#when symptoms started to get bad it was always at night when they wore off | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blossomwritesthings · 2 years

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𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

pairing: minho x fem!reader (afab)

genre: sick!fic. idol!minho. sick!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. reader pov. established relationship.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. mild thematic elements. angst galore. reader is sick. minho is a soft and doting bf. reader has a fainting scare/high temp/migraine. slight possessive behavior from minho (but in a cute and soft way, i promise!!). pet names (affectionately). cuteness overload.

word count: 8.3k

summary: it's the dead of winter when you suddenly come down with a bad case of the flu. and your doting boyfriend minho is more than happy and willing to help you through the pain.

a/n: yes, i am fully on the brainwashing and brainrotting train that is writing minho out to be a soft, caring bf. don't come for me, it's one of the only pleasures in my life rn!! i wrote this in one sitting (and yes, most of the content in here is based off of my own experience with the flu this past year), so it might be horrible or really amazing. lmk what ya'll think and if you'd like more of this content from me! :))

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). © ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

The first symptom of the flu to come upon you was a sore throat. It happened just after you and Minho had finished eating dinner - since it was a Wednesday night, Chinese takeout had been on the menu.

You were laying in bed, already cozied up in your pajamas and snuggled under the thick coverlets, reading one of the winter-themed books that you had recently checked out at your local library. When, all of a sudden, your throat started to feel scratchy. Every few minutes, you kept reaching over to your nightstand table to take a sip from the glass of water that you always kept there.

Just then Minho came out of the master bedroom’s adjoining bathroom, clad in the black sweatpants that he always wore to bed. He was shirtless since his hot-blooded self could never fall asleep if he had too many clothes on. You got a clear view of his chiseled chest muscles and sinewy biceps as he padded over to you with his slippers on and gave your forehead a gentle kiss.

When he pulled away from you and saw the discomfort that was evident in the way your brows were furrowed together, he frowned slightly. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He asked, tucking a few strands of your loose hair behind your ear as he peered down at you with those sparkly, expressive doe-eyes of his.

“I don’t know, my throat hurts all of a sudden.” You said, swallowing over the painful scratch in your mouth.

“Did you drink some water?”

“Yeah, but it’s not helping…”

“Let me make you some warm tea, then,” your boyfriend reached down and tenderly squeezed your forearm with a tiny smile stretching across his lips. “Surely that will help you feel better.”

“But- Min, it’s too late, you worked so much today… it’s okay, I can make it,” you protested, catching hold of his wrist and stopping him from leaving your side. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, even as your throat was screaming at you for something warm.

“It’s okay, kitten. Making the tea will only take a few minutes, and then I’ll be right back in bed with you.” Just then he bent into you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before pulling away and ruffling some of your hair with a wide grin on his face. “Wanna help you, baby, hmm?”

And how could you deny that face? Those words? So, you released your grasp over him and watched him flood from the bedroom. Not a minute later you heard rummaging in the kitchen, as your loving boyfriend began to prepare a cup of tea for you.

In his absence, you tried - and failed - to get comfortable in bed again. Your book was long forgotten on your nightstand, and your throat had gotten so progressively worse over a few minutes that swallowing was starting to hurt.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take waiting any longer, Minho walked through your bedroom door with a huge, steaming mug in his hands. “It’s lemon-chamomile flavour… I added some honey for extra comfort, too.” He said as he placed it into your outstretched palms.

“Thank you, baby- don’t deserve you.” You mumbled in a quiet voice, offering him a tiny smile.

“Does it hurt to talk?” He asked as he turned off the lamp on your nightstand before rounding the bed and joining you on his side. He got comfortable underneath the thick duvet before switching off the last remaining light in the bedroom.

Everything was thrown into darkness around you, and for a moment, you were disoriented. But then you felt a familiar hand reach over to you and grasp one of your free hands, squeezing slightly, and you relaxed into your pillows.

“Yeah, kinda…” Your voice trailed off into the night as you took a sip of the tea. It was piping hot, but even still, felt amazing as it went down. You could already feel the chamomile and honey concoction soothing your discomfort away. “This tastes amazing, Min. Thank you.”

Minho snuggled deeper into the covers, shivering a few times from the chill in the air. It was the dead of winter and even with the heat blasting throughout your shared apartment, your place always seemed to have a cold draft traveling between the few rooms. “I’m glad you like it.” Your boyfriend’s voice was heavy, indicating that he was truly exhausted.

You leaned over to him and carded a few fingers through his dark, chestnut-brown hair. “Now, go to sleep, you workaholic. You’ve got a jam-packed schedule for the rest of the week.” You said into the quiet that had suddenly fallen over the bedroom.

Your words suddenly had Minho groaning into his pillow, “Don’t even fucking remind me about tomorrow’s schedule- it’s gonna be hell, for sure,” he began in that deep voice of his that would always come out late at night. You had told him many times in the past that you loved the sound of it, to which he cockily said that he’d try to stay up later with you so that way you could hear it more and gush over how sexy he sounded. Secretly, he loved the praise… a little too much, if you were truly honest with yourself. “You’ll be okay to go to bed?” He suddenly asked, bringing you out of your reverie of thought on his sultry ‘night voice.’

“Just fine,” you whispered, snuggling down under the sheets. You could already feel the heat that was radiating off of Minho’s body, as he slowly warmed the two of you up just with his hot-blooded self alone.

“Okay, then… goodnight, my baby. Feel better in the morning, yeah?”

“Goodnight Min. And sure, I’ll try to.” You replied in a quiet voice.

And then there was no reply from your boyfriend, as he swiftly drifted off to dreamland. After you had finished your tea, you snuggled up against him, wrapping one of his arms around your waist and pressing your back against his inviting, bare chest. The chamomile had helped immensely to take the ache in your throat away, and in no time at all, you were joining Minho in dreamland.

When you woke up the next day, your throat hurt like a bitch. You had thought that the night before had been bad, but nothing compared to how dry and scratchy it felt so early in the morning.

Turning over on your side with a groan, you cracked your eyes open against the bright light shining through from the bedroom’s large bay window. You noticed how Minho’s space was already empty. You shifted a palm across his pillow, noting the coldness of the satin fabric.

Stumbling out of bed a few minutes later, you realized how quiet the apartment was. With a glance at the nearby clock on your nightstand, the time read just past seven in the morning. Minho was already long gone.

Since your sore throat had only gotten worse overnight, you deemed yourself unfit to go to work that day. So after having called up your manager and telling her that you had to take a sick day, you slowly got ready for the day. The hot shower worked somewhat in relieving your throat pain, but not by much. And by the time you had dried your hair, brushed your teeth, and thrown on some comfy sweats and one of the many hoodies that you had stolen from Minho throughout your relationship, a spilling migraine had begun to bloom across your temples.

“Just my luck…” You mumbled to yourself as you made your way into the kitchen. With a glance around the adjacent living room/dining room, you noticed how the apartment looked more tidy than usual. Your boyfriend must’ve cleaned the place before he left early that morning. The thought of him picking up because you didn’t feel well left a wide smile on your face as your trudged to the fridge.

Having opened the thing, you noticed a huge soup pot that was covered with a lit, sitting on the middle shelf. A note was attached to the top of it, and it read,

Baby,

Made some rice porridge for you this morning. Didn’t have time to wake you up to tell you, so only kissed you goodbye. Text me after you’re finished eating- I haven’t made the recipe in a while and want to know how I did.

Love you, and hope you feel better,

- Min XX

You felt the emotions rising inside of you as you read the small note again, and soon, your eyes were turning watery from unshed tears. He truly was the best boyfriend ever. Minho was the type of guy who liked to share his love for you in actions. He loved cooking for you and cleaning for you. But over time, since you two had started dating, he had slowly become more expressive with his feelings through words as well. It was a nice change that you gladly welcomed and it made your heart all fuzzy to know that he was trying to be a better lover for you alone.

In no time at all, you had heated a portion of rice porridge for yourself. It was chock full of tender, flavourful chicken, and tons of veggies - like carrots, mushrooms, and even zucchini. You drizzled some fish sauce and soy sauce on top of it and used the chopped-up scallions that Minho had left for you to garnish the porridge.

You took a picture to send to your boyfriend before you dug into the meal. And instantly, you felt so much better. The heat of the porridge slid down your throat and coated your insides with a fuzzy, comforting feeling. It was so very delectable and you finished it in just a few minutes. After you were done eating, you made sure to take some ibuprofen that you had on hand to try and combat the splitting migraine that was upon you.

Sending the picture you had taken earlier of your meal, you quickly texted Minho.

Min Today 10:03

Me: Just had the porridge… WHY have you never made this for me before?! It was amazing!!

Within a minute, he texted back.

Min: Wow, I had no idea you’d like it that much, I’ll have to make it again. It makes me happy to hear that you enjoyed it. :) Did it help with your sore throat? You looked to be in discomfort when I left this morning…

Me: Yes! The porridge really soothed me, I feel better already!

Min: Ok, I’m glad then :) You took off work today, right?

Me: I mean, yeah, since I can barely talk :(

Min: Awe baby :( I’m so sorry. Just rest today, I’ll try to be home earlier than I was last night.

Me: I’ll just be laying in bed all day haha… and ok, have a good day at work! Love you <3

Min: Love you too <;33

Staring at the bright screen of your phone was only making your headache worse, so you turned it off and trekked back to your bed. The exhaustion hit you as soon as your back hit the soft mattress, and halfway through the comfort movie you had turned on on the tv, you were already drifting off to sleep.

Late that same night, the fever started. At first, your cheeks were just flushed, which could happen from time to time. But then, the back of your neck started to feel warm too. And soon, it felt like your entire body had been doused in a scorching hot pit of lava.

Keeping to his word, Minho arrived home an entire hour earlier than the night before. When he walked through the apartment’s front door at eleven with both hands full of groceries, you immediately stood up from the living room couch to help him unpack.

“No, no- I’ve got it. Go sit back down,” he insisted, trying to shoo you away with his hand as he placed the many bags atop the kitchen counter.

You peeked into one of them and saw a huge box of multi-flavoured popsicles. “What’s all this for?” You mumbled in a weak voice.

“You, my dear… want to cook some good meals to help you feel better,” Minho said, turning you towards him so that he could get a good look at your face. When he noticed the deep crimson flush that stretched across your cheeks and traveled down to the part of your next that was exposed from your - formerly his - baggy hoodie, his brows furrowed. “Baby, do you feel warm?” The light in his eyes flashed with concern as he gently pressed a hand against your cheek and forehead.

“Y-yeah, a little…”

“You’re burning up,” Minho said, voice a little panicked as he led you back over to the living room couch, the groceries suddenly forgotten. You had only ever gotten a fever once before in all the time that you two had been dating, and it hadn’t been all that bad, to begin with. And it sure as hell hadn’t made you feel as hot as you did just then. “Here, let me get the thermometer.”

Then he was gone from your side and rushing into your bedroom, in search of the only thermometer you kept on hand. Resting against the couch, you tried to focus on anything else but the soreness in your throat and the heat that flooded through your veins just then. The headache had come back with a vengeance a little earlier that night, the ibuprofen wearing off fairly quickly. Much to your demise.

Minho was beside you again a few minutes later, thermometer in hand. “Baby, open for me,” he instructed, and you opened your mouth slightly so that he could slide the small thing under your tongue. The metal felt cold against your teeth, and time seemed to pass by agonizingly slowly, as you two sat there on the couch and waited for the reading. When it finally beeped loudly, Minho took it out and inspected it. “Nighty-nine-point-eight. You’ve definitely got a fever.”

You closed your eyes then, resting an arm across your eyes and groaning into the crook of your elbow. Even your eyelids felt hot. “Fuck- I’ll have to take off more sick days from work. I really can’t afford to do that-”

“Kitten, I think that’s the least of your worries right now,” your boyfriend said softly just beside you. You felt his hand wrap around your knee and squeeze the skin there gently. “I’m going to get some cold rags, okay? Just- stay here.” By the way that his voice had turned a little high-pitched, you could tell how he was slowly starting to get stressed out about the whole thing. Which was saying a lot, since there wasn’t much in the world that could stress him out.

The two of you rarely fell ill, and when you did, it was always a mild case of the cold. So for you to have so many symptoms all at once, must’ve been very overwhelming for your boyfriend. But, what could you do? The sickness was here, and it was here to stay…

You felt something cold press against your forehead amid your thoughts, and you cracked your tired eyes open to glimpse Minho leaning towards you on the couch, two other wet washcloths in hand.

“These will help to cool you down,” he explained, as he helped move you forward a little bit so that he could place the second cloth behind your neck. Then you let him guide you so that you were fully laying down on the couch, limbs sprawled out. You were too sapped of energy to even ask what he was doing as he gingerly lifted your oversized hoodie. When you felt the coldness of a third, and final washcloth press against your stomach, you understood his sudden actions. “You should take some ibuprofen, that’ll help bring your fever down.”

“I can’t take it without first eating something.”

“Then I’ll make you some food- did you have dinner?”

You shook your head no, the motion only making your pounding headache worse. You winced and grabbed at your head, massaging one of your temples.

“How about I heat some of the rice porridge from earlier?” Minho offered before standing up from his kneeling position on the ground.

But just as he was about to leave your side, you stopped him by grasping at the fabric of his dark-blue sweatpants by his knees. He was still sweaty from the apparent dance practice that he had been doing in the studio just before he came home. “No- I- I’m too nauseous to eat anything right now.” You mumbled, voice cracking a little bit from the pain that was solidly rooted in your throat. Your cheeks were so hot, it felt like you had gotten a sunburn while laying out on the beach, when in reality- you had been lying around your apartment all day, not even catching a single glimpse of the sun through the hazy January clouds outside.

“Okay, well, maybe you can take the medicine later when you feel a little better,” Minho said. He was squatting down at your side then, brushing back your hair from your forehead. “Just rest on the couch here while I put the groceries away, and then we can go to bed.”

You nodded in understanding, too tired to say anything else as he kissed your hot cheek and finally pulled away from your side.

That night turned out to be absolutely horrendous.

You tossed and turned throughout it, not being able to get comfortable. The cold washcloths had done little to help bring your fever down, and the throat lozenges that Minho had gotten for you at the grocery store earlier merely coated your throat in this weird aftertaste that left you coughing for half of the night.

Not to mention the headache.

Which had turned into a full-blown migraine.

The ache wrapped around your entire head, and it felt like someone had your skull in a vice-like grip, squeezing and squeezing the very life out of it.

Your boyfriend, who stayed up with you for the entirety of the night, was a literal fucking saint. He made trips into the bathroom every hour to dampen your washcloths with cold water again and regularly made you tea to try and help relieve your throat.

“Min- baby- you need to stop helping me now,” you whispered through the daze of tiredness. Because if you were drained, you couldn’t imagine how your boyfriend had to feel - what with having worked for the better half of sixteen hours that day. “You have so much on your plate right now, I can’t expect you to stay up all night just because I’m feeling like shit.”

“S’okay, I’m not sleepy…” But the way his quiet voice drifted off at the end of his words proved differently to you.

You turned on your side in bed, catching a glimpse of your boyfriend’s slumped form through the faint moonlight that shined through the bedroom window’s curtains. His shoulders were hunched over, his head hanging low, as he massaged languid circles into the palm of your closest hand.

“Yes, you are. Now, go to sleep.” You said firmly, pushing on his shoulders so that his head hit his pillow.

At your forceful movement, his eyes shot open. “I can’t leave you like this- baby, you’re in so much fucking pain right now. I-I feel horrible that I can’t help you more.” He said, his tone desperate. He threaded his fingers through yours then, squeezing a little desperately, trying to convey how strongly he felt about staying up with you and helping you practically survive the night.

“I know babe, I know…” You pushed away a few locks of his dark, chestnut-brown hair that had fallen in front of his face, giving him a soft smile. “But you need to sleep now, okay? That’s how you can help me feel better- by going to bed. I’ll be fine, so don’t worry about me.”

Minho was silent for a few beats, as you stared into each other's eyes. You were both incredibly stubborn when you wanted to be, but on this topic- you wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t jeopardize his packed schedule while also letting the boys down just because you weren’t feeling well.

“Alright,” he finally surrendered in a defeated-sounding voice. “But, you’ll wake me up if anything happens, right?”

“Of course.” You leaned down into him and gave the crown of his head a soft kiss. “Love you, Min.”

“Love you too…” He said, his eyes already closed. And just like that, you watched his face relax, body melting into the soft downy mattress, as he finally drifted off to sleep.

And hopefully, you’d soon join him in blissful sleep as well.

Turns out that you didn’t get a wink of shut-eye that night, tossing and turning underneath your thin sheet - you had thrown off the thick duvet coverlet that had been laid on top of you early on in the night. A thick coating of sweat covered your entire body, even with the cold washcloths still placed on you. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, had been out like a light.

In your sleepless, frail daze, you hadn’t managed to catch him as he left for work early the next morning. But as soon as your eyes opened, your head throbbed from the bright light flooding through your bedroom’s curtains, and a strong wave of nausea overtook you.

You shot from your bed and barely made it to the bathroom. You leaned over the toilet bowl and hurled up the little contents that were left inside of you. The only thing you had eaten the day before was the rice porridge that Minho had made for you in the morning and two strawberry-mango-flavoured popsicles to try and ease your throat.

It still hurt like hell, and your head was pounding from your migraine. When you leaned back from the toilet, a loud groan escaped past your lips from the distress that you were in. You sat there on the cold, tiled bathroom floor for a few minutes, just taking in deep breaths and trying to persuade yourself to get up when all you felt like doing was tipping over and passing out from exhaustion.

In the end, you managed to get up from the hard ground and brush your teeth before making your way back to your nightstand, where you had glimpsed a small piece of paper placed just atop your latest pick from your local library. The nightstand’s clock read just half-past ten o’clock in the morning.

You probably didn’t get much sleep last night. Try to take a nap sometime today when you can.

You need to eat something, but, if you’re too nauseous, at least drink lots of water. There’s some Pocari Sweat in the fridge, so drink plenty of that.

And please, try to take some ibuprofen if you can. It will help bring down your fever. Checked it before I left, temp is now at 102.8. It should’ve broken in the night.

Call/text me whenever you want to, I’ll be available all day and will be home even earlier than yesterday.

Love you, Minho XX

Even through your confused state of pain and weariness, a smile graced your lips at your boyfriend’s thoughtfulness. Since you rarely got sick, it was uncommon for you to experience this exact side of him. It was a whole kind of new Lee Minho, and to be honest, you quite liked it. And although the doting could be a little excessive and suffocating, it was the thought that counted, right?

Somehow, you found enough energy inside of you to get up from your comfy bed and into the shower. The hot water felt amazing on your skin, and did wonders for your bad migraine. You stood under the spout for at least twenty minutes - maybe even more than that. And when you were too tired to keep standing, you sat down on the cold tile of the stall. The steam that the scalding water emitted all around you also helped to calm your inflamed throat down, and you basked in the comforting feeling for quite a while.

It was only after you stepped out of the shower, legs slightly wobbly, that you realized your mistake.

You had a fucking fever, for God’s sake-

It should’ve been very obvious to you-

Not to take a scalding hot shower for that long.

Even still, there was no turning back. And almost immediately, you felt the repercussions of your actions. As you wrapped a fluffy white towel around your body and grabbed for the blow dryer, you suddenly felt very lightheaded.

And not the kind of lightheaded that you would sometimes get if you stood up from a sitting position too quickly.

No, this kind of lightheadedness was the kind where you felt like you were about to fucking pass out.

Just then, you realized how hot your entire body felt. You thought that it had been bad before- but nothing compared to the sheer heat that radiated off of your body.

With a racing heart and shaking limbs, you slowly shuffled out of the bathroom, clutching onto the wall for support. Your vision was going in and out, turning so blurry that you could barely see in front of you.

You fumbled around your nightstand for your phone, and with quaking fingers, you dialed Minho’s number as fast as you could. You were standing just beside your bed, legs feeling like they were about to give out on you. You were so weary and confused and felt like you were about to fall over, so half of what you were doing didn’t even make sense to you. But you knew that you had to get ahold of your boyfriend- in that scary moment, that was the most important thing to you.

The phone rang once,

Twice,

Three times.

Please, just fucking pick up-

Please don’t be in a meeting or at practice or-

“Baby? I’m so glad you called, how are you-” His gentle, serene voice rang out across your phone’s speaker that was pressed to your ear.

You let out a sob of relief, the tears finally flowing down your cheeks. “M-Min, I-I can’t-“ It was hard for you to speak over the dizziness and confusion.

“Y/N? What’s wrong? What happened?” Minho’s voice immediately turned frantic at your mumblings.

“S-So dizzy- got out of the shower and- and gonna pass out- help me, Min, please-” It felt like your knees were about to buckle just then, but Minho’s voice cut through your heated stupor.

“Lie down right now, baby. You close to the bed?”

“Y-yeah-”

“Lie down, completely stretch out your body. Can you do that for me?”

You said nothing more, shifting towards your bed and collapsing on top of it with a tiny gasp of exhaustion. “I-I’m on it-”

“I’m leaving the company right now,” Minho’s exclamation broke through your daze of fatigue.

“W-What? Baby- no, don’t- you have an important recording today and-”

“To hell with the schedule!” He was suddenly shouting through the phone, making you pull it away from your ear from the loudness. It only made your headache worse. When he heard your whimper of pain, he began speaking again but in a quieter voice. “I’m sorry for yelling, baby- it’s just that, the company can’t expect me to go to work when the fucking love of my life is about to pass out from the flu that she has.” His voice was much calmer this time and helped to soothe your racing heart a little bit. Your limbs were still shaking though, your vision going in and out.

There was silence on both your ends, as your slow mind processed his words. You heard shuffling on his line and muffled voices. Then he was talking to someone - it sounded like Chan - their whispers were hard to hear over the static of the phone.

“Baby?” Minho’s voice cut through your tiredness. You opened your eyes weakly, trying to focus your attention on the painting that hung on the wall just beside your flatscreen tv. It was of a single, pink tulip positioned in a grassy field. The piece was something that Hyunjin had gifted you for your birthday in the past year. “I want you to stay on the phone with me until I get home, okay? Just keep talking to me - about anything - just don’t close your eyes, alright?”

His instructions seemed like absolute torture to you right then, because all you wanted to do was close your eyes and let go - let your mind drift off into wonderland for even a few blissful seconds. “I’ll try,” you started, voice quiet as you nuzzled into the bed’s thick duvet that was still messed up from the night before. You hadn’t found the energy to make it yet. “I-I threw up this morning.”

“Oh, darling- I’m so sorry I wasn’t there… but, I’ll be there soon, yeah? I’ll take care of you, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” His tone was laced with concern, and a tiny smile spread across your lips at how attentive he was being toward you.

The entire thirty-minute commute that he took every day from your apartment to the company, you stayed on the line with your boyfriend, talking about whatever came to your mind. You were still nauseous, so food was never brought up, mainly just the changing weather and what you wanted to do that weekend since he’d have a break from schedules that Saturday, which was quite a rare occurrence for him.

Laying down on the bed had helped your dizziness somewhat, but every time you shifted just a little bit, your vision would go blurry again. It was annoying as fuck, to add yet another symptom to your myriad of other problems.

“I’m pulling up to the apartment right now, so I’ll hang up. Wait for me, baby.” Minho finally said after what felt like an eternity of him traveling home from the company. You mumbled an incoherent ‘yes’ before he hung up the call.

True to your promise, you kept your eyes open, laying as still as a statue on the bed. You were back to studying Hyunjin’s flower painting just as you heard the front door’s keypad being used. A breath of relief left you as shuffling echoed throughout the one-bedroom apartment, and in no time at all, there your boyfriend was- rushing into your bedroom with a wild look in his eyes and flushed cheeks, his dark brows furrowed.

“Kitten-“ he breathed out in a sight of relief at the sight of your still-awake form, “C’mere.” He dropped his backpack on the floor next to the door before he was bounding towards you. In one swift movement, he was lifting you off the bed, taking you up into his arms, and cradling your head against his chest as he sat back down on the bed’s plush mattress.

The tears started again almost as soon as he had you in his arms. Your sobs wracked through your body, as he brushed soothing fingers through your hair. You knew that crying would only make your migraine worse, but you couldn’t give a flying fuck about anything just then. You were just so happy to see your boyfriend, after such a disastrous morning.

“Y-You came back for me,” you sniffled after a long bout of silence that was filled with only your cries. You pulled away from his chest, looking up at him through blurry vision. “I-I was so scared, Min.”

Minho swiped his thumbs underneath your eyes, gently catching your falling tears with the pads of his soft fingers. “Of course I did, baby. I love you… and it kills me to see you this way. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to help you.”

“Just glad you’re here now,” you whispered, clutching onto his waist a little harder. “I’ll feel better now with just your presence alone… but, how long are you staying for?”

He tucked a few strands of your still-sopping wet hair behind your ear. In your dizziness, you hadn’t found the time to dry it yet. “Not leaving you again, darling. The company gave me the day off, Chan helped me persuade them.”

“B-But you’re gonna miss such an important day of schedules and-”

Your boyfriend shushed you with a slender finger to your lips. “It’s already done now, Y/N. So let’s just focus on helping you feel better, alright? By firstly, getting you dressed.”

You looked down and realized that you were still only clad in your soaked towel. “Wow, I didn’t even realize I was still in this…” Your voice trailed off, as Minho placed you back down on the bed and made for your walk-in closet.

“Is it a sweatpants and hoodie kinda day again?” He asked as he poked his head into the closet.

