#tell me your exact diagnosis or anything it's fine

[seawitchkaraoke]

No but sometimes I am so tired of playing therapist/neurotypicals translator for my neurodivergent friend like. It's exhausting, to have to be the one to explain why your friend got upset when you just signed her up for the same study group as yourself without asking her first or letting her sign up for what group she wanted herself.

Like. I am good at patiently explaining these things, which is why she always asks me about these things but it's exhausting. But also therapy isn't very accessible and she doesn't have anyone else who really gets her problems understanding stuff to the same level I do so....

Then another friend who doesn't do this on this level but who does go on about how great it is that we can kinda laugh about neurodivergent problems together and such and how amazing it is and how she never really talked about these things with anyone else, which I agree it's great to have someone to talk about it but? The way she phrases it, puts a lot of pressure on me and makes it kinda weird? Like it's this great secret we're sharing? Especially since we haven't known each other all that long?

And like. Idk. I get it, I get to you it's amazing to have someone to talk about this to, someone who gets some of your struggles, someone who talks very openly and happily about being neurodivergent but. Man. I'm great but I'm not an expert in all things neurodivergent. I'm not?? Idk I'm not "special" for having adhd or for talking openly about it, I'm just some perfect life coach, I don't have my own life together, all I've got going for me is that I know what my problems are and that I'm not super afraid to talk about them

Idk. It's just exhausting. Like.... These two in particular just have vibes of kinda putting me on a pedestal (though in different ways) and that just makes me uncomfortable but also idk how to set boundaries there bc "stop telling me that I'm awesome" is. Hmm. It's not like that's what they do. They just imply it. They imply that things I do or say that really aren't anything special are somehow amazing and like??? Idk man I'm just me? Compliment me for the things I do that are actually awesome, not like... For agreeing to do a fun thing with you? I don't do it out of?? Pity? Or whatever? I want to do the fun thing?

[amcoffey]

Feel Better

Trafalgar Law x chronically ill Reader

(It's a little bit of a "squint your eyes to see the romance" deal)

Summary:

You’ve never missed a dose. No matter what medicine you were on, you took it at the exact dosage and the exact time needed. This truly is no small feat. You have been on a lot of different medicines in the many years since your diagnosis. Pills, injections, IV infusions. It didn’t matter what it was: you never missed a dose. Well… Never until now. To think the only time you’ve ever missed a dose of your meds is because you got isekaied into One Piece. It sounds like a bad joke. Who is going to ever believe you? Note: One Piece belongs to Echiro Oda. Not I, a lowly fanfiction writer, who is just using his characters to cope.

Word Count: 3,249

CW: Chronic illness, medical jargon, descriptions of pain

Other tags: hurt/comfort, angst, second person perspective, probably out of character Law (ya girl hasn't caught up yet. I'm in Wano)

You’ve never missed a dose. No matter what medicine you were on, you took it at the exact dosage and the exact time needed. This truly is no small feat. You have been on a lot of different medicines in the many years since your diagnosis. Pills, injections, IV infusions.

It didn’t matter what it was: you never missed a dose. 

Well… Never until now. 

To think the only time you’ve ever missed a dose of your meds is because you got isekaied into One Piece.

It sounds like a bad joke. Who is going to ever believe you? 

You wouldn’t if you weren’t in that exact situation. You'd laugh if it wasn't for the anxiety raging within you. Sat in your uncomfortable seat, your leg bounced uncontrollably. You ignore the calculated gaze of the man in front of you.

“Can you please explain what happened?” He was quick to the point. There was no nonsense with him. He wanted to talk about what happened. 

And, to put it simply…

“I can’t.” You didn’t. 

A large part of you was hoping desperately that maybe if you prove you’re more trouble than you’re worth he’ll drop it. Law’s eyes narrowed. 

“Can’t? Or won’t?” To your disappointment, he wasn’t giving up that easily. 

“Both actually.” You answered, defiance in your voice as you glared at him. “Can I go now?”

“Nope.” His steely eyes don’t leave yours as he sits forward in his chair. “Not until you tell me what happened.”

“There’s nothing to say.” You lied. He let out a tight sigh in response. 

“You cannot think I’d believe that given what happened.” 

“Nothing happened.” You insist as you stand from your chair. Pain immediately shoots through your stomach that you do your best to ignore. It didn’t matter though because Law definitely noticed the wince. “Anyways thanks for the talk captain! I’ll be seeing you!” You move to push past him but you're stopped when he sticks his arm in your way. 

“Sit down.” Law didn’t even move from his seat but effortlessly pushed you back in yours. “Where are you hurting?” 

“Umm… Nowhere.” You were pushing his buttons, you knew you were. But you'd rather make the Surgeon of Death mad at you than discuss what he wanted to. Law sighed as he shook his head. 

“You’re being stubborn,” You lowered your gaze to the ground. You can’t look at him. “Why can’t you just talk about it?” 

Why? Why can't you talk about it? Because you were not in this situation. You couldn’t be! You were not about to talk about your chronic illness with Trafagalar Law of all people. 

Because why would you tell him about it? You were in remission, you were fine. Whatever happened that got him so worked up was just… A fluke. 

It had to be. 

“Has this been an ongoing problem?" He speaks up again as he shifts forward. "Why haven’t you said anything about it?” 

“In my defense,” You sat back in your chair and sighed. Your arms circle around your torso. You were looking everywhere but to him. “I didn’t think I’d be here for this long.”

“Defense noted,” He states. "But you are here. You have been." Given how uncooperative you’ve been, you expected him to start getting angry by now. And yet, when you braved a look at him, you saw his gaze was much softer than you were expecting. “I suggest you explain. You happen to be with the best doctor around. I can help.” 

You scoff. Gaze darted back to the floor. That wasn’t the first time you’ve heard that. 

In fact, you heard those words the day you got teleported here. You had switched health insurance and had to change gastroenterologist. That day you had your first appointment with him. 

“I’m the best around.” He had reassured you. But when you started giving your medical history he cut you off. Just to tell you a bunch of basic information you already knew.

"Your condition is an autoimmune chronic disease. There is no cure."

As if you hadn't spent the last 10 years grappling with that fact.

And then when you got home you passed out and ended up in the Grand Line. 

At first you thought the scariest part of showing up here was the fact you had no idea where ‘here’ was story wise. Back at home, you were reading One Piece. You had just read about the Strawhats getting an SOS call that told them about a place called Punk Hazard. But you couldn’t get farther in the manga. You were waiting for the next volume to arrive to your apartment. The ironic thing is it probably arrived by now.

But you were wrong to fear the characters and story. The actual scariest thing about being here was what you were dealing with right now.

“Hey,” Law’s soft calling brought you back to reality. A reality you wanted nothing to do with. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, ok?” Your voice was smaller than you wanted it to be. He sighs and there’s some note of understanding in it. 

“Have you ever thought that maybe talking about it will make you feel better?” 

“It won’t.” You say with certainty. Then knowing he was going to have more questions you didn't want to answer you add “Talking about it reminds me it’s there.” 

“Oh really?” His voice is still soft but there’s some exasperation behind it. “And the debilitating abdominal pain you were in not 30 minutes ago doesn’t?” Well… Shit. He had a point. 

"I didn't say it was abdominal pain." You countered. It was the wrong thing to focus on. But it was something

"You didn't have to. I could tell." His lips quirk up in a victorious smirk. "Doctor. Remember?" You roll your eyes and return your attention to the floor.

"I'm not saying a word." The smirk he had on must have been wiped off by now but you didn't check. You saw in your peripheral as he dragged his hand down his face.

"Come on! You were practically paralyzed." You winced, this time not in pain. But because of the truth his words held. "You wouldn’t move, wouldn’t talk. Your face got deathly pale and patchy. You keep pretending that’s nothing but that… That was not nothing.” 

Why do you even care? You bite back the question as your leg continues to bounce. It didn't matter why he cared. What mattered was he was right.

That's when the it hit you...  

Paralyzing pain… Mouth sores that’ll make eating impossible. Fatigue that makes me wish I wasn’t awake. Your arms started to tremble, your leg bouncing more and more without your knowing. Vomiting up my meals, the malnutrition. the depression... I can’t escape it.. More and more thoughts flood your head, capturing all your attention.  You don't notice Law look at you in concern, opening his mouth to say your name.

You shoot out of your seat, knocking it to the floor.

“I need to go.” You rush to the door. I need to leave this room, this world, I need to go, I need to go back!

Home....

 You don't think as your legs move on their own. They're rushing you out of the room. But before you can even get to the door, Law is there. He has a hand on it, preventing you from leaving. 

“Hey-” He tried to reason with you but you weren’t having it. 

“No, please just stop.” You were shaking at this point. Pain was creeping back into your guts, expanding them, filling you with dread. You can feel your face grow paler, accompanied by patches of hot skin. “I-I need to leave.” 

“No.” Law’s gaze hardened as did his voice. His eyes scan your appearance, studying you. You hate it.

"Stop looking at me!"

“You need to tell me what’s wrong with you!”

“What’s wrong is that fact that it took me 3 years to finally get a handle on my last flare up!" Panicked words were bubbling up faster than you could suppress them. "And now all that work was for nothing because I’m relapsing!” Tears were streaming down your face. The pain was unbearable and you squeeze your eyes shut. Your shaky legs were barely holding you up even though you wanted nothing more than to collapse.

You were so happy and so healthy for the first time in so long. This couldn’t end. This couldn’t be the end!

“Let me help you.” Law insisted. His hands brush against your elbows and you snap backwards. Your knuckles were white from how hard you onto your arms. You looked like you were holding yourself up.

“You can’t-” 

“How do you know that?” He demanded. He had been doing a remarkable job holding back his emotions but they were starting to spill out too. “You won’t even let me try?!”

“You think you're the first person who wanted to try and fix me?!” The tears in your eyes made if hard to see him. “I got worse with my last doctor! And talking about all of this just reminds me of all the hell that is awaiting me because I've skipped too many doses!” Your body wracks hysterically. You lean again the wall to help you stand as pain ravages your guts. You don’t notice how Law is in front of you again until he gently grabs your hands. He lets them tremble in his.

You can't find it in yourself to stop. “For 3 years nothing worked and now I have something that works and it is about to be ruined because I’m missing too many doses because I’m in One Piece. The best thing I can do for myself is go home! I hav- I have to…” Finally, after holding all it in for so long, you break down into incoherent sobs. Law lowers your head onto his shoulder as you sob uncontrollably. He doesn't say anything. He just holds you against him, supporting you with everything he's got.

You hunch inwards, crying even harder as your insides twist in agony.

You know from much too much experience that once it starts, you can't do anything to make them better. You just had to wait the pain out.

Pathetic cries come from you as you think I can't believe I'm relapsing.

….

It takes so long for you to calm down. The pain subsided after a while but you were still crying when it did. 

It didn’t matter to Law. He was patient. Neither of you move from your spots. It's only when you let out an almost relieved sigh that he moves to lift your head up. A gentle grasp on your chin has you tilting your head up for him. And a careful look told you he was studying your features again, looking for signs you were in pain. When he didn’t find any he exhaled a sigh. 

You half expect him to spit some sort of sarcastic remark about how dramatic you’re being. But instead he asks: “Can we sit back down?”

You nod weakly and let him guide you back to the chairs. When you sit down you don’t look at him. 

But you know he’s looking at you. But he doesn't say anything. Maybe he didn't know what to say. You wouldn't blame him.

It was quiet for a long time. Just the sound of your hiccups and sniffles. 

Until finally… 

“I had a terminal illness when I was a kid.” He broke the silence. He caught your attention with that. Your eyes slid over to him, eyebrows knitted together in worry. “It didn’t really get bad until I was a teenager. But by the time I was 10 I knew I was going to die. And when the symptoms finally showed I just knew that my life was over.” His gaze was heavy and his usually sardonic smile held so much sadness in it. “I can still remember the pain. I felt like my body would give out at any moment. Everything hurt.” As he spoke his hand drifted to his chest.

He continued. “I had come to terms with my death. But... There was someone who didn’t. And that someone saved my life.” When he looks back at you his eyes brighten a little. He brings his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you forward until your forehead rests on his. “I’m not giving up on you. I know you’ve felt it too, that your life is over before it could begin. It’s not. I promise you.” 

You didn’t know what to say. 

“How.. How are you alive?” You couldn't help but ask. If his disease is terminal... He gives you a smirk. 

“I’m not lying when I tell you I’m a really good doctor.” You’re taken aback. “Is your illness terminal?” He asks and you feel his thumb draw circles on your neck. It's so calming you almost forget to answer his question.

“No, I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of anyone dying because of it.” You speak truthfully. “But it could ruin my intestines and cause them to stop working…And...” The tears start to return. Oh god… 

“It’s alright,” He whispers. “That’s not going to happen.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because I’m going to help you. I thought that was obvious.” He laughs lightly. 

"Oh... Right." For the first time since he first sat you down, you smile.

“Do we…” You sniffed as another question popped up in your head. “Do we even have the same medical knowledge? O-or vocabulary?” Law tilted his head against yours. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well... Do you remember when I said I was from a whole 'nother dimension?”

A scoff escapes from his lips. “How can I forget?” 

“Yea so… Doesn’t that mean we have different knowledge?” You leaned back out of his reach, raising your arms. “Our worlds have such different histories. That means we have different medical history right? What if I tell you and you don’t even understand?” 

“We’ll never know if you don’t tell me anything.” He gave a small smirk that was borderline infuriating. But you couldn't find it in yourself to be mad. You let out an exhausted sigh but nod. 

“...Ok. I’ll talk.” Law gives a genuine smile and gets up to grab his notepad. When he sits down again you have his full attention. 

Here we go.

It takes some time to explain your situation. You explain the name, the symptoms. You watch helplessly as Law writes down what you’re saying. 

“Are these episodes you’ve been having today normal?”

“Only when I’m flaring up. That’s the abdominal pain. It feels like something is expanding in my guts, past their limits.” 

“How do you treat your condition?” 

“With medicine.” Medicine that I am more than certain doesn’t exist here. “Every 14 days I take 80 mg over 0.8 ml of Humira or Adalimumab. It’s an injection that goes either into your thighs or your stomach.” As you recite the information you're painfully aware of how it had been since your last Humira shot. Law picks up on this but doesn’t state the obvious that you’ve been on his ship for over 4 weeks. Your leg starts bouncing again.

Law doesn't look up from his writing but says calmly "You have nothing to fear."

Your leg bounces less after hearing that. And a smile grows on his face.

When Law finishes writing you have to ask: “Did you understand anything that I said?”

“Pretty much. I mean your disease is called something else over here. But there is documentation about these symptoms in our world.” He smirked as he glances to you. “And you thought I wouldn't be able to be help.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. 

“Wait.." You pause, taking in his words. "You think you can actually help?” Law scoffs.

“I’m pretty offended you thought I couldn’t. Do you really think so little of me?” You shrugged. 

“I’ve gone through many doctors, captain. You aren’t the first person to act like you could be my savior.” He rolled his eyes and studied his notes again. 

“You mentioned not having control over your illness for 3 years. Was that when you were diagnosed?” 

For some reason that question startles you. “No, that was just when it last flared up. I've been diganosed since I was a teenager.” Law looked like his heart dropped as he looked back at you. 

“How old were you?

“13.” You try to answer as if this wasn’t the most tragic part of your story. You were just barely a teenager and your whole life got turned upside down in the span of a day. 

You could remember lying in that hospital bed. Your doctor spoke to your parents, using terms he didn’t bother to define for you. 

"Their condition is an autoimmune chronic disease. There is no cure."

It took you a few years to truly understood what that meant.

“... I was 13 when I got rid of my illness.” Law softly spoke up. Your eyes found his.

“Really?”

“Yea.” He sighed heavily. “It’s insane to think that while I was curing myself of my condition, you were just getting yours.” There’s a distant look in his eyes. “But also… How you talk about this speaks to years of experience. I’ve never had a patient tell me their treatment plan in as much detail as you can.” You give a humorless laugh. 

“What a useless skill I have.” 

“Clearly not useless.” Law scoffs lightly. "And this disease. It's a problem with your immune system?"

"Yea. It gets confused and attacks healthy cells, mistaking them for unhealthy ones. I don't know the exact science of it."

“That's fine." He reassures you. "It sounds like you just need an immune system rewrite.” You lift your head up and look at him in confusion. 

“What? To treat it I just need to block some of its functions so it doesn’t go out of control and attack everything.” You ignore the obvious that you don't know how that would work as you look at Law.

“I’m not talking about treatment.” He stands up and pats your head. “I’m talking about curing you.” The words pass through your ears and make you dizzy. 

Cure… Me? I can be cured? 

Law starts to walk away, going to a desk and rummaging through it as you process those words.

"...Why?" You speak up as you gaze in his direction. He turns to look at you.

"Why what?"

"Why are you helping me? Is there a catch or something?" He looks a little perplexed, like he didn't know the answer himself. But in the end he just shrugs.

"It's nice having you on my crew. You can offer insight that no one else can, being from another universe and all."

It felt like there was more to it than that. But you don't push it.

“And you can do it? Just completely rewrite my immune system?” Law just smirked and lifted his eyebrows in a cocky manner. 

“You say our world is what… A series of comic books in your world?” 

“I mean that’s putting it mildly but yea.”

“How far did you get in those comics?” 

“Uh… Punk Hazard?” 

Law laughs lightly and looks at you. “You definitely don’t understand what I can do.” 

Author's Note:

My partner is convinced Law could fix me. So I wrote a roughly 3,249 word one shot about that fantasy. What a nice fantasy that is. Originally wrote this for ao3 but thought it might do well here. Hope you enjoyed this wildly out of character fic. It's my copium :]

[coexistentialism]

Every time I go out of my bubble to look at other systems online, I just get more and more concerned, but also frustrated.

