#tw chronic illness things

[bardtits]

the funniest fucking thing about being chronically ill is seeing a discussion where someone says “wait, this could be something else? i thought it was a fibro thing”

especially when you thought the same thing too

second funniest thing is getting referred to an allergist who was like “yeah we gotta check these levels when you’re actively having a reaction” and then rolling up to the bloodwork place a few weeks later like “sorry not to rush you but part of this is mild anaphylaxis and i’m very uncomfy”

[4spooniesupport]

[18thcenturythirsttrap]

Welcome to the UK, the world's sixth largest economy, where there are 171 billionaires and the Prime Minister and his wife have a combined fortune of £730m.

[emsgoodthinkin]

As long as I’m with You

Steve Harrington x You (short)

Summary: Steve wakes up to another bad night you’ve had this week

Warnings: hurt/comfort, talks of poor physical and mental health, doctors, suicidal ideation, medication use, drug use, chronic health issues, BPD if you squint, disabilities, use of the word “girl” x times, negative self talk, mentions of sex, angst, fluff~~

This is based off my own experiences and inspired by my pal Morgan’s version; feel free to check hers out

Tick tick tick

The clock strikes 12 and then 1, 3, 5am in the morning, no sleep no rest it’s an every day cycle. The same shitty cycle.

It’s a new year, but not a new you.

Sitting in your walker in front of the excruciatingly bright television screen, high as a kite, everything in existence running through your mind 100 mph, sometimes the weed helps the pain. Sometimes it induces it or even makes it worse. Right now it’s doing nothing for you. Looking over at your loved one sound asleep. You don’t want to bother him with your whines or crying. So you just sit there silence, tears rolling down your cheeks; while you watch some bullshit on YouTube.

Sniff Sniff

“Baby?”

Shit.

“..yea?” you say in a whispered tone

“Are you ok? what’s wrong?”

“Ah, you already know”, you’ve used that line probably over a million times

Steve comes along your side expecting a few dried tears, but his eyes widen when he’s sees the collar around your shirt bitten, snot dribbling down your mouth and throat, crouching down, he lies his head onto your thigh looking up at you, “Talk to me sweetheart”

“No.”

“Hey, I know you’re hurting”—

“GOOD FOR YOU! Congratulations you know I’m hurting, you know I’ve been hurting for fucking years. I’m glad you’ve acknowledged it unlike some people”you sniffle getting up in a hurry to take a piss as he follows with sad eyes leaning against the door frame

“I’m fucking tired, I’m so goddamn exhausted nobody will ever know what I’m dealing with!”, you say wiping your ass not bothering to wash your hands, “I can’t do anything I can’t run, I can’t jump, can’t go to the stupid, fucking grocery store without one of those motorized carts.. my back hurts, my fucking knees are throbbing, stupid fucking nerves won’t calm down FUCK! It’s not like I can get in the bathtub to calm my muscles down. Nothing is helping! No medication, no PT, no injections, no nothing! Why?? am I just resistant to any source of help or treatment? I-I can’t even lay in the goddamn bed to sleep. That’s all I have left is rest!! What is rest!? I don’t know what the hell that even is”

“I know baby I know”—

“NO YOU DONT STEVE, all you know is what you see. I wouldn’t wish on our worst enemy, my worst enemy to feel what I feel. That’s how bad it all hurts. The most evil, sick and twisted person in this world, I would never wish this upon. I just..”, getting dizzy you collapse on the bed sobbing into your own hands, then eventually into Steve’s shoulder as he rocks you, tears spilling from his own eyes—

“Nobody cares, nobody wants to help me. nobody cares unless I’m rich and can afford to give them any and ALL the things off my back, but I can’t. Even with the money you make it will never be enough to help the poor girl who’s too young to have any kind of issue. It’s “all in my head” I’m just fucking crazy. I could break my own neck and still be told it’s only from anxiety. Nobody cares just”—

“I care” he exhales

“It doesn’t matter if you care, all your care is useless, all your help is worthless to me because it gets me nowhere. Nobody’s love and care gets me nowhere. It’s nothing all but fucking false hope. Don’t you get that? None of you still to this day seems understand that. Stop praying for me to get better. It’s never going to happen. I can’t take it anymore.. I just wanna die! All I wish for is to die but, I can’t even have that. It’s like all of you want me here, to live and suffer for the rest of my life for y’all, it’s not fair, fuck that”, your trembling, body in fight or flight

“Don’t say that, you know I’d do anything to take your pain away”

“It doesn’t matter what you’d do because you’re not a doctor. You’re not a professional, you can’t help me get better.. sucks to hear but it’s the truth Steve..fuck”—

Steve’s really trying not to beat himself up over your words, he knows you’re in pain, it comes from a place of anger, frustration and fear

“I have all these pain medications I could easily take all at once, so I’ll never have to wake up in this position ever again. Why can’t I do it huh? I could end right here right now you never have to suffer again, but I just d-don’t; If anything, I’m the most selfless person for staying alive for YOU just so I can be alive but in pain all over again for YOU!”, your tone getting higher and higher in pitch

“I-I’m sorry.. I wish I knew the right words to say baby”, he’s trying his best to stay strong for you

“You’ve got to be sick of me, tired of me. All I do is cause more money to come out of your pockets, more exhaustion, more burdening, more crying, more everything bad for you. You already deal with your own shit. I do nothing but make your own mentality worse, hell you’re making your own self worse being with a person like me. A broken and useless excuse of a human being. You deserve somebody who can go hiking with you, go to the beach, travel with, who can do the bare minimum. Can’t even fuck you properly—

“STOP! Stop that right now” he shouts

You freeze because he’s never raised his voice at you, atleast not on purpose at such a vulnerable time

“I hate it too. You know it hurts me to know that you hurt and I’m sorry that I can’t take the pain away from you. My sweet, sweet girl I’m so sorry that nobody has given you the chance to hear your voice, to help heal you..but I’m gonna make you the same promise I make you almost every single night. As long as I’m with you, I will try my best with all my power to make it a little bit more bearable for you to be here, and I am so grateful that you are still here and choose to be here with me for us to be together. I know you hurt, but as long as you’re with me, I’m going to do my best to put a smile on your pretty face, beautiful sunshine of a smile because you’re my sunshine.. y-your smile gives me life did you know that?”

You nod. He tells you all the time

“I- I’m tired for wishing to feel ok for my birthdays, every Christmas. All the shirts and posters you got me for Christmas? I haven’t even touched them yet, you know why? Because the selfish person in me doesn’t give a fuck about none of it. The only thing I care about and want and NEED is pain relief and that’s too much to ask for isn’t it? Apparently wanting to be better in the world it’s too much to ask for”

“You deserve to feel better”, he says while his hand travels up your back to rub your tense neck, “You deserve to be free from all of this and I can’t give that to you. You’re not selfish baby you’re hurting. I love you for you. I knew what I was signing up for, and if I didn’t want that I wouldn’t be here right now with you. I know the sacrifices Ill have to make, the tears I’ll have to shed, the strength it’ll take me to pick you up when you’re down, but I fell in love with you, how you are, and who you are”

“Who are you kidding Steve, you don’t even know who I am. The real me. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I wish you met me when I wasn’t sick then maybe you wouldn’t be so stressed out a-and.. and,” you start sobbing again, it’s all too overwhelming

“Hey, hey look at me, no. I met you at the right time. You need me just as much as I need you. You may not think you’re worth nothing but you’re worth everything to me. Yeah you have a good and bad days..—

“I’ve had nothing but bad days for the past few months Steve”-

“I know, I see it, I hear it and I witness it, I may not can feel it, but at the end of it all, you still love me. You’re still here. You still want to cook for me. You still get up to brush your teeth and I’m so proud of you for still trying to care for yourself. That’s the biggest job you’ll ever have, and it’s been a very hard job hasn’t it?

You nod, as he nods with you

“Yeah, it has, but you don’t have to do it alone anymore. I want to provide for you. I want to take care of you. You’re my girl, you deserve so much and as long as I’m with you, I will try every day, every hour, every second or minute, to make sure you know how loved, how great and how amazing you are. How great and amazing you’re doing for yourself and for me. How strong you are”—

—“im tired of having being strong all the time”, interrupting him

“I know you are. You are so strong for being on this earth, even when you don’t want to be. I wouldn’t ask for anybody else, you’re it for me always. Will you continue to let me try to make it better for you every day? To take care of you?”, he squats in front of you, cupping your wet cheeks, kissing your forehead

“But Stevie.. you know you’re getting your own hopes up because nothing you do helps either and I feel like a piece of shit for saying that because”—

“I know what you mean, you don’t have to be sorry. I understand you may not have hope but I do. All my Hope goes towards you and it always will. You are the most important thing in my life. I’m not gonna give up on you, on me or on us, ok sunshine?”