“A-Actually, I’m too hot to wear anything thick,” you managed to stutter out, perched at the edge of the bed. And soon enough, your loving, doting boyfriend emerged from the closet with a pair of soft, black cotton shorts and a thin, maroon-colored camisole.

“Will this do?” He questioned, holding up the items for you to inspect them from across the room.

Wordlessly, you nodded your approval. And soon enough, he was shifting his way toward you. In no time at all, he had helped slip the shorts up your bare legs, the loose waistband resting gently against your hips. Then, he guided the camisole over your head, gently pulling the thin spaghetti straps over your shoulders.

“All good?” Leaning forward, he tucked a piece of your wet hair that had fallen into the front of your face behind your ear.

“Mhm- but my hair’s still wet from the shower,” you mumbled, staring up into his dark pupils that were dancing with a myriad of emotions - but especially, concern. “Carry me?” You asked, reaching out your arms to him, supple and waiting, like a small baby that wanted to be carried by someone they trusted.

“Always, kitten.” He whispered, just as he pulled you up into his hold. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he charged for the bathroom. And soon, you were sitting atop the granite counter, as he ran his fingers through your hair.

The blow dryer was loud in your ears, and the heat from it only seemed to raise your temperature even more. You still had your legs wound around Minho’s torso as he worked with nimble fingers to dry your hair. You tipped your head towards his hand every time he ran a brush through your locks.

When he was finished, he pressed a palm against your forehead for what felt like the millionth time that day. “You’re still burning up, baby…” His voice trailed off, as he leaned across the counter, grabbing a stray hair bobble. He pulled your hair away from your face and fitted it into a loose ponytail at the back of your head. Immediately upon the feeling of your thick locks being out of your face, a content sigh of relief escaped past your lips. “I really need you to take that ibuprofen, honey.” A deep frown bloomed across his lips, turning his mouth downwards in a displeased kind of way.

“My migraine isn’t as bad as it was earlier, so I think I can choke something down now.” You said. Your eyes were still closed, as you breathed in the familiar scent - of warm, dark roasted coffee and cinnamon sticks - of your boyfriend.

And in no time at all, he had you seated on the living room couch, your eyes trailing over the food that he prepared for lunch. There was a bowl of the porridge that he had made the day before, a piece of plain, white buttered toast, and a yellowed banana. Not to mention the medicine set off to the side with a tall glass of water.

“Eat, baby.” Your boyfriend took hold of the tray that the food was on and positioned it on your lap.

He was sitting beside you on the couch, gaze locked on your form with a certain kind of intensity that would make you anxious if you didn’t know him so well. The intensity he had was only borne out of concern. He so desperately wanted you to get better, that’s all.

“Thank you, Min… it looks delicious.” You pecked his cheek gently, watching as a soft smile cracked across his lips before you delved into the lunch.

You had to admit, the food was exceptionally good. The porridge helped to alleviate your throat, and the bread filled your stomach comfortably. You hadn’t realized how hungry you had truly been until you started eating. But halfway through the meal, you stopped when you noticed how your boyfriend hadn’t moved from his spot of watching you.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” You asked, motioning towards your spoon that was laden with porridge.

He shook his head slowly, “Want to take care of you first, that’s all.”

You gave him a deep frown. “Min, you're already taking care of me. Just making this meal is enough for me.”

“I know, but I wasn’t here earlier- don’t want to take my eyes off you for even a second, in case something happens.”

“I’m not going to pass out, baby. I’m fine now. So please, eat some lunch, yeah?”

“You still have the flu, Y/N. Just because you haven’t passed out yet doesn’t mean you won’t in the future,” Minho crossed his arms in front of his chest, canting his head to the side, eyes trailing on your red-cheeked face. “And I want to be sure I’m here to catch you if that happens.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence…” You grumbled softly, turning your attention back to your cooling porridge. There was no use fighting him on the matter anyway. He was a stubborn mule when he wanted to be, and apparently, Minho would run himself ragged before he ever looked away from you again.

It was only after you had finished your lunch, and had downed four ibuprofen pills and a glass of water with it, that Minho finally got up from the couch to put your dishes away and make something for himself. He rounded the couch a few minutes later, pressing a cold washcloth against your head. The sudden coolness surprised you, and you slightly sat up from your laying position on the couch to catch a glimpse of your boyfriend.

Minho took a seat at the end of the couch, near your feet, a plate of food in his hands. For his meal, he was having a rather bland-looking sandwich, with a green apple sliced thin set off to the side.

“That’s all you’re having to eat?” You raised an eyebrow at him, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at him.

His gaze was already on you even before you met his stare, as he bit into his sandwich. “Don’t pass judgment on my habits when you hadn’t eaten anything until just now.”

“But I’m the one who’s sick here…” You protested, shaking your head in disapproval at the lack of food on his plate. He was a growing guy, always in the gym, always straining his body for work. He needed to eat enough to fuel himself properly. Changbin was always harping about such things to the boys, but especially, your boyfriend. Since, as Changbin put it, ‘he never seems to get enough macros in for his height and weight range.’ Whatever the hell that meant.

To that, Minho said nothing, merely biting into his sandwich once more. His silence only made you more agitated with him, and that, coupled with your slightly-pounding migraine and your drowsiness only helped to add fuel to the fire.

“I”m worried about you, Min… you need to eat more if you want-”

“You’re worried?” He suddenly let out a dry, humorless scoff. And instantly, you recognized his tone. In the blink of an eye, his entire demeanor shifted. It changed from the intensity he had from caring for you, to the intensity that he always got whenever he was worked up. Whenever he was worked up about you, and your safety. “I’m the one who’s fucking worried here, Y/N!” He practically burst out in a loud voice, throwing his plate down on the nearby coffee table in his sudden exclamation.

“Minho-” You began in a soft voice but you were quickly cut off by his raising voice once more.

“Do you have any fucking idea how scary it was to get a call from you this morning and have you practically fighting for your very life to not pass out right then and there?” He ran a few frantic fingers through his hair, clutching at the roots, slightly bending over, and resting his elbows against his knees. “Because damn it- I was practically shaking from all the worry. And then I come home and find you literally naked and sopping wet and crying and-” Just then, his voice cracked, his words fading off into the distance.

And in the next beat, you were moving. Towards him, so that you were right up in his personal space. You took hold of one of his hands, pulling it away from tugging at his locks of brown hair. Squeezing your fingers between his own, you pressed a soft kiss to the top of his hand.

“Baby, I’m so sorry… it’s my fault that everything became such a big mess. I didn’t have to take such a long, hot shower.” You admitted, giving his skin another kiss.

Minho pulled his head up just then, as it had dropped between his hunched shoulders in his distress. His eyes slid over to yours instantly. “Don’t apologize, none of this is your fault. You were only trying to relieve your symptoms, I get it.” He held onto your hand a little tighter, like in that moment, he needed to be grounded in the reality of you. That you were still there with him, still living and breathing, albeit tired as hell and ill to the bone. But still, there nonetheless. “And please, just... don’t leave me, okay? I can’t lose you, baby… I can’t…” His voice became a tiny whisper at the end of his words, misery flashing across his face, radiating deep in the way that his eyes softened at the sight of you, his brows creasing with the tears that he could never seem to shed.

“Min, I have the flu… not the damn plague.” You laughed, lips grazing his hand again as you placed another peck against his skin. “And of course, I’m not going to leave you.”

“Good, because I’m never going to leave you either.” And suddenly, he was taking hold of you, pulling you onto his lap and burrowing his face into the crook of your exposed neck. He blew raspberry kisses against your heated skin, making you burst out into a fit of giggles. You kicked your feet up into the air, trying to escape him as his nimble fingers tickled you at your sides.

And all at once, just for a few minutes, he helped you forget about everything - about your sickness, the discomfort, and the fatigue. All of it. Helping by kissing away the swarthy thoughts and tension-filled temples.

Later that day, your fever finally broke. The medicine seemed to kick in just in time and helped to completely take away your headache. Your throat still felt dry and scratchy, but continually downing warm cups of tea was slowly helping that. You and Minho spent the day lounging around the apartment, watching random reality shows that were playing on the tv, and indulging in a whole pint of chocolate ice cream an hour before bed.

But despite having all that sugar and caffeine right before laying down, you found that sleep threatened to take over you as soon as your head hit the pillow.

“Will you go in to work tomorrow?” You asked, laying on your side and facing your boyfriend as he sprawled out in the bed just a little ways away from you.

“I don’t know… I hope not.”

“The boys will need you, baby. I think you should.”

After all, he was an integral part of the team. He couldn’t simply disappear from Stray Kids for even a few days and not have them feel the lasting effects of his absence.

“Let’s not worry about that and just focus on going to bed, okay?” He reached out to you, clutching onto your hip and pulling you towards him.

When your forehead was comfortably rested against his bare, muscled chest, you peered up at him with a faint smile pulling at your lips. “Thanks for taking care of me today, honey. I don’t deserve you…”

He pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead, his voice rumbling with sleep as he spoke, “I’ll do anything for you, kitten. And of course, you deserve me- I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”

Without another word said between the two of you, you closed your eyes and breathed in deeply. Your boyfriend's comforting scent washed over you, seeming to soothe a tender spot inside of you, and all at once, you were falling fast and hard into a deep slumber.

The first thing you noticed when you awoke the following morning was that for once in what felt like an eternity, the blinding morning light shining through the bedroom curtains didn’t automatically make you feel like shit. Instead, it helped to place a content feeling deep inside your heart.

And the second thing that you noticed when you awoke the following morning was the fact that your boyfriend was still in bed.

He had both arms wrapped around your waist, and when you dragged away from his chest, a muffled groan fled from his slightly-parted lips.

With a glance at your nearby clock, you noticed how it was well past the time that he usually got up for work.

Minho cracked an eye open from the shifting of your figure, a lazy smirk blooming across his mouth at the sight of your eyebrows raising on your forehead in surprise. “Guess I won’t be going in to work after all…” He said, voice husky with sleep.

You squirmed in his arms until you were loose enough to get a good look at him. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and suddenly, you thought that perhaps the huskiness of his voice wasn’t just from sleep. “Why are you staying home today? I thought you said you were going to go into the office.”

Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, that same smirk was still on his face. “The sore throat woke me up in the middle of the night.”

A loud groan bubbled up and out of you, as you scrubbed a frustrated hand across your face. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Hey- well, at least you’re feeling somewhat better now… that way, you can take care of me when I nearly pass out after a hot shower.”

With that, you shoved at his shoulder gently, sending a glare his way. “This isn’t funny, Min. You shouldn’t have gotten so close to me- shouldn’t have kissed me! Now you can’t go to work for God knows how long because of this stupid flu!”

He waved a noncommittal hand in the air, batting away your worries like he didn’t have seven other boys who depended on him, like he didn’t have a whole company counting on his work, like he didn’t have millions of worldwide fans anticipating his presence. “Eh- to hell with it all, I was bored with work anyway. And besides, I cannot ever stop myself from kissing you, baby. At this point, I’m pretty sure it’s hardwired into my brain as a daily need to function.” He gave you a playful wink, and you rolled your eyes exasperatingly.

“You're so stupid,” you grumbled, hating the idea of seeing him go through the same pain you went through. You had survived the worst of it already, but you wouldn’t wish it on anyone - not even your worst enemy. “Well, you better promise that you won’t be a pain in my ass and actually accept my help when you need it.”

He shook his head noncommittally, “I shall make no such promises.” You felt a hand clutch at one of your sides, just as he was pulling you against his warm body once more. “Now, c’mere and give me a kiss.”

You smiled against his mouth, melting into his hold as he pressed kiss after soft kiss to your lips.

Because even though now you were both sick,

At least you had each other.

And at the end of the day, that’s all that mattered…

That Minho had you, and you had him.

So even despite feeling like a literal ball of hot, steamy garbage baking in the summer heat,

You felt like, at that moment, you could whether anything in life - any storm coming your way, any curve ball thrown at you, any toxic person coming into your path,

Just as long as you had him by your side.

As long as you had Lee Minho, your beautiful, loving, eccentric, doting boyfriend, you’d be just fine.

Fin.

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groovyghostie · 14 days

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Vent about disability, ableism, and grief ahead, proceed with caution.

I do understand why my mother doesn't want or like to think of me as disabled. A lot of my symptoms and problems came about recently, or, at least I masked and sucked it up and tried not to complain until it got so bad that that just wasn't feasible anymore. And she wants my life to be healthy, easy, and above all else, happy. Unfortunately, those first two aren't always feasible for me. Sometimes even the third one feels out of reach. But as soon as I express that, express any kind of frustration, she meets me with pushback. She says I have to push through, or I need to have a positive attitude, or wouldn't some fresh air and a Tylenol make you feel better? Have you tried getting some sleep? Maybe you're just not taking care of yourself. We had a discussion about it just yesterday evening, and I do think it will get better. I just wish it didn't come at the expense of interpersonal friction between myself and my only living parent. I just wish my dad were here to calm both of us, to be the voice of reason as he and my mom so often took turns doing. I wish he were here to tell me it's going to be okay. I want a hug, but not just any hug. I want one from him. I couldn't sleep last night because I took my first dose of my first ever ADHD stimulant yesterday morning. When it wore off, I crashed, right around 11pm. I didn't start to feel sleepy until about 6am, though, so I just killed time mindlessly through the night. I'm going to keep taking it, but at this point in time, the benefits just don't seem to be worth the cost. And I'm away from home for the night (last night), so I'm missing my fianceé terribly. I don't know, this is a mess, but I think the point I was trying to make is that, sometimes you lose people, or people fail to understand you, or your Most Important Person can't be there 24/7. And that sucks. But the ones who try are worth hanging onto for as long as possible. My mom is going to try to be a better ally, and I trust her on that. My fianceé is there a good 90% of the time, and that is more than enough. My sibling is always trying to help me. My sister loves me enough to put up with me using her as my middle man for getting my fianceé some of that Devil's Lettuce when they hurt too bad to function. My dad is gone, but that's not his fault, and if it happens in my lifetime, I will celebrate the day humanity cures cancer in his honor. I may not be able to make work or be very productive right now, but hopefully that'll change. Either way, I'm getting married soon. My life is just beginning. There's so much left for me, even if I get more than my share of chronic pain in my life, even if I struggle daily with anxiety and executive function and social cues for the rest of my life. I want to live, not just survive. I hope I get to see a world where I, and all other people like me, are allowed that much.

P.S. I am physically disabled AND neurodivergent. This post is not about one or the other, so you won't be derailing by just talking about one, and I don't mind if people derail anyway, as it was all over the place from the very beginning. Talked about my dad more than I meant to. But hopefully, someone will relate.

#ghostie speaks #vent #actually autistic #actually disabled #disability #visible and invisible disabilities #cane user #part time mobility aid user #adhd #actually adhd #autism #autistic

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pbandjesse · 2 years

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Today was a wash. I accidently slept the whole thing away. I apparently needed the rest but emotionally I feel very bad because of it.

I didn't even sleep bad last night. I fell asleep easier then I have been. Putting on a true crime documentary always helps. I had stopped because some I had been listening to upset me to much. But the gentle voices help me turn my brain off I guess.

We didn't go to bed until late. James got home after midnight. I finished a few more squares of my blanket. I was feeling happy. I shouldn't stay up so late but honestly I missed it. I miss working into the next day. I do some of my best work that way. And when we got in bed I wasn't up for long. Which is better then spending two hours just laying in bed on my phone which makes me feel and.

I did wake up early this morning because something seemed wrong and I poked at James. But they told me they were okay and I went back to sleep.

I woke up at 8 and James was in bed with me still. I'm glad they got a little more sleep.

They made the bed and warmed up a biscuit for me while I got dressed. I was actually wearing a shirt dress today but I only wore that to the doctor's office.

We were off and the biscuit was a little chewy but it was fine. James brought a book and waited in the car for me when we got to the office.

I didnt realize we would be there for over an hour. I felt bad making James wait. But they said it was alright.

I was mostly concerned about finding out what the copay on this medication was going to be. And no one had an answer. Not the front desk. Not the nice nurse that checked me in. So she said she would check in with the office manager. And thankfully she came back and explained that it's just part of the $30 office visit pay. So I don't have to worry about it! Amazing. It made me feel a lot better that I don't have to fight the insurance about it. I just kept telling the office manager that I didn't want to screw it up and she's like. No?!! You aren't screwing anything up!! Made me feel more secure for sure.

The doctor came in and talking to me. I showed her the symptoms I've been tracking and she said a lot of this is just. Me and not side effects. So that's good! She said the nausea is a side effect and to just keep an eye on it.

And then the person who gives the injections came in and she was very nice. I got two injections in my belly. I did not enjoy that at all. I've never had that before. And it was a lot lower then I was expecting. Right in the middle of the flower tattoos I have. Which was funny to me. I told her about the tattoos and how it's a coverup of a coverup of a coverup of a tattoo I gave myself when I was 12. I think she thought I was silly.

The injection was a little painful but mostly because it was slow. The medication was viscous and thick. But it didn't take long. She wanted me to wait a half hour to see if I had any reactions. So I went to the front to make my next two appoints (Monday mornings two more times this month) and posted up to wait.

I felt fine though. Annoyed with myself for not bringing my crochet with me. But it was fine. I was mostly looking forward to leaving.

Once I was free I went to go meet James at the car. And they asked me where I wanted to go get brunch.

We decided on the iron rooster. I wanted the spicy omelette I had there before. And so that is what we did.

But I started feeling deeply sad. It was like as soon as we sat down I got a wave of sadness. I felt like I was trying really hard to hold a conversation but I couldn't. I was listening to the women next to us talk about their baby registry. I was watching people eat. But I felt very disconnected.

The food was good. James got their house made pop tart. I got to try a bite and while it would probably be to much for me to have a whole one, the bite I had was really nice. And my omelette was good. I saved half to have later.

We walked over to the grocery store next. Got some juice and butter and I got jelly beans because they were on sale. I got the popcorn ones I like. I also got a lemon meringue but I ended up not liking those. Maybe they will grow on me.

I was happy to be going home. I was trying to not be miserable but I was falling apart. I didn't like the seams of my shirt. My hair felt bad. I wanted to get changed and lay down.

And that is what I did. Once we parked we went upstairs and I changed inyo my sweatshirt dress. And got cozy in bed. I just watched stuff on my phone for an hour. But eventually I would fall asleep. Sweet has been hanging out with me a lot today. We were playing a lot last night and he was making me laugh a ton. So it was really comforting to have him with me today.

But I slept way way longer than I wanted, or then I expected. James says they tried to make me up a few times but I don't remember this. I woke up before 430 and was very distressed to find that it was so late. I tried calling for James but they were in the kitchen and didn't hear me. I texted them and they came running.

They brought me a snack and I slowly started feeling more human. But I felt so sad. I wasted the whole day. James kept telling me that's wasn't true but I just felt so bad.

I got my crochet and would make a few more squares. James would play video games in bed with me. And I would start feeling a little better.

James made us pizza and broccoli for dinner. And then we laid together for a while. We would finish building our Lego succulents. They look so good. I would put some dye in my hair. And eventually take a shower.

The bathroom isn't a nice place to be right now. There is kind of a horrific smell coming from somewhere. James thinks there is a dead mouse somewhere. They tried going though the closet and checking behind the panel that lets you into the wall. But no dice. I think it's in the pipes because the drains smell the worst. Thankfully if the window is open it isn't spreading outside of the bathroom itself. But I really hope we can solve it because it's not good.

Now I am in bed. My hair is wet. So I will go dry that soon. I am probably to tired to actually do the whole hot brush dry. But we will see.

Tomorrow James goes back to their surgeon. I hope they give them something to help them sleep. And we will take the Christmas decorations down. I have a poster to make and some examples for this weekend. I hope I feel more normal tomorrow and can be productive.

Sleep well everyone. I hope you are feeling better then I am. Good night my friends.

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nathank77 · 1 month

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8/11/24

3:23 p.m Updated/Added to Significantly 3:51 p.m

So the half frames are great but they leave those marks on my face, I've since switched to my Ray-Bans.

I feel more like me in my half frames but as stupid as this sounds my Ray-Bans are now my face lol I still want half frames that are comfortable but maybe next year. I've decided I'm going to invest in the Ray-Bans and have the lenses replaced next year assuming my prescription changes anyways.

They may touch my cheeks sometimes but I mean less now that I lost weight and they are branded. They take up my whole face but whatever. I do like the idea that when someone sees the side of my face they can read Ray-Bans and think I'm not poor. Also I do sorta like them but they take up half my face.

I remember talking to Elise about glasses and how I hated how some people wore glasses that took up half their face and then I ended up being one of them :/ maybe that's why no one wants me.

I shaved my face but I still got to trim my bread and I'm going to buzz my head instead of shaving it.... bc it's cheaper. Gillette is expensive. And buzzers are cheap and mow through it. I really wish I could get all my hair waxed off or plucked out so I never had to shave again. Then I'd just have to keep my chin strap edged up nicely and get rid of the nasty mustache.

I noticed my facial hair is slowly filling in. I feel dirty cause my beard is too long but I can't find a happy medium. If I shave it to a 1 guard you can see my double chin and I feel the hole stands out just as much as when it's longer....I also think when it's longer I can move it/fluff it persay to cover the hole a little. I didn't fluff it in this photo. I notice the bad side is starting to fill in.

Last week my beard was perfect length but within 4 days it was too long and now it's bothering me. Maybe I'll keep growing it but idk I'm prob going to try a 2 guard. Idk sometimes I just do the 1 so I don't have to trim it for a couple weeks but I always regret it.

I can't find the right length. If I let it grow longer for a while then I mean maybe I'll get used to it feeling "dirty." I'm just more clean cut.

Hair feels dirty on me idk how to explain it. It's a symptom of being bald for years. My fringe or whatever feels nasty and dirty too around my bald head. Even though you can barely pinch it.

I'm worried about money. I have to get cigarettes in new Hampshire this Friday... I had to replace the apple usb port cause I don't game like I used to and i deserve to play. Twitch already fucked me. A 4 hour video of minecraft had muted audio. It disconnected. And no one watched, a .1 average viewership it's too depressing to see all the same issues. I chose recording and YouTube for a reason. I know how long someone watches. I know how they find my video. I know if they return to my videos. I can see certian parts they watch more frequently (when I get enough of a following).

But yea I'm worried about money and I'm worried about continuing to take White mulberries at 3000mg but I had a lot of caffeine yesterday. I cut myself off at like 1 or 2 p.m today. If I have an involuntary movement or something that is a twitch instead of a Spasm I'll drop down to 1000mg of white mulberries but I really think it was caffeine. I say twitch versus spasm bc spasms could still be due to the statin drug... that side effect can last 3 months... twitches are not common for statins.. I did actually have a Spasm today in my leg but it wasn't a twitch I do attribute it to the statin side effects wearing off.

Today was a cheat day I had smiley fries and Simulate nugs. My hallucination makes me want to jump off a bridge.

I hope I fall asleep quickly tonight. I'm not going to bother gaming. When I get my adapter I'm going to game at night but not have caffeine after 2 p.m... and see if it's just the caffeine bc I can see the commonalities between all 4 nights:

1) caffeine consumption was high bc even the day I only had one red bull I drank 3 or 4 v8 and Gatorade cause I didn't know it had caffeine.

I truly hope this microsleep trauma will lighten eventually. I see Erin and Mike tomorrow.... and that's it for therapy for the week.... that's the sad part....

Idk what I'm supposed to do I can't get abandoned again by another bot.

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i-jxta · 6 months

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April 4, 2024 | 1027PM

Slowly but surely, I am losing my mind.

I cannot cope.

I've been in and out of therapy since I was 16 and I think I've cried about 3 times, including today. I've been seeing my current therapist for about 2-3 years? Two years ago I was diagnosed with BPD and today I was diagnosed with OCD. I usually start my session by doing some mindfulness. I take some deep breaths in and out for like 5 min and then I start to talk. Today, I started crying in the middle of mindfulness. I couldn't take it anymore. I am in so much pain. I can't stop thinking.

In 2011 when I was 10, I was convinced that the world was going to end in 2012. It brought me so much anxiety. I had so much left to do and see. So I wore this random necklace every day with a picture of baby Jesus on it. I decided that as long as I kept this necklace on, the world wouldn't end. If I took off the necklace then bad things would happen. Along with wearing the necklace, I also had to pray every single night and say the same prayer over and over again until I fell asleep. My mom thought it was cute! All the praying I was doing. Not knowing that I was actually filled with dread and carrying the fate of the world on my little 10-year-old shoulders. Aside from the world ending in 2012, I had to say goodnight to my mom every night, in case she died in her sleep. If I didn't say goodnight, then I'd worry that when she died I'd be the reason why. It doesn't make sense, but it makes sense to someone like me. This is a way for me to ease my overwhelming anxiety. The world didn't end and my mom didn't die, so my rituals are working.

In 2019, after something traumatizing happened again. I convinced myself for almost seven months that I was pregnant. I had no symptoms, so naturally, I assumed I was having a cryptic pregnancy. I was breaking down every few days thinking about it. Nobody could convince me I wasn't carrying a child inside of me. I was crying, cutting, praying, and panicking every. single. day. I was googling symptoms all day. One day I was watching a documentary, completely unrelated to pregnancy. and the woman in the documentary said "Oh yea I had a cryptic pregnancy" and I remember so vividly how badly I spiraled after that. Had that been a sign from the universe? Affirming my fears? Telling me "Yes, you are having a cryptic pregnancy". One day, my girlfriend at the time set up an appointment for me at this women's clinic. I went to take a test and they told me "You're not pregnant". And that was the end of that. The kind woman offered me so many resources for my situation. I even set up an appointment to go to some group therapy, but I never showed up. I finally fed my brain the reassurance it needed "You're not pregnant". That's the thing with OCD though. No thought or action is enough to end the cycle. It will continue to seek reassurance and will continue to destroy you until it gets its next dose of reassurance. Once I am done fixating on one thing I move on to the next thing. Something always has to be wrong, my life cannot possibly be perfect for a moment. I started thinking about death a lot more. The possibility of dying and the possibility of the people I love the most dying.