People can use whatever labels they want to use to describe their experiences, but I'm tired of people still telling people to look into "osdd-1a or -1b" just because that person doesn't have obvious amnesia or because that person doesn't think they switch.

Throughout my time trying to research DID and OSDD and being in spaces, from Discord servers to just trying to meet other systems, the way people have no idea what DID is and how it works and how it can Look and Feel for many different people is. Frustrating to me.

If you feel like you are "always conscious", that's normal for DID, that's just how it works. I never feel as if I am Not conscious. I am always just Awake and taking in the outside word. To many people online, you'd call me "monoconscious", but that's just how DID is for most people. If you vibe with that term, cool, but it's not some special, different form of DID.

Likewise, if you DO have the exact opposite experience that I have, you also don't have some special, different form of DID.

I was told many times by many different people online that they didn't think I had DID, or they thought I must have OSDD instead, all because of things that Literally just further stigmatize Both disorders and are simply nothing more than myths.

No, you don't have OSDD just because you feel "monoconscious." No, you don't have OSDD just because you feel as if you never switch and are never different.

I am saying this as someone who is diagnosed with DID and has done Years worth of research from research papers, articles and more.

I have never felt like I switch. I have never felt like a "different person." I have never felt that I experience bad memory problems. I was completely unaware of all of these things my entire life. I had no idea.

And nowadays, since I have become much more aware and confident in my experiences, that's changing. I can say I've switched when I find myself feeling extremely positive when just seconds ago I was depressed and wanting to die. That's a switch. Just because I am "still conscious" and don't just find myself somewhere I have no memory of getting there, doesn't mean I have some special, unique version of DID called "monoconscious DID" or something.

I'm not trying to be rude about that term or anything, I understand people like the term for themselves and they can use it, that's fine, but I wish people wouldn't treat it like it's this unique, special version of DID to a point people are telling others to look into "monoconscious DID" as if it's this unique medical term separate from just DID.

I want people to learn the difference between different PRESENTATIONS of these disorders, not even just DID or OSDD, and not treat these different presentations as if they are unique, separate disorders.

Whether you switch 24/7 or switch one time every few weeks; whether you have the obvious amnesia where you find yourself somewhere with no idea how you got there; whether you feel you are "always conscious"; whether you feel like your amnesia is barely a problem; we all have different presentations of the same disorder. These different presentations are not unique, separate disorders.

And "monoconscious" is just what a vast majority of people with DID experience.

And by the way, I want to make it extremely clear that if you asked me just a year or two ago what symptoms of DID I experience, I would frequently say that I don't relate to most of the symptoms. I would tell you that my memory is fine and that I never feel like a different person. I would tell you that I don't switch, I'm always the same person, I am never "not fronting."

And now, after much research and a diagnosis and confidence in my disorder and my knowledge on the disorder, I would tell you something very different. Because it is only AFTER a LOT of work trying to become more aware of my experiences, symptoms, and more that I am even able to recognize that I DO and HAVE had the symptoms of DID all along.

But because of how unaware I was of my symptoms and experiences, I was frequently told I didn't have DID or that I might have OSDD instead, because of how unaware I was, and because of these myths people keep perpetuating and I'm getting real tired of it.

[volturiprincess]

Felix volturi with a mate who is type 1 diabetic? I’m really struggling with my diabetes rn and I could use some fluff from my favorite strong man🥺

Him

Felix Volturi x Type 1 diabetic reader

A/N: I hope this gives you the fluff you need, and I hope you are doing better 🫶🏼🥺. I might not know what you are going through but I believe in you . I'll be honest Im not super familiar with this but I have some understanding (currently in school going going for a degree in the medical field actually). But enjoy 💙

(The handsome gentle giant❤️)

“Morning my little rose”

At the sound of my mate's voice, I opened my eyes slowly to be welcomed by his handsome face. He’s so beautiful. He reached a hand out to caress my cheek gently, pure heaven right there with just his touch. I love his gentleness considering how tall and muscular he is it is hard to consider him this with his status as the ‘executor’ of the Volturi, but to me he is so tender and loving.

Still feeling a bit sleepy I responded with a soft “Morning Fe”

He joined me on the bed and pulled me into his arms so my head was resting on his chest. Today was one of those days where I had no energy to do anything. I just want to lay in bed all day and sleep. I sometimes hate feeling like this, I don't like showing Felix this side of me, even if he knows about my diagnosis. I did tell him a bit of what I go through and stuff but it's a struggle sometimes.

“You're having one of those days aren't you?”

I guess he already knows. It's been about 6 months since Felix came into my life and I was told he is my mate. But I have had type 1 for about 2 years already. The only reason he found out was he came to visit me in my house when I was feeling absolutely terrible, he thought I was sick with the flu but I told him the truth. He was very understanding and Demetri told me the next day that Felix spent the whole night reading anything there is to know about how to deal and manage with type 1. And since then my love for him bloomed more. 

“Yea it’s one of those days unfortunately”

“Alright well good thing the masters gave me the day off, i'll be your personal nurse today”

Looking up at him with a lopsided smile and booping his nose with my finger tip

“My handsome vampire nurse to exact”

—------------

Since that morning, Felix has helped with taking a nice bubble bath with my favorite bath bomb that smells like roses and lavender. He even made me an appropriate breakfast, he's managed to get me to enjoy eating cantaloupe over the past couple of months. He's still struggling to get me to eat a banana alone because whenever I chew that fruit I gag and there were times where I did throw up from that weird texture. But he does make me smoothies with that fruit which I do enjoy. And now he is pursuing me into going on a walk with him in the gardens

“Come on cara, if you do get tired, which I understand does happen, we will take a break and I will give you a taste of the Felix care package when you're tired, hmmm?”

To top it off he finished that line with his shark like grin that always makes me weak in the knees. It's impossible to say no to him when he mentions his care package, it includes a massage, hair stroking, and small kisses on every inch of exposed skin that I dare show. 

“Fine, only because I heard that the garden was worked on recently and there are new flowers that I need to see up close but-”

“I got it here already, see?”

I looked at his other side and he had a bag which I can assume had some treats to help with the fatigue and nausea and in his hand he was holding what I can say is the biggest water bottle I have ever seen. 

“What the hell Felix, where did you manage to get such a huge water bottle?”

“I have my ways amore”

He wrapped his large muscular arm around my waist and guided me to the much awaited gardens. As soon as we were close to the gardens I felt myself relax and was surrounded by the smell of different flowers. I picked up on the sweetness of jasminess, the freshness of lavender with a hint of spice which I can assume were the lilies. We walked for a while until I started to feel a bit more weak and my thirst levels increased. Felix as always picked it up and we stopped at a nearby bench that he actually carved many centuries ago. He held the water bottle for me as I drank what I felt was a whole gallon in one sip. 

“Want to hear the story about his bench, amore?”

Not wanting to speak or nod my head from the slowly approaching headache, I gave him a thumbs up that was received by a small smile from him 

“Well I told you some bits of my gladiator days from what I can remember until Aro found me and turned me in. I picked up a hobby soon after I was turned. I always thought the arts were a fascinating topic, and with Master Caius' influence, I focused on sculpting. My first couple of attempts were not ... .good” he smiled with an  embarrassed look “ With my state of being more abnormally stronger as a newborn handling small tools in my large hands to carve ... .well you can already guess my issue. With this bench it took many attempts to master, I would switch between a variety of chiseling tools until I noticed just using my hands worked best, so I actually built this with my bare hands, I wanted to add a bit of architecture inspiration from the Colosseum, which is why the legs of this are like that.”

The way he explained his story was so adorable, some of the things I picked up about Felix is when he talks about something he is passionate about he gets a twinkle in his eyes. He smiles more than he already does but the way he explains things he went through makes me feel like I was there with him as the events happened. I soon noticed after his story my headache was gone. 

“Fe, can I tell you something?”

“Always my little rose”

“I don't tell you this enough but I really do appreciate you, I love that you are in my life, I thought I would become a burden to you but with you, you make me feel so special and loved, I love you my handsome giant”

I never said the L word to him so this was a first for him to hear.

“Oh cara, I think I just fell in love with you all over again, just hearing you say that makes my undead heart flip, with you I feel complete with as what is left my humanity, I love you mi amore”

Damn that giant, some small tears of happiness rolled down my cheeks which he wiped away with his thumb. He leaned in and placed a light kiss on my forehead that can speak thousands of words. 

[whysoseven]

Hey saw your post about your sociopathy diagnosis, and I have a question! How come you want to do good things for other people, be compassionate, uplift people, etc? What is it that makes you want to do that if you don’t experience empathy, and aren’t doing it to prevent the negative emotions you’d experience from seeing someone else hurt or having a hard time? Serious question

Alright so here we go! Genuine question gets a genuine answer. But before anything, this needs cleared up again for this ask.

Sociopathy is NOT a diagnosis.

Most people nowadays that identify with "sociopath" are low/no empathy and/or ASPD who are reclaiming the term, partially because it's easier to explain to people, and partially because we can. In this instance, I'm using it specifically to keep my exact diagnosis off the internet. I let one of them slip literally one time in obscure tags and immediately got fake claimed, and with how people have been behaving with that post I made (not you, anon, you're fine) I'm even more resistant to telling anyone exactly what my list of diagnoses is. So, not going to get into the exact disorders, but not having empathy is one of my more serious symptoms so well roll with that.

To answer your question, there are a lot of things that drive me! How I am perceived by others can be important to me, especially because if you're an absolute ass to everyone all of the time life gets very hard very fast. When you show even the barest amount of decency, people are so so nice to you and it makes life so easy. So, I'm nice to people! I try to uplift my coworkers and they uplift me back. I spot someone on a lunch, they might spot me later. I do extra favors, they do favors for me. It's a give and take, just like it is for everyone else, I'm just more aware of it because I have to be. Someone could argue that it's for personal gain, and yeah I guess, but so is fucking someone over to benefit myself. I just make the conscious choice to do one instead of the other.

One of the other things that motivates me is my own sense of self. I'm a pretty big believer in that you should be the person you want to be. Do you want to be a crazy person who lives on the corner and knits while screaming at people from their porch? Then do it! Do you want to be that one weird person on campus that always has a giant pencil? What's stopping you? Do you want to be known as reliable? Then be reliable! Me? I want to be nice! Being "kind" is important to my sense of self. I like kind people, and I want to be like them. I like the lives that they lead, I like the way people react to them, I like how people view them and care about them, and so I decided that that was who I wanted to be. And honestly? So far so good! I'm in a low tier management position with a team that I adore, and my team helps me out on the regular even when they don't have to, I have friends that shower me in gifts and affection, I have people that look out for me and go out of their way to make sure I'm doing okay, and all it costs me is some of my time and patience. I mean, yeah, sometimes it's hard, and sometimes I fuck it up because there are things I can't make myself understand, but it can be hard sometimes for everyone. I think it's the effort that's important.

[words-and-threads]

So the narrative is supposed to go that you're diagnosed with autism as a child and you get supports to help you through school and like...learning to be an adult. But I mostly did well back then. I cried more than other kids, I was socially awkward, but my mom really tried to put me in environments where I could thrive. She took me as I was and considered accommodating my needs a normal part of parenting which frankly it should be.

Don't get me wrong you couldn't pay me to go through high school again, but a lot of that wasn't really specific to the traits I now suspect are autistic. Anyone a little too weird or vulnerable was a target and there are lots of different ways to be weird. But there were places for me, people who got me. Teachers freaking loved me.

And now I'm an adult and all the quirks that I could work around in high school are actual problems. My struggle with overstimulation and audio processing makes a lot of retail jobs nearly impossible. My lack of shallow friendships with coworkers means I'm easier to criticize, threaten, or fire. If I could play nice and be everyone's buddy I wouldn't be in my current work predicament. If I could lie or hide my feelings easily I wouldn't piss off my bosses so much. The keenness that teachers praised me for was exploited by people who treated it as something I owed them for being kind enough to tolerate me WHILE AT THE SAME TIME being an embarrassing flaw and an excuse to mock and belittle me.

I was always a space alien, but as a child that was kind of normal. I wasn't expected to be a proper human yet. All kids are weird.

But at some point I was supposed to learn the social cues and start lying naturally and not have strong feelings anymore. I was supposed to lose interest in the tasks I was doing and gain interest in the details of my coworkers' personal lives. I don't get to be a space alien anymore. I was supposed to grow out of it. I feel more out of place than I ever did growing up. My quirks became disabilities at best, evidence of my fundamental inhumanity at worst. A formal diagnosis wouldn't have changed much for me as a child but now it might give me some leeway to like...exist.

I wonder how many autistic people dxed as adults actually found the world more manageable as children and that's exactly why people didn't peg them as autistic earlier. Because so much of the the diagnostic criteria (really for anything you get a psyc professional to assess) are based on like...problems: how much you're struggling, how difficult others find you to deal with. If you're actually doing fine because your life is well-optimized for your needs, even if you have the exact same traits, it doesn't count somehow?

And I mean it obviously does. "Loud noises/bad textures/changes to my routine don't bother me at all, for you see I have a system!" is a massive fucking tell and everyone knows it. But I didn't have Problems, at least not to the extent it might involve the DSM, until I was an adult. I bet I'm not the only one.

[mersuperwholocked-lowlife]

Second-Half

Word Count: 1,547

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Sibling!Reader

Warnings: angst, heart disease, small fluff

A/N: writer’s block 

Masterlist

“And have you ever heard of arrhythmia?”

“No, not really, it’s a heart thing, right?”

“Correct. Causes can be anything, stress and anxiety, drug and alcohol abuse, some cases have proven to be even genetic. Your heartbeat is irregular, it's hard to make predictions of what you need to do and what you need to stay away from.”

You and Dean pulled into the empty hunter’s cabin, while Dean shook your arm to wake you up.

“We’re here,” he said.

“That didn't take long,” you yawned.

“Yeah, well let’s see how long it takes San to get our message,” he replied.

Dean was finally back from purgatory. After almost a year of hell, pain, and suffering, things seemed better. Except for not being able to find Kevin.

You had hoped Sam had some sort of lead, it had been months since you last talked to him.

“It’s really been months since you talked to him last?” Dean asked.

“We both agreed to go our own ways. It worked out for the best,” you knew you were lying, but Dean couldn't tell.

The last conversation you had with Sam ran through your heart clearly.

“He’s dead, (Y/N)! There’s nothing else we can fucking do!”

“We didn't find a body, he is still out there, he needs our help!” 

It had been months since then, feeling longer. Your diagnosis was only 5 months ago and it felt like 30 years. 

You never could find the exact cause, you were stressed because Dean was gone, because you were stressed you tried to drink away your worries. Drinking only led to more pain and problems, which you solved by taking more drugs. 

Now you were a complete mess, and no one else knew what was going on. You didn't know how to tell Dean.

“Well, you look worse than me and I went to purgatory,” Dean tried to joke as you scoffed.

“I’m just tired. You should go to sleep, I’ll be on the lookout,” you replied.

“You sure you’re okay, kid?” Dean frowned.

“Firstly, not kid. I’m literally older than you,” you started.

“By five minutes. And I’m taller-”

“Height is irrelevant to this conversation. Go to bed, Dean,” you could see a smirk on his face while a small smile grew on yours.

“Okay, fine. I’ll switch with you in a few hours?” he asked.

You nodded before you pressed a small kiss to his forehead.

After making sure he was in the other room, you let out a shaky breath, feeling your chest aching.

Your hands were shaking slightly as you took your medicine out of your bag, swallowing the pills.

---

After a few hours, you found it nearly impossible to keep your eyes open before you heard the front door opening. 

You quickly jumped up, Dean ran out of the room, able to hear it as well.

“Gun?” you threw him his gun before holding your silver knife up, along with some holy water mixed with borax.

As soon as Sam opened the door, Dean instantly pushed him down, while you heard him yell out in shock.

“(Y/N),” you felt the world spinning as you handed Dean the silver blade, be deep handing him the holy water and Borax.

None of it affected Sam, while you offered your hand, helping him up.

“Dean,” he said, in shock.

“Now do me,” Dean said.

“No, I know it’s you,” Dean groaned in annoyance before using the knife on himself, proving he was human.

You watched as he and Sam gave each other a painful look, before wrapping their arms around each other.

You could feel Sam’s eyes on you, while you gave him a small smile.

I didn't tell Dean you mouthed.

He nodded before Dean broke the hug.

“Been a while…”

---

Finding Kevin was the easy part. Castiel coming back was hard, the trials were harder.

Every day you could feel yourself growing weaker, no one knew about your condition yet. 

You currently sat alone in the bunker, waiting for Sam and Dean to return.

You lied to them, you told them you needed to stay back for research, you were too tired to hunt.

“That wasn't the point, Sam! I was supposed to do the trials, not you!” you sat up, wrapped up in a blanket while you made your way to the door.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Dean, there was no other way! I’m doing this, we can’t just start again!” Sam yelled back.

“What happened?” you asked again.

“Sam did the first trial,” Dean replied, you could hear the anger in his voice.

“You guys told me you were going on a hunt,” you said softly.

“You look like you’re about to die, we weren't going to let you come with us,” you ran your fingers through your hair before shaking your head.

“You shoulda still told me,” you said softly.

“It doesn't matter now,” Dean shook his head.

“Well, what are we supposed to do now?” you asked.

“Wait for Kevin to figure out what the next trial is,” Sam said.

“No, we’re gonna find another hellhound, and I’m gonna kill it this time,” Dean yelled.

“Look, just calm down-”

“Calm down?! He’s going to be in danger!” you leaned back on the chair behind you, rubbing your head as you felt a slight headache rise.

