#can't tell if the delirium is from the thing causing the pain or the thing i took to deal with it who is to say
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sometimes you take over the counter painkiller and open your bedroom window in -6C weather and feel the air against your skin as you once did as a child sitting still in the summer sun and you are like oh life is bearable....
#having a no.normal tuesday everyone#it's like tylenol equivalent or something idk my coworker gave me two tablets and i feel great#can't tell if the delirium is from the thing causing the pain or the thing i took to deal with it who is to say#i drove to the bank and took 2 wrong turns though is that normal#the air literally feels so good this can't be normal#everyone meet my new best friend equate painkiller my coworker has :)#j.txt
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Drumroll 🥁🥁... Pt. 5! ಥ‿ಥ
Previous part! ಠ◡ಠ
Get out of my way 🌈
They were little!
You left me on a day like this one year ago, you left me and never came back. I can't tell you the misery I've felt ever since. The sorrow in my soul grew day after day fed by the rotten hope of seeing you again.
That must have been what caused this. These demons are made of delirium and pain.
You were in an empty room at RAD, classes have ended a long time ago. The dark sky and gloomy aura didn’t help to ease your nerves. You swallowed hard before resuming reading.
That demon with high-pitched voice, cruel eyes and wicked smile...
“Hey! I'm not like that! Such a petty man!” The Little D. of envy was beside you, reading intently with you. “Shh! Be quiet!”
He murmured bitter words in my ear, pointing out poisoned comparisons between me and the others. Oh how badly I envied those who could be happy with their loved ones, how unfair it seemed! That damned demon told me he wanted to eat my soul.
“You told him?! How?! Because to me it was an ‘I WILL eat you soul!’” “Shhh! I’m reading!”
“There must be a mistake, sir. I don't have one, I lost it along with my love.”
“You have one, indeed, a delicious one. Seasoned by the lost and the pure suffering that accompanies it.”
“Lame. I don’t talk like that.” The Little D. of envy stuck out his tongue.
That's how I found out I still had one. I didn't care, I didn't need it, plus he described my soul like someone would describe their favorite dish. I thought it wouldn't matter to give him that little treat.
“If you're that hungry, little guy, you can have it. Go on, I have no use for it.” But that cruel demon just looked at me and muttered a soft yet devastating response. “Not yet.”
“This is so sad.” “He was a miserable man.” “How about me? Am I miserable too?” You looked at him expectantly. “It’s the brothers’ fault. You’re good.” You laughed heartily. “How kind of you!” You compared your circumstances, maybe things could be different.
“Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding. It’s not like they’re dead.” The Little D. took the form of Leviathan, he looked at you right in the eye. “There are multiple ways of losing someone, multiple ways of suffering.” You could see yourself through his eyes. “I guess that’s my answer.”
Not yet, he promised and he fulfilled it. The days passed and my pain grew. I started to feel very sleepy, in my dreams I could still be with my beloved. Then another demon appeared, but he told me the same thing. “Not yet.”
Dreams weren't enough, I wanted more. I wanted them to be real. I wanted everything. Another demon appeared, loud and annoying. Nothing changed.
“So... Envy, Sloth and Greed. You mean to tell me that there are more? What a hassle.”
The emptiness in my chest grew bigger, I couldn't fill it with anything, neither with food, nor with sex, the void was infinite. Five little demons accompanied me all the time, enjoying my desperation. Yet, nothing happened.
“When will you eat my soul?” I asked. “Soon.” He replied.
I couldn't understand why? Why did you have to go?! I loved you more than anyone, so why did God take you away from my side?! How dare he?! The wrath I felt inside me flowed like an avalanche, and along with it, a stupid conviction that it was better this way. That I didn't need you, that I was better off alone.
“It's time.” He finally declared, looking at me with hunger. “You sure took your time, I have patiently waited for this moment.” I responded and then I felt nothing.
Now there is only empty space where my love used to be. I was a fool, I should've taken better care of my soul. But they deceived me, those demons.
They were little, but what a big appetite. I should have known, these demons were my own, I created them and fed them misery.
But how? How could they?! They were little.
You turned the sheet of paper only to find a completely white sheet. “What?! That's all?! This can't be real.” you got desperate, reading the last few pages all over again. The drawings always showed a poor gray guy with a face full of sadness, near him a bunch of annoying little demons with smiles bigger than their own faces.
“You all are nefarious! What are you?!”
The Little D. of pride appeared, rolling his blue eyes. “Don't you know how to read, human? We are YOUR demons.” He took the form of Lucifer. This small show of going from an innocent tiny demon to a very perfect copy of Lucifer always gets on your nerves. He leaned over you threateningly. He roughly grabbed your chin and moved closer, your noses almost touching. He even smelled like Lucifer, coffee and perfume. “We are yours, and someday you will be ours.”
Before you could regain your composure, someone intruded into the room. “MC!! What are ya doin' here!? We've been looking for you, Lucifer is seriously pissed!!”
“Oh, it's you, Mammon.” You barely had time to hide the book, unfortunately it didn't go unnoticed by Mammon. “What do ya mean it's me? You were waitin' for someone else? What's that behind your back?” He approached you with that odd familiarity you had developed. “Nothing!” You would have been found guilty were you testifying with that voice.
“Ever the terrible liar, human.” He smiled fondly at you. “Come on, show me.” “No.” You stick out your tongue, trying to get up without showing the book.
Surprisingly, he merely touched your arm, completely ignoring the book. “Hey Mc, Is everything alright? You didn't watch the movie with us yesterday.” He swallowed, his eyes avoiding you while his hand tried to reach yours. His movements were anxious and insecure.
“I got bored.” You swiftly removed Mammon's hand and there was a visible change in his features, he bit his lips and hid the hurt behind a cheerful voice. “Well, we should do something funny. Let's go to this place I found...” “I'm not in the mood.”
You knew what he was trying to do, what everyone seemed to be thinking. Of course you wanted to hang out with them, but not out of pity or guilt. “You're mad at me.” He said softly and you felt it again, something bubbling up inside you, a tiny spark of rage.
“Why should I?” The hope that arose in him quickly died after meeting your eyes. “Then why?” “Because I don’t want to. Not with you.” You saw his facade fall completely, the lump that had formed in his throat threatened to suffocate him. “Oh.”
The walk to the House of Lamentation was silent, not a word exchanged between you and him. The Avatar of Greed thought you were punishing him with that look of pure disappointment. He tried to speak but every single time, the words stuck in his throat.
In your head, the words kept repeating like a broken record. “Now there is only an empty space where my love used to be.” It sounded like a prophecy, a bad omen of your future. “Would they love me? Even if I lose my soul?” “Why would they? If they don’t love you now that you have one.” That made you stop, suddenly hitting with Mammon’s chest, who was following you from behind.
“I am.” Your voice was strained. “Mc?” You turned around to face him. “I’m angry with you.” Mammon didn’t know how to react, you were serious. It wasn’t a silly fight or a mere disagreement. “Why?” He cursed himself, why didn’t his father give him the gift of eloquence? You shook your head in a swift motion, trying to hold back the tears. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not a nice thing to do. Don’t do unto others what you don’t want done unto you.”
You were waiting, surely your first would know what to do, the first to show you some kind of love. “Do you love me?” The words slipped out involuntarily. Mammon’s heart stopped for a moment, he opened his eyes as wide as he could. “I-” His face flushed red while his mouth struggled to let the words out. Yeah! I love you so much, Mc! I love you! I love you!
He made an effort to remember what Sc had told him, to be honest with you. She had told him to say those simple words: I love you. His brain short-circuited trying to force the words out, to gain courage. So he did what he tends to do, he rambled nonsenses. “Sc…” He knew he had failed as soon as he saw your face, your broken heart could be seen in your eyes. “Of course.” “Wait! No!”
You moved faster than Mammon could react, walking away from him. In that silent street, you could only hear a couple of hearts breaking.
When you finally reached the mansion he gained enough courage to mutter a single but fervent “I'm sorry.” You looked at him and smiled, better said, tried to smile. You could only afford a weak half grin. “What are you sorry for, my dear first?”
The venomous way you used the nickname he liked so much hurt him more than he thought. “Sorry for pushing me aside? Sorry for treating me like a faulty old lucky charm?” He shook his head, tears threatening to fall.
“I’ve never done that, y-you know I wouldn't.” The miserable appearance he was showing pulled some strings in your heart, you sighed, you really couldn't blame them. “Then you have nothing to be sorry for.”
You went into to the house without waiting for him. He watched you leave and the ache in his hut grew bigger, he should have begged for your forgiveness. Lay his heart out, explain how it was never his intention to make you feel bad. He chased after you with that mission, but instead he saw a very angry Lucifer in the hallway.
Pt. 6 ಠ‿ಠ
Sometimes I want to translate things straight from spanish to english and I think “Oh this makes sense, this sounds good.” and then I google it and it means something totally fucking different and just- oh my god, why??
I'm sorry, I wanted to vent.
Taglist: @yuumaofc @kodasstar @sc4ry4l3x
THANK YOU for reading! (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ )♡♡♡
#obey me#obey me fanfic#obey me mc#obey me fandom#obey me gn!reader#obey me lucifer#obey me angst#obey me mammon#Obey me Little D.