I know this is out of order but before 2019. I smoked a lot of weed carts. I was getting mad fucking high. I have never felt so close to death while I was off those carts. I think I greened out a lot more than I ever had a relaxing high. I kept getting high though because it felt good. I don't know if it's even possible to describe what it is like to be ridiculously high off a cart. This was back when carts were a new-ish thing. I was smoking these without knowing what was in them. I've smoked regular weed and most of the time I have the same reaction to it. The worst part of these highs was how fast my heart would beat. I was always convinced I was having a heart attack. That I was going to drop dead at any moment and I couldn't stop it. It'd be because of my own stupid choice. My mom's voice would ring through my ears, telling me I'm an idiot, and that I can't take care of myself. Maybe she was right? Here I am repeatedly doing the same drug that made me feel like I was just barely hanging on to life.

Ever since then, I've been paranoid about death. It bothers me because it will happen. There is no "avoiding" it. Some day, everyone I know, including me will die. I can't cope with that. It reduces me to tears on the daily. It makes me feel such a primal fear. I constantly worry about the future, never living in the present. I get so anxious I start to feel physical symptoms, like heart palpitations. And guess what! when I feel those I get anxious about having a heart attack and dying. What other ways can I die? My newest fixation is, as I type this, that I am actually developing bone marrow cancer. Any symptoms? Yes, my knee hurts and earlier the joint that connects my femur and pelvis hurt. But that's about it. I've already cried about it 3 times today. I can't stop thinking about it. I've already imagined being on my deathbed and saying goodbye to everyone. Some of my compulsions include googling symptoms and thinking the same thoughts over and over again so that I can anticipate disaster before it happens. I can't fucking relax. If a doctor told me today that I didn't have bone cancer. I'd find something the same day to be fixated on.

I am so burnt out. I struggle so much daily and I am getting really tired of living. BPD, OCD, and Autistic ? are you fucking kidding me. There is way too fucking much going on in my head all the time, at once. Can you imagine fearing death so much that you feel like you need to kill yourself? I want to kill myself. Is that what my brain wants? To self-destruct? I'm so tired of being strong and resilient.

I am in fucking pain. I feel so guilty. The younger version of myself would never want this for herself. She had so many dreams and aspirations in life. She has so much wonder and curiosity. So many things she wants to do and see. And yet she turned out like this. I failed her in so many ways, I've kept her alive. But for what? To punish her? I'm sorry

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anonymousjos · 1 year

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This is the beginning where I am going to start:

April 25th 2023

At the beginning of January of this year I went on a business trip. We flew to Dallas, had a short layover (where I unintentionally caused us to miss our flight for coffee- Sorry Piper!) and then went on to a smaller town in Texas on a new flight.

During my three day, two night, trip I spent my time sitting with my team located there, training and interviewing. We went out for meals and I did not get much exercise- oh and it snowed! Big time!

I notice that the tops of my feet and shins were hurting and my ankles were starting to swell, which is really strange for me. That had only happened during the end of my pregnancies. I chalked it up to no movement, and super bad food and went on.

On our return flight home we had a delay and almost missed our second flight- again. I knew we had to be on that plane but my legs were cramping, it was like I physically could not run and I was completely out of breath! As a long time fat girl it’s not uncommon for me to get winded when running but this was the first time in my life that my body physically would not do what it was told. My beautiful, skinny counterpart ran ahead to stop the plane as I pretended to not be dying of pain, no air and embarrassment, all at the same time.

When I returned to town I called my doctor for an appointment. The timing just felt so strange to me, the week before I left for my trip I had gone in for a blood draw to check on my Hashimoto’s- diagnosed in 2015 after the birth of my first daughter- and to talk about my weight, again. My doctor’s nurse was kind enough to tell me that none of my symptoms were life-threatening and she could get me an appointment in four days. We had snow moving in- I guess I brought it back from TX with me and I was worried that I would be snowed in and in so much pain I wanted to die. Kind soul that she is, she recommended that I go to an Urgent Care. I did because I was in SO MUCH PAIN the Urgent Care was extremely perplexed by me. I presented with:

- Muscle pain and stiffness

- Joint pain and stiffness- my thumb joints were so so bad

- An odd blotchy rash on my arms from wrist to elbows

- Super intense hip, what would be considered your saddlebag area, pain

The on call doctor decide to treat my symptoms and recommended I go see my primary care doctor. I was given a cortisol shot, a steroid pack and an anti-inflammatory. After a day I felt one hundred percent better. I can actually remember taking a shower and thinking I have never felt this good. As soon as the meds wore off the symptoms were back.

I finally got in to see my primary care doctor and she kept saying, as she always does, that these are all just symptoms caused by my Hashimoto's. I was insistent that if that is the case we need a new plan, but I knew something was really wrong. The fatigue had gotten so bad I couldn't hardly get out of the bed in the mornings. I was always rushing to get ready and always late to work because of it. And even then, I can’t make it through the day without multiple cups of coffee, sometimes a hydroxycut or energy drink on top of it and a daily nap in my car. I kept telling her that I know this was not normal. Plus, the newfound pain! My arms and legs felt like I had actual rigor mortis, I could barely lift my feet. I started tripping and falling because I was struggling to lift my feet when I was walking. The pains would keep me up at night I couldn't sleep I was exhausted, something was wrong! Reluctantly, my doctor ordered additional testing.

A week later her sweet nurse called me to tell me that my numbers were “borderline” for Rheumatoid Arthritis and she could send over a referral if I like. I asked if there was any way I could speak with the doctor on the phone or email her so that we could discuss further. The precious nurse informed me that no, I could make an appointment. In that moment I realized my doctor of eight years- and her nurse- did not care at all that I couldn’t lift my feet to walk.

I am not sure that I have ever wanted to give up more in my life. I wanted to go home, crawl under the covers and cry until I died. Having two little girls prevented me from doing just that. So instead, having no idea what to do or where to turn, I reached out, anonymously, in a woman's power group that I was a part of. I had seen other women bring their problems here for help, and really, what did I have to lose? I laid out my situation and I begged for help.

So many amazing women responded to my post and gave me guidance. Someone even tagged an actual doctor who was newly creating her practice and she thought could help me. To my amazement the doctor actually commented back on my post and said she would love to help and left her phone number! I immediately set up a consultation, the best thing I have ever done for myself.

I went to my consultation with my new primary care doctor and she was incredible! She listened to everything I had to say, which was a lot and she said that she didn’t think my other doctor or my gynecologist for that matter had ever listened to me. She was open with me and said that she couldn't diagnose me with RA or AS (which is what I actually think I have, but more on that later) but it did not matter because it was in that family and those are all treated in the same way. So, while on the eight-month long waitlist for a Rheumatologist she would treat me as if I had RA. She also said, based off of one appointment of LISTENING, that she thought I needed to be evaluated for both PCOS and Crohn's disease. She agreed that my exhaustion just wasn't normal and the first step is to order a sleep study to rule that out. She was also going to send me to an Endocrinologist for my Hashimoto’s that I have had since 2015, and has never been in a good place. She was also setting up the GI doctor and a new Gynecologist for the evaluations. She was Superwoman.

I loved her from the beginning. Since then, I have seen; the Endocrinologist, who along with my new PCP switched me from Synthroid to Armor and ordered an ultrasound of my thyroid- which came back okay; The new Gynecologist, who does not think I have PCOS but has scheduled me for an ultrasound of my ovaries; The GI doctor, who does not think I have Crohn's but does think it's something else and has scheduled a colonoscopy. I'm still waiting on the sleep study and am still four months away from my Rheumatologist.

On top of all this, I have recently started having knee pain and planters fasciitis that are not responding to my daily anti-inflammatory meds. So, Superdoctor referred me to the bone doctor. I did get an x-ray. The first thing the bone doctor said to me when he walked into the room with me was “You have arthritis in both knees”. I said, I know but that’s not why I’m here and had to tell him that I am already being treated for that and these were pains beyond that. Luckily, he understood and explained that they were unable to see anything wrong in my knee. He recommended a steroid shot directly to the knee to see if it would clear up whatever it was. Which, by the way, is done with a huge needle and freaking hurts! It feels like they are blowing up your knee joint with air and it’s going to pop- for real. Then he explained that in my foot, where I am having the Planters fasciitis they found a bone spur on my heel bottom. He did say that its unusual for it to hurt like this (and kind of blamed the shoes I wear) he offered to give me a steroid shot for that too, in hopes it would clear up. Somehow that giant needle hurt worse than the first one! He then said if the pain comes back after the steroids wear off we will do an MRI. He was aware that I requested an MRI to look at my back because I believe I have ankylosing spondylitis he said if we move to an MRI they can request that I have my lumbar checked as well. And he sent me on my merry way.

At this point, I still have way more questions than I have answers- seriously (Why?, Where is the trigger? What? But, I digress…), but I do feel like I'm going in the right direction. I do hope that I can keep getting answers and that I'll be able to fully arm myself in time for my Rumo appointment. I know that I could be wrong, and am completely open to that, but I truly believe I have ankylosing spondylitis. I do not self-diagnose this lightly. Since January I have done every ounce of research I can. I have read everything I can get my hands on about all the autoimmune disorders that are even relatively close to what I am experiencing. I have deeply researched them all and have mistakenly misdiagnosed myself with many and overturned those diagnoses through research but for the last three months I can’t find anything that isn’t spot on for ankylosing spondylitis.

Here is just a quick history/side note of my health that may be relevant. To date I have:

- Hashimotos- diagnosed in 2015

- Grain intolerance- diagnosed in 2015 when my Celiac came back negative

- Depression- diagnosed in 2015

- Migraines

- Chronic back pain- the initial queue to me when reading my records to AK

- Insulin/Glucose resistant

- Hypoglycemia

- Rheumatoid Arthritis

And one more sidebar for you all, during all of this time I have continued to ask about my inability to lose weight, what my initial appointment in January was for- before my body betrayed me. It has been so long and I have tried everything! It can’t just be me. So, while my original primary doctor, Superdoctor and Endocrinologist all agree that due to my insulin/glucose resistance and hypoglycemia a blood sugar stabilizer would be beneficial to me (currently the popular ones are Ozempic, Monjaro and Semaglutide) insurance will not cover these drugs unless you are a diabetic, despite my medical issues.

After these continued frustrations, I reached out to a friend who is on these meds. She sent me the link to her teladoctor and I am paying cash for Semaglutide. I took my first shot on 3/19. Last Sunday I took my 6th shot and am down 13 pounds and I have seen so many inches come off. In addition, I did not realize how swollen I was in my face and stomach, it has gone down significantly. I actually had to pull out my pregnancy gurtal this morning because my stomach is becoming loose from the weight loss. This only further supports my belief that the Hashimoto's and the glucose/insulin resistance/hypoglycemia has been my true struggle to lose weight and the Semaglutied is properly sustaining my blood sugar

So if you’re still with me…. That is a bit of my current history- there is so much more old history to come. But for now here is update as of today.

I know I just wrote that long current history but I think this below would be my first “official journal entry”:

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porcupine-girl · 2 years

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Update on my covidness. Covidity?

I'm at 4 weeks since I got sick.

I count last Monday, July 25, as the first day I wasn't actually sick anymore, so I was actively sick-sick for like 17 days. But the fatigue has barely let up - I've had a couple good days but they're usually followed by really bad days. I can basically do One Thing a day, such as helping with dinner or going with my husband to the grocery store (which turned out to be a mistake and wore me WAY out, but I hadn't left the house in three weeks and was desperate).

It's especially bad in my arms - some days my legs feel like I could probably take a walk (I haven't dared yet) but doing almost anything with my arms is exhausting. After the trip to the grocery store, where my husband did most of the work, I was reduced to playing games on my iPad one-handed, switching out hands as each one wore out.

So that's where I am now. Four weeks in I'm not sick, but I'm also hardly capable of doing anything. If this happened during the semester IDK what I would do - I have video lectures from when we were remote that I can use, but I couldn't even fucking grade in the state I'm in.

The only thing I can compare it to is when I was undergoing chemo 18 years ago. It feels so much like that sometimes it's creepy. The way I would be doing okay and then suddenly go way downhill in a matter of minutes - that happened the one time I tried to eat at a restaurant. (Our anniversary was while I was still sick-sick, and the kid was at camp for a week so since I wasn't sick-sick last Friday I was like okay I can sit in a booth and eat for an hour. And I did, and was tired but hanging in there, but around the time we ordered dessert I just crashed.)

The arm tiredness is also similar to chemo. The way some days typing or holding a book is too much for my arms, and holding a video game controller in my lap is the best I can do (I have played a LOT of ACNH let me tell you).

Anyhow. In case anyone was wondering. I really hope this lets up a bit before classes start in 2.5 weeks!

A full recap of the past four weeks under the cut:

I think my husband & son picked it up at the July 4 parade, which was a Monday. They got sick Wednesday/Thursday. Thursday night I wasn't quite sick but I felt the way I always do right before I get sick so I knew it was coming.

Friday, July 8 was the first day I was definitely sick, fever and all. (I will note that although 100.4 is technically the "fever" cutoff, my baseline body temp tends to be around 97-97.5 instead of 98.6 so I consider anything above 99 as a fever, and even though my immune system is messed up and I'm sick way more than my husband or kid it's still pretty damn rare for me to get a fever even by that measure.) Saturday my temp got up to like 101.5, when I still had a fever Sunday I tested and was positive for Covid.

At that point I thought to test my sense of smell and realized it was mostly gone. My husband realized that the problems he'd been having since his brief sickness Wednesday/Thursday were all due to covid brain fog.

Monday, July 11 I went to a grocery store clinic and got a positive test there and a prescription for Paxlovid. Took Paxlovid like a good girl for five days, but by the time I was done with it I still had a fever and was still testing positive (I tested 24 hrs after my last dose, so on Saturday July 16). I'm assuming it prevented me from getting worse, at least, but I did NOT have the miraculous "I started feeling better two days into Paxlovid!" experience that I've heard from so many others.

Finally that Sunday, the 17th, my temp dropped below 99 and stayed that way. So I had a fever for about 9-10 days straight. I was still very definitely sick, though. My bones still hurt all the time, my sinuses were a mess, headaches on and off, and I had the general "sick feeling" that is often the only symptom I get. My sense of smell and taste were still off, though smell was at least returning. I finally tested negative on Saturday, July 23 but I was still sick for another day or two.

#pg irl

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twdeadfanfic · 3 years

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Vows Pt.4

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Series Summary:

The last battle with Negan doesn’t go as it should, with Negan coming on top, and so reader, Daryl’s girlfriend, offers herself as a wife to Negan if he doesn’t kill Daryl or anyone else. Negan accepts, he won’t kill anyone but will take reader as a wife, and he’ll take Daryl and some of the others to the Sanctuary as prisoners, promising not to hurt anyone if reader is one of his wives and the communities work for him.

This has both flashbacks to reader and Daryl’s story since meeting to now, and the present with reader living at the Sanctuary as a wife, trying to keep Daryl and their people safe, and she and the other wives dealing with Negan, plotting… (This is not a Negan x reader fic!)

This chapter has Negan in it but also a bit flashback to when Daryl and reader met.

The next day was strange, to be there in a room at the Sanctuary, but you had to remind yourself that it could be worse. All you did was stay in the room with the other women, getting to know them more, sharing stories about your life, reminding you of your first days back at the quarry, when you met new people, so long ago. It still felt surreal, to be in a luxurious room, with food, books, magazines, booze, even DVDs, and in the apocalypse.

Yes, you knew it could be worse…you could be in a cell, like Daryl and the others, you could be starved and tortured as people had been at the Sanctuary…but yet, you hated that feeling of being trapped, and the feeling of dread only got worse when late that day, the door of the room opened and Negan walked in, already with that shit-eating grin

“Hi, ladies.”

“Hi, Negan,” the others greeted, but the words didn’t make it past your lips.

He walked around the room, sometimes approaching any of the wives, who’d smile mechanically at him, and he kissed Abby when he walked past her but didn’t stop, instead going to the sofa where Amber was drinking, silent tears falling down her cheeks.

Negan shook his head, letting out a sigh, and he sat down next to her. “Amber, darling,” he placed his hand on her cheek and made her look at him. “We talked about it, I don’t want you here if you’re going to be sad. As you all know, nobody is here against their will.” Negan glanced at you at that before looking at Amber again and you tried not to scoff. “So, if you want to stop being married to me and go back to whatever work you had to earn points for your parents, you know you can.”

“No, Negan, I want to be here, I love you,” Amber said, sounding like a robot that had rehearsed it. You wondered if Negan would expect you to say those words too, but you were sure you’re insides would burn if you ever said that.

“Good...then maybe you should stop being drunk and crying all the time, right, sweetheart?” Negan let go of Amber’s face when she nodded. “I’d tell you to come to the bedroom, have some fun, see if you feel better…but I had other plans.” Negan got up from the sofa. “Y/N, bedroom.”

You blinked, taken aback. You hadn’t thought that Negan would call for you, you had been with him last night. “Me?”

“Is there any other Y/N?” Negan gave you that shit-eating grin that you wanted to kick. “Yes, you, come on.”

“I haven’t even put on lotion today, I don’t smell like cake,” your mouth said before your brain could stop it, but Negan’s grin went to bigger, and so did the mischief in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, darling, I have some in my bedroom, I’ll lather you with it myself, get you smelling all nice for me, my little dessert,” he taunted you with that damn grin, and you bit your tongue. “Come on.”

Negan began walking to his bedroom and you looked at the other women. “Didn’t he have a wife for each day of the week?” You whispered and Tanya snorted.

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Y/N!” Came Negan’s voice from the corridor, and so you took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and followed him.

You were sat down on the bed, tugging at the sheet to wrap it around you, looking everywhere but at Negan. “Can I leave?”

“No,” Negan answered and you frowned, you had expected him to say yes, maybe send someone else. You looked at him and he was smiling as if he were again trying to annoy you.

You rolled your eyes. “What do you want me to do, then?”

“Talk.” Negan grinned and if he was trying to annoy you he was succeeding.

“Seriously? You want to talk to me?” You said, but then, you had always thought that Negan loved to hear himself speak, so maybe it wasn’t that strange, but probably he’d better talk to any of the other wives that were better at pretending to listen.

“Yes, doll, I feel like I should be honest with you,” Negan began, reaching to place a hand on your thigh, under the sheet, and once again you had to fight the instinct of slapping it. “I wouldn’t have killed Daryl, you know, if you hadn’t married me.”

“Yeah, sure.” You scoffed.

“I wouldn’t…Rick? Sure, I would have killed him there, in front of all of you, right that moment, I can’t let go of what he did, people need an example,” Negan kept going. “Dwight…I’d have killed that fucking rat too.”

You were about to say that you didn’t give a shit about what happened to Dwight and that he was not part of the deal, but Negan kept speaking.

“Eugine…I don’t know…” Negan hummed. “He crossed me, I want to kill him, but that awesome brain of his, I want to use it. I want to take his brain out of his head and put it in someone else’s.”

“Don’t we all,” you muttered, and Negan chuckled.

“You’re fun, Y/N…could be fun, if you weren’t so focused on hating me,” he said and you scoffed.

“Yes, because you gave me no reasons.”

Negan just chuckled again and he stretched on the bed. “I just think, if you weren’t so focused on hating me? You could see how life here is not bad at all.”

You decided not to comment on that. “So, you’d have killed Rick, Dwight, and Eugine, but nobody else,” you said, instead. “You’d have let Daryl live.”

Negan hummed and nodded. “I’d have brought him here to his cell, start right where we left it, let him see what happens when you ran away from me and go against me, so…yeah, I guess he’d have eventually died.” He shrugged and you scoffed.

“Jeez, great, that’s so much better than having killed him right there.” At least you hoped that you were keeping Daryl safe dealing with all this Negan bullshit.

“I like you, Y/N,” Negan said, throwing you off. “You get annoyed easily and when you’re annoyed you’re funny and cute.” Well…funny and cute was not what you went for when you were annoyed, but you didn’t care what Negan thought, it wasn’t like you could show him how you were when you were annoyed. “So…don’t try to find out what happens to someone when they try to run from me and go against me. It’d be a pity.”

“I wasn’t planning on,” you scoffed. “Being this charming, small wonder that you need to blackmail women so they marry you.” If Negan wanted to see you annoyed, he was going to get it.

“Oh, wow, doll.” Negan gave you that dangerous smile. “Someone has ever told you that you’re pretty charming yourself?” You just shrugged. “Look at you…you kept doggy Daryl on his toes, uh? Yeah, you wore the pants, don’t you, doll? Fuck him in the ass too?”

“If that’s what you wanted from me, you could have just say it,” you said, shrugging, trying not to let Negan get to you, and he chuckled.

“So tell me doll…doggy Daryl and you, was it love at first sight, uh?” Negan smiled, it was obvious that he was enjoying bugging you, you didn’t want to talk about Daryl. “Let me guess…he was fucking prince charming coming to the rescue and you fell right into his arms while your panties dropped to the ground.”

You really didn’t want to talk about Daryl, but you couldn’t help your snort, as you remembered…

“You crazy bitch!”

“Yeah…yeah, he was fucking prince charming when we met,” you said. “The first time I saw him, he called me a crazy bitch and almost run me over with his bike, how could my panties not drop at that.”

Then…

You were running at fast as you could, panting, but those monsters were everywhere. A couple of days ago, someone in your town had started to show those symptoms that the TV was talking about, and now, it seemed as if the whole town had turned into monsters.

You didn’t know what to do, monsters all around, when you heard what you thought was the engine of a bike. The road that crossed your town was a secondary one, barely anyone used it anymore, yet a bike seemed to be approaching.

You didn’t know what else to do, and so you ran towards the noise. It was indeed a man on a bike, who had turned out to be Daryl, but you didn’t care who he was, he was a human, someone alive, and you all but jumped in front of the bike so he wouldn’t just keep riding.

Daryl slammed the breaks in time to not run you over, turning the bike, which skidded across the pavement and ended up falling to the ground, and you stared at it in horror. Great, maybe you had killed the only alive person around.

Daryl was okay, though, and he recovered quick.“What the fuck!” He yelled as he kicked the bike off him and got up, lifting the bike again and glaring at you. “What the hell are you doin’, you crazy bitch?! Want to get killed and make me kill myself in the process?!”

“Please, help me, please,” you had been too scared to react to his words. “Please, please, they’re everywhere.”

A few walkers were already making their way to the road, attracted to the sound. Daryl grabbed a crossbow that was attached to the bike and began shooting at them, putting them down without a word to you, and then he went to retrieve his arrows while you stood there, unsure of what to do. There was a bigger group coming and you gasped at it. Daryl noticed too, making his way back to the bike, swinging his leg over it, and you wondered if he’d ride away and leave you there, what would you do.

“Come on, ain’t got all day!” he yelled at you and you nodded, rushing to get on the bike too.

No sooner had you wrapped your arms around him, tight, Daryl was already speeding up. He rode fast, faster than you had ever driven on a car, and it was a bit scary, you hadn’t been used to bikes back then, even if now it felt almost like second nature. You held to him even tighter and even buried your face on the back of that stranger to not see everything flying around you. Daryl had tensed, though you had barely noticed, busy as you were wondering if you were going to fell off the bike and die, but you hadn’t, and Daryl had kept riding for a long while, stopping only when you seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.

He shook you off him and got up from the bike, looking at you, and so you got up too, feeling very awkward now. “Thank you,” you said when Daryl still just looked at you in silence. “You saved my life.”

“Yeah, and you almost killed me,” Daryl said harshly, lifting the side of his shirt slightly to inspect his skin, and you felt guilty when you noticed some bruises and rashes. “Crazy bitch…” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, really, I am,” you apologized. “But those monsters were everywhere and I heard your bike, I was afraid you wouldn’t’ see me and wouldn’t stop…” Or maybe that he wouldn’t stop even if he saw you. “I thought that the monsters would tear me into pieces, the whole town is infected.”

“Mine too,” Daryl murmured and you guessed maybe that’s why he was on his own too.

“My…my family and friends…they…I saw some and they had become those things…and others were getting eaten…” You had been in shock and then you had been running for your life, you had barely had time to process all that, and now it all hit you so hard that breathing got hard. “Oh god…they’re…they’re dead…they’re dead.”

You shook as tears filled your eyes and you gasped for breath, falling onto the ground as your legs stopped supporting you, and you buried your face into your hands. When you looked up, Daryl was just standing there in front of you, silent and awkward, chewing on his thumbnail. You remembered that he had called you crazy bitch. You guessed that he still thought you were that. But he was alive while everyone else seemed to be dead, and that was a plus.

“Are you…are you going to one of those refugee and military camps that they talked about on the radio?” You asked, trying to stop crying, and Daryl shook his head. “Where’re you going then?” Maybe he had just been riding away from walkers with no destination, he’d said that his town was all infected too.

“I’m gonna find my brother.”

“Oh…okay.” You guessed that it made sense, but it sounded a bit crazy and impossible, with everything that was going on.

You didn’t know what to do yourself…you guessed you should try to go to one of those camps. You weren’t near any, though, and if everything was infested with monsters, you weren’t sure you could reach the place without being devoured, but you guessed that you couldn’t do anything but try. You got up and looked around in despair, wondering where you were, where to go, and how.

