't hear him.

It's not real to them.

It's not the same to them as if it were in shared reality.

I just wanna die.

I just want out.

I don't have a life to hold onto.

I'm just doing it cause I Have to.

Sorry for the rant....

I just....

I wish I could kms...

Maybe one day I'll mercy k1ll myself ...

Maybe one day....,