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My dad and I had a very long day but we are starting to figure some things out.
His main issue is circulation to his right foot. That is causing most of his pain and discomfort. His right big toe is a goner. But if they can restore circulation to his foot with a stent, then that is all he will lose. But there is a major worry that he could lose half his foot or all of his foot or even part of his leg if the catheter procedure with the stent is unable to improve circulation.
The more foot they take, the harder it will be to walk. And if he can't walk at all, I might not be able to take care of him. And that would suck for a myriad of reasons. My possible homelessness being a real concern.
The podiatrist was real doom and gloom about all the possible amputations and scared my dad with worst case scenarios. I didn't appreciate that. I mean, I know he had to present all the possible outcomes, but can we at least do the procedure tomorrow before we talk about losing a leg? I don't know.
That said, we are told this doctor that puts in the stents is one of the best in the world. He has won awards for this and everything. So if anyone can save my dad's foot, it is him.
I still think my dad has an infection. He was pretty lucid today, but for the last 30 minutes he has been seriously hallucinating. I can still communicate with him, but he is very loopy. He hasn't slept all day and they gave him a Percocet and that made him quite, umm... high as balls. So if there is an infection combined with no sleep and an opioid med, I would guess that is a recipe for delirium. They are going to give him an Ambien tonight so I am hoping he'll get some long deep sleep and hopefully that will fix the delirious state he is in. It has worked in the past.
I had a great conversation with his kidney doctor today. She is wonderful and I wish we saw her more often. She is one of the smartest doctors I think I've ever encountered but also incredibly kind, funny, and empathetic. She reminded me of a cordial Black auntie but like with a Mensa membership. She went from complimenting my dad's silver hair and making fun of her husband for using Just For Men hair dye to hacking the hospital computer to find my dad's sleep study results that we have been unable to obtain since July... and then perfectly interpreting them without being a sleep specialist.
She is not just proficient in kidney issues, but she seems to have well above average knowledge of many medical issues outside her purview. She gave us some great advice on a variety of problems my dad is facing. She also gave a great explanation on why my dad has issues with his breathing and requires constant oxygen. Can you believe after all this time no one has been able to give me a good answer on why he needs oxygen? I've had several doctors just say they didn't know. But I ask her and she tells me his lungs have trouble inflating all the way. I forgot the medical term, but he can not inhale deeply. So it's like working with half lung capacity at all times. She recommended a breathing exercise toy thingie. It's like a game where you inhale and try to lift a little ball. You do your exercises every day and hopefully increase the power of your suck over time.
After (hopefully) fixing the foot, my secondary concern is my dad's mental decline. He was lucid in the morning and most of the afternoon. But after a Percocet he was grabbing for imaginary pills in the air and trying to eat them. It is very hard to take care of him when he has these episodes. Especially since he gets them at night. I am not able to sleep when this happens. He becomes a danger to himself and sometimes tries to get up and walk places when he doesn't have the balance. One time he tried cooking raw potatoes on the stove top and nearly burned himself. He just put whole ass potatoes in a hot pan and thought he was cooking them for my mom. That was a very difficult night. But until last week he hadn't had an episode in nearly a year.
So I am hoping once the infection is completely gone and he is back in his own bed and able to get quality rest, these events will be rare again. But I am worried they may be a more common occurrence and I will have to adapt my caretaking to accommodate them. Perhaps I could sleep in the morning and afternoon instead of late evening. I dunno.
Anyway, his catheter procedure is in the morning and then I think he has dialysis. Since he won't be in his room most of the day, tomorrow might be a rest day for me. I'll stay home and try to catch up on all the sleep I've lost.
We are working it out. I think my dad has a decent prognosis at this point. But there are still many things that could go wrong. I am choosing to be optimistic at this point.
One final thought... my dad's medical care would be substantially worse if I was not there to advocate for him. It makes me feel sad for all of the elderly people out there who don't have someone to speak on their behalf trying to get them the best medical care possible. Like, if I didn't tell them he needs Ambien to sleep in the hospital, he could be so far into delirium right now that they would be unable to communicate with him at all.
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Said I need more, and i do!!
Ron getting so sick he has tonstau at the hospital for a prolonged time. The fever is a symptom of something else maybe they're not sure what caused it, but he was at home and the fever definitely didn't lower for another week, they had no other choice but.getting him to the hospital.
Ron's soooo out. Absurdly out. But in all the delirium and feverish talks he's weirdly coherent when asking them separately to take care of each other. He has.a.bad feeling or it's just the fever talking but he can't tell the difference. He think he's going to die. He knows Tom would become reckless. Or let grief kill him. He knows his Tommy. And hend9esnt know why He just can't get better as fast as every other time. He's scared. For them, for himself. But tries, this time ,not to let them stay too.much close, just in case it's catchy.
WHOO! I hoped this would be one you wanted to know more about!
Ron had a horrible feeling. He can feel the fever in his bones. He’s coughed for the last 13 hours straight, so hard at one point there was a bit of blood.
He hates hospitals. No good news has ever come from them.
Alright that’s a lie. Tom got cleared for cancer two years ago from a hospital.
Ron can’t honestly feel anything. He knows that Tom is next to him. He tries to flop his hand around to get his attention. “Tommy?”
There’s a shuffling noise. “Baby? You okay? Pain?”
Ron shakes his head, he opens his eyes to catch sight of the blond. “You’ve gotta promise me something. Gotta let me say it all before you interrupt.”
Tom brushes sweaty hair out of Ron’s eyes. Hair so long past regulation. “Okay. You know I’ll do anything for you.”
Ron sighs. He does know that. “Take care of Chris. If I don’t make it you’ve gotta take care of him. He’s so strong but maybe not strong enough for this. You need to stay with him. I know you’ll take care of Jake so I won’t ask. But stay.”
Tom is crying. He can’t help it. “Stop it. You’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine and we’ll all go home together.”
Ron shakes his head, “promise me.”
Tom let’s out a sob. “Of course I promise. If anything happens I’ll take care of him.” Ron smiles at him. “Good. I love you Tommy.” Theres another choked off sob. “Love you too.”
—
The next morning Tom has to leave for some paperwork. Chris comes into the room.
He catches sight of Ron.
Jesus.
Somehow he looks worse.
He slides into the chair next to the bed. “Hey baby?”
Ron rolls his head to look at Chris. He smiles. “Can we talk?” Chris squeezes his hand, “course.”
Ron blinks. “Promise me you’ll take care of Tom. He’s been through so much. This might almost kill him if I don’t make it. He’ll try to push you away. Don’t let him. Hold on. He needs you more then he’ll ever admit. Let Jake remember everything. Good and bad. Let me be the excuse for why he has to eat vegetables.”
Chris can’t speak. How can Ron ask this. “Baby it’ll be fine. You’re okay.”
Ron shakes his head hard, he squeezes Chris’s hand tighter. “We don’t know that. Promise me.”
Chris let’s the tears fall. “Course I’ll take care of Tommy. I love him as much as I love you.”
Ron relaxes back against the pillows. “Good. I’m glad.”
There’s a beat where the only noise is the heart monitor.
“If marriage for us ever becomes legal you marry Tom. It would mean so much to him.”
Chris sobs. He can’t help himself. He presses his head down onto Ron’s arm. “Please stop. You’ll be there. For everything. We’ll figure something out.”
Ron smiles he’s got tears in his eyes. “It’s okay baby. Y’all have each other. It’ll all be fine.”
—
Two weeks later Ron is let out of the hospital on strict bed rest. Tom and Chris never tell each other what the other promised. They both know they were asked things though.
Ron sleeps a lot those first few nights. Tom and Chris hold onto each other so tightly that way they don’t hurt Ron somehow.
They wake up gasping together one night to Ron not in bed. Chris instantly starts searching for him. Tom can only sit there and cry.
He’s not in the bathroom.
Eventually Chris finds Ron in the kitchen drinking some water.
“You’re not allowed to do that. You can’t leave.”
Ron slowly turns to look at him. “What do you mean pretty boy?”
Chris grabs Ron’s wrist and pulls him back to the bedroom. “We both thought you were-”
“Dead. Dead Ron. We thought you were dead.”
Tom looks ice cold.
They both know he’s not mad. Just terrified.
“Sorry. I’m sorry to both of you. Didn’t think anything of it.” He ends up getting pushed into the middle of the bed. “You can have a water bottle that you can drink out of. Jesus.”
Tom shoves his face into Ron’s neck. Doesn’t care if he hurts Ron. Needs to be close. Chris puts his head on the other shoulder.
The don’t really sleep the rest of the night too afraid to wake up and it all be a dream.
Jake finds them in the morning when he asks for papa’s special pancakes.
#ron slider kerner#chris seresin#ron slider kerner x chris seresin#tom iceman kazansky#top gun#ron x chris x tom#tom x ron x chris#tom kazansky x ron kerner#chris seresin x tom iceman kazansky#young jake seresin#mac writes top gun
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WHOOO SO this is loosely a part of my scarian hero/villain au but you need literally no context besides boatem is a team and a heads up for some medical stuff, enjoy the unrequited grumbo >:)
this was meant to be a 500 word challenge but somehow is double that, whoops lmao
also idk why but i wrote it from grian's pov, style change i suppose!