“What you gonna do?” Daryl asked harshly while you kept looking around, and you let out a hopeless sigh.

“Go to one of those camps…can you tell me where are we?” If he had a map to point it to you, it’d be so great.

“Alone?” Daryl asked and you shrugged and nodded, he could see that you were by yourself. “You got no weapons.” You shrugged again. You didn’t and you didn’t know how to use them anyway…and by the way, who was this guy who wielded a crossbow and killed monsters as if it were nothing.

“You..uh…just…get on the bike again, if you wanna,” Daryl muttered, barely audible, getting onto the bike and turning it on.

“Really?”You blinked at him.

“Yeah, I ain’t got all day, come on.”

You took a look at Daryl…he looked rough and harsh, you felt like he was trouble, he looked a bit dangerous too, in a way...he was big and strong, a bit intimidating if he might want to hurt you, but it hadn’t seemed like so, for now at least. And he was alive, such a basic thing, but now it seemed to mean everything for you. Before, you wouldn’t have gotten alone into a car with a stranger like him, but now…now you felt as if you didn’t want to be one meter away from that crossbow-wielding, rough-looking, harsh-spoken, alive stranger.

“Okay.” You nodded. “Okay, thank you.”

Daryl didn’t say anything else, just nodded courtly and awkwardly, you got situated behind him, feeling shy about holding to him now that you were not in panic.

“Where’s your brother?” You felt like this looking for his brother thing was a bit reckless and dangerous, wherever his brother was, probably it was all infected too, maybe he was dead…but sure you weren’t going to say that to Daryl and be left on your own. He was alive, while everyone else around you seemed to be dead, so right now, being with someone alive seemed to be the best thing you could get.

“He, uh…was sent to the county jail, was uh…arrested a couple of days ago …guess they never made it to the prison,” Daryl explained as the bike kicked into motion, and you held tightly to him. “But he can’t be far.”

Well…that really hadn’t sounded promising at all, and you wondered why exactly had his brother been sent to jail, but you hadn’t had much choice other than going with Daryl. Little did you know then the great decision you had made.

Now…

“He called you a bitch and almost run you over with his bike, and you got all wet? Who would have thought you were into that, darling,” Negan said and you rolled your eyes.

“In all fairness, I jumped in front of his bike.” You shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about Daryl.”

“No?” Negan smirked and you shook your head.

“Two nights with me and you already want to forget him…” Negan chuckled and you did your best not to roll your eyes. “Okay, whatever you wish, darling…then come here and put that sweet tongue to a better use.”

Abby had told you that this would feel like routine at some point, but you didn’t know when, and you couldn’t wait for it to feel like that, or in any way that it wasn’t how you felt then.

You had been at the Sanctuary for almost two weeks, and you had been called by Negan to sleep with him and listen to his bullshit more than a few times, but it still didn’t feel like routine and you were starting to think that it’d never do and Abby had just said that to make you feel better.

The one wife for each day of the week thing had been, indeed, bullshit. Negan would call for any of you no matter the day, though he didn’t usually had the same one in a row more than a couple of times, and most times he wasn’t content with having just one of you.

During those days, you had seen the other wives talk shit about Negan and laugh at him while you all were alone, and then, when he was there, they’d turn into the sweetest things, they’d talk to him, laugh at his jokes, boost his ego, flirt with him, anything…

You didn’t know how they did it, but it kept Negan in a good mood, and that was a good thing, an important thing, you knew it, even if you weren’t able to do that. Also, when they did their best to get Negan happy, sometimes they’d ask for things and he’d comply, whether it were stuff for them, like a book or something like that, or even stuff for the people that they had outside, a little bit more of food one day or a medical checkout without expending extra credits.

You knew you could take advantage of that too, if not for you, for your people, try to get something more for them out of this situation…but still, you couldn’t get yourself to do it. Whenever Negan called for you, you’d be annoyed and disgusted, and you didn’t bother hiding it much.

You were now watching how Noemi, sat down next to Negan in one of the sofas, was listening with rapture, or at least pretending to, to whatever Negan was telling her about his day. She laughed whenever he did one of those stupid crude jokes, throwing compliments here and there, stroking Negan’s arm or face as if he deserved the tenderness, leaned into his touches…you were honestly impressed, you still felt like punching Negan whenever he touched you. Soon, Negan was getting up, holding Noemi’s hand and taking her with him to the bedroom.

“You could do that too, you know? He’d be nicer with you and get you things.” Lila told you, and Abby too had already told you how your life would be easier and you could get more out of this if you played nice, but you hadn’t been able to get yourself to do it, so you just shrugged.

“You never told me why are you here, who are you protecting?” You asked instead.

“Nobody..well, myself.” Lila shrugged. “I have asthma, it can get pretty bad, I think I’d have suffocated by now if Negan didn’t find me my medication.”

“And in exchange, you only have to sleep with him, how nice of him.” You scoffed but Lila just shrugged.

“It’s better than suffocate.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t say anything, instead, you poured yourself a glass of wine and busied yourself with one of the magazines that you had there. If you were trapped there, at least you planned on emptying all Negan expensive wine…petty, stupid revenge, but there wasn’t much that you could do.

Later, Noemi came back, and she made her way to Amber, who was on another sofa, drinking. “Sweetheart, Negan wants you to go now,” Noemi told her softly and Amber nodded but didn’t move. Noemi took the glass from her hand, leaving it on the table, and then tugged her up onto her feet. “Come on, go, and don’t cry again this time, okay?” Amber nodded in silence again, and made her way to Negan’s bedroom.

“He’s going to kick her out of here if she doesn’t get herself together,” Noemi said, flopping down on the sofa and taking Amber’s discarded glass of booze.

“Yeah, well, he killed his boyfriend, he should understand her crying when he makes her have sex with him,” you scoffed but Noemi just shrugged.

“He wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, no shit…”

So...yeah, that’s how reader and Daryl met, feral full of anger season 1 Daryl. This flashback will continue on the next chapter with their journey to find Merle.

If you enjoyed this, comments and reblogs are always more than welcome, thanks.

Also, as always, excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

IF YOUR TAG IS IN BOLD IT’S BECAUSE I CAN’T MAKE IT WORK (AS YOU KNOW i’M MAKING A NEW TAGLIST)

New taglist for Daryl, if you want to be (un)tagged please let me know.

@jodiereedus22 @coffeebooksandfandom @gruffle1 @twdeadlysins @yenne-yen-illustrations @mychemicalimagines @haleypearce @superflannel @sourwolf-sterek32 @angelontheinside @firehoopinmama @lonewolf471 @hopplessdreamer @daryldixonandfrogs @fanfictionsilove @collecting-stories @princessxpunk @hells-mistress @justyouraveragefangirl1967 @carnationworld @smiithys @polkadottedpillowcase @elisdays @mysterious-398 @captainbuckyboobear @dazzledamazon @spidergirla5 @lilythemadqueen @lightning-butterfly @purplebtsmagic @barra-cudaaa @courtnytrash04 @amazingapricot @seizethesam @harpersmariano @eternalslingshot @fuseburner @phoenixblack89 @boywivlove @amaroho @woundmetender @classyunknownlover @masterninjacow @tenderlyunlikelyexpert @shadowfoxey @kaitieskidmore1 @lilac-day-dreaming @datidixon @sabrinabernal @nj01 @rachelxwayne @elamy17 @angelofthor @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @thanossexual @daryldixonstorm @sttrawberries @huffledor-able541 @lucillethings @browneyes528 @soraitmnt @thereshallbenoother @chickenparmandstoicvulcans @leej2468 @heartlessmarvello @itsmeempar @redneckstrash @bxxbxy @bitchynicole @pulplorrd @supernatural79impala @the-artistic-animal-lover @selfsun @thiccblondeliv @maggie-l-m @baseballbitch116 @tranquiiit @sweatywildpanda @supernatural79impala @theteaset @amaroho @my-current-fandom-is @sapphire1727 @sapphire-angel @insidetoughcake @whitexwingedxdoves @nickangel13 @oceans-daughter-3

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nico-no-talk · 3 years

Text

I have decided to make more headcanons of the gang and maybe go more in depth to a particular one that we may all know of

Sunny

As I said before, this boy can fit so much autistic symptoms

His parents are quiet close with their kids but it seems like they messed some things up like parents do: Mari is somewhat a perfectionist and Sunny may have undiagnosed autism

Quickly headcanoning Sunny's name might be Hikaru or any name that means light

ANYWAY, as he grew up, the more he verbally opened up to his friends and still uneasy with his family, except for Mari.

Sunny likes to play with toys like any other kid does but he only likes toys that he can role play with such as his stuffed toys and building blocks that he can make homes for

When he was in this 11th year of being alive, his parents got rid of his building blocks as a way to help him 'grow up' since what kind of 11-year old play with building blocks still? They didn't touch his stuffed toys since they knew he would kick and scream way more than with his blocks

Sunny was devastated when he learned his parents tossed his blocks and cried for weeks that his friends, his stuffed toys, didn't have homes anymore

Mari decided to earn money with Hero's help to get him a new set so he won't be sad anymore, and knew he liked the feeling of smooth wood against his skin

After his 12th birthday party, Mari asked to not toss this set out and just keep it for any kids that Mari and Sunny may have in the future. Even Mari wasn't sure if Sunny would want kids, but it was something that managed to convince their parents

Speaking of Sunny speaking, he is somewhat semi-verbal around his friends but he does talk most of the time with them since he felt like it doesn't hurt when talking to them unlike with the rest of his family.

Speaking of family again, Mari's name might be short for Mariko since the transition to the 'ko' may have been difficult for Sunny to pronounce but her name might actually be Mari since it is a Japanese name as it does mean 'real logic' if written in a certain way

Their parents may have gotten a speech therapist for Sunny to help him pronounce words better and so the other adults will stop saying things how strange he is

Stims includes, minor biting, finger snapping, whistles, finger tapping, hand flaps, and random noises. Why random noises? Because I do too

Post-canon, Sunny's mom decided to actually get him diagnose and help him out more so he can graduate in school quickly since he did drop out of middle school

He did managed to get back in school within his age-grade and goes to separate rooms during testing for his classes

For long weekends, he tries to visit his friends as often as he can, especially Kel since he likes the way Kel's hair feels and enjoys feeling the callousness on his hands

Mari

Mari Mari Mari

She is a perfectionist, even towards herself since he parents often compared Sunny to her, saying how Mari was able to do a lot of things when she was Sunny's age

Seeing how they made her a goal for Sunny, she tried to be the perfect image of what it is to be normal

Do after school activities, have hobbies, play music, have friends, fall in love, have long hair since she's a girl and he's a boy, only like boys and show him to only like girls, so on and so on

After the building block incident, thats when she realizes that Sunny will never be a 'normal' kid and go out of her way to make his life easier. She'll continue to be his role model but for a new and better reason

She bought him some of his stuffed toys since he liked the texture, picked out clothes that he liked but had to make the tough choice of getting him 'normal' looking clothes so he won't get bullied, eat any of the food he hates, continued to play the piano since he likes the sound, is happy that she stopped softball because he hated going out to her games because of how loud it is and it felt cramped to him, and so many other things

When hanging out with the gang, Mari allowed herself to relax and not focus on Sunny

Kel

Middle child syndrome screams

Despite it being just being him and Hero for the longest time, he was still an afterthought for his parents when it comes to Hero and Sally

He didn't mind. He thought thats how parents are with multiple kids. Sunny's parents were kind of the same as his so he thought he was right but Basil's didn't make any sense

Like everyone else, he has never met Basil's parents and thought they just worked all day and play with Basil at night

But Basil said it wasn't, so it confused him more but he stopped questioning it after thinking about it for a while

As Kel gotten older, the more he realizes that he sort of has 'jumpies' like Sunny does but it was different. It helped him feel less tighten-up and felt better

He asked Hero during on of his visits, Hero explained that Kel may have ADHD or ADD.

"Oh" it clicked

Kel wanted to do something 'smart' on his own for once and decided to research on his own about himself and Sunny

He learned lots of things and became more open minded about a lot of things: gender, sexuality, neurodiversity, polyamory relationships, religion, and many other things

Hero

Biggest Asexual with Mari as well

Only became an overachiever because he loved the praise he got from everyone

Honestly, I dont got much for Hero, sorry man

Aubrey

Bisexual energy

Her father made sure she was a perfect little girl: wears dresses and skirts, like pink, wears a bow all the time, keep herself neat, come home right after school and ask first if she wants to keep playing, not playing with boys especially the rough playing boys

After loosing her shoe and meeting everyone, she decided to stay around them and be herself: rough housing, wear blue, wear spare shorts that either Mari, Sunny, or Kel may have, take off her bow as often as possible, be out of the house as possible to be with her friends, and may have a crush on an older girl you see almost everyday

When her dad left, everything came down: mom gave up, money became tight, Mari is gone, no one is around with her, and start doing things she never done before because of obligated morals

She started dating Kim, hung out with the hooligans, wore 'less' clothing, rude, crude, tomboy, carried weapons, and dyed her hair

Post-canon, she stopped some of her bad habits: wore clothes that are modest whenever she felt like it, a little more polite but still a little rude, stopped carrying weapons, and kept the pink hair in memory of Mari. Still dating Kim since she loves her more than anything in the world

Basil

Who the fuck names their kid Basil? His name was probably Jermey and just he liked the word Basil so much that he said a lot instead of his birth name. He got the name Basil since it was the first thing he planted

For years, no one in the gang knew Basil was a nickname, just accepted that his name was Basil and his parents just liked plants, not realizing his parents are not around a lot

Bet you anything, since Basil vents to Sunny a lot, he may have talked to him about sexuality and gender a lot with him, coming out to him as gay and might be non-binary in some way, still wasn't sure

Sunny was the one he told that Basil was a nickname but he wants to be his actual name

"But, your name has always been Basil, hasn't it?" Sunny asked

Basil had vowed to protect Sunny at all costs since that day and also be proud of himself no matter what and to always introduce himself as Basil, no matter how scared he was

Post-canon, after being in the hospital and some for of mental hospital for some time, after being officially released, Basil came out to everyone else

"Wait, so Basil was a name you picked this whole time?! That is so cool!" Kel cheered as he lifts Basil up in the air in joy

No one dared to ask what his deadname was and use whatever pronouns he asks them to use: He/They but still struggles to respond to they/them pronouns since he never told anyone else other than Sunny

Annnnnnnd thats all I got. Feel free to ask more from me

#omori #omori (game)#omori sunny #omori kel #omori hero #omori aubrey #omori basil #omori headcanon #headcanon

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honey-dewey · 4 years

Text

Little Leather Boots

Pairing: Shane ‘Dio’ Morrissey/Reader

Words: 4,442

Warnings: Reader is pregnant and is very worried about it, mentions of abortion but it doesn’t happen, lots of tears, a very worried and loving Dio, mention of c-section, I think that’s it folks.

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

After one too many wild nights with your goth boyfriend, you somehow wind up pregnant, which you didn’t even think was possible considering that you and Dio always used protection. But here you are, pregnant and terrified that Dio ‘I hate kids’ Morrissey will be pissed. No matter what happens, it’s going to be a very long nine months.

You woke up to an empty bed, as was the unfortunate usual. Your body ached in all the right places as you slid into Dio’s shirt from last night and your own pyjama bottoms. The apartment was cold, too cold as you headed to the bathroom, yawning widely.

It was only when you opened the bathroom door that the nausea hit you like a truck. You immediately felt your knees go weak, gagging and dry heaving over the sink. When you resurfaced, you rinsed your mouth out and met your own teary eyes in the mirror. Wiping away the evidence, you picked up your phone, trailing slowly to the kitchen. Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, you called into work, taking the day off.

The next thing you did was text Dio. He was, understandably, worried. You told him you felt better, and that it was probably just a stomach bug or something. Nothing to worry about, nothing to come home early for.

Truthfully, you were feeling better. Too better. Settling on the couch, you googled problems where nausea was a symptom. Not much came up that was possible. A stomach bug, but nausea was your only symptom. Same went for the flu and all the other illnesses. And then, right at the end of the list, was pregnancy.

You scoffed it off, tossing your phone down. As much as Dio complained in the first few weeks, he always used a condom. Always. You’d asked him once if he ever wanted kids, and his response had been a steady fuck no.

But then you began to think about it harder. You’d always had irregular and unpredictable periods, so the fact that you hadn’t had one in a while wasn’t super suspicious, and your weight had fluctuated, but that was because Dio insisted on a cherry pie last week. No, you couldn’t be pregnant.

“But what if,” you whispered out loud, looking at the wall and sinking into thought. “It would explain a lot.”

Deciding to prove to yourself that you were absolutely not pregnant, you stood and put on a decent pair of pants, scooping up your wallet and heading to the CVS.

The closer the drug store got, the more nervous you became. What if you were pregnant? Would you get rid of the baby? Would Dio dump you if you didn’t want to? Who would take care of you and your baby?

Shaking your head, you walked into the CVS and took a breath. This would be very easy because you were definitely not pregnant.

You grabbed a three pack of tests and stood in the self checkout line, hyperaware of the heavily pregnant woman behind you. As you rang up your purchase and dug around in your wallet, you heard her sigh. “I remember when I bought mine.”

“Pardon?”

“Sorry!” The woman said sweetly, smiling at you. “I was just remembering when I bought my test for my baby. It’s a magical day.”

You tried to smile back. “Magical.”

The woman nodded. “Does your husband know?”

“I’m not married,” you breathed, staring down at the CVS bag with watering eyes. “He hasn’t, I don’t know if he’ll,”

“Oh sweetie,” the woman said, coming closer and putting an arm around you. “I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You shook your head, wiping away tears. “It’s not your fault,” you said softly. “You didn’t know.”

The woman sighed, rubbing your arm. “Darling, go home, drink some water, and take the test. I promise, no harm can come from just knowing.”

Nodding, you took your purchase and waved to the woman. She waved back as you began your short walk to your apartment.

Taking her advice, you drank water, read over the instructions in the pregnancy test box, and immediately moved everything into the bathroom.

As soon as you shut the door, you called one of Dio’s friends. Raven was a close confidant of yours and could probably be trusted with this secret.

“Yo,” Raven said as she picked up.

“Raven I think I might be pregnant.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Raven asked. “Did you take a test yet, are you sure?”

You sat in the bathtub, shaking your head. “Not yet,” you mumbled. “I bought a few.”

Raven made a noise of sympathy. “Dolly, do you want me over there?”

“Yes please,” you said, hating how weak you sounded.

“Be there in five.”

The apartment was deafeningly silent for five minutes before Raven forewent knocking and just opened your front door. “Dolly, where are you?”

“Bathroom!”

Raven’s concerned face appeared in your bathroom door. She took in the likely pitiful sight of you sitting in the bathtub and immediately joined you. “Hon, you’re a hot fucking mess in here.”

“I know,” you said, head in your hands. “The tests are on the counter. I haven’t taken them yet.”

“You should,” Raven said, standing and passing you one of the tests. “Worst case scenario, you are knocked up and Dio gets mad, so I kick his ass and take you to my place.”

You snorted and stood. “Thanks Rav,” you said softly, taking the test. “Now get out of the bathroom.”

Two agonizing minutes later, you’d washed your hands and taken the tests, not necessarily in that order. Raven knocked, and you opened the door for her.

“Can I be the Godmother?” She asked, leading you out of the bathroom and away from the tests that need a few minutes.

“What?”

“If you are pregnant,” she explained. “Can I be the Godmother?”

You sighed. “Raven, I’m not even sure I’m going to keep the baby yet if I’m pregnant.”

Raven dramatically rolled her eyes. “Killjoy,” she groaned, falling into your couch. “Okay, better question. How’re you gonna tell Dio?”

It was something you hadn’t considered yet. “Uh.” You fidgeted with a pillow, trying to think. “I don’t know. Eventually, I guess he’ll find out when I start looking like I swallowed a planet, but, well, I dunno.”

A timer dinged in the background, and Raven shot to her feet. “Do you wanna look first or should I?”

“You do it,” you said, suddenly feeling like your mouth was full of cotton. You watched Raven open the bathroom door, pick up the test, and stare down at it.

“Hey Doll,” she said, leaning her hip against the bathroom door frame and holding up the test. “Positive. All three of them.”

Your breath stopped. “Really?” A horrible euphoria spread through your body as you took the test from Raven. Sure enough, it said positive. “Oh my god.”

Raven left shortly after that, apologizing that she couldn’t stay longer.

“You call me if Dio flips his shit,” she said, hugging you close. “If he won’t take care of it, I promise I’ll be the best damn auntie in New York.”

You smiled, waving to her as she went. Sitting on the couch, finally alone, you picked up your phone and dialed a familiar number.

“Baby?”

“Hey Mama,” you said, twisting a necklace Dio had gotten you last year. “I have something important to tell you.”

Your mother gasped. “Are you engaged? Did he finally ask?”

You sighed, smiling to yourself. Despite her original hang ups with your goth boyfriend, she’d come to love Dio like he was one of her own kids, and had been pestering since your four year anniversary to get married. “No Mama, he hasn’t proposed. But I, well, I might need to come spend some time with you. For a while.”

“Oh darling, what happened?”

You took a breath, trying to force the words out of your mouth. “I’m pregnant.”

There was silence on the other end. “Mama?”

“Baby,” your mother said, voice thick with tears. “Baby are you happy?”

You began to cry too. “Yes Mama, I think I am.”

Your mother let out a breath. “That’s all I care about. If you’re happy, I’m happy. Oh your father is going to be thrilled! Does Dio know?”

“Not yet,” you said, nerves returning. “I don’t know when or how I’m gonna tell him, but I’m just terrified he’ll be mad.”

“Mad that you’re pregnant with his baby?”

“Mama, he hates kids,” you reminded. “That’s why I might have to come stay with you. Raven offered to help me, but if things go south, I want you.”

Your mother was quiet for a second. “Of course. Should I tell your father?”

You smiled. “Please do. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“You call me as soon as you tell him, no matter what. I want to congratulate or yell at him.”

Laughing, you said goodbye to your mother and hung up, leaving you alone to figure out how you’d break the news to Dio.

He came home hours later, finding you on the couch watching bad reality TV. “That bad, hm?”

You groaned. “You have no idea.” You’d cleaned the bathroom and hid the evidence, stashing one pregnancy test in your bedside table and throwing the other two out.

Dio chuckled, falling onto the couch and kissing you. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” you lied. “Raven came around and kept me company for a bit, and then my mom called because apparently we hadn’t talked in a while.”

“Did she ask if we were engaged?”

“What do you think?” You laughed, leaning against Dio’s chest. “Oh! Guess what!”

“Hm?”

You pulled out your phone, scrolling through Instagram until you found a specific photo. “My old high school best friend is pregnant!”

Dio squinted at the photo, and you smiled, handing him his glasses from the coffee table. He was technically supposed to wear them all the time, but he said they ruined his vibe so he never actually wore them.

“Which one is this?” He asked, adjusting his glasses and looking at you.

“Bridgit, the cute blonde who accidentally started a fire in the gym.”

Dio nodded. “She’s huge.”

You snorted, taking your phone back. “She’s eight months pregnant, Dio. Of course she’s huge. I dunno how I’d handle being that pregnant.”

“Yeah well,” Dio said, standing. “You’ll never have to.”

That sent a bolt of fear through you. Resting a hand on your stomach, against the nearly invisible baby you were protecting, you spoke with a certain caution. “You really don’t want kids, do you?”

“We’ve had this talk,” Dio reminded, sitting back down with a drink in hand. “No, I don’t. I’d be a shit father.”

“Aw, I think you’d be great at it,” you said, trying to ease your nerves. “Dio Morrissey, holding a tiny little baby, I can see it now.”

Dio chuckled, nudging you. “Where’s all this coming from? We haven’t talked babies in a year.”

You shrugged. “I’m not exactly getting younger,” you mumbled. “And when Mama called, she asked me when I was planning on having kids.”

“Oh,” Dio breathed, putting an arm around you. “What’d you say?”

“I-“ you faltered, meeting Dio’s deep brown eyes. You hoped, very fleetingly, that your baby would have his eyes. “I told her,” you said slowly, realizing it was now or never. “I told her I was already pregnant, Dio.”

It was like time stopped. Dio’s eyes went wide, his entire body stilling. “You’re kidding,” he said, so softly you almost didn’t hear. “I don’t, I mean, baby why are you crying?”

You wiped your eyes, chest heaving. “I love you so much, and I don’t want to leave, and I don’t want to get rid of the baby, and I’m scared Dio!” You stumbled over your words, still sobbing.

Dio shook his head, pulling you close. “I would never make you leave,” he promised. “Not over this.”

You went still, relaxing in the familiar arms. “You- you’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Dio pulled away, cradling your face in his hands. “No! I could never be mad at you! It wasn’t your fault and you had no control over any of this.”

Then, you asked the all important question. “Are we going to keep it?”

Dio took your hands, squeezing them tight. “Do you want to keep it? I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, okay? Think about yourself, not me. What do you want?”

You thought about it, finally coming to a conclusion after a minute. “I want to keep it.”

“Okay then,” Dio said. “I guess we’re having a baby.”

The rest of the night was a whirlwind. You called your mother, and she and your father congratulated you and made you promise to come visit soon. Raven was also called, swearing violently at Dio until you reassured her that he was okay with the scenario.

After dinner, you made tea for yourself, standing in the kitchen in Dio’s pyjamas. He came up behind you, spanning his hands across your belly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said, leaning into his touch. “Your hands are freezing.”

You two spent the better part of the night like that. You resting and Dio always with a hand on your belly, thumb stroking over the dip of your waist or the divot of your hip bone.