“Do you not care or something?!” Dean yelled at you.

“Of course I care, Dean. But what can we do? Sammy’s strong enough to do this,” you nodded your head.

You felt a shiver up your spine while you curled up into yourself.

“The hell is your problem?” Dean continued to yell at you.

You could feel the pain in your chest increasing as you rolled your eyes at Dean’s words.

You looked at the time, seeing it just past midnight.

You had forgotten to take your medicine.

“Are you done yet?” you sighed.

“You don’t care, do you? Still mad at Sam for whatever the fuck?” 

“Dean-” Sam tried to intervene.

“Of course I care, Sam's my brother too,” you shook your head.

“Then why don’t you-” 

You pushed yourself out of the chair, clearly irritated in Dean as he went silent.

You clenched your jaw, giving both of them a look before you made your way back to your room, ignoring both of them.

---

“Go away, Dean, please,” your voice was low, you could even hear the pain as you sat curled in a bell, breathing deeply.

Your chest was aching, worse than ever before. Your head was pounding, you could barely make out anything in front of you.

Your throat tightened as you held back your cries, you couldn't make out Dean's words from the other side of the door.

You pulled yourself up, immediately collapsing on the floor.

“What was that? I’m coming in,” within two seconds, the door was broken down as Dean’s face changed from anger to fear.

“H-Hey, what's going on, (Y/N)?” he ran to you, putting his hands on both sides of your head.

You shit your eyes tightly, holding back a loud cry before he gave you a worried look.

“W-What’s wrong? What do you need, what should I do?” 

“Hospital,” your voice was barely above a whisper as your chest ached harshly.

He pulled you up, leading you to the Impala before speeding off.

---

Your head was buzzing as you rested on the hospital bed, leaning on your hand before sighing.

Dean was somewhere outside, he was talking to your doctor.

“You have arrhythmia?” you heard his voice waver as he walked into the room, his arms crossed.

“Dean-” you started.

“How long have you known?” your eyes watered slightly as you ran your fingers through your hair.

“(Y/N),” he said again.

“When you went to Purgatory… things got really hard, Dean,” you said softly.

“Almost two years?” he scoffed.

“It was never the right time to tell you guys that I can just die at any second,” you shook your head.

“You didn't tell me. I am your twin, I’m your brother, I’m your second half,” you felt a tear slip down your cheek as you looked up at Dean.

“I’m sorry I didn't tell you,” your voice was barely above a whisper.

“All his fault,” Dean started.

“Stop it. It’s not Sam’s fault, Dean,” you tried to speak.

“If they were there for you, you coulda had help-”

“I pushed Sam away. I said that they didn't care about you if they didn't want to come with me to try to look for you. I was drunk half of the time, I was high the other half. Sam was safe away from me.”

“That’s not the point, you're gonna die!” Dean yelled.

“It doesn't matter, Dean. We’re here for a good time, not for a long time,” you tried to joke as Dean scoffed, looking to the floor.

He looked up at you, his eyes red and filled with tears as he sniffled softly.

“I can't do this without you,” he whispered.

He walked to you before wrapping his arms around you tightly, while you buried your face in his chest, crying softly.

“You have to promise me that you’ll keep fighting,” he said softly.

“I promise,” you cried.

“I promise.”

[spencer-reids-adventures]

hi! do you think you could write something with adhd reid? i really love your autistic reid stuff so maybe something where he has both? i also hc garcia as having adhd too so maybe she’s in it as well? :)

this is dedicated to @slutabed 💗

---

The team already knows about his autism , and they've been nothing but supportive - but Spencer is still hesitant to let them know when he gets diagnosed with ADHD. It feels like too much somehow. Like he already has his quirk, his "thing," and anything else would just be overkill. Annoying. Unbelievable.

So he doesn't tell them, not when he gets the diagnosis, not when he has to wait to be able to start medication, and definitely not when it feels like he's juggling way too many ceramic plates and doing everything he can not to drop them.

He worries they'll tell him he won't be able to do his job. He worries they'll think he's exaggerating his symptoms. He worries he'll ruin everything somehow, even if he can't track exactly how that might happen. His brain is a jumble, and it's exhausting, and confusing, and it's so frustrating it's almost painful.

The problem, of course, is that he's on a team of profilers.

1

"You doing okay, pretty boy?" Morgan asks when he sees Spencer frantically sifting through the hundreds of post-it notes covering his desk, trying to find the exact one he needs.

"I'm fine," Spencer replies, barely looking up.

2

"You've got to stay on topic, Spence," JJ tells him when he gets distracted on a tangent and can't even remember what started him talking in the first place.

"I'm sorry," Spencer replies, cheeks burning with shame.

3

"Kid, you're jiggling your leg so hard you're shaking the table," Rossi rebukes him when he can't force himself to stay still no matter how hard he tries, no matter how disruptive he knows he's being.

This time Spencer says nothing, just pushes down on his leg with both hands and hopes for the best.

4

"Reid, I need you here," Hotch calls as Spencer frantically tries to read everything on the board and in their notes and in all of the police files - it's the only way he can commit it all to memory, and he knows he'll forget the second he turns his back if he doesn't get a chance to see everything.

"Coming," Spencer replies, walking backwards out of the room so he has time to memorize as much as possible, hoping no one else will notice.

5

"Jeez, Reid, I know you weren't expecting me to come over, but..." Emily's eyes are wide as she looks around his kitchen, the mail covering the entire counter, the sink piled high with dishes, dirty pots and pans sitting on the stove, garbage can overflowing.

"I know, I know," Spencer replies, unable to come up with an excuse other than the truth: I can't make myself do it, I can't force myself to do the things I know I need to do, and then it just gets worse and worse and worse and I don't know how to fix it.

6

"Sugar bean, come down to my office for a sec?" Garcia says, waving him over, and he follows her with no clue as to what she wants.

When they arrive in her office, she hands him a set of plastic drawers small enough to sit on his desk.

"What's this?" he asks.

"It's an organizer," she says. "One drawer is for your keys. One is for your notes. The rest are for whatever other things you keep losing because you don't have a designated place for them."

"How did you know--"

"Because you're not the only one in this office with ADHD," she says kindly. "You've been diagnosed, right?"

"Yeah, just recently."

"Well, I've been meaning to give this to you for ages but I kept, uh... forgetting," she says, laughing at herself. "Anyway, if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here for you, okay? Even if you're not ready to tell the rest of the team yet."

"Thank you, Penny," Spencer says, feeling relaxed for the first time in months. "I just might take you up on that."

[aquilaofarkham]

title: the little death rating: T+ word count: 2,409 summary: Two years after his fight with Death, Trevor’s injuries start catching up to him while Alucard realizes that humans are more fragile than he thought. 

For @trevorsmellmont ❤️  Thank you so much for commissioning me!

READ HERE

There’s a sharp pain pooling beneath his right arm, coursing through his ribcage. Trevor ignores it just as he’s ignored all the other aches, jabs, and stings over the past two years. Two years of building something better, something sustainable to last far longer than its young, admittedly green founders. Countless days, weeks, and months erecting homes, gardens, and pens for those dumb gentle animals who think the entire townscape is their personal pasture. Not another mistake of allowing them to wander aimlessly straight into the castle. As if heifers need to learn how to craft medicine or conduct what’s being referred to as “electricity”.

The work will never be finished. Even on days like this when the sun burns hotter than any circle in hell. A few drops of warm salt-ridden sweat crawl past Trevor’s pressed lips and into his dry mouth. Pain and thick heat were never enough to stop him before—he tells himself this, barely certain of his own supportive thoughts (a new concept taking root in his mind). Take it slow, don’t push yourself, idiot. This cabin made from the earth will get built eventually. Another family will receive their forever home to fill with lots of babies. Old wounds beg to differ as Trevor’s arms begin to weaken, each movement slower than the last, struggling to keep up with Greta’s superior pace. She’s always known her way around a mallet.

Another bead of sweat gets caught in Trevor’s lashes, sparing his eyes from temporary discomfort. Though it wouldn’t have mattered as they’re already past any sort of respite. He looks for distraction but can only see the blurred shapes coming from a huddle of bodies, despite being a short distance from them. He knows it’s only Sypha and Alucard with the village children, which gives Trevor some relief.

There’s more comfort to be felt when he remembers that one of those little monsters is his own, nestled in Sypha’s lap then placed in Alucard’s gentle arms. She has a name far too long for any toddler to pronounce—Elizabeta Belnades Tepes Belmont—so what rolls off her developing tongue instead is simply “Liza”. She’s innocent now but once she leaves this little man-made paradise and ventures into a harsher world, she will take more after her mother and father. Grabbing whatever life offers with both fists, clawing and biting her way through every obstacle until her teeth are reddened with bloody meat. For the time being, they relish Liza’s soft cheeks, wispy hair, and the way she throws herself at whichever adult happens to be in her nearest vicinity. The other children are helping her socialize by playing games and embracing frivolity; a tactic Trevor remembers from his own upbringing, though with less games and even less frivolity. 

“Think you can handle one or two more?”

Greta’s voice manages to cut through Trevor’s mental fog. Funny how she asks if he can “think” about anything especially at this suffocating moment. She must have noticed the way his lips curl into a happy doped up grin while observing his family and couldn’t help but inquire. As any close, loved and valued friend would.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“What’s wrong with looking a bit further into the future? Now that we all have one.” 

“Looking is one thing, but seriously suggesting is something else completely. My… performance in certain areas isn’t as up to snuff as it used to be.”

As Trevor says this, things deteriorate and get a bit fuzzier from his eyesight down to his chest. Out of focus. Painful. He keeps talking, keeps ignoring the inevitable. Always ignoring what his own body screams for.

Greta wrinkles her nose at his statement. “There are children present, Belmont.”

“What? I’m referring to the house. I barely managed to get one wall up while you’re already on the fucking roof.”

“So dramatic. You three really do deserve each other. And you’re still young.”

“On the outside, maybe.”

She laughs at his lie, misinterpreting it as another piece of mild self-deprecatory banter he might never be able to live without. Greta says something else, perhaps her own personal jest to counter his, but Trevor cannot hear. Breath grows heavier, forcing out a raspy “it’s fine. It’s just my chest”. Barely able to tell if Greta actually said anything about his sudden condition. Or rather, not so sudden. No, this has been building over quite some time now. His muscles and bones screaming, begging for relief or death, and end to everything—whichever comes first. Feelings that only worsened over the years.

Trevor loses control over his legs, now practically boneless. The collision between his head and the ground is nothing compared to the inner war over his heart. Whether it will finally succumb. Greta immediately calls for help—he thinks without confidence, once again. Trevor can still hear voices, but not their exact words. Not Sypha when she demands to know what happened. Not Alucard when he begs for him to stay conscious. Not even Liza as she cries for her papa.

Then all the chaos in the world fades into slow darkness.

--

Alucard stands outside the closed bedchamber door, contemplating how often he’s touched Trevor’s body. Lithe fingertips have memorized every crevice, scar, soft and rough spots alike. Not just as a lover with wandering hands underneath blankets in the dead of night. Or a friend who holds him steady on both feet when he needs it. But as this family’s self-appointed physician. 

Perhaps the prince of two worlds took after his father after all. “Polymath” is what Alucard used to describe Dracula and the very same word others have referred to him as, mostly in the realm of medicine. He knows more than anyone, little offence given towards the herb dispensers and leech farmers (only to be polite for his own townsfolk). Thus, through the anxieties and trembling hands, Alucard gave Trevor his diagnosis: heat exhaustion along with a muscle somewhere in his chest that decided to go rogue and strain itself.

The son of Tepes, the only local doctor worth trusting, and arguably the co-leader of their little prospering hamlet paces across the hall like Trevor did the day Liza was born. He’s on the other side of that closed door, resting. Bedridden from heat exhaustion and a fucking pulled muscle. It bothers Alucard. This shouldn’t have happened to someone who stood up to the personification of Death and pissed in his eye. A stupidly common and easily treatable inconvenience to the human body shouldn’t be the end of a fucking Belmont.

It shouldn’t—unless Trevor’s scars have anything to say about it. The ones on the inside and outside. Inside, unseen, and untreatable. There’s a harsh revelation to be found there; one which the prince has been purposefully avoiding up to this moment. Alucard can try as he wants, use the tools left behind by his father and mother as though it were their final death wish, but he might never tend to what pains Trevor on the inside. He’s a Belmont, undeniably so, but Belmonts are human despite the many recurring signs pointing to the contrary. Then there’s Sypha with her magic, but she’s human as well. Greta and Liza are still human. Humans are more susceptible to dying easy, little deaths even when they follow world-saving victories.

Where does this leave Alucard? Thoughts spiral down, down towards darker places the longer he nervously hovers outside the bedroom. He’s been known to awkwardly stumble into deflection, insisting he’s only half human whenever certain someones bring up this topic of necessary conversation. Meaning he might as well not be human at all. Not when the bodies of those he loves change so rapidly while his remains petrified. It’s only been two years, filled to the brim with countless hours he wouldn’t ever want to trade for the entire world. But the thought of one night as they nestle themselves into bed and Alucard touches either Trevor or Sypha’s chest only to feel an anomaly within their hearts. The earliest sign that time and age will eventually betray them as it does for all mortals—it could be the one thing to break him.

Alucard stops himself at the opportune moment, right before he starts thinking about his mother and father. Did Dracula ever contemplate Lisa’s mortality? Was the decision to never turn her easy or the hardest thing he forced upon his unstable, immortal conscience? Arms crossed over his chest like a protective cage, fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt until it hurts, Alucard swallows a bitter glob of spit and reaches for the doorknob. Sypha will have to accept the fact that he couldn’t wait for her. He quietly thanks her for the lessons she taught him. If he needs to talk about something—truly talk, no sarcastic wit or banter, just the raw emotions—Alucard no longer hesitates. He won’t, not as he enters the room and immediately sees Trevor still in bed, not quite altogether there. At least he can manage a decent smile and wave of his hand.

“Evening.”

“How does your chest feel?”

“Still a bit tight, but I’ve been taking deep breaths like the doctor ordered.”

The amount of strain heard in Trevor’s voice worries Alucard. Hopefully the Belmont has learned something from the recent past, so he won’t be stupid and suggest anything having to do with leaving bed or getting back to work.

 “I think I should get up.”

“I think that’s a poor decision.”

“Are you saying that as my physician or because you’re letting that pretty little blonde head of yours get too worked up?”

No. Yes. Both? If only Trevor didn’t look up at him with those glassy eyes (can he still see him?) the colour of stained glass windows erected in cathedrals he felt so unwelcome inside. If only that smile, somehow both soft and shit-eating, wasn’t in place of a more serious expression. Then maybe Alucard could voice his concerns without being accused of acting overbearing—an accusation grounded in solid evidence but he’s not ready to admit that yet. Not out loud.

“Normal, healthy adults do not become bedridden after pulling a small muscle in their chest.”

“Belmonts aren’t normal… or healthy in my case.”

Alucard’s brow furrows. “I want to think you’re healthy—” I need to. “—that you’ll live long enough to see the children of this village have little ones of their own. Liza included.”

“God’s sake, she’s only two years old. You and Greta, always talking about looking one step too far into the future. Let her be a child before adulthood rears its ugly maw.”

“Try not to change the subject.”

Trevor lifts his head off the indent pressed into his sweat drenched pillow. “Alright. Fine. I feel much better. I won’t push myself and give my heart some more time to recover.”

No response coupled with broken eye contact; sure signs of Alucard’s reluctance to accept his rather weak assurance. The Belmont has no other choice.

“Come here. Sit.”

Another moment’s hesitation before Alucard complies. Feeling his weight upon the mattress, Trevor blindly reaches for his wrist until calloused fingers grip cool, unblemished skin.

“Now lie down. No, no. Not like that. Place your head right here.” He pats his chest and with a fleeting amount of guidance, Alucard’s cheek fits perfectly between his breasts. Two hands smooth over the dhampir’s curves before one before one rests on his silk smooth head and the other against the small of his back. Alucard lied about one thing: his own body can change in small yet noticeable ways. Without the need to fight for the lives of others, whether today or tomorrow, sharp edges turn softer. Trevor and Sypha have finally let themselves breathe as well, let go, and enjoy all of life’s pleasures.

“Hear that?” He asks Alucard.

“... It’s slow.”

“Slow and strong like it should be.”

Alucard wishes he could bottle up that heartbeat or place it in a box. Preferably a music box to listen to its soothing melody long after its original body and soul are both eventually gone from this world. Who knows? It might make things hurt a little bit less like when he redrew his parent’s portrait or built a much larger nursery where his own used to be. Not a lot, but Alucard could possibly live with just “a little”.

“Speaking of Greta…” The baritone of Trevor’s voice sends deep vibrations through his broad chest, tickling Alucard’s cheek. “She said something about more children.”

“More orphans joining us?”

“No, even though I know how much you love those damn orphans. She asked if we could handle one or two more.”

“What did you say?”

“I implied that she was taking after Sypha’s influence by being wonderfully insane.”

Alucard chuckles in agreement. That sounds like Greta. “You never know. It might be good for Liza if she has a younger sibling.”

With the sound of Sypha’s well timed arrival, he’s mercifully saved from Trevor’s lengthy speech about how patience is apparently a virtue and tirades about his “performance” or lack thereof. Greta reveals herself shortly afterwards with a still crying Liza in tow. So many bodies gathered around one inebriated individual, here for him and him alone. Trevor’s consoled yet exasperated expression directed at Greta in particular says “isn’t there someone more important you could be helping right now?”

Sypha is the first to voice her gratitude after fussing over her exhausting loved one. “I will never be able to thank you enough, Alucard.”

“I think the bed did most of the heavy lifting, love.”