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"This will only hurt for a moment." Mumbo says that every time he pulls the IV cart towards me.
I don't know why he bothers, I know it's going to hurt. It hurts every time, him repeating the fact doesn't make me any happier about the situation. Maybe he thinks it'll help me prepare for it, that reminding me of the pain will cue me to brace myself against it.
But I know it's coming. It's Sunday evening, after all, we have a schedule for this. Impulse and Pearl mysteriously left the compound about half an hour ago, as they do every week around this time.
I think they took the new guy with them, too. What was his name again? 'S' something, it started with an 'S'. Hmm… St… Sc… I don't know.
Not that it matters right now. Because this will only hurt for a moment.
Mumbo always looks upset whenever he's strapping my wrists down for this. I don't blame him, I wouldn't like it if I had to do it to him, but it just makes me feel terrible. Like I'm some monster about to lash out at him, simplified down to my bare bones, animalistic instincts.
(That did happen the first time, though, I'm not proud of it. The viscera was horrible. I don't like thinking about it, so I don't.)
Either way, I try not to complain about it too much anymore. It's not Mumbo's fault that I'm like this.
Well.
Actually.
…It's entirely his fault, but not in the way most people think. He didn't mean to hurt me, he didn't mean to cause me any pain. I can't blame him for reacting the way he did, even if it's the exact reason I'm stuck in this chair right now.
He was just so, so, scared.
I try to remember that when the needle goes in. I grit my teeth— less from the pain and more from the anticipation— while Mumbo checks the IV bag for what feels like the millionth time now. He finally sits down, leaning on one of the spare gurneys we have in the medical suite.
"Isn't it bad luck, to rest on a gurney?" I ask, watching his sunken eyes blink open. He's not looking at me, but rather the IV bag; we're both stuck here until it's finished draining.
"Something about predicting your own death," I add, because I can tell he's not listening. Mumbo doesn't listen well when it's Sunday evening.
"For as often as you end up on them, I'd rather not think about that expression," he replies, trying to make light of the situation. Or at least, that's what I think he's trying to do. Mumbo looks tired, as he always does, so it's hard to tell whether it's delirium or sarcasm that he's going for.
He looks at me for a moment, and I stare back. His eyelids are heavy, and he seems to be falling asleep sitting up, but he won't. He never sleeps during this strange, shared moment we're forced to have.
I wish he would sleep when it was Sunday evening, so that I don't have to bear the weight of his guilt on my back. I wish I could run the IV alone, and not be forced to make idle small talk, dancing around the elephant in the room that is my existence.
"I'm sorry," Mumbo says, his eyes drifting from mine to my tied-down wrists. I hate this part of the evening the most, when he apologizes half-way. It's been almost a year of incomplete apologies, you'd think by now he'd have figured out how to finish what he wants to say.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," I reply. We both know that I'm lying, but it's the polite thing to say.
"Except I do." Mumbo's getting upset now, I wish I could say I felt the same. It's hard to feel much of anything these days. "And I, I keep trying to fix what I did wrong, but it never comes out right."
He means me. I didn't come out right.
"You were only doing what you thought was best," I say, trying to soften the blow even though I don't want to. I'm too tired to deal with one of his spirals right now, as much as a part of myself wants to lash out at him. It isn't the time, we're both too exhausted to deal with the mess that is us.
"No, no, stop it. Please, stop saying that," Mumbo snaps. He's looking at me properly now, all cross and with a pinched face, and I think I've done something wrong. His eyes have moved beyond empty now, like he's looking through me and talking to someone else.
I think, in his mind, he is talking to someone else.
"Stop trying to say what I did was right, stop trying to protect me from my own choices," he says, but softly this time, like I'm a feral dog who's been scared into a corner. "I messed up, I was selfish and did this because I wanted to feel like I didn't fail you."
"Fail him, you mean." I didn't mean to correct him, but those words have been sitting in my mouth, festering a bitter rot on my tongue since I met Mumbo eleven months ago.
I'm not angry with Mumbo. I'm angry with me. I'm angry with my recklessness, with my stubbornness, I'm angry with a version of myself that the man in front of me would have moved heaven and earth for.
I'm angry with a me who is dead, and I'm angry that Mumbo loved that version of myself so much that he tried to give him second breath. I'm angry that my flesh and blood is from a person who is me, but isn't at the same time, and I'm angry that I'm not him.
Because every Sunday evening, while I'm trapped in a chair with an IV drip I need weekly to keep this stupid, cobbled together body alive, Mumbo's heart won't stop bleeding, and I'm not the person who can patch it up for him.
That person is dead, and I was supposed to be his replacement.
When I opened my eyes for the very first time those months ago, what I saw was a man with all the love in the world for 'me', weeping for joy.
And I don't feel the same for him— or, better said, this version of him doesn't, at the very least. Seems that dying breaks your heart along with stopping it.
I can live with not having him for a partner, but he couldn't. He still can't. And he doesn't realize it, but I can tell. Every time he looks at me, he's waiting for a reply that I can never seem to get right. To everyone else, I'm the spitting image and have the same verbosity as who I used to be, but not to Mumbo.
He looks at me like I'm an experiment gone wrong, and I loath that he's right.
Alright, so maybe I am cross with Mumbo. A little bit. I don't want to be, but I am.
"This will only hurt for a moment." What a horrible lie.
THE POV MAKES THIS ALL THE MORE BETTER HONESTLY Bruh this was SO good. It puts you in his head and makes you feel the emotions more- lvoe it love it love it
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Feb. 28, 2024
Dox came home with a fever. After spending several days in Muspelheim, Morpheus took it upon himself to bring his son home. The child was delirious for a couple days, moaning and groaning in pain. He saw something fierce and immense in the fires, and came home with a rash of iridescent spots.
I was able to reduce the inflammation and soothe his fever, and Dox confided in me that he had seen an astral guide there in the Forge. When he was well, we spoke more at length. Dream spirits don't have illnesses, per se; the rash, fever, and delirium were symptoms caused by the touch of that astral guide. And if I hadn't been present, the power could have completely consumed him. He acknowledged at last that he was not ready. The door he had been forced to open in the Forge showed him the entity he was set on becoming; a legendary hero... who attacked him on sight. He didn't know why he was so afraid of that being, or why it had attacked him.
"To a hammer, everything looks like nails," I said. "You have this idea that if you're afraid of something, you must conquer it. Odin and Epiales had that same idea. Look where it got them!" I sat on the edge of the bed with him. "The entity behind the door is what you stand to become if you continue in this way. Who exactly do you think he was leading?"
Dox hung his head. "No one."
I nodded. "If you rule by fear and by force, your opposition is much greater. People follow me because I protect them and value their opinions. They're not just tools I use to get stronger." I thought for a moment. "If you think yourself a leader, your skills are reflected in those who follow you."
After that, he was put in the kitchen, peeling potatoes and washing dishes. It's a slow, tedious job, but if he learns from it, he will move up. It just requires some patience.
In the mean time, I've been struggling with my own demons, so to speak. I've been trying to help several friends who are struggling with their lives, and I'm wearing myself down again.
I mentioned this to Phobetor, and he got rather upset at me. He sent me off to the infirmary with one of his siblings, and she held my hand through the visit. One of the doctors came in and informed me that I have financial trauma, and from then on I began to process.
I spent most of that day in tears. My processing went on through most of the day time; I kept digging up memories of things that had triggered me in the past, and how it affected my ability to function. The farther back we went, the more things made sense.
First was my trying to help a friend survive by sending her money. Wearing myself thin and worrying myself about finances.
Then was my issue with the realtor, combined with W's hospital expenses.
Then there was a time during my marriage when I couldn't afford to buy groceries because X bought a pair of expensive boots.
But the strangest one brought me all the way back to middle school, and the girls that bullied me. I went to a very strict Christian school for a time, and I was usually the top of my class, and very quiet. A remnant from my earlier trauma. So I was an easy target. They threatened to expose me, tell the whole school I was promiscuous, and blackmailed me to keep their silence.
When I asked where the trauma originally came from, the leader of the sequencers said I already knew. I'm not sure if that's innate knowledge or active memory. Either way, it irritates me that I can't recall the initial trauma, and no one will tell me.
Phantasos took me to see the daydream spirits, who live in a swampy area a day's sail from the archipelago. They're the only dream spirits who are strictly diurnal. They've taken in one of the Graces, Talia, Pasithea's sister. We had a nice evening with her, and settled in to make music.
Since then, I've been trying to stay conscious of the effort I expend. The morning after my doctor's visit, I saw Phobetor sitting on the edge of the bed. I told him I needed to go back to Muspelheim, and he snapped at me.
"You're not going anywhere."
I said nothing for quite a while. I knew how upset he was, to issue a command at me like that. And I listened. I felt bad about not listening. But pushing myself until I broke felt worse. I couldn't justify doing that again. I have people who care deeply for me, and I should listen to them.
I do too much. I try to care for too many people, and I wind up not being able to care for myself.
He has watched me, on and off, for a few days now. He is careful not to get too close. Maybe because he is still upset, or because he simply needs a bit of emotional distance so he can help me with this. Either way, I don't blame him.
Fortitude asked me if I was sure I could go to work today. I was sure, but I'm still quite tired. I'm still processing my dreams from the last few days, and that takes more energy.