“You sir,” you said when you finally got into bed and Dio put a protective hand over your waist. “Are obsessed.”

“I can’t help it,” Dio purred softly, kissing your forehead. “My darling is going to be a mother, and I’m going to be a father. I’m not obsessed. I’m protecting.”

You smiled. “Same thing.”

The next month was surprisingly hard. You weren’t really showing, but Dio rubbed your belly anyway. He was surprisingly physically affectionate, and did something that shocked you to your core.

He quit smoking.

For almost thirty days, you and him struggled in your own ways, always there to hold the other up as Dio’s hands shook and you dry heaved literally every morning.

Finally, you had a doctor’s appointment. You’d see your baby for the first time and find out how far you were. As you wiggled into a shirt, you turned in the mirror and gasped. “Dio!”

Dio came rushing into the bathroom. “What’s wrong?”

You pressed a hand over your belly. “Look.”

Coming up behind you, Dio grinned when he saw what you were seeing. A baby bump. An unmistakable baby bump.

“She’s real,” Dio breathed, and you grinned.

“What makes you think I’m having a girl?”

Dio smiled, kissing the back of your neck. “I want a girl.”

You laughed. “Dio, the sex of our baby is not dependent on your desires.”

“But it should be,” Dio said. “Because I want a girl.”

“Why?” You asked, tugging on a sweater and covering the bump.

Dio shrugged. “I had to look after four brothers growing up,” he explained. “I kinda want to take care of a baby girl now.”

You smiled. “You’re a sap.”

“I’m your sap,” he corrected, stepping into his boots and zipping them up. “C’mon, we don’t wanna be late.”

The trip to the doctor was odd. Your doctor was a lovely older man who, while he was a bit blunt, was soft spoken and genuinely seemed to care.

“And there’s your baby,” he said, turning the screen so you could see. He adjusted the transducer on your belly and you took a big breath, finally seeing your baby.

“She’s beautiful,” Dio murmured, squeezing your hands.

“They.”

“She.”

“Dio!” You said playfully. “We don’t know the sex yet!”

The doctor chuckled, moving the transducer a bit. “Looks like everything is developing as expected. You’re about twelve weeks, or three months along, although it’s hard to tell because you’re not sure of the date of conception. But, if you’re at three months now, then your due date should be mid-April. However, if the baby is a week or two early or late, we shouldn’t worry.”

“And when can we learn the sex?” Dio asked, still holding your hands.

“We can typically start to see it at about 18 weeks, but we’ll take a look at 22 just to be sure we can see it,” the doctor said, putting the transducer down and wiping your belly off. “We can schedule your next appointment for the sex of the baby now, if you want.”

You and Dio both nodded. “Thank you so much doctor,” you said as you tugged your shirt back over your stomach.

In the next ten weeks, you and Dio began to get ready for a baby. Your old spare room in the apartment that no longer smelled like cigarettes was cleared out and turned into a beautiful nursery. Despite your insistence that it couldn’t be painted black, Dio still managed to put his touch in it. By the time you were getting ready for your second appointment, the nursery was basically done.

“I think we did good,” you decided, looking at the nursery as you went to grab Dio so you wouldn’t be late. The walls were a smooth cream color, with the same hardwood as the rest of the apartment covered in a soft black rug. The furniture was all black, with white detailing on the crib’s blankets. Dio had found a gorgeous Edgar Allen Poe blanket that he’d insisted upon, and that was how the classic gothic literature theme came to be. After the blanket came a mobile that had ravens, and then a few picture frames with Dio’s favorite Poe passages.

“Me too,” Dio said, standing from where he’d been attempting to read a book and coming over to kiss you. “Ready?”

You nodded. “Absolutely. Mama’s still mad we aren’t having a gender reveal party.”

“Gender is a construct,” Dio reminded you with a soft smile. “As long as our bean is healthy, I will be happy.”

Grinning, you made a face as the baby kicked you. “Ow! Tiny motherfucker’s already got your punches,” you grumbled, rubbing a hand over your belly.

Dio chuckled. “Can’t inherit an ability to throw a punch.”

“Yeah, well,” you said lowly. “If this kid keeps this up, I won’t have much by way of internal organs when we’re done here.”

Your second appointment was less stressful than the first. You were out of the danger zone with the risk of miscarriage, and today was all about being happy.

“Alright,” the doctor said, pressing the transducer to your belly and beginning to move it around. “22-ish weeks, how’re we feeling?”

“I’m getting six hours of sleep a night and eating almost double what I was last year,” you said, staring up at the ceiling. “I feel terrible.”

The doctor smiled. “And you, Mr. Morrissey?”

Dio shrugged. “I’ve gotten used to living with the world’s crankiest pregnant person.”

“Bitch,” you said under your breath, smiling while you did it.

“Mhm,” Dio kissed your hand, the warmth of his face a weird contrast to the cold of his lip piercing. “Love you too.”

The doctor turned the screen towards you. “Alright. Are we ready?”

You and Dio both nodded.

“So, there’s the head,” the doctor said, pointing to the screen. “Hands, feet, everything is developing normally, and it looks like you’re having a little girl. Congratulations.”

You and Dio walked out of that appointment and immediately stopped for ice cream, at your request. You eagerly texted everyone, giving them the news, and Dio handed you a cup of bright pink ice cream. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you said, taking a bite of the ice cream and sitting on a bench, rubbing your belly. “So, you must be over the moon. You’re getting your little girl.”

Dio grinned, leaning against your shoulder. “Baby, I have never been happier.”

Three weeks later, sometime during month 6, you started to feel the euphoria die. You were in pain, and lots of it. Every day, the baby seemed to find new ways to make you suffer. Shifting around and sitting practically on your bladder at one in the morning, giving you hellish cravings that made Dio gag more than once, and for a whole week you had nausea so powerful that you could barely eat. No matter how many times Dio kissed over the now obvious swell of your belly, you felt a creeping horror at the stretch marks you were now sporting.

“Oh my god!” You hissed, crawling out of bed and swearing violently as you began to make slow laps around the apartment, trying to ease your pain. “Fuck!”

As you trailed from the kitchen to the bedroom, you felt something warm trickle down your leg. Looking down, a gripping terror took your heart as you realized exactly what had just happened. Three months early, your water had broke. You felt your breath quicken as you did the only rational thing. You screamed for Dio.

“Shane!” You yelled, the panic forcing his given name out of your mouth. “Fuck! Shane!”

Dio came skidding out of the bedroom in all his half asleep glory, eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” He said, voice urgent. “Babe? Talk to me!”

“Water,” you gasped, reaching out to him. “Shit. Water just broke.”

“What?” Now Dio’s panic met yours, but he was significantly better at keeping a level head. “Okay, not freaking out. We are not freaking out. Look at me. That’s it, there we go.” As he talked, he led you from the puddle of amniotic fluids on the kitchen floor to the bedroom, folding up a towel and guiding you to sit. “I’ll call the doctor, okay? You just relax.”

Dio scooped his phone up, anxiously dialing the number for the office.

“Hello? Yes, my partner’s water just broke. Yes, they’re about twenty five week. Of course. Yes. Definitely. Okay, thank you.”

He hung up, sitting next to you and putting a careful hand on your back. “Babe. C’mon, we’ve got to get to the hospital.”

You nodded, standing and gripping Dio’s hand as he led you to the car, laying the towel down in the passenger seat and helping you sit.

“Baby, listen to me,” Dio said softly, taking your hand as soon as he was in the car. “The doctor said you’re probably going to be okay, and so is the baby. 25 weeks is super early, but there’s a high chance you’ll both be okay.”

“Okay,” you said, placing your hands over your belly. “It seems she’s also inherited your dramatic flair.”

Dio chuckled. “Close your eyes. We’ll be there before you know it.”

Despite the late hour, the hospital was alive with activity. A kind nurse led you to the delivery wing, gave you a hospital gown, and promised to get the doctor.

He was in the room within minutes, checking your dilation and sighing. “So,” he said, standing. “We’ve got options here. Option one, a natural birth. Technically possible, but risky. Option two, c-section. Less risky, but it leaves a scar and you’d need more recovery time.”

It wasn’t a hard choice for you. “Whatever’s safest for the baby.”

The doctor nodded. “Okay. C-section it is. Mr. Morrissey, if I could ask you to leave the room.”

“What?”

“With the baby being this early, we don’t want anything to complicate the procedure,” the doctor explained. “Please, I promise we’ll get you if anything major happens.”

“Wait!” You shouted, gripping Dio’s hand. “He can’t stay?”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “But no.”

Dio’s hands were shaking as you kissed them. “Darling, I’ll be fine,” you promised. “Dio, hon, look at me. Just go wait outside. I’ll yell if I need anything.”

Dio turned to the doctor after kissing you and rasping out a soft farewell. “You come get me if anything goes wrong,” he said softly, so you wouldn’t hear. “And if you have to choose between one or the other,” he glanced at you, knowing you’d actively disagree with what he was about to say. “You save my partner, okay?”

The doctor nodded. “Of course,” he said. “You can wait right there. This won’t take long, I promise.”

Apparently, the doctor was a big fat liar. Almost an hour later, Dio was leaning against your mother’s shoulder, half asleep. It had taken so long that they’d had time to show up, which wasn’t helping Dio’s building anxiety.

Finally, finally, a nurse opened the door. “Morrissey?”

Dio jumped to his feet, despite almost falling asleep mere minutes before. “Yes?”

“The procedure was a success,” the nurse explained. “Both your partner and your daughter are okay. Would you like to see?”

Dio’s heart pounded as he entered the room. You looked completely exhausted, pale and sweaty but alive. You smiled upon seeing him, weakly gripping his hand. “Told you,” you mumbled.

He grinned, but his attention was soon grabbed by the tiny baby in the room. She was connected to more wires and tubes than you were, but Dio didn’t care. He put a hand against the glass of the chamber she was in, tears starting to flow. “She’s perfect.”

“She is,” you agreed, looking at your baby. “Is my mama here?”

Dio nodded, still entranced by the baby. “Welcome to the world,” he said softly. “Athena Morrissey.”

You and Athena were in the hospital for another month, Dio visiting daily to see you and hold you upright as you saw your little girl. She kept getting stronger, defying every odd and surprising you whenever she could.

It was hard, the first few weeks home. Athena would be in the NICU for a bit longer, until she was healthier, but Dio told you that this was just a chance to truly prepare for the little bundle of joy.

The day you took her home was a tear jerker. Dio insisted on carrying her through the door, the tiny little thing swaddled in his arms as he gave the dead asleep Athena an apartment tour.

That night, you smiled, watching Dio away back and forth with Athena in his arms. He’d abandoned his jacket for the comfort of something softer, Athena’s white onesie a contrast against his black shirt.

“Y’know how, almost ten months ago, I joked that I could totally see you holding a baby,” you said softly, standing and moving to Dio’s side.

“Yeah?”

You smiled, stroking a finger down Athena’s cheek. “You look so natural like this,” you said. “You’re gonna be an amazing father.”

“And you will be an amazing mother,” Dio said, kissing you. “Can you grab something out of my pocket?”

Nodding, you reached into Dio’s pocket and stopped when your fingers brushed something small and metal. “Dio.”

“Darling.”

You pulled a beautiful ring out of his pocket, your emotions getting the better of you. “Are you proposing?”

Dio grinned. “Figured it was time. Is that a yes?”

You nodded. “Yes. Dio Morrissey, I cannot wait to marry you.”

#nypd blue #shane 'dio' morrissey #dio morrissey #dio morrissey x reader #dio morrissey x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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littleoddwriter · 3 years

Note

So in the comics, Sionis's skull mask is actually NOT a mask and the result of him cutting off his face. What about a story where Roman entrusts with Zsaz with disfiguring him?

Perfection | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask

1) Anon, please, you need to tell me what comic you saw/read this in, because I've read pretty much all of the ones Roman is in and it's always a mask (he's called Black Mask for a reason after all). It's usually just fused with his face because it was burned to it.

So, I'm genuinely just curious in which comic book version he cut his face off, because I'm not aware of it, fjdhfjkskfsl. And I need to read it. Please, dhjgsdjfhsf.

2) This turned more into a character study, whoops. I hope it's still to your liking anyway. Thank you so much for the request, it was super interesting and it totally got out of hand again... (cue no one being surprised).

I hope you enjoy! :)

summary; see above.

notes; TW / CW // Dissociation; Delusion; Psychosis; Visual Hallucination; Murder; Violence; Blood; Cutting; Disfiguration; Scars; Identity Death. That should be everything important.

A/N: Also, Roman suffers from BPD, like always in my Fics, so that's where this is all coming from, as I headcanon that it started out as the general symptom of having a distorted sense of self, and developed into a delusion, and then he suffered a psychotic break with hallucinations and such, resulting in his disfiguration.

[And remember that psychosis is a very serious thing and that I'm not using it lightly here. Psychotic people suffer. They're not bad people for having psychosis. They deserve love and respect. Don't use it against people, don't disrespect them with it and do not under any circumstances use it as a synonym for evil. Thanks.]

Everybody knew just how much Sionis cared about his perfect looks. Always, at any time, he had to look and be presentable, and he had to be perfect doing it. His parents had drilled it into him from an early age on, not caring much about anything about him, other than his appearance. He was one of the faces of Janus Corp after all. He had to be perfect in order to make the cosmetics sell better.

Still, when Roman looked in the mirror he couldn’t recognise himself. It was as though he was staring at a stranger. He painted his face and took great care of it; always making sure it looked immaculate. It didn’t help the disconnection he felt from it, though.

Sometimes it only made it worse, because really – he was just putting on a mask, wasn’t he? He made himself look absolutely perfect, so that others couldn’t possibly see what was underneath the surface.

He was a cruel and sadistic man, one with many issues, and a crime boss behind his businessman persona. That was all him, but it also wasn’t.

No, this cruel man was Black Mask.

The persona he’s made up to make a name of himself in Gotham’s underbelly. That was who he really was. Not Roman Beauvais Sionis. No, that man was just a mask that his parents had constructed and that he’s kept up all his life in a desperate attempt to gain approval and respect.

But every single day, one more crack appeared on this mask, and another piece broke off on worse days. Soon, none of this ‘Roman Sionis’ would be left.

He could feel it.

He could see it.

When he looked in the mirror, all he could see then was this broken mask, an empty shell, waiting to fully break apart and let the inside rear its ugly head to its fullest.

Some days even, he would sit in front of his vanity and look at himself for a while, seeing the way he cracked and broke apart slowly, but surely, how his skin was crawling with the feeling of it. It made him itch. He desperately needed to get it off.

So far he hasn’t dared to do it, though. He couldn’t make himself take a knife and just carve into this fleshy mask.

He hated the way he hesitated every time.

This mask didn’t mean anything.

It was just an unnecessary hurdle he had to overcome to be who he really was, to the fullest.

He’s already made a good progress of realising himself with the Black Mask, but it was just there to hide his perfect exterior, to seem more malicious, to protect his precious skin.

That particular night, he’s worn his Black Mask and had gotten into a nasty fight with some other criminals. While Zsasz and his other goons were usually so good at keeping him out of it, this time wasn’t so.

Victor had been busy fighting off three men at once – and really, Roman admired the way he’s overpowered them after all, soaked in their blood, three new tallies on his skin. It was magnificent. Zsasz was so gorgeous to him. He knew who he was; he had no qualms about whether or not he looked perfect. He wore each tally as though it was a medal – and in a way, Roman guessed it was. Sionis envied him – this freedom Zsasz had that he so desperately wanted.

Black Mask had been attacked by two men of his rival. He had tried shooting them, but one of them managed to knock his revolver out of his hand. It was okay, he wasn’t entirely incompetent when it came to hand-to-hand combat after all. Still, that didn’t mean he liked it.

During the fight, he’s taken some punches to the face, which was fine; the mask saved him of some of the damage. But then one of the muscles took it off his head, leaving him vulnerable. He hated it. It enraged him. His rage caught on fire, bursting into roaring flames. He went to beat them up with more fervour. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted them dead.

And he did kill them, after one of them had swung a knife at him, slashing his left cheek. He wrestled it out of the guy’s hand and stabbed them both in the neck, watching with cold eyes as they bled out right in front of him.

The turmoil around him and Victor had started dying down by then. Eventually, they were able to go back home, death and victory hanging fresh in the air, excitement buzzing under their skin. And for that one night, Roman hadn’t even cared that there was a cut on his otherwise immaculate face, or that it would most likely heal into a nasty scar.

Of course, that hadn’t lasted very long.

The next morning, he had started crying because of it, too upset over his ruined skin, the evidence that his mask was slowly but surely breaking apart. He couldn’t stand it.

When the cut had healed, though, and it was merely a pink scar, and not as ugly as he had expected, it was easy to cover it up with make-up. He did that for a while, until he seemed to have reached his breaking point.

Roman has just gone through his usual nightly routine, which always took way too fucking long anyway for the fact that he’d never look as perfect as he wanted – no, not wanted – felt like he had to. And like so often, he just sat there in front of his vanity and looked at himself, staring at his face.

Was it really his face? He just couldn’t tell.

Was that really what he looked like? He didn’t feel like it.

It was just all wrong, so far away, not him.

No, that was underneath.

Everything important was only skin deep.

Or was it?

What if everything important was under the skin?

What if skin was nothing but a fucking hindrance?

What if perfection was nothing but an illusion? He was sure that it was.

Perfection didn’t exist.

Nothing and no one was perfect. He should know. While his parents tried to appear as though they were above everyone else, they really weren’t. They struggled with the fact that the Wayne’s were above them financially, but also as humans. Roman’s parents haven’t ever felt human to him at all. All affection was nothing but a lie, all ‘perfect and happy family’ was nothing but a show.

So no, perfection didn’t exist.

Then why did he even bother conforming to something that was only a construct anyway?

No more, though.

As he looked at himself in the mirror, it had become distorted. That wasn’t unusual for him. It happened a lot, especially as of late. He saw the crumbling mask that was his supposed face. Pieces broke off, starting by the scar on his left cheek. Those pieces were falling away, revealing only darkness. It was as though one was breaking a porcelain doll’s face in. Hollow inside. But that wasn’t what he was. He wasn’t hollow. His true self just needed a little help to come out.

“Zsasz!” he shouted for his partner.

It felt far away, as though someone else had shouted it, someone that wasn’t him. But then again, this wasn’t who he really was anyway.

“Boss?” Zsasz came into his dressing room.

He didn’t take his eyes off the mirror, looking at Victor through that.

“I need you to help me with something. You’re the only one I trust to do it right,” he stated, holding up the carving knife Zsasz usually used to peel off faces and slit throats on his command.

Victor looked at the knife and then back at him, looking confused. “D’you need me to kill someone?” he asked, unsurprisingly.

“No- well, technically yes, but not really,” he answered cryptically.

“Uh, sure, alright. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it, boss.” Zsasz was always so fucking loyal and obedient. It was truly lovely. That was exactly why he trusted him with it – and because Victor’s knife skills were definitely superior to his own.

“Good boy,” he purred and let Zsasz take the knife from him. “I need you to ruin this,” he continued, gesturing his hand around his face in circles to let Victor know exactly what he was talking about.

“Your face?” He nodded. “Are you sure, Roman?”

“Don’t call me that,” he hissed angrily, “And fucking do as I say! Ruin my face. I trust you to do it right and not have this body end up dead. ‘Kay?”

He didn’t know if Zsasz understood what he was on about, although it was so very clear to him, he couldn’t fathom the possibility of someone like Victor Zsasz not getting it.

“Alright, sure. Whatever you want,” Victor murmured then, “I need you to turn around, though. I can’t reach you well like this.”

Nodding, he turned around in his seat, facing Victor, who stood beside him on his right. “Go on then.” He twirled his hand, index finger up, for emphasis, like he always would.

In a way, he felt giddy with excitement, although some underlying anxiety lingered beneath it all. It would be okay, though. He was certain of it.

This was right.

This was what was supposed to happen.

Zsasz took a deep, steadying breath. Then he pressed the blade’s point against his right cheek. For a moment he didn’t do anything else, looking him over, giving him an exit to all of this. But he was so absolutely certain of himself in that moment; he wasn’t going to back out.

Not this time.

“Do it, Victor,” he ordered with a steady voice, conviction clear in it.

Nodding, Zsasz put pressure on the knife and pressed the tip into his skin, drawing a three inch line down his cheek with it. He didn’t react to the pain. He couldn’t feel it. He was so disconnected from it all.

Zsasz continued to slice into his face’s skin, making bigger and smaller cuts, all deep enough to scar, just like he did for his tallies. Blood was oozing out of them, running down his face, his chin, falling on his precious pyjamas – those with his face on it. It was alright, though. He wouldn’t need them after this anymore, anyway.

Eventually, Victor stopped cutting. “Is that enough, boss?” he asked.

He turned around and looked at himself in the mirror. He’d have to wear bandages over his face for a good while, that was for sure. It was worth it, though, because now it was perfectly ruined – disfigured.

Roman Beauvais Sionis was no more.

Due to the blood all over his face and running over his lips, he could only nod a little. He didn’t dare talk just yet.

Then Zsasz cleaned up all the cuts and bandaged them, making sure it was all safe and secure for the night.

While his face was slowly healing, Zsasz had inquired why he’d asked him to do it in the first place. He explained it to him and Victor understood – just like he knew he would. That was exactly why they were so strong together; why they had been meant for each other; why there was never a question about whether or not their relationship had been a good idea.

No one but Victor Zsasz could understand him. And no one but him could understand Victor.

When he was able to leave the bandages behind, Victor ran his fingers over the would-be scars. His eyes reflected the admiration and wonder he must have felt. It delighted him. He knew it had been right.

“Thanks for trusting me with it, by the way,” Victor had murmured that night as they lay in bed.

“Of course. No one else could have ever done what you have,” he replied, kissing his partner, “Thank you for not refusing to do it,” he added, his lips brushing against Zsasz’s as he talked.

“Anything for you, boss. Told you so.”

“I know. Still, saying something doesn’t always have to mean anything. Only actions truly say what words can’t.”

“Yeah, I s’ppose you’re right.”

It was just so easy to be with Zsasz. He couldn’t have possibly asked for someone better at his side.

The next morning, he looked in the mirror without any kind of bandaging and for the very first time in his life, he felt a connection to his mirrored image. He could finally see himself.

Now when he wore his Black Mask it wasn’t to hide, or to protect – no, it was only to symbolise his true self, put emphasis on it. He had nothing to hide anymore.

Perhaps perfection existed after all. Just not in the ways that society believed in.

He realised that, when he stared at himself in the mirror, in awe.

“Perfect,” Black Mask whispered, stroking his fingers over the scabs on his face.

And he truly was perfect.

#blood cw #tw delusion #disfigured #tw dissociation #identity death #tw murder #tw psychosis #roman sionis #roman sionis fanfiction #black mask #black mask fanfiction #victor zsasz #victor zsasz fanfiction #zsaszmask #zsaszmask fanfic #fanfiction #i wonder if anyone catches the details from the comics i incorporated into this fhkdsgkdfl #i also wonder if anyone notices what i started doing here after bit into the fic #i probably think this is more inconspicuous and smart than it really is rip fjdhjhdsjkfgdl

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keeptheotherone · 3 years

Photo

Mecation: Day 1

Thursday

I once read social media described as an indulgence of the fantasy that others are interested in the details of our lives. I’m indulging in that fantasy this week by blogging about my Mecation under the guise of travel blogging ;)

If you follow me in even the most casual way, you know I’m a nurse. While I’ve enjoyed the vast majority of my 23 years as such, I don’t recommend it during a pandemic. The last 18 months have been the second-worst mental health period of my life, demoted to that position not because of the mildness of my symptoms but simply because at 15 I didn’t have the experience or perspective to realize my life was not, in fact, ruined forever.

COVID increased my personal vulnerability as a high-risk patient and made my job immensely more difficult in countless ways both small and large, but the worst part of the pandemic for me (so far) is it took away all my coping mechanisms precisely when I needed them most. Massage, pedicures, dinner out with friends, travel ... all gone practically overnight. Pre-COVID I travelled all the time--home to my parents’, long weekends by myself (Mecation!), annual visits to BFFs, conferences, tourism, the beach, my birthday, writing trips, international trips ... I always had at least one trip in the works, usually one booked and one (or more!) in the planning stages.

When COVID started, all my close friends and family except for two lived out of state. One of those two was out of town but close enough to get together, but the other was a few hours’ drive away. I’m single and live alone; it was the most isolated I’ve ever been in my whole life.

With my bestest friends over 500 miles away, I still feel that way sometimes. I haven’t seen them in a year. If it weren’t for COVID, it would only be 7 or 8 months (I’ve gone every January or February since ... forever). Then again, if it weren’t for COVID, I wouldn’t have been there last September; one had been hospitalized and I needed to see she was all right with my own two eyeballs. I expect it will be at least another 7 or 8 months before we get together again, bringing the total to about 20 months. One year we saw each other 5 times in 9 months, our personal best since college.

I was alone on Christmas. Oh, I’ve spent December 25th on my own before; I’m a nurse. I’ve worked the night of the 24th or the 25th (or both), or whatever combination that didn’t leave enough time off to drive home. But I’ve never spent the Christmas season without my parents. Sometimes the week before, sometimes the week after, sometimes at my place instead of home, but always together. But last Christmas COVID was raging, the vaccines had just come out but were only available to first responders (I got mine on the 23rd), and my elderly parents didn’t feel safe to travel. So I spent Christmas without family.