Trevor is given an affectionate, somewhat caring glare in response but his focus is demanded elsewhere once he suddenly notices Liza jumping onto the bed. She snuggles herself between him and Alucard, wetting their shirts with her tears.

“Easy there, you little monster. Papa’s still a bit tender.” Not that she can understand or care.

There’s an aura of relief felt amongst everyone in the room—less with Alucard who smiles bittersweetly. It’s a truth he knew he had to acknowledge before it tore his heart open. Trevor and Sypha will die one day and he will have to bury them. He’ll bury Greta, he might even bury Liza. Not today thank all the gods, or tomorrow, not for the next few decades if fate is kind enough. 

But the day will come. And it will be Alucard’s own little death.

[megsmulti]

Day 2: “If we don’t get out of here-” “We will!”

First off, before I begin, I just want to give a special thank you to @fighterkimburgess for introducing me to this rare, but beautiful, ship. I know you’re going through some things right now, so I hope this puts a smile on your face!

This takes place around s3 of Med, around the time when Sarah Reese’s father comes to Chicago. 

                            ----------------------------------------------

Sarah Reese was not having a good day. Or week as far as she was concerned. Her father came back into town and at first, she was elated to see him, but now that she found out that he’s supposedly a psychopath, how was she supposed to feel about all of this? 

She had a patient waiting up in the psych ward, so she decided to take the elevator because she was almost late and she didn’t want to keep them waiting any longer. However, someone else wanted to take the elevator as well. 

“Dr. Reese,” Connor said. 

“Dr. Rhodes,” Sarah replied.

“How are things with your dad going?” He was the doctor that was working on the man’s heart after all, so it never hurt to check in. 

“Oh, same ol, same ol.” A ding sound was heard and the elevator opened. Connor let Sarah go first, being ever the gentleman. There was no one else coming, so it looks like it will be just the two of them heading up to where they needed to go. 

The elevator was working fine and dandy for about a minute or so until it started moving frantically and the lights were flickering all over the place, jerking both of them around. 

“Whoa!”

“What the hell?” Connor muttered. The elevator suddenly stopped. “Great, just great!” He slammed his hand on one side. “Of course, on the day I have a huge surgery planned!” The lights came back on. 

“I’m sorry, Connor.” 

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Looks like it’s just the two of us for a while.” Sarah nodded. Boy, did the day just get longer. 

                       -------------------------------------------------

About half an hour passed since Connor and Sarah got trapped in the elevator. They tried everything, including pressing buttons on the panel, (yes, they did call the fire department without a phone signal) to finding weird and obscure ways out. Obviously, they were unsuccessful. 

“I swear to god, if we don’t get out of here-” Connor said, patience running way past thin now. 

“We will!” Sarah replied. Neither one of them could blame the other for being on edge. Their patients were probably worried sick and it’s all because a damn elevator decided to be stubborn. 

Connor leaned on the side wall and sat down. He figured if he was gonna be stuck inside this thing for a while, he might as well rest while doing so. 

“Sarah, I’m sorry I’m springing all of my anger onto you.” She didn’t seem worried about it in the slightest. “It’s just that every time a surgery of mine gets canceled for some reason, Dr. Bekker ends up gloating about hers when she gets done with the patient she was working on.” Sarah just looked at him, seeing if he’ll say more. “I’m just tired of it. Tired of needing to prove myself to be validated. I’ve already had enough of that throughout my life as it is.”

“I understand.” Connor looked up. “What you’re going through.” He was confused. “I lied earlier when you asked me how things with my dad were going.” 

“Well, how are they going?” 

Sarah sighed. Looks like it was her turn to confide in him. “Not that great. Apparently, Dr. Charles received a package that contained newspaper clippings of women that went missing. My dad taught in those exact same cities on the exact same days of those incidents.” Connor widened his eyes, not liking where this was going. “Come to find out he murdered them.” She was in tears at this point and he wasn’t sure what to do. “I didn’t know about all of this until a few days after he got the package.” 

“God, Sarah. No one deserves to go through that.” Sarah swears she’s heard that message a million times before. She knew Connor meant well, but that sentence gets old real fast. “How do you feel about all of this?” 

“That’s the thing, I don’t know. I don’t know whether to be angry at my dad for killing innocent women and being some kind of deranged lunatic or whether to be mad at Dr. Charles for keeping something this important from me for so long.” 

“Just go with your gut.” Connor’s really piling on the wisdom today, isn’t he? “Go with your gut and see where it takes you.” He added on a light smile at the end of his spiel. 

“I’m also worried that I’ll end up a psychopath.” 

“Sarah, if I know anything about you, it’s that you are super loyal to your patients. I know damn well that you didn’t stop until you got a diagnosis on Robin when she was sick. You were the only person I trusted to be her psychiatrist because I know you would shoot me straight and not give me pity like everyone else would’ve.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. You’re also willing to step up to the plate and help out when needed, even if the patient isn’t yours. That’s the kind of person you are and I am so happy and grateful to be friends with that person.” Connor full well knew what was going on inside Sarah’s head. He was telling her that she won’t end up like her father. It’s the same message that he’s been trying to tell himself for years. 

“Thanks, Connor. I know you weren’t planning on being a therapist to a psychiatrist of all people, but I needed that.” He laughed. Leave it to Connor Rhodes to make you feel better even when he’s not in the best of moods himself. 

Both of them heard a noise outside the elevator. Tools were being inserted inside and a lieutenant was barking orders at his crew. CFD must have showed up and they weren’t paying attention. Within minutes, the door to the elevator opened and they were able to get out. Everyone in the ED crowded around, worried about their friends. 

Connor & Sarah might not have been super close, but it took the two of them being stuck in an elevator to feel like more than that. Not more than platonic, but closer than ever before. Their friendship is not going to be taken for granted again, that’s for sure. 

[kakiwrites]

astronomy

Genre: angst

Hajime iwaizumi x reader

Warning: cancer, y/n death

Synopsis: when you get diagnosed with cancer, you wanted to spend what little time you had left completing your bucket list with iwaizumi.

a/n: blame @tendousfingerbandagess for this idea. I was just listening to conan gray's new song 'astronomy' then prompted this idea. I want to share my pain with you all hehehe! Let's get started.

"we found that you have acute lymphocytic leukemia…" were the first and only words you heard from the doctor before blood suddenly rushed to your ears.

You were rushed to the hospital by your boyfriend, Iwaizumi, when your very high fever kept coming back every few hours. Hajime sat next to you as the doctor broke the news to you, trying to comfort you by running his thumb over your clenched knuckle. He hoped to ease you into the harsh reality that was brought upon you but you couldn't feel anything then. All you felt was the piercing cold. You didn't know if it was a symptom of your new diagnosis or because of the news itself.

"w-well, can you still treat it?" Iwaizumi asked for you, squeezing your hand to attempt and bring you back into this conversation.

"we can but it'll be painful-"

"what if I don't want to be treated?" you suddenly chimed in. that caused Hajime to turn to you with a shocked expression. No. You have to get treated. He can't lose you.

"w-what are you saying, (y/n)? Y-you can't be serious." Iwaizumi let out a humorless chuckle, praying that you would laugh along and reassure him that you were kidding. But you didn't do that. You sat straight in the uncomfortable chair, waiting for the doctor's response.

"Well, though it is not ideal, we can delay putting you on the transplant list but that will lessen your chances to survive. Chemo therapy is also on the table." the doctor replied professionally, his clipboard opened on your file to take note of your wishes.

"I want to delay both as of now. I-I just need time to think…" your voice cracked. You wanted to be strong. To show your boyfriend that you could handle it and that you'll be okay. But from the looks of your face, how you trembled beside him, iwaizumi knew that it was the exact opposite of what you were trying to portray. The doctor nodded his head before he left you alone with a confused and distraught Iwa.

"why?" Iwa's voice was barely above whisper as his glassy eyes looked into yours in sorrow. He wanted you to live. He already planned his future with you. How you would have two kids running around the small house you two would purchase to accommodate your family. But now, he wasn't so sure if that same dream of his will come to life. The only thing he could do now was pray that you'll survive and live through this.

"I want to live my life, haj," you replied. You shot him a sad grin before you took a deep breath and spoke once more. "I want to live my life to the fullest before I grow weak and have to sit in a hospital room and wait impatiently for the small chance that I'll find a donor or see any big progresses." you let out a watery laugh. Damn, this was harder than it looks. "I want to live my last stronger moments with you." tears ran down your cheeks at the end of your little speech. You looked back to see iwaizumi's tears flowing down just like yours did.

Iwaizumi brought your hand up to his quivering lips and placed a soft kiss on them. "then I'll help you. I'll help you live your life to the fullest." he placed another kiss on your knuckle, a sign of a promise he was willing to do anything to keep.

"okay, I'm done!" you called Iwa. You placed your pen down and waited for him to pop out from your shared bedroom.

Iwaizumi smiled and sat next to you on the couch, reaching a hand out to take the slip of paper from you. You gave it to him willingly. "have a road trip around Japan, adopt a puppy, try delicacies in each city we visit, bungee jumping, and star gazing. Wow, it looks like we have a lot of things to do~" he said, wrapping his arm around you and bringing you closer as his eyes skimmed through the list once more.

You nodded your head in agreement. Iwaizumi explained to his team that he wouldn't be there as often because of your diagnosis. They all agreed that your health came first and that they'll be fine hearing his critiques on their forms and diet from home. Just like that, he already sacrificed so much for your sake. He now asked you to write down a small little bucket list you could do together before you decide to settle down and get better. He promised to help you live your life to the fullest after all.

"When do you think is the best time to start working on this?" he asked, waving the list in his hand. You shrugged. You didn't want to rush him into finishing this and risk burning your boyfriend out. This was his time to relax and have fun beside you. "We should get packing then!" he took both of your hands and pulled you up from your seat, causing a giggle to bubble up from your throat. You tilted your head when his words sank into your brain. Pack? Right now?

"You want me to pack? Right now?" you asked skeptically. Iwa chuckled before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss on your soft lips.

"because we're going on that road-trip tomorrow, you idiot." Hajime watched your eyes lit up with glee before you skipped into your bedroom and packed your shared luggage.

Even in the devastating predicament you were in, you didn't stop being so positive and happy. That was one of the things he loved about you.

"We drive through the woods

Rich neighborhoods to watch

We joked as we looked

That they were too good for us

Cause socially speaking we were the same

With runaway fathers and mothers who drank

A tale old as time

Young love don't last for life"

You sat in the passenger seat of Hajime's car, a blanket keeping you comfortable while Conan Gray's astronomy blaring through the speakers. Iwaizumi couldn't help but bop his head behind the wheel while you sang along.

"damn, your voice sounds amazing." he complimented, causing your cheeks to feel hot. Iwaizumi chuckled before he turned and parked in the wide parking lot of the animal shelter.

"wait! Are we getting the puppy now?!" you squealed excitedly. Iwaizumi clicked his seatbelt off and hummed in confirmation. You never got out of the car that quickly before.

Fortunately, this was only the beginning.

For the next few days, you traveled around Japan with your new puppy, iwaizumi named (y/n) Jr., went bungee jumping together, and tried delicacies in each town. you had the time of your life.

But fun had to end.

On the last day of your third week, you started to feel waves on waves of fatigue wash over you. You just wanted to rest with Iwaizumi but you felt like giving in was only admitting that you can't handle it anymore.

So you forced yourself to get up.

It was hard to hide things from iwaizumi. He was always perceptive, especially now. He was there to help you live.

He needed you to live. Because he knew that he wasn't anyone without you.

"you okay? We can rest today if you want." he asked worriedly, walking over and assisting you to a seat. He went into the kitchen to fetch you a glass of water.

"no, I'm fine." you replied, trying to reduce your shaking as you take the glass and chugged the water. You could only hope that your headache will subside soon. "do you have anything planned for today?" you asked, feigning cheerfulness. Iwaizumi glanced back at you worriedly before he sighed, flashing you a small smile.

"well, we have stargazing on your list so I was planning to do just that." Iwa sat next to you and stretched his arm over your shoulder. You giggled before you closed your eyes and nuzzled into him, wishing to store the last bit of your energy that you felt was seeping out at a rapid pace.

Iwaizumi could hope that it wasn't what he suspected. That you were just having an off-day. That you were okay, just like the last few weeks.

But that was all he could do. All he could do was hope.

The night air was colder than usual.

You pulled your thick cardigan closer to your chest and squeezed iwa's hand, hoping that his warmth would seep into you. Hajime looked back at you worriedly. "you okay? Dammit, we should've stayed home-"

"i'm fine, haji, it's just colder than usual." you lied, nudging him, telling him to keep walking.

You felt like you used up all of your energy climbing up the small hill where a picnic blanket was set-up on the very top, a small stereo playing Astronomy softly. You couldn't help but gasp in surprise. Maybe that wasn't a good idea, the lack of air in your lungs already making you dizzy. The gasp hid the shallowness of your breath from your already anxious boyfriend who helped you get settled on the blanket under the stars.

"just... Sit tight." iwaizumi took a deep breath before he stood in front of you, made a fist and pretended he was holding a mic as he sang along to Conan's soft voice.

"We've traveled the seas

We've ridden the stars

We've seen everything

From Saturn to Mars

As much as it seems

Like you own my heart

It's astronomy

We're two worlds apart"

He took your hand and pulled you up on your shaking feet. he got down on one knee then took out a velvet box. Your hands flew to your mouth. This can't be happening.

"(y/n), it might look like we don't have time but i know you can fight back and win. I can wait until then. So (y/n) (l/n), will you marry me?" he muttered to keep his voice from cracking. Your smile reached from ear to ear, nodding your head rapidly at a loss of words. Iwaizumi slipped the ring onto your finger and was about to pull you close into a hug when the unthinkable happened.

Your feet buckled under you, unable to support your weight anymore. Your breath was ragged and loud. You tried to suck in air to no avail. What was going on?

Your ears ring while black dots start to spread through your vision. The last thing you remembered was your now fiance's blurry figure in front of you, desperately trying to bring you back to him.

Cold. The cold just seeps into you, suffocates you until-

You woke up to the blinding lights of the hospital. Your tired eyes moved to observe the room. You felt someone squeezed your hand. You turned to see a sleepy iwaizumi slouched in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs, his hand gripping yours tightly. Hajime jolted awake the second you squeezed his hand back.

"(y/n)!" he exclaimed in relief, bringing his head down and kissing the ring on your finger repeatedly. Little droplets littered your hand. Iwaizumi was crying. "i-i thought i lost you... You wouldn't wake up for days a-and-" he sobbed. You pulled him into your chest, letting him nuzzle into your weak figure.

That small reassurance that you still had that small fight left in you helped iwaizumi sleep that night.

It was only the beginning of hell for you.

For the next few weeks, iwaizumi couldn't do anything but watch as your once strong figure rapidly grew weaker by the day. He had no idea had to stop it.

He needed a miracle.

He picked up his phone, dialed a certain number and waited for them to answer. If iwaizumi needed a miracle, this was the guy to call.

Another week went by, you were looking out your window in boredom when your hospital room door opened. thinking it was another nurse, you used all your strength to crane your neck to look at the person who entered. Your eyes lit up when you saw Iwaizumi enter with the Argentina setter, Oikawa.

"tooru!" you cheerfully yelled. Oikawa immediately rushed toward you. The man was about to pounce on you but iwa came to the rescue just in time and pulled the setter away from your bed.

"what are you doing here?" you asked, wiping away the stray happy tears that accumulated in the corners of your eyes.

"simple!" oikawa said as he skipped back to the door and opened it to reveal matsukawa and hanamaki with an officiant. "i decided to provide a little bit of a miracle." You turned to iwaizumi who glowed pink beside you. Was this really happening?

Your little "ceremony" flew by too quickly for your liking. You wished you could just cherish this moment forever. How all of the former members of the volleyball team came in and gave their congratulations and told little anecdotes they remember about the early stages of your relationship, like the time hajime almost beaten up oikawa for flirting with you in high school or how iwaizumi accidentally hit you with his spike when he was staring a second too long.

The noise slowly died down to the beeps of your heart monitor connected to you. Iwaizumi sat beside you and kissed your hand once more. "we're officially married now." he whispered, not wanting to break the soft ambience of the room.

"yeah..." you leaned back weakly in your bed. A wave of fatigue suddenly hit you. Maybe it was because of the eventful day you've had.

"You gotta live through this if you want to enjoy our honeymoon." he joked, causing you to let you a soft giggle.

"i love you, haj."

"i love you too, baby..."

"We have a code blue!"

Iwaizumi shot out of his seat to be met by a slew of nurses bursting into your room. His eyes snapped toward your limp figure. No. Nonono. This cannot be happening. You were okay. You were laughing along with everyone. You were joking around. You promised to live, to be strong.

Why? Why did you let go now?

"sir, Please step outside of the room." a nurse said to him, hauling the trainer out the door and into the hallway. Iwaizumi dropped into one of the empty seats outside, burying his head in his hands. He prayed to every god he could think of, to spare your life.

But unfortunately, his prayers weren't answered.

When the doctor came out of your room with a somber look on his face. He already knew what happened. His tears silently flowed down his cheeks as his brain blocked out the doctor's voice, ringing growing louder and louder.

There was only one festering thought in his mind now and it was growing bigger the longer he stayed in that hallway. It kept nipping at him when he went back into the room to see your now lifeless body.

You were gone and he will never see you wake up again.

It all moved like a blur to hajime. Your family was as equally as distraught as he was. They offered their support to which Iwaizumi refused to take. At night he would imagine that you would come bursting into the room and cuddle with you and every time, he would feel tears prick his eyes when he would remember that it didn’t work like that.