..”okay”, you repeat rubbing your temples

“Head hurt, darling?”

“yes”

“From crying too hard?”

You nod, looking away in shame, “It’s okay, I’ll get your Migrane cap from the freezer and i’ll set your pillows up how you like, just sit tight”, he says it standing then pausing at the doorway, looking over his shoulder, “I love you”

“luv you—

“Hmm? What was that, I couldn’t hear you” he exclaims

“I said love you gosh.. shut up”, you barely crack a smile

That was enough to get him through the rest of the night.

[w0lp3rtinger]

Maria, Who Smiles as She Pulls the Lever

You know how this ends. Still, Shadow and Maria. Maria and Shadow. This was meant to be, if only for one glorious, beautiful moment. (Read on A03)

This has been a labor of mine for months.

Listen I’m a bit of a masochist and I may have been obsessed with rereading the ‘unedited’ version of Ann Frank’s diary and subsequently been up late listening to the isolated vocals for ‘Cancer’ by MCR a few too many nights in a row but even then, this has been boiling over in my brain for... ages.

So here we are.

This publication would not have been possible without some tremendous characters to whom I wish to give thanks.

@biolizardboils

@shadowsfascination

@killingthecringe

@bimboamyrose

@lambpaca

@mellow-elbow

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

Maria is from Earth. Sometimes she has to remind herself of this, so that the sterile steel of the ARK doesn’t become too comfortable.

“Dziadzio Gerald will fix you and keep you safe.” “He worked so hard to get this contract.” “You need to be brave.”

This is what she remembers more than the faces.

This is what all the letters keep saying until they stop coming.

Maria works hard to stay well. When she’s well, Grandpa’s there with her, laughing with her, telling her about the work he’s doing. Grandpa is a gentle man, with big calloused hands and wily eyes magnified behind coke bottle lenses.

But the sickness grows. Illuminated x-rays and CT scans seem to almost grow against the wall like strange mold. Silent. Deadly. Grandpa gone for weeks at a time, only to appear weary and quiet as he checks her vitals before giving her new medicine.

Of course he loves her, else he wouldn’t be doing all of this, but she wishes he’d be her grandfather a little bit more and her doctor a little bit less.

Maria, being told not to leave her room.

Why did the letters stop coming?

Maria, being poked and prodded and talked over, rather than talked to or talked with.

When did she start to feel so lonely?

Maria, growing up from a toddler to a child to a teen. The sterile steel world is home now. She doesn’t even remember what flowers smell like anymore. Once, she thought her favorite was poppies. Now, she clings to the idea, even though she can only recall them in their still, cold photos from the biology book on her nightstand.

Maybe that’s why she cries tears of joy when she first spots Abraham, with his sharp pressed trousers and his two-toned eyes. And of course, this scares him. And of course, Maria chases after him as best she can.

She so badly wants a friend.

But he’s younger than she is, he doesn’t want to play the same games. He throws tantrums that leave her with deep black bruises which take ages to heal. Still, it’s frustrating when Abe asks her why she hasn’t been able to play for months, and she turns to the nurse who gives no answer.

She’s never been sure what exactly is wrong with her. Nobody will explain.

They read a lot, and when they run out of books, they make their own.

And one day, when Dziadzio is doing a checkup, with all of the wires and sensors attached to her head when she’s in that big silver tube, she just starts talking. About nothing. About everything. About how little Abe is so annoying, but fun, like a baby brother, especially when they read his kid mysteries together, or when he tells her scary stories, like that of the three-eyed monster man he swears he saw with the goblin in the jar.

When Grandfather snaps at her to be silent, she’s shocked.

Then, she seethes.

Maria, with Abe’s story running through her head.

Maria, gritting her teeth as Abe now keeps insisting, gloating even, that he knows more than she does.

Maria, sitting up in bed one night with a growl, hands bunching the scratchy hospital quilt up in her fists.

The fabric crunches in her hands, and when she beats her palms against it, it crackles. He can be such a brat! She’ll show him! She’ll find the thing he was talking about!

Over-planning is key. There’s no way she can pull off the cool sneaking tactics she’s read about. Instead, she puts on three pairs of socks, both to keep her feet warm and to dull the sound of her footsteps. A few capsules of fish oil she’s supposed to take are broken open, and she’s on the floor, gritting her teeth against the pain in her knees as she rubs its contents all over the wheels of her IV poll, willing it to keep them from squeaking.

Maria creeps through the dark. The hum of the ARK, that constant white noise of her existence, can do nothing to drown out the pounding in her ears. Her lungs are burning as she measures her breaths, knuckles white against the IV poll she’s gripping as she shuffles along. The blackness stretches forever until, from around a closed door, she sees a faint green glow.

She licks her lips as she eyes the keypad at the door, tasting iron.

No matter.

There’s only one shot at getting this code right, but she’s got a pretty good guess as to what it is. And when the lock opens with a beep after she punches in the last letter of her name, she rolls her eyes.

She pretends not to notice the shaking of her hands.

Maria, who cannot help but gasp when she sees the strange dark thing floating in a tube of radioactive green goo, like something straight out of one of Abe’s stories.

No, it is Abe’s story. There is the jar goblin.

She found it.

And it opens an eye to look at her. One dark eye, wide and wild.

Panic swells within her.

Maria, quickly shutting the door, shuffling back to her room as fast as possible. She crawls into bed, but cannot sleep. In the morning, when she is pale and sweaty, when her feet are swollen and her hands stiff, Grandfather comes in only to tell her she’s bed-bound for two weeks.

She spends the time fixated on that single eye.

When Abe slips into her room with arms full of toys and books and crawls into bed, she can’t help but smirk. She has now seen his creature. Now the two of them must keep the secret.

And she knows Abe will keep it, because despite her complaining, Maria also knows he’s probably the best baby brother anyone could ask for.

But it’s not enough.

Maria, heart pounding and fingers tingling with adventure, even if she’s still recovering from her last escapade. She starts stashing away some of her anti-inflammatory medication, keeping it tucked in the bindings of one of her books that has come loose at the spine.

That dark thing in the tube, she wants to see it again.

Abe says in the false whisper of children that he once saw it move, says that he thinks it responds to people talking.

There’s only one way to find out if he’s right.

When she snatches a nearly empty bag of morphine from the pile on the nurse’s cart, Maria almost feels guilty... almost. Just when she’s about to confess, just when she’s about to give up, the faintest flame lights up within her.

She’s angry at the time taken from her. She’s angry at this bed, at this body, at these people who keep poking and prodding and talking at her.

Maria settles down on her pillow, feeling the bag squish underneath her head. She smiles when the nurse asks if she is comfortable, and she promises that she is.

Maria, creeping through the halls, the painkillers already in place and working. She’s slower this time, she knows she has to be, but when she gets to the room, there’s an impossible excitement that builds up within her and cannot be restrained. The door barely has time to close behind her before she’s at the tube. Leaning in, she places one hand on the glass, and the eye opens once more.

Its eyes are so dark. They don’t look black, but she can’t tell what colour they’re supposed to be.

“Hello,” she whispers, smiling. “You are a strange little thing, aren’t you.”

She spends the night slowly moving around the tube, taking it in. It makes sense now why Abe called it a goblin, but Maria is pretty sure that’s just because it’s just all wrinkly skin right now, like a very ugly baby. Still, it has such a soft face. Maria can’t help but hope that whatever skin, or feathers, or- or whatever, is soft. It should be soft.

She thinks she remembers what soft is.

Maria, alone the next day as she brushes her hair, cursing the knots and the burning in her eyes, remembering how Dziadzio promised her that he’d teach her how to braid it, but that was before, and this is now.

She’s stuck in her room again.

The pain isn’t as bad as last time, but it’s still pain.

She still can’t walk.

The rage inside of Maria blooms once more as she looks at her rat's nest of a brush, and she throws it against the opposite wall with a shriek.

With tears staining her cheeks, she falls asleep and dreams.

She dreams of having thick golden hair, the kind that frames the faces of the angles on the pendants she used to get from her one aunt. But suddenly, there in her mind, she sees the dark eyes of the ugly baby. They sparkle as though they’re full of starlight. When she leans in to have a better look, suddenly, she’s falling headfirst into the open and inky void between the ARK and the planet below. Her hair, her beautiful golden hair, it grows longer and longer until it turns into wings. She tries to fly to Earth, but it just keeps getting further away no matter how hard she reaches for it.

Maria, who screams at the professor when she’s told that she can’t see Abe anymore.

“He’s too rowdy,” he keeps saying, “It’s making you sicker.”