When will I learn not to overwork myself?
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Pierced by a Golden Soul
Chapter 23. Quiet Riot Part 2
Platonic Jojo's x Reader
Summary: Fate is a bizarre concept with countless more bizarre implications. In life sometimes such extraordinary events happen that the only reasoning left must be fate. The tragedies that constantly befall the Joestar bloodline for example may be the unluckiest series of cards drawn in human history, or perhaps the work of a greater power. There is no way to tell for sure. Had Dio Brando or Jonathan Joestar moved slightly on a divergent path the world itself would be left very different. The fate or luck of the noble Joestar bloodline has led to destruction of evil likes of the Pillar Men and DIO. This story is of a similar caliber to that of the other Joestars (as I am sure you are familiar with them). This is a story of lost souls, compassion, hope, and above all fate.
Word Count: 1,756
(Crosspost from Wattpad, full fic is already posted there.)
"You piece of shit!" Blaze sputtered, staggering back and hitting the wall.
"Don't act innocent, that was for the death threat earlier." You sighed. Blaze glared at you, holding his jaw in pain. "You need to learn how to take a hit. You talk real big, but I was holding back on that." Standing in front of the Learco's hospital bed, you looked down at Blaze in the darkness.
"What are you doing to my brother?"
"I don't know, but I've been trying to figure out..." You said, glancing back at Learco's motionless body, but quickly redirected your attention to Blaze. That was a problem you could focus on in a minute.
"How the hell did you get here so fast?" Blaze seethed, examining your steady composure and even breathing. In the darkened room he could still tell you weren't nearly as ragged or distracted as before. He was expecting you to follow him, but not like this. It didn't seem you were being affected by his stand anymore.
"There's a service elevator next to the south entrance of the hospital. I know someone who knows the building well." You took a step forward, cringing slightly as your foot touched the ground, it was an instant, but Blaze noticed it. "You made things 'fair' by telling me your ability. The least I could do was return the favor, so I came alone. I want to solve this amicably Blaze, so why don't we talk this out?"
"How come you aren't cowering in a corner somewhere?" Blaze asked, ignoring you. He stayed against the wall, keeping his distance. He had probably figured out your stand's range was incredibly short. "You should be dead already."
"I managed to deactivate your stand ability."
"You're bluffing."
"Am I?" You challenged.
"That's impossible..." Blaze mumbled turning away from you to face the wall. Without any kind of warning, he took a switchblade out of his pocket. In one fluid motion he quickly sliced a section of his thigh. There wasn't a moment of hesitance between his actions. You hissed in pain as an identical wound formed on your own leg.
"I knew it." Blaze waved the switchblade in your direction.
"Okay." You groaned as a few specs of blood dripped down to the floor beneath you and Blaze. "Maybe I lied."
You were hoping your little ruse would buy you at least a minute to say something. The truth was, the world was still twisted to you. It had only gotten worse the slower you let your heart rate drop. At this point, everything in the hospital has the consistency of jello. It was hard to keep your balance. Each step you took to get to the room made a loud squishing sound in your inner ear. It was a nightmare riding the elevator.
"I should have just gotten rid of you the second I realized you were a stand user!" Blaze said, approaching you slowly with his blade pointed at you. Maybe it was the pain caused by the stab wound or the delirium from Quiet Riot, but for some reason in that moment you giggled. Blaze growled. "What are you laughing about! What else are you hiding?!?"
"You can't hurt me." You smirked, looking Blaze dead in the eyes. "Not while we're like this." You were only being so confidant right now because any damage done to you, would reflect onto Blaze. He said so himself in the school yard.
"Yes. I. can." Blaze seethed as he came closer. Quiet Riot appeared under the hospital bed, grabbed your ankles, and pulled your feet out from under you. You tried hiding a laugh, getting yet another growl from Blaze. "What's so funny!?"
"You're a lot like your brother, yaknow that? You both try covering up how you really feel, but you do it so poorly." You looked up at Blaze from the floor. It was dark, but you could see his eye twitching. He stayed silent for a moment, before taking a slow deep breath.
"I'm going to sink this into your carotid artery." He mumbled with an empty expression. His blade was reflecting a sliver of light as it filtered in from the hallway. "Any last words."
"Yeah...remember what I said earlier about coming alone? I lied." Just as you said that, a crackling sound came from behind the open door. "Plan B Doc!"
"Wha-?" Blaze turned around fast enough to see the door slam closed. The only thing visible in the dark room was a gold light as it flared up and moved towards Blaze.
Jaya and Blaze looked at each other, illuminated by the dim glow of Jaya's hamon. After a moment, the two ran at each other. Blaze was an intimidating opponent given his stature, but Jaya didn't need to beat him. Blaze took a wide swing at the blonde girl, she dodged and managed to grab his forearm. After taking a deep breath, hamon surged from her hand and flowed into Blaze. The muscles in the Martez brother's wrist and hand were forced to contract and spaz out, causing him to lose his grip on the weapon. The switchblade landed in Jaya's awaiting hand.
"Are you sure about this Y/n?" Jaya's hesitant voice cut through the darkened room. Hamon emanated from your friend's leg as she kicked Blaze's legs out from under him.
"Do it!" You yelled as Golden Soul grabbed onto Quiet Riot, dragging it out from under the hospital bed. The shadow like stand wriggled out of your grasp and managed to slip behind you. Quiet Riot wrapped its arms around your throat. "Hurry!" You yelled as the stand's grip on you tightened.
"I'm really sorry about this." Jaya mumbled as she took the knife, and stabbed it into Blaze's shoulder. As she did so, a searing sharp pain slammed into your own shoulder.
"Are you two insane?!" Blaze screamed. Quiet Riot made a screeching noise before darting off into the shadows where you couldn't track it.
"Jojo? Probably." Jaya muttered nervously. "Me? I was made an unwitting accomplice in this."
"Let's just say, I think bleeding out in a hospital is a safer bet than having a heart attack on the sidewalk.I'm not going down without a fight." You groaned, painfully moving to stand up. "Turn off your stand ability and take it back!" You ordered.
"Never!" Blaze snarled. Quiet Riot appeared out of the darkness to grab Jaya and throw her aside. Blaze painfully stood up as well, and glared at you. "Stay away from me!"
Blaze shoved past the closed door and did his best to run down the hallway. He was limping from the self-inflicted gash in his leg, meanwhile holding his hand over the new wound in his shoulder. You gave chase after him, but you weren't doing any better. As you ran, the illusion of the hospital started to dissipate. Your heart rate was going up, so Quiet Riot's ability was going to disappear. Blaze led you down a hallway before coming across the elevators. He frantically pressed the button but turned to face you upon hearing your close approach.
"I remember you saying something earlier about not being a coward. Tell me Blaze, where did that go?"
"SHUT UP!" Quiet Riot appeared and hit your head. You staggered, but righted yourself, choosing to remained silent. "Stand back, or I'll kill you!"
"Please!" You giggled. "That tickled." Blaze's eyes widened and he stepped back. "What? You won't fight back because you're scared? Or are you annoyed that a so called 'novice' is beating you at your own game?" You walked up to Blaze until you were just two steps away. "How useless." You muttered. "Your bark, is a lot worse than your bite."
"Quiet Roit! Protect me!"
"Muda!" Golden Soul punched the stand away, and this time you weren't struck with the feeling of a fist connecting with your own face. You and Blaze stared at each other in silence as blood spurted from your individual wounds. Blaze tensed as you wiped some blood from your hands that had dripped from your shoulder.
"Thanks, that's all I needed."
Blaze tensed, expecting a barrage or attack, but nothing happened. He looked up and watched as you turned around and headed back towards Learco's hospital room.
"Where the hell are you going?!"
"Oh, you didn't notice? I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a pretty serious stab wound on my shoulder. I'm headed to make sure Jaya is okay." You glanced back at Blaze with a sincere expression. "I'd suggest you go find your way to the urgent care wing." You noticed his bewildered expression and sighed. "Don't get me wrong, I have a lot of questions about you, and who you're working with, but I really need to focus on not dying at the moment." You took a few more steps down the hall before you heard Blaze following.
"I'm not letting you get away so easily!"
"I said it before, but I'll say it again. You and Learco are similar. You both flip flop between intense emotional states. Learco's always sarcastic and defensive but loses it the second he knows he's lost control of a situation. You on the other hand, try keeping up this... intimidating façade that paints you as calmer than you really are. Once you're worked up, all that calculating and brainstorming goes down the drain."
"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means-" You were cut off.
"It means you're just as impulsive as your idiot brother." A familiar and calm voice teased.
"Blake...?" You mumbled, turning around to see the one and only Blake Greenmin standing behind you. It had been a while since you'd seen him. If it was possible, he looked even more cocky than the last time you saw him.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Blaze glared at the blonde, and Blake grinned in return.
"I was told you were finally making a move by 'You Know Who'. I figured you'd screw it up though." Blake looked at you and winked. You visibly recoiled in kind. "Lo and behold, looks like Y/n really was too much for you. That's what you get for ignoring my warning."
"Stop gloating and get me out of here." Blaze seethed.