The funeral wasn’t any better. Iwaizumi would acknowledge the typical condolence message here and there. He went out of his way to make his eulogy speech a bit more personal for your grieving family members and friends. He couldn’t stop his sobs when he watched as your casket got lowered into your final resting place. The pain felt unbearable.

He stood in front of your new and clean tombstone, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he held (y/n) jr. In his other hand. He let out a shaky smile, the smile he usually reserved for you. He was going to miss you.

"don't worry love, we'll meet again." he whispered hoping you would hear him one last time. It was going to be hard to move on but he’s going to do everything in his power to pull himself back up and come to terms with reality and maybe to keep your memory alive.

And that's all! This was a real whirlwind and I didn't really anticipate it being this long! Hope you guys enjoyed this! Thanks for @tetsunormous for getting mad at me for spamming and beta reading! Requests are open so please don't be shy to leave anything in my inbox! Love you guys 💖💕❤️

General taglist (don’t be shy to comment your tumblr @ below): @tokyoghoose @macaronnv @reogou @midnightangelfox @wumboho @seiijixcia

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober Day 21: Infection

CW: sick whumpee, abdominal pain, medical whump, emeto mention, nausea mention, pet whump references, recovering whumpee, fever, sickfic

TIMELINE: Chris’s first year after rescue

Nat makes the call, her jaw set in a grim line as she puts her phone up to her ear, and Jake has never seen the laugh-lines and crow's-feet wrinkles as clearly as he does in the dim yellowed light from the single lamp in the corner. 

"We can't do this," Jake says, softly, but he's outvoted by sheer necessity and he knows it, he knows before the protest ever leaves his mouth. It doesn’t stop his heart from racing, dread pooling deep inside him. "Nat, we can't, he isn't-... they’ll turn him in, Nat, god damn it-"

"Hey," Nat says into the phone, ignoring Jake entirely. "It's me. Yeah. I'm calling you for help." 

Next to Jake, lying on the couch while the big man balances himself seated precariously on the coffee table, Chris whines weakly in pain, pressing the back of Jake's hand to his clammy, sweat-soaked forehead. Coppery hair sticks to him, soaked the color of old pennies. 

Jake half-expects to see the blue-green tarnish growing and taking over.

"Hurts," Chris whispers, and Jake's heart breaks open. They didn't know - Chris had collapsed this morning, thrown up his breakfast and then blacked out in the bathroom, it was the first they'd seen of his illness.

Only when he'd been bundled down here to the couch, temp taken - 102 degrees Fahrenheit, holy fuck, he’d been fine yesterday, right? - had Chris admitted he'd been hurting for two days, a pulsing pain around his navel that felt like it was taking over his whole right side now. He told them he’d been so scared they would make him take medicine again that he hadn't told anyone. 

When Chris pointed to the right side of his stomach and said that it hurt there, and it kept getting worse... that was when Nat had given that serious, firm nod, said Dr. Masood couldn't help them this time, and picked up the phone. 

"Nat, he still has his barcode, they'll fucking turn him in-"

"My money’s on appendicitis," Nat says flatly into the phone. Her eyes move to Chris, lips thinning at his pale skin, freckles and two bright red splotches standing out on his cheeks, the way his green eyes are glassy, hazy, lost until the pain spikes and they briefly clear, just enough for him to start crying again. "Guarantee it. I can't use our guy." A pause. "Listen, he's eighteen - I think - and was routinely subjected to dehydration, starvation, and sleep deprivation. His medical care inside isn’t exactly nothing, but... this is appendi-fucking-citis and that motherfucker is going to burst if we don't get someone to cut it out of him ASAP. I don't have the time to waste going back and forth on this with you. Take one fucking look at him and you’ll know it!"

Nat never swears like this, with such intense hostility and insistence. Chris tightens his grip on Jake, and moans, frightened, turning to look up at him with wide green eyes far too big for his pinched expression. “S-sorry, I’m, I’m sorry… ‘ll... ‘ll b’good...” 

The plaintive haunted fear and hurt in him makes Jake wish there were an enemy, someone he could fight. Sitting here watching Chris get sicker by the hour, able to do absolutely nothing about it, is so much worse than anything else ever has been. 

“It’s okay,” Jake murmurs, stroking over his hair, carding his fingers gently through the damp, sweaty strands. “She’s not mad at you, little man, I swear. You’re sick and she’s trying to get help, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Fuck those motherfuckers who made you too scared of pills to tell us you were hurting.

"Jake-" Chris starts, and then stops, swallows as his face goes a little green around the edges and he tenses, whimpering, torn between nausea and the way muscles tensing makes him hurt even worse. Jake watches his internal battle written openly across his expression. Tears slip from his eyes, running down his cheeks, as he chokes back a sob. "It, it, it hurts so much... Jake, I, I need… I could take, take, could… could could could take something now."

Jake nods and starts to move but Nat puts up a hand. "No drugs," She says, quietly. "They'll give him something there to put him under. We don’t want anything to interact badly.”

“Nat-”

“I’m sorry,” She says, her voice firm and calm. “But nothing until my contact has him.”

“Who is your fucking contact, anyway?”

Nat gives Jake a small, tired smile. “Not yet, Jake. Have to keep these things under wraps.”

"Mom, please," Chris pleads, and Jake and Nat both turn to look at him, shocked, eyes wide. "Mom, it, it, it… It hurts!"

Neither of them says anything at first, and Chris stares at them, eyes pleading but far away. It isn’t them he sees at all.

“Nat-”

“Just go with it,” She says, and goes back to the phone.

“Please, Mom-” Chris whimpers.

"Sorry, we can't," Jake whispers, fighting back the burn of hot tears himself as he goes back to stroking through Chris’s hair. Guilt twists inside him, sharp as any knife. Being helpless is tearing him apart.

Chris’s eyes move, lock on Nat, struggle to maintain their focus, go hazy again. His flush is layered over a gray-green paleness that makes him look like a corpse with makeup, pouring sweat that doesn’t cool him down at all. “Mom, please, please help me, please… don’t, don’t, don’t let them take you out, out of my head, Mom, please!”

Nat listens to the voice on the other end of the phone. Her eyes glimmer and her jaw is starting to tremble where she has it locked, visible in the low warm light coming from the lamps, but her voice stays steady. "No. Yes. Yes, that’s him you’re hearing. Yes… 102.3- yes, I'm sure. Fifteen minutes ago, more or less. Abdominal pain - he even said he thought it was a stomachache at first. Fever. Nausea, vomiting, yes. Getting worse and moving down and to the right. Yeah, I know. So how do we keep my rescue safe without the solution being to sit here and watch him die from infection?"

Jake ignores the cold fear that squeezes bony fingers around his heart and wipes Chris's forehead with a cool wet cloth. 

"Mom, m'sick," Chris whispers. "No, no school. Please, please…" His eyes track blearily over Jake's face. "Dad, tell her. Tell, tell, tell-... tell her m’sick…”

"I know," Jake says quietly, his voice shaking and thin. Nat is speaking softer now, lightning-fast whispers with her contact, somebody she's worked with for years with the hospital. "I know, Chris. We’re going to take you to see a doctor, okay?”

Chris blinks at him once, twice, and then his eyes are gone, shifting away. His lower lip starts to tremble, jerking fast, shallow breaths, nearly panting. “I’ll be, be, be-be, be good, don’t… don’t hurt me, sir, I’ll… I’ll be good.”

“I know, buddy, I know.” Jake can’t listen to this much longer. “I know you will.” Chris’s voice is small, losing all his sense of himself. Timid, scared, sweet.

“Be good… can, um, can, can be good f-for… you…” Chris whispers, eyes closing, new tears run out the corners as he whimpers and curls up against the pain. “Just, just stop… hurting me… b-be good, handler, good for, for, for you...”

Jake’s stomach flips and he has to fight the bile trying to rise in his throat. “Nat-”

“Hush, Jake.” Nat’s voice is still calm, and her attention is on the phone. "Mmhmmm. Christopher, um... say Yoder-”

“Stanton,” Jake says from the couch. 

Nat might smile. The expression is too tight, too pinched with worry, to really be called that. “Strike that. Christopher Stanton." Nat listens for a long time, then says quietly, "Eighteen…. We think. No known health problems or pre-existing illness. Autistic."

Jake looks up, blinking, and Nat calmly looks back at him, giving a firm nod while speaking into the phone. "Yes. Yes, I'm confident. He is sensitive to fluorescent lights, scared of needles, and terrified of sedation. Yeah, I realize that I just described the exact environment of a hospital.” Her voice starts to shift, then, and Jake watches her free hand close into a fist. She speaks with increasingly open anger, badly masking her worry and fear. “For the love of Christ, just put on the fucking papers that Christopher Stanton is fucking autistic, because that's what my goddamn rescue is and he still needs care - I'll sell someone else's firstborn to fucking Satan if he isn't autistic, god damn it, mark my fucking words - and we're wasting time goddamn dithering over whether you believe a diagnosis while he gets worse!"

Nat's voice rises, nearly shouting, and Chris whines and curls up closer to Jake, then winces and cries out in pain, straightening back out again. 

"Sssshhhhh, it's okay," Jake murmurs, but his heart is racing, too, his nerves are jagged with memories of swearing, shouting adults. Some part of him that has never stopped being a child braces for the sound of impact. "It's okay."

Nat is quiet for a long time, then snaps, "Yep, nope, I know, I know you needed to confirm," fast and angry. “See you then.” She hangs up, turning to look at Jake and Chris. "My contact is on their way. If the surgery works, two days and he's home. If his appendix bursts... Could be two weeks in the hospital, Jake."

"No," Jake says, lips barely moving. "No, Nat. Two weeks… he can't fake being someone else for so long."

"He better give it his best shot," Nat says, pushing herself to her feet. "I know this sucks, Jake, but sometimes what we do is make the hard choices they can’t make. And… and even if they turn him in, being turned in is better than dying."

Is it? Do you know that?

"What do we do, then?" Jake says, resting his hand on Chris's sweat-damp hair. Chris doesn't seem aware anymore, staring off into space, weeping silent tears and hitching soft sobs, promising in whispers to be good and obey his handler if only he’ll make the pain stop. “What’s the next step? Give me a fucking order, Nat, because I’m lost, and-” Jake gives a nervous, humorless laugh. “-I’m pretty fucking scared for him.”

"Yeah… yeah, I get that. Just pack some clothes and toiletries," Nat says flatly. "And prepare to swear on the fucking Bible to doctors and surgeons and fucking cops if we have to that his name is Chris Stanton and he's your little brother. We’re about to put on a show, Jake."

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not leaving him. You are going to be the most concerned and caring big brother the world has ever seen. When he gets out of surgery, you’re going to meet him in recovery, you’re going to stay with him in his room day and night. You’re there from day one until he walks back out the door.” Nat’s jaw is set again. “And he will be walking back out that door with us.”

“Visiting hours-”

“He can’t make his own medical decisions,” Nat says, leaning over a little, staring Jake right in the eyes. “So someone has to be there all the time. Do you understand me? He can’t.”

“He’s not-... he could, if he was a little further along-”

Chris whines, and his hand grabs weakly at Jake’s and squeezes. Jake can hardly feel it. 

“He’s not. Okay? He’s not that far into recovery yet. We’re going to pretend he’s a lot less capable than he is, to get him through this. We are going to pretend he can’t do it himself, because right now it’s not pretending, he wouldn’t remember what to do yet. And I feel like shit treating him like a toddler, Jake, I really do, but… but he can’t do this alone, and I can’t exactly tell them it’s because he was a pet and they’re trained to be dependent, now can I? We’re going to have to lie about his condition.”

“That wasn’t actually a lie, though, right? We do think he is actually-”

“Yeah. We do. But he’s not incapable - or he won’t be, once he’s older. That’s what we have to lie about. And I don’t-... right now I don’t give a shit about a damn thing except buying him more time to fucking grow up.”

"What about his barcode?"

Nat takes a deep breath. "My contact is going to bandage it over, say it was part of when he passed out and they’ve taken care of it and we're going to hope to Christ no one who they don't trust checks under it. We're out of options, Jake, unless you know how to do an appendectomy and you’ve just been holding out on me. I’m not prepared to do kitchen table surgery. Are you?"

There’s a pause while they stare at each other, and then Jake takes in a deep, steady breath.

You can do this. Chris needs you to do this.

"His name is Chris Stanton," Jake says, meeting her eyes, "and he's my little brother, and he's autistic. I’m his medical power of attorney, I make medical decisions when he’s incapcitated. He’s scared of hospitals because of bad childhood experiences and needs someone nearby at all times or he’ll lose it.”

Nat gives a terse nod. "Good. Pack your shit, and hope his fucking appendix hasn't burst while my contact dicked around." 

Nat went up the stairs like a lightning bolt, and Jake let out a shuddering breath. 

By the time they hear the ambulance pull up a few minutes later, sirens and lights carefully off, they're packed and ready to follow in Nat’s old truck.

Chris's fever is still rising. 

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

[writemekpop]

Elastic Heart | Nakamoto Yuta

Pairing: Nakamoto Yuta x Reader

Summary: Your life changes when you are diagnosed with a fatal heart disease. You don’t want to drag Yuta down, so you break up with him. But when Yuta finds out about your secret, he rushes back to you. Will he make it on time, or will he be too late?

Genre: Angst 💔 & Fluff & Suggestive - the works 

Word count: 2.7k

Request: Yuta x reader angst imagine where he is an idol and you are his girlfriend but you are diagnosed with an incurable illness so you broke up with him to not distract him from his career. Later he found out the truth on why you broke up with him but it was too late cause your already dying.

Gif: @vitaminyuta​

“Y/n! You’re here!”

Yuta lifts you into his arms, twirling you around in the air and sending your heart racing. Even after two years of dating, Yuta still fills you with butterflies.

When Yuta sets you down again, you stagger, almost falling to the ground. Yuta steadies you just in time. “Woah! You ok, babe?”

“I’m good… I just feel a little dizzy.”

“Are you gonna be okay for the race?” Yuta asks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll be fine babe, don’t worry.” You take his hand and squeeze it reassuringly.

Although you don’t actually like running, the smile on Yuta’s face was enough to get you to sign up for this charity fun run. What with Yuta’s crazy schedule, this was the only chance you get to go out on a date anyway.

“On your marks, get set, go!” Yuta takes your hand and you start running together.

For a while, the dizziness seems to be disappearing. But after a few minutes, you begin to feel sick again. You let go of Yuta’s hand and slow down.

“Are you alright? We can go slower…” Yuta says.

“I’m fine, Yu-”

Suddenly, white spots bleach your vision. Your legs feel like jelly, and they start to crumple beneath you. Before you know it, the wet grass hits your cheek.

“Y/n!”

You slowly open your eyes, and see Yuta hovering above you. His brows are creased, and his eyes glassy.

“Oh, thank god. You’re awake!” Yuta leans down to kiss you.

You sit up slowly. A man in a blazing neon safety vest hands you a bottle of water. “Miss, you should sit out of the race. And just to be safe, go and see your doctor. Has this happened before?”

You hurriedly shake your head no – you can’t risk worrying Yuta. But the truth is, you’ve fainted twice in the last month.

You turn your head to Yuta. “Babe, I know how much you wanted to do this run… you should on go without me. It’s probably nothing, anyway.”

Yuta pulls you onto his lap. “Don’t be silly. Let’s just sit here till you’re better.”

While you are sat together on the side of the racetrack, you notice Yuta’s eyes following the racers whizzing by, his leg bouncing up and down ceaselessly. You place your hand on his thigh, stilling his movements. “I’m sorry I ruined our date…”

“Of course you didn’t, darling.” Yuta gives you a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

---3 weeks later---

“Your tests results have come back. I’m afraid you have a condition called arrhythmogenic right ventricular cardiomyopathy.” Your doctor’s voice is soft, but her words send your head spinning.

“Arrhythmo… what?” you ask, feeling dizzier by the second.

“It’s a heart condition. It’s why you’ve been fainting so much lately.”

You nod slowly. “How bad is it, doctor?”

Her face creases with concern. “I don’t think you should hear this alone… is there someone we can call, maybe a boyfriend?”

Your mind flashes to Yuta. Lovely Yuta. What you wouldn’t give to have him by your side right now. But he’s been practicing day and night for NCT’s concert, and he doesn’t need something like this throwing him off course.

“No, there’s no one I can call. Please, just give it to me straight.”

The doctor gives your hand a squeeze. “I’m afraid… it’s not curable. Your heart might give up suddenly.”

“So… I could drop dead at any time?” Your chest feels like it’s collapsing.

The doctor nods, her face grim. “Try not to do anything too strenuous. Outdoor sports, exercise, dancing - anything too exciting really…”

Your throat aches. It’s like she just listed off everything that Yuta cares about.

The doctor continues, “And, speak to your loved ones. You need all the support you can get.”

You sit back in your chair and take a deep breath.  

---

Yuta rushes up to you as you walk back through your apartment door.

“Hey babe, what did the doctor say? I wish you’d let me come with you...” Yuta’s warm brown eyes are so full of love and concern. It hurts you to lie to him, but you have no choice.

“N-nothing. It’s fine… I just forgot to eat lunch before the race… that’s why I fainted.”

Yuta pulls you in for a hug. “Thank god. I was so worried, Y/n!” Yuta ruffles your hair, pulling you towards the couch. “Let’s finish that movie we started. I want to find out what happ-”

“Yuta?” you say, cutting him off.

“Yes, babe?” he says.

You reach for his hand. “Can we make love?”

Yuta raises an eyebrow. You’ve slept together countless times, but you’ve never asked for it like this.

After a moment, his lips curl into a smirk. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

If Yuta notices that you cling to him harder than usual when he kisses your neck, or that your nails dig deeper into his back when you ride him, he doesn’t say anything.