It doesn’t matter. She can see him clutching his father’s pant leg, acting as though the camouflage of the fatigues may hide him too, as she rages against the hands trying to hold her down. Her monitor is going wild. The IV poll is overturned. Maria keeps calling his name, keeps hoping he’ll run into the room, into her arms, but instead, little Abe’s father picks him up and leaves.

She stays awake and waits for him, but Abe never arrives. She does this for three straight days.

He never arrives.

Maria, silent in her own tube, the wires and sensors all over her, staring straight ahead. The lab tech tries to make small talk, but even if Maria wanted to answer, the professor tells them to shush.

“We have work to do,” he says, “We must preserve what we have as quickly as possible.”

As if he is talking about perishable groceries. Maria can feel her nails break in her palm as she balls her hands into fists.

One of the nurses does finally bring a card from Abe. It’s a drawing of the two of them playing in a field full of flowers, a bright sun overhead wreathed in birds. Maria smashes it into a ball and throws it in the trash.

Later that evening though, she stretches as far as she can to dig through the bin and find the card. She cries as she tries to smooth its creases. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, over and over, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Maria, being fitted for an oxygen tube. She hasn’t had to wear one of these in a while, and can’t help but fight the nurse a little. Over their muttered curses, Maria can hear the professor in the hallway talking to some looming shape she cannot make out.

“I’m hoping the gizoid will keep them distracted, but I’m not sure how much time that will buy us. Especially if this one dies on us like the others.”

And everything in her clenches.

Maria, pouring her IV nutrients into a spare commode in the closet.

Maria, stashing vitamins away in bent bookbindings.

Maria, sweat on her brow as she pictures that tiny creature all alone in that room, darkness closing in.

They will not die. They will not die. They will not die.

Maria, who gags when she combines her ill-gotten goods into a foul slurry. With one hand over her mouth, she takes deep breaths before pulling the commode out of the closet.

She’s slow. She’s careful. She’s thankful this thing has wheels that can lock and unlock, because she’s going to use it as a walker. There is no other option if she wants to carry all of this.

She squares her shoulders and slips out into the hallway.

She will not think about how much this is going to hurt tomorrow. There’s a job to do.

Maria, who punches her own name again into the keypad, who grits her teeth as she wheels herself over to the little baby in the tube.

Their eyes flicker open when she lays her hand atop the glass. What light was in their eyes from before is fading fast.

She will not let it see her fear.

“Hello, you.”

They blink, a slow, lazy movement. She can’t help but laugh a little.

“My name is Maria. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself sooner. Don’t suppose you can tell me your name, can you?”

Silence. They blink again.

“I heard you were sick, so I’ve brought some stuff that might make you better.” she says as she moves around the tube, looking. “It won’t taste good, but… ah!”

There are two large drums that hook into where the little thing floats silently, and they open when Maria presses a button on top. She can see the same green liquid, viscus and thick, as it is slapped about by a rotating filter.

There’s no way she can lift the commode up to pour everything in.

Maria, who stays there for well over an hour. She’s cupping the nutrients in her hands, letting it go through her fingers and into the vortex below.

She hasn’t prayed in a long time. Truthfully she’s not even sure a god would listen.

Instead, she just hopes.

She hopes the filter won’t suck all of her hard work away, hopes she doesn’t get caught, hopes that maybe, please, maybe, the ugly baby will live.

When she has to take a break, she closes the lid of the commode and sits there, watching those large eyes watch her back, and somehow, she finds the will to keep hoping.

Maybe she’ll find out what colour their eyes become, if this all goes right.

By the time Maria gets back to bed, it’s nearly morning. Her limbs ache, and she can’t eat breakfast, but she’s grinning from ear to ear.

Maria, writing letters back and forth with Abe for weeks through the nurse whose name she now knows is Eleni. Eleni, with dark eyes, and dark skin, and the darkest, curliest hair that Maria had ever seen in her life. She can’t help but feel a bit guilty that she’s never taken the time to get to know this woman. Eleni doesn’t care though. She waves a hand, “You have been sick, too sick for anything else, and you’ve only gotten sicker since they took that little boy away. You have nothing to apologize for.”

And Eleni says she comes from Apotos, and Eleni sighs wistfully about the way the breeze smelled coming in from the ocean, and Eleni talks with both hands about the way the sun burned into dusk over the olive groves near her home.

Eleni, Eleni, Eleni.

Maria repeats it, paying attention to the way her mouth and tongue and teeth come together around her name.

She feels so bad when she steals front the medcart now, but somehow, she thinks that Eleni would understand.

Perhaps that’s just to ease her conscience.

Maria, who feels a gloom call from the hallway.

“And how does Project Shadow proceed?”

There is no voice, and yet, the words cut the air like the imagined hiss of a very real gas leak. It conjures strange visions of swirling pitch behind Maria’s eyes.

Every hair she has left is on end.

A threat. It moves, it breathes, as a threat.

But then there is her grandfather’s familiar rumble of a voice, low and tumbled on his tombstone teeth. She’s almost grateful the speaker and the professor go further down the hall, away from her doorway, taking the murk with them.

That night, she holds her pillow tight and curls inward, as if her whole body can protect the name it dropped in the hallway, the name she now keeps tucked in her own mouth. She imagines spikes growing from her, like great big sharp spines, keeping them safe by filling the room to the point where that voice and its owner would never be able to get near them again.

Still, it haunts her.

“Are you Shadow?” she asks, standing at the tank as she dries her hands off on the skirts of her shift.

The baby is now covered in dark fur, rich and deep, with little curls in the quills atop their tiny head. There’s a little scarlet, too, starting to show from under the black almost like the faint fingers of a polar aurora as they stretch toward the equator. What makes her most excited though, are their eyes. They’re a livid red now, flecked with gold, wide and wild. When they tilt their head at her words, it’s hard not to imagine an actual glint of curiosity flashing in them.

She giggles. “I wasn’t sure at first if that was a good name for you. In fact, I had started a list of alternatives.”

Maria tilts her head opposite the way the little baby tilts theirs. After a moment, it adjusts to match her.

“Darkness is just darkness. I know the books and all try to make it out to be something bigger, but it’s not.” She shakes her head. “But the more I thought about it… well, maybe it is fitting. You can always turn to a shadow to find the light, you know. That’s sort of poetic. At least, I think so.”

Maria purses her lips against the tightness in her heart. When she rests her hand against her chin, bowing her head to think, they copy her.

She laughs, and the gloominess is dispelled.

And she keeps laughing every time she thinks about that moment, even if it hurts.

Maria, who keeps visiting the baby in the tube, though now she has to admit it looks less like a baby and more like a- well, she’s not sure. Her grandfather used to show her photographs and sketches of ancient artifacts from excavations on the Earth below, things that inspired him with his research.

Perhaps this is to look like that one thing in that mural he is so fond of.

Maria sneers. She knows the professor only likes that mural because he thinks the other figure depicted there in the ancient tilework is him.

How egotistical.

It doesn’t matter. What matters is that she will not let Shadow die.

There are nights where, with tears staining her cheeks, she falls asleep and dreams of Shadow, dreams of them growing the most beautiful dark curls, dreams of knowing how to braid so that she can teach them how to braid, dreams of being friends.

There are nights when she hears that murky whispering in her head though, and the dreams turn to nightmares.

Eyes, watching. Thoughts, hissing. A hunger unlike anything else, eating.

Maria, who in the morning wakes up and draws her and the tube baby dancing together on the backsides of used sticky notes. She can’t get the stars right. They always end up upside down. It doesn’t matter though. In this moment, all she thinks about is watching Shadow learn to crawl, to walk, to run, to dance. She wants to teach them how to dance. She wants to grab them and run through the halls to dance through the wide space of the observatory like she used to.

She wants them to dance for hours on end until they run out of breath and their feet are sore.

Maria hums a tune she heard Eleni singing.

She keeps humming even as she shreds the drawings to hide her dreams.

Maria, who finds one day she cannot hold the pencil. Her hands feel numb, fingers thick and fumbling. She keeps trying, but it doesn’t get any better no matter what she does, so she hides it. Everything becomes gross motor. Everything becomes careful. Her hands don’t need to be perfect in order to take what she needs, but she still needs to fit the part of perfect patient.

So she is patient.

But Maria can’t steal the used IV bags anymore, can’t cup her hands to move the slurry from the commode to the vats anymore. She has to change tactics.

Maria, who holds onto a shaky smile for her little friend as they watch her struggle to flip her sweater pocket inside out and shake the fat pills into the swirling tank water below.

“You’re getting so big,” she whispers, “I knew you could make it. I’m so proud of you, Shadow.”

Maria places a hand to the glass and watches amazed as they lift their own and try to press it against hers. They’re so close. They’re right there. Only a thin panel of glass separating their two palms.

And all the little hand-drawn, upside-down stars in her head alight.

But the empty days start to become longer, become worse.