"Fine." Blake sighed and rolled his eyes. Know Your Enemy manifested and quickly rushed to where you were standing. "No hard feelings Y/n, nothing personal." Blake smiled as the stand wrapped hits hand around your neck, holding you a few inches off of the ground.
"Don't you dare-" You choked, summoning Golden Soul. Before you could defend yourself though, Know Your Enemy dealt a blow to your head.
#adventure#anime#bizarre#fanfiction#foundfamily#genderneutral#genderneutral reader#jjba#jjba x reader#jojo#jojosbizarreadventure#jojosbizarreadventurexreader#platonic x reader#reader insert#reader x character#readerxvarious#xgnreader#x reader#platonic jojo's x reader#Poster_Addict#Alias-Sam
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Colors
I got inspiration from @prettywhitedoves Angelina and George fic, Always. I ofc incorporated my own hc and all that jazz but the idea came after reading that one. It's my first time writing a fic ever so it's not great but I hope you guys enjoy!
Colors. That's all she saw in the darkness of her closed eyelids. Angelina knows this is wrong, feels the sin in his hips as he thrusts against her, hard and fast and so unforgiving, but she can't help it. Can't help herself. George is all she can see, the only thing she needs and feels and he conquers her senses in a way she knows no other man ever will.
He's her first, her last, and her only. He has ruined her for every other man who dares to come after and she is helpless in his assault.
"Ah! George please!" she cries-sobs really because he just feels so good. He won't stop, can't stop. She'll die if he does, she just knows it.
He grunts into her ear, tells her how tight she is (a fact that always makes her blush), how perfect she is and how he needs her more than he needs air. She hears this above the stimulation and white noise of her pleasure and cries out even louder. Her bonnet is somewhere lost among the folds of his sheets, her underwear ripped and thrown into the darkness of his room, both of their clothes litter the lamps and floors of his bedroom and her hair, which was just straightened, is already sweated out at her edges. He makes her feel so wanton, so very desired. He always manages to get her so wild and uninhibited, she understands her mother's disapproval of him. Of their- whatever they've got going on. It's not a relationship, but it's also not not one. She can't help but think that if everyone could only feel what he makes her feel, maybe they wouldn't look at her like the helpless, lovesick fool she is.
He needs no tricks, no hands, or crazy positions, and although he's certainly shown her them all, the feel of him is all she needs. He's taught her so many things, she is his willing ingenue in all things sexual and she still feels so overwhelmed by his sheer presence. She begs and begs to cum and he won't listen. He teeters her on the edge for the better part of an hour and with her breasts heavy and aching, nipples sore and erect from the near-constant attention of his mouth, her legs shaking and hips aching, she is hoarse from moaning his names, screaming out pleas for him to just let her cum.
He thrusts and hits the one spot that makes her see stars and hear the sounds of heaven. This must be what heaven feels like, she thinks. She'd be reproached for her blasphemous thought if anyone other than the intimate corners of her mind heard her, but she can't help it. He thrusts and thrusts and her hands are everywhere- scratching lines down the pane of his back, pulling through the red of his hair, pushing against the firmness of his abdomen in an effort to stop feeling as if she is going to break into a pile of mush. It's a different feeling than usual and almost crosses the line between pleasure to pain.
"George, I'm- I think something's happening!" she stutters and moans and it's amazing he can understand her because she is pathetically in a state of delirium and climax.
"It's okay. Just let go, love. Just let go." George all but growls. His voice is already deep, but in the midst of his arousal, it takes on an almost otherworldly quality. It's the sexiest thing she has ever heard and it's what causes her to just let go.
Angelina cums so hard, her toes are curling and flexing over the skin of his back, her eyes are rolling to the back of her head, and a violent spurt of liquid squirts out of her. She is vaguely aware of his surprised chuckle and as she comes back down to earth, she feels like a boneless vessel, melting into the sheets of his bed. When she realizes just what happened, she is mortified beyond belief.
"Oh my God! I am so sorry." she covers her face while trying to simultaneously regain feeling in her legs and ignore the oversensitiveness of her core.
George laughs, boyish and sweet and unlike anything, he was just a few moments ago before grabbing her arms and assuring her that it's fine. He insists on sleeping on the wet side and quiets offers from her to wash his sheets. He knows she'll do it anyway, probably the minute he gets out of bed in the morning, but for now, he just holds her and kisses her overheated skin.
Angelina knows that come morning, things will go back to being the same. He will go back to drinking his grief away, furious at the world for the tragedy of his life, and she following with only her love and devotion in an effort to hold the remaining fragments of him. But as of now, she lies curled in his arms, staring at the emotions of desire in his eyes.
She sees the most beautiful colors when she's with him.
#angelina johnson#george weasley#georgelina#george weasley x angelina johnson#george weasley smut#angelina johnson smut
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Deaf AU - read on ao3
I wrote a fic like this a few years ago before I did the dumb and deleted everything, so I'm rewriting it and adding a little SIM in, cause why not? I'm not very knowledgeable on the subject so I've kept it pretty light in regards to being deaf or hard of hearing (the original version was really similar to this one but touched on Peter being deaf more)
Tagging: @snowstark @someonepostedart @thegreenmetblue @sinditia @just-things-things @andacheesyoneliner @lokitonypeter @bluestarker @lilcoffeecup @useless-fanfictions-for-mcu @tonyslashpeter
*-*
Peter feels the cartilage in his nose pop at the force of the punch, and instantly, his mouth fills with blood.
He struggles to keep his head from lulling -its too heavy. The overhead lights are blinding, and the pain he feels is excruciating.
It had started out like any other night. Peter had donned his red and blue suit and had been patrolling the streets of New York, making sure everyone was safely tucked into their homes.
He had dropped in on a mugging -a staged mugging, Peter soon found out. Someone had shot him with some sort of tranquilizer specifically engeneered for people like Peter.
He'd woken up tied to a chair with an iv bag connected to his arm. It wasn't hard to figure out the liquid was a sedative.
The first hit had come out of nowhere. His senses too slow to alert him. His head had knocked to the side on impact, a yelp ripped from his throat.
Peter barely got a good look at the men who had entered the large room before a black cloth bag was shoved over his head.
Having lost his sight, it was impossible to tell where the blows were coming from.
At first he had begged, told them he couldn't hear what they were saying, tried to avoid the hits. But after a while, it was clear whoever these men were, didn't care.
He didnt know how long he sat in that chair, being hit and kicked and stabbed. Blood soaked into his suit, dried against his skin and made hims feel sticky on top of close to death.
He spit blood from his mouth, the iron taste making him nauseous. The bag stuck to his skin, making it hard to breathe.
Another blow knocks a molar loose, and Peter can't keep his head up this time.
The bag is yanked off his head and he winces at the bright light. A hand grips his hair and yanks his head back, until he's looking up at his abuser.
He's not who Peter expected. The man is athleticly built, with dark hair and scruff. He's attractive in a science teacher kind of way, and covered in Peter's blood.
Peter realizes the man is talking, and his eyes drag down to his mouth. His vision too blurry to decipher what's being said.
"... him.... I said hello...."
Peter stares at him in confusion. He doesn't know what the man continues to say, but he takes the time the man is monologing to twist his hands in the restraint.
He's not trying to get out -no, he's far too weak for that. He maneuvers so his forefinger can tap against the back of the chair.
He begins by tapping out three letters.
• • • - - - • • • (SOS)
Without his mask, he won't be able to tell if the message is going through, but he silently begs it does.
He repeats the morse code over and over, even when the man returns to punching him. Tries desperately to hold on to the hope that Tony will come for him as the man tries everything in his power to break every bone in Peter's face, and every rib in his chest.
He lets out an agonized shout when one blow knocks the chair he's in right over. He slams his head into the concrete floor, world going black.
When he surfaces again, its to a bucket of cold sewer water being thrown at him. He chokes and sputters. The water burns at his various wounds.
He sobs, teetering on the edge of delirium as the man steps up and kneels down in front of Peter.
He continues to speak, though he looks angrier than before. Peter shakes his head.
"I don't understand," he says, hoping what he says is clear enough for the man.
The man stands and walks towards the table. Peter's got no more fight left in him.
This man isn't torturing him for information. This is for fun. This is a message. This is something Peter can't beg his way out of, and he chokes on blood and tears at the realization he's going to die here, in a warehouse in the middle of nowhere.
When he returns, the glint of a knife reflecting light makes Peter moan a little, whimpering at the expected pain.
He says something again, and Peter chokes on a sob, shaking his head. The man's face contortions, and in a swift arch, the six inch blade is buried to the hilt in his thigh.
Peter screams, body trembling and chest heaving. The pain is unbearable, he can't take it anymore. He can't survive anymore of this.
He's in too much pain to notice the men around him turning their attention elsewhere. He can't focus on anything but the pain.
His vision is blurred, black around the edges, and he knows its not long before the pain, exhaustion and blood loss pull him under.
His head falls forward, eyelids too heavy to keep open. He barely notices the tremors in the floor under his feet.
And then someone is in front of him again, and Peter's too exhausted to beg for them to stop. He just cries, praying for anyone who's up there to just let him die. Let him die before any more pain is inflicted.
Hands carefully hold Peter's head up, and he blinks back blood and tears, trying desperately to clear his vision.
Blue eyes worry over Peter's features, taking in the mangled flesh, the wounds from head to toe.