Travel was not just a break from my daily routine and the stress of nursing; in many ways, the biggest benefit travel made to my mental and emotional health was giving me something to look forward to. Proverbs 13:12 says, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick,” and ohhh, I was so heartsick last year! Not being able to travel meant I couldn’t visit my best friends of almost 25 years (more than half my life!). Not being able to travel meant I couldn’t lean on my dad or be hugged by my mom. Not being able to travel--and not knowing when I could travel--left this gaping hole in my future, and I had nothing to fill it with.

I tell you this not to throw a pity party but to explain the significance of the trip I’m on right now. It is only my third this year: my dad and I spent a week in the mountains in February (my depression and anxiety was so bad then that was treatment, not vacation), I took a friend to the beach over my birthday, and now I’m a couple hours from home at a nice spa hotel. (I’m not counting my nephew’s graduation, which was emotionally challenging for multiple reasons, or helping a friend move from Florida. Moving is never fun.)

I started planning this trip in the spring ... May, maybe? You know, after the vaccine rolled out to everyone and case counts were dropping and it looked like we were gonna lick this thing and have a quasi-normal summer by the Fourth of July (yes, I’m American. That date is a proper noun here.). I had switched jobs in November (don’t ask) and gone on mental health leave December 29th, so I felt I owed it to my unit to put in about six months of work before taking any significant time off, especially since I came back at 24 hours instead of 36. That meant September.

I knew what I wanted to do: 4 or 5 days at an all-inclusive resort in the Caribbean. I’d been before and loved the freedom of not worrying about every little expenditure (what can I say, I’m cheap), and a few days of Vitamin Sea sounded perfect.

Then came Delta.

All right, maybe going out of the country isn’t the best idea, I thought. Don’t want to end up with expensive reservations and then your destination closes to Americans, or you make it to your chosen island but can’t get back home. But I didn’t want to fly (ugh, airports!), I didn’t want to drive (rest stops and restaurants and gas stations), and while I thought about taking the train, it didn’t seem much of an improvement (and maybe a downgrade) on flying.

Then a friend mentioned a sleeper car, and I thought yes! That could work! I’ve never been to New England, I want to go to Boston, that area of the country has low case rates and the highest vaccination rates, this has potential!

Then I looked at the CDC map. There were only four states that didn’t have high transmission at that time (early August, I think; I’d had to wait for confirmation that my time off had been approved): Michigan, Rhode Island, Maine, and New Hampshire. All four had substantial rates of transmission. Hardly ideal, but one thing I’ve learned this year is sometimes you have to make compromises to protect your mental health. It is true it doesn’t matter if you’re happy if you’re dead; it is also true it doesn’t matter if you’re safe if you want to kill yourself. (I’m not suicidal, I am receiving treatment, don’t anybody panic.)

So, now I’ve settled on Maine or New Hampshire by train via sleeper car (Michigan is too far for a 4-5 day trip and RI--meh). Well, as I got deeper into planning, turned out Maine or NH were awfully far too. Far enough I would have to overnight in a major city, which pretty much defeated the purpose of isolating in a sleeper car. Then I found out there were no sleeper cars on either train route.

So, now vacation is 5 weeks away and I’m back at square one. The Deep South, Texas, and Florida are imploding. Pediatric cases are rising--kids are sicker and make up a higher percentage of cases than they did last year. Scuttlebutt from my ICU colleagues is it’s bad--17/30 MICU beds are COVID and they’re all vented. SICU is being nicknamed “the ECMO unit.” The hospital has 18(!) ECMO machines and 12 are in use; the float nurse who tells us that didn’t even know we had 12 because she’s never seen that many in use at one time. Hospital-wide our numbers are equivalent to early February (we peaked in January). There were six--SIX--pediatric rapid responses in one day.

And I’m going to travel.

It’s a big deal ... a big accomplishment, really, because of what it says about how I’m successfully managing my anxiety. April 1 was the first time I’d been inside a grocery store in more than a year ... and that wasn’t my idea. It was late April or May before I was comfortable eating in restaurants, even with the falling case count at the time. I’m still not sure if I’m managing my anxiety or reacting to the pressure by going to the opposite extreme (I have a history of that), but I know I’m less stressed, less anxious, have fewer obsessive thoughts, fewer physical symptoms, and am learning to live with this disease.

So, here I sit at a marble-topped 5-foot-wide desk in my queen/queen hotel room at the end of a productive and enjoyable day. I slept in, completed the big goal of this weekend’s to-do list that I honestly thought would take several days, unpacked and organized my room (I arrived yesterday evening), reorganized my Favorites Bar and Bookmarks on my Mac, had an 80-minute aromatherapy massage, enjoyed a shower in the spa afterwards and even blow-dried my hair(!) before wandering around for a while to get the lay of the land and get some steps in (this place is huge!). Then I changed clothes and took myself out to dinner for my favorite food, Italian.

That’s me in the picture up top, all dressed up :) Actually, I probably look pretty normal to y’all; like most people with depression, my personal hygiene sunk to new lows in the last year and a half, and as a low-maintenance person to begin with, that’s saying a lot. I bought that necklace as a bridesmaid and am not sure I’ve worn it since; this spring was her 10th anniversary. Yesterday I took out the cat-shaped earrings Dad gave me for Christmas. (Yes, they were gross. Yes, I cleaned them. Yes, I’m wearing them again now.) Just wearing a nice top, fixing my hair (no ponytail or claw-clip bun, my staples), and adding jewelry was a big deal ... especially since “no one” was going to see me. I did it just for me, to make myself feel good. And I did. (That’s another small pleasure COVID took away from me--lip gloss. If I wore any makeup at all, it was lipstick or gloss. Utterly pointless when you’re masked whenever you’re in public.)

I took my laptop to dinner and edited a couple chapters of my new Charlie/Amy fic (previewed during #ktoo turns 10), ran a couple errands, and headed back to the hotel since I don’t like to be out late by myself in an unfamiliar city. Forgot I put my receipt envelope in the backseat pocket and reorganized the glove compartment looking for it, then gathered a bunch of returns into a bag in the trunk. Hung out writing in the lobby until my Mac threatened to die, came upstairs and tidied up, put on my jammies, and talked to you guys :)

#ktoo travels #covid coping #mental health #about ktoo #ktoo nurses #herself

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buglife · 3 years

Text

Bend and Not Break - Ch 2: A Mission

Read here on AO3 :3

Monomon hurried as fast as she could possibly float to the palace, dodging various bugs and leaving the archive in a state of chaos. She didn’t even have time to tell anyone what was happening, just that she needed to leave and leave now. The messenger bug had delivered a letter with only a few sentences that stirred her into motion and sent her moving.

[Assassination attempt. Quirrel has been poisoned. Please hurry. - Ghost]

Poisoned? She figured they would tell her more details once she arrived, but it must have been serious. Pillbugs were notoriously resistant to toxins, at least, she knew that. She had to know since she worked with dangerous chemicals and suddenly had a baby isopod to care for. If it was public knowledge or not, she wasn’t so sure.

So either assassins figured out something strong enough to threaten the life of a pillbug, or they didn’t know and used something that her son could eventually beat on his own. She wouldn’t know until she found out.

Luckily when she arrived, the guard have known her long enough to just let her pass. The palace itself was in a state of lock-down, but she was so recognizable that she got through fast enough. To be honest, if they stopped her in any way, she wouldn’t hesitate to throw said guard around to make a path herself. The bedroom door was currently being guarded by Cloth and Ogrim, who gave her pained looks as they let her inside. They were Quirrel’s friends, and she was comforted slightly to know that they too were worried.

The atmosphere of the room was tense and thick. It was silent, save for the labored wheezing breaths of her son as he struggled to take in enough air. Ghost was sitting next to the nest, holding his trembling hand in theirs, occasionally reaching their head down to nuzzle his mask-less face. Another hand was being used to refresh a cooling enchantment on a wad of cloth, applying it to his head to hopefully bring their spouse a bit of relief. Quirrel looked to be in a bad way, trembling uncontrollably as Ghost did their best to try and soothe him, but it didn’t seem to be working. They finally turned their head after a while to look at her. She wasn’t all that shocked to see tears in the corners of their eyes, dripping long enough to leave long dark streaks on their face.

“Monomon…” Their ‘voice’ was desperate and afraid. “I don’t know what to do.”

She swallowed down a spike of emotion. It would not help here to suddenly lose herself to the rage and despair she felt at seeing her son in such a terrible state. “What happened?”

“There was an attempt on our lives. The ones involved are in the dungeon, but they had poisoned nails. One of them managed to cut him, here.” They moved a cover out of the way to reveal his bandaged side. The bandage was stained blue and faint hints of yellow. Already Monomon’s mind was racing through what could possibly match both the symptoms and the color.

“They managed to harm some civilians, none of the ones that were cut with the nails survived.”

“I see.” Her voice was soft. “Did you bring in any doctors?”

They shook their head. “No, I cannot trust any to try and not finish the job until the Knights have finished investigating.”

“A wise choice.” She floated over to lay a tentacle on the side of her son’s head. It was burning with fever and she winced. “Has he woken up at all?”

Another head shake in response.

Quirrel turned their head towards the tentacle on his head and mumbled something incoherent. She remembered the times when he had gotten sick before, when he was still so very small and fragile. She figured it was due to him being abandoned, and not getting the best start in life. She had carried him around in a makeshift pouch so that he would always know that he wasn’t going to be abandoned again. The times she sat up all night to apply a cool cloth to his head or fed him broth a teaspoon at a time drifted through her mind as she regarded her adult son, currently suffering. He made a sickly wheeze as she reached down her face to tenderly kiss his burning forehead.

She didn't know if he was aware or not, if he could tell he was surrounded by people that loved him, but she hoped he did.

“How much do you know about pillbug biology?”

Ghost seemed startled by the question. “Quite a bit, I would figure? He loves to lecture.”

“I know, but did he tell you about the resistances pillbugs have to toxins?”

They shook their head, looking back at their ill spouse with surprise.

Monomon knew that Ghost did not want or need a lecture right now, so she’ll keep it short and sweet. “Pillbugs are remarkably resistant to most things that would poison any other bug. Heavy metals, deadly plants, and even pollution. They have evolved to eek out nutrition from even the most terrible of sources and thrive where others can’t.”

“Does that mean he will be okay?” There was hope in that voice, and Monomon did her best to answer in a way to not completely squash it.

“It means that the odds are in his favor. He may come out of this by himself, but the chances increase dramatically if we somehow got a hold of a countermeasure, an antidote per-say. It will at least ease his pain.”

“How do you find such a thing? I don’t think the prisoners will want to talk.”

“Don’t worry, I have my ways. I will just need space for a lab an-”

“Whatever you want you will get.” They interrupted her. “Talk to Xena and Tiso, they are in the dungeons.”

“Good, then let us not waste any time.” She took one last moment to tuck in Quirrel a little more and try to make him more comfortable. It hurt her so much to see this, and she wanted nothing more to do that to stay here and care for him like she did so long ago. But, she had a job to do and a job that needed to be done quickly.

She turned and left, heading to the dungeons. The last thing she saw as the bedroom door shut was Ghost leaning back in to nuzzle Quirrel, practically climbing into the nest to hold him. She didn’t know of anyone safer for him to be around than his spouse, so with a renewed sense of hope and determination, she floated down the stairs. She had a job to do.

------

Quirrel didn't quite know what was happening. He had been with...someone, doing something out in the Capital. It was something important, at least, he thought it was. There were flashes of steel and colors and sounds and then a deep sickening pain before it went all black.

It had hurt. It felt like his lungs and heart were being squeezed in an iron fist. Thoughts became fractures of pain that kept shooting up to heights he didn’t think possible. Just when he thought he couldn’t stand it anymore, he had found himself somewhere else. He could feel and not feel, his numb body standing in the Fog Canyon and wondered how he got here.

Swatches of red streamed in through the mist to illuminate a facsimile of the Archives. He was standing outside of it, parts of the building floating off and smudging together. He couldn’t stare at it too long without getting a headache. He couldn’t even read the sign, the letters sliding together and twisting as he puzzled this development. There was a distinct lack of oomas and uomas, which tipped him off that something was very wrong.

He just couldn’t put a finger on it.

He would have been afraid, but there was something out there that seemed to give him strength. It was warm and heavy and he wore the feeling around him like a cloak on a cold day. It bolstered his spirit and he felt like he could face anything.

It was a strange sensation, it felt like there was a room full of people that were invisible. He tried to think on who they were, but he got only fragments of feelings and pictures that didn’t quite fit together. He figured it was best to not dwell on it, there was bound to be someone around that could help him.

He decided to just go inside. There was someone there that he knew that could tell him what was going on. He couldn’t think of the name, but he knew it was soft and green and filled him up with love. Again, faint feelings tickled the back of his mind, but he couldn’t figure out how to process it all. He approached the doors, which opened for him, and he walked inside.

The doors shut behind him and smudged together, fading off into nothing.

------

It sucked being in prison. The cricket leaned back on the stone wall in his cell, occasionally glancing at their missing arm. It stung and ached, and none of the guard or knights gave them anything for the pain. It wasn’t like he expected any, with the kingdom being lead by a monster and a traitor. By now it would just be the monster, he didn’t suspect the traitor would still be alive by now. Good riddance.

He didn’t quite know how long he was down here in his cell. Hours? He didn’t know. He was given water once and that was that, so it was impossible to hash out a timeline from that alone.

The door to the dungeons creaked open, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was probably time for him to die now. He knew what he was getting into when he volunteered for the mission. He just hoped that his death wouldn’t be in vain, and that his fellow bugs were closer to freedom.

His musings were interrupted when quiet footsteps approached his cell. What arrived was something he very much did not want to see.

Hollow the Kind, the sibling of the god king, stared at him with its one eye. It was deathly silent and its body was still as a statue. It was also a monster to him, the failed remnants of the previous god king’s folly. A vessel that was supposed to be completely hollow to hold the wrath of an angry goddess within that ultimately failed. It was dangerous and rarely that far away from its sibling, and for that reason he felt a pit of fear bloom in his chest. It continued to stare, narrowing its eye that seemed to look deep within his mind and soul, and he didn’t like that.

“The hell are you doing here? Here to finally kill me?”

The creature did not respond.

He was about to say something else when the vessel pulled out a key and opened the cell door. He knew he wouldn’t be able to escape, the vessel is fast and he doubted he’d get far. He still was going to make things hard on it though. Just when he was about to thrash around, it moved with frightening speed and grabbed him by the neck.

He gasped and tried to flail about, but with shackles on his legs and arm, he didn’t succeed in doing much. The prosthetic arm the creature had was hard and cold and he could feel the power in the mechanism. He couldn’t fight the grip as it pulled up to its full, terrifying height. It began to walk, and he was powerless to resist. He was being carried down a hall and it stopped in front of the door.

While Hollow was busy, Monomon was at work. She hummed to herself as she busied herself with her tools. Syringes, some vials of various components, and other odds and ends crowded the table. In a box on the floor held the nails of the assassins, now sterilized and deemed safe. The dried poison on the blades however, had been carefully extracted and reconstituted in another vial. She had taken the time to study it as her guest got ready to arrive. It was quite interesting, it was quite complex and she had trouble pin pointing the exact compounds. She could at least recognize a neurotoxin when she saw one and once again had to squash down her anger.

It was time for science.

The door to her makeshift lab opened and she turned her head just in time to see Hollow drag one of the prisoners inside. Actually, it was more like how one would scruff an unruly frog, as Hollow held him by the back of his neck so he had no chance of escape. “Let me go, you monster!” He shrieked, his single arm and pair of legs waving in the air and gaining no traction.

Hollow ignored them and all but threw the prisoner into the specially prepared chair. It was a padded chair on a swivel, with a thick metal bar on the end where someone’s legs would sit. Both that and the arms of the chair held several straps, and Hollow made quick work of immobilizing the prisoner. He grunted and wiggled against the straps, but to no avail.

“Wonderful!” Monomon clasped two of her tentacles together. “Thank you, Hollow dear, for bringing me the first of my very special guests!”

Hollow bowed his head to her politely. <”I will be outside”>, they signed.

“That won’t be necessary. There isn’t a single thing this worm can do to me,” She cheerfully responded. “This may take a while, why don’t you go up and check on your sibling? They could use a friendly face right now. Someone else can watch the prisoners for now.”

They glanced at the cricket strapped to the chair and seemed To mull over the suggestion in their head. Finally, they nodded and stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind them. The prisoner watched them leave and turned back to Monomon with a sneer.

“So, you’re going to torture me? Make me talk? Good luck, I’m not saying anything.” He huffed, having the audacity to sound bored.

“Oh no, torture has never been a suitable method of information extraction,” She informed him as she prepared a syringe. “This however, is science, pure and simple. If you don’t want to tell me what was in that poison and how to counter act it, then I’ll just have to figure it out myself. You get to be the very first volunteer to help me find that out! Isn’t that exciting?”

“You’re insane.” The cricket watched in dawning horror as she dipped the needle into the vial of poison, drawing a minuscule amount. “Why do you want to even save a traitor? He’s tainted by the monster! He’ll bring us down to ruin just like any other god and their allies!”

“Because, my dear boy.” She tapped the syringe to expel any bubbles in the glass. “That traitor, that you so call him, is my son.”

The seemed to throw the prisoner for a loop, and his mandibles that weren’t broken were open in shock.

She floated over, grabbing a little pad of cloth and alcohol, and began to clean the joint in his remaining arm where the chitin was the thinnest. It would not due to skip on protocol. “Oh yes, you and your ilk thought you were clever, trying to poison a bug that used to eat arsenic to freak out my students. You won’t be able to kill him this way, but he is suffering, and I do not like to see my son in pain.”

“Wait...wait!” The cricket tried to wiggle, but was helpless to resist as he watched the syringe come closer and closer to his arm.

“This was never to get you to talk.” She didn’t pause, plunging in the syringe and injecting it’s contents. “Like I said before, torture is useless. Science however, doesn’t lie, and I will get my answers, one way or another.”

His screams were wonderful as she pulled out some paper to take notes. What a fascinating reaction! She wondered what would happen if she added just a teeny bit of acid to the next injection.

You know, for science.

------

Tiso lounged in his chair, not bothered at all by the faint screaming that echoed through the dungeon. The person who was sitting directly in front of him, however, was very much bothered. The ladybug gulped audibly as they tested the ropes trying them to the chair. Tiso didn’t make things much better, humming to himself as he filled out some paperwork. He sat in silence with only the screams and the sound of quills on paper filling the cramped interrogation room.

“Wha…” The ladybug broke the silence, eyes wide. “What is that?!?”

“Monomon having fun.” He checked a few more boxes on the sheet.

“...The Teacher?”

“Yeah? Ya know, science lady?” Tiso gestured with the end of his quill. “Sounds like a lot of science is going on right now.”

“Am I…”

“Going to see her? Maybe.” Tiso leaned back and put his boots up on the table. “I doubt she’ll find what she’s lookin’ for with just one subject. She’s gonna need a few more for sure.”

“That’s crazy!” The ladybug switched from fear to anger. “You can’t do that to bugs! It’s evil!”

“You think that’s evil? Lemme tell you what’s evil. Evil is tryin’ to kill the two bugs who have done nothing except fix this broken fuckin’ kingdom.” Tiso leaned forward with a sneer. “You were there, you remembered how it was. The living dead roaming the streets, broken everything, a literal fuckin’ apocalypse. And they fixed it.”

“We’re trying to protect you all!” She scowled in return. “You were also there. You saw what happens when gods are in charge! How do we defend ourselves if our beloved ‘King’ were to suddenly decide to make our lives miserable just for fun? Or kill us all?”

“Because, they have friends, and family.” Tiso replied, leaning back again. “They are constantly reminded about how precious life is and how each action can impact them. The biggest one, being their spouse, that you lot tried to kill. And what do you think happens, when a god no longer has any ties to mortals anymore?”

The ladybug blinked.

“Yeah, I may not be the sharpest hammer in the tool box, but even I knew that!” Tiso huffed, feeling clever. “So you fucked up. I mean, colossally fucked up. If there was a book about the biggest fuck ups in history, you all would be on front page. “

She was silent.

“So here’s what you gottah do. You gottah fix this. You gottah tell me what you did, who told you to do it, and who else was in on it. You need to tell me everything. I can’t promise you anything except that I won’t give you to Monomon, but if you even wanna redeem yourself in the slightest, you’ll talk. And hurry the hell up, I got girlfriends to smooch.”

She took a deep breath and began to talk.

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thatmultifandomhoe · 4 years

Text

Type 2

Word Count: 10,755

Overview: You were diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes in high school and ever since then, you’ve been able to manage it without a problem. Sticking to a schedule and monitoring your blood was easy, but then came Jimin and suddenly, you found yourself hiding it all from him. But when your blood sugar drops dangerously low in the middle of the night, Jimin’s the only one you can call for help.

Pairing: Jimin and Reader

Genre AU/Rating: - Established Relationship AU - Medical Condition AU - Slice of Life AU - Angst - Fluff Rated: PG-13

Warning: In order of appearance-: Implied bullying, extreme thirst, lack of appetite, weight loss, passing out, type 2 diabetes, drinking, swearing, insecurities, needles, mention of blood while using a blood glucose meter, extremely low blood sugar.

A/N: This is not the story of everyone who goes through Type 2 Diabetes. Not everyone has it when they’re in high school. This fic is loosely based on my experience with caring for my mother who is diabetic, and based on my own family’s history with this condition. My mother who almost her entire family is diabetic, so it was only a matter of time that she would become diabetic, except she was able to keep from being diagnosed until her mid to late 50s. That is not to say you can’t be diagnosed as young as high school or even in middle school, it can happen, I went to middle school with a girl who had a pump in 8th grade. This is just one story.

Master List:

Music Playlist:

Part of the Intimacy Anthology Project

It first started in high school.

But when you actually sat down and thought about it, the early symptoms were there a year prior in eighth grade. More often than not, your throat was dry, so you always had a water bottle next to you. Back then though it wasn’t as bad. Plus, any conversation with one of the girls who wore makeup every single day – it was always shocking when they announced that their mothers let them – swore that drinking a gallon of water a day, would help with maintaining clear skin.

Whether or not there was logic to this declaration was to be remain hidden – many years later you would learn that actually, there was no science between drinking water and having acne free skin – you and all the other girls hopped on the train. It was because of this promise of clear skin, that no one batted an eye when you began going through a bottle a day, or the fact that you were using the bathroom more often as well.

You were fourteen. Your body was changing, nothing made sense anymore. Happy one minute, then curled up in fetal position as that depressing Sarah McLachlan commercial played on the TV, and you were telling your parents that they needed to adopt a kitten because it was the right thing to do. How were you even supposed to know that what was happening, actually wasn’t all that normal?

Mom simply handed over your water bottle, a bag of the secret stash of chocolate, and a heated rice bag for the cramps, and everything was decently better.

You only thought the sudden extreme thirst was…part of it all.

In freshman year, you were going through bottles to the point that you bought a cute reusable water bottle that you decorated with stickers, never willing to admit how many times you had tipped it back for it to be empty. You weren’t exactly the poster child for going green and advocating climate change, but you weren’t stupid either and knew that the plastic bottles weren’t going to help the Earth.

The popular girls from eighth grade had surged up the ladder, and were now the queens of the freshman class and upturned noses. No longer were they giving compliments or suggestions on how to blend eyeshadow, or discussing the latest trends in fashion. Instead, they ignored the good mornings in the hallways from girls, and laughed as they slammed textbooks out of their hands. Smiles turned into grimaces, and helpful tips morphed into jeering and mean comments usually centered around everyone’s looks.

While you tried to not let their lies get to you, you couldn’t help but pause by a mirror and turn every which angle possible, trying to see the flaws that they pointed out all the time. It was confusing because to be perfectly honest, you were average. There was nothing that made you stand out from the crowd, nor did you hide in the shadows, you were simply in the middle and that never bothered you.

You never gave them the satisfaction of letting them see how their words affected you on the simple fact that they didn’t. Maybe you’d shrug, or raise an eyebrow, before turning away to drink from the trusty water bottle by your side. They meant nothing to you, but everyone around you thought that they did. Friends were quick to jump on the reassurance train, their gazes lingering on the food you barely touched. Even when it was taco Tuesday, you’d barely eat half of it or even less before getting full.

No one seemed to believe that you were full, or that drinking two whole bottles of water by noon made it impossible to shove more than a few bites down your throat.

Dinner was always hard. Sat between mom and dad, the looks they’d give each other as they watched you push at the small amount of food on your plate never went unnoticed. You’d lost track of all the times that mom came into your bedroom to ask if everything was okay, if the girls at school were saying things, or if there was perhaps a guy you were trying to impress. If only you’d gotten a dollar for every time someone asked you that, you would have been a millionaire by sixteen.

Soon you were making excuses to not have to eat around people, saying that you had made up a plate of whatever was left in the fridge and weren’t hungry. At school you started bringing a brown bag lunch. Since you weren’t eating the food you bought, it didn’t make sense to waste money on it. It took a while for your friends to get that you just weren’t hungry, but eventually they knew not to bring it up, letting you eat as little as you want and drink water.

That was fine with you. You were fine, that was what you told them and you wanted them to believe them. You didn’t want them to know that every night before bed you stood in front of the mirror on your wall, turning side to side and every which way to see the new curves from your chest to your hips, or the gap between your thighs.

They didn’t need to know that you despite the fact that you’d refill the water bottle three times a day at school, you’d refill it four additional times at home. Or how your belt now had extra holes that you had punched in it an attempt on your part to keep what was happening a secret.

Every weekend was reserved for sleepovers, movies, and at home facials with you and your friends, equally rotating between everyone’s house to keep it fair on who hosted. It was how you were able to relax and have fun, but it was hard to hide the sudden changes. At first, you started arriving already in your PJs, that way none of them had to see you change, but then they stared as you barely touched any of the snacks. The same ones that you all used to bake together. Then every time you got up to use the bathroom they’d sigh, having to pause the movie or wait for you to come back to continue playing whatever board game was out.