These are the hours where she is too tired to think.

These are the moments when she can’t even cry.

The next time she sees the professor, it’s been ages. He’s smiling. She had almost forgotten what that looked like, but there he is, mustache twitching upwards as he throws his hands into the air.

“I have wonderful news,” Grandpa says as his big hands settle on her bony shoulders. “We have potentially found a cure.”

Maria can’t speak, let alone understand much of what is being said. That doesn’t matter. The professor just keeps talking about his latest medical advancements until Eleni comes in for the evening meds and tells him he has to leave.

There’s no letter from Abe this time.

She doesn’t sleep that night.

The rage boiling in her doesn’t let her rest.

Maria, watching the injection dissipate through her skin as it enters her bloodstream. There’s a golden glint to it, glittering like what she imagines fairy dust to glitter like, moving like what she imagines ambrosia to move like. Still, there’s something about it that stops her cold if she squints too hard. Maria takes measured breaths through her nose, expression blank, as the professor lectures the attending aids and scientists on what is happening.

Then, she recognizes it. That glowing pallor. Even if the red hue underneath it is vibrant and rich, and the golden glitter shines so invitingly, she would know that glow from anywhere.

All it takes is one attendant to point at her spiking heart rate and it all goes south fast.

She stares at her hands in the dark of the room when it’s all over. Her skin carries that light within it now, a soft radiance, and she swears to herself that if they hurt her friend, she will cut these hands of hers apart to return what was taken.

But the next day, she can pick up a pencil again.

She can talk again.

She hates it. Hates the professor, hates the nurses, hates the scientists and the attending aids and the way it takes the blood of her little friend to feel this alive again.

She hates herself.

It’s another month before the professor finally outfits Maria in an electric wheelchair. It’s not particularly fast, but it doesn’t need to be. He says he didn’t do it sooner because they didn’t see her as being strong enough. The professor laughs at this while he ruffles what is left of her hair. She’s been so good, he says. She’s gotten so much better.

Maria smiles to hide her gritted teeth.

She imagines the flesh of his hand between them.

She wants to see Shadow. Needs to see them. Every night in her mind she walks herself down the hallway. The pinpad appears on the ceiling of her room like a mirage, and she has found herself reaching out a hand to input her name.

How dare it be her name. How DARE he use her name in that way. Like this is even about her anymore.

But she must be on her best behavior, no matter what happens. She will do whatever they ask of her, smiling.

She’s worried they’ll take her new wheelchair away if she doesn’t, and she’s already figured out how to take the speed limiter off.

“You can say something if we’re pushing you too hard.” All the nurses say that. It’s the first thing out of everyone’s mouth when she slips up, and it loops like a broken record around the room.

But she just shakes her head and keeps on smiling.

In her dreams, she floats in space with her golden hair and golden wings and her little Shadow, where together they watch the ARK sail straight into the sun.

When did she become so angry?

It frightens her some days, but then pain sets in and she remembers.

They will not take everything from her. They might try, but they won’t succeed.

Maria, back in her wires, in her tube. She doesn’t even feel it when they push the needle into her anymore, her wrists and inner elbows pockmarked by the years spent watching a slow dripping life.

But now, she’s watching the life of her little friend, bagged and hooked up to her IV pole. Now, she’s watching that spark in their eye, distilled and packaged and scrubbed for her consummation, make its way down the tube.

She hates it. Get it out. Make it stop.

Stop.

But Maria is so, so tired.

Was this the moment to say they were pushing her too hard? Or had that moment passed? Or had it only been offered as a formality?

It had been so long since she had been here. She forgot how tight and lonely it is inside the tube, and she wonders if this is how Shadow feels all the time.

Where is her little friend? She wants to hold her little friend.

She doesn’t realize she fell asleep until she wakes with a start, back in her own room, in her bed. When she presses a hand to her eyes with a yawn, she hears something shift beside her.

There sits the professor, watching.

He’s not smiling.

“Maria, is there something you have to tell me?” He says, but the way he speaks has that coiling, hissing gloom within it.

She says no, and she says no as sweetly as she can, hiding the way her heart monitor starts to go faster by sitting up in bed and feigning dizziness. Normally, that works.

It doesn’t this time.

“Maria, I need you to tell me. What is the little creature you keep harping on about?”

She freezes at that.

What has she done? Did she say something in her sleep?

But again, she says no.

“You’re lying to me.”

How does he know?

Just an imaginary friend, nothing more.

“Maria, what have you done?”

It’s like he’s reading her thoughts.

It’s been lonely since they said she and Abe can’t play. Please, she’s tired. Please, go away.

Instead, he stands up, reaching for her with wide empty eyes.

Eleni saves the day just in time. “Doesn’t your granddaughter need rest, sir?” The words break across her teeth, as if she is shattering a glass in warning.

The professor doesn’t even react. He just stands there, still watching Maria. It takes Eleni using the call bell to get help from the aids to remove him, and even then, he turns his head to stare as he leaves.

It is the first time Maria has cried in a long time.

Eleni holds her. She puts Maria’s head to her chest and rocks softly, humming the song she loves so much in that voice she loves so much, smelling of something that makes her heart cave in around a black hole of hurt.

It’s Eleni who dries her tears and teaches her how to braid.

She takes sets of spare shoelaces from the nurse's supply room and spends hours with her, going over all sorts of different techniques. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she whispers everything like it’s a secret until all that fills Maria’s head is the soft sounds of her voice that roll over her brain like ocean waves.

Eleni lets Maria keep the shoelaces, and Maria stays up all night practicing to beat back the memory of how the professor looked at her.

Maria, weeks later, who sits up in bed when Abe walks in. It’s been- how long has it been? How much time has passed since she has seen him. He’s gotten taller, and his face has gained a sharp edge around the chin.

They stay there, watching one another. An aid tries to chip through the silence with a few surface-level pleasantries, but neither one of them give. Ultimately, the aid leaves.

Abe steps forward. “We need to get you out of here.”

How much can a voice change? And how severe can a person become? The boy standing before her now is no longer the baby brother she had loved. No, this person is a stranger, both the boy and the weight he seemed to carry about his shoulders.

Maria stays silent.

“Something bad is going to happen.” Abe walks closer, but stops short of the bed. He could reach out, he could sit down. Instead, he stands there, just a little over an arm's distance away.

Something bad has been happening. He just hasn’t been paying attention. Brat. Selfish brat. She wants to hug him and cry as much as she wants to beat him with her IV pole. Where has he been? Why did he stop writing?

Abe isn’t looking at her. His gaze is fixed on nothing over her shoulder as his hands slowly come up and twist their fingers into knots before him. “That thing the professor talks with, it’s been hanging around, and my dad’s been getting nervous. He’s been talking on the phone he’s not suppose to have. That’s bad.”

Maria grits her teeth, hands curling into fists in her sheets. Abe’s gaze finally shifts to hers, hard as stone.

“We have a plan. When we go to leave, I’ll come get you. You can’t tell anyone though, got it?”

She nods, and Abe leaves.

Jokes on him. She’ll already be gone.

Maria, braiding the laces over and over as cold fire certainty seeps into her bones. Abe might not have the patience to get many details in his stories right, but he did have a good sense of danger.

She looks at her hands. Perhaps it is just her imagination, but she swears she can still see her veins glowing faintly.

They’ll both be long gone.

It feels like every day is a day in eternity, waiting to see them again. She has nightmares of the light in her veins growing brighter as the light in their own eyes fade. Her friend shrivels before her, curling into a ball as their skin turns ashen. Eyes struggle to stay open, rolling under closing lids, breathing labored and heavy as they try to look for her and can’t.

Maria, drowning in her golden hair, screams and screams and screams.

Her hands still hurt when she wakes from visions of trying to break the glass.

But finally, she is well enough. Finally, she can be with her friend.

The braiding shoelaces in her hand shake, soaking in sweat, as she checks to make sure they are alright.

“I don’t know how well you can see,” she mutters as she knots the laces around the head support of a nearby office chair at the base of Shadow’s tube. “How’s that? Is that okay?”

When she looks up, she can’t help but smile. They’ve gotten so big. The colour along their arms and legs is a deep and healthy red, their eyes bright and alert.

Those quills, oh, those thick dark curls, just like Maria had dreamed, streaked through with that red.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I had hoped you’d be.”

Shadow bends down slowly in their tube, crouching toward the bottom to come closer to where Maria sits. It was then she noticed the faint eruption of white hairs coming in just under their collarbone, over their heart.

She smiles. “Still so full of surprises.”

It takes another two months for Shadow’s chest fur to come in. It’s a beautiful shock of white against the black, like a moon against the infinite sky.

Reflecting the light, pointing the way.

Maria imagines what it will feel like as she runs her fingers through the fresh peach fuzz on top of her head.