"Tony," he whimpers. The man before him gives a small nod, using his free hand to sign to the boy.
Peter can't make out much, but he doesnt need to. Tony's here. Tony got his message, and he came.
He gives the blue eyed man a grimaced smile, and the other returns it before the iv is removed, the bindings cut.
Peter whimpers as Tony picks him up out of the chair, all his wounds screaming at being moved.
The knife is still buried in his thigh, but he doesnt dare touch it.
Tony wastes no time in getting Peter out of there. He doesn't remember much of the flight to the tower, only that Tony's holding him.
He doesn't know how long it'll take for the sedative to leave his system, for his healing abilities to kick in, but just knowing the Superior had him was all Peter needed.
#marvel#tony stark#peter parker#ironman#spiderman#starker#ao3#my writing#SFSummerBingo21#sim!tony#superior ironman#deaf character
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Whumptober Day 15 - Delirium
“Is he awake yet?”
The frown that had been a permanent fixture since Chris showed up at their home with a dying man and his baby girl deepened. “Yes, but he was completely out of it. Tried to attack me. He said some names that definitely weren't mine.”
“It's been three days, Chris. We're not doctors. We need to call someone that knows what they're doing before it gets worse.”
“That would put them both at risk.”
“He's at risk now.”
“We've both experienced things like this before. We just need to give it a few more days.”
“A few more days could be too late. What if it's because of an infection? We have no idea what's causing it.”
“It's not an infection.”
“How could you know that?”
“Because he's not human.” A sigh of frustration fell from Chris's lips as he ran his hand through his hair. “The lab ran some tests. His body is made from the mold. He's been infected since Louisiana. They confirmed it's his entire body, so even if there was someone I trusted that could get here quickly, I don't know that it would matter. It might be up to the mold whether he lives or dies.”
“Does he know that?”
“Leon-”
“I'll take that as no.”
“They didn't know what it meant! What was I supposed to do? Tell him he's made of mold, then have no answers to any of the questions he has.”
“Yes. In this life, it's always better to know. Even when there aren't any answers. You should know that.”
Without another word, he lifted Rose out of the makeshift crib they put together for her and gently cradled her against his chest. Her eyes blinked open to stare at him, then flicked around to take in her moving surroundings. When they landed on her sleeping father, she let out her first sound since they separated the two to give them both the care they needed. The soft babble was enough to stir her sleeping father into opening his own eyes in search of her.
“Rose?”
“She's right here.” Slowly, Leon settled on the edge of the bed with Rose propped up in his lap, so she could easily see Ethan. “I thought you might want to see her for a little bit, but you can't get up. You need your rest.”
“Is she hurt? She's not hurt, is she?”
“No, she's not hurt. She misses her dad, but other than that she's a happy little baby.”
“Can I hold her?”
“How about we compromise? I'll put her on your chest, and you stay right where you are.”
“Please.”
Before Ethan could try anything rash to get Rose to him, Leon gently settled her on his chest, then helped him lift an arm to place across her small body. Tiny hands patted gently against his face as Rose started babbling in a way that might have sounded conversational if there were any discernible words mixed in. Between one moment and the next, Ethan's hand gripped the back of her small sweater as tears began to flow from his eyes.
“You're okay. You're safe now. I'll never let anyone take you again. I promise.”
“She knows that.”
Cloudy eyes turned to focus so intently on Leon that his mind began to consider the best way to get Rose out of harm's way while also protecting himself and not hurting Ethan, only for Ethan’s words to completely railroad him. “We're supposed to protect her, Mia. She's so young, and we've already failed her. They hurt her because I couldn't protect her. It's my fault. All my fault.”
“It's not your fault.”
“It is! Miranda wanted her because of me. You should have told me. Why didn't you tell me?" When Leon took too long to answer, distress mixed with anger and pain appeared on Ethan's face. "We were supposed to be in this together, Mia. How could you keep this from me? Rose is like this because of me."
“There's nothing you could have done to stop that. The alternative would have been not having her at all.”
“You still should have told me.”
“I know. I can't take that back, but I'll try to make up for it. I'll take care of her. You focus on getting better. We'll talk after you rest.”
“Don't take her yet. Please, Mia.”
The hand he reached out to pick Rose up diverted to run comfortingly through Ethan's sweaty hair. “Okay. We'll wait for you to fall asleep. Rose looks too comfy to move anyways.”
“Thank you.”
It only took a few minutes for the hand rubbing along Rose's back to come to a stop right between her tiny shoulder blades. Despite the stillness, he waited a while longer to make sure Ethan fell into a deep sleep before he moved Rose. To avoid waking him, Leon took his time lifting the hand on her back away, then slowly took the weight of Ethan's daughter off his chest. Thankfully, they both stayed fast asleep throughout the entire process and his exit the room with Rose cradled against his chest once more.
Unsurprisingly, Chris leaned against the wall across from him-arms over his chest and stress clear in his eyes. “Did he talk to you?”
“Yes. He called me Mia.”
“You don't not look like her.” The deep breath that Chris took as his head tipped back to stare at the ceiling gave away his worry. “Did he at least recognize Rose?”
“He did, but it's still concerning he thought I was his wife. We're not medical professionals. We need someone that knows what they're doing. What about Rebecca? You trust her.”
“I don't want to drag her back into all this.”
“But it's fine to drag me into it?”
“You're always in it. You're married to me.”
“One of these days, you're going to retire, and I'll finally have my peace of mind.”
A flicker of emotions shifted across Chris's face, then he moved to press a kiss to Leon's forehead that he hadn't been expecting. “I'll give Rebecca a call. Even if she's not willing to help, she might know someone that she trusts to do it.”
“Okay. I'll be in the kitchen trying to get this one to eat. She needs her energy for when her father gets better. Isn't that, right? Yes, it is. The two of you need each other. I know you do.”
#whumptober2021#no. 15#delirium#resident evil#fanfic#chreon#leon s kennedy#chris redfield#ethan winters#rosemary winters#emotional hurt/comfort
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Reacting to you calling them at 3am
FT: Captain Squad minus Daichi, Kita & Daishou
Gender-Neutral Reader | Can be viewed as platonic or romantic!
OIKAWA T.
⚘. Oikawa yawned, blearily reaching for his glasses as he tried to wake himself up to realize that the thing causing the painful noise would be his phone blaring the 00's pop tune he had set his ringer as. He reached over, grabbing his phone and lazily hitting 'answer' and the speaker button so he didn't have to bother with holding his phone.
"Hello?" His sleep-ridden voice was something you always seemed to like, it was soothing with it's scratchy and deep nature. "Who 's it?" The words slurred together, nearly unrecognizable though you managed to make them out.
"It's (y/n), did you not check the contact or something?" You stifled a laugh and hit speaker on your line, listening to the quiet rustling of bedsheets as Oikawa got situated and checked his phone. "Sorry for calling so late."
A small hum crossed through the line, before a simple "Yeah?" was heard. You had figured he'd be a bit delirious from being woken up so late, though you didn't take in to account that he probably wouldn't make any sense.
"Yeah, just go back to sleep. I'll talk to you in the morning."
KUROO T.
⚘. Kuroo had been awake working on a project for his science class, his vision blurring in and out from tiredness as he had been thriving off a couple energy drinks he got from Kenma. He pushed his chair back, reaching for his phone as it started going off with the ringtone you had set up for yourself.
He set the call up on speaker before dropping his phone against his desk and went back to working on the project. "Hey, what's up?" You hummed, muttering out a small 'nothing much' as you listened to him work, trying to figure out what exactly he was doing.
"So why are you up so late? Usually you'd be asleep by now." Kuroo hummed, mumbling something incoherent to your question as he tried gluing together bits and pieces to correctly shape together what he wanted. "What?"
He sighed and leaned back in his chair, properly facing his phone to check the time, "Oh, I mean I guess I could say the same to you. I'm working on my project right now."
You hummed, flipping through a few apps on your phone before realizing what Kuroo had said. "Isn't that due next month? We're in the same class."
"Yeah, but it's better to get an early start on it."
"Go to bed."
BOKUTO K.
⚘. Bokuto huffed as he rolled on to his stomach, faceplanting straight in to his pillow to let out a muffled shriek. He had been trying to sleep for awhile now, and nothing was working. Typically by now he would of called you or Akaashi in a last resort of 'please just talk to me 'till I pass out' yet he didn't want to bother either of you at this hour.
Yet here you were, calling him at three in the morning. Bokuto excitedly grabbed his phone and earbuds, connecting them and answering the call to be greeted with you mumbling out tired greetings. "Hey!"
You smiled at his still over-excited nature, knowing it was one of those nights that neither of you were able to sleep and left staring at your room. "Hi Bokuto, how's your night going?"
The sigh that crossed through his line was enough to tell you, "Not the best, I can't sleep and it's so frustrating." You nodded, and hummed out an agreement. "How was the show you were watching earlier?"
"It was good, the plot twist didn't make much sense though." You rolled over on to your back, yawning as you explained the show to Bokuto, going through your favorite and least favorite characters as well.
"You sound tired, try and get some sleep again. You can tell me more about the show tomorrow! Okay?"
USHIJIMA W.
⚘. Ushijima was widely known through his friend-group as a heavy sleeper, which was why it was such a surprise to you when he had picked up your call the first time. "Hello? What d'you need?"