After three attempts, you stopped going to the sleepovers, giving some excuse that you weren’t feeling well, or that you were behind on a pile of homework. Whether they believed it or not, your friends accepted it without a second thought.

Those months of confusion and sudden changes felt like they were moving at a snail’s pace, but then one day you blinked and it was two days before Christmas, and none of your clothes fit you anymore. Everything was hanging on you, you were in the bathroom multiple times within a couple hours, and your throat felt like it was filled with sand that no matter how much water you drank, never seemed to offer any relief.

It was a vicious cycle that no one could ignore anymore. You weren’t yourself anymore, barely even a shell of the human who you had once been.

The morning it happened you had once again been in the bathroom going pee. When suddenly, your head felt heavy, too burdensome for your shoulders, so you leaned back against the wall to relieve yourself of some of the weight. Black dots filtered in your vision as you cleaned yourself up, the toilet flushing as you stumbled to the sink. The water rushed from the sink as you stood in front of the mirror, barely able to make out your own reflection and going fuzzy when you walked out of the bathroom, forgetting to turn off the water or the lights as you left. You didn’t remember even opening the door.

Someone had been walking by at the moment, although they didn’t know it, you felt like your mind was underwater, unable to think let alone speak as you tried to go back to your room. It was your mother. She stared wide eye at you stumbling around the hallway like a drunk and when she called out your name, you didn’t even hear her.

She called your name again. Then a third time. It was on the fourth that you looked over at her, your mouth moving and filled with sand, only nothing come out. The last thing you saw was her running towards you. Then it was dark.

The next time you’d open your eyes it was with a stark realization that you were no longer at home. A glance to your left revealed box monitors and tubes of all types, one of them connected to the IV in your arm and the other going to a monitor that was attached to your pointer finger. The bed wasn’t comfy and at some point, someone had changed you out of your PJs and into a light green hospital gown.

The door opened as a nurse in blue scrubs walked in, her blond ponytail pulled high up as she carried a chart, smiling when she saw you.

“Good to see that you’re awake,” she said, coming to your side to read the numbers, marking some notes down. “How are you feeling?”

Wetting your lips, you tried to speak but like always, your throat was dry.

The nurse glanced over and seeing your struggle, held up a finger as she walked to the connected bathroom, water suddenly running before being turned off as she came back with a plastic cup.

“Go slow,” she instructed, helping to bring the mattress up so you were sitting as she gave you the cup.

It took a few minutes, but when your throat wasn’t so dry, you tried again. “What happened? Where…where are my parents?”

She was changing out the IV bag for a new one, and you wondered if your body had really emptied that packet dry. “You passed out hun, but don’t worry, your parents just went to get some snacks from the vending machine. I’ll go get them and then the doctor will be right in to explain everything.”

“Am I okay?”

Her badge turned right side, showing her ID and that her name was Jenna. “Everything will be fine. The doctor will explain and answer any questions.”

You watched as Jenna connected a new IV bag, once again reassuring that she’d be back with everyone before leaving the room as the cold liquid entered your veins, surprising you with how good it felt.

Jenna kept her promise. First bring round your parents who hurried to hug you, telling you how worried they were about you and asking how you felt. In only a few short minutes the doctor came back with the nurse, smiling as she pulled out a chair to sit on.

It wasn’t cancer, nor was it anything uncommon that would puzzle the doctors on how you got, but rather something that you had heard of all the time in health classes.

You were diabetic. Type two to be exact.

They had run some blood tests and from what they were able to tell, your blood sugars had dropped low during your sleep and hadn’t gone back up when you woke. Combined with the loss of weight and dehydration you were experiencing, your body’s natural instinct was to protect itself and, in this case, that meant passing out.

The doctor reassured that it at least explained the various changes you had been experiencing, and as grateful as you were to finally understand what was going on, it now meant that your way of life was going to change, again.

Now your life revolved around using a glucose meter to check your blood sugar throughout the day, taking medicine that would help regulate your numbers, cutting back on sweets and various other foods that had tended to make them high. Slowly but surely you were able to gain back some of the weight you had lost, and the trips to the bathroom slowed down. You were living a new life trying to find the perfect balance.

One thing had been made clear by the doctor that day. This was lifelong. It was never going to go away; it was something that could only be managed.

So, you managed. All through high school, and then all through college, you managed to maintain your numbers, discovering that when you felt sluggish and off it usually meant your blood sugar was either really high or really low. Besides that, you normally felt fine and took shots at mealtimes and before bed to help regulate your levels.

That was the second, biggest change in your life. Every pill and medicine that the doctor prescribed to help with your levels had its side effects, and the world must have had a grudge on you because every single one made you ill or have a reaction. Usually insulin was a last resort option, but in your case, it was the only thing that appeared to help.

Downside to taking the shots were the prices, they were the true killer, but like everything in your life, you managed it all. Your parents of course worried, and the day you had moved out was perhaps the most nerve wracking for them. You were going to be on your own for the first time ever, it was a big moment, and as much as you appreciated and loved them, it was time for you leave home.

Having this new lifestyle didn’t mean you couldn’t do anything; your life was perhaps more or less the same as any other adult that you knew who was your age. Went to work five days a week as a dental hygienist, spent the weekends catching up on chores, and binge watching the latest shows on Netflix.

The only thing missing, was a love life.

It wasn’t that you didn’t try. There were multiple first dates and a couple second dates, but rarely was there a third. No matter what you did or how you tried to explain it, they all got uncomfortable when you mentioned that you were diabetic. At first it didn’t seem like it would be an issue. But when you’d get up a few minutes before the meal came and you’d explain that you needed to take a shot, they all clammed up. Like they were suddenly realizing that what you were more trouble than you originally appeared to be. That you actually had a condition that affected your life.

After that they’d stop calling, the texts they’d send were more apologetic and that they were busy. There were never anymore dates after that, and unable to help yourself you’d check their social media, not surprised when there were new pictures with a new girl, usually captioned with some type of heart emoji.

If they were dumping you for something that was out of your control, then you were the lucky one for avoiding what could be a toxic relationship. At least, that’s what you told yourself. It was good that you were waiting for the right person, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. How could anyone decide that you weren’t worth the time simply because you needed to take insulin?

You were a human being. Nowhere did it say you didn’t deserve love.

Despite that mindset, you once again found yourself coming home from a date that had no future of a third. Tossing your keys on the bed, you rummaged around your purse for the two cases stashed inside, still dressed in the cute outfit that had taken a majority of the morning to decide on. The cases themselves were adorable, and pretty cheap on Amazon. The first was purple and no bigger than your palm while zipped up. The second one was a light blue wristlet that was slightly longer.

You sighed while setting them on the nightstand, resentment filling your heart. The purple bag contained your pen and glucose meter with the test strips, and the other had your insulin, alcohol wipes, and spare needles. They were the very things that you needed to stay alive. They told you your numbers, it was how you decided on how many units to take with meals, and yet, they appeared to be a part of the reason that you couldn’t seem to hold on to a relationship.

It just fucking…sucked.

No longer caring that you had spent several hours to get the curls just right, you ran a hand through your hair. Mike had made it clear after your explanation for why you needed the light blue case just to go to the bathroom, that there wasn’t going to be a second date.

Which is fine, you thought, kicking off your heels and pulling your legs up to sit criss cross on the bed. He only talked about himself the entire time. And his ex-wife.

Maybe it was because you were telling them early on. Wasn’t there some unwritten rule about not talking about medical things on the first couple dates? Granted, a majority of them wanted to go out to eat for the dates and you couldn’t exactly not take a shot, but it wasn’t like you were doing it right there at the table. You always went to the restroom and used the stall with the changing table to be able to lay everything out.

Glancing at the two cases, you pressed your lips together. This was a major part of your life; it was part of your identity. But maybe…maybe if they didn’t know? What if you hid this from the next guy? It probably wouldn’t do much, if it did, were you really going to hide such an important part of yourself in the name of love?

They always seem to run off when I tell them, you thought. What’s the harm in waiting, and seeing if it’ll last more than a few dates before I tell?

It seemed pretty extreme. But there was only one way to find out.

As you settled back against the pillows, turning on Netflix once again, you couldn’t but hope that this didn’t backfire on you.

“You did what?”

Pressing your lips together, you rested your forehead against the fridge. It was a bad idea to tell you best friend what you had done. You knew that she’d say it was wrong to lie, to hide such an important part of your life from him. She was the voice of logic and reason, which was terrifying at times, but that was Kayla.

Grabbing the milk from the fridge, you glanced over your shoulder. She was staring at you, eyebrow raised as she tapped her nails against the table, waiting to hear your excuse.

“I…I haven’t told him.”

“And you’ve been dating for how long now?”

You stirred the mug until it was caramel in color, starring down at the coffee and partially wishing that you could shrink and run away from her reaction. “Three months.”

“Dude!”

Wincing, you stashed the milk away to carry the two cups of coffee to the table, setting Kayla’s down on the cozy you had out. She thanked you, absentmindedly stirring the spoon out of habit.

It was a Saturday ritual the two of you had since meeting in college. The two of you bonded while waiting in an excessive line for coffee on campus, and despite it being ridiculously long, neither one of you was willing to leave. Coffee was what you considered your life blood, and funny enough, so didn’t Kayla.

That day forward, the two of you always got coffee together before classes, and on Saturdays you bought a box of munchkins with iced coffee before retreating back to the lounge to relax and bitch about anything and everything. She knew about your diabetes, didn’t mind that you could only have a few treats before stopping, and when she hung out in your dorm room, she hadn’t been uncomfortable with seeing you having to take a shot.

After that semester, the two of you became roommates for the reminder of college. Even after graduating and moving out in the real world, getting real jobs, Saturdays were still for coffee and bitchin’.

“Walk me through this decision again?” She asked, reaching over for one of the glazed munchkins.

You lightly tapped the spoon against the rim of the coffee mug, slouching in your seat as you wrapped your fingers around it. The warmth spread through your fingers instantly, soothing a few nerves for the moment. Kayla was your best friend yes, but she also had very strong opinions.

“I was just, sick of finding dead ends,” you answered, staring down at the mud colored coffee. Just the way you liked it. “Every time I had explained that I needed to take a shot to manage my blood sugar, they all froze up. And then they’d tell me after the date ended that it wasn’t going to work, or they’d ghost me without any warning.”

It sucked. It really did, but for once you just wanted to be with someone and be happy. There had already been too many times that you’d gotten your hopes up over a guy only for it to end, without even an explanation no less.

Kayla covered your hand with hers, gently squeezing when you looked up at her. Her red hair was pulled up in a ponytail, her freckles scattered across her face and body. She refused to cover them up with makeup, and even then, you wouldn’t dare let her do so either. As much as you treasured her, you had witnessed first-hand her attempting to do makeup so badly that it nearly sent you to cardiac arrest.

“Hey,” she softly said. “Those guys were dick bags, there’s no need to beat yourself over them.”

Chuckling, you raised the mug to your lips, glancing in the living room. The apartment wasn’t the largest or the fanciest, but you were able to leave a piece of yourself in each room. Sunlight streamed through the bay window and through the dream-catcher you had hanging on the lock. Bailey, Kayla’s little teacup terrier, was taking advantage of said light and was napping on the couch.

“I’m guessing I should have sent them all to you?”

“Of course,” Kayla agreed, leaning back in the chair. “I would have kicked their asses and told them what type of scum they are.”

You reached over for your own munchkin, placing it on the saucer to break it in half. “Sorry, but I think you’ve missed your chance.”

“Dammit.”

Amused, you popped a piece into your mouth, enjoying the sweetness of the chocolate. Life had certainly taken the two of you in directions that neither of you expected, but you treasured these Saturdays. It was like nothing had changed and you were back in college, talking about the classmates that annoyed the crap out of you, pointing out the cute ones, and procrastinating on the assignments that needed to be done.

“So, are you going to tell me about him?” Kayla asked. “Last thing you said was that your neighbor was setting you up. Does he deserve the best friend approval?”

At the thought of Jimin, you were grinning into your coffee, coyly trying to avoid eye contact with her as she squealed. Her reaction was so strong that it woke Bailey up, causing her to bark a few times. Which was more adorable than it was intimidating like the dog probably thought.

Flipping your phone screen side up, you went to go find a picture of him for her. “He’s very, very sweet,” you said, handing the device over for her to scroll through. “And kind. He works at the animal shelter in town, loves to take Polaroid pictures, and he indulges in my coffee addiction.”

“I love him already.”

You grinned at that, taking a drink as she cooed and laughed at the various photos, and you began to tell her the story about how you met him.

As much as you hate to admit it, you had been apprehensive about your downstairs neighbor set you up with his friend for a blind date. It wasn’t that you were complete strangers with Taehyung - the guy was pretty chill and kept things interesting with constantly dying his hair - it had been more along the lines that you didn’t know much about him besides the conversations the you shared before going your separate ways.

According to your neighbor, your dating life – or non-existent one – hadn’t gone amiss on him either, and conveniently had a friend who was also in the single pool for quite some time, so he thought it would be nice to help you out. Actually no, he flat out told you he was setting the two of you up for a date. With only a moment’s hesitation were you able to say no dinner dates before he disappeared inside, tossing a thumb’s up over his shoulder for you and shut the door.

The next morning when you left for work, there was a sticky note on your door telling you to be at the 10th annual Flower Shower festival that Saturday for one. Jimin would be waiting at Paws for Days, the animal shelter.

The Flower Shower festival the town’s way of sharing their love of flowers and nature with everyone. Every shop that decided to participate in the event was assigned a different type of flower, and with that, they decorated their stores with it. They were then automatically entered into a contest to see who was the most creative with their assigned floral. First place was given a trophy stating that they were the winners of that year’s festival, and second and third were given ribbons and a plant of their choice.

What made it such a hit, was perhaps was the event that gave it its namesake. During the day, not only were there flowers decorated on the storefronts, but each company was able to hand out coupons for their flower that could be turned in at one of the many floral shops in the area. There were stalls for making and selling flower crowns, jewelry, perfumes, anything and everything imaginable that could incorporate flowers into a product filled the streets to be sold. Even food vendors went all out with all the stops.

Filling in any empty spaces were local artists, using any and all varieties of flowers to create sculptures, sometimes of small animals that a person could hold in their hands, to ones so large that it required ladders and multiple hands to help. Face and body painters had kids and adults of all ages waiting in line, eagerly handing over the few bucks to be decorated with flowers and various other decorative forms of flower power.

It was like the hippie movement met modern times for a day.

Perhaps the most beautiful of all the events, was the parade that happened at the end of the day. The festival couldn’t last all night since it would be hard to see the flowers, so the ending parade occurred at six. All the contest participants and winners walked along with the vendors and painters, each carrying baskets with flower petals or single flowers to throw out to the crowd, and while they held the attention of everyone, up on the rooftops of all the buildings were volunteers who waited for their to cue to toss buckets of petals on to the crowd below. It was as if the entire world was hitting pause on the bitterness of life, to enjoy a moment of beauty to take a shower, made out of flowers.

You never knew what it was about flowers that had the entire town obsessed with them, there were at least six shops dedicated to flowers and bouquets – one at least in particular focused mainly on gardening tools, sculptures, and fountains – within the downtown area.

Which made having your first date with Jimin at the Flower Shower festival all the more pleasing. It was more exciting and had plenty of things to do than going to another restaurant, but at the same time, a bit nerve wracking. Not only was it another first date, with a guy that you’ve never met in your life, hoping that your neighbor hadn’t set you up with some weirdo. This was the first date you were going on with the decision to not tell him about being diabetic.

Even though you weren’t going to bring it up, you still packed the cases into your purse, not wanting to risk needing it and not having them on you. After dressing in shorts and a loose flowery blouse with sandals, even doing your makeup lightly to match with the summer theme, you were ready to go out. Butterflies were fluttering in your stomach, but your hand had been shaking to the point that you had to set down the mascara brush or stab yourself in the eye with it.

This was your first chance at seeing if it really made such an impact on your love life, making it felt like you were stepping into the dating scene all over again. That was what made it terrifying. This simple date would tell you whether or not you weren’t able to hold a relationship because of your lifestyle, or if it was because of you.

If it was because of the needles, then that you could understand. Not everyone was fond of them, and dealing with having to give yourself shots four times a day can be annoying at times, but if it was because of you in general…well, that was the ultimate sucker punch to the gut.

Before you could let yourself get lost in the sink hole of self-doubt, you forced yourself to leave, locking the door without even thinking to double check that you had everything that you needed. Luckily, you did.

It was to your advantage that you lived downtown. Walking to the shops only took five, maybe ten minutes if you were feeling lazy and with the location of Paws for Days in mind, you headed down the street in its direction.

The sun was high in the sky, occasionally blinding you when you passed by the tall buildings and gaps in the trees, but you felt the heat of the sun on your arms, and saw the clear bright blue sky overhead. It all helped to take your mind off what Jimin was like. Hell, you didn’t even know what he looked like. All that Taehyung wrote was that he would be outside by the shelter’s sign.

Nearing the heart of town, you weren’t all that surprised to see that nearly everyone in town was walking the streets, making it almost impossible to tell them apart from the people who were working.

Paws for Days was a street down from being smack in the center of town, and resembled a large farmhouse with floor to ceiling windows on the front entrance, allowing everyone to look in and see the cats and occasional dog walking around the front of the store. They took in animals of every breed, and were also a no-kill shelter. During the warm months it was common to hear dogs barking in the larger fenced in area behind the building as the animals played and ran about, enjoying the time out in the sun.

As you neared the shelter, it was the sound of barking and kids laughing that made you smile. In their front lawn, staff had set up play pen areas for the smaller dogs to sit out on the grass and roll around. Parents with babies carefully held them as they leaned down, allowing their child to gently pet animals and laughing as their palms get licked. There were other areas for the larger dogs, but a large banner that was attached to the shelter’s roof stole your attention.

Paws for Days 10th Annual Adoption Day!

You hadn’t realized that in addition to it being the tenth anniversary of the Flower Shower festival, it was also an anniversary for the shelter as well. Staff was walking around with blue shirts with the name of the shelter written in black, a little black paw print serving as the period. Flower crowns made out of orange cream roses sat on everyone’s head, and as you looked around, a group of people around your age appeared to be constructing a giant sculpture of a…well, it had paws and the lower half of an animal body.

Maybe later you’d come back and see what it turned out to be.

Continuing towards the shelter, you tried to look for the sign, but with a swarm of people walking in your way so they could either play with the animals or actually go inside to adopt, it took a little longer to reach your destination.

When you finally broke through and stepped away to the side to catch a breather, you were able to see the shelter’s wooden sign. To no one’s surprise, there was a stone statue of a cat and dog sitting next to each other, with a bird on top of the dog’s head. It was adorable.

The man standing next to the sign however, was godly looking.

“No, fucking way,” you said, taking advantage of the fact that he was looking at his phone to stare at him.

The fact that his hair was dyed wasn’t shocking – you had partially expected that considering Taehyung was always dying his – but the mix of pink and orange hues suited Jimin so perfectly that it appeared natural on him. The sunlight glinted off of the silver chained earring he wore along with the silver rings on his fingers, all while standing out in a black t-shirt and jeans despite it being warm out. To top it all off, an orange cream rose flower crown that matched his hair color perfectly, was carefully placed on his head to resemble a halo, and he held on to a spare in his free hand.

Taehyung had completely, and utterly, forgotten to mention that his single friend, was insanely hot.

Maybe…maybe that’s not him, you thought, carefully wetting your lips as you walked over to him. Maybe this is some other guy, standing right where Taehyung had said, and was waiting for someone else.

He slipped his phone into his pocket before you were able to reach him and looked up, meeting to meet your gaze. The wire framed sunglasses he wore were tinted with pink lenses.

“Hi,” he said. His voice was soft and gentle, putting your nerves at ease as he smiled widely when you got closer. “You’re Taehyung’s neighbor, right?”

You shyly smiled, nodding as you supplied your name, which only helped to make the corner of Jimin’s eyes crinkle as he repeated your name. To you, your name was just that, a name. Nothing more and nothing less. But hearing he say it, it was like a pretty melody slipping out of his mouth.

Jimin held up the spare flower crown, pressing his lips together as he chuckled. “I hope you don’t mind, but I got you one. Is it okay if I…?”

“Of course,” you answered. It was sweet that he had gotten one for you, and as he stepped closer to put it on your head, you felt your cheeks warming up at how close he was. You were even able to catch a whiff of his cologne, just the faintest scent that wasn’t overwhelming like how some people tended to bathe in perfume.

“They’re roses,” Jimin explained, adjusting the crown so it sat on your head like his. “Orange roses. I had to ask for them specifically in case any of the animals tried eating them. Roses at least, are not as poisonous as a lot of other flowers.”

“They’re still toxic to them though, right?”

Jimin leaned back, quirking an eyebrow as his smile softened to grin. “Well, I don’t recommend eating them, for either animals or humans. They’ll probably make you sick...”

“He’s a smartass just like us,” Kayla interrupted, grinning as she handed you back your phone.

Laughing, you nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he can be. But he’s just, one of the sweetest guys I’ve met.” Double tapping your phone, the lock screen revealed itself to be a picture of Jimin. You had taken it one day when you went and visited him at the shelter. He had been holding one of the calico cats, even rubbing his nose against hers, and your heart melted at the sight. Now your heart melted every time you turned on your phone.

“And he really has no idea?”

The room fell silent then. Which wasn’t surprising considering that the two of you were introverts at heart, but together, you were loud and proud. Add in coffee and the entire world better watch out.

“Jimin’s seen me check my blood,” you slowly answered. The phone screen went black when you didn’t swipe it. “He saw the meter one day, so I explained that with my family history, that I have it as a way to monitor my blood.”

Usually, you had been so good about hiding your meter and needles when Jimin came around to your home. For some reason on that day, it had slipped your mind and the next thing you knew, Jimin was holding it up and asking about it.

You weren’t outright lying. The family history wasn’t that decent, and you did have to check your blood, so it was more of a partial truth. Maybe it was because he had seemed curious and interested in the item, but ever since that day, guilt had been gnawing away at your heart. You were still avoiding the truth, and if you wanted this relationship to work out, the only way it could would be if you told him.

Looking away from the coffee, you pressed your lips together upon seeing the way Kayla was gazing at you, her eyes softening as she opened and closed her mouth repeatedly. There were no words needed however. You knew that it wasn’t going to end well if you remained silent, but the lingering fear was still there.

What if it was too much for Jimin? What if after you told him, he decided that it wasn’t worth it? That you, weren’t worth it?

It was all just…terrifying.

“You know,” Kayla gently said, reaching out and reassuringly squeezed your hand. “If for some reason, it doesn’t work out…Bailey and I got a spare room for you to have.”

She had offered you the spare room more times than you could remember, especially after graduation, but you loved the town you grew up in. It was home and had everything you always wanted. But you squeezed her hand back tightly, looking up at her with a smile.

“I thought that was Bailey’s room?”

“Oh, it is. She’s fucking spoiled rotten. You’re the only human being I’d sacrifice my queen-sized bed for a bunk bed.”

Laughing, you shook your head as Kayla joined in. Even Bailey tried barking at the sudden noise.

You had to tell Jimin the truth. There was no if, ands, or buts about it. For right now, you were willing to pretend for a little bit longer, wanting to savor in his love before it all came crashing down.

You leaned over Jimin, stretching your hand out for the wine glass on the coffee table, his palm sliding down your back to your hip as you moved about. When you settled back against his side, the wine glass in hand, his chest shook as he chuckled when you tried to take a sip only to realize that you would have to sit up to get a decent drink.

“Oh shush,” you murmured, lightly swiping at his shoulder.

It only made Jimin giggle even more though, and a glance at his own wine glass that was sitting on the wooden floor by the couch revealed it to be empty. You were still on your first, knowing full well that there was a chance that a glass of your beloved Witching Hour Red Blend wine might spike your blood sugar, but Jimin had finished his first one within a half hour after arriving for dinner.

Not that you were going to judge. It was Friday night, neither of you had work tomorrow, and it was so damn good. There was no harm in letting loose and indulging in the fun adult drinks.

His keys were on the coffee table next to the black wine bottle along with his phone, and you must have eyed them for longer than you thought because next thing you knew, his hand was trailing up your back as he pushed himself up, capturing your attention.

“Sleepover?” Jimin said, locks of his pink hair falling into his gaze.

Smiling, you hummed in agreement, partially relieved that he wouldn’t go out driving, and partially thriving at the idea of waking up next to him tomorrow morning.

“Good, that means I can do this then…”

You frowned at first, suddenly gasping as the glass clinked against the rings on his fingers when he took your glass and raised it to his lips, successfully drinking about half of it in one gulp.

“You have your own glass,” you whined, pouting at the small amount he had left for you.

Jimin only grinned, setting the glass down on the table before pulling you close until he was able to claim you for a kiss. His lips tasted rich like cherries, and whether it was the wine talking or not, but he felt more intoxicating than anything you’ve ever had.

He swiped his tongue against your bottom lip before slipping in, his arms wrapping around your waist as the kiss grew in intensity, your hands unashamedly going under his t-shirt to roam up his body. Before you were able to crawl on top of him, he broke the kiss.

“No offense,” Jimin said, kissing your forehead to make up for suddenly stopping. “But your couch sucks to have sex on.”

That put a halt to where you mind had been going, recalling the one time the two of you ended up fucking on the couch. It had been rushed and both of you were too horny to even think about going to the bedroom.