Shadow really is a poetic name.

Maria whispers their name over and over, placing it next to hers.

Shadow and Maria. Maria and Shadow. Say it often enough and it sounds like it’s meant to be true.

They are friends. It doesn’t matter that they’ve never held hands, or braided for each other, or danced.

Though she really wants to dance.

They are friends. She etches it into the wall behind her headboard with an errant safety pin just to see it somewhere that cannot be erased.

Maria and Shadow.

One day. One day. It’ll happen. Shadow will be strong enough to get out of the tube and they’ll do whatever they want forever.

But she’s out of time now.

There is screaming, and gunshots, and screaming, and bursting pressure valves, and screaming, and crying, and just so much screaming.

Maria, who leaves Abe in the care of Eleni, telling her of Abe and his father’s plan, telling Abe to take her and run, telling them both to be safe.

There’s so many tears. There’s so many grabbing hands.

The way Abe’s big eyes glow under the red lights, the way Eleni’s voice snaps when she screams her name.

Maria, rocketing down the hall as fast as she can. Even with the limiters removed from her wheelchair, she feels like she is moving in slow motion. The flashing lights throw strange shapes across her vision, things that make her jump away from the edges of hallways and peer around corners.

She hopes Abe and his dad will keep Eleni safe. She doesn’t want to think about what might happen if Abe’s father says no.

Maria’s wheelchair skids to a halt just outside the door. She measures her breathing as she stands to push her name into the pinpad. The thundering of boots is getting closer and closer.

They round the corner just as she slips in through the door. There’s no time to get back in the wheelchair and bring it inside.

“Shadow!” She’s gasping, stumbling towards the tank. “We’ve got to go!”

And Shadow looks at her, eyes blazing.

The inquisitive brow, the near ethereal calm they normally possess, is gone. Now, there is a panic in them, palpable and real as they spin in helpless circles. She watches them shake as she collapses atop the console.

Maria, pushing every button she can, throwing every switch. Lights start to flash. Somewhere, there is a high-pitched beeping, followed by a low-toned alarm. Nothing works. It’s all in lockdown.

They’re spinning faster.

There’s shouting from the other side of the door. More gunshots. Down a hallway, there is the sound like a bomb going off. Something roars.

She freezes at the horrid, strangled sound. What could have caused that? What has the professor really been doing?

Focus.

She strikes the glass with a snarl as she viciously tugs on the lever, but nothing budges.

She smacks the tube again. Something in her wrist cracks. It doesn’t matter. She clenches her hands and beats the glass.

Again.

She’s screaming.

Again.

She’s beating the glass with her firsts and screaming. Every atom of her being seems to burst into flame as the rage she’s worked so hard to keep in check bursts forth from her skin.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Her forehead is pressed to the cool glass, though it does nothing to dull the burning ache in her brain. Tears stream down her face, and she’s biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, when suddenly, she feels a thump.

Then there’s another thump, a rippling vibration, and Maria snaps to attention.

Shadow is hitting the glass. It’s gentle, but they’re doing it, eyes darting between two sets of fists under that perpetually knotted brow.

Maria, gasping, smiles.

“That’s it.” she says, “just like that!”

And she hits the tube with both hands, making sure Shadow can see her, making sure they can understand just how hard she’s trying.

“You can do it. I know you can. Come on, Shadow!”

There’s a pause. Something comes over Shadow’s face, an expression she doesn’t know the name for. As they rear back, she swears she sees a flash of that green glow in their eyes just before they slam the glass with clenched fists.

The tube does more than shatter, it explodes. Maria ducks just as water and glass go flying. Overhead the alarms reach a new frenzied pitch, then buzz, then break their speakers. Bulbs buzz brightly and burst.

It’s dark, save for a few errant lights on the edges of the room. As the last tinkling pieces settle on the floor, she looks up.

And there they are.

Finally.

Maria, grinning so hard it hurts. She watches them take their first breath, chest expanding as their eyes go wide, as their hands come up in front of them like they’re just now seeing them for the first time.

Finally.

Maria, laughing, sobbing, as she struggles to her feet, only to fall forward as she wraps her little Shadow in the tightest hug she can.

Finally.

He’s so gross. Slippery and soggy and damp. It doesn’t matter.

Maria and Shadow.

Shadow and Maria.

Together at last.

Maria, who wants to say so much, who wants to do so much, but there’s no time. There are soldiers outside, their guns still warm. They may think to check here. They may beat down the door to shoot her where she stands, and what is she doing?

Hanging off of her friend, her knees give out underneath her as her lungs struggle to catch the air. The room is spinning, but she feels Shadow’s arms come up and around her, she feels them hold her, hug her back.

Their quills are cold to the touch and smooth like laquer, but the fluff of their chest, damp as it is- she knew they would be soft, she knew it.

There’s another boom, closer this time. She holds Shadow tighter.

It’s getting so hard to see.

Maria, who tries to be brave, who takes a deep breath she cannot keep as she looks into her friend’s wide, innocent stare.

“There’s an escape pod room. I-I think I can figure out the way. If we get there, then we’re free.”

Her voice is a rough whisper, but swallowing just makes her throat hurt. Instead, she takes Shadow’s hand in hers and smiles as she points to the door.

Their first steps to the door are tottering, unsure ventures, and she cannot help but groan when she sees the broken remains of her wheelchair. But it’s fine. This is fine. Her knees are screaming. If only for just this moment, she wants to take it slow.

She’ll need her energy when they make a run for it.

Maria and Shadow, looking up and down the hallway. Shadow just stares, tightening and relaxing their grip on her hand. Though she would love to marvel at the feeling, her hair is standing on end as she listens with bated breath.

But no one is coming.

Maybe there is no one left.

Maria and Shadow, shuffling down the hall. It’s all small steps and furtive glances. The gunfire sounds further away now, moving toward the ARKs core. She swears she can feel the floor shake beneath her feet, and wonders if something has exploded below.

From the belly of the beast, she hears another roar and shivers.

“Left,” she says. It comes out as a croak.

Shadow just looks at her. Maria has to point, and then lead them down the hallway to the left, to get them to understand.

Maria and Shadow, wandering the halls. Neither say much. Truthfully, there’s nothing Maria can think of to say. Her whole body feels like it’s being shaken apart by her own frail bones

But her little friend’s hand feels so warm in hers.

She sees blood.

“Wait.”

Shadow looks at her again, at her hand tugging on their own. The growing pool of blood creeps closer, closer, closer to the tips of their bare toes against the steel.

They step back to her.

Maria licks her lips.

“Close your eyes.”

She tries to pantomime for Shadow to understand. It’s not working. All she accomplishes is that slow, lazy blink. Maria pulls them to her, turning them around as she rests her forearms on their shoulders and covers their eyes with her hands. She pushes lightly, and they walk forward.

Good. She can do this. She can do this.

Maria and Shadow, rounding the corner. The body is slumped against the wall closest to them. Maria’s mind played tricks, told her she surely knew them, but that grey hair and those wrinkles could have belonged to anyone. She swallows as she leads Shadow forward, wincing against the warmth as the blood soaks into her socks.

Focus

She doesn’t want to look at the body.

In the periphery of her vision, she sees the brackish red smattering their teeth.

Her eyes narrow on the center of Shadow’s quills.

She doesn’t remove her hands until they make it to the other side, down the hall, and around the corner. The bile in her throat burns, but her little friend will not see. They will not know.

Maria and Shadow, their hands slowly coming up to cover hers atop their eyes, and she pulls them away. As they look around, their gaze begins to drift towards their feet, towards the bloody footprints they have left behind them.

“Don’t!” The word snaps in her mouth like a firecracker.

Keep their eyes on her.

Maria catches their face in her hands. She turns them toward her, and maybe she is gripping too hard, and maybe they know something is wrong, but she smiles against her singed tongue anyway.

“It’s nothing. We have to keep going. Okay?”

She nods. After a moment, Shadow nods too, and Maria’s smile softens.

The hallway behind them collapses in a burst of fire.

Maria and Shadow, falling to the floor. Smoke and ash fill her lungs as her ears pop from the sudden change in pressure. She reaches for them, curls one arm about their thrashing head and the other around their body as she pulls them under her as best she can.

Not that she could shield them from much, but that will not stop her from trying.

It’s all too much. The burst of heat that throws her skirt about her knees, the sudden onrush of gunfire and popping flames. Her legs feel useless. They kick and fail and can gain no purchase against the steel, but she has to find something. If she doesn’t—

There’s that roar, louder, closer. Maria lifts her head just enough to see a soldier screaming as it pours bullets into something moving through the din.

She covers Shadow’s ears just before it gets to the soldier. The sound it makes–

She gags, looking away.

They have to run.

She can’t run.