When tears fall down your cheeks as he brings you to your climax, he keeps quiet, simply pressing soothing kisses into your skin.

Yuta doesn’t understand why you need him in this moment, but being the loving boyfriend that he is, he gives his whole self to you willingly.

---

Three months have passed, and you still haven’t told Yuta the truth about your diagnosis.

He’s been too busy to even notice you sneaking off to doctor’s appointments and hastily gulping down medicine. But you can feel your lie gnawing at you, hollowing you out from the inside.

It’s getting too much to bear.

So, you’ve been preparing yourself to break up with him. You remember the days when you talked on the phone all evening, till you fell asleep on the line. Now, you don’t call him for weeks.

After cancelling on Yuta three times in a row, when he invites you back to his dorm this evening, you agree.

You knock on his door.

It’s pulled open to reveal Yuta. When he sees you, his lifts his arms towards you, as if to embrace you. But after a gut-wrenching moment, he shoves them back into his pockets, clearing his throat stiffly.  

“You came…” he says, eyes trained on the floor. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Yuta.”

You follow Yuta to his room and sit down next to him on the bed. “You changed your hairstyle,” you say.

Yuta runs his fingers through his short blonde hair, smiling absentmindedly. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure this style would suit me, but everyone I asked said I should go for it.”  

A pang cuts through your chest. “You didn’t ask me,” you say. You know you’re being petty, but you just can’t help yourself.

“Well maybe if you answered my calls once in a while, Y/n, I would have.” His tone is cold. “What’s gotten into you lately? Why are you being so… selfish?”

Hot tears sting your eyes. “Selfish? You don’t know what I’m giving up for you.” You take a deep breath. “Yuta, I…”

“What? What is it?” Yuta stands up, his fists clenched. “You don’t answer my calls, you don’t come around, you won’t have sex with me… hell, you won’t even kiss me! Tell me, what is this big sacrifice?”

Yuta stands in front of you, arms crossed. His dark eyes bore into yours.

“Yuta,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sick…”

Yuta’s eyes widen. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you say-”

“No,” you interrupt. You see his expression, and suddenly your short-lived confidence vanishes. “I’m sick… and… tired… of this. Of us.”

It’s like you can see Yuta’s heart shatter into a million pieces in front of you.

Yuta drops to his knees, now face to face with you. “Y/n,” his voice trembles. “I don’t want to break up. That’s not what I meant… I just miss you…”

“Just stop!” you shout, pushing him away and getting up from the bed. You walk to the window and stare out of it, knowing that if you meet his eyes now, you won’t be able to let him go.

“Y/n, please don’t leave me,” Yuta whispers, coming up behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist and rests his forehead on your shoulder. You don’t have the energy to push him off. So you let him hold you - one last time.

Yuta’s body shakes with soundless sobs as he grips you tighter, his fingers crumpling your blouse.

You wait for his trembles to subside before you speak again. “I’m sorry, Yuta. It’s over.”

You turn around to face him. His eyes are red, and his hair is a mess.

Your heart breaks at the sight of him. You long to wipe the tears from his smooth cheek and press kisses to his lips. But you’re doing this for him, you remind yourself. You can’t tie him down forever. Yuta will get over you.

“Goodbye, my love.”

---

“I’m really worried about Yuta,” Mark says, his brows creased.

“Me too,” Taeyong replies. “I haven’t seen him eat a proper meal in ages. All he does is practice. He’s going to end up hurting himself.”

Taeyong leans in closer, dropping his voice to a murmur. “What happened with Y/n? Do you know why they broke up?”

“No idea… Should we go and talk to him?”

Taeyong nods.

Taeyong lightly pushes open Yuta’s door. “Hey… Yuta, how you holding up?”

Yuta is sitting on the floor, his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up. “Go away, Taeyong.”

Taeyong sighs and turns away, but Mark isn’t having any of it. “Yuta!” Mark shouts. “It’s been two months since you and Y/n broke up. You need to get out of this funk, man!”

Yuta snaps his head up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about - get the fuck out,” he spits.

Mark pays no attention to his rebuff. “Look, you need to get over her. You… you should start by getting rid of her stuff.” Mark walks over to your bag, lying in the exact same corner of the room where you left it all those months ago. He picks it up and holds it in the air. “I’m trashing this.”

Yuta springs to his feet. “No! Y/n might want that back!”

“If she wanted it back, she would have asked for it. She hasn’t even called you once since you broke up. This is going in the trash.”

Yuta lunges towards Mark and grabs the bag, but Mark refuses to let go. They both yank at the bag, till it bursts open, scattering its contents all over the floor.

Each of them gasp when they see what’s inside.

Dozens of medicine bottles are strewn over the floor. Most are empty, but some have a few pills left. Taeyong bends down and peers at the label of one bottle. “These are for Y/n… did you know she was unwell?” Taeyong pulls out his phone and starts typing.

Yuta’s stomach twists with confusion. “N-no she never said she was sick… wait, hold on...”

Yuta has tried his hardest to block out that day from his mind. But now, he has to rack his brain for any signs that you might have been hiding something.

Yuta’s heart coils in sickening realisation. You were sick. And you were hiding it from him.

Taeyong stands up abruptly and walks over to Yuta. He holds his phone up for Yuta to read. “I think Y/n has a pretty serious heart condition. Do you think that’s why she…” he trails off.

The blood drains from Yuta’s face. He needs to see you, now.

Yuta runs to the door, his coat and phone lying forgotten on the floor . It’s a twenty-minute walk to your place. Ten if he runs.

“Wait!” Taeyong shouts from behind him. “It’s the middle of the night, and there’s a storm outside. You’ll get soaked!”

Yuta doesn’t care. All he needs now is you. A light flickers at the end of the tunnel. If you broke up with him just because of this illness, then maybe it isn’t over between you.

Yuta sprints into the rain, heading to your place.

---

They say that when you die, your entire life flashes before your eyes. But all you can see right now is Yuta. You think about him every waking hour, and at night, his face fills your every dream.

The fainting spells have been getting worse lately, and every time you move too fast you feel like you might die.

You’re lying in bed, trying to block out the sound of the thundering rain. You press your hand to your forehead. It’s cold and clammy. Squeezing your eyes closed, you beg for the dizziness to stop - when you hear three sharp knocks on your door.

Your eyes snap open. You were sure you imagined them, but there they are again. Three knocks. Louder this time.  

You lift your aching body off the bed and check your phone. It’s 2AM. You’ve pretty much alienated everyone you care about, so you don’t know who could be knocking on your door right now. A tiny part of you wishes that it’s Yuta, but you block that thought as quickly as it came.

Walking up to your door, you unclasp the latch and pull the door open to reveal…

Yuta.

Yuta, the real Yuta, is panting before you. His rain-drenched T shirt sticks to his firm chest. His dishevelled blonde hair is dripping into his matted eyelashes. His cheeks are wet with tears and rain, but a fire smoulders in his gaze.

“Y/n…”

The shock of seeing him after all this time is too much to bear. It feels like your heart will jump out of your chest. You reach out to Yuta, but your vision starts to go blurry. Oh no. Not again.

You feel your limbs collapse beneath you. You brace yourself to hit the cold ground, but the impact never comes.

Yuta has caught you before you can fall. You feel his warm, strong arms wrapped around you as he carries you inside. The dizziness is unrelenting, but you finally feel safe now Yuta is here. Yuta is here! You can’t quite believe it.

Yuta softly places you down onto your bed, then all of a sudden, his strong arms disappear, leaving an aching emptiness.

You open your eyes slowly, your vision refocusing. Yuta hovering by the bed, his face contorted. When your eyes meet his, he drops his gaze and turns towards the door.

“Wait… don’t go,” you plead, your voice hoarse.

Yuta stops in his tracks.

You stare at his back, mentally begging him to turn around. “Please Yuta… just lie down with me.”

Yuta pauses, then steps back towards the bed. You release the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Peeling off his drenched T shirt, Yuta pulls on his old hoodie that was draped on the edge of the bed. You never had the heart to throw it away.  

Yuta climbs under the covers with you, but he remains in stony silence.

You wrap your arms around his warm chest and press your ear to his heart. The rhythmic thumping plus the gentle rise and fall of his chest finally calms your raging heart.

Just before you drift off, you hear his voice in your ear. It’s ragged, and so soft that you almost miss it. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

You gulp. You don’t know what the future holds, but being here with Yuta right now, you feel like you could die happy.

You don’t answer his question. You just nuzzle closer to him, pressing as much of your body to his as you can.  

Yuta places a kiss onto the top of your head and whispers,

“I would have ripped out my heart and given it to you, if you had just asked.”

[hale-13]

Febrile

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 23 - Sick

“Don’t,” Peter grouses, spitting out the last bit of bile in his mouth in the sink in the men’s restroom at Midtown and pointedly ignoring the look of disapproval both Ned and MJ are giving him in the mirror as he rinses his mouth out and washes his hands.

Words: 2101, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Tony Stark, May Parker, Helen Cho

TW: Vomiting

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Don’t,” Peter grouses, spitting out the last bit of bile in his mouth in the sink in the men’s restroom at Midtown and pointedly ignoring the look of disapproval both Ned and MJ are giving him in the mirror as he rinses his mouth out and washes his hands.

“Peter,” Ned’s voice is exasperated and he looks irritated. MJ’s face is still (mostly) an indifferent mask but he can see her eyes brows pulling in the way they do when she’s concerned. “This has been going on for three days now,” he complains. “you have got to tell May.”

“Sure don’t,” Peter says, drying his hands off on a scratchy paper towel and trying to surreptitiously blot at his sweaty face before tossing it in the trash.

“You’re an idiot,” MJ tells him with an eye roll and a soft shove of her shoulder. It completely throws off Peter’s limited equilibrium and makes him sway into the wall. Ned’s glare becomes even sharper.

“I’m fine,” Peter tries and even he can hear the lie in his words now. He totally isn’t fine. He’s not fine at all actually. He’s had a fever, vomiting and stomach cramps for going on three days now and he’s just not used to getting and staying sick this long since he got bitten by the spider. A cold or a twenty-four hour hell flu? Sure. Consistent nausea and a low to mid grade fever for seventy-two hours? Unheard of.

“This is pointless,” MJ’s voice is monotone as she tosses Peter his phone which he fumbles, just barely catching it with the tips of sticky fingers.

“When did you take my phone?” He asks confused.

MJ guides him out the door and towards the front office – the exact opposite direction he needs to be going if he’s going to make it to his chemistry class. “I took it from your pocket when you were re-enacting the exorcism. Happy should be here in like ten minutes.”

“MJ,” Peter whines, not putting up a fight when Ned grabs his other arm to help with the pulling and directing. “I don’t need to go home.”

“Yes you do,” Ned’s tone is firm. “No one wants your flu Peter.”

“Alright that’s… fair,” he admits. “But my homework-,”

“We’ll get it for you,” MJ reassures as the office comes into view. She pushes him into one of the chairs sat outside and marches in to speak to the secretary. Peter pouts and crosses his arms. Yeah he feels like shit and he really just wants to sleep and, sure, his lower abdomen is really cramping and hurting but he got shot two weeks ago and the pain isn’t that bad. He can totally handle it. “You’re signed out,” Michelle tells him when she comes back, offering Ned a note to excuse his tardiness. “Let us know that you didn’t die okay loser?”

“Bye Peter!” Ned says brightly, back to his normal self now that he knows Peter is actually going home.

His friends finally gone, Peter drops all pretense and lets his face rest against the cool wall next to him, letting his eyes slip shut in relief – his forehead was burning. He pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands and shivers. Maybe it is good that he goes home. He can take a nap and recuperate and be back at school tomorrow completely better.

Yeah. He just needs to nap.

“Well your scary girlfriend wasn’t kidding,” Mr. Stark’s voice rips Peter out of his near-sleep and has him blotting out of the chair, nearly falling over if he hadn’t caught himself on the way. “You look like shit kiddo.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter squeaks, surprised at seeing his mentor at his freaking school what the hell. “What uh… what are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?” Tony asks with good humor, looking at Peter over the top of his AR glasses with a concerned smile, eyes scraping over him in a clinical way. “I’m here to get you.”

“Uh no offense, but why?” Peter asks, tripping over his book bag on the floor and falling back into the chair. Tony raises an eyebrow.

“Because I’m one of your emergency contacts,” he answers like this is the most obvious thing ever and Peter blinks a little in confusion. Mr. Stark is one of his emergency contacts? Since when? He opens his mouth to ask this very question when a sudden bout of nausea rolls over him and he, instead, scrambles to his feet and down the hall to the nearest bathroom.

He barely makes it to the sink before he starts gagging and dry heaving, nothing coming up but leaving him feeling dizzy and light-headed. Peter leans his head against the porcelain of the sink with a low moan, gagging again on the end and leaning his face back over the sink to drool out the excess saliva in his mouth.

“Yikes,” he hears Mr. Stark mutter behind him and then a calloused hand is running carefully through his hair and resting on his forehead. Peter pushes his face into the cool palm subconsciously and keeps his eyes closed as he tries to push the nausea down. “Yeah you’re definitely coming back to the MedBay with me.”

Peter lets out a wordless whine but doesn’t protest beyond that. It has been three days of this after all – maybe it is a good idea to consult with a professional?

“Come on buddy,” Tony says as he slings Peter’s arm over his shoulder and starts dragging him out of the bathroom and towards the entrance to the school. “You have a date with Dr. Cho and your aunt is waiting to hear the results of her exam.”

Happy actually looks concerned when Peter sees him standing outside of one of the many town cars Mr. Stark owns and he doesn’t say anything when he takes Peter’s bag from Tony to put in the front seat. The leather of the back seats is cool and the interior is darkened by the tinted windows and Peter lets out a sigh of relief, resting his head against the window; already half asleep.

The drive is, thankfully, quick and Peter dozes through most of it – still nauseous but able to hold it down for the most part. Soon enough they pull into the underground garage of the Tower and Tony is hustling him into the elevator which rockets them up to the MedBay floor without either of them having to say anything.

“May wants you to call her once you get settles,” Tony says, rapidly texting on his phone.

Peter squints his eyes at his mentor. “I’m not sure how I feel about you two texting,” he says.

“Oh we’re besties,” Tony teases, pocketing the phone with a shit eating grin. “We have coffee every other Wednesday.”

“I… don’t know if you’re serious,” Peter says, concerned. He probably doesn’t want to know to be honest. The doors of the elevator trundle open and Tony steers Peter into an empty exam room, directing him to sit on the exam bed. It only takes a second before Dr. Cho bustles in.

“Hey Peter,” she says with a smile as she rubs hand sanitizer into her hands and grabs a set of gloves from the box on the wall. “Tony said you were sick. Want to tell me about what’s going on?

“Nausea mostly,” he says as she runs a thermometer across his forehead and frowns at the readout. “My stomach hurts.”

“Well you have a fever of just over one hundred and two,” she says as she clips a pulse ox reader to his finger and wraps a blood pressure cuff around his arm and lets it run. “And your blood pressure is a little low,” she narrows her eyes at the reading and unhooks the machines. “Lay back for me?”

Peter does and stares at the ceiling as she starts to palpate his abdomen. He could probably fall asleep here actually if he – “OW!” He exclaims, curling away from Dr. Cho’s hands and wrapping his arms around his stomach to protect it.

“Well I have a tentative diagnosis,” she says snapping off her gloves. “We’ll do an ultrasound to confirm but, congratulations, Peter you have appendicitis.”

Peter and Tony both blink and then look at each other and then back. “For three days?” Tony questions, scooting Peter over to sit next to him on the bed and run a hand soothingly up and down Peter’s back. It doesn’t stop the stabbing pain in his abdomen but it helps.

“His healing factor is probably slowing down the progression, preventing it from rupturing as quickly as it could or should have,” she says, typing something into Peter’s chart on her StarkPad. “I’ll have a tech confirm with ultrasound and get a surgeon out to do the surgery. It’s pretty quick – one hour tops and then a few days recovery and you’ll be good as new.”

“Surgery?” Peter asks hoarsely, feeling his heart rate speed up. He’s never had surgery before.

Dr. Cho looks up at him and her face softens a little. “It’s an easy procedure,” she promises. “You won’t even realize that you’ve had it really and. Once you wake up, you’ll feel immediately better. Everything will be fine,” she promises and Peter nods with a gulp. He can feel stomach acid rising in his throat again and lunges for the emesis basin sitting on the bedside table, gagging into it.

“Let it all out Webs,” Tony says, rubbing his back sympathetically. “Got anything to help with this doc?”

“I’ll have the nurses start and IV and give him an anti-emetic,” she said, passing a new basin to Tony and taking the one from Peter’s slack grasp. “Just try to relax okay Peter?”

“This sucks,” he grumbles, letting his head fall over to rest on his mentor’s shoulder and relaxing when he feels Tony’s finger scrub though his hair to massage his aching head.

“Sure does kiddo,” Tony agrees, pulling the blanket up to Peter’s chest. “But at least its an easy fix.”

“I don’t want surgery,” Peter tells him quietly. Even with all of his many Spider-Man injuries he’s never had to be put under for anything. “Is May on her way?”

“Happy went to get her,” Tony promises him. “And surgery seems really scary but its not I promise. It’s like taking a really good nap and May and I will both be there alright? It’ll be fine Underoos.”

“Okay,” Peter says quietly, feeling slightly better but still a little concerned. But he would have May and Tony with him. It would be fine.

————————————————

“Guess we still need to tweak the anesthetic formula for you just a bit,” Mr. Stark says apologetically as he mops up the sweat on Peter’s brow with a damp cloth and supports him as he retches again. The surgery had gone well and had been quick. Waking up however?