“Yeah,” you agreed, giggling as you stood, taking the bottle and slipping your own glass between your fingers. With a coy smile, you walked backwards to your bedroom. “Good thing I have a fucking awesome bed though.”

His laughter filled the room as he swiped up his own glass, hurrying after you, and not just because you were holding the rest of wine hostage with the promise of sex, but because you were the one sweetly carrying his heart.

Blinking your eyes open, you frowned as you stared up at the ceiling, cold sweat making your hair stick to your forehead, the sheets wet underneath your back. You glanced to your side, the bright red numbers of the clock reading 3:00 A.M in the dark room, and on your right, Jimin’s soft snores reassured you that he was still asleep.

So why were you wide awake?

With careful movements, you moved so you were sitting on the edge of the bed, ignoring how the air hit your wet back. It was as if someone had turned up the heat despite it being summer. Everything was pointing towards a bad dream, it wouldn’t have been the first time that you woke up from a nightmare, unable to recall it but be drenched in sweat. It was with that mindset that you leaned down to pick up Jimin’s shirt, slipping it on to go to the bathroom, but the moment you stood on your own feet, the world slanted.

You barely caught yourself against the wall as you stumbled forward, feeling lost in a haze as you kept walking until you felt the sharp coldness of wooden floors on the bottom of your feet. The faint glow of the orange nightlight in a socket was blurry, acting as a guide as you stumbled around, trying to reach the kitchen table.

The meter. You needed your meter.

Head heavy, your heart raced in your chest when you suddenly felt the floor underneath you. A sharp pain slicing through your hip and a harsh whack had your leg aching, but it cleared away the haze, allowing you to think as you leaned against what you felt to be the couch.

Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness but you didn’t dare risk standing, but you couldn’t just sit there. There was nothing within your reach for you to grab and make noise. The last time something like this had happened was back in high school, and that had been when you ended up in the hospital. Whimpering, your body felt heavy as you tried to move, the soft pap sound of footsteps echoing in the short hallway barely catching your attention.

“Baby? I heard a thud, you okay?”

The light suddenly came on, burning your eyes as you tried to move, but like when you had first stood up, your head felt twenty pounds heavier, forcing you to lean back against the couch.

“What the fuck? Baby?!”

Jimin’s feet slammed against the floor as he hurried to sit in front of you, eyes wide awake as he cupped your cheek and wrapped an arm around your waist to bring you to rest against his chest. His fingers were blissfully cold compared to your heated skin, and for several moments, all you could focus on was his touch, unable to hear him call out your name several times.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you shakily inhaled as you tried to focus and ignore the way the world seemed to suddenly tilt again. “My meter,” you said, your voice hoarse. “I need to check my blood. Something…something’s wrong.”

Vaguely you pointed towards the kitchen table, but luckily, Jimin had seen you place the meter there on multiple occasions. After leaning you against the couch again, he hurried to the table, pushing random notebooks and mail out of the way to find the purple bag. With a tug at the zipper, it revealed the meter and pen you needed.

“Hey baby, stay awake, please.” Jimin said, gently touching the side of your face, still holding on to the bag and its contents. Despite having watched you use them; he didn’t understand how to work the machine.

Maneuvering his way behind you once again, his legs were on either side of you as he pulled you to his chest. The shirt you wore was damp and he tried to move your hair off your neck and forehead.

It took a few moments, hands fumbling as you put a test strip into the meter and using the pen to prick your finger, the blood pooling up without even having to squeeze the area. The screen beeped as it calculated the glucose level, beeping again with a final result.

“It says fifty,” Jimin read aloud. “Is that…is that not good?”

“No,” you said, eyes wide as you stared at the meter, knowing that it would get worse if it got any lower. “It’s too low, I need…sugar. Orange juice, ice cream, something.”

Lifting your hand up to the arm of the chair, you tried to pull yourself up to get something, but Jimin’s heart raced at the prospect of you trying to walk around in this state, so he held you tighter to keep you on the ground and stood up himself.

“I’ll get it,” he said. He didn’t even give you a chance to argue. Instead he hurried to get the food you had mentioned, already figuring that you needed stuff that either had natural sugars, or were found in the junk food.

His arms were full with food and dishes when he came back, not knowing what exactly you wanted or would be best for this situation. Even though he wanted to help out, wanted to make this easier and go away, he had no idea what to do. Never in his life had he come across a situation that was like this. All he knew was that from the way you were moving so slow and how there was little to no color to your skin, this wasn’t normal.

This wasn’t how you wanted to tell Jimin. Out of every scenario that you’ve mulled over, this wasn’t even in the top twenty. To find you in a state like this so soon in the relationship must be a scene out of a nightmare for him.

Seeing the Ben and Jerry’s ice cream he had gotten out, you reached over and grabbed it along with the spoon. The treat was rarely touched since it was stashed away for special occasions that you treated yourself to, but this time you took a spoonful of the Half Baked delight, wishing that this was a chance where you could relax and enjoy it.

While you were eating that spoonful, Jimin quietly removed himself from you. He didn’t speak as he went into the bathroom, the water running loudly in the otherwise silent house before it was turned off just as quickly, and returned to his place behind you. It was without a word that he gently gathered your hair, bringing it into the messy bun that you always threw it up in when the two of you decided on having a lazy day. The task at hand was almost all but forgotten when the cold cloth was set on the back of your neck.

The gesture itself had your eyes stinging, the reality of everything suddenly crashing around you and how this could have gone if Jimin wasn’t here. The shirt was originally Jimin’s and while his clothes usually hung on you, had been clinging to your skin and making it impossible for you to forget about. It hadn’t been the biggest concern you had at the moment, which forced you to put it to the back of your mind for the time being.

A stray whimper escaped your lips, capturing Jimin’s attention as you set the ice cream container down to cover your face with your hands, silencing the cries and trying to hide from him. He wasn’t running away or staring at you like something was wrong, nor was he accusing you of lying and deceiving him. Instead, he simply rested his chin on your shoulder, leaving soft kisses on your neck and cheeks.

“Don’t cry baby,” Jimin murmured, tilting his head to add a kiss to your shaking shoulders. “We’ll discuss this later. Right now, let’s get your blood sugar where it needs to be.”

As reassuring as that was, it only made you cry harder, the tears slipping through your fingers and dripping on to your thighs. He was right. You needed to focus on your blood sugar, but his soft whispers and the way his hands gently rubbed and squeezed your legs meant so much more.

For the first time in so long, a guy wasn’t disgusted by you. Instead he was here, doing the things that he could to help, and he was loving you.

When you finally felt like you could keep going, you sniffed and lifted your head, the lightest of touches caressing your cheek had your heart thumping. Again, you checked your blood. It went up ten points, but you sighed, and scooped out another spoonful of the ice cream in an attempt to raise it. It would probably be sky high by the time morning arrived, but it wasn’t going up fast enough at the moment.

Over the course of an hour, you sat on the floor in-between Jimin’s legs, checking your blood every ten minutes to see if it had gone up, and alternating between spoonsful of ice cream, cups of orange juice and peanut butter crackers, a combination that had your nose scrunching up every time.

Jimin stayed the entire time, only getting up to put away some of the food that you weren’t eating. Even after that he retook his spot and held you just tight enough to remind you that he wasn’t letting you go.

By the time it finally reached one hundred, you pushed the container of ice cream away from you and leaned back into Jimin’s embrace. It was still low. No longer did you feel out of control of your body, the sweat had dried to your skin and if you were to stand, you were certain that there wouldn’t be any more stumbling on your part. Although you doubted that Jimin would let you out of his sight for the next few days.

Neither of you spoke right away.

Wide awake in the dead of night, apparently not seeing any other option, Jimin reached out for the ice cream and took a spoonful for himself. The gesture itself was so simple, so ordinary, as if the two of you always woke up at the hour dedicated to artists who found solace under the stars and moon, to share a pint of ice cream on the living room floor, that you giggled.

Raising an eyebrow, the corner of Jimin’s mouth curled upwards at the sound of your laugh. He hadn’t realized that this scare would make him miss such a pretty sound so much. Licking the rest of the spoon clean as he maintained eye contact with you, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively to make you laugh once more.

As much as you would rather spend the rest of the time making each other laugh and eating to your heart’s desire, you knew that he was owed an explanation to everything that’s happened.

“I was diagnosed in high school,” you said. Your gaze fell from his face to the floor, only then noticing that Jimin didn’t have any pants on. He had come rushing out in only his boxers and stayed in them this entire time. “I’m a type two diabetic, which means that my body produces the insulin that it needs, but for some reason my body doesn’t process it and rejects it.”

Jimin patiently listened to your explanation. As you spoke, the invisible weight that had settled on your shoulders when you decided to hide this part of your life was being chipped away at, piece by piece until it felt like you were free. The nerves didn’t fly away, instead they settled nicely in your stomach for the time being, not making themselves known until you closed your mouth, waiting for his reaction.

He took a deep breath, moving his hand to run it through his hair. “Does this happen a lot? Your levels dropping like this?”

“No. This…” you set a hand on his thigh, shaking your head. “I don’t know what happened. I took my shot before dinner, and then I took my night one.”

“Baby, I never saw you take any shot.”

Pressing your lips together, you closed your eyes, the butterflies having found the perfect moment to take flight right then and there. This was it, the moment you had been dreading this entire time. “I… I had my bag with my insulin pens and needles hiding in the bathroom.” You admitted.

His eyes scanned over you, making a mental note that you wouldn’t look at him and how your kept on rubbing your arm. Suddenly it made sense why you were always sneaking off to the restroom anytime the two of you went out to eat, and how you’d tap your nails and watch for the waiter when it took longer than you expected for the food to come out. “How long have you been hiding this?”

“Since we started dating.”

Jimin’s arms tightened around your waist, the reassuring weight of his head on your shoulder was now gone, and in that split second, your heart stopped. He was moving away, he didn’t want this, he didn’t want to be with you anymore, he—

Suddenly you were no longer staring at the floor in front of you, but Jimin’s bare chest until his fingers lifted your chin, forcing you to look him straight on. His dark brown eyes that usually disappeared when he was smiling and laughing, appeared to be drowning in the tears that slid down his cheeks.

“Why…why wouldn’t you tell me?” He asked, his voice light and cracking with every word while his bottom lip trembled. “What if I wasn’t here? You…you could have been on the floor until morning. And if this is how you get when it’s this low, it would have been worse if you waited to get help, or until someone found you.”

His hands were roaming around your back as he spoke, unable to settle down, like he had to constantly reassure himself that you were conscious and talking to him. It was only when he shook his head, a soft coo leaving his lips as he cupped your cheeks to run his fingers underneath your eyes, that you realized that you were crying too.

Leaning down, he pressed his forehead against yours, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that you had hid this from him. All he could think about was you being alone when this happened. It tore at him the possibility of you ending up in the hospital, or worse, you laying on the ground until you either made your way to a phone, or someone stumbling upon you on accident.

It plagued his heart, making it ache as he tilted his head to gently kiss your forehead. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?”

It was such a simple reason for why you didn’t, but one that was without a doubt, rooted in your own selfish desire to protect yourself. Most importantly, to protect your heart from having to deal with constantly being let down by the men you let into your life. The idea had sprung out of fear and doubt, but every day that you spent with Jimin was enough to set those thoughts aside.

All the silly dates. The terrifying night where he let you help him dye his hair, the way his fingers traced your body with paths he long since memorized, and an afternoon where the two of you stayed inside while rain pattered against the windows when he suddenly said I love you, were enough to make you realize that Jimin wasn’t going run away.

Your eyes stung and tears slipped faster down your cheeks as you moved to press your forehead against his chest, his arms hugging your tightly. There was nothing for you to grip on to except his body, but you held on to him anyway.

Sensing that this ran deeper than you were ready to admit, Jimin gently kissed your cheek, resting his head against yours as he held you, softly stroking your back. His own back was sore from being hunched over for the last hour or so, and sitting on the floor was starting to leave an ache in his ass, but he was going to stay right there. As long as you needed him, he was going to be there, wherever and whenever you wanted him.

“It’s okay baby,” he said once your tears slowed down in volume. “We’re in this together, I promise.”

Those words had you wanting to cry all over again. For the first time in so long, someone wanted to stay with you, to help you, to love you for you, and that included the fact that you needed to constantly check your blood sugar and take insulin with your meals, and an additional one before bed. It was terrifying, a first, but so freeing at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, shakily kissing his chest in an attempt to fix some of the damage your secret has done. “I’m so sorry Jimin.”

He didn’t speak. Instead, he kissed your cheek again, his arms tightening just the slightest. Condensation from the ice cream was pooling on the floor and the mini candy bars that he had found were scattered about. Your meter was right beside him. Outside, the birds that had made their homes in the trees near your apartment were singing their sweet lungs out, a noise that usually made both of you want to bury your faces in the pillows. This time, it had Jimin looking towards the bay window and the sheer yellow curtains.

It was still dark out, but within an hour, the night sky would give birth to morning.

Glancing down, he saw that your legs were already wrapped around his waist. With no other reason not to, Jimin carefully stood up, using one arm to pull himself up by the couch and the other keeping a hold on you. He ignored the yelps and questions that left your mouth.

Instead, he settled down on the bay window and stretched his legs out in front of him, only loosening his grip on you when he was certain you wouldn’t slip and fall on the ground.

“What are you doing?” You said, cautiously letting go of Jimin to straighten up. It wasn’t the first time that he ever picked you up without warning, in fact, his habit of doing so was close to becoming normal. That didn’t mean you wouldn’t like a warning in advance occasionally.

He leaned backwards against the window pane, drawing his right leg up until he was able to prop his arm on his knee as he smiled at you. “Have you ever seen the sun rise?”

The question was so random, so opposite of everything that had been happening for the last hour and yet, your mind honed in on it and took advantage of the its simplicity. Shaking your head, Jimin’s smile grew as he tapped his thigh. His own way to gesture for you to turn and rest against his chest that you had learned early on in the relationship.

“The ice cream’s going to melt.”

You turned around however, once again leaning backwards against Jimin’s chest as his free arm encircled your body, pulling you firming in place.

“We’ll take care of that later. We’ll take care of everything later, I promise. Right now, I just want to watch the sun rise, with you.”

“You’re not mad at me?” You suddenly asked, staring at the early morning sky.

The other apartments and houses in the neighborhood were nothing more but shadows for the time being, and you weren’t entirely sure if the living room was facing the east or not. You didn’t tell him that though.

“No baby,” Jimin softly said, staring at the sky as well. “I’m a bit disappointed, and honestly, I’m still a little scared about what happened. But I’m not mad at you.”

Feeling his chest lift with a deep breath, you relaxed in his embrace. This wasn’t the end of the conversation. He deserved a real explanation for why you never told him, and he would get it this time.

As you shifted slightly, Jimin adjusted his arm with your movements, a soft chuckle escaping when you played with some of the silver rings that he had forgotten to take off before going to sleep.

“I love you.”

Your fingers paused, watching his fingers move and lace themselves with yours, calming your heart so it was no longer racing. Any butterflies that had been hanging around in-case there was a to be a second round of sudden doubt finally settled down, allowing you to enjoy this moment with Jimin. Instead of fear, a blanket of content draped itself on top of you.

“I love you too,” you said, bringing his hand up to your lips to kiss.

Somewhere out there, a bird was returning the melody of another song under the moonlight, and running on only a few hours of sleep wasn’t ideal. While it wasn’t the night that you planned or expected to have, as you waited for the sun to rise, Jimin occasionally running his thumb over your knuckles, there wasn’t anywhere else you wanted to be.

It wasn’t planned, nor was the leading up to it ideal, but it was pretty damn perfect.

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commonwealthoccurences · 4 years

Text

The Kids From Yesterday

TW: Injury and it’s symptoms description.

Note: To clarify none of this is supposed to be interpreted as Deacon hitting on Sole. Their friendship is familial in this case and that’s it.

Request: “ So imagine, the Sole Survivor is secretive about their identity. They never show their face, their voice bounces around their helmet, and Deacon's 90 percent sure they use heeled boots. But they're a good leader and a good person, so everyone lets it be. One day, Sole is out with a Companion and they hit their head. Companion has no choice but to take off the helmet to check for wounds, since Sole's knocked out. And they learn why they never show their face. They're a teenager.”

It was a hot day in the middle of summer. Sole and Deacon were trekking across the Commonwealth to Diamond City, hoping to get a decent room for the night before they left to check out a nearby safehouse. Sweat beaded across Sole’s forehead, the intense heat made worse by the helmet they always wore. “Sheesh, Boss. I’m committed to privacy, too, but are you sure you don’t wanna take that off? I’ll look the other way, promise.” He held up his pinky to imply his innocent intentions.

Sole rolled their eyes despite Deacon not being able to see. “Yeah, sure. For about two seconds before you use those sunglasses to your advantage. I know your tricks by now Deacon.”

He grinned, unashamed. “Busted.”

They continued their hike in silence. Deacon had known Sole for more than a year and a half, and not once had they even given a hint about their identity. Sure, they came from a vault and they were trying to find a family member, but that’s all Deacon knew about them. They had managed to hook up a voice modifier to their helmet, which changed pitch every day. Their armor was bulky and hid any defining features. They were decently tall, but even then, in the beginning they walked unsteadily which led Deacon to believe their boots had built in heels. Conversations were kept anecdotal and light, and if they told stories, no one involved in them had seen Sole’s face either.

This ate at Deacon. He respected their privacy as much as they respected his. Neither tried to pry too much, but he couldn’t help but be curious. His entire job was to figure out mysteries and despite the fact that he made sure not to go too far, he really wanted to know even a little bit about who they were.

However, he didn’t need to know any more about them to respect them. They were a hard worker and a fantastic leader, and didn’t hesitate to put their life on the line for the Railroad and the Minutemen and the synths under their protection. Deacon was no stranger to keeping his distance; as long as they continued to do what they did, they were good in his books.

Sole’s commitment to their secrecy could be to a fault, though. They never let anyone help treat their wounds; Deacon had to listen to them sew up their own injuries from the other side of a curtain multiple times and each was a struggle for him to stay in his seat. Yet every time they patched themself up, put their armor back on, and stepped out from behind the curtain with a silent nod.

And now, they were refusing to put their well being first and take their helmet off for even a small breath of fresh air. Of course Deacon was mostly joking when he implied he’d take a peek at their appearance, and he could understand their caution, but still, it was putting their safety at risk.

They had made it about halfway there when Sole began stumbling. The sun had reached its fullest height and its rays were beating down onto the Commonwealth. Plants had shriveled up across the fields, ponds had been turned to mere puddles, and the light reflected harshly off the rocks, rivers, and the scraps of metal that decorated the sides of the roads.

Sole’s line of vision tilted as they struggled to re-orientate themself. Deacon moved to grab their arm, but he didn’t move fast enough due to his own exhaustion, and Sole went tumbling, their helmeted head slamming into a fractured guard rail. He swore loudly when they didn’t move to get up.

“Sole? Hey, you need to wake up.” He leaned over them in an attempt to block out the sun and shook their shoulders. No response.

Fear struck him when he realized just how limp their frame was. It was pure dead weight. “Hey! Sole, can you hear me?” He shook them again.

He had a decision to make. They had hit their head hard and that was never good. Either he respected their privacy to the fault they were so infamous for and left their helmet on, hoping for the best, or he kept them alive and let them yell at him later. He barely hesitated. Sole had saved his life multiple times, he couldn’t stand by for the sake of their anonymity.

“I’m sorry in advance, Sole.” He muttered, crouching next to them and reaching for their helmet.

Sole awoke in an unfamiliar room. An oil lamp flickered on the nightstand next to the cot they were reclined on, casting dancing shadows across the room. There was a table of medical supplies to their right along with a water pitcher and an empty, clean cup. Carefully, they began to sit up. The room spun as they inhaled sharply and squeezed their eyes shut in an attempt to make the nauseating feeling go away.

When they reopened their eyes to a right-side-up room, they reached for a knife that had been left on the tray next to a bandana. They gripped it tightly in their hand, knuckles white as they began to swing their legs over the side of the mattress. Their body felt extra heavy, like weights had been attached to their joints.

With a sharp breath they forced themself to get to their feet, leant against the railing attached to the cot. The room seemed to be a doctor’s office more than anything, but they had been stripped of their padded armor and helmet; someone had explaining to do. When they were finally steadily on their feet they picked up the bandana and tied it around the lower half of their face, securing the knot at the back of their head. “Taking off so soon?” A voice startled them from the doorway and they tightened their grip on the knife.

Their eyes snapped up, causing another wave of nauseating dizziness. Deacon- well, three of him, actually -stood in the doorway. The figures blended together before separating again, clueing Sole in on just how bad their dizziness was. As carefully as they could, they lowered themself back onto the cot. “That’s what I thought.” He sighed.

The whole ‘disappointed parent’ vibe was starting to piss Sole off, and it was exactly the reason they never gave clues about their identity. “Save the lecture, Deacon. Where are we?” They asked, attempting to regulate their tone.

“Diamond City clinic. We’re still having this conversation, though.”

“Later, when we’re somewhere secure. I’m not having less-than-fortunate discussions within earshot of nosy people. Or worse. The Institute.”

Deacon fought the urge to make a face. Sure, they were right. What he knew now didn’t change that they knew what they were doing and how to keep themself safe. It did, however, make him struggle with the idea of standing by while they continued their path of work. As they fought to stand again, he knew he couldn’t stop them, regardless. “Will you let me help you?” Deacon asked quietly, dragging a hand over his face.

“Yeah, knock yourself out.”

He crossed the room and gripped their forearm so they could brace themself to stand. “Slowly.” He warned, reaching around to grab their other arm as they swayed.

“Don’t start babying me now, Deacon.”

“I’m not. This is what caring about someone looks like.” His tone was biting.

Sole suppressed a roll of their eyes and continued to make their way towards where their armor was laying. “What time is it?”

“Ten-ish at night. We’re safe to get to Dugout Inn without you overheating again. I already booked a room and the brothers agreed to make sure the place was cleared out and everyone was in their rooms before we got there. The doc never saw your face, by the way, I kept the bandana over it.”

“Thank you.”

Carefully, Sole began putting their armor on. They started to lean forward to put their shin guards on and Deacon stopped them, kneeling to adjust the straps for them. Piece by piece he strapped them into their armor before reaching for the pitcher of water. “You need to drink something before we leave. He administered fluids but we shouldn’t risk it.” He handed them a glass of water and waited for them to finish it off.

Slowly and carefully, they made their way from the Surgery Center clinic through the alleys to the Dugout Inn. Their face was still covered, and Sole thanked God for that, but they still turned away as soon as the brothers looked over from where they were talking quietly behind the bar. “Do you guys need some help?” Vadim asked.

Deacon shook his head. “Nah, we’re all good. Thanks, though.”

Sole’s feet shuffled against the ground as he led them to the nearest room, which he had the foresight to request. With practiced ease Deacon shifted their arm over his shoulder and gripped their waist, twisting the doorknob to the room open and swinging it open. He moved them in and transferred their weight onto the nearby bed. “Alright, let’s talk.” They sighed.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I wanted to be taken seriously. If I had said anything, no one would’ve respected me enough to let me lead. Hell, I doubt they would’ve even let me out of Sanctuary.”

Deacon began to pace slowly. “How old are you? Minus the whole popsicle situation.”

“Seventeen. Since April.”

Deacon swore, his hands on his hips as he stared at the dusty floor. Silence filled the room and Sole didn’t bother breaking it; Deacon would talk when he wanted to and it was pointless to push. After a pause, he dropped down onto the nearby couch and put his head in his hands. He swore again under his breath. “I’m sorry.” He said finally.

“Come again?”

“I’m sorry. I mean- kids have to go through a lot here already, you know. But you’ve had to do things adults from this generation couldn’t even fathom and you weren’t born into this world, I- I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry”

When Deacon looked up at them, his sunglasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose. Sole watched carefully as he reached up to remove them, instinctively getting the urge to avert their eyes. He folded the arms together and set his sunglasses on the coffee table in front of him, his eyes clouded with emotion. “I just want you to know I’ve got your back, Boss. We’ll come out on the other side of this and you can get old with Dogmeat in Sanctuary, y’know. But you have to stop pushing yourself so hard.”

Sole, not seeing the point of hiding anymore, tugged their helmet off and settled it in their lap, running their fingertips over it as they examined it carefully. “I don’t mean it relative to your age, either. You push yourself way too hard to please everyone in this area and it’s gonna get you killed. You’ve already proved yourself. You’re already good enough. It’s time that you see that, too, and maybe take some time to just- are you gonna shoot me with my own pistol if I said ‘to just be a kid?’”

Sole tipped their head back and laughed. “No. I guess it’s fair.”

“Thank God. Hey, you need to put another cap in the ‘Near Death Experience’ jar when we get back home.”

Sole snorted. “I think we’re single handedly filling that damn thing.”

Deacon couldn’t disagree. He got up briefly to lock the door, not wanting any late-night ambushes, and settled back onto the couch. It was customary for him to take the first watch while Sole got a nap in, and considering their condition, that wasn’t going to change. “Get some rest, Boss. We’ve got an early morning.” He leaned over to the nearby lamp and paused, waiting for Sole to settle down under the blankets, the bandana still tied over the lower half of their face.

“Goodnight, Deacon.”

“G’night, kid.”

“Don’t push it.”

Deacon laughed quietly and blew out the lamp.

#thank you again for your request #fo4 #fallout 4 #fallout 4 imagine #fallout 4 blurb #fallout 4 oneshot #fallout 4 companions #Deacon #Deacon blurb #Deacon imagine #Deacon oneshot

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