"Oh!" You quickly scrambled up, rubbing at your eyes in a way to double check that you were seeing everything right and that it wasn't a delirium hallucination. "Hey, I wasn't expecting you to answer."
He hummed, and tried to sort through a reply while he blearily stared at his phone. "Wasn' expecting to'get a call." You smiled, trying to stifle back a laugh as to not disturb Ushijima in his drowsy state.
"Yeah? I guess we have something in common then." You laid back down, trying to keep your voice down as you spoke. "Do you want me to leave you be?"
You waited for a reply, giving him a minute just in case. Just before you went to hang up you heard a quiet, "No, you're fine."
#Lowkey nervous posting this but it's fine#Sephtis !! Writes#♟! oikawa#♟! bokuto#♟! kuroo#♟! ushijima#haikyuu!!#hq#oikawa tooru#kuroo tetsurou#bokuto koutarou#ushijima wakatoshi
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i don't know your situation or understand what you're going through, but i hope you're okay xx
Hello there! Thanks for reaching out!
It has been so tough again in the last hours. Invasive actions of psychiatrists who never had to do with my complex case.
It actually was as banal as. I was given a separate room by my psychiatrist who understands me so far that she knows how to handle me and my case and my words. But she was gone for not even an entire day, and a doc - more arrogant snob - 'diagnosed me' with the most superficial nonsense. I am just causing drama to get attention. Same fiddle every time.
They spun a network of ignorant misdiagnoses hindering every opportunity to receive real help!!
They not even checked blood values or anything ever since.
These hurtful misdiagnoses are not true!!! Therapists who really work on my case always tell me the same. Superficiality and ignorance HARM!
I asked for vitamine supplies. He said "Just eat"... but I EAT, BUT HERE is so few food with the nutrition I need!!!
I just need damn nutrition.
Later they cause so much harm to me and a person who they put in my room - I was flashed, not because I did not like her or anything close to that - it was INVASIVE!
They never spoke about it, they never warned. Then they opened all curtains and I got so awful double vision and delirium by that. And the instant rush of the violation of principles that ensure an autist's mere function... i had a meltdown.
The nurse was so abusive. Said "no one can get hurt my light' you are not a vampire! You just google shit! You have all symptoms but you can't have them! You make them up to get attention and tyrranize everyone.
And none of that was ever true.
These fucking symptoms are sadly all primarily due to one fucking thing: severe nutrition deficiency. And the "CURE" is all fucking simple!!! But they refuse the PLAINEST of help!!!
This nurse is like those most neurotypical cruel fake shallow monsters. She projects her intolerant narrow view on myself. She invalidates, denies, dismisses. Refuses to understand me debunking her nonsense and trying to create clarity.
And the ignorance is so painful. I said she can't judge it. She said she's not judging, it's her opion (which is in fact an evaluation of an impression of her own interpretation - so it IS judging!)
She does understand NOTHING. Really no word I tell her lands in her brain. It's like she is so dogmatic in her wrong belief. Or does not even know one basic single word in German language.
Today I witnessed Dunning-Krüger everywhere!!! And it fucking kills!!!
It hurt to see my (shortly present) room neighbour crying, because of this shit I could not control, the meltdown, which was INDUCED by their sheer incompetence, ignorance, cruelty.
It made me so furious. Invalidating. Every time. I told that nurse that she can't judge what she does not understand. That she should educate herself on how autism impacts everyday life, perception, health, behavior, communication. Sadly all her brain cells seem to be tied to manipulation and how to be the most awful ignorant possible.
I am so sorry it all sounds so aggressive. But they HURT!!! They cause harm on so many here, not just me!!! This needs to be stopped!!! It needs to be investigated how many people they killed with such procedures.
They refuse to give me help!!
I neglected all these symptoms for far too long, exactly because of that. But they got so bad...
This nurse told me 'you can go whenever you want'. And I asked her I can't i physcially can't survive. Then she proceeded 'but you came here and it was bright'... and not even one of these statements is true. I was shoven from a terrible place by the ambulance into this torture chamber, during evening/night.
They literally refuse to SEE the meanwhile already OBVIOUS, which is the unfortunate REALITY now!
And they keep kicking and killing your last part that survives: Your psychological resilience.
And I am shaking. The insuline resistance is unbearable. But they would not even do anything if cetoacidosis would intoxicate me. Even if I vomitted due to that they would refuse the help I have the right to have: in this case: It is bound to direct survival!!!
It is a nightmare. And it sounds too lunatic that anyone could ever believe.
My psychiatrist came few hours ago, after my room neighbour and I calmed down.
I went to the dark bathroom to recharge. She later returned to our room after being absent for a short time, and she reacted in a way that made be feel embraced, compassionate, grateful, but als so so sorry and guilty.
She had a surgery of a brain tumor. And it felt so devastating she is treated so so so bad here. That they put her in such an awful situation with me and my problems being 100% dismissed.
I was a scapegoat. And the hurt I felt when recognizing her reaction was torture. It was psychological torture for both of us.
I am beyond my limit and I can't be confronted in such a way with people who are hurt so much themselves. It hurt me twice, thousandfold.
If they had told me in advance and found a solution for the light/illumination problem, it would have been far less devastating for both of us. It was so invasive. The reaction of the nurse 'it's just light and why should it be so bad that someone is here now? ' - neurotyi pical intolerance, ignorance and unfortunately this resulted in more and more verbal abuse.
Half an our later I sat in the bathroom. And she approached me and asked if she could enter the bathroom. I said yes and apologized. She was humble and somewhat had compassion. I then proceeded to built a tiny fort/cave between my bad and heater. This is where I have been since. It calms me.
She calmed down as well. But then the chaos continued. She was put in another room. I suppose it was because my (original) psychiatrist came, and knew this was fatal, as she knows of the importance of that. Despite the difficulties here in the clinic, she demands such a high priority for the single room. She is the only reason why I am not dead already here.
She fights for me as she understands. And she tries to protect me from the harm by many people working here. But when she is gone it is all devastating.
Next time I refuse to talk with these ignorant docs, and only correspond with my original psychiatrist. Most others are so awful. I do not know who to trust. They don't understand what is real and what is bullshit.
So many new nurses everyday, so many fake behaviors. So many ones who are abusive. Some who you believe are trustworthy. I can't trust. It all shatters. This place is traumatizing in every means for a neurodivergent/autistic person.
It is so sad...
There is no help. Even askeing them to transfer me to somewhere I may receive help... no way. Excuses. I say I NEED help. They say they give help. But NO!!! It is the OPPOSITE of help actually!!! I never damnit wanted to be a statistic anomaly. They simplifiy this extremely complex case to such a degree, it is the opposite of reality.
As if they do neither understand what I say nor any of my behavior.
Even when having hypoglycaemia, they refuse to help. If you ask them for juice, they refuse. They say absent-mindendly "Yeah... i knowji know... 'and leave. Only after half an hour a random nurse from another part of the clinic sees me and asks me what I need, I say sugar, have low blood glucose. And then I receive it finally. But this in concerning. Hypoglycaemia can trigger much of symptoms I have now as well. You can even get unsconscious, and if too long waited, you die. Considering their amount of concern or care, I could have been dead for more than two hours.
Things like these happen far too often.
If I do not care for myself who is unable to move, to care for himself, to live, then I die. And that is what my alter ego does. But he can't anymore. The biological spaceship is too damaged. Even the 'most skilled pilot' will not succeed.
The pain is unbearable.
And the pain of being stuck here.
I just wish someone would just dump me 300km+ far away where I receive REAL help!
I am physcially stuck in a network of abusive environments.
Even the person of the amulance told me I need to leave this city asap. She was concerned all she could do is either throw me into the torture chamber 'rathole clinic', or leave me in the abusive home with the tyrants of my abusers, my father and myjsister.
It was a decision between torture and torture.
This has been my reality ever since.
Please I would even consider living in care for a while, IF treated accordingly to what I really have and need, far away from this abuse city.
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ok feel free to delete this if you aren't into blood play cuz I know its not everyone's cup of tea
but.
I was thinking about a scenario where Martin agrees to be tormented when he's gotten really hungry. tie him up, make sure he knows the rules, establish a safe word. basically the scenario involves teasing Martin with your own blood and making it so he can't get to it to drink, but also pushing and teasing him about the fact you're bleeding and he's hungry and all he really has to do is safe word and he can drink. but he's a good boy, so he won't. and you know he won't.
(of course this involves a lot of trust and intermittent check ins to make sure he is truly okay in the moment which brings out the intimacy here (yes. intimate blood play. it makes sense leave me alone))
telling him to keep his eyes on the cut in your finger as it drips blood down onto his chest. not letting him look away. reminding him how hungry he must be and telling him to not struggle and keep his eyes on you.
by the end of the scene hes crying and in a real deep headspace. ignoring his most important need. for you. all because you told him to.
(of course afterwards he gets taken care of all sweet n stuff :) )
I'm actually not opposed.. not at all! I love the detail.. and I really tried to do this justice to no avail. This is one of the premises that I can see myself coming back to. Trying to turn it from word vomit into an actual story!