She has to find a way.

Maria and Shadow, sliding slowly down their dangling piece of hallway. Maria reaches out to grab a piece of twisted rebar. She can feel the flesh of her hand prickle against the heat.

Her grip tightens.

They will not die here.

From seemingly nowhere, there are soldiers flooding their hallway. They’re yelling, pointing. One lifts their gun to aim.

She clutches Shadow tighter to her.

And in an instant, they’re gone.

The monster rises from the dark corner, trailing behind its arm that now lies embedded within the chest of the soldier. The man twitches like a puppet, limbs jerking as their head rolls back onto their shoulders, before being cast aside.

Pandemonium.

Gunfire and flames, explosions, sirens. It is too much. An errant bullet tears through her nightgown and on instinct she recoils, almost losing her grip.

Figure it out. She has to figure this out. She has to get them out.

“Shadow!” Maria looks at her little friend, uncovering his ears as she shifts her grip. “I need you to help me.”

They just stare, fear in every inch of their face.

“I need you to pull me up.”

Can they understand her? Do they know what she’s asking for?

She hoists her arm holding him as best as she is able, just a little, then pulls on the arm clinging to the rebar. Joints pop. Tendons strain.

She wants to cry so badly, but she will not. She will be brave. They have made it so far.

And against all odds, she sees the light of understanding come through the fear in Shadow’s eyes.

Shadow twists out of her grasp. They move in ways they shouldn’t, their body contorting as claws reach out and pierce the steel of the dangling hallway floor like it is made of cotton. Shadow doesn’t crawl. They scuttle. It’s the only word she can find to describe what she is witnessing. They scuttle like a bug up the floor and out of the hole back into the hallway.

Don’t think about it too hard.

And then their hands come down, red and black and clawed, but still such gentle palms, and with one movement, it grabs her own hand still clinging to the rebar and gives an almighty tug.

And she flies up-

(her shoulder dislocates)

- and out of the hole.

The impact against the floor forces the air from her, releases the sounds of pain she has kept locked tight for so long. She’s gasping, choking and coughing on tears.

“Damn it.” She curls in on herself, clutching her shoulder. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

Shadow and Maria, there on the floor.

Safe, but for how long?

Her little friend is crouched next to her, huddling over her, and through watering eyes, she realizes they are trying to shield her just as she did them. Their face is close, eyes etching a pattern into her skin as they rove across her.

They’re afraid.

For her, of her - doesn’t matter.

Maria takes her good arm, the one that can still move, and lifts it to pat Shadow’s face.

“Thank you,” she says softly. “You did such a good job, and you’re being so brave. I’m so proud of you.”

Their eyes soften.

But this moment cannot last.

Maria and Shadow, one dragging the other to their feet, stumbling down the hall. She swears they’re close to the escape pod room, but she can’t be sure. And then what? She not sure she’ll know how to work the controls. Nobody ever told her. Nobody ever thought Maria Robotnick, after all the attempts at saving her Grandfather has done over the years, would have to save herself, let alone her little friend.

Maria grits her teeth. Nobody ever thought she could do anything by herself, and here she is, not even able to walk alone.

Useless arm. Useless legs. Useless, useless. She was too slow. Deadweight walking. The sounds of gunfire behind them echoes through the hallway. She’s going to get them killed. She should have just told Shadow to leave. Maybe then it would have been her body slumped against the wall, her blood they would have to run through, but at least they could run.

But who saved Shadow in the first place?

She looked to her little friend, who looked back up at her with those wide, bright eyes.

Maria feels her heart beat in her chest. It vibrates in her fingertips, shakes the air in her lungs as she breathes.

She did. She saved them.

Her good hand grips Shadow’s shoulder.

“Right,” she whispers, pointing.

Shadow carefully steers them around the corner, and there stands the door she’s been looking for. The sign panel next to it is a little melted, the floor pockmarked with bullet holes from one level down, but it’s a door, and it looks like the power here is still on.

Shadow doesn’t have to worry about the raw-edged metal around the holes in the floor, but Maria does. She stands on her toes, ankles wobbling, as she opens the panel next to the door. A hand scanner, not a pin pad, stares back at her.

She breathes a sigh of relief as she places her hand atop the screen.

Shadow hisses.

Maria fumbles, turning around to see Shadow’s eyes wide, claws and teeth bared. No longer do they look like her sweet, soft friend. In this moment, they are alien. The sound coming from them – maybe it isn’t a hiss, maybe it’s something else– there’s a strange clicking in there somewhere- it echoes along the hallway, rolling like a rogue marble, only getting louder as it goes on.

Maria grabs him by the head, palm flat against his quills.

“Stop! Someone will-!”

She turns a little further, and there, turning back around down the hall, was a soldier.

Shadow’s hissing grows louder. Maria could feel their quills under her hand bristle and bite flesh. The soldier seemed frozen in place.

Then, the door opens.

Maria, grabbing Shadow and falling backwards through the opening, rolling out of the way as a shot rings out. The door closes behind them again and two deep dents break its sterile smoothness.

Shadow wriggles in her arms, teeth gnashing they try to break free. Maria clings to them tighter.

“Shh!” Maria doesn’t have a good grip. “Shh- it’s okay! We’re okay! Shadow, please!”

She pets them even though it hurts her hands. It’s the only thing she can think to do. For a moment, Shadow goes still. Their gaze flickers back to her, and Maria can see them recognize her once more.

The soldier beats his fist against it. “You need to open this door! If you don’t, I can’t guarantee your safety!”

Shadow’s hackles start to rise once more.

“Ignore him!” It comes out as a wail despite her best efforts, “Leave him alone, we’re almost out of here!”

“Open the door!”

“No!”

Maria and Shadow, one dragging the other. She’s doing her best but they’re being so stubborn, and she’s only got one working arm. Tears are rolling down her face as her knees scream in protest. She can see the last escape pod right there, in the middle of the room. And there, against the wall, that looks like the control panel. If she can figure it out, they’ll be out of here!

But Shadow is not making this easy. They want to fight, but there is no time to fight.

“Go!” Maria points to the open pod. “Go stand there! Now!”

Shadow won’t comply. It’s getting hard to touch them, let alone hold them. Their quills pierce her skin like needles.

With a snarl, Maria changes directions, moving for the escape pod with Shadow in tow. She has to push and shove to get them up and inside, but eventually, they get the message.

Behind her, there is a burst of gunfire, and then the door is forced open.

Maria’s hand hits the red button at the base of the escape pod faster than she can think. In an instant, the glass door comes down between her and Shadow. She can hear Shadow’s muffled screaming as she turns to face the gun.

“Stop!”

Maria blinks. She looks past the shaking barrel to the person holding it, watching as they seem to almost shrink as she makes eye contact with them through their visor.

They’re a boy, not much older than her. It’s obvious as soon as she sees it. They’re just a boy.

The gun jerks.

“Get away from there.” There’s a hard edge to his voice, a falsehood of control. He’s trying to be brave, just like she is.

She hears thumping behind her, the screaming getting louder. Maria is sure if she were to look, she would see Shadow pounding on the glass.

The boy cocks his gun and fires a shot just to the side of her, making her jump.

“I said get away from there!”

The lights in the room flicker

Something shifts deep within, and for a moment, Maria is outside of herself looking in, watching, knowing what is coming. The anger- that burning furious need to cry, to scream, to fight- in an instant, it is choked out by the crystalline peace that floods her soul.

She hasn’t prayed in a long time.

Maria, slowly reaching behind her and grabbing the lever labled ‘emergency’ at the base of the escape pod.

“Don’t do anything stupid!” The boy is yelling again, but that can’t hide the fact his gun is shaking in his hands.

She’s not even sure a god would listen, but it doesn’t matter.

Maria, slowly turning to Shadow to look one last time at the light in those wide, bright eyes. It’s as if the two of them are alone in the silent vacuum of space. Everything is cold. The view is clear.

Shadow and Maria. Maria and Shadow. This was meant to be, if only for one glorious, beautiful moment.

She hopes she’s been a good enough friend, hopes the escape pod does its job, hopes that maybe, please, maybe, Shadow will get to Earth, and live, and be happy.

Maria, who smiles as she pulls the lever.

[ink-asunder]

*tries making a healthy balance dinner inspired by Dungeon Meshi as an act of self love*

*remembers I'm not allowed to eat raw fruits or vegetables (or their products), capsanoids (including trace capsanoids), whole grain products, gluten substitutes or sugar substitutes, excessive dairy products, nuts, seeds, legumes, leafy greens, "tangy" (vinegar) products, water based products like tea, high-caffeine foods, high fibre foods, acidic foods, most alcohols, and I have a spinal condition that makes all the muscles around my spine seize up if I stand for more than 9 minutes* ah

[batwynn]

I’m having a really bad flare up of like… every illness I have all at once but you bet your ass I dragged myself outside for that light show last night. 😤 This is your only warning for incoming 20 something brightly colored sky pictures.