Not so much.

“Just let it out baby,” May croons as she rubs his back, sweaty and making the thin hospital gown stick to his skin uncomfortably. Peter just gasps a little and squeezes his eyes closed, trying to take deep breaths through his nose to quell his nausea.

“I’m good,” Peter croaks a minute later, letting his aunt settle him back into the bed and fuss over him. He had barely woken up after the surgery before the vomiting started again. It had alarmed Tony but May and Dr. Cho had both determined that it was just a poor reaction to the anesthesia they used. With how fast him metabolism was, it should move through his system quickly.

“Can I get you anything sweetie?” May asked him, brushing his damp hair out of his face and sitting on the edge of the bed facing him.

“I’m okay,” Peter said, his eyes drooping from exhaustion. Tony squeezed his hand and tucked his blanket in a little tighter around him warming Peter up from the inside a little. He was so glad and thankful that he had the chance to get closer with Tony over the last couple months since the incident with the Vulture. The man was still a little awkward and learning how to be a mentor but he was trying and that’s all Peter could ask for. “Just want to sleep,” he said softly, letting his eyes slip closed.

“Okay baby,” he heard May whisper, running her fingers through his hair and Peter felt the ghost of a smile on his face. Yeah, he could probably handle this recovery.

[ablednt]

aren’t u that blog that constantly promotes self dx and bashes professional dx? like self dx is fine but it’s a last resort for people who can’t access prof dx.

I don't bash prof dx, first off. I fully understand and respect people who needed one for any reason.

However self diagnosis should never be treated like a backup for if you can't get a prof dx and here is why:

(Disclaimer: exact details vary by country making this not fully accurate in every country also I am not saying that treatment is bad or that therapists are inherently bad I am currently trying to seek therapy but any good therapist will treat you without a diagnosis if they are aware of the legal consequences of one)

You can and likely will lose your rights for your diagnoses. It's different by country but in the US if your diagnosed with things like DID, Autism, and probs a lot more you won't be allowed to go on HRT if you're trans. You may have your children taken away if you have any, you may be prevented from donating or receiving blood or organs, if you have abusive family members they may be able to put you under a conservatorship (what happened to Britney Spears) etc.

Literally the vast majority of psychologists do not study these disorders! Do you know what they do when they prof dx? THE SAME SHIT PPL WHO SELF DX DO. The dx process is exactly the same but with a professional dx you have someone who doesn't have that thing, who has no actual first hand experiences, listening to you talk about that thing and telling you whether or not they think you have it with literally no input from the community.

By saying every one has to try to be prof dxed before they're allowed to self dx you're saying that people of color should put up with blatant racism because there's so many documented biases.

Also the criteria that therapists use to diagnose is found in the dsm5, have you read it? I have, it says that autistic people cannot take care of themselves that they're prone to self harm bc of their autism and that they should have their needs ignored it uses all the labels that autistic people ask it doesn't. It says that even if an adult fits all the criteria of ADHD that if their parents arent available to say "yeah they sucked at school and were annoying" that you shouldn't diagnose them. The criteria for personality disorders, schizophrenia, and similar are all intentionally vague and/or exclusionary to one highly stereotyped set of symptoms. They literally admitted to trying to make the criteria for DID as specific and exclusive as possible because they wanted to remove it entirely because they believed people dxed with MPD before DID was coined did not deserve treatment.

The field of psychology started historically to abuse people, they were thrown into asylums and literally beaten and subjected to horrible conditions for any presumed mental illness. This actually has not changed very much at all, even in the last century a psychiatrist was caught physically abusing his patients and using the theory he made on DID to force them to keep coming to him for therapy. Psyche wards are notorious for mistreating patients there in every aspect and I've had psyche students tell me they believe that psychologists should have the right to physically harm patients. Children professionally dxed with autism are often physically harmed at school by their teachers, physical restraint is still used and it's killed multiple autistic students.

Children and teens in abusive homes have ableist parents often who may get violent or worsen the abuse or use a dx against them legally to trap them at home. Do you give them a pass for self dx? Except here's the thing you literally don't know who's being abused and who isn't and asking ppl that is really fucked up so you should be accepting all self dx to create a welcoming and safe space for them.

Physciatrists actually misdiagnose more than people mis-self-diagnose. Which isn't a reflection on the psychiatrist as much as the fact that people know their own experiences but they very often can't explain them. An example before I met someone who had OSDD1 and would explain it to me from first hand perspective no one would have ever suspected I had a dissociative disorder and was plural Because the only words I had for my experiences were "everything before a certain date literally wasn't me idk I'm just not the same person I was" "I'm a really good writer because I talk to characters in my head all day and they respond to things even when I'm not trying to think about them and they're real to me somehow idk lol" none of that sounds like DID but I was actually describing memory gaps from switches, internal communication and presence of fictives, etc. The best guest anyone had was depression and an overactive imagination. Self dxing is literally more accurate and accessible because people can look at the community and see the disorder explained from first hand experience.

Historically (but it's still happening in some cases) therapists would literally refuse treatment to anyone who talked to other people with their diagnosis. The case I'm thinking of is people with MPD (the dx that came before DID replaced it) would be refused therapy if they spoke to anyone else with MPD outside of therapy and even forbade them from going to support groups for survivors of incestual abuse because those groups advocated for the rights of people with MPD. To this day therapists often disrespect any and all ND/mentally ill communities because we happen to know our own literal lived experiences better than them.

Oh and prof dxes are often used against people legally so if anyone is in a minority group often targeted by police that potentially puts them in even more danger if they're arrested. Least we forget there's an entire field of study dedicated to criminalizing mental illness.

This isnt even half the reasons but I'm running out of spoons (I can source most of these things but I don't have the spoons so if anyone needs a source just ask)

I'm a firm believer that the need for prof dx not be pushed on everyone when it can have permanent and negative consequences and is no better than a self dx. If someone needs a diagnosis for access to medications, for financial support, or for any other legal reason then it very well may be worth the risk but they need to have the right to understand the consequences and make that decision. Imo it's professional dxes that should be not a last resort perse but it shouldn't even remotely be your first steps, your first steps are find the community and hear their actual lived experiences bc that will be so much clearer than anything a therapist who doesn't experience that thing can explain.

Also why do you care if people self dx? Why does their not having an Official Document saying they have their disorder bother you? I think it's deeply unsettling that you think everyone in the entire world needs YOUR approval to have something.

Jsyk the sentiment that self dx is lesser than prof dx is fostered by our capitalist nt society that's benefiting off of our abuse and systematic oppression so like you're literally helping us stay oppressed with this rhetoric.

If y'all really want to be progressive and anti-capitalist like most of this site does (and should) then that goes for disability justice too. Stop helping our own communities abuse and accept that not everyone has the luxury you apparently had to never be affected by your diagnosis ever.

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by heroes and villains

Logan Anker: Pupil

In learning you will teach, and in teaching you will learn.

Sweets had been gushing about 10b for two years when Logan finally caved and decided to put aside his opinion on under age heroes in training and take a look for himself.

He had to admit, he seemed to be very talented. Most people had two abilities at the most.

10b, however exhibited enhanced strength and speed, flight, several shields, projectile and close combat weaponry. And he had excellent control of all of those.

He nodded to Sweets, who called out to the young hero in training as he finished off his target practice sequence.

“Good Job 10.b.” The kid, because no one could fool Logan, this child was nowhere near finishing high school, looked around and lower himself to the ground, eying Logan curiously.

Or at least, that is what Logan gathered from his body language since the protective gear was hiding the hero in training’s face.

A child. Around Virgil’s age. He might’ve be been in Virgil’s class at some point. A boy who thinks he can face what is out there. He knows Thomas hasn’t told this potential hero about Him yet.

It was Logan’s job to make sure the hero was ready for that information, for the world.

The hero was looking him up and down. Logan had updated his disguise from his old villain getup to a more inconspicuous outfit. One he could be seen wearing in the normal world, though he had it shift colors between a friendlier grey and sometimes navy blue to the deep black he chose for the meetings in the basement. His shading and voice modulating technology had gotten even better and was now integrated in his tie and his glasses. Making for a seamless transition from entering the elevator as Logan to exiting as Brainstorm.

“10.b, this is Mr. BrainStorm. He’ll be assisting us with training and provide you with the tech you need to be the best hero you can be,” Sweets explained.

The shocked reaction was expected. 10b was on edge. Logan supposed he should make him more comfortable around him if they were to work together.

“I see my reputation still manages to precede me,” he stated as calmly as he could. Though he really whished it didn’t. It’d been well over a decade since he’d done anything that made the papers in a bad way. His creations and discoveries had gotten him more than a little credit. The new police chief was actually giving him the benefit of the doubt now, while the former chief had treated him like a criminal every chance he got.

At the end it got so bad that he’d had to hold his talisman clenched in his fist every time the man was in the same building, or even on tv.

Chief Davies was firm and called him out when she needed to. But she truly did have his back when he needed her to support his ideas.

Sometimes he wished he could publish his research under his own name. He wanted Virgil to see the good he put into the world and be proud of him. But that might lead to pesky questions. Ordinary professors didn’t work on the level he did. And he couldn’t draw any attention to himself. Lest He take notice.

On the subject of his son though. Thanks to Virgil he had connected with his students a lot better the past few years. And if he was right about this boy’s age, his experiences with Virgil might help him connect with the young hero too.

“Would it be more comforting if I told you that the initials of my moniker are no coincidence?”

A second’s silence and then an artificially deepened snicker. Success.

“I suspected you might find this funny. I came up with it when I was about your age and thought it was really clever of me. Though I didn’t actually use it until I was closer to twenty.”

Logan was glad his face was hidden, because if anyone could see the pain in his eyes now…

He’d been 19 to be exact. Freshman in college, close friends with Thomas. When Caleb…

And then Helena got the diagnosis… He’d wanted to help. Needed to help.

He didn’t even talk to her long enough to let her tell him her good news… Not until that last day. And then he’d gotten mad. He’d been hurt, angry with her and himself.

And that was the last conversation he’d ever had with his big sister…

“10.b” his new pupil introduced himself as he offered his hand.

Logan appreciated the young man’s restraint. Many would ask him all about his past given the chance. But 10b didn’t. He nodded his appreciation and accepted the offered hand. “BrainStorm.”

Training 10b was a rather interesting endeavor.

Driven was one word to describe him. That much was clear. Logan tried to make him understand that even he had limits. But so far, he struggled to find one.

10b just kept outdoing himself. He was almost tempted to let him go out. But…

“So? Am I ready yet?” Even through the voice modulation Logan could hear the hopeful tone in his voice. 10b was still far too eager for approval. And that was a dangerous thing to want as a hero.

So Logan just shook his head. “No.”

The most concerning example of his stubbornness and need to prove himself was when he kept training from noon to almost midnight with almost no breaks one late summer day.

Logan would be annoyed, he would’ve liked to spend some of the last day of summer with his son, but he was more worried.

“Go home. Your body can’t keep up with your stubbornness. I’m sure you have places to be tomorrow.”

The boy grunted. “I’m not done…” he insisted.

“I am.” Logan turned and left the campus, hoping that his absence would force the boy to quit for the night.

When he arrived home, he planned to check in on Virgil who should be fast asleep at this hour, before getting to bed himself.

But instead he was tackled by his sobbing son. It’d been half a decade since Virgil had hugged him as soon as he walked through the door. After that he had started to learn that his father was not truly comfortable with physical closeness and had made an effort to at least warn him when he needed a hug.

“You are back. I thought… You’re never out this late and… I thought something bad had happened.”

Virgil rambled as he sobbed into his shirt.

“It’s okay Virgil. I’m alright. I’m sorry, I forgot to let you know work was running late.” He hated keeping secrets from Virgil. But it had regretfully become a habit of his it seemed.

He still didn’t talk about Helena or Caleb, despite the fact that Virgil had asked about them a few times in the past already. He had a right to know. But whenever he tried to talk about them to him, his throat closed up and fear and shame overtook him.

And he couldn’t even think about telling him about his powers, his mistakes and therefore his redemption or his second job. So whenever he had to train 10b he said he had to work on a project.

He’d thought Virgil had been fine. Though he noticed that he’d gotten more quiet since he started high school. In light of recent events, that might not have been just normal teenage behavior.

He had figured, if his son was struggling, he would tell him… apparently not.

“It’s alright Virgil. I’m here. We’re both alright,” he muttered.

It took him about thirty minutes to calm Virgil down.

He brought him up to his bedroom and tucked him in.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow when you get back from school alright? Try to sleep,” he instructed.

“Okay,” Virgil murmured as he pulled the blanket closer to himself.

Before leaving in the morning, Logan checked in on Virgil and found him curled up in his bed, sound asleep. He was about to leave when he noticed Virgil was holding something. Upon closer inspection he saw that it was the old stitch doll , wearing Virgil’s comfort blanket as a cape.

Had they been moved back to the bed at some point since the last time Logan saw them on Virgil’s desk? Or was this something he only did when he needed the extra comfort?

Logan didn’t think Virgil would tell him even if he asked. So he made a note to pay more attention to the doll’s location whenever he came up to the room. If nothing else it might be an indicator to Virgil’s mood. It would be something to consider later.

In class he had a hard time concentrating. He expected as much and apologized in advance.

He greeted each class by looking through his note cards, though after the first he didn’t need to, he found that the ritual was part of the appeal for his students.

“Good day everyone. I’m afraid I’ll be a bit off my ‘game’ today. Suffice it to say, the past night was a as you say ‘big oof’,” he held up the card and flashed it to his students.

A chuckle ran through the class and he smirked, feeling a little bit better after every time.

During lunch hour he called Picani. It’d been a while, but he needed some help and another session.

“He couldn’t breathe. He was terrified. He was… I’ve never felt so helpless,” he confessed quietly.

“Well, sounds like Virgil is certainly dealing with some things. I of course can’t be sure after just this one conversation but could you answer a few questions for me?”

Logan tugged at his hair. “Yes of course.”

Picani proceeded to list a few observable behaviors, things  Logan had in fact noticed in Virgil. Small changes that just seemed logical developments from certain things he’d had since childhood. But, as it turned out…

“I would have to talk to Virgil in person to be sure. But from what you told me, he might have heightened levels of anxiety.”

Logan thought about that. That made a good amount of sense.

“Can you… I’m pretty sure he won’t want to talk about this. If he did, he would have done so already. But is there a list of some sort he could fill out? I’d like to be more certain before I bring up anxiety.”

Picani sent him a list and instructions on how to interpret them. He printed them out and was just reading through them when there was a knock on his door.

“Yes?” he called.

“Hi there Logie! How are classes going?” Patton asked as he walked in.

“Hello Patton. Classes are going satisfactory,” he informed him pleasantly.

“But…”

Logan chuckled. “Nothing gets past you does it?” Patton was a god sent. He was patient with Logan’s social ineptness and didn’t mind if he ranted about Virgil or whatever scientific article had his attention at the moment during most of their conversations. He didn’t ask about his past, he didn’t press if he didn’t want to talk about what upset him in the present. He was amazing.

Logan had fallen for Patton Bonair and hard. He felt like an idiot. Like a middle schooler unable to just tell his crush that he liked him.

But would Virgil be able to handle such a big change? Would he like Patton? Would Patton be able to handle forever having to take second place in Logan’s life?

Too many variables. Patton wouldn’t even be interested in him in the first place.

Things worked fine right now.

“Just teenage trouble. Nothing you can do about it I am afraid. How are you?” he asked. Patton nodded, accepting the change of subject.

Logan didn’t have any evening classes, and 10b had no training planned today, so he was home first and made a pot of chamomile as he waited for Virgil.

“Home!” Virgil’s voice came from the hallway followed by the sound of a closing door.

“Kitchen!” Logan replied as he poured two cups from the pot.

Virgil sat down and accepted the cup Logan handed him.

Once they both sat down Logan looked at Virgil, feeling hurt when he saw his son avoiding his eyes. When had that started? He had thought a lot about what Virgil might be going through and why he wasn’t aware until now.

He landed on the reason Virgil had given about not telling him about bullies.

“Virgil, I want you to know that you are not in trouble. I am not mad or upset with you in any way. Alright?” Virgil nodded, still not quite meeting his eyes.

Logan pressed on, speaking gently to ensure that he didn’t give Virgil the idea that he was frustrated or hurt.

“Last night… Was that the first time you went through something like that?”

What little progress Virgil had made in looking at him vanished in a second. His hands tightened around his mug. “No…” he admitted. Logan had feared as much, but still it stung to know his son had suffered on his own. Or maybe, hopefully, Janus had been there for him. Like he’d been there for the bullies.

“Sometimes I just think too much and I worry and then I freak out and… It always passes, but it’s…” His voice started shaking and Logan caught the glistening of tears in his eyes.

Logan recalled Virgil’s behavior of the night before, the thought’s he’d mentioned running through his head. Imagined being in his place.

“Frightening I’m sure.” His statement finally got Virgil to look at him. Tears still in his eyes, but more than that surprise.

“Virgil,” he began as he pushed the list and pen he’d laid ready towards him.

“I have a list for you, I’d like you to read over it and indicate next to each item how often you experience them on a monthly basis. It’s important to me that you are honest. I have a suspicion of what may be causing this, but I get that talking about it might be hard for you. Therefor I provided you with this as a way to boil it down to simple facts. Can you do this for me?” It was factual and to the point. He didn’t want to add to Virgil’s nerves by making the conversation even more emotionally charged.

Virgil nodded and accepted the paper and pen.

Logan let him fill out the list focusing on his tea. Once he heard the scribbling of the pen stop he looked up. Virgil seemed about to push the paper forward, but his whole body was tense.