Stray tears continue to trickle past his hairline, seeping into the thousand thread count pillow..Cheeks burning with shame.. Martin’s eyes remain fixated on the ceiling--the thin jagged crack that starts at the fan all the way to the far corner of your room. He felt heavy, nearly saturated with guilt the moment you began to ‘take care of him’. Your fingers gripped his thighs with an almost otherworldly force, as you pin his slight hips to the bed. Questions of who he belonged to.. What was his name… why exactly should he be apologizing.
Martin was still at you kept him tethered to the edge of delirium. Lips moving over his flesh in a way that reminded him that you still cared-- Teeth gently nipping at his neck tongue laving over his racing pulse. His mouth was dry, the gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach was almost unbearable. The coppery scent was unmistakable, it curled at his nostrils causing him to swoon. The smell was unique, almost spicy-- everything about it was decidedly you. He would catch glimpses of the heady aroma when you would accidentally nick yourself preparing dinner. Or that one time when you fell off your bike skinning your knee.
His hands were numb, wrists tied to the bedposts, he had no idea where you managed to acquire the rope. His legs were extended towards the edge of the bed, slightly parted ankles tethered to the bed. Luckily for him, you decided to spare him some dignity. He was completely bare save for his shorts. Mouth sized bruises adorn his collar, chest and ribs-- all ranging in various colors. Pools of blood began to dry and stick to his skin, he could feel them tighten under the breeze. He was shivering, eyes fixated on the laceration on your arm--he prayed you didn't press in too deep.
~
He could still taste the tears streaming down your cheeks the moment he crawled in through the window. You were shaking, struggling to contain your sobs.The look on your face practically broke his heart.
“Martin… where were you?”
He momentarily seemed to lose the ability to speak. His eyes remained glued to your angelic face. The tears flowed freely. He never knew you to display any emotion beyond very mild annoyance-- You were shivering, arms wrapped around yourself protectively-- this was something completely new. He messed up.
“Y/n… I’m so sorry..”
~
“Why not me?”
You had asked him that question every single time. You knew all about his sickness, his actual need for blood. You knew that he couldn’t go to a hospital...he would be locked up forever-- Then why not you?
He claimed that you were far too precious to him. If he ever hurt you “He would die”
This was far worse, he had been doing so well-- You were on the verge of full blown panic whenever you could hear police sirens in the distance.
Martin knew what he was doing, he was quick on his feet, there was very little reason you should fear for his safety. But still, what if he messed up and made a mistake. You would never forgive yourself if something happened to him.
So he agreed. If anything to regain your trust-- and hopefully make amends. The safe word was “silk” ; he could use it at any time when things became too much. He wasn’t allowed to drink from you until you explicitly tell him it’s okay.
He had no idea what he was getting into, he nearly used the word the moment you picked up the blade.You winced ever so slightly as the steel pierced your skin--the ropes were the only thing stopping him from wrapping you in his arms. You didn’t have to hurt yourself for him. The blood began to pool down your arm, he wanted to scream. You seem almost mesmerized for a moment yourself as the crimson rivulets begin to drip down your wrist. His eyes remain transfixed, his face grows hot--the stabbing pain in his stomach causing him to wince. “Yn..p-please be careful” he whispers. Was that a warning or a request?
A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you poise your arm over his chest-- squeezing gently as a few droplets land against his skin. He hisses sharply, eyes immediately screw shut-- white hot electricity surged up his spine. Every nerve ending set on edge as the coppery scent hits his nostrils
~
You take your time, painting red washed lines across his chest as his fingers helplessly grasp at the bed posts. He was panting, clearly tenting in his shorts, but he still refused to look at you.
“Martin, open your eyes..”
He shakes his head, images swirling through his mind. He saw mobs chasing him through the city. Torches blazing as he scrambles down cobblestone stairs. He saw the woman on the train laying practically lifeless. He saw the image of you from one of his dreams.
~
The two of you had very nearly broken up--but that was towards the beginning of your relationship. You knew that Martin had nightmares--this was when you first began to discover the depth of his sickness. It started with him talking in his sleep, waking up in tears unaware of his surroundings. It only got worse till one day you woke up in the middle of the night to find him locked in the bathroom sobbing uncontrollably. You begged and pleaded for over an hour for him to just open the door. He refused, he was so scared that he might have hurt you. As it turns out he dreamed that he had actually killed you. It all started from accidentally tasting a stray droplet of your blood. In fact, it was a few days after he had patched up your thumb after your run in with the kitchen knife.
Better than he ever imagined, the taste alone sparked something inside of him. He was so worried that one day he might not be able to contain himself. He was so scared that he might hurt you. You noticed his somber demeanor, but the pieces didn’t click until you found him in the midst of a literal breakdown. You didn’t care, you wanted him with you for the rest of your life. You were certain you could show him how to be good.
~
“Martin.. It’s okay… please look at me darling”
After a moment, he opens his eyes. Damp lashes cling to porcelain cheeks-- you only wanted to hold him. His gaze gradually moves from your face to the tips of your bloodied fingers, still glistening in the light. His stomach turns, threatening to collapse in on itself as he resumes tugging at the restraints.
“Y/n.. p-please.. We--ah.. We shouldn’t do this…”
Do what… sweetheart?” You coo, painting a crimson line just beneath his lips. In that moment you could have sworn his eyes shone brighter, almost amber under the lamplight. The force of his thrashing causes the bed posts to creak.. Groaning heavily beneath the pressure.
No no no… this was not a good idea everything about you smelled so warm and inviting.
He tries his best to school his face into a pleading expression, tongue darting over cracked lips.
“You should-- just clean up, and untie me.. I feel so much better now. “
“Untie you?” you snort as you trace your fingers over his lips, as he fruitlessly attempts to tilt his head. You can feel him tense as a strange sort of shiver rolls through him.
“And then what are you going to do…”
Tears begin to freely flow down his cheeks as he shakes his head. “N-nothing.. I swear..”
“I know this Martin.. You’re not going to hurt me.. You never would.”
His chest heaves, you could have sworn you feel some of the tension leave his body.
“No.. never!”
“Are you hungry darling?”
“Y-yess” There was something about the raw unfiltered need in his voice that caused something inside to ignite. You were familiar with it sure-- it wasn’t rare that you had him nearly slipping off the bed.
But this was different.
You only wanted to cure him of his nightmares, but in that moment you feared you were making everything worse. You just wanted to show Martin that you trusted him completely. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you even if he tried.
With a shaky hand, he draws your fingers to his lips, keeping the blood stained digits poised directly over his mouth. His breath came out in heated puffs, reminding you of this old rottweiler that used to be chained up in your neighbor’s yard.
You couldn't help but smile to yourself as you weave your fingers through his hair--noting as he leans into your hand. Breath ghosting along your palm--the tip of his nose brushing over the hardened bits of blood. You can feel him inhale deeply, as another shiver shoots through his slight frame. His teeth digs into his bottom lip as he relishes in the brief bits of attention. You continue to whisper to him words of affirmation. Thanking him for behaving so sweetly.
There was always one small vein on his forehead that always seemed more pronounced whenever he was in pain. Martin had migraines, so you saw it alot. He refused to take medicine, in fear that it might “make him loopy” His cheeks were flushed, brows furrowed in agony-- you couldn’t help the sudden pang of guilt. You already knew that Martin would never hurt you… why on earth did you think this was a good idea?
In a haste you reach for the razor, digging it into the palm of your hand. You begin to squeeze at your wrist, urging the blood to flow. You lean in, pressing a kiss against his temple as drops of blood coats your fingertips. You press one of your stained fingers to his mouth
“Martin… drink..”
He shook his head almost violently, pressing his cheek against the pillow. The motion left a bloody streak across his face. He could feel the droplets hardening by the second, his teeth immediately sink into his bottom lip. You were perched atop of him, knees resting against each side of his hips-- you sink down just a bit further. He lets out an audible gasp as your hips rock against his clothed erection-- droplets of blood pool into the dips of his collarbone.
He wanted to die… he truly wanted to die. There was no way that this could possibly be okay. Why would you want him to drink from you? You were so much more than one of his victims, you were his entire life. He valued your livelihood so much more than his own.
He failed to realise he was staring off into space, until your fingertips began to ghost along his jawline
“Sweetheart, are you okay?
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to stop?” you sink back further onto your knees. The sudden bout of friction causes him to shiver.
“Plea- No.. y/n. Don’t stop..”
After a moment, he slowly reaches for your hand, you press your palm directly against his lips. You can still feel the rumbles emanating from his ribs, arms tugging fruitlessly at the restraints. Stray droplets of blood adorn his chest, the crimson stream begins to drip past his cheeks. He was panting, even as you press your fingers through the crack of his lips. Breath seemed to still within his chest.
Tears continued to spill down his cheeks, seeping down into his hairline. Had you actually “broken” your boyfriend? What was wrong? Surely he wasn’t this repulsed by your blood alone.
“Martin.. I’m so sorry..” You whisper suddenly, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling, the crimson rivulets drip past his firmly closed lips.
You continue to weave your fingers through his hair, as his lips slowly part beneath your hand.
Tugging as you whisper against his ear. “ Darling.. Please drink..”
#martin 1977#martin 1978#martin mathias#martin/you#martin/reader#bloodtw#blood play#self harm#consentual self harm
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