[bewilderedbunny]

Lil fluffy self indulgent blurb about Eddie and a reader with chronic pain

You hear his van pull up, Ronnie James Dio's voice is still recognizable from inside the trailer. You hear him get out of the van and walk up the stairs. He's already started talking to you before the door is fully open, excited to tell you about his D&D session and all the nonsense he put the party through. Once he sees you hunched over on the couch, curled in on yourself with a heat pack. His demeanor switches, he approaches you and gently places his hand on your back.

"You okay? Sorry, obviously you aren't okay. What's going on?"

"Ambushed by an assassin vine again. Don't worry, I showed it who's boss."

He lets out a little huff and continues rubbing your back as he squats down next to you.

"Yeah? Did ya tear it to shreds?"

You whimper a little at the pain overtaking your body and reply,

"Eventually. Tried pummeling it into the ground, but it turns out that's where plants live so that ended up making it stronger. Y'know, nutrients in the soil and what not."

"Ah, rookie mistake."

"Yeah, luckily I had some ladybug friends who owed me a favor. They came to my rescue and devoured the wretched beast before it could finish me off."

He laughs and says, "Close call. Sounds like you rolled a nat 20 on your death saving throw."

He kisses your forehead and whispers,

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Will you tell me about the session? Need to have references for next time I'm in peril."

He shakes his head and sits on the couch with you, your head now laying in his lap as he brushes his fingers through your hair.

"Why is there going to be a next time?"

"You know me, Ed. Always getting into shenanigans."

[youngpeachenthusiast]

the funny thing is people will claim that they don't mind you being physically present at events but not actively participating until you tell them that you are happy to be there, just unable to actively participate in activities. then suddenly it's not okay anymore and actually "it's okay on the daily but we'd expect something more on this event, otherwise it's just boring"

feels yucky. i enjoy just being there in company and watching them do stuff, and it really is painful to know that they feel me being unable to participate in their activities is apparently boring and apparently makes it useless for me to even show up lol. i'm so tired.

[kiestrokes]

fibromyalgia + period pain means getting cramps in the weirdest places. this cycle it has decided to be under the front of my right rib 🙃 fucking hyper mobility.

[talkethtothehandeth]

I hope everyone who is angry with/makes fun of the Delta passenger for having uncontrollable explosive diarrhea on the crowded plane shits their pants multiple times throughout the rest of the year

[thestarlightforge]

how to explain to my non-disabled friends who just ✨vibe✨ the experience of being so strung-out exhausted, you look away from your laptop for a sec & imagine your humerus cracking thru your skin so vividly you actually hear the twig sound. like, "huh. if I trip trying to refill my soda, that's what'll happen. goofy 😌" and then I go back to typing

[shion-yu]

Ears Ringing

Cliff can't afford his meds and can't keep anything down anymore. My fill for my @badthingshappenbingo space "Ears Ringing." OC work, 2,816 words. TWs parental abuse, emeto, chronic illness whump, detailed hospital descriptions.

For years now. Cliff's neurological symptoms have been all over the place. Sometimes he's eloquent and polite, echoes of his former brilliance shining through. Other times he can't remember the names of simple objects or can't stop crying. Sometimes he walks fine, and then the next day he needs his wheelchair. It's inconsistent, frustratingly so, and Cliff can't stand it.

He's depressed. He knows he's depressed, but he can't do anything about it because he's already taking antidepressants and he's scared if he says anything they'll stick him in the psych ward. Phoenix always used to tell him he was crazy, and Cliff worries he is. He sees shadows in the corners of his eyes all the time and hears people in the apartment that aren't there. One time Elliot catches him with a knife in his hand in the middle of the night hunting for some unknown threat. It's bad, really bad. He's never hallucinated before but he is now nearly every day. It’s getting increasingly difficult for him to tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not.

Bothering other people with his problems is the last thing Cliff wants to do. Elliot's busy writing his album with Alex, Moira’s got her baby and Matt’s in law school. So Cliff's alone a lot of the time, which he doesn’t really mind but sometimes it’s easier for him to pretend everything is fine when he has someone else to pretend for. He dropped out of law school a year ago and he still hasn't figured out an alternative career path. He tutors people online to take the LSAT, which is enough to pay the rent on his tiny condemned apartment, but that's all. He can't take Elliot out and treat him because it seems his parents have washed their hands of him and he can barely keep up with the copays on all his medications. His parents haven't officially disowned him - yet - but when they found out he dropped out of law school they stopped sending him monthly support checks. 

Cliff's started halving his pills to make them last longer, and the first to go completely are the antidepressants and anxiety meds. After that he cuts out the ones that he knows don't necessarily keep him alive, just feeling better: the antiemetics and pain medications. Eventually all the ones that were giving him any sort of quality of life are gone, but he's still sort of okay until he starts running out of his steroids: it's when he starts halving his prednisone that the hallucinations begin.

He's spending more days in bed feeling sick than not at this point. He doesn't leave the apartment and Elliot seems to be getting increasingly worried despite Cliff's best efforts to put on a good show. He's losing weight by the day and he's vomiting nearly everything he eats up. Elliot tries to coax food into him but it's not working. Even Cliff's favorite Japanese and Chinese comfort foods cause him misery, so it's certainly not a matter of taste. At least he saves money not having to buy groceries. 

Cliff had promised Elliot that he'd never hide this stuff from him again back when they broke up. So he doesn't hide it and he never lies, but he tries to sound casual when he answers like it's not a big deal. If Elliot asks, Cliff admits that he's not feeling well, or that he's nauseous. Elliot starts keeping a journal of Cliff's intake and instances of vomiting, then realizes there's no way Cliff's actually retaining any nutrients. He makes Cliff an appointment with a GI specialist, but the wait is four months out. Elliot is worried Cliff can't wait that long and tries to convince Cliff to go to the emergency room, or at least tell his father and see if he'll order some tests, but Cliff refuses. He promised to communicate with Elliot, not anyone else. Lucky for Cliff, Elliot never seems to think to ask him about bills or voices that aren't there. And his dad is drinking again, so Cliff doesn’t bother talking to him.

It comes to a head when Elliot can't get a hold of Cliff. Their relationship is still young despite all of their history, it feels fragile, and Cliff isn't answering his phone. Elliot worries Cliff's withdrawing and doesn't really want to be in a relationship, but he can't bring himself to think that's true so easily. So he breaks into Cliff's apartment for answers and finds Cliff passed out on the bathroom floor soaked in piss and vomit. He doesn’t respond when Elliot shakes him and shouts his name, but at least he’s breathing. Elliot calls 911.

Cliff doesn't wake up on the ambulance ride to the hospital. Elliot's glad for that because he doesn't want how scared he feels to come out as anger. The scene is eerily familiar to how Elliot had found Cliff on the floor of their dorm room all those years ago, but Elliot tells himself it's not the same. He'll at least give Cliff the chance to explain why it isn't. Still, why hadn't Cliff told him how much he was struggling? He could have reached out and Elliot would have been over there to take care of him in a heartbeat.

"I didn't want you to worry," Cliff mumbled when he wakes up, before lurching forward and dry heaving into the emesis basin Elliot's holding. He has a high fever and Elliot thinks now's not the time to yell at him for being foolish. "I really thought I could manage," Cliff says through a single sob. Elliot's heart clenches in pity. Cliff's never known how to rely on other people thanks to his parents. Elliot wants Cliff to rely on him, but it's not something he can force. 

The doctors come in and ask if Cliff's been taking his medications as prescribed, especially the steroids. Their expressions are almost accusatory and Elliot doesn't understand why until Cliff looks down, face clearly ashamed. "Cliff, why not? Do you want to die?" Elliot asks, aghast.

His heart breaks when he hears Cliff whisper in the tiniest voice, "I couldn't afford them anymore." Elliot's still upset and worried, but suddenly he understands. Cliff starts crying; Elliot holds him close and tells him it's going to be alright, that they'll figure it out. He'll help Cliff pay for his meds as much as he can. When Shu comes by with food for Elliot he offers to let Cliff live with him for a while, in Alex's old bedroom. There's options. But right now, Cliff needs to focus on getting better.

The doctors tell them that Cliff's body went into shock from stopping his prednisone too quickly. He's lucky he's not in a coma. Not only that, but the granulomas on his lungs have grown and he has new ones on his brain. Does he have headaches, they ask him? Fatigue? Hallucinations? Cliff can't bring himself to look up as he answers yes to all of them. Has he ever fainted? Had a seizure? Cliff looks at Elliot for just a second, chest burning with shame. "I think I had one before Elliot found me."