His face was pulled in a frown and he was biting his lip.

Anxious about the results and his reaction?

“It’s alright Virgil,” Logan said gently. “I know I’m not always, good, at expressing my emotions, but I do love you. More than I expected to when I first agreed to take care of you. Nothing could prepare me for how much I love you and how proud I am to call you my son. Whatever you wrote down, won’t change that.”

It was a moment of unfiltered honesty and apparently that was what Virgil needed to hear.

He took a deep breath and then the paper was in front of Logan. He read it over and it became apparent rather quickly that Picani was right.

“I’m sorry you’ve been struggling with this on your own Virgil. Can I ask for how long?”

Logan dreaded the answer. But it was vital that he knew this.

“Um… start of last school year?” That wasn’t as long as Logan had feared.

“I didn’t notice it was bad until shortly after Christmas though. I was in the park and started freaking out. After that I was more aware of it I guess.” he explained.

Logan nodded, not showing his relief. When he went over external behaviors with Picani he’d come to fear that Virgil had been dealing with this for years. And perhaps he had. But he’d only known for the past eight months. Still, that was a long time to harbor such a secret from a loved one. Logan should know. Every day that he didn’t tell Virgil the whole truth about himself pressed like a heavy weight on his chest.

“Why did you feel like you couldn’t tell me this?” he asked worriedly.

Virgil squirmed in his seat. “I… I wanted to… but then I started freaking out about freaking you out and…” Logan was about to try and talk Virgil through a breathing exercise he’d researched but Virgil already centered himself with a deep breath and a slow sip from his tea to give himself time to calm down. “I just figured I could deal.”

That was understandable. Logan had certainly used similar reasoning in the past in order not to burden Thomas, or his sister… That had not ended well for him though. And he would not let Virgil suffer because of a misplaced need for independence.

He had tried to teach him to ask for help when he needed it when Remus was taken out of school. But it clearly hadn’t sunk in.

“Virgil, I think you might suffer from heightened levels of anxiety. That doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with you. I would like for you to talk to someone about it though. If only to help you figure out a way to handle these attacks and the thoughts that come with this better so it doesn’t have to interfere too much with your life. Does that sound agreeable?”

“A shrink?” Virgil asked nervously.

Logan was glad he had so much practice keeping his emotions in check. He had perhaps been a bit too vigilant in shielding Virgil from his problems. “I know there is a stigma against it…” He had to do this. If he wanted Virgil to trust him on this, to open up more to him in general. Then he had to open up first. “But my psychiatrist has helped me a great deal with your mother’s death. I hope he, or one of his colleagues help you with your anxiety.”

“You… you went to therapy?” Virgil’s shock was proof that he had probably done too well of a job of seeming put together and in control at all times. He did it to assure Virgil of a stable figure to rely on. But he had deprived him of someone able to truly understand emotional vulnerability it seemed. “Still do from time to time,” he nodded, recalling the appointment he had scheduled for the weekend, making a note to announce it as such when he left. Perhaps he should have normalized his visits to doctor Picani the same way he’d normalized his attraction to men.

Virgil seemed to seriously consider his request now that he knew his father had a history of going to therapy.

“Okay…” he finally said, much to Logan’s relief. “just… can this stay between you and me?” Logan wanted to question why Virgil felt the need to hide this from Janus. Thomas he could understand. Virgil’s honorary uncle was of the helpful sort and might fuss about Virgil just a bit too much. But surely having a friend at school who knew about the potential for attacks and the ways to treat them could be beneficial?

He held these questions back though. Mental health was like your sexuality in that regard. It had to be your own choice when you told who about what parts of yourself. Including the reason you aren’t ready to tell your best friend you are struggling with certain issues.

“If that makes you more comfortable.”

“Thanks,” Virgil smiled before leaving the table with his  tea to make homework in his room. Picani planned in a two hour take in session for Virgil early October.

In the meantime Logan paid extra attention to Virgil’s behavior. Trying to stay vigilant without becoming overbearing. It was hard, but he felt like he managed not to overstep.

He checked in with Virgil every night and found that indeed, Stitch only occasionally ended up in the bed. Usually preceded by a very quiet evening.

So Logan made an effort to coax Virgil into talking to him more when he seemed to hide in his own head. Sometimes he was successful. Other times Virgil asked him to let him just be for the evening and Logan backed off.

Picani managed to soothe Logan’s worries about being a bad father. Normal behavior for this age and such. They did discuss the possibility that Virgil might need some more affirmation. While they deduced that Virgil expressed his love through acts of service and gift giving. He usually paired those with clear verbal statements of his feelings and intentions. Possibly because he himself struggled to ‘assume’ that any action was made with the intention of showing love or appreciation.

The month progressed and when Logan dropped Virgil off for his first session he was probably as nervous as Virgil. He wanted to blow of some steam, but he held firm in his decision to never use that part of his abilities again. So instead he went for a run. By the time he was freshened up it was time to pick Virgil up. Sure, his son was old enough to take the bus, but he remembered how much his own first meeting with Picani had affected him and how intense the man’s idea of a good first impression was.

So he wanted to make sure Virgil was comfortable afterwards.

To his relief Virgil had ended up liking Picani. A second appointment was made for the next week and Virgil actually opened up a bit more after that. He started showing his drawings again, he hadn’t been comfortable sharing his art in what felt like forever.

And Logan must say, though he was never very creative or in touch with art, he could see that Virgil had talent. He could discern the patterns in the pencil lines and could see which sketches were made absentmindedly and which had been drawn in moments of tension. Each and every one though, without fail, was something Logan couldn’t phantom creating himself. He told Virgil as much and it made his son happy.

The name Roman started coming up in conversations again. Apparently he was Virgil’s lab partner this year and if the way his son seemed to struggle not to smile when talking about him was any indication, the crush Logan had suspected in middle school had returned. Or maybe it never faded in the first place.

10b was still training hard to become a hero and still eager to try his skills out in the real world. Logan was starting to worry he might run out of logical reasons to deny him this soon.

“We are done today,” he decided one Saturday afternoon.

“What? No! Why!?” the boy demanded.

Logan sighed and crossed his arms in front of him, taking a resolute stance. “Because, if you are going to be a hero any time soon you’ll have to learn to balance out your hero duties and your own life. School, work, friends, family…” If he’d been better at that aspect things would have ended up differently.

“Sweets and Manifestor both already left to return to their lives. You and I should do the same.” He didn’t wait for a reply and left. Virgil would be returning home from his appointment soon and Logan wanted to be there for him should it have been a difficult session.

Once he got upstairs he received a message from the front desk.

‘There is a young man who claims to be your son waiting for you.’

Logan smiled as he read this. He was glad Virgil had chosen to seek out his presence rather than just taking the bus home.

When he approached the front desk though he could hear the sound of sharp intake of breath, stuttering gasps and high pitched attempts at vocalization.

He was transported back to that terrible night and set of in a sprint.

“Virgil!” he called out, hoping his son would register and identify his voice and calm down.

He rounded the corner and found Virgil doubled over, gesturing frantically with his hand.

He rushed over and grabbed it. “Virgil if you can hear me, squeeze my hand,” he instructed.

“Fine, fine,” he gasped with a squeeze.  Then he said something but Logan could only make out the words “Cant” and “God”.

“Virgil, are you having an attack?” he asked worriedly.

Much to his relief Virgil shook his head before starting to take in slow, deep breaths.

Once he had control over his breathing he whipped at his eyes smearing his running make up even more.

When Virgil looked up he had the widest grin. “You are using the vocab cards.”

Logan cocked his head, confused about why that was so funny.

“Of course. They were a gift from you, why wouldn’t I use them at any opportunity?”

How did he even learn this information?

A muffled squeal answered that question. Logan didn’t even need to look up to know who this was. Patton. Patton met Virgil and talked to him and apparently made him laugh so hard he could barely breathe. Patton had been talking about him with his son.

Virgil luckily snapped him out of his mild gay panic.

“Yes, because you were complaining about not understanding some of the things your students were saying. I didn’t expect you to actually start yeeting your trash,” he chuckled.

Now, Logan was pretty sure Virgil was aware of the nuances of modern slang. He did take meticulous care of making the cards and the updates on every gifting opportunity on top of whatever ���real’ present he’d gotten him.

Virgil might have just been joking, with little care for accuracy. Regardless Logan adjusted his glasses and looked his son in the eye before informing him that: “Yeet is for distance. For trash I need accuracy, therefore the term used is ‘cobi’.”

And just like that Virgil was doubled over again, though this time the laughter died out on it’s own much sooner.

He straightened himself and addressed Patton with a smile.

“Anyway, great meeting you Patton. It’s good to know dad has someone so nice looking out for him.”

And then, out of nowhere he turned back to him. “You should invite him over for dinner some time. He’s a lot of fun.”

Logan felt his face flush. What? When? Did Virgil just…“Well, you two talk about that, I’m going to wash my face.” Before Logan could collect himself enough his son was out of sight. In hindsight it was foolish to think that Virgil had given up his matchmaker tendencies.

He simply hadn’t had any targets until now. Logan had hoped that after he and Thomas had a fight about the later’s attempt at setting him up with Sweets of all people for some unknown reason, Virgil had come to understand that he simply was not interested in dating anyone. Apparently not. And Virgil had just basically asked Patton out for him.

He looked over to Patton, about to make excuses for his son but then froze. Patton was blushing and playing with his sweater sleeves.

“Patton are you alright?” he hoped Virgil hadn’t made him uncomfortable? What had been said before he arrived?

“Will you have dinner with me?!” Patton blurted out.

Logan blinked in shock. “As… Like…”

“A date! I’m asking you out on a date,” Patton clarified.

Patton wanted to go out with him? “That would be acceptable,” he nodded.

Patton’s face brightened. “Great! Pick you up next Saturday around six? I’ll call you with the details,” he suggested. Logan nodded. “Yes. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Right! At work. Right here… Bye!” Patton giggled before walking off.

Logan meanwhile was trying not to lose his mind over this.

“Dad?”

Virgil had returned while Logan had stood here frozen for who knows how long.

“Dr. Bonnaire asked me on a date,” he breathed, still wrapping his head around that fact.

“I think you can call him by his first name if that’s the case.” Logan couldn’t see him right now but he was sure his son was finding this funny.

“I… I suppose…” He had a point. Not that he hadn’t been on a first name basis until now. But… Well he always called him by his last name whenever anyone else was around.

It was a habit he couldn’t quite explain.

“You did say yes right?” He must look really out of it. To be honest, Logan was starting to doubt if the last two minutes really happened.

“I… yes, I don’t know what came over me… I’ve never…” After over a decade of  telling himself that he had no time… No business having a romantic relationship…

“Wait… you’ve never been on a date?” Virgil gasped incredulously.

“Not like this!” he clarified frantically as he gestured wildly. Last time…

“Last time, I was an arrogant college student who felt like he had to answer to no one but himself. Now, I am a single father, going out with a coworker. This is an adult outing. I can’t just…” How to even explain his dilemma?

“You really like this guy huh?” Virgil’s voice became soothing, sympathetic.

The flutter of butterflies and the flush of color on his face probably told Logan enough.

Logan sighs and nods with a blush. “He’s so patient and friendly and… I just never thought he could ever…”

“Now stop it right there,” Virgil snapped sternly. “Me turning out like a somewhat stable person, proofs you are awesome. And you just showed him all the reasons why he should date you while taking care of me. You’re welcome by the way. Patton is cool. He’s already met your kid and passed the test. The scariest bit is over.”

That finally caught Logan’s attention. He turned towards his son, who had washed off all make up from his face, and grabbed his shoulders to convey how serious he was.

“You’re really fine with me going out with him? With me possibly entering a romantic relationship?”

Virgil shrugged. “I mean, I’m not a fan of the change, but I want you to be happy. And if Patton is your pick… I wouldn’t have suggested he come over for dinner if I didn’t like him.”

Virgil was doing his best to sound casual about it, but Logan was filled with unmatched joy. He found that words alone were not sufficient to convey his feelings. So he hugged him tight. “I am fortunate to have you as a son,” he told him sincerely.

Virgil shoved him away, blushing awkwardly. Logan didn’t take it personally. It was his own fault that Virgil didn’t know how to react to him initiating physical contact.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever Logie.” What? Had Patton… Oh god. Virgil was much too pleased with Logan’s flustered reaction.

“Let’s go home,” he suggested with a smirk before heading to the parking lot.

Things changed over the next week. He and Patton engaged in more flirty conversation and it had his stomach in knots and his heart racing. But he didn’t mind that too much. Logan was pretty sure Thomas caught on, but he was kind enough not to mention it.

And then Halloween came around. Virgil’s favorite holyday.

They always dressed up together to hand out candy and Logan wondered if next year there would be an extra costume to be put together.

Virgil had been adjusting store bought costumes and doing their make up with enthusiasm ever since he outgrew trick or treating. He’d gotten quite good. From the start of September he’d be designing, sowing and practicing. The past two years it was the only time Logan saw his eyes light up again like they used to all the time when he was little.

This year, Virgil came home beaming.

“And so then I said ‘but ruling sounds like a lot of work’ and everyone laughed!”

Virgil was glowing as he told the story of how Roman had pulled him into a little improvisation.

“You should bring this boy over some time,” Logan suggested. Virgil’s hand, which had been turning him into a zombie professor, froze near his throat.

“I… We’re not… I mean he doesn’t…. We aren’t that close,” Virgil stammered. Logan let it go. Virgil wasn’t ready yet.

Logan had other worries that weekend than Virgil maybe trying to catch the eye of his classmate.

He was checking his tie for the millionth time and Virgil was wordlessly handing him the things he’d forgotten. Keys, wallet, phone…

He was a mess. “You look great dad,” Virgil assured him as he smoothed out his jacket for him. “He’s going to be blown away.”

“What would I do without you?” Logan wondered.

“Still pine from a distance I’m guessing,” Virgil smirked and just then the bell rang.

Logan took a deep breath, checked his pockets one last time and opened the door.

God, Patton looked so good in formal wear. He always looked charming, but now…

“Hya Logie! Hey Virgil! Thanks for letting me steal your dad for the night.” Patton winked.

“Hey Pat,” Virgil greeted.

Logan looked back with worry. “Are you sure…” he started, suddenly not comfortable with leaving his son alone for the night.

“Yes!” Virgil groaned with a roll of his eyes. “Just have a nice time. Text when you arrive at the restaurant and when you leave. I don’t have school tomorrow so don’t hurry home. Pat, steal his phone if he checks it even once during dinner.” Virgil was practically pushing him out the door at this point.

“I will,” Patton winked.

“Good, you crazy kids have fun and don’t do anything you wouldn’t want me to do.”

Logan flushed. “Virgil!” he chastised.

“Love you too!” he shouted as he shut the door in their faces.

Logan felt something twist in his stomach. Was Virgil trying to make sure he didn’t chicken out? Or… No. Virgil wouldn’t go behind his back.

“Logan?” Patton pressed gently.

He took a deep breath and smiled at his date… His date. The smile that appeared at that thought was almost painful.

“Apologies. Father instincts,” he shrugged by ways of explanation.

Patton giggled and hooked their arms together. “Don’t worry Logan. You’ve raised a wonderful boy. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Yes, you are right. Let’s enjoy our evening.”

The restaurant was lovely, the food delicious, and the company perfect.

Patton didn’t need to steal his phone, though Logan was always aware of its presence in his pocket. They talked about much more personal things than he’d ever allowed for at work. He learned about Patton’s love for animals and his ongoing battle with the kitchen, though he was good at baking for some reason.

Patton learned about his fascination with everything space related. They discovered they both loved Sherlock.

Patton really loved his puns. Something Logan found both endearing and frustrating. But he was sure his rants about complicated subjects could be a bit annoying from time to time too. They had fun discussing a few philosophers together and before they knew it it was time to pay. Logan texted Virgil as they waited for the bill.

“I had a really great time tonight,” Patton told him on the ride home.

“As did I. I’m glad you asked me out,” Logan nodded.

“Me too.”

And then they parked in front of the house. Logan spotted slight movement at the curtain of the neighbors. Celine was a curious person but she could keep a secret. He was sure she would ask him all about Patton next time they crossed paths, but he also knew that unless he told her it was okay, her husband nor her son would hear about his new relationship from her.

The lights in his own home seemed to be off. Virgil was probably in his room.

He cleared his throat. “So I guess now it is my turn. Next Friday? There is an exhibit I wanted to visit and I would very much like for you to accompany me.”

Patton smiled. “It’s a date.”

Logan nodded and left the vehicle with a final ‘good night’.

He had wanted to kiss him. Very much so. But he didn’t feel they were ready for it just yet.

Maybe after a second successful date.

When he got to Virgil’s room he noticed that the light was still on, so to be safe he gave a gentle knock on the door. A pause. “Come in.”

When he opened the door he saw Virgil was sitting on his bed, his headphones around his neck and his hair a mess. He’d been listening to music.

“You should be asleep,” he pointed out. It was rather late. He should at least have been trying.

“I wanted to make sure I could tell you good night. How was it?”

Virgil tried to be casual, but Logan could hear how tense he was. Whether it was worry or excitement, he wasn’t sure. Either way, it told him Virgil had worried about his night going well and that meant a lot. But Logan was not going to risk keeping Virgil up even later by rambling about the date.

“I will brief you in the morning. Now you should get adequate rest. Sleep deprivation is detrimental to both your physical health and creativity.”

“Okay, night dad,” he muttered in surrender as he got up to get ready for bed.

“Night Virgil… I love you.” He’d gotten much better at saying the words over the last month and he could see Virgil appreciated the effort.

“Love you too dad,” he smiled gently. And with that Logan closed the door.

How did he end up this lucky?

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5) Let them go.

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