After the doctors leave, grim faced and what Cliff feels is painfully judgemental, Elliot rubs Cliff’s back as Cliff begins to gasp for air and tears stream down his face. Elliot knows Cliff’s having a panic attack and tries to get him through it. “It’s gonna be okay, Cliffy,” he says sadly. “Talk to me.”

“I never lied to you, I swear,” Cliff says. Elliot feels his own eyes fill with tears.

“I know, shh,” Elliot soothes. “I wish you would have told me, but I know you didn’t lie. You’re going to get better and this is never gonna happen again.” Cliff just cries harder until he vomits. Elliot helps him shower while the nurse changes the sheets; it’s not how he had imagined their first time showering together after getting back together might go, but he’d rather be here than Cliff be alone right now.

Cliff's woefully underweight. His nausea is so bad that he can’t keep any oral medications down, either. They force an NG tube into him, which is one of the worst things Elliot's ever witnessed. He has to stand in the hall after the first failed attempt because it's so disturbing. It looks more like torture than treatment. Eventually they get it in and start the tube feeding, but the response isn't what’s expected. They haven't even brought it up to goal rate when Cliff begins projectile vomiting the tube feed all over like the fucking exorcist. The vomit makes him choke and he coughs the NG up less than twenty-four hours after they managed to get it down. Elliot holds him while he sobs and apologizes over and over. 

"I'm sorry," he cries, "I tried to keep it down, I really did." He's distraught and Elliot does his best to comfort Cliff, but he feels like there's so little he can do. He’s never seen Cliff cry this much and it’s breaking his heart.

As a result of the failed feeding tube, Cliff gets more tests and is diagnosed with gastroparesis: paralysis of the stomach. It could be temporary or it could be forever, they say. There's no way of knowing right now, but it explains why he hasn't been able to keep food down for a while. He needs a J-tube that will bypass his stomach to give him nutrition, and he gets that surgery two days later. 

The pain is unbearable. It takes days to get it under control despite finding no issues with the actual J-tube placement. Some people are just very sensitive to surgical pain and Cliff is unlucky enough to be one of them. He's so beat down by then that he just lies in bed clutching a pillow to his abdomen and sobs openly. Nothing really comforts him and Elliot doesn't know what to do. This is scary and he feels like he can't handle it on his own. Milo and his mom give him some support, but it's weird when neither of them are fans of Cliff to begin with. Shu and Alex come by to give Elliot a break sometimes. They sit with Cliff while Elliot takes a much needed rest at home where he can shower and scream in frustration a few times. 

It feels like whenever things start getting better for Cliff, some new aspect of his illness appears and they start over from the beginning. Elliot carries a certain level of regret that he wasn't there when Cliff was first diagnosed. Maybe if he was, he could have fought for Cliff to get diagnosed sooner. Maybe he could have protected Cliff from his father more. He tries to now, when Dr. Barrows comes not to help but to yell at Cliff for being so stupid as to stop taking his steroids. "Were you trying to kill yourself?" He snarls at Cliff, who shrinks back and can't answer. "Are you trying to humiliate me?" 

"Maybe if you guys spent just a tiny bit of your fortune on keeping your own freaking son alive, he wouldn't have to ration out his meds," Elliot spits at him. He doesn't care that Cliff's father is a famous surgeon. He's left his only son to struggle all by himself because of circumstances Cliff can't control, and so to Elliot he's the shittiest quack out there. 

"I don't remember Cliff ever asking us for help," Dr. Barrows points out coolly. Elliot can't argue with that. He doesn't know for sure, but it certainly wouldn’t surprise him if Cliff hadn't said anything to his parents. Even if they would have helped, who could blame Cliff when this was his dad? "And who the hell are you?"

"He's my boyfriend," Cliff says weakly. Something inside of Elliot is mended then. Cliff, who was once too scared to tell even a random passerby that they were together, is telling his father. Then, another piece of Elliot breaks when he watches Dr. Barrows cuff the side of Cliff's head with such force that Cliff's oxygen falls off. 

Cliff yelps in pain and grips his ear in shock, ears ringing. Elliot's horrified and frozen. Who the hell hits their own son while they're in a hospital bed? The pungent smell of whiskey probably has something to do with it. "You are not my son," he hisses venomously, then leaves. His hatred lingers in the air just as strong as the smell of booze. 

"Sorry," Cliff says after several seconds of awkward silence, breaking the spell. 

Elliot shakes his head as he jolts back to reality and rushes to Cliff's side, looping Cliff's oxygen back over his ears. He hugs Cliff close, shaking with anger. "There's no reason to be sorry," he insists. "The only person who should be sorry is your dad for being such a shitty person." Cliff flinches at Elliot's strong reaction, but he knows it's not directed towards him.

“Yeah,” Cliff says uncomfortably. “I guess. Thanks.”

It takes two weeks, but eventually Cliff is discharged: into the care of Elliot and the home of Shu, because the social worker says it’s not a very safe idea for him to live alone. Cliff hates feeling like he requires a round the clock babysitter, but he knows they’re right. He can’t walk more than a few steps and that’s with a walker, he’s not steady enough to use his crutches right now. Cliff promises he’ll keep quiet and not cause any problems, but Shu tells him that he should make himself feel at home. It’s a small two bedroom and Shu can’t help much monetarily, but he promises a safe and comfortable place where there’s always enough food on the table (figuratively, since Cliff doesn’t eat anymore). It’s what he promised Alex when he adopted him, Shu says, and he can promise Cliff that too now.

No matter how much he dislikes needing the help, being in Shu’s home makes a world of difference. It’s warm and homey there and Cliff likes how he can see into the backyard from the kitchen table. There’s a bird feeder and a swingset back there, which Shu says was from the prior owner but he never removed because he had wanted kids someday. Alex was twelve when he came to live with Shu, so a bit old for it, but Cliff imagines him there anyways. Elliot and Alex are around all the time since Shu’s garage doubles as their music studio, and sometimes Cliff bundles under blankets and watches them practice. Sometimes Alex’s boyfriend Ryo is there and he watches too. Elliot drives Cliff back and forth to doctors appointments, PT and OT in the same old car they used to have so much fun in back in college. He finds every co-pay assistance program available for Cliff to utilize, but then money starts appearing in Cliff’s bank account again every month from his parents. Elliot thinks maybe his words couldn’t do much, but they apparently did something. Well, his words combined with Moira giving their father absolute hell when she found out what happened.

It’ll be Christmas soon. There’s snow on the ground and the cardinals that visit Shu’s bird feeder look so lovely and bold against the white. Cliff’s sitting in Shu’s kitchen watching them as Elliot brews tea. “Can I tell you something?” Cliff says.

“Of course. Anything,” Elliot says, carrying a steaming mug over and placing it on the kitchen table. He sits next to Cliff and leans his cheek in his hand. His green eyes are so lovely, Cliff thinks to himself. 

“I miss living together,” Cliff admits. Elliot looks surprised, but then nods.

“I miss it too.”

“Living here reminds me of when we visited that cabin upstate, all the way back in freshman year,” Cliff says. “That was the best vacation ever.”

“Seriously?” Elliot asks, smirking a little. “Even though we both had terrible head colds and spent the entire weekend in bed?”

“Yeah,” Cliff said, smiling fondly. “It felt like a real home, for the first time in my life.”

Elliot stands and hugs Cliff, planting a kiss on his temple. “I’m not sure when we’ll move in together, but we can definitely go on vacation again,” he says honestly. He doesn’t want to rush things this time, like he felt like they had the first time around. 

Cliff nods. “I’d like that.”

Elliot rests the side of his head against the top of Cliff’s head. “You keep getting better and then we can go, deal? Maybe sometime after Christmas.” Cliff hums easily in agreement. He’ll keep working hard to get stronger so they can do the fun stuff they used to do together as soon as possible.

[ink-asunder]

Having demand avoidance in a medical setting is literally hell. Like, patient autonomy is already absolute ass. It's only made worse when doctors CONSISTENTLY tell you what to do and act like you HAVE to do it instead of consulting with you first like normal fucking people.

[dapperenby13]

Is it concerning that my favorite Tma entity is The Flesh? Eh, probably a little.

[mindvice]

"Hopefully you can zoom in to my daughter's piece 'Rona Lisa' from her recent exhibition #IAmStillHere with @LongCovidKids. These are all things she and her peers have had said to them by doctors, family, friends, classmates..." -baldypidge on twitter

Just some of the worst of the quotes:

"Just wait until you are older and then you will understand real pain"

"Are you sure you aren't just projecting your emotions?"

"Soooo, how exactly did covid put you in a wheelchair?"

"You would feel better if you didn't spend all day in bed"

"She's just pretending, we're not buying this"

"You need to prove you are